“Larry Elder To James Doohan”


JamesDoohanScottyAtKSC(October 30, 2018)

Sorry, Lar’ Elder

‘Scotty’s’* busy beaming me:

you just wait your turn!

 

*(Photo by J Kirk Richards (c) 1984, taken at Kennedy Space Center, Florida during a Space Shuttle Launch. Published in The Titusville Star-Advocate newspaper.)

11 thoughts on ““Larry Elder To James Doohan”

    • Shocked me too. This television (all of 18 months on-air) icon and here he is nobbing hobs with NASA wigbigs and such as I had caged a press pass to the launch from my local newspaper across The Indian River from Kennedy Space Center. I had a fine ol’e time: parked my pickup truck (camper topped) in the employee lot, fired up my haibachi(sp?) grill and had a breakfast beer while the fat Porterhouse piece of cow looked askance at the by-then gleaming reddish-turning-whitehot coals. The pre-baked potato was warming up nicely and a couple of the men who worked the launch site strolled over, reached into the big cooler, found an adult soda pop and poured said “pop” into a concealing thick colored-glass mug and found the spare folding chairs as we began a four-hour wait for countdown. Hours later after a quick clean and dousing of utensils and fire, I wanderd about the gathering press. There was Radio Free America beaming to Cuba, other public and for-profit radio and TV setups all claiming high-ground space while the print and VIPs trudged up a steep-sided shaded-from-sun stadium to repose in no splendor whatsoever on concrete benches. The cognoscenti brought stadium padded seat bottoms-n-backs and little coolers of presumably iced tea. I spent hours talking Little League baseball, high school and college football with readers of my local newspaper and the few others from around the county who read – of knew of – my atrocious behavior and editorial columns and sometimes hard news stories which got reprinted in their local small papers and the area’s biggie and precurson to USA Today, Florida Today. When The Brass found out I played tennis, I got invited to Pumpkin Center – Gannett Newspapers Southern Command with the chairman and his wife state senator Lori Wilson, whom I had helped ‘dis’ when she tried to use state police as her personal servants. I was told: J all you gotta do is trim the beard, cut the hair to just below the collar, wear your tennis whites and let Al Newharth(sp-probably intentional?) win and you are sure to be asked to joint the USA Today sports staff. That was all the prompting in needed. I started playing tennis in old swim trunks and gaudy cotton tee shirts, never acknowledged the invite and began a small campaign of industrial sabotage by using the big paper’s advertising computers to finish up my own sports section’s work hours earlier and heading across the street to The Dixie Cafe for a wonderful traditional Caesar Salad (with anchovy and coddled egg) and a pair of triple gin martinis. Whereupon once the local big paper publisher was entertaining Neuharth(sp? Again?) and casually leaned over the separating blankette boothback and said: Hey, Vince (the Florida Today publisher) don’t know this place is off limits to you guys when the big cheese is in town? And then returned to my salad and second slosh. But not to slight the NASA story, m’dear: As I wandered electronic media row’s hindside, I finally encountered a Member of The Press (print-side) who saw my press pass reading Titusville Star-Advocate, who asked me who all those people were who kept stopping me for a good longish chat. Oh, I replied: they’re just locals who know me from their kids’ baseball, soccer, football and other youth sports or middle school and high school games. I’m the local sports editor across the water, I said, pointin at Harold’s (famous for its wineburger and being the closest pub to the space center and from when in Mercury and Gemini programs the astronauts and their support staffs used to live in Titusville before migrating with the fly-boys to Cocoa Beach (where I Dream of Geni Television show was filmed and was ever so much nicer to congress-critters, lobbyists and suchlike creatures than pore ol’e tidy-town which boasted only one sleepy motel, lounge and music spot 0 where enterprising high school cheerleaders earned the money to go off to college driving yellow Corvette sports cars – in the traditional ways, doncha know. The media biggie who asked me who-in-hell-I-was got arm-turned by a NASA worker whose son told him he never would get a feature article until he showed me a report card with As in conduct and attendance and nothing less than a B in academic subjects: said proud poppa…he said to my kid, meaning me and I confess it was true that those were the same restrictions his parents put on his in junior high and high school for sports and extra-curricular activities…and they got them (mostly, except for that fun senior year when I played no sports but worked at the local Sanford Herald as a columnist and sports reporter before and after class. The man told the inquisitive reporter: despite all me and my wife tried to do it was J who got him into good grades. I shrugged. He just wanted something to impress girls with, and he wasn’t a quarterback or a home run hitter, so I suggested good grades got gooder girls. And that is just half of my good story about Titusville parents…okay, maybe three other good stories.

      Liked by 1 person

    • I am of the firm belief – with proof (too many interviews of no-ones to big someones anecdotally at the very least – that everyone (all-Caps) has a very interesting story to tell, or many: all it takes is the time to listen, prod more with a raised eyebrow or a simple shoulder-lean towards your raconteur-of-the-moment to signal interest, etc., and soon enough you are inside another’s life. Why and How are the important parts of the pyramid, who, what and when will come of their own accord, Shehanne. I am so feeling guilty I have yet to read some of yours, but I do guilt really, really well. I still have a busload of short poetry before I even get to digging up the older longer – and to me sometimes more fun – stuff before I even get to pushing out more short stories. Plus, I have all these compulsion-books still to read cluttering up several rooms not to mention the must-reads. Local librarian – or four – keep kidding me about how quickly I turn books around…just today I confessed I felt so guilty about buying 10 from the sales-shelving (5-for-a-dollar, hard- or paper-back) and picking up two new on-order books from the county library system’s other locations…because “I only have two books currently on-read and I begin to feel awkward without at least three going on at once. And my garden is yelling at me to plant and the newest compost pit wants more worms from the older pits (all in 55-gallon covered containers) and the work of collecting all the CDs, DVDs and thumb- and flash- and card-reader drives for inclusion here at WP, etc, not to mention a beef stew in need of building and a tossed-salads fixings in need of depletion…I need to start reading up on self-cloning, neh?

      Liked by 1 person

    • How mightily I wish that were true…All the way through my first 12 – no, make that still! – I have sloughed off on “The Important Books” (in favor of mine own listings – Rosemary Sutcliffe vice Jeff Chaucer, etc., etc. Sword At Sunset did very nicely there and when Mort d’ Arthur took it’s turn at bat I already knew Mordred’s unknown sister. I first read that “Sword” in junior high, taking a break from reading The Aeneid because I already had devoured all from Homer, Herodotus, Thucydides and their ilk before leaving grammar school…reading made it look like I was studying and accomplishing the assigned work for my grade…which, unwoefully, was accomplished with smoke, mirrors and a really quick listening device which unfortunately took a lifetime timeout courtesy of the 98C Division Army of North Vietnam’s Sapper Battalion…now I put boring people on the left side and say “no” once every 19 “yesses” to prove I really am listening. So I invest 15 minutes finding out what I consigned to the negative bin and developed – in characher – a sufficient answer…but I still do not know how my consumption of Roberts Rules of Order helped in that maneuver. The Prince, perhaps: naw…musta been Sun Tzu or perhaps Dennis The Menace. Shehanne, I think those who might find my prattle interesting already are interesting themselves and perhaps recognize a fellow at-sea buoy clanging away in the frothing swells but its flashing lights have become unpowered and so download occurs or at least syncopation. You are too – no, three! – kind to call me well-read. I shall continue my pursuit of that esteemed class…but, alas, too many times old favorite tomes clamor for a return. Like the last John Dann MacDonald suspense/mystery short-days (2) read, The Turquoise Lament, which I found begging on a chair-corner this weekend…I found passages I either had forgotten or skimmed over and was well-rewarded and edified. Damn the dead man! If he wrote less well that would not have happened and I could have continued to graze the empty sealanes in fulsome ignorance. But I did manage to finish late last night while interrupting pages-to-be-turned in favor of a listen-in on the radio broadcase of the (American) football game. As a kid – and now with a television unplugged I can not say – I used to read between the commercials as my family consumed the evening’s after-dinner fare, raising up to watch a much more cogently and perhaps possibly informative but nearly always amusing bit o’ larceny masquerading as “buy me” bovine feces. A already had set my sights on a career as a writer of sorts…but the newspaper game caught me at a weak moment and I spent 20 years in a deep mine shaft shoveling fragraces I’d rather forget and calling it secretly to myself “olds” and “not-news.” But I have digressed. Learned – again – the word I was searching for to describe this: didactic. And, yes, I do know I didact. Filthy habit. But I do wash my hands afterward. I just can not seem to get the privacy part down yet.

      Like

  1. I loved Rosemary Sutcliff. I still have her books Dennis the Menace of course is a creation of my home city . There you go. I think what is important is people read LOTS. Especially when they are young.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Absolutely. And I just recalled – late last night – the name of the other novelist I tripped over during my Sutcliff days: Lawrence Schoonover…his Spider King was a watershed, but the title of the one which hit me most – family attachments and all that (dad was a thermonuclear Navy jet bomber/navigator) was published in time to capture me in my junior high da(z)es: circa 1960-63 – we suffered seven-eight-nine not the usual first pair – re a terror-bombing using nukes aboard ships in the Panama Canal. Nuclear Winter on Steroids for the entire Gulf Stream especially the Eastern U.S. seaboard and of course The British Isles and Europe almost entire. Some weird kids – why are all the good’uns weird? – figure out how to reverse the end of civilization by exploding a bunch more thermonuclear bombs in parallel lines on both the Pacific and Atlantic sides of the then no-longer dirt-filled putative Central America. I need to find the book again because I can not recall many of the parts, especially the end. There are worse ways, Shehanne, to frustrate oneself, no?

      Like

    • I have a theory. No kidding? The man crams theories into spare pockets like toads and slingshots…the more you read as a youngster the longer youngersterhood obtains (was going to write prevails…but such open connoting I find disquieting: what if the lad – oops, Me Too compels I add Lass – finds a convenient but later dangerous folly?…the longer such child remains just that,) a child. I still jump both-footedly into mud puddles and only sometimes remove footwear before. I gwak at will at, well, most anything. Clouds fascinate. I tell me stories on long walks going precisely nowhere and find most marvelous people and places and trust most everyone twice…that habit I just gotta break!…and still find myself singing Easter Hymns and Christmas Carols even over The Trogs “Wild Thing,” which I have improved markedly in my refrain of their “…You make my heart sing…” but that is another story best told by my youngest Niece when she related that change-lyric to her Junior Year English Class at very proper Trinity Prep Episcopal upper division school…she said the teach fell out of her chair gasping and wheezing for breath below great tears and laughter…When I asked my younger brother – in the presence of said same niece – how do you make a hormone? he answered without pause and correctly, causing much mirth on the then Senior Year young lady…who much later related she told her pals she new of at least two non-stodgy codgers and was related to both! Work accomplished, no?

      Liked by 1 person

    • Three-True, Shehanne. School(s) and work(s) always tried to overcome my need-to-read, but I( hast prevailed? I out-lasted ’em, the scoundrels! But I did have to learn to keep at least one “opened” book in most rooms of the abode, in case I was called away – beer or sumsuch and, gads, the occasional business phone call a machine could not satisfy. Drat the filthy practice: working for to buy more books. Unnatural, I tells ya! Thank Book there’s a place God invented called biblioteca!

      Liked by 1 person

Comments are closed.