My last and most-favorite newspaper had a major passenger/product pair of lines running past its back yard. Oh. Meetings? Took my weekends mostly Wednesday-Thursday and thus exempted me from the morbidity of weekly strategy sessions. Planning news? Like looking for the next gulp of air! Why? My publisher/editor did not so much as agree as he recognized my counterinsurgency sympathies had long-ago withered and I now was The Enemy (of good order and fat-chewing for its own sake whilst there were fish to slay, crabs to trap, shrimp to dip, gardens to hoe and beer-n-books to consume. He said sometimes to the others: get your sections out consistently 20 minutes pre-deadline, win editing, writing, columnizing and photographic awards consistently, and be a damn pain in my ass when I insist you attend and maybe you too can take mid-week off: but that would interfere with your Friday-Saturday-Sunday all-day most-night schedules, wouldn’t they. The man was pure Ho Chi Minh – or a fellow traveler at least, though he did spend WWII flying patrol craft up and down Florida’s coastlines, having escaped earlier from The University of Florida a year or so early. Yep. His dad had pull. But Bob Hudson loved that train whistle, too. Thanks, Juice. You mem’ry unplugger, you.