Here it is…

Christmas 2011 — Birth of a New Tradition

As the holidays approach, the giant Asian factories are kicking into high gear to provide Americans with monstrous piles of cheaply produced goods – merchandise that has been produced at the expense of American labor. This year will be different. This year Americans will give the gift of genuine concern for other Americans. There is no longer an excuse that, at gift giving time, nothing can be found that is produced by American hands. Yes there is!

It’s time to think outside the box, people. Who says a gift needs to fit in a box, wrapped in Chinese produced wrapping paper?  Think about these ideas instead:

• Everyone — yes EVERYONE gets their hair cut. How about gift certificates from your local American hair salon or barber?
• Gym membership? It’s appropriate for all ages who are thinking about some health improvement.
• Who wouldn’t appreciate getting their car detailed? Small, American owned detail shops and car washes would love to sell you a gift certificate or a book of gift certificates.
• Are you one of those extravagant givers who think nothing of plunking down the “Benjamin”s on a Chinese made flat-screen?
• Perhaps that grateful gift receiver would like his driveway sealed, or lawn mowed for the summer, or driveway plowed all winter, or games at the local golf course.
• There are a bazillion owner-run restaurants — all offering gift certificates. And, if your intended isn’t the fancy eatery sort, what about a half dozen breakfasts at the local breakfast joint.
• Remember, folks this isn’t about big National chains — this is about supporting your home town Americans with their financial lives on the line to keep their doors open.
• How many people couldn’t use an oil change for their car, truck or motorcycle, done at a shop run by the American working guy?
• Thinking about a heartfelt gift for mom? Mom would LOVE the services of a local cleaning lady for a day.
• My computer could use a tune-up, and I KNOW I can find some young guy who is struggling to get his repair business up and running.
• OK, you were looking for something more personal. Think about your local artists and crafts people . . . paintings, photography, sculptures, jewelry, pottery, hand made sweaters and scarves.
• Plan your holiday outings at local, owner operated restaurants and leave your server a nice tip.
• How about going out to see a play or ballet at your hometown theatre.
• Musicians need love too, so find a venue showcasing local bands.
• Honestly, people, do you REALLY need to buy another ten thousand Chinese lights for the house? When you buy a five dollar string of light, about fifty cents stays in the community.
• If you have those kinds of bucks to burn, leave the mailman, trash guy or babysitter a nice BIG tip.

You see, Christmas is no longer about draining American pockets so that China can build another glittering city. Christmas is now about caring about US, encouraging American small businesses to keep plugging away to follow their dreams. And, when we care about other Americans, we care about our communities, and the benefits come back to us in ways we couldn’t imagine. THIS is the new American Christmas tradition.

Naturally we are asked to forward it to everyone on our mailing lists. If you wish to cut and paste, and forward it, feel free.

Dad in his late twenties or early thirties

With Fathers’ Day fast approaching, I thought I’d take the time to record my impressions of my Dad.

William Henry Seward Leeds was born in 1891. He was named after his own father, who died in 1895. Thus, the “Jr.” was dropped at an early age. In 1928 he became the father of twin boys, and the oldest was given the “Jr’”. My brother would later have a son of his own; to this day, my nephew has a “III” following his name.

Prior to the birth of the twins, Dad became the father to two girls. That was in the early 1920′s. One of the girls was not his, but none of us ever knew it; he treated that girl just as he treated the rest of us – with love and compassion. It wasn’t until she turned 65 and applied for social security that we learned she had been unofficially adopted. Our only guess is the potential shame that might have been brought on the family was too great to make such a public announcement. Dad simply, and quietly, accepted a little girl as his own.

One other son was born in 1942, and I came along in 1944. If you were quick with your math, you guessed that Dad was 53 when I was born. That’s very close. I was born in August. Dad turned 53 later in the year.

Dad in the National Guard - 1918

During The Great War (which didn’t become known as World War I until sometime during World War II), Dad followed his patriotic heart and tried to enlist… in the army, the navy, the marines, and various Canadian outfits. They all turned him down. Somehow (perhaps to help a recruiter meet his quota?) Dad was inducted into the National Guard.

If you look closely at the above photos you’ll see that Dad wore glasses. I have a picture of Dad when he was in grade school; he was wearing glasses even then. Nineteen days after Dad’s induction, someone saw fit to give him an eye test. A few days later they gave him an honorary discharge.

This is all to say that when I was born, my father was an older man with very poor eyesight. If it hadn’t been for the twins, who were sixteen years older than me, (and in many ways filled the gap I felt) I might have resented Dad more than I did. Most of my friends had fathers who were much younger and most of them came outside and played games with us. As a young boy, it’s easy to ignore the fact that your father is working six days a week and doing all he can to keep a roof over your head and food in your belly.

Because of my late arrival, Dad had to continue working until he was almost seventy years old. He retired just as I was graduating from high school. I never thanked him for that; I certainly should have.

“When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much he had learned in seven years.” Mark Twain said those words, but they certainly fit the way I looked at my father.

Dad had dropped out of school after the 7th grade. As you recall, his father had died when he was four years old. His mother was doing her best to raise three children. Thus, Dad and his brother had to quit school and go to work as soon as they were able.

What I failed to realize was two-fold. First, a 7th grade education in the early twentieth century was more thorough in the basics than today’s high school graduates receive. Second, and more importantly, Dad never stopped studying. As poor as his eyesight was, he read everything he could get his hands on. When his eyesight failed him almost completely, he signed up for “Talking Books” and continued to read for most of his life.

My first rude awakening occurred when I returned home from my first semester in college. I had just missed making the “good” Dean’s list and was feeling rather smug. When Dad asked me what I had learned, I spouted off a few facts and found myself aghast when Dad started filling in the gaps of what I’d said. He knew far more about those subjects than I did. From then on, I had a much deeper respect for the “ignorant old man”.

When I graduated from college, Dad once again asked my what I had learned. My answer at that time was, “How little I know.”

Because of Dad’s lack of formal education, he always worked at jobs that were far below his capabilities, but he always worked. Throughout the Great Depression, Dad managed to keep working when many other men were standing in bread lines. Dad didn’t make a lot of money, but it was enough to take care of his wife and four children.

At one point, he even bought a bunch of baby chicks and raised them in a pen he built under the back porch of their home. He sold some and cooked some.

One of my memories from my teen years was the Strout Realty catalogs that were delivered to our house on a regular basis. Mom and Dad would study them from cover to cover. Their dream was to sell our house (as soon as I was out on my own) and buy a small farm where they could raise chickens. I guess their experience during the Great Depression convinced them they could handle such chores in their retirement years.

They almost made it.

Mom died during my senior year in college. And their dream died with her.

Dad lived another eight years. I think he was proud of his children. By then, we were all married and had families of our own. In fact, Dad had about sixteen grandchildren and a few great-grandchildren by the time he passed in 1974.

In the intervening years, Dad meant a lot to me. I could always go to him for advice… but he never said a word unless he was asked. That’s something all parents can learn from. He knew when we turned eighteen, his job was basically done. From that point on, it was up to us.

I mentioned earlier that I resented my father not being able to play with me when I was young. That’s one of the main reasons I got married and had my children while I was young enough to do things with them. I know I’m far less than perfect in their eyes, but I hope they remember all the fun we had when they were young.

I was in the second grade the first time I lit up. A neighbor of mine, who was a year or so older, let me try one of his. He was in the third grade and already addicted.

I don’t recall if I inhaled; I do recall getting dizzy and nauseated. You’d think that would’ve been enough, but in the 1950′s it seemed that most adults smoked… including my older brothers and brothers-in-law, so trying again didn’t seem all that stupid. I don’t remember my sisters smoking and I never saw my parents smoke, although I was told that Dad had quit some time before I was born.

Between the second grade and high school, my friends and I experimented from time to time. Once we bought a package of Bull Durham. For five cents, we got a bag of tobacco and twenty cigarette papers. We clumsily managed to roll one or two cigarettes apiece, but most of the tobacco and papers went to waste. Again, I don’t recall whether I inhaled or not, but I do recall the dizziness and nausea.

Another time. my friend who had supplied that first smoke in the second grade, built his own water-cooled Turkish pipe. We smoked corn husks and got more than nauseated. We never tried that again.

Unlike many who have sued the tobacco companies, I don’t blame the advertisements as much as I blame peer pressure and my role models.

My mother was adamantly opposed to smoking, yet she tolerated the members of the family and their friends who smoked in our house. In fact, I remember the Metropolitan Insurance agent who stopped by weekly to collect the premiums (ten cents per week for each of my brothers and I). He was always smoking a smelly cigar and nobody thought anything about it. Mom simply made sure there was an ashtray nearby.

As a member of the Key Club (junior Kiwanis) in high school, I attended a few conventions out of town. As soon as we got to wherever the convention was, my buddies and I would buy cigarettes or cigars. I vaguely remember a brand called Trends, which were shaped like cigarettes, but stronger – like cigars. By this time, I was inhaling and sometimes getting dizzy, but no longer nauseated.

For the younger people reading this, back in the 1950′s there were all sorts of rumors about the health hazards of smoking. First and foremost was that smoking would stunt our growth. More importantly, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that smoking caused cancer. This had not yet been scientifically proven, but we called them “cancer sticks” or “coffin nails.”

The standard line of many smokers was “It will take me twenty years to get cancer; by then they’ll have a cure.”

Well, that was sixty years ago, and the cure for all cancers has still not been found.

In college, I smoked from time to time – when I could find a heavy smoker willing to share, or (rarely) when I had enough extra cash to buy my own. Cigarettes had increased in price since my second grade experience (when a pack would cost seventeen cents). At $.35 per pack (the price of a hamburger and coke), I didn’t waste the cash on such luxuries.

After graduating from college I got a real job and started earning more money than I’d ever had in my life. When I should have been old enough to know better, I became a regular smoker.

By the time I quit for good (the first time) I was in my forties and smoking three packs a day. I had quit many times prior to that, but the longest I ever lasted was a few months or so. But this time I was off for five or six years!

But you know it didn’t last. One evening I was sitting talking with a group of smokers and bummed one from one of my friends. The “one” soon turned into two, three, and so on. The next day I felt obligated to pay the guys back, so I bought my own pack and shared. The following day, I bought a carton and was soon back to my three-pack-a-day habit.

It took me another ten years or so to recognize that I absolutely had to quit for good. This time I knew I could not ever even have “just one”. At the beginning of October, 1998, I threw my remaining cigarettes away and began my smoke-free life. I have not so much as touched one since then.

And the sad part? I still crave cigarettes. When I smell the smoke of someone else, it still smells good to me. My addiction is obviously more than physical.

I’ve told my bride that if I ever come home with a carton of cigarettes, it means I’ve been to the doctor and told I have a terminal illness and very little time left.

Sad, isn’t it. But that’s what smoking can do to a person.

If you’ve never smoked, keep it that way. If you currently smoke, recognize all the reasons why you should quit – cost, health, whatever. Try to convince yourself that you’ll be better off without cigarettes. Don’t quit for anyone else but you. That’s the only way it will work.

I quit cold-turkey, but if you need the patch or gum, do whatever it takes. The longer you smoke, the harder it is to quit. And when you quit, always remember how difficult those first few days are. You won’t want to repeat them. That will help you to stay “quit”.

End of sermon!

That song is from a show called “South Pacific”. It was a Broadway Play in 1949 and later made into a movie. Besides being a wonderful show filled with great music, South Pacific was one of the first dramas to address the questions of race and discrimination. Another song, “You’ve Got to be Carefully Taught” dealt with the fact that we are not born as racists, we must be taught to hate for no good reason.

I trust that your parents have not taught you to hate people simply because they are different. I’m sure you’ve been taught to judge people based on their character, and nothing more.

In the meantime, have you been taught the importance of having a dream? I failed to have a dream when I was young, and I’m afraid I may have discouraged your parents from having dreams. If nothing more, I failed to encourage them to sit down and give ample thought to what they hoped to get out of their lives.

As a child, I went through the typical dreams of the time – to become a star professional athlete, a fighter pilot, a fireman, and so on. But it wasn’t until I was nearing the end of my high school education that I gave it any serious thought. In truth, I gave little serious thought to anything at that time. That is why my grade average was a dismal “C”. I had the ability to do much better, but I had no reason to try. That’s what a serious dream would’ve given me.

Late in my senior year I decided that I would follow the foot steps of my older brothers. I would join the military (to avoid being drafted), serve out my required time, and then get a job driving a tractor-trailer across America. All three of my brothers had served and seen parts of the world I could only dream about – see! We can dream about lots of things! The two oldest brothers were local delivery truck drivers. I wanted to go beyond that and use the job to see the rest of our country.

Fortunately, one of my older brothers saw more promise for me than I did and convinced me to think about other options. At the time, I had started going back to church and was very impressed by our minister – John Latta. In talking with him, I decided I wanted to be a minister too. He sent me to talk to a younger minister at a church in downtown Pittsburgh. That’s when I learned that I could not enter the Presbyterian Seminary unless I had a Bachelor’s degree from a college.

I was a few weeks away from graduating high school and hadn’t even bothered to take a college entrance exam.

I went and spoke to the Principal of Langley High School – Harry D. Book – and asked his advice. That was the beginning of the whirlwind. Mr. Book recommended I apply to Edinboro State Teachers College and arranged for me to take the SAT in late June. He also wrote a glowing letter of recommendation to the admission office in Edinboro.

I scored surprisingly high marks on the SAT and received my letter of acceptance in early August. Classes began a week after Labor Day and I was on my way to becoming a member of the clergy.

The same brother who suggested I give serious thought to my future paid for my basic education for the first year. That amounted to about $1,000. Too bad those prices are a thing of the past.

For spending money, I got two campus jobs. I worked in the cafeteria and the Student Union. My pay was $0.75 per hour. Now do you understand inflation?

That first semester, I hit the books hard every night and finished with a 2.7 grade point average. That was almost a “B”! Unfortunately, by the time the semester came to an end, my “dream” of becoming a minister had faded. It was still there, but not as strong.

From that point on, I stayed in school for only one main reason – to NOT disappoint my family. I was the first of my siblings (also the youngest and last chance) to attend college and I had to graduate. In 1966, I did graduate… with a “C” average.

I still didn’t have a dream. I still had no idea what I wanted to do when I grew up.

I managed to get a job teaching emotionally disturbed children in a mental hospital. A year later, I was teaching emotionally disturbed children at an inner-city high school.

Through a series of lucky breaks, I then landed a job with IBM. I held that job until I retired. I made a good salary and provided a good home life for my family… from a financial standpoint. As I mentioned earlier, I think I failed my children in a number of ways… especially when it came to developing a realistic dream.

When I look back on my own life, there were many wonderful experiences and I did manage to accomplish at least one of my dreams. I’ve traveled all across our country and seen all fifty states. I didn’t get to drive the big truck, but I did travel over many of the same roads.

But what about the other aspects of my dreams? I never became a professional athlete, a fighter pilot, or a fireman. While I have been involved in the Stephen Ministry and have done extensive work with the homeless and needy, I never attended a seminary and was never ordained.

What I have done is pile up a number of doubts and questions. What could I have achieved if I had really applied myself and worked harder in school? What would have happened if I had entered the military after college (I had given that some thought when I had trouble finding a job) and made a career out of it? Could I have retired as a General? What if I had stayed in the field of education? Could I have become a college professor?

What if I had held off getting married and traveled the world when it was much safer and cheaper to do so? Would I have met a girl in Korea or Switzerland or Brazil, gotten married and spent my life in that country?

Obviously, none of these questions can be answered. I do know that beyond the questions and doubts I am happier now than ever. I have a wonderful wife, great children and step-children, and fantastic grandchildren.

It’s those grandchildren I’m thinking of as I write these words. I want each of them to sit down and think seriously beyond Justin Beiber, fire trucks, trains, and any of the other faddish things that can quickly grab the attention of today’s youth. I want each of them to realize that the jobs they are training for most likely don’t exist right now. Technology is changing everything.

So, we all (it’s not too late for me to develop a realistic dream!) need to think about the things that interest us the most – beyond Justin Beiber (can you tell I have a number of granddaughters?) – and begin studying subjects that fall into that general category. By all means, nail down the basics of reading, writing, and arithmetic. If you have those basic skills, you can learn anything.

Take the time to develop a dream you can hang on to for the rest of your life. Don’t let life just happen. Know what you want and make the effort to get it.

See! This grandpap can do more than tease!

I called this place "home" for 22 years.

I grew up with a group of guys in Pittsburgh. We were all within a couple of years of each other. Joey Geagin, Frank Sabash, Joey Stiger, Billy and Bobby Ault, Marvin Hess, Herb Gallagher, my brother Lewis, and me. A few of the guys lived on Hollywood Street; whenever we got involved in a  sporting contest with kids from another neighborhood, we called ourselves the Hollywood All-Stars. That sounded better than any name we could invent based on Stratmore or Steuben streets.

There were a couple of other guys who moved away while we were all fairly young – Donny Yarling and a kid whose first name escapes me… his last name was Vater; his father owned the local hardware store.

And then there were the two siblings that were never quite part of the gang. One was a girl. She was obviously ostracized until our teen years. By then, she no longer wanted anything to do with us.

Her brother, David, was another story. I’m not going to mention his last name, but the folks I named earlier will probably know who I’m talking about.

It’s my understanding that both of those children were adopted. I can’t say for sure. I just know David was approximately our age, but had a different attitude on life.

None of us were anything more than fair athletes… at best, but David was never interested in our games of softball, football, or basketball. He always wanted to do other things – ride bikes, go to the movies, or get into mischief.

The thing that sticks in my mind the most about David is that he always seemed to have money. Money was a scarce commodity in our neighborhood and David learned early on how to use money to his advantage. If we were playing basketball and he wanted us to do something different, he’d offer to treat us to ice cream or pop. That meant bringing our game to a halt and walking the six or seven blocks to the dairy store.

David stayed in his house a lot more than the rest of us. When he did come out, he usually had something novel to get our attention… or he came bearing gifts. Because he never wanted to do the same things the rest of us enjoyed, we soon grew to dislike him.

Depending on the mood of the group on any given day, we’d either let him buy us something or tease him unmercifully until he went home.

I can remember one time I told him directly that he could not buy our friendship. If he really wanted to be a part of the group, he needed to just join in. Nothing more and nothing less. That’s the last time he offered me anything.

I often wonder if he would’ve changed as he matured. Unfortunately, we’ll never know. When he was fourteen or fifteen, he stole a car, took a bunch of guys joy riding, and wrapped the car around a telephone pole. He was killed.

Fifty years later I still have no idea why he felt the need to buy his friends. Yet, as I look around, I see others who seem to have the same personality trait.

I’ve known people who spend lavishly on friends and relatives and find themselves deeply in debt. Yet they’ll borrow money from retirement accounts to maintain the image of a wealthy big spender. I can’t help questioning what they’ll live on when they can no longer work.

Some people might think my bride and I are poor or simply miserly. We drive old vehicles and live in a modest home. We eat most of our meals at home and don’t spend a ton of money on the latest fashions. But we do manage to take nice vacations and continue to put money in our nest egg so that when we finally do retire completely, we won’t have to move in with our children.

You can’t buy friendship. I’ve always figured that if a person doesn’t like me because of whatever, I’m not really going to change his or her mind by spending lots of money showering him or her with gifts.

That seems like such a simple concept. So why can’t our government understand?

Jimmy Carter believed he could bring peace to the Middle East by giving Egypt the same amount of foreign “aid” as Israel was receiving. Considering all the money the Middle East is receiving simply by selling us oil, why do any of those countries need “aid”?

How many trillions of tax payers’ dollars have been sent to governments across the globe? How many of those tax payers’ dollars have trickled down to the poor people in those countries? How many of those tax payers’ dollars have made foreign potentates ridiculously wealthy while they continue to blame all their problems on the Imperialistic Devils in America?

We send billions of tax payers’ dollars to Saudi Arabia and their schools teach their children to hate us.

You can’t buy friendship. If children can figure that out, why can’t our politicians?

The current congress, and President, claim they want to cut government spending. I don’t know how much of the budget is given away to foreign governments, but I’ll bet we could save a bundle by telling them we don’t need their friendship that badly.

And that is my rant for the day.

From time to time I like to do a self-evaluation. I think it is good for the soul. So, that’s what I’m doing today.

I once had a friend ask if there was anything I couldn’t do. He then listed a number of my accomplishments and made me feel better about myself than I had in years… maybe even decades! It was a wonderful compliment.

However, when I look at it through the lens of “Jack of all trades, BUT master of none”, I wonder where I really stand.

So, let’s take inventory.

I can sing. I’ve been singing ever since my parents paraded me out in front of our relatives and their friends and had me sing “Dear Hearts and Gentle People.” I have sung in church choirs, folk groups, a college choir, a fraternity trio known as “The Horny Toads”, the Tom Fallon Singers in Pittsburgh, and currently with the group called “Nostalgia” that entertains senior citizen groups.

I have never been offered a recording contract… and most likely will not. I’m too old to audition for “American Idol”, which is their loss, and probably wouldn’t get passed the initial auditions of “America’s Got Talent”. I’ll continue to sing in obscurity.

I can cook. I grew up with three brothers (our two sisters were married and had moved out while I was still an infant). All four of us boys were active outside the home and didn’t always make it home for dinner.

Mom made it clear that she was not running a cafeteria; if we were not there at dinner time, we’d have to fend for ourselves. While Dad was always there for Mom’s meals, he also liked to mess around in the kitchen. He served as a role model for his sons, and we were all fearless.

Over time, two of my brothers and myself evolved into the primary cooks in our homes. The other brother married an Italian woman who would not allow such foolishness.

I have cooked for people at homeless shelters, religious retreat weekends, pancake breakfasts, Irish dinners, and numerous other large groups. I cook the majority of meals at home.

I have never attended a culinary arts school and have never worked in a restaurant. I will never have my own show on the food channel and I will not run around the world sampling bizarre foods.

I’m a good cook, but will never be a master chef.

I can write. In high school I loved essay tests. I would write page after page about topics I knew nothing about, and the teachers would give me a decent grade rather than take the time to read it all and discover I was practicing for my B.S. degree.

I’ve written letters, essays, poems, limericks, novels, short stories, and newspaper and magazine articles. I was paid $100 by a magazine that went bust before my article was ever printed.

That is the bottom line of my writing career – $100 for something that was never read by the general public.

I’ll never be the next Mark Twain or Stephen King.

I can produce offspring. I have three sons and a daughter.

During their childhood, I tried to be a good father. I spent many hours with them in various sports, Indian Guides, and other activities. I attended open houses, school plays, band concerts, and other school sponsored events. I helped them move into dormitories and bailed them out financially. I loaned them money to buy cars and to make mortgage and rent payments. I attended weddings, and the births of grandchildren.

Our home today would appear to have children living here all the time. We have a room full of toys and children’s videos, a sand box, and a slide from the deck down to the sand box. We have a large wading pool set up during the summer months, and we have no children living here.

I like to think I was an above average father, but never expect to be nominated for father of the year. I’m sure my children see me more as Homer Simpson than Ward Cleaver.

So, there you have it. I’m sure there are other things I could list – work with wood to build furniture, build concrete walks and steps, screen in a porch, cut down trees and clear land for a house, finish a basement (wiring and all) and renovate a kitchen. But I would never qualify as a master builder or tradesman. I also built a free-standing two-car garage that is still standing after eleven years.

But I have to be totally honest.

I can’t dance.

One of the DVDs was full of tips on traveling. That DVD followed Rick on a trip through several European countries and covered numerous topics… from best times of year to travel to best budget priced hotels.

The one topic that really got our attention was “Packing for the Trip”. I don’t recall if that was the exact title, but that definitely was the subject matter. The statement made by Rick that stuck in my mind was, “No one ever says he wished he would’ve taken more stuff with him.” Again, I may be paraphrasing, but the point is the same.

We’ve all taken trips and crammed our suitcases with stuff we never used. Those extra jeans or shirts; the books we thought we’d read while basking in the sun, or… you name it. (I’ve even been known to take pots and pans… just in case the rental cottage didn’t have what I thought I’d need. Of course, I wasn’t flying on that trip… unless the radar unit on the police car said otherwise.)

Lu and I took that message to heart. I bought a back pack that was larger than most, but within the limits of carry-on luggage. Lu used a suitcase on wheels that was also within the airlines’ limits.

The bulk of our luggage.

I have to be honest. When I was watching the video I was convinced that Rick Steves’ filming crew was carrying the rest of his luggage. That is until he set the back pack on a bed, opened it up, and showed us everything but his dirty laundry.

He had one extra pair of pants, four shirts, underwear, and socks. He also had one or two tour books, some maps, and some pages he’d torn out of various books and magazines.  He had a minimum amount of toiletries and made another key point – Every country has stores where you can buy anything you need. Furthermore (and we have found this to be true) wandering through a store with shelves loaded with products labeled in a language you cannot read is an adventure in itself! If food products didn’t include pictures on the labels, we would’ve been at a total loss.

Another key point – Other countries do have laundromats; many times they can be found in the hotel in which you are staying.

Several years ago we took a two-week trip to Hawaii and stayed in condos. Our friends at Love to Travel advised us to pack light and take advantage of the laundry facilities that would be found right in the units themselves.

We listened, but failed to heed the advice. Fortunately, we over-packed with lightweight articles. But when we found ourselves doing one or two loads of laundry… while sitting on the lanai sipping our adult beverages, we realized that we’d brought twice as much as we needed.

So, how did we make out on this trip?

I took a total of three pairs of pants. (I wore one of them on the plane,) I took a total of five shirts… again wearing one on the plane. I took the shoes I was wearing, underwear and socks for the duration, maps and guide books, and toiletries. Because we had to pass through TSA security, my toothpaste and shampoo were the small travel sized containers. I figured I probably didn’t need the shampoo, but I needed to be extravagant somewhere along the line.

I also carried a computer case. In it, I carried our digital cameras, an electric currency-converter plug thingy, our airline tickets and other travel documents, and our notebook computer.

Lu carried about the same number of interchangeable garments, her knitting stuff, and various and sundry other small items.

As for the fact that I wore the same shirts and pants multiple times, not one person came up to me and commented that they had noticed. I guess they were more interested in looking at other things.

There was one other item we took with us… a collapsible duffel bag we’d bought on a Holland America cruise some years back. It folds and zips up to the size of a hard-back book. When we were finally ready to head home, we packed that bag with all our dirty clothes and used the space in our other bags to carry the souvenirs we’d bought. We then checked the bag of dirty clothes. If the airline lost that bag, it wouldn’t have broken our hearts.

So that’s that. We tried it Rick Steves’ way and will never go back to our old ways. It really works!

Considering the number of folks who were on our river cruise without their luggage (that the airlines had lost), we’re convinced that carry-on (which forces you to travel light) is the only way to go.

By the way, I know there were several people who only had the clothes they wore on their flights to Germany, but I never noticed who was wearing the same outfit day after day. I guess they weren’t checking out our clothes either.

In truth, both answers are incorrect. Bell did invent a telephone, but not the telephone. Fifteen years before Bell’s version proved to be a marketable success, a fellow named Johann Philipp Reis, invented the first operating telephone in Germany.

Ask an American who invented the car and many folks would say, “Somebody named Ford – I think his first name was Henry.”

That answer would also be very wrong. Henry Ford was a pioneer in the auto industry, but his claim to fame was making the assembly line process work.

The first cars were invented in Germany in 1885 by Karl Benz and Gottlieb Daimler.

The list of German inventions goes on and on. Starting in 1440, when Johannes Gutenberg invented the first movable type and revolutionized the printing industry, German ingenuity has been instrumental in the technological advancements of mankind.

The gramaphone, microphone, diesel engine, X-rays, glider, cathode-ray tube, aspirin, fluorescent lamp, decaffeination process, athletic shoe, pregnancy test, and electron microscope were all invented in Germany prior to 1931.

And then, Adolf Hitler and the Nazi’s took over. After that, there was tremendous research and development in aircraft and rocket science… all for evil purposes. And the German leadership dropped significantly.

A large part of that drop off was a result of Russia and the United States capturing the brightest minds and putting them to work on their own projects. Wernher von Braun was tremendously instrumental in the development of the U.S. space program which resulted in men walking on the moon.

Since World War II, the only significant inventions to come out of Germany are the Wankel rotary engines (used in Mazdas) and the MP3 technology.

There may be other inventions of note and I welcome the input of anyone more knowledgeable than myself.

My point is that Adolf Hitler and the Nazis harmed Germany in ways that go far beyond the Holocaust and other atrocities that brought shame to the German people. Hitler’s thirst for power set Germany back a hundred years… or more.

Today, Germany is one of the strongest nations in Europe. They are a leader in economics and a key political leader among the NATO countries. They could have been so much more.

My bride and I were extremely impressed by the people and places we visited during our recent trip. It is hard to imagine what German cities looked like after the war; most have been rebuilt to reflect their pre-war glory.

Recall that their nation was split in two following the war. But in the last decade of so, the Berlin Wall has been torn down and the two Germany nations are once again a single nation.

There is no doubt in my mind that, had Hitler never come into power, and the German people simply continued to advance through peaceful means, they would most likely be the most powerful nation on earth today.

By the way, here’s something I learned while playing a trivia contest on the Delta flight to Europe. The English language was adopted by our Founding Fathers as the “official” language of the United States… by one vote. Second place? German.

Many of the original settlers in our country were of German descent. They were instrumental in building our country. Surely they could have done the same back home.

I recall buying my ticket in a vending machine. Then I walked down steps to the train platform. There were no turnstiles, just steps. I boarded the train and, several stops later, I got off. I walked up the steps to the street and continued on my way.

Thus, the “Honor System” has been in use for many years in Vienna.

This same system was in use in Munich, and is probably available in many transportation systems throughout Europe.

As I continue to search my memories, I’m pretty sure it was true in Paris. We bought passes that were good for a specified period of time. When riding a bus, we simply showed the passes to the driver. When riding the Metro, we simply got on and off without much ado.

Paris Metro

In London – the foreign  city where I’ve spent the most time – my mind is foggy. For one thing, during my ten-week stay, most of my traveling was on shank’s mare.  When we did ride the public transit, it was for a specific purpose with a specific destination.

The London Tube - Mind the Gap!

On further reflection, on one of our trips to London we did buy a multiple-day pass. So, they must also have the honor system.

One-way and round-trip tickets could be purchased in every one of the cities I’ve named. But the real bargains were with the multiple day passes.

In Munich, we purchased the City Tour Card. It was good for three days travel for up to five people. It also provided discounts at many of the tourist attractions. The cost was forty-eight Euros.

Munich S-Bahn station

On the surface, that sounds expensive. That’s approximately $65. However, to put it in perspective, it cost eight Euros to get from the airport to the main train station in Munich. So, for my bride and I, that would have been thirty-two Euros for the round trip. Then, every time we rode public transit within Munich, it would have cost each of us another two and a half Euros.

We knew in advance that we would be taking one round trip on a tram. That would have been ten Euros added to the thirty-two to get back and forth from the airport. Figuring we would take additional rides just to get a “lay of the land”, the forty-eight Euros was a bargain. It would’ve been an even bigger bargain had our friends been able to join us.

By the way, those people in Atlanta who think the MARTA fare is too high should be happy; $3.50 per ride is almost double what they are currently paying.

If it wasn’t for tax dollar subsidies, MARTA would be out of business unless they raised their fares dramatically. I have no idea if the Munich and Vienna transit systems would operate in the red without tax payers’ support. I do, however, believe that they save a lot of money using the honor system.

For one thing, they have no turnstiles to install and maintain. Next, they don’t have to fuss with tokens. And the operators of the various means of transportation don’t have to deal with selling or collecting tickets.

Tickets are purchased from vending machines or small shops close to the stations. In Munich, we used a vending machine at the airport. In Vienna, we bought our tickets in a small tobacco shop.

Perhaps one of the biggest advantages is also their biggest selling point. Getting on and off a bus, tram, or train is much faster when no one is trying to pay. With no turnstiles, it is much faster to pass through a transit station.

All of these advantages encourage people to use public transit. That’s something MARTA definitely needs to do.

I have ridden MARTA from North Springs to the airport during the morning rush hour and have had no problem finding a seat. By the time the train is nearing downtown Atlanta, there may be a few people standing, but very few. People don’t ride the trains; they’d rather sit in traffic.

That brings another thought to mind. I don’t recall seeing a single parking lot in downtown Munich… nor in downtown Vienna. The only parking was on the street, and most of those spaces were taken.

In Atlanta, there are too many reasonably priced parking lots. If the City Council really wants to make MARTA a success, they need to place heavy taxes on those parking lots and discourage people from driving into downtown.

Combine that move with installing the honor system, and they can expand MARTA and quit using tax dollars to keep it afloat.

By the way, there is one major factor that helps insure the honor system works.

Security personnel spend their days getting on and off transit vehicles. Their sole purpose in life is to ensure that all riders have valid tickets. Being caught on a tram, bus, or train in Munich without the proper ticket results in a forty Euro (about $55.00) fine.

In all four of the cities I’ve mentioned, their mass transit systems are far superior to most I’ve seen in the states. The only one that comes close is New York City. It’s been a few years since I’ve been to the Big Apple, but as I recall, the cleanliness of their trains left quite a bit to be desired.

So, in summary, I think that, next to the real German and Austrian food, the most important European item that we should import is the honor system for our public transportation.

I invite your thoughts.

Nothing like a good meter-wurst!

Before I go any further, does anyone know of a good German butcher shop anywhere near Atlanta, Georgia?

In truth, there are lots of things as good, and better, than a good meter-wurst. We discovered that throughout our travels in Germany and Austria.

Our first day in Munich found us dining at a small cafe in the VictualMarkt. I’ve always loved old fashioned market places and Munich’s is better than any I’d seen before.

The first shop we saw was a butcher chop and its front window looked similar to the photo at this flickr website. Next door to that shop was another butcher shop with a similar display. Next came, you guessed it!, another butcher shop. There were three or four before the cheese shops started. Later we saw side-by-side seafood shops, pastry shops, and produce shops. All the food items displayed looked marvelously delicious. It would’ve been easy to spend hours just grazing.

By the way, there was also a soup shop or two. It made me think of the soup Nazi on the Jerry Seinfeld Show.

Instead of buying something and standing at an outdoor table (which many folks were doing), we opted for the cafe that would allow us to sit in a warm place and enjoy being served by a waiter who spoke very little English.

The name of the cafe is the Lowenbraun Pub and I highly recommend it. We each ordered a “sampler” platter. Lu’s was various cuts of meat cooked in different ways. It included schnitzel (with breading) and similar cuts (sliced very thin) cooked without the breading. Mine was a collection of wursts.

Mine came with sauerkraut and potato salad. Lu’s had vegetables and potato dumplings. All the meats were tender and delicious. As is often the case, I was very disappointed when I found myself stuffed to the gills and unable to even think about dessert.

Of course part of our problem was the basket of pretzels and bread that was on the table even before we sat down.

Over the years, Lu and I have had numerous soft pretzels, but these were the best we’d ever tasted. (This statement holds true even after we had a humongous pretzel at the HaufBrau Haus and numerous soft pretzels at other stops along the way.)

Fortunately, I remembered the words of Rick Steves.  The bread basket is part of the honor system. It was up to us to let the waiter know how many items we consumed so the cost could be added to our bill.

The next day found us “doing lunch” at the HaufBrau Haus.

Appetizers at the HaufBrau Haus.

I have to be honest and tell you that Lu and I did not eat all of this pretzel. To imagine the size of it, think of taking two French baguettes sitting end to end. Then tie them into the shape of a pretzel.

To us, the secret that made the German soft pretzels so good was that the dough itself tasted salty. In the US, it seems the salt is only sprinkled on the outside of the finished product.

For my main course at the HaufBrau Haus, I had the crisp roast knuckle of pork (it was the “bee’s knees”; no! Make that the pig’s knee.) It was delicious.

Lu had the roast pork with crackling. They cook it in such a way that the fat on the outside gets very crispy, yet the meat remains juicy and tender. It was also delicious and much better than any roast pork I’ve ever had.

Later in the trip, I dined on pork neck and various cold cuts like I’ve never seen outside of Europe. And I’m left wondering…

Where can I find a good German butcher shop anywhere near Atlanta, Georgia?