In the Rearview Mirror: A Perspective on a Selective Collective of Reflexive Reflectives and Recollectives, Sans Invectives

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AuthorHouse, Oct 12, 2011 - Biography & Autobiography - 112 pages
The hearts of the people depicted in this book are for the most part as pure and white as the drivcn snow. Well, most of the time anyway. There is little malice in their blunderland, you might say (but probably wouldnt). Take, for example, my friend Jack Weldons well-meaning but flawed odyssey when he guided much like Moses his innocent Lubbock High Schoo classmates on their senior trip to Sligo, Texas, a host town that turned out to be sort of a ghost town. The school board members, you see, had mandated that it be a day trip no longer than a certain number of miles from Lubbock because, in their wisdom, they reasoned that an overnighter would surely result in half the class returning home as mothers-to-be. So Jack simply took a compass with a pointy end that he placed on Lubbock, calibrated how far he could go with the circles outer extremity to conform to the school boards edict, and settled on Sligo. It turned out to be a disaster, despite Jacks having tried his best to avert such an outcome. But you nevertheless must admire him for trying. There are certain other anticdotes that came along in Lubbock and elsewhere that are described in somewhat sordid detail in this collection of newspaper columns that I hope will evoke a tear or two not in sadness but hopefully in joy as I delve into occasional supercilious silliness while exploring some of lifes foibles that have cropped up along the way. And as you, dear reader, travel lifes byways, please always be cognizant of my old Uncle Bens deeply thought-out truism which is, to wit, that it takes a mighty big dog to weigh a ton. -- Jerry W. Slats Jackson
 

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Contents

Im here to tell that I didnt spell well
1
Tis the season for memories from a West Texas childhood
3
Tar chewers unite in defense of youthful habit
5
Dadand Tootswould find this a happy ending
7
Back to Lubbock for our 45th reunion was a good jaunt
9
Road pals burned the road Mom burned the sheets
11
Change is inevitable but memories will always remain
13
Family tradition calls for zany wacky behavior
15
All is just ducky in Palestine even on stage
53
Debate hums along about whether bird has tongue
55
Streetwise    and fancyfree
57
Mobilizing for the mobiles
59
Its safety firstand lastwith this Grey Eagle
61
Its a town haunted by ghosts
64
Save petrol tyres take the tube
65
Oh what is so rare as a fondue in Heidelberg?
67

Taking a traipse down Memory Lane
17
Organizer agonized over finding senior trip site
19
Texas place names pose plentiful punster potential
21
Behind all that darkness could a sunrise be lurking?
23
Memories turn to dear old Dad
25
Math problems increase use of orange Nehi
27
Dust bowl you say? Sand bowl tells it better
28
West Texas sandstorms come in colors too
30
Theres irritation without irrigation
32
Yes indeed Mr Disney this IS a small world
34
Now thats a whole lot of sinning going on
35
In Old West anthology trails lead both ways
37
When selling cars honesty isnt the best policy
39
Truth in advertising shouldnt run to car ads
41
Texans have a great deal to be immodest about
45
Integrity neednt be outmoded
47
Covrt hovses in Atlanta svffer from typos
49
Preacher purveys plethora of precepts in Pooh parables
51
Its a whole other world
70
The aspens are quaking at Potato Patch
72
Some reflections on Buckey    and   
74
Unreal estate defines it nicely
76
Writers gramp is proud as punch of Fiona
77
Surprise party honors 755 years
79
Surprise party honors 755 years contd
80
Her nightmares origin became painfully clear
82
Trying to comprende misplaced as and os
84
O or a male or female I was kidding
86
Now if you see me with a purse Ill explain
88
POP along the Row I wonder who what youll find
90
Composer Choplin peppers Prescott with charm
92
Reunion trip shows what a small world we live in
94
Thoughts on Texas secession and a doleful Dalmatian
96
A heartfelt farewell to dear ol Nick Doris
98
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About the author (2011)

our old hometown hangs heavy in many of my ramblings in this book. It was home to me from the time I “discovered America” back in 1932 until I was induced into Uncle Sam’s Army after graduating from Texas Tech in 1955. Incidentally, those two years in the military were enjoyable ones. We had just quit shooting in Korea and hadn’t resumed the practice until Vietnam. I lucked out by landing at Fort Ord, Calif., for basic training. Nice spot for that duty, just a stone’s throw from such exotic places as Pebble Beach and Cannery Row. (Actually, I wasn’t much of a gung ho soldier. I was lousy on the firing range, where “Maggie’s drawers” – a euphemism for that white flag that another soldier waved when one’s bullet missed not only the bull’s-eye but the entire target – was commonplace in my case. But what you must understand is that the only other gun I had fired previously was a weapon of minimal destruction – a Red Ryder BB gun – so what could you expect?) So they figured that I was a good candidate for clerk-typist school and sent me, following boot camp, to 5th Army Headquarters in Chicago at 51st and Hyde Park streets – hard by Lake Michigan – where I typed up reenlistment assignments to my heart’s content before talking up to my CWO boss that I really, really would like to do my typing in Germany. So he had this friend, CWO Emerick, with the 8th Infantry Division Headquarters at Fort Carson in Colorado Springs, who he said would soon be “gyroscoping to Germany” (that would make a great song title, eh?) and he prevailed on him to take me in. So I spent that summer of ’56 (a good season to be there) at Carson before switching places with the division in Germany, my promised land that was full of joy and contentment.

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