THE DANCE, THE BAND, THE GIRL

The junior high gym lights went out as the band teacher's voice came over the P. A. " And now, ladies and gentlemen, for your dancing enjoyment, we give you the music of Steve Brundy and the Dixicats!" A baby blue spotlight caught the bell of my Olds Ambassador trumpet as I played the first notes of Do You Know What It Means To Miss New Orleans? Slowly the circle of blue light enlarged to pick up the rest of the band.


Our drummer was Terry Coker, the toughest kid in town, who found more satisfaction in beating on his drums than on other kids. Bob Steele played clarinet. A real life cowboy, he was born on a cattle drive from Flagstaff to Williams, Arizona. Howard Clark was probably the brain of the group, an honor roll student who played on of the hottest slip horns I've ever heard. Jim Thornton played classical piano, or did until I convinced him to join our group. We were a diverse group, brought together by a common love--music.


I was the leader, mainly because the band was my idea and I put together the schedules. I conned the principal into giving us credit for the time we spent practicing, and got the key to the band room from the band teacher so we could rehearse before classes started in the morning.



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After the set ended, I was at the refreshment table, enjoying the praise of the band teacher and feeling comfortable for once at being around the principal. I was enjoying a glass of lemonade and feeling like the night couldn't possibly get any better, when it did.

" Hi Steve, " the voice said. I turned around and saw that it was Judy Ruckman, I had the same study hall she did, and although I couldn't say anything I had had a crush on her since the first day of school. " I really enjoyed your band and I think you are a really good trumpet player." She was to me at that time the most stunning thing I had ever seen. She was dressed in black, and as she spoke to me, it was as if I was transformed from a boy into a man. Thanking her, I asked if she would care for some lemonade, but she said she would rather dance.

As we moved onto the dance floor, the regular band started to play a Glen Miller medley, starting with MOONLIGHT SERENADE. That is the last song I remember from that night, even though we danced every dance for the next two hours. Her hair was brown, close cut, and soft against my cheek. She had a way of smiling that caused very pleasant sensations to course through my fifteen year old body. Although we had never before danced together, we moved in perfect unison. She was only five feet tall, but as I held her close during the slow dances, it seemed to me that God had designed her body to fit with mine.

She was a great conversationalist, knowing just the right questions to ask to bring out my youthful pride. I couldn't help feeling that I was the handsome prince, the Junior high dance was the masked ball, and Judy was my Cinderella. As the last dance of the evening was played, I asked Judy if I could walk her to her car. As we walked slowly away from the school, toward the parking lot, we found an area of the sidewalk that was shielded from view by several large shade trees. Quickly our arms were around each other, and our lips met in a kiss, a kiss that was tentative yet filled with passion and promise.

The Dixicats went to the state music festival that year, placed first in our division, and got the only trophy I ever remember winning. That was the end of Junior high, and over the summer the band broke up , as most bands do. Jim, the piano player, moved away and I never heard from him again.

With high school came different interests. Terry became the school's leading full-back. Bob Steele started making money ranching and rodeoing. Howard's spare time had to be devoted to studying to maintain his 4.0 gpa. Since we all stayed in band, we saw each other at practices---lots of practices! We practiced for marching band, Stage band, dance band, and concert band, but somehow, even with all that, it was never the same.

We saw each other at our high school reunion a few years ago. Terry Coker, the would be tough guy, became a deputy sheriff in southwest Colorado. Howard the brain went on to medical school and is a doctor on a Navajo reservation. Bob Steele, my buddy was killed when he got caught under a bull at a rodeo.

As for Judy, she and I started dating after the dance and never stopped, even after she became my wife two years after we graduated. Like any young married couple we had good times and bad times--- times when we lived on popcorn and grilled cheese, and times we ate steak and lobster. But no matter what we had or didn't have the friendship and the love was always there, right up to the horrible day we came home from shopping and she said she was going to go lay down. I heard a noise in the bedroom and when she didn't answer I rushed into the room to find my wife, dead on the floor. The doctors said that every blood vessel in her head burst at once and she was dead before she hit the floor.

Judy has been gone for many years, but when I think of her, I remember that night-- the joy, the music, the love----and I smile.

SORRY

SORRY, I HAVEN'T POSTED LATELY BUT I AM SICK WITH PNEUMONIA, BEEN TO HOSPITAL TWICE, AND NO RELIEF, WILL WRITE MORE WHEN I FEEL BETTER

MOM"S GIFTS

Several members of my family have experienced occurrences of psychic phenomena over the years, so frequently in fact that we call them " gifts" . My mom Louise Brundy probably had more gifts than any other member of our family, gifts ranging from precognition to the ability to choose her own place to die.



We were on a vacation and travelling through the mountains of western Colorado near Red Mountain Pass. As we stood there gazing at the beautiful scenery she told us, " you know if I could choose any place to die this would be the place I'd choose.





Less than a year later Mom was killed in a traffic accident less than 300 yards from where she had spoken those prophetic words. But mom's gifts continued even after her death. In the aftermath of the accident that took her life, several volunteers helped pick up the litter left by the truck overturning.



Later that night at an uncle's house, one of the volunteers laid a small brown suitcase on the bed. My dad said " thanks for all your help, but this is one thing you needn't have bothered with. There's nothing of any importance in it." At that point the suitcase flew off the bed as if it had been thrown, it smashed against the wall and fell open. At this point my dad's wedding band fell out of the suitcase, and rolled across the floor to his feet. For all of us who knew Mom , this was absolute proof of her undying love.

FULFILLING DREAMS... PART THREE

THE DREAM FISH

Many of you readers may already have seen the picture of the dream fish. It appeared on the front page of this paper several months ago, but no article of mine about dreams would be complete without mentioning it.
I love fishing, while I have yet to become addicted to ice fishing, I still love open water fishing.
I waited 57 years for my first wall fish. I have caught Northerns, Trout, and enough crappies to fill my frying pan several times over.
Last June 14th I decided I had to get out of the house, and I drove over to Mille Lacs lake. The weather that afternoon was iffy at best, with high winds blowing up some fairly big waves. I went to Francis Resort in Isle, which is where I usually take the launch out of, only to find out that they weren't going out that night because of the weather. HECK, I had driven all that way, what to do now?
I decided to go over to the other side of the lake and indulge myself in another of my many vices, and visit Grand Casino Mille Lacs. As I drove up 169, I saw several launches along the shore and the urge to go out on the water got even stronger. I drove past the casino and went up to seguchee resort. I had gone out on the launch from there only once before and had had only fair luck but I thought I would give it a try. I went in and inquired and they said that they would be going out at eight o clock.
I had a couple of hours to kill so I went back down to the casino, and hit the blackjack tables. Lady Luck was with me and I won enough to pay for the launch trip, my gas for the trip over, and even pay for my dinner.
I reported back to the launch at 7:30 and we went out on the lake. I met a group of guys and in the course of our conversation a wager was made on who would catch the biggest fish. The weather got worse it rained and the wind blew so hard we had to fight six foot waves, but, if you wanna fish sometimes you just have to tough it out.
At exactly midnight Captain Dale said " reel em in boys we are headed back in ". Just as he spoke my bobber went down. I waited a slow ten count and then set the hook... the result of that strike can be seen on the wall of my apt. Thirty two and a half inches, eleven and a half pounds. A great walleye.
So you see folks some dreams come true, when they are finally fulfilled .... well, maybe that is what life is supposed to be about.

FULFILLING DREAMS... PART TWO

THE DREAM DATE

To understand why I call this the dream date you need to know a little more about me. I am very nostalgic, extremely sentimental, and even somewhat old fashioned. While I enjoy many types of music; classical, jazz, country and r and b, I will gladly admit that my favorite music is that of the big bands.
Glen Miller, the Dorsey brothers, Wayne King, Benny Goodman, music you can dance to, dream to .... but I digress.
My best friend Paul, was the late night janitor at the Prom Ballroom on University Avenue in Saint Paul. I used to go down and keep him company in the wee hours of the morning. It was on one of these visits that the idea for the dream date came about.
I picked up my lady about nine, and we went out for a very nice dinner at a now defunct steak house. A little after one I told her I had a surprise for her and then drove her to the Prom Ballroom, which had closed for the evening.
Paul let us in and then disappeared into the basement to continue his work. We entered the main ballroom to find that Paul had exceeded my expectations. The lights were dim, a bottle of wine was chilling, and best of all he had managed to hook my stereo into the public address system.
I went over and hit play, and once again the music of some of the big bands filled the Prom. We had the entire ballroom to ourselves and man did we make great use of it! We danced waltzes, foxtrots, and so many jitterbugs my feet still ache and if I stole a kiss or two oh well, they probably weren't the first kisses stolen there.
The Prom Ballroom is no longer there, the lady is long since married to someone else, and that night is but a memory, but I still remember the wonder of being the best dancers at the Prom.

FULFILLING YOUR DREAMS, PART ONE

We all have dreams, and if we are lucky enough, some of those dreams come true. Many of us wish for different things, a new car, a home of our own, and that most elusive of all dreams, true love. My editor, poor disillusioned man that he is, has a dream that I will at sometime in the future, get this column into him each week on time.... keep dreaming Pat.



Have you ever noticed that planning for and working on dreams makes them ever so much nicer when they come to reality? I have been fortunate enough to have several of my wishes or dreams fulfilled and I would like to share some of them with you now.



SATCH



When I was a youngster ( lo all those many years ago ) I thought that Louis Armstrong was the greatest horn player there was. I also played trumpet, and with all the brash enthusiasm of youth, dreamed of one day playing on stage with Satch.

My sister, Sylvia was living in San Francisco and I had the chance one summer, when I was about 14, to go visit her. Her boyfriend at the time was an inspector on the San Francisco Police Department and he was the one responsible for making a young boy's dream come true.

Louis was in town and was appearing at a club owned by another jazz great Kid Ory. One unforgettable night, Lor, my sister's boyfriend, arrived at her apartment at 2:00 a. m., woke me up, and told me to get dressed and to get my horn. He drove me over to Kid Ory's On The Levy, and with a quick flash of his badge we were inside. I still had no idea of what he had set up, but I was thrilled beyond words to be able to listen to and watch my idol in the relaxed setting of after hours.

Louis and the band played several songs and then came the biggest surprise of my young life. In his gravely voice he said " Folks there is a young man here tonight who I understands blows a mean horn, Steve, grab your horn and come on down here. How do you react to a dream come true? I sat speechless at first, wishing that he meant me, and being envious at whoever Steve was that he should be so lucky. Then Lor handed me my horn and gave me a shove towards the stage. Somehow I managed to get up on the stage and Satch said something to me. I wish I could tell you what he said but I was in a daze. Then he started playing and nothing else mattered. We played three songs together, the saints go marching in, birth of the blues, and do you know what it means to miss New Orleans.

I then walked back ( or should I say floated back ) to my table where I sat and listened to the world's greatest horn player until the sun came up and we all went home.

PIPE SMOKING AND THE FINE ART OF RELAXATION

In this age of health consciousness and anti-smoking campaigns, I stand proudly in the minority. I am a pipe smoker and have been since my teenage years. I grew up in a different era, one when smoking and pipe smoking in particular was glamorized. Who from that time doesn't remember the ad in which the pretty girl said " mmm...a pipe smoking man now he's for me " and the man said " Sir Walter Raleigh naturally "?

One of the reasons, perhaps the main reason I continue to be a pipe smoker is the degree to which my pipes help me to relax. There is something very calming about the ritual of lighting a pipe, which I will attempt to explain to those of you who aren't pipe smokers; first there is act of choosing the pipe that is right for the occasion-very few pipe smokers limit themselves to one or two pipes ( I have over sixty in my collection ) --- You need to decide if a bent or a straight pipe or perhaps a bulldog, maybe even a Cavendish is right for the moment. You must consider the material of the pipe, briar, meerschaum, or maybe even a simple clay pipe suits your mood. Just making this decision can take up to half an hour, during which you're mind is too occupied to have room for such mundane worries as work, bills, relationships, etc.

Next you have to choose the right tobacco, a bright, or perhaps a good burly, or a Virginia, maybe even a blend that has been soaked in bourbon or rum, or a fruit flavored tobacco. Again this procedure can take up to fifteen minutes, during which time you are to busy to worry.

Packing your pipe is another time consuming event, alternating between stuffing and tamping, making sure your tobacco can breathe, yet making sure it is not packed so tight that you get a hot fast burn. Packing your pipe is a great aid in concealing emotions, especially if you are angry or upset and trying not to show it.

For those readers who are under 18 or health conscious I recommend stopping at this point, you have already spent 45 minutes without worry. I told you pipe smoking was relaxing.

For those smokers over 18, the next step is lighting the pipe. After all the time spent in preparation this act is very relaxing. All you have to do is make sure you get a nice even light over the entire surface of the tobacco so you don't get an uneven burn in your favorite pipe. At last with your pipe lit, you sit back all set to relax and enjoy a great smoke when you discover your pipe has gone out and now you have to begin the entire process again.

So you see, if you smoke a pipe, you have no time to worry about anything.

SOME MEMORIES ON SCOUTING

I was a boy scout. I say this proudly and with the full realization that there are those who will make derogatory statements about scouts. I will let them make those statements,because one of the things you learn in scouting is that people have a right to their own opinions and beliefs even when they are different from yours.
The things I learned in scouting saved my life at least once and saved my house from burning down. I had taken the trash out and was getting ready to burn it ( yes, we use to be allowed to do that ) and, as I lit the trash my shirt caught on fire. Instinctively I started to run but my scout training took over and I fell to the ground rolling over and over extinguishing the flames. My favorite Hawaiian shirt ( after all it genuine imitation silk ) was destroyed but I received only minor burns and an admonition from my mom to be more careful next time.
Another time my dad was cooking and some grease splattered and started a fire, again what I had learned in scouting came to mind and I grabbed the baking soda and suffocated the flames with it.
One of my favorite memories of scouting involved a strange twist of fate. We were going to go for a week long camp out, and the scoutmaster said that he would give a hatchet and knife set to the best camper. During the week I guess I did several things right, I remember he was very impressed with my Spam and eggs I brought in a quart jar which I wrapped in my sleeping bag to keep from breaking.
The contest for best camper ended in a three way tie so each of us got a first aid kit. The hatchet and knife set was used for the next camp out. A week after winning the first aid kit I was in a very bad bike accident and my mom used my first aid kit to patch me up.
Yes, the things I learned in scouting have served me well, and I would not trade some of my experiences in scouting for anything.

Writer's Block

Anyone who writes frequently has at one time or another experienced writer's block. I am just now recovering from a case that made it necessary for me to take a hiatus from my column. Writer's block may take many forms, in my case I was unable to get the thoughts from my brain to the paper in any semblance of order.

Thanks to the inspiration and support of an old friend and new love, I find I am once again able to write. So once again I fill my favorite briar, sit back, and cogitate on nothing until the thoughts form and the words come. I hope you will enjoy the results.

What makes life worthwhile? The answers to that question are probably as numerous as there are people, for each person's perspective is somewhat different. To many people a job is what makes life worthwhile, the joy of getting up, going to work, and doing their job to the very best of their ability fills them with a satisfaction they find difficult to explain to people who feel differently.

For many what makes life worthwhile is the ability to gather material posessions, a new car, a nicer house, more and bigger things that add to the comfort and ease of life. I have no quarrel with people like this but I would like to remind them of the words of an old sage who said " he who dies with the most toys is still dead."

It is my belief that what makes life worthwhile to most people can be summed up in one word LOVE. Whether it be the love one feels for his job, his sport, or for another person, LOVE brings peace to the soul and a smile to the heart.

Many wars have been started and ended by love, and almost every life has been changed ( whether for better or worse ) by love.

My hope for my readers is that they will find something or somebody to love, and that each of your lives will be made more worthwhile by this discovery.

TAPS FOR THE CAPTAIN

On my last trip across Wyoming to attend my brother's wedding, I took a side road approximately five miles from the freeway to the site of fort Fred Steele. As I reached a point from which I could see the parade ground I realized that the house we had lived in was gone. By checking the local paper later I learned the the house had burned down the year before.
Fort Fred Steele was built to offer protection to the men who built the Union Pacific Railroad bridge across the North Platte River in central Wyoming. When I was fourteen years old my father purchased the officers quarters which consisted of sixteen rooms and several outbuildings. The house was two stories tall and faced the parade ground.
One of the most outstanding features of the house was the banister on the staircase, it was solid oak and four inches wide by five inches deep. Halfway up this banister was a deep gash, which local legends said was put there by the commanding officer slamming his saber into the wood upon learning that his son had been killed by hostile indians.
A short while after we got settled in to the house my mom told us that we were not the only inhabitants of the house. She said that as she was climbing the stairs she had a feeling that she was not alone, and that as she looked up the stairs to the landing she saw a figure of a cavalry officer in uniform. She said that rather than being frightened by this figure she felt totally safe and secure and that there was no need to be afraid. After discussing what she had seen we named this figure the Captain.
It was summertime when we moved and I relished not being in school. I passed my time fishing and reading, but there were always chores such as chopping wood and carrying in coal. Most of my spare time was spent practicing my trumpet. My room faced the parade ground and I often wondered what stories that area could tell if it could speak.
I was awakened early one morning by a sense of another presence in my room. It was the Captain and, as I looked at him I was overcome by a feeling of sadness, he seemed to almost be crying. As I watched him he crossed my room and laid his hand on my trumpet case. Without a word being spoken I knew what he wanted and I could not turn down his request. I got out of bed, picked up my horn, and facing the parade ground I blew taps. As the last note sounded the Captain smiled, came to attention, and saluted me. We never saw the Captain again.
A few years later we left Fort Steele and I didn't return for many years. When I finally returned I was saddened to see the old house was gone. As I looked across the parade ground the memories came back. Memories of a simpler time and particularly of a fathers love for his son.

DISCLAIMER

Some of what I am going to write in the future on this blog has already been published. I had a weekly column in the Hinckley ( MN ) News, I sold these articles on a one time basis thereby retaining full copyright rights.
I also wrote at that time the movie reviews... probably one of the best jobs I ever had. Can you imagine not only getting into all the movies free but getting paid for going WOW!
Some of the other articles appeared in Fate Magazine. My friend Les Stern was one of the editors there for a while and on his urging I began trying to sell some of my writing. Thanks Les!

The Town

Greeley Colorado in the 1950's was a mixture of Happy Days meets Mayberry. It was a town where an eleven year old boy could ride along with the Ennis Dairy Driver, all day long, and no one thought the driver was a pedophile.

I use to love riding with him, helping him carry the orders up to the door and finding the new orders stuck in the top of a glass ( yes glass ) milk bottle. My pay for helping him was free access to the choclate milk and ice cream treats. Boy, did I make sure I was well paid.

Greeley had 4 movie theatres at that time; the Chief, the Kiva, the Park, and the Sterling. A person could go to the movies at noon on Saturday and see a serial, the news, 6 color cartoons, and the main feature, plus the teasers all for only 25 cents. My dad often said it was worth the quarter just to get me out of his hair for a few hours.

Greeley also had two drive-in movies: the Greeley Drive In, and the Motorena, we called them passion pits, It took me a while to figure out why.

Some of the stores that lined eighth ave., which was the main drag were the La Famosa Tortilla Factory, the National Guard Armory, The Camfield Hotel, Weldorado Drugs, Salzman's Shoe Shop, Earl Steeles western store, and Shell Printers and Dance Studio. There were many other businesses in town but these are some of the ones that stand out in my memories. Some of the others were Kimball Music, Gambles, Glasses barber shop, ( owned by my best friends dad ) and one of the most memorable stores was Woody's Cigar Store.

To even begin to describe Woody's is a major undertaking. It was a combination of candy, tobacco, magazine and magic. It was a store that for an inquisitive young man had an endless supply of magazines such as: Stag, For Men Only, Male, etc. The first pipe I ever bought I bought at Woody's, a corn cob that cost me seventy five cents.

The main park in Greeley was called Glenmere. It had two lakes where I spent endless hours trying to catch ( and occasionally catching ) fish. It also had a stream where we caught many many crayfish. It also had walking paths and plenty of shade trees.

Greeley also had two five and ten cent stores. A Kress's and a Woolworths, there were two pool halls in town, the Elite, and the Stockman. Ace Parr had a war surplus store that also sold clothing and shoes. I worked there for a while, taking most of my pay out in merchandise.

Greeley was a town where a kid could leave on his bike at six in the morning, be gone all day, and no one would or needed to worry.

The one thing Greeley didn't have was liquor stores, the town was founded by a group of religious fanatics who forbade the selling of deamon rum within the city limits.