Growing up, i enjoyed the Looney Tunes cartoons prior to the oater Saturday matinee at the Capitol and Princess Theaters in Lebanon.

i enjoyed the feature with the white hatted good guys triumphing by fighting fair against the black hat bad guys who cheated and shot people in the back. i enjoyed Lash Larue, Rocket Man, and Buck Jones escaping from yet another death peril in the short serials preceding the main event only to face another sure fatal ending until the next Saturday.

i thought the quarter for my ticket, the dime for my popcorn, and the nickel for my coke (did i reverse the prices?) were well worth those serials and Roy and Gene, Bob (Steele), and The Three Mesquiteers.

But ahh, the Looney Tunes cartoon: i laughed and laughed and laughed, sometimes so hard i snorted my coke and popcorn.

Then came that magical moment when, several years after 1954 when we acquired our own television, the prominent thirteen-inch console job that sat in the corner of the living room thus becoming the center focus of all things living room, they would occasionally run a Looney Tunes cartoon on the “small” screen.

The only adult who laughed as hard as my sister, brother, and myself was my father. He loved Daffy, Sylvester, Bugs, Porky, Foghorn Leghorn, Elmer Fudd, Pepé Le Pew,  and especially the Road Runner and Wiley Coyote and the Tasmanian Devil (“Why for you bury me in de cold, cold, ground?” remains one of my watchwords).

In my father’s later years, there were several gifts to him on Christmas centering around Looney Tunes. First there were the VHS tapes with collections of the various characters. In the latter stages of VHS gifts, i stumbled upon some car floor mats, which i thought was perfect for Daddy: The Tasmanian Devil going fishing. My father loved them and immediately put them in his Ford Escape. When he decided my mother had too much difficulty getting into the Escape, he sold it to Blythe, my older daughter and moved the mats to the Buick. When he passed away, i inherited the mats, now which proudly adorn my Mazda 3 hatchback and bring memories every time i get behind the wheel.

As with all things electronic, the VHS world ceded its place to the DVD world. So Daddy got his share of those as gifts. His grandson (earlier i wrote “nephew” but Tommy is my nephew and one of the best around)  Tommy Duff gave him a slew of westerns. i gave him a large portion of his Looney Tunes DVD library. When both of my parents left us, i drove a U-Haul across country with things for my daughters and us. The boxes of music cassettes and CD’s and the VHS and DVD videos were stored in garage attic. This late autumn as we began to consider Christmas gifts, it occurred to me there were some perfect hand-me-downs for the little ones. i considered giving them to my grandson Sam, but he is a pre-teen and not likely to be that amused. Two specific little ones were also on my mind.

So this Christmas on Signal Mountain, when Max and Culley Duff, the four-year old identical twin grand nephews opened their gifts, one was a Looney Tune DVD. i don’t think they really had a clue about this treasure. But their father did. You see, Tommy was as big of a Looney Tune fan as his grandfather and his uncle.

Several weeks ago, he shared a photo of the two boys enjoying their gift. Then Monday, he sent me these photos. It moved me. i laughed. i thought about my father. i thought about growing up in a world quite a bit simpler for youngsters. i thought about how lucky i was to grow up where i did and how i did. i was glad the young boys had a chance to share laughter with their father as the three generations of Jewell shared their laughter.

Why for you bury me in the cold, cold ground?

i have just shared this on my Facebook page. i wanted those who are receiving my posts here to have a chance to read this as well. In my introduction to sharing the article, i noted,

“Andrew Maraniss just keeps on telling us like it really was. This is not only a moving piece like the book from which it was initiated, it should be a reality check for those of us who seem bent on playing the hate game. Thank you,  Andrew.

https://theundefeated.com/features/jesse-owens-vs-hitler-wasnt-the-only-story-at-the-1936-olympics/

She is my niece. She is a wonder.

Stefanie Lynn Johnson has a birthday today.

She is a trooper. She is a Christian Soldier. She has taken on problems and won.

She has two remarkable children.

She has love.

She has a husband who is as remarkable as she is. So much, in fact, i feel compelled to include a photo of the two of them rather a single of her or one of their family.

They go together well, and they have faced their problems with resolution. The result should be a lesson for us all.

Happy Birthday, Stefanie. i am proud to be kin to you.

Family in Tennessee have  been sending me photos of the recent snow there.

In my usual smart ass curmudgeon manner, i reported it was cold here in the Southwest corner as well, and then added our highs barely got into the sixties and we almost had frost one morning. i did not point out yesterday was 72 and just about perfect. Today, i was glad i had not been that much of a…well, you know (someone reading this might take offense at my sailor language) because it turned Southwest corner winter again: highs bordering around sixty, cloudy with an ocean wind to make it seem chillier, and goodness knows (and i cleaned that up), it rained.

As i was dealing with all of this terrible weather, i remembered our Thursday and Friday respite. On Thursday morning i took my exercise walk along one of my routes. A section is a walking path along the edge of Bonita Canyon, a large open space area with hiking and riding trails (no off-road bikes, please) surrounded by development homes of which one is ours. Looking eastward from the path, i remembered my father being so amazed at the weirdness of Southwest corner winters and summers compared to back home. Here, the summers are brown and dry. Winters are…well, they are green.

i refrained from adding in my  response to my family we also have white in the winter too. i’m not talking about an hour or so east of here where they do have snow, enough for skiing. i’m talking about right here in the heart of the Southwest corner. They are Japanese pear trees. The streets around us are surrounded by this winter whiteness. Each time i see one, i think of my Aunt Evelyn Orr, who in her last trip out here this time of year in 1990 was effusive about how beautiful they were.

We are in California, you know. Lots of folks not living in California and quite a few who do live in California throw darts at the state for many reasons. i have sworn off politics and i won’t go there. But there are really some people out here who are like a lot of people elsewhere not quite in the mainstream of the way we go about living. This one, on that Southwest corner winter wonderland day caught my eye.

i guess what i’m trying to say here is there are good people here and there are good people there, wherever you are Mrs. Calabash. The weather can be good or it can be bad wherever you are. It truly is (one of my best buddies of the curmudgeon golfing troupe likes to explain with “it truly is” and i like it) up to you.

Don’t throw rocks. Enjoy.

After all, i remember a magic place where winter was magical.

i have to figure out how to be a little less impacted by loss of friends. This sad occurrence is becoming more frequent. The last several left me…well, they left me sort of lost.

The most recent one took a bit of my soul away.

When we were growing up, Beverly Hughes lived with her parents and her younger sister Patsy on Pennsylvania Avenue almost exactly one block east of our home on Castle Heights Avenue.

Back then, the entire neighborhood, roughly three square miles, was filled with children. Almost every house was occupied by a family with one to four children. There were no mobile phones, there was no internet. For the first decade of my life, there was no television except in a few homes of the well-to-do. There also were many less restrictions and far less concern about safety. We played outside, we wandered around, spending time with neighborhood friends in our yards or in each other’s home. Everybody seemed to know everybody else.

Sometime around the fourth or fifth grade, i discovered Beverly. She was beautiful to me even then.  i would duck under the top and only wire of the hole in our backyard fence and walk through Pennsylvania Annex to her house. We were just children playing. By junior high, we had become close friends. We never had a date, which in retrospect, i find unusual. But we were friends, close friends, always with someone else, but always close.

In junior high, it became a big deal to walk from Lebanon Junior High at the intersection of North Cumberland and East High west to North Greenwood and then to Hill Street, cutting over to West Main and then to Pennsylvania, roughly just over a mile. There were usually four to eight of us who would stop at Beverly’s home. A number of the boys and girls had paired off. “Going steady” was a big thing. My steady didn’t live in the neighborhood. But it did not matter. Beverly pulled out her 45 RPM record player. Sometimes we would play board games in the den, but most of the time, we just listened to the latest rock ‘n roll on Beverly’s record player. And talked of course, after all, we were in the early stages of teenage.

It was at Lebanon Junior High where i met Buddy Phillips. We played football together and did a lot of the goofy things seventh and eighth graders do together. Buddy was one of the friendliest and nicest guys, and funny. Yes, Buddy could be a riot. We ran around together. But Buddy wasn’t one of those who gathered on Pennsylvania Avenue. He lived in another direction.

Still it was soon evident to most of us boys, Buddy had a crush on Beverly.

I don’t know all of the particulars of their relationship. i soon went to Castle Heights and lost touch of all but a few of the goings on at the high school. But eventually, Beverly married someone else. After several years, the marriage fell apart.

Buddy was waiting.

The two married and every time i was privileged to see them, they were obviously very much in love. For forty-five years, they both were in love. Buddy was rewarded for his love that has lasted 64 years by my count.

They had an incredible life together. It was one of the best love stories i have ever heard. It was not motion picture stuff. It was real. And it was the way it should be.

Last Monday, Beverly passed away with Buddy and her children at her side. The ugly “C” word had taken yet another beautiful soul away from us.

I cannot imagine the grief Buddy is experiencing, just as i could not grasp when Betty Jane’s husband and my high school buddy, Jim Gamble, passed away almost a month before. Jimbo, by the way, was one of those constant attendees at the record playing afternoons at Beverly’s home.

It hurts losing friends that close. It hurts to see such loved ones taken from their life long loves.

Then, i read Eddie Callis’ emails about the arrangements after Beverly left us.

You see, they had Beverly’s memorial service yesterday. She was laid to rest. Yet the arrangements revealed a back story, another love story.

Beverly’s obituary gave the usual details one finds in such news items. At the end, it turned a bit different. The honorary pallbearers was simply listed as “Lebanon High School Class of 1962.”

Previously, i have written of this bunch. The couple who are the drivers of this cohesive group, Eddie and Brenda Callis, have no doubt been a big factor in keeping the group so close with reunions, class birthday parties, and other excuses to keep us all in contact. Eddie provides updates to all of the class on the significant events of all of the classmates.

i have been part of it. The LHS 62 class adopted me, even though i was a goober, a town boy at the military prep school across town. i consider being included one of the best honors i’ve received.

As Beverly’s notice signified, they are a love story, all of them.

Now, we, our class are 74, 75, and 76 in age. Our numbers are declining at a faster rate. i know, even though i am half almost a continent’s breadth away, all of them, like me, take such partings as Beverly’s hard.

For my part, i must get better with dealing with such losses. After all, it is a deep and forlorn feeling to lose those you love.