Remembering The Green Monster

For something so important in my life, it seems hard to believe. I don’t have a single photograph; I don’t know the year it was made or even how I acquired it. But I sure remember my Schwinn Typhoon bicycle.

The green monster as it came to be known was actually my third bicycle but it was the first one I bought with my own money. Using $50 I had received as a confirmation gift, I bought a used green Typhoon from some guy whose kid left for college. It was probably the first “big” purchase I’d ever made.

In car terms, the Schwinn Typhoon was more like a Pontiac while the Roadmaster was more like a Cadillac. Kids that had Tuffy bikes in the 60’s probably drove Plymouths later in life.
Anyway, my bike was a shiny green cruiser with wide chrome fenders, a headlight, fat tires and dual baskets in the rear.

I imagined delivering newspapers or carrying groceries in those big baskets like the kids in the commercials. Instead, they were usually full of baseballs, gloves and bats. Friends also found them useful for hitching rides straddling the rear fender with feet in the baskets.

I am not exaggerating when I say that the green monster changed my life. I could ride across town to visit friends and cruise the park for a pick up ball game. By seventh grade I was also cruising the park for a different reason but that’s a column for another day.

My friend Gary had a black version of the same bicycle and we would take road trips during the summer to exotic locations like Nutley and Montclair (NJ). Our favorite trip that was repeated often led to Garrett Mountain in Clifton. Including a stop at the candy store and a picnic lunch, it took most of the day to get there and back. We figured it was about 20 miles away but MapQuest says it is exactly 4.8 miles one way. The route must have gotten shorter since we were kids.

The green monster was no sports car but its wide tires and heavy frame made it a breeze to drive. It could be easily ridden with a basketball under one arm and even with no hands when necessary. The bike and I also survived a collision with a car (Don’t Tell Mom I Got Hit By a Car, 4-24-08). Luckily I wasn’t riding one of those modern Stingray models.

Somewhere around eighth grade, Gary and I stripped our bikes down to resemble dirt bikes which were just becoming popular. We pulled off the fenders and baskets and gave them new paint jobs. Our reward was a back full of mud every time it rained but at least they didn’t rattle as they rolled down the street.

With a driving age of 17, bicycles were an acceptable form of transportation through most of high school but the old Schwinn had become uncool. I bought a used English racer bike in 10th grade and retired the green monster.

According to Schwinn’s corporate history, over a million bicycles a year were being produced in the 1960’s but only one was called the green monster.

What Are The Odds Part 2

When we left the New Jersey vacationers last week, they were recovering from a 3 a.m. arrival and the river outside the hotel was rising from 10” of rain.

Despite the weather, my son John, his friend Pierse and I drove 13 miles into Manhattan to attend the Big East Basketball Finals between Georgetown and West Virginia. The odds favored the Mountaineers 3-2 which matched the odds of being blown off Route 3 with 60 mph gusts of wind.
As locals will tell you, the odds of driving straight into New York City through the Lincoln Tunnel without stopping are slim to none but there we were cruising into the Port Authority parking lot feeling very smug.

We caught the subway to Penn Station which is conveniently located below Madison Square Garden and were smug once more that we had avoided the driving rain (hold that thought).
Following a great game, we discovered that the subways were shut down due to power outages caused by flooding. We were less smug as we walked 6 blocks against the cross town winds in the rain.

Meanwhile back in the swamps of Jersey, the busy Route 3 was closed due to downed power lines. We worked our way around that problem and headed back to the hotel – the one with the rising river. What are the odds that our evening was not over yet?

As we reached the crest of a long hill that leads into Little Falls (NJ), we noticed that the stores, diners and yes, hotel, was completely dark. The storm had knocked out power almost everywhere. Power is not a necessity when heading to bed late a night.

It was about 1:30 a.m. when I heard shouting in the parking lot 4 stories below. The odds of a fight breaking out between drunken wedding revelers may be 25 – 1. But even Jimmy the Greek would have a hard time predicting a fight between members of the same wedding party during a blackout in the rain. It made for great late night theater if we could see beyond the headlights of the wedding party van and the police lights.

I could only assume that the “Welcome DeRocco Wedding” sign I saw the next morning was placed in the foyer when the DeRocco’s were still on speaking terms.

The odds of the nearby Willowbrook Mall being closed outside of major holidays are 1000 – 1 but there it was, surrounded by the Passaic River up to aisle B-4. The entrance ramps were under water. We heard it made national news that day but we, of course, did not have electricity.
The rain continued as we waited in line outside the Ed Sullivan Theater on Monday. The odds of being chosen for the front rows at Letterman diminished with age and fashion sense. Those people with “the look” got numbered tickets while we were placed out of the camera’s view upstairs. The odds of Jennifer Aniston being Letterman’s guest were at least 300 – 1 but there she was clowning with Dave.

Our final shot at beating the odds came when we heard that the NIT (National Invitational Tournament) basketball pairings had Texas Tech playing in Newark (NJ) against Seton Hall the next night. The odds of two future Tech students being in Newark for the game were probably 3000 – 1 but there they were proudly wearing their Red Raider shirts and cheering with the other 22 fans who made the trip. Coach Pat Knight personally thanked them after the win because he couldn’t figure the odds of 22 people from Lubbock making it to Newark with one day’s notice.

The odds of the sun breaking out as our plane flew away were even because for once, it just what we expected to happen.

What Are The Odds?

What are the odds? It’s a question we may toss out in a moment of surprise but we rarely bother to answer it.

More than once last week I found myself asking just that question as I traveled with my eighteen year-old son John and his friend Pierse.

I could say that we went to New York City for spring break but I’d be stretching the truth. We were actually holed up 12 miles west in Totowa, New Jersey but New York has more cache. I figure the odds of a north Jersey resident claiming he or she grew up in New York City are about 4-1.

Our improbable vacation began on Friday afternoon at 2 p.m., five hours before our scheduled flight. I received a call from Jamie at The Late Show with David Letterman. She had received my request for tickets to the show (from early January) and was offering three seats to the Monday afternoon taping. The catch was that two of us had to answer a Letterman trivia question first to prove we were fans and not just tourists.

I correctly named the deli that Dave regularly visits (Ruperts) but someone else needed to answer the second question. John passed the honor to Pierse who correctly named Al as the floor manager at the show. What are the odds? I’d say about 10-1 on answering the questions but about 1000-1 on getting a phone call in the first place.

Anyway, our travels began on a frantic Friday night at DFW airport. Our early arrival allowed time for dinner until the long check-in line ate up 40 minutes. The odds of a delay caused by a person checking four large cardboard boxes at the self check-in are about 75-1.

Literally, as we walked through security, I received a notice that our flight was delayed by 60 minutes due to bad weather in the New York area. The odds of a counter agent giving us an honest estimate were about 50-1 so we weren’t surprised that the delay would be closer to 2 hours. In all fairness to the airline, the storms in New Jersey were record breaking.

The time zone change plus the two hour delay dumped us in Newark Airport at 2 a.m. More hungry than tired, we stopped at the famous Park West Diner in Little Falls, NJ. The odds of a waitress there calling you “hun” are 3-1 and the odds of hearing some colorful Jersey dialect at 3 a.m. are 2-1.

The odds were excellent that it would be a rainy weekend. There was a 100% chance of rain through Sunday. The odds were somewhat less that we would get 10” of rain but local optimists were just glad it wasn’t snow again.

The next morning (afternoon for the teenagers) I noticed that the Passaic River, which runs alongside the hotel, was reaching its limits. I would not have wagered that the same river would make national headlines on Sunday as the towns of Little Falls, Totowa and Fairfield were flooded. We are looking at 500-1 odds that our Holiday Inn Hotel would provide a view of the 2nd worst North Jersey flooding in 75 years.

The odds of telling this story in less than 1000 words are not good either so I will ask our Flipside readers to tune in next week for “What Are The Odds Part II.”

City Bus Time Travel

The wheels on the bus went round and round and round for me as a child. My mother didn’t learn to drive for many years

They went by numbers instead of names but everyone knew when and where the number 2 arrived. They knew the 28 would pass across the street minutes before the eastbound 28 did. They also knew that the 33 and the 88 were the same unless you fell asleep and found yourself in West Caldwell instead of Bloomfield.

I am referring, of course, to the city busses that criss-crossed the main streets of every town in north Jersey either rushing commuters in and out of New York City or just running across town.
It’s been a long time since I rode a city bus though so you can imagine my delight when I spotted an old transit bus at an Allen service station. I pulled in behind it and met Tim Logan, an Allen resident who collects and restores transit busses as a hobby.

“I grew up in Mobile, Alabama riding the busses around town most often with my grandmother,” explains Logan. “I just fell in love with those busses and rode them around and around town getting to know the drivers and routes.”

Logan earned his CDL (Commercial Driver’s License) at the age of 21 and has been driving busses on and off ever since. He has driven almost every variety of bus since that time including the Dallas McKinney Avenue Trolleys. He currently works as vice-president of Pacific World Corpration, a cosmetics company, but also drives school busses part-time for Allen ISD to keep his hands on the wheel so to speak.

Unlike cars, city busses have only changed style three times since the early 1950’s, according to Logan. Almost all busses were manufactured by GM and they had the “old look” busses which resemble bread boxes with the rounded corners. Then the “new look” busses were introduced by GM in 1959 with their modern sloping windshield and split windows down the side. The ADB-design busses, which are still commonly used in cities and airports, replaced the new look busses in the 1970’s.

Logan currently owns 5 busses and owned up to 14 at one point. His current collection includes a 1988 Chance bus (the only one of its kind), a 1977 Flxible bus (yes that is the correct spelling), a 1971 Flxible, which is the actual bus that he and his grandmother rode through Mobile and his favorite, the 1954 GM shown here. This bus was operated as the #1364 city bus in Minneapolis its entire career.

“This is a hobby so my goal is not to find busses that are valuable,” says Logan. “I am more interested in busses that have nostalgic or historic appeal. Once I restore a bus I might keep it for a few years and then sell it to fund another project. It’s not quite like stamp collecting but I sure enjoy it.”

Logan does not hire his busses out for passengers but they have often appeared in television commercials and parades. An old bus immediately sets the time for a movie or commercial. His 1954 bus was recently used for an American Airlines ad that will appear later this spring.
Logan is not alone with his oversized hobby. There are regional and national associations of private bus owners and museums that share stories and occasionally swap parts.

“Most of the busses I start with are in rough shape but finding ones in running order is getting harder. I figure there are about 50 old look busses in running condition and several hundred new look busses,” adds Logan.

One of his recent acquisitions was hauled down from Ketchikan, Alaska and another was found abandoned in a field. Once restored, they can fetch a good price. Logan says that Jay Leno, Jim Lehrer and Bill Clinton own antique busses. The most valuable one he has seen was used for storage on a farm for many years until it was restored as the original Rosa Parks bus in Montgomery.

Stepping on the old bus was like traveling in time. I could almost hear the clinking of change and see the stares of elderly ladies with their foldup shopping carts. The only thing missing was the familiar smell of bus exhaust rising through the back seats.

One Cool Truck & 5 Million Men

Big rigs are a mystery for most of us. We loved them as kids and see them everywhere but what do we really know about them?

One way to find some answers about big trucks would be to buy one so I asked Jim Edmundson, general manager of Southwest International Trucks in McKinney to help me pick one out.

“We first ask a lot of questions to try and match the customer’s needs with the right vehicle,” says Edmundson. “What product are you hauling? How much weight will you be carrying at one time? How far are you hauling it and how often? These all help narrow the choices down.”

Let’s suppose that plastic army men are making a big comeback because of recent news coverage. I have decided to manufacture them here in my garage and ship them across country. The demand is there so I think I’m going to need a big truck. Now what?

“Most of our new trucks are custom orders so we can finish out the tractor to work for you,” says Edmundson. “A company concerned with fuel economy will add extra aerodynamic cowls and different gearing ratios to limit speed and help mileage. An owner operator who is up against time constraints might be more concerned with speed than economy.”

The new economical truck might run at 7 mph while the speedier version might get 4 mph. A big truck would have a 150 gallon fuel tank and a long haul sleeper would probably have a second 150 gallon tank. Some quick math shows that a long haul driver could run 1,200 miles on 300 gallons and a fill up would cost about $850.

Unlike a car dealership, Southwest does not have a long line of new trucks and models out front.
“It would be unusual for an individual to come in and pick a truck off the lot,” he explains. “The base model and engine may be the same but one client may be hauling rocks from a quarry across town each day while someone else is hauling frozen foods across country. Every one is different.”

A good portion of Southwest’s business comes from parts and servicing the trucks, explains Tim Dreiling, a fleet parts sales manager. “Federal safety regulations on trucks and the mileage they run up demand frequent maintenance. States have additional rules that cover everything from weight to tires and lights. A failed Department of Transportation inspection pulls the truck off the road immediately and that’s not good for the driver or the owner of the cargo.”

Orders for my new plastic army men are taking off so I want the biggest and baddest that International has to offer.

Edmundson recommends the Lone Star Sleeper – Harley Davidson Edition, a truck that resembles a chrome freight train. Depending on the accessories, he says he can set me up for about $155,000 and the truck would be delivered in about 60 days.

The Car and Driver Magazine review for the Lone Star says that the 550 horsepower, 22,000 lb. behemoth “scares the bejeebers out of anyone in its path. The truck’s review goes on to say that it looks like Mad Max rolled into town with a giant chrome attracting magnet.”

A new Lone Star without the Harley trim would cost about $142,000 and a reliable used truck with 1 million miles could run between $80K and $110K based on its condition.

Unable to make a decision, I thanked Jim and Tim and headed home to do the math. If one 10 lb. box held 12 bags of 60 army men each, how many men could I fit in one 80,000 lb. trailer load? The answer is just 5.6 million. Maybe I should just call UPS.

“It Looked Like a Classic Car To Me”

What is it about classic automobiles that draw such attention? I can spot the make and model of a vintage car from a half mile away on the expressway.

“That was just a 58 Dodge Polaris that went by,” I exclaim to my family. They’re not listening. Mrs. Carroll is only mildly interested and the kids are plugged into their Mp3 worlds. It’s their loss.

My first car was truly a classic. My father and I found a 1957 Chevy Belair (2-door) that an elderly woman was selling. It was 1976 and I would have bought it even if it had three wheels. My father was more patient. He scrutinized the car as fathers are required to do when kids are overanxious to spend their money. Then he declared it a good deal for $250 and we bought it.

I proudly pulled the faded green classic out of the driveway and down the street hoping someone was watching – they weren’t. My first lesson is classic car ownership came five minutes later on the Garden State Parkway, a death trap by Texas standards. The car drifted across the narrow lanes with little concern for my steering. I quickly learned that a rapid back and forth motion of the oversized steering wheel kept the car aimed down the center of the lane. Rapid pumping of the brake pedal also helped slow the green machine down.

Despite its flaws, it was officially rated as a cool car on campus that fall. I probably drove it 30,000 miles over the next four years although that could be disputed since the speedometer never worked. Except for a single encounter with a Tennessee State Trooper, the lack of a speedometer wasn’t much of a setback.

The finned wonder suffered from the same problems that most “northern cars” experienced over time – rust. The car was reasonably solid but the floorboards had rusted through from below. Lifting the floor mats gave a fast paced view of the interstate and memories of Fred Flintstone starting his car. The tube radio gave off more heat than the heater and the front end continued to loosen up but it ran like a rocket.

Practicality won over coolness after we got married and I sold the Chevy to a car guy who planned to restore it.

Years later I impulsively bought a 1953 Buick Custom in an attempt to capture the fun I’d had with my old ’57. Instead it seemed like I captured one of Rommell’s tanks. The car rumbled with loose exhausts and smelled like its upholstery had been treated with motor oil. I should have known I was out my league when I couldn’t the ignition switch. It was conveniently located under the gas pedal. I kept the car for two months before admitting I had made a foolish mistake. As I mentioned earlier this year, it is hard to buy back a memory.

Still, I gaze wistfully at old cars, especially ’57 Chevies, but I find them better suited for car shows than my garage.

Speaking of car shows, the Foundation for Allen Schools hosts Allen’s first Customs and Classic Car, Motorcycle and Truck Show this Saturday in the Allen High School parking lot. The show, which is free to the public, is a drive-in event for custom and classic car owners who compete in numerous categories including a People’s Choice Award. Bring the family and cruise the car show on May 17 from 10 am – 2 pm. The price is right and you might find my Chevy there. I’m sure it’s been painted so just check under the floor mats.

Looking For A Few Good (Plastic) Men

The correct term for them is army men or plastic soldiers. To call them toy soldiers or miniatures would simply be an insult.

I am referring to those green plastic soldiers that came in bags at the five and dime store or play sets from cheesy discount stores like Korvettes or Gibsons.

These little 2” guys were actually the perfect toy for boys growing up in the 50’s and 60’s. They were cheap, had no collectible value and were almost indestructible. In fact, the most casualties my troops ever suffered did not come at the hands of the feared German Panzers. They came from my friend Gary’s feared German shepherd named Duke. He showed no preference as he happily gnawed on German and American soldiers alike.

According to the Army Man Homepage at http://www.armymenhomepage.com/, miniature soldiers have been around for hundreds of years but cheap plastic manufacturing in the 1950’s allowed them to be mass produced. Now instead of collecting soldiers, you could purchase the whole army for about $5 or less. They were most often sold in themed playsets with the most realistic action figures coming from Marx Toys.

In the days before video games, this is how we spent our afternoons and weekends. Battles were fought outside in the sand or across the basement. Snipers fired down from the Matchbox Car garage while German soldiers occupied Mr. Kelly’s Car Wash.

There were no rules or instructions. We would just spend an hour arranging the good guys and bad guys in battle formation and then we’d make gun and explosion sounds till the bad guys were dead. We occasionally introduced electric trains into the mix or motorized cars but they weren’t necessary.

It may have been 1965 but World War II was not far behind. Most of our parents had a connection to WWII and playing army always meant re-enacting the Battle of the Bulge or Midway. The Americans always fought the Nazis or Japs because those were the images we saw through our childhood through movies, books and even family photos.

Because the plastic enemy was far outnumbered by American GI’s, we frequently padded their ranks with cowboys, indians, and the Roman soldiers we found in the bottom of toy boxes.
My friend John Borowski also collected monster action figures so Frankenstein and Wolfman frequently fought alongside the Germans. Even G.I. Joe could join in the action as some sort of super-sized soldier. It all seemed logical at the time.

Of all the childhood toys that avoided dogs and house cleaning moms, army men had the best chance of survival. They were easy to store and the weapons never got lost. My inspiration for this column came from a box of them that just resurfaced after an eight-year nap.

The army men home page offers four ways to destroy the little green soldiers: fire, firecrackers, freezing and dogs. They failed to mention darts. As we grew older we gained more pleasure in destroying toys than playing with them. Many of my army guys met their match through a game that involved real darts being launched across the room at helpless formations. Even the Roman soldiers weren’t safe.

So here I am with a tin box of World War II plastic soldiers. I can’t possibly throw them out but I don’t have any battles for them to fight this week. I guess it’s back in the box for you guys. I’ll see you in a few years.