Phil

Oddly enough, my story about Phil involves a little bit of mischief as well...

I spent a few days with Phil when they lived in that big house in Waterloo.  I'm pretty sure it was during that time that Jane was married to Steve.  At any rate, I don't remember Brian or Ed being around, so maybe they were off at Iowa Hawkeye brainwash camp or something.  Well, it's pretty hard to play guns, wiffle ball, or kill the man with the ball without at least four, so we had to find something that would entertain just the two of us.

The details are fuzzy, so I'll just cut to the chase.  We had a crap load of smoke bombs, and chose the raised front entry way of a church on a busy street as a launching platform for said smoke bombs.  We found it quite entertaining to lob smoke bombs out into the busy street and observe the reaction of the confused motorists.  It was a lot of fun - at least until the cops showed up.

"Lucy, you got some esplainin' to do."  Jane wasn't too thrilled to have the police ring the doorbell with her second son and nephew in tow.  I guess she was apologetic enough that they decided not to drag us off to the gulag.  But that was the start of my rap sheet that grew to include criminal trespassing, underage drinking, and blocking traffic in Oelwein.

On a more sentimental note, Phil took up the gauntlet after Grandpa Birchard died and is the only person that I know that still calls me Marcus Polis.  And who will ever forget Phil rockin' "War Pigs" in the studio?!

When I think of Phil, it's smoke bombs and my first run in with the five oh.  After that it was really only a matter of time before I was low-ridin' with "F*ck the Police" by NWA boomin' on the stereo system.

Cousins Run Off ... Next Up, Phil

My recollection of growing up and spending lots of time with Phil conjurs up some of the most colorful and micheavious stories that I have retained to memory from my childhood.  Phil was great having around because he would try just about anything once, and often, more than that if it produced fun and/or laughs.  And there was always plenty of both when Phil was around.

 

One of the funniest stories I remember is when the gang (Brian, Marc, Phil and me) one day decided we wanted some pears from Mrs. Leo's tree in her back yard.  Mrs. Leo lived about a block away.  The tree was smack dab in the middle of her back yard, approximately 50 feet from her back porch door.  Well, it didn't take long for us to determine that pears picked off of the tree directly were way better than the rotting ones found on the ground.  So we did what most kids did ... proceeded picking.  Now the bushel basket in those days was created by taking your shirt bottom and putting it between your teeth.  That would create a nice basket for each of us that would hold up to 20 pears depending on how oversize your shirt was.  So with Brian, Phil, Marc and me we were sure to collect at least 50 ripe pears.  Perfect plan right?

Well, picking each pear one by one was taking far longer to reap our harvest than any of us were willing to stand in the possible watchful eye of Mrs. Leo at her back porch door.  So we talked Brian into climbing up into the pear tree to give it a good shake.  Then the rest of us could just run around with our shirts out collecting the falling pears.  Good plan right?

It didn't take long for the commotion of Brian shaking this poor tree (With Brian in the tree it was raining pears) to arouse Mrs. Leo.  Suddenly she arrived at the screen door and started yelling at us.  Like a deer in headlights, each of us stood frozen by Mrs. Leo's appearance and scolding.  But that's when Phil sprung into action - as only Phil could.  With his brother holding silently up in the pear tree, apparently trapped, Phil quickly realized he had the ammunition that could drive Mrs. Leo back into her house and save Brian and all of us.  Pears!  So like a wise gunman he slowly pulled a pear from his shirt basket and WHAM, hurled it right at Mrs. Leo!  Thankfully he missed Mrs. Leo but drilled Mrs. Leo's screen door.  The sound of a crisp pear hitting the screen door clapped louder than the thunder proceeding a Midwestern thunderstorm.  POW!  Like the fuse lit on a firecracker Phil's first pear toss encouraged the rest of us to follow suit.  Soon pears were hitting the screen door with a frequency and fervor that any little league baseball coach would be proud of.  And driven back into her house Mrs. Leo was.  After a thorough pounding of the screen door Brian jumped from the tree and the whole gang was off, like a bunch of bank robbers fleeing the scene.

And upon return to base, the Baldwin home, Mrs. Leo had already struck the final blow of this conflict.  She had called Mom and Dad's house to share the story.  Judge, jury and verdict was in ... guilty as charged.  Now I don't remember the punishment dolled out to each of us that day, nor do I remember how many pears we actually made off with.  But forever engrained in my memory will be the view of Phil chucking that first pear ... and the comprehensive peppering we gave Mrs. Leo's screen porch door that day.

That's Phil in a nutshell.  A catalyst to some of the greatest stories and fondest memories I have.  Fun, trouble, and just being kids ... all wrapped up into one.

Two other stories that are vivid in my memory are Phil putting his feet through Grandpa Birchard's garage window and Phil getting kicked in his peanuts by yours truly.  But each of these stories are as deserving of space and description as the story I've just told above, so I'll turn to Marc and Brad to contribute one of their stories as well.

Phil, looking forward to making some more memories over the 4th of July.  Wear a baggy shirt and bring your throwing arm ... you're going to need both!!!

Who is the greatest?

I went back through our blogs because I thought at one point we had a discussion about who was more dominant in their respective sport, Tiger Woods or Roger Federer.  Maybe that was a phone conversation, Grand Canyon chat, or Hawkeye ride discussion.

At any rate, tonight I was thinking about the fact that Roger Federer has not won a grand slam tournament since the Australian Open in 2010 (January).  The event that changed Tiger Woods' life for the worse was just two months prior to that in November of 2009 (wife + golf club = broken windshield).  In the tennis world, two other guys are dominating the sport now: Rafael Nadal and Novak Djokovic.  Golf, on the other hand, has had 15 different winners in the last 15 majors.

Both Federer and Woods have won tournaments since their "slump" started, just not the big ones.  I guess this next question for us, then, is which one has the better chance of hoisting the trophy at the end of a major tournament?

Doug

When you're a kid, you always think that everyone else's house is the cool place to be.  Tony Roberson had a Nintendo, John Kalb had farm animals, Chet Reagan had cable TV, and Doug had an indoor basketball court.

Yes, I think Doug spent far more time at our house than we did in Hawkeye, but I sure loved going to Doug's house.  I have a lot of great memories from the time I spent at the Anderson farm.  Let me highlight a couple of them.

I remember asking for a radio alarm clock after spending the night with Doug and being absolutely fascinated with how cool it was to fall asleep with music on.  Yes, I have Doug to thank for opening my eyes to the wonderful world of radio alarm clocks.

I have a totally random memory of being upstairs at Doug's house and listening to records that were probably Brenda's.  I can distinctly remember listening to "I want you to want me" by Cheap Trick and thinking, "Wow, this is cool music."  I have no idea why I remember that so well.

Do you guys remember playing "dress up" at Doug's house?  Probably not (because you won't want to admit it) but when we visited there as a family there was a period when we would rummage through the closets upstairs, put on whatever we could find, and then go downstairs to "put on a show" until the adults got tired of it and told us to scram.

But when I think of Doug, usually the first thing I remember is that barn.  I find it ironic that Doug, who is arguably the LEAST athletic of the cousins, was the only person to have a personal indoor basketball court!  I just remember wishing all the time that we could go to their house with our roller-skates and play roller-skate basketball in the upper level of their barn.  Even now as I think about, I can't believe what a cool thing it was to have a basketball court up in the top of the barn!  We played that made up game with roller-skates where whoever got the ball would ride to the other end with the others giving chase and try to make a basket with the ball.  Then there was a scramble to get the rebound, and whoever came up with it took off for the other end to try to put it in the bucket.  We would go for hours and hours back and forth until one of the adults would come to get us for a meal.  What a blast!

I can also remember that I was always jealous of his artistic skills.  He was really good.  

I'm looking forward to seeing him on Independence Day!

Cousins Series - Next Victim (literally) ... Doug

So I'm attempting to keep momentum on this series and as a means of getting it going again I'm going to focus on the easiest of all cousins to describe in terms of my memories ... Doug.

Doug lived in Hawkeye and it seemed that during the Summer I spent almost as much time with Doug as I did my own brothers.  He was regularly staying at our house, and for some reason loved it!  Why it is hard to understand why he loved it was simple - he always seemed to be getting injured.

Every scar on Doug's body probably had something to do with a stay at the Baldwins.  So much so, that I can't even begin to recount the stories where Doug let blood in joining my brothers and me.  Of all the stories I could tell, the one that sticks out most in my mind was a casual game of catch in the yard with a baseball.  Doug, not known for his fielding skills, decided to catch a nose high throw with the open side of his glove pointed toward the sky.  Well as any little leaguer knows, the result of that action was a direct hit on Doug's nose.  Doug is a prolific bleeder, and he donated about 2 pints to Dad's yard that day.

But Doug was always a trooper about his injuries, and always seemed willing to come back for more.  I can recall numerous skinned knees, bloody noses, poison ivy, bug bites, and lots of bruises.  I love that about Doug.  Always game for a challenge.

Well, given the upcoming 4th of July wiffle ball game with the rest of us cousins it will be GAME ON!

Get offa me!!

I have a memory of Matt that is actually the near opposite of your story, Ed, in which Matt was impossible to catch.  My memory involves me not being able to get away from the guy!

When Matt was just a little guy, probably one or two, I have a distinct memory of him always clawing at me, of being up in my grill.  I couldn't have been very old at the time, but I can actually remember having that feeling of "I wish he would leave me alone."  Mom seemed to think that it was cute that Matt was so infatuated with me.

Today, when I think of Matt, I kind of think of him as being the famous one of the group.  He's an Eagle Scout, he managed to build a bike path in Oelwein that still stands today, and he's done all kinds of cool things like kite surf, canoe through the everglades, and survive in the mountains.  I wouldn't be surprised if he and Wendy all of a sudden moved to the Alaskan wilderness and opened a fly-fishing business.

I'm not sure exactly how tall he is now, but I still picture him to be about 3' 11".  If he had hairy feet he could play Bilbo Baggins in "The Hobbit".

Safety??

A quick response to your motorcycle post Ed; Matt will have to wait.

I really think the safety issue is a red herring.  Find me one Harley rider who will tell you that safety was a top five reason for buying the Harley.  You can't.  Also, find me one motorcycle rider who has modified their exhaust system to make it louder because they wanted to be safer.  You can't.  It's a bunch of malarkey.

Also, along the lines of the "senses" argument, the easier and much less annoying solution is to highlight the VISUAL.  But how many motorcycle riders to you see wearing reflective vests or reflective helmets, or riding white or orange-colored bikes??  Uh, none.  That wouldn't be cool.

So the issue has NOTHING to do with safety as some claim.  As someone pointed out on Facebook, if they didn't have a loud bike, they would have to ride with a huge sign that said, "Look at me!!  I'm really cool!!" because that's what they want to communicate.

By the way, just for clarification, even as a punk 16-year-old, I never punched holes in my muffler because even back then I didn't understand loud mopeds!

Cousin Series, Next Up ... Matt

Matthew is generationally behind me but still worthy of a blog post since I'll know it will generate some inputs from Marc and Brad.

For me Matthew had two unusual and dramatic traits - his speed and his height - and the two worked in opposite directions.  If Matt would have been 6' 4" he would probably have been competing with Usain Bolt and other world class sprinters.  Dude the cat was quick out of the blocks and fast, I'm talking Cheetah skills.

Well I don't know if that's the case today but that's what sticks in my mind, fast and short.  So the short story (pun intended) that I will never forget was a summer when Matt was probably six years old.  Maybe he was younger but I'm pretty sure he wasn't older.  On this summer afternoon several of our aunts and uncles showed up at our house for some food, conversation and fodder.  No biggie, typical stuff for our family at that point.

Well, I recall that the five of us were playing in the yard.  That is Marc, Brad, Doug, Matt and me for those counting at home.  And horse play was in full swing.  You can imagine the pushing, the throwing, the trash talking, the whole bit.  During the mayhem Matt took a cheap shot at Doug and bloodied his lip in the process.  I'm not sure how, but Doug was pissed.  Here was this little guy who wasn't any taller than Doug's hip who had just found a way to leap up and bloody his lip.  Impressive since Matt's vertical would have to have been at least 12 inches to complete the feat.  Doug, in his anger elected to start chasing Matt around the yard and around the house.  If he caught Matt it would have returned the favor.  Doug had that look in his eye.  But it was the equivalent of a lumbering bear attempting to catch a rabbit.  Matt took off and Doug gave chase.  If you've seen Wild Kingdom you can imagine the scene.  Matt could start and stop on a dime, juke and turn and used every asset he had to keep Doug from catching him by the back of his shirt.  Doug was persistent, which made the scene even funnier.  He used his anger to fuel him, but his effort was fruitless.  No chance.  Matt was just too quick and fast for him.

I remember Matt as always being a bit of a sh*t stirrer.  He had a knack for bringing others to the trouble party and then finding a quiet exit.  Now he was much younger than me, and very cute for his age.  Maybe that's why it's my recollection that he got away with a lot.  He grew out of his cute phase, but never grew out of his short phase.  But seriously, I haven't spent much time with Matt since those days long ago.

He's now got a great family, wonderful wife Wendy, and is the resident crocodile hunter of the family.  He's adventurous and has recently moved back to NE Iowa for a new conservation/outdoor job.  That's where he was always at his best ... where he couldn't be cornered easily.  

Ed on ... I Don't Like It

You both had to know I would jump on this one pretty quickly right?  Another of the genes I probably got more of than both of you, since I've kept my motorcycle license active even though I haven't owned a motorcycle since we lived in Hawaii.

Here's my take.  

I do believe there is some genuine increased safety that comes from having a loud bike.  If you're loud then it's another of the senses that other drivers can use to know you're there.  But here's what's interesting ... why doesn't the rule apply to anything else?

1. Cars and Trucks - increase their safety by making them loud.  I'm sure that would cause a stir!  Put a loud device on every hybrid car in the world.  Why?  Because damn they are quiet!

2. Bicycles - yep, put something on cyclists and their bikes that emits a disturbing noise so everyone knows they are out there.  huh?

3. Deer - why don't we start tagging deer with a device that when moving beeps once every second and when stationary doesn't beep at all?  That way we'll kill way less deer because maybe we'll know they are over that hill before we can see them. 

So the premise is good but the application is bad.  That's my issue.  The premise of course is "utilize all of a driver's senses to aid them in reacting to all others who share the road".  Ok, I get that.  

So two closing comments.  First, Marc maybe you and your buddies were ahead of their time drilling holes in the mufflers of mopeds to make them sound "cool".  Wonder if the safety argument would have worked with Mom and Dad?  Second, maybe instead of noise we could make all motorcyclists stink really bad, like a skunk.  That way you can smell them coming ...

Utilizing one of Marc's favorite phrases ... THAT'S RIDICULOUS!  Exactly. 

I don't like it

Loud motorcycles.  I don't like it, but to be honest, I don't get it either.  The noise from a "hog" irritates me for the 20 seconds it takes to pass through the neighborhood.  How is it not irritating to the rider to ride  around on a such a loud machine?

For a lot of reasons that I won't go into here, I decided against getting a motorcycle during our time here in San Diego.  If I ever get serious about getting one again, I'm going to look for the quietest bike out there.  It seems like riding would be a lot more enjoyable that way.

I'm not sure they irritate me enough to become politically active, but there are some movements out there to make laws against loud motorcycles, and more generally environmental noise.  You can check out one of them here.  In my searching online, I found a few references to the idea that a loud motorcycle makes you more noticeable and therefore "saves lives", but I'm not buying that.

What do you think?  Are you guys future Harley riders?

I missed it

There have been a few times in my life when I've "discovered" something awesome, WAY later than everyone else in the world.  For example, it took me about three years to finally see the movie "Forrest Gump" and I said, "Wow, this is an awesome movie!"  Slightly behind the power curve.

Since I hardly ever listen to the radio, and practically never listen to hip hop radio, I've largely missed the Kanye West craze.  I was aware of "Gold Digger" because I heard my sister-in-law play it, and have a slight knowledge of "Jesus Walks", although the version that I know has a bunch of yahoos singing "Beverly Hills" over the top of it.  I do remember the controversy he caused when Miss Country Chick (what's her name) won best video and Kanye interrupted her acceptance speech to proclaim it should have been Beyonce.  What an idiot.  But, since I like "Gold Digger" and also wanted the REAL version of Jesus Walks, I was in a Goodwill store a couple of weeks ago and saw "College Dropout" for a couple of bucks, so I picked it up.  

Wow.  I started listening to it a couple of days ago, and it is GOOD stuff.  I asked myself, "When did this come out?" and discovered that it was released in February of 2004.  Yeah, so I'm about eight years behind the ball on this one.  He's probably released six albums since then, and I don't know any of them.  But "College Dropout" rocks.  The guy's got skills.

I even pulled an Ed today and listened to the same song about nine times in a row.  If you haven't heard "Family Business" check it out.  I love that song.

You guys have any Kanye laying around the house?

Biggie

Being part of the other half of the generational element I don't have nearly the colorful stories about Brian. It does seem to be consistent however that the stories shared seem to include partying and trouble. Not to disappoint, I have a couple of stories that relate. When I used to travel frequently to Dallas for work I met Brian one evening for dinner and a few beers. More than a few beers and some substantial time and money in the video game Golden Tee, Brian and I stumbled out and found our way home. Thank goodness we both made it home safely! The other story is the trip I took with Brian, Ed, and Ed's friend Terry to Canada. There was no shortage of trash talking and beer drinking on that trip either and Brian took it all in stride as usual. I've never seen such a happy-go-lucky guy like Big South.

Repost from Adventure Journal: Dirtbag Gourmet

I read a blog called Adventure Journal. It is part adventure news, part gear review, part conservation advocate, and part comedy. The comedy component often comes through their recurring post of Dirtbag Gourmet, and I thought the blog post here was particularly entertaining. The confluence of topics that are personally interesting to me was amazing, and it gave me another reason to consider a trip to Vegas. What do you guys think, can we use the moniker of "gateway to adventure" for Las Vegas like we can "gateway to American obsession with gluttony"?

Big Cheese

A few quick stories that I remember about Brian…

 First, back when Jane, Brian, and Phil lived in this apartments in Waterloo I remember Brian bragging about his Kung Fu moves or something. He was jumping up and down on the bed, kicked the wall, and put his foot right through it!

 During my first trip back home after joining the Navy, I went over to Waterloo to spend some time with Brian. I was also privileged to see the "half car" as well as the keg in the apartment. I was only 18, but I went out that night with Brian and Aaron. First we went to one of those seedy bars because it was a lot cheaper to get liquored up there. It was the kind of place that would have served me a pitcher of beer if I was in 7th grade - no need for an ID! Then we went to Shagnasty's and I used Brian's drivers license to get in. Yeah, I REALLY looked like him! Good times, although I think I was hurting a little the next day.

 Lastly, Brian and Aaron came to visit me in Rota, Spain, and I've got a few stories from that get together. But I'll just mention that we were out at a club and Brian decided to SHOW me just how well he could spit rhymes. Don't let him fool ya boys… he's got skills!

Smokers unite!

Especially here in California (it seems like) smoking is becoming more and more heinous in the eyes of the general public. I perused the California smoking laws, and they ARE strict.

 For example, it is illegal to smoke in a moving vehicle that has a minor (18 years or younger) in it. I also discovered that here in San Diego, smoking is prohibited on public park benches and prohibited altogether on San Diego beaches! So yes, smoking can be an isolating habit, but I think it has caused the remaining smokers to unite. All smokers know who the other smokers are in their building. I've noticed around here a large number of "Smoke Shops" that specialize in meeting the needs of smokers. We often go to a frozen yogurt shop that happens to have a bar in the same strip mall. We kind of laugh because I don't think anyone actually hangs out IN the bar; there are always about 10 people standing outside smoking!

 Let me throw this one out there… do you think that the stigma that is now attached to smoking will ever get attached to alcohol? Just think of all the problems that alcohol causes… there are tons of them. As you guys know, I'm a Sexual Assault Victim Advocate in the Navy, and alcohol is involved in a high percentage of sexual assaults. Google "alcohol and violence" in general and you'll find all kinds of alarming statistics. Does it warrant a stigma?

Brian, aka Big South, Big Chief, Big Show or Long John Silver

Brian is a BIG personality.  Full of it ... literally!

I have so many stories I could recount of my time with Brian.  He was the closest to me in age (I think he was closer than Jerry Joe) but definitely the closest to me in terms of time spent.  We have similar interests and Brian has always been a hoot to hang out with.  He was the big brother I never had and "showed me the ropes", helped me "man up" and helped me teach me about girls, drinking and lots of other important elements of life.  Like I said, as I write this I am running through all the stories I have to tell, and trying to winnow the list down to one or two.

Ok, so one of my first was when I went to see Brian when he was living in Cedar Falls.  He was living above the Regent Theatre downtown and had quite the bachelor pad with at least two or three other college buddies.  I can't remember that the place even had a kitchen, but I do remember a huge living room and the refrigerator/bar complete, kegger included.  At that time in my life, it was AWESOME!  Come to think of it, it still is!  Anyway, Brian had a roommate named Aaron who drove a car with the top cut off (convertible thanks to a saws-all), and Aaron, Brian and I made the rounds to some pretty seedy bars where the typical chronology was to order a pitcher of beer and a fuzzy navel (you can guess which was mine) and then put quarters up on the pool table.  Now Brian and Aaron were both good pool players (a sign of mis-spent youth) and we typically took the table on the first set of quarters.  And as I recall it was usually from two guys who made Sturgis look like a black tie affair.  We wandered in and out of various bars with the same basic regimen.  How cool, eh?

Another story involved staying at his apartment during the Superbowl.  I can't recall who played or exactly which Superbowl it was - but McDonalds had a promotion that when either team scored a touchdown, Big Mac's were on sale for the next 10 minutes for 99 cents.  The closest McDonalds to that apartment was about 6-8 blocks away.  So Brian and I watched the whole game and had at least 5 Big Mac's each!  TOUCHDOWN baby!  Brian would grab his car keys and off we would go through the drive up window, pick up two 99 cent Big Mac's and back to the apartment.  Then repeat on every touchdown.  The final score must have been 45-38 or something.  At least that's what my stomach was telling me at the end of the game!

Brian truly has been the big brother I never had.  And whether we were playing basketball, going fishing, playing golf, recording an album in a Waterloo studio, or just hanging out there was always a story.  And we keep making them, which is even cooler.  The only thing better than the past with Brian is the future, and I'm looking forward to a lot more adventures with him as our families grow up together.

Ok, Marc/Brad.  Bring a story or two about Brian.  Mob ball, pear hurling or football with our kids.  Serve one up for Big Chief!

A Cousins Tour, First in a Series

I had an idea for blog posts that I hope gets some activity.  It involves retelling some of our fondest memories of our cousins.  You see, my brothers and I have a host of cousins and will be reconnecting with many of them this upcoming 4th of July.  And so rather than fill posts with our happenings I thought it might be fun to roast our cousins, one post at a time.

I'll be doing the first in a series this evening.  Brian, aka Big South.  I couldn't find a picture of the cousins so maybe Marc or Brad could help me out.

Alright ... let us begin our trip down memory lane!