For The Orange and the Blue

Tomorrow night my father and Mrs. Yak and myself will be hosting the Area Representative for our beloved alma mater at a local restaurant. The purpose of this much anticipated gathering will be to perfect an agreement made earlier on behalf of a friend, or I should say, a friend’s son.

Late last fall I got a series of calls and emails from my old roommate panicked that his son might not get back into the college. His son, you see, having been admitted as a freshman the year before, decided he would rather become a famous film director in Babylon than a Baptist minister in Peoria. He enrolled at UCI for the next fall term having had enough Chicago cold and snow.

UCI wasn’t everything he had hoped. All his Asian martial arts film classes were populated by WASP geeks just like him, he had to live with his parents, and his eccentric uncle insisted on taking him to frequent lunches at Home Town Buffet. He wanted back into a school where he knew at the very least, he could find some real Asians. His parents, stalwart alums, were overjoyed.

I said that I would see what I could do. I called our rep and after a heated series of assertions and denials about what could and couldn’t be done, we struck a deal. The wayward son would return to the Harvard of Christian Evangelicalism and I would cough up a membership at a prominent Chicagoland golf and country club.

For friendship! And for the Orange and the Blue.

Disclaimer:
References in this post to events, persons and places, real or imagined, living or dead are not to be relied upon.

Andrew's Travel Minute

This afternoon our son called us from Rothenberg (pronounced Rutenberg), Germany. This is one of three medieval walled cities in Germany. He was very impressed. He and his friend from Nebraska walked around the city on top of the parapet wall. The gates into the city are so small that only compact cars can enter and with the lack of traffic the city is very sedate.

He is staying at the Hotel Reichs-Küchenmeister, which was built in the 12th century. For those of our readers who enjoy history, this was during the period of the 2nd and 3rd Crusades. Besides Wheaton students, among its most famous guests was Emperor Charles V who stayed under its roof in 1546. (Cardinal Shilohman, please point out to our readers why this bozo is important to our protestant roots.)

The website for this quaint establishment has a historical timeline of the hotel. (We like to visit the websites of the places Andrew is lodging since we are paying the bills and we want to ensure we are getting our moneys worth.) Here are two items that caught my eye:

1945 (October)
The Café-Restaurant is confiscated by the Americans and turned into a club for 6 weeks.
1986
Sauna and whirlpool is built.

Okay, I think I have this straight: The Crusades, Charles V, drunken American soldiers, the sauna and Wheaton students (formerly known as Crusaders).

Of Dogs and Lions

As my son flits around Europe on Spring Break, his girl friend Erin decided to go on a mission with other Wheaton College students to the largest maximum-security prison in the US, the Louisiana State Penitentiary at Angola.

If you are not familiar with this prison, here are some details. Angola has, or did have, a reputation as being the most dangerous prison in the U.S. Murders inside the prison occurred at the rate of about two a month, serious injuries at about three a day and the living conditions were so bad it was under a federal court order to improve. In Louisiana a life sentence means just that, a life sentence. No parole. Many inmates are in their seventies and eighties. One old boy is 89. He was sent to Angola when he was 15. They aren’t kidding about life sentences. There is a graveyard on the property where inmates who die at Angola are buried if unclaimed by relatives. Even the dead don’t leave this prison. Escapes are rare too. The current Warden, a reformer, is quoted, “If you run we’re gunna shoot y’all. Its’ the law.” Death of another kind is present at Angola: capital punishment. There are 83 men on death-row. Recently the movie, Dead Man Walking, told the story of Sister Helen Prejean and condemned murderer Robert Lee Willie, an inmate at Angola.

After many decades of reform attempts, Angola has made some progress. Among the contributing factors is the introduction of many different Christian prison ministries with the warden’s encouragement. He has a relationship with Wheaton College in that he speaks at the college chapel on occasion and allows Wheaton students to visit in ministry teams.

When Erin called us, safely back in her Wheaton apartment, she told us sobering details of her experiences but also inspiring stories of the Christian inmates she met there. One prisoner under a life sentence, Eugene Tannehill, has been in Angola for 38 years. Now a fire-and-brimstone preacher, he is nicknamed the “Bishop” and spends his time preaching and teaching the gospel to other inmates. "Your life's not finished just because you're in Angola," he says.

I am reminded of a bible verse, Ecclesiastes 9:4, which says, “Anyone who is among the living has hope—even a live dog is better off than a dead lion!” (In ancient Hebrew culture it seems that dogs were detestable.) I guess a paraphrase would be that it’s better to be the lowest scum of the earth and alive than be a dead king or potentate or rich man. At the end of all the fun and the silliness of this blog, I remain very glad that Peter Mooney, our lovable washed-up adman, is still alive and kicking and walking around on planet earth.

A Letter From Moody

Peter's Ashtray is pleased to present another item left behind in Pacific Palisades. This letter was a significant turning point in young Peter's life.

Moody Bible Institute

December 14, 1970

Peter S. Mooney
430 La Renaldo Dr
Fullerton, CA 92836

Dear Mr. Mooney,
It is with regret that I write to inform you that we will not be accepting your application for admission to Moody Bible Institute for the 1971 fall term. After much prayerful consideration we do not feel that Moody would be the best fit for your undergraduate studies. From your letter it is evident that you are a highly motivated, creative and energetic individual. In fact your application was so remarkable that it bears comment. After reading our comments it is hoped that you will be able to direct your talents toward a school that better fits your career goals.

We appreciate very much your admiration for mid-west farmer’s daughters but the fact that they, “really make you feel alright,” is not the best reason to come to Chicago.

On your application, in answer to the question about career goals, you expressed an interest in our missionary aviation degree because you wanted to, “fly into the Auca Indian villages and kick some serious butt.” Mr. Mooney, all the Auca tribal leaders have converted to Christianity and interference of that kind is unwarranted.

We were puzzled by your use of the word “bong.” As you are undoubtedly aware, Moody’s campus is in an urban setting. The trustees throughout our long history have always felt that a bell tower would be an inappropriate way to minister to our non-Christian neighbors and they apply the same policy to any noisemakers other than musical instruments in student residence halls.

Lastly, we are not sure what to make of your assertion that you are the son of Billy Graham but we are very excited to learn that your grandfather founded International House of Pancakes. And yes, of course, a large donation would be appreciated.

A person of your creativity and intelligence can go far, we are certain, if given an opportunity to thrive in a setting that recognizes your talents. Perhaps one of the fine Christian schools near where you live would be more appropriate such as Biola, Azusa Pacific or Westmont.

We are returning the reference letter you sent to us from Mr. Fun, the Activities Director at Forrest Home Camp. His letter speaks very highly of you.

Good luck on your quest to find the right college and may God bless.
Sincerely,

Robert W. Hazelton
Director of Admissions
Moody Bible Institute

PSMMRL
Peter S. Mooney - 1970
Catalogue #50-PSM70-L04

Word of the Day

Chimerical

chimerical \ky-MER-ih-kuhl; adjective:
1. Created by or as if by a wildly fanciful imagination; highly improbable.
2. Given to unrealistic fantasies; fanciful.
3. often chimeric Of, related to, or being a chimera.

A Poem by the YB of the SC

The Yakimaniacs are pleased to announce a new contributor to Peter’s Ashtray. The Younger Brother of the Smoking Christian has graciously consented, over the objections of his agent, to submit his literary brilliance for our discerning readers. Please make him feel welcome by your kind and generous comments.


Advertising - Family - Values

Music blaring nostrils flaring lungs are daring
Another day has been burned
Sleep depriving people striving deep sea diving
Another night has been churned

Ash collecting introspecting self-protecting
Another year has been burned
Money lending debit spending charts are trending
Another lesson has been learned

Barbeques galore nostril snore daily chore
Another decade has been chalked
Pencils breaking ecstacy faking pizzas baking
The stalker is being stalked

Proxy voting mothers doting authors quoting
Another life has been burned
People counting mutiny bounty cats are pouncing
Save yourself

Believe it conceive it retrieve it
I give up
It's there I care I'm well aware
You win

What's On Your Plate?®

My wife and I decided to do a little personal research to find out for ourselves about all the fuss regarding HomeTown Buffet^® or Old Country Buffet^® as it’s called in our fair city. We felt this was necessary before we were all hit with a product disparagement lawsuit.

First some background: We are fairly experienced diner-outers. I also have some inside knowledge. Sometime back, in between careers, I worked for the local County Health District. My primary job was to train food service workers but quite often I would assist the Inspectors when they visited restaurants for routine inspections. We used to see a lot of stuff, some good and some bad. After a while you get a feel for what is going on when you walk into a restaurant. This has its advantages for casual diners like us. It can also turn what would normally be considered a great dining experience, into a nightmare. In any case we felt eminently qualified for the task.

Before this field trip I had never been to our local OCB. Years ago when our son was small, my wife took him there for dinner while I was out of town. She refused to go back claiming the food was, “too bland, no taste.” I have tried repeatedly over the years to get her to reconsider so I could check it out. After all, there are only so many places to dine in Yukimoo. No dice. Finally, after much pleading she agreed to meet me there for lunch only in the interest of research for the SC.

Our visit did not begin well. Thinking the noon rush would be over, we arrived at 1:00 PM. We couldn’t find a place to park and we were confronted by people in old Cadillacs cruising around the lot looking for the disabled parking spaces. When we got inside we found a line of people extending out the door. They were not from our socio-economic milieu.

I immediately found myself chatting with an Arkie wearing bib overalls and Reeboks. He was saying something about the negative influence of cell phones on our culture but I’m not sure. I didn’t really understand his dialect. Fortunately the line was moving fairly fast. Up at the head I could see banks of buffets. I had never seen anything like it. It was crowded with people, easily the busiest restaurant in town. This place had more business than all the McDonalds in Yakima County. They all seemed to be moving about in a kind of human Brownian motion. I can only describe it as bumper cars without the violence or perhaps a Malibu Grand Prix without the cars and the noise. There were lots of bright lights and colorful food or what I took to be food. I couldn’t really tell.

I reached the head of the line, paid the nice cashier and was told to wait for a table. There were lots of managers. I could instantly tell who the managers were: name badges, regulation rumpled white shirts embossed with "Old Country Buffet," ties and size 48 bellies erupting from size 36 business apparel trousers. “Wow! The food must be good here,” I exclaimed to my wife. I saw one waving his arms and looking at me. He apparently was beckoning us to our table. At that instant a small elderly man with no teeth brushed past me towards the gesticulating 48/36. His wife who was behind us in line was yelling something. I said, “Hey! Excuse me!” in my sternest voice. The old man’s wife grabbed his arm and yanked him back into line. I lunged for our table across the room deftly avoiding the wheelchairs, walkers and crutches all askew in the aisleways. I wondered how we would ever get our food.

Uncertain what to do next we decided to jump into the fray. It took me two laps around the track to find the plates but once I did I was throwing elbows with the best of ‘em. I hit the salad buffet first. It seemed to be the least populated. Green salad, potato salad, seafood pasta salad and a butter-topped dinner roll, I piled them high. My winsome bride, always carb-conscious, went straight for the mac & cheese, cornbread stuffing, BBQ chicken, green beans, mashed potatoes and gravy.

¡Aye, qué sabroso! After all the ridicule about HTB/OCB, we were tasting delightful, even delectable, food. And my experienced eye told me this was a well managed establishment; the hot foods hot and the cold foods cold. All in vast quantities too! We were shocked and amazed!

I went for round two: breaded fish baked & fried, French fries and fried chicken. Same result: Outstanding! My wife was so enthralled that she returned to the melee for a second helping of cornbread stuffing and green beans. Nothing could dampen our enthusiasm. Not even the large woman at the next table shoveling spaghetti into her mouth in a very unsportsman-like way and eyeing a gap in the throng. Well she wasn’t going to get ahead of me! I went back for round three to find out what my wife was excited about: BBQ chicken, green beans, mashed potatoes and gravy. I didn’t find these items as satisfying and I was starting to slow down when the toothless man got up so I raced him to the breaded fish, baked and fried.

When I got back my wife needed to visit the dessert area. When she returned I said, “I’m just too stuffed for dessert. We’ll have to come back.” “Okay, that’ll give me a chance to sample the salad bar,” she replied, “I bet your Dad would like this place. Next time we’ll invite him.”

As we finished cleaning up our plates I began to feel an uncomfortable churning. I thought of all that breaded fish, baked and fried. “Honey," I said to my wife, “I think I ate too much.” I was thankful I had prepaid because by the time we made it outside the restaurant my stomach was in full projectile mode. I saw a nearby dumpster and let fly. My understanding bride patted me gently on the back, reassuring me that she was there with me. When I had finished she pulled me quickly away. To my horror I realized that my “dumpster” was the yawning trunk of a 1979 Coupe de Ville.

Speeding back to our Viewmont Palisades enclave my wife asked,
“We should go there again don’t you think?”
“I’ll call Dad,” I answered weakly.

Out of My Brain On the Train

What do you do if you’re an old, deaf rock star who’s lost his voice? You go on tour of course!

That’s right Who fans, Pete and Roger have announced yet another tour!
A sort of Who by Two, if you will.

To be fair at 60 plus years old, a rocker morphing into the deaf, dumb and blind kid is probably an occupational hazard. It could be worse, they could be The Stones.

Anyway I stumbled onto Pete Townshend’s web site the other night and watched an hour of The Who performing live in Yokohama, Japan in 2004. If you’re interested in hearing how they sound without John Entwistle this is the place to go: http://www.petetownshend.co.uk/

The video starts with I Can’t Explain, Substitute, Anyway Anyhow Anywhere, and Baba O’Riley. So far so good. As the familiar hymns rolled along I was reminded of a Righteous Brothers concert I went to a few years back. It was painfully obvious that Bobby Hatfield couldn't hit the high notes anymore. He was a big enough person to admit it to the audience and have a laugh over it.

Aside from the sad state of their voices — the repetitive “who, who” sung in Who Are You sounds like a dog barking somewhere at the end of a long alley and Daltry’s vocals on 5:15 are simply horrendous — Pete’s guitar is still vibrant as ever and their two new songs Old Red Wine and Real Good Looking Boy are quite good, very fresh and unique.

The most surprising thing about their performance was the drummer. No more Kenny Jones. He, whoever he is, returns The Who to their old frenetic Keith Moon sound. He is simply amazing! It gives the overall sound lots more energy, more than making up for other deficiencies. Another surprising thing is that the electric piano player is a dead ringer (pun intended) for John Entwistle which is fine because the bassist is nearly invisible off to the side just as John was.

Toward the end of the video I began to hear the old Who sound again. Daltry seemed to have saved his voice for a big finish on See Me Feel Me and Pinball Wizard and Pete was his old incredible self on Amazing Journey and Sparks, a master at his craft, unmercifully torturing his guitar and wringing from it the last full measure of sound.

Will I go and see these oldsters of rock on tour?
You better, you bet!
And I’ll probably see you there with your kids and grandkids too.

The Palm Springs of Washington

During this most painful sabbatical by the Smoking Christian I will take this time to clear up some misconceptions about our beloved city Yakima, WA. Anything but obscure, this bustling metropolis situated in south central Washington State between the Yakama Indian Reservation and the shuttered Boise Cascade sawmill, boasts many wonderful features and persons of renown.

Phil and Steve Mahre, the famous World Cup and Olympic ski champions once lived near Yakima and now live kind of close. Native son and Supreme Court Justice William O. Douglas moved away to live and die in Goose Prairie. Famed pitching coach of the New York Yankees Mel Stottlemyre hasn’t been back to Yakima in years and Willie Nelson’s mother, a long-time Yakima resident, who died recently did not have a visit from her famous son even for her funeral.

All in all though its a pleasant place to live. Demographically we are very diverse. We used to have three ethnic groups but now we are down to two. Without going into the messy details let’s just say that Martin Luther King Jr. Avenue has recently been renamed Caesar Chavez Boulevard. (Our Native American neighbors are not counted in these totals because they are a separate sovereign nation with national heroes of their own.)

We are fortunate to live in an upper income ($35,000+ per year) enclave above the valley floor called Viewmont Palisades. This upscale neighborhood of attractive McMansions is scheduled to have paved streets as soon as the city extends the sewer lines.

Culturally speaking, we are very proud of our own Central Washington State Fair. It used to be the State Fair but other regions wanted a piece of the lucrative 4-H livestock auction. Now the Cinco de Mayo celebrations and the rodeo in another town 30 miles away are the highlights of our calendar.

We are very diverse agriculturally. We did have the very first case of Mad Cow disease in the US but we are proud of the fact that our apples are now completely Alar-free.

Even though our murder rate per capita ranks just above South Central Los Angeles we have the finest police department anywhere and this helps push the methamphetamine trade to the more rural areas of the county. This works out well for the manufactured home dealers who sell special models with kitchens equipped for the do-it-yourself chemist.

Shopping opportunities are equally impressive. We used to have our very own Nordstrom but the management has been super nice and has promised to send their many loyal Yakima customers by three hour bus ride to their stores in Seattle at a reasonable fare. We are soon to get our second Wal-Mart Superstore in a zoned residential area. This will be a very convenient walk from anywhere and we’ll be able to see the bright lights and busy activity in their parking lot 24 hours a day from our house in Viewmont Palisades.

Recreational activities abound. Even though all our city pools are closed, we have the scenic Yakima River, which runs slow enough and shallow enough for swimmers at least two months of the year. It is such fun to watch the cute little brown children dive off the Burlington Northern Railroad bridge as their dutiful and attentive parents do their laundry below.

As you can see, we are rich in heritage, culture and opportunity here in Yakima, or as we affectionately call it, “The Palm Springs of Washington.” It’s no wonder that so many Southern Californians are selling their homes and moving north for the simpler, more wholesome lifestyle.