Mel Brooks said it is good to be the king in one of his movies. On a picturesque Saturday before Memorial Day, life seems pleasant and serene. I observed that MJ had a new seersucker garment and decided nothing would be finer than ordering a seersucker shirt for my summer travels and experiences. I had some seersucker shirts many years ago and liked them very much. I even possessed a seersucker sport coat one long ago time. I like saying seersucker…it has a unique ring to it. As I entered Giant City today I noticed what a difference a day makes when it is Memorial Day Weekend. Yesterday the parking lots were either empty or had one or two vehicles in them. At the same time, today they were packed with family picnic revelers and family reunions and those of us who had decided that now is the time to enjoy the out-of-doors.

Decoration Day is what my family referred to Memorial Day as. They purchased flowers and pots to put them in and wreaths to place on or near the Gravestones of their loved ones. Our dearly departed were never far from us. We spoke of them often and laughed about the antics and wondered what they would have said in situations where we found ourselves. Neva J. remembered her brother Dutch. Dutch went missing during the Second World War. Grandma Askew always believed that Dutch would either come home one day or contact her. Dutch was known to disappear for periods of time before the War. Indeed he must have performed his disappearing act during the conflict.

Soda Pop and slow days were the order of the day when Billy B. was young. He slept until noon if he wanted to. Bacon lettuce and tomato sandwiches for Brunch when he arose. Pounds Hollow Swim Days with Chet and Brenda and Jane and Neva J. driving the beloved 57′ Chevy. You literally could lay on the beach and watch the sunset. No homework is to be done…no schedule to keep…no book reports being given. Ralphie was not the only one who had a Red Ryder BB Gun. There was target practice at tin cans and once in a while a bird in the oak tree. Billy B. actually hit a little bird and it fell out of the tree and it was dead. He felt so bad that he never shot another.

Hot it is on Memorial Day Weekend…especially when you do not have air conditioning. Memorial Day signified the days of waking up hot and sweaty and remaining so for the entire day and evening and then as they say…wash and repeat. Bicycle time came with Memorial Day. Riding up the gravel road to town and enjoying the warm breeze. No need for the woolen hat of winter or the flannel shirt…just the open road and bugs in your teeth.

We sat and talked about the meaning of life and its brevity. Billy B.’s classmate Neal died suddenly. He was a friendly person who spoke each time that he saw you and never wavered from his wide grin and peaceful manner. Soldiers were dying then…soldiers are dying now. We tell ourselves that we are on that perfect quest for the Peaceable Kingdom. Elvis put out at least a movie a year as did John Wayne. Both were Amerian Icons and people to be emulated and admired.

President Kennedy was assassinated. Our next President sought to fulfill his predecessor’s vision and political agenda…but not on Vietnam…on that subject, he did just the opposite.

African Americans asked to be judged by the content of their character. Dr. Martin Luther King was assassinated. Still, we marched to Pretoria…Pretoria…Pretoria…

Bobby Kennedy wanted to help the migrant workers and the poor and he ran for President…and he was assassinated…and yet we marched on hoping to get it right… someday…

‘Come and get it kiddo…we have liver with fried onions,’ Neva J. proclaimed. ‘You know that it is good for your blood the doctors say,’ she continued. ‘My blood has been feeling fine,’ Billy B. answered. ‘I hear that Gone With The Wind is on at the Orpheum this weekend…I want to hear Rhett Butler tell Scarlett that, ‘Frankly my dear I don’t give a damn,’ Jane laughed. ‘Buckley said damn the other day in class and Mrs. K. washed his mouth out with soap,’ Chet observed. ‘I do not usually condone curse words and no one should ever take the Lord’s name in vain…but I do enjoy watching Gone With The Wind,’ Neva J. said with a lilting laugh. ‘You know Mr. Dillard has the most mannerly sons I have ever encountered,’ Neva J. said. ‘Yesterday Billy B. and I went to his home to pay our insurance premium and one of his boys answered the door…he called me mam and thank me for dropping off the payment,’ Neva J. continued. ‘Did you know that their father has a chair that aids him in standing…he had polio as a child,’ Jane said.

‘I have got to practice my cursive writing more…you know the old saying…reading, writing and arithmetic, Billy B. said with a concerned look on his face. ‘Gas has gone up…I paid 32 cents a gallon this morning and Ethyl is 35 cents. It won’t be long before I will not be able to fill up the 57′ on a five dollar bill,’ bemoaned Neva J. ‘I suppose we will be alright as long as we can afford bologna, said Billy B. ‘Hot dogs are my favorite…right out of the package…cold and good,’ Chet grinned a Cheshire Cat grin. ‘It will be good to return to my summer job at Western Auto…Mr. Slim says that he will raise my pay a dime an hour…imagine 60 cents an hour…I will be rich,’ Billy B. exulted!

‘I just do not like thongs as my primary footwear in the summer…I have trouble getting them to stay on my feet,’ said Jane. ‘On seventh street, all the kids go barefoot all summer but I tried it and do not like the feeling…the rocks hurt,’ Chet said. ‘My shoes make my feet sweat…I think that they look like leather…but they are not leather,’ Billy B. moaned.

Well, the badminton net is strung and I have some new birdies…did everyone bring their rackets,’ Neva J. asked? ‘Will there be Cokes and Sweet Tea,’ Jane asked? ‘Do not forget Oscar Meyer…and do not scare them with the fire for the hamburgers,’ Chet smiled.

‘Cousin Gene has been drafted…probably headed to Vietnam,’ Neva J. said with a sigh. ‘Six U.S. soldiers were killed yesterday,’ Chet said with a stone-faced expression. ‘Why are we fighting in Vietnam…I know three people who have been killed and many more who are not the same when they return to the States,’ Jane said. Mr. Feazel said the other day in class that we should negotiate a peace treaty and withdraw…he is a minister,’ Billy B. said. ‘Many boys are moving to Canada to avoid the draft…I do not blame them,’ Neva J. mused with tears in her eyes. ‘You know all I have heard is that we must do what our President tells us to do and if he says to go to another country and fight and die…then it is our duty…but I can not shake the nagging question in my mind…what if he is wrong,’ Chet asked?

‘Well, Monday is the big S. Day,’ said Neva J. ‘Monday is Memorial Day…what is the S. for,’ Jane asked? ‘Swim Day…Pounds Hollow will be open once again and we are all going there to celebrate. Billy B. had thought for a few seconds that Neva J. was referring to her dedicated schedule of restroom focus. She had a condition whereby she believed that she could not void her bowels without laxatives and mineral oil and in the early years prune juice. Have you ever tried prune juice…it is an acquired taste. However…I digress. ‘I will be the first one in the water,’ Billy B. proclaimed! ‘I will bring the scuba gear that I received for Christmas,’ Chet said. ‘Do you really have scuba gear,’ Daryl asked? Well, some people call it snorkeling…but I refer to it as scuba,’ Chet answered.

The Hollow was as lovely as ever. It was a warm Memorial Day. In Little Egypt, the summer months are June July, and August. Memorial Day had June’s Heat. ‘I will carry the umbrella,’ Billy B. announced. ‘Hey, guys…I have snorkels for each of us and we will go out into the deep water that is beyond the rope…as usual, there is no lifeguard,’ Chet proclaimed. ‘First things first…let us have some hot dogs and Charles Chips and a Dixie Cup of Merlot,’ Neva J. laughed.

‘I love this deep water…it seems like another world when we swim so far out,’ Jane said. ‘Did you see the old gravestones down deep in the water,’ Chet asked with a serious look on his face? ‘Yes…it was surreal because it had Neva J.’s name on one and her sister Guelda on the other,’ Billy B. replied. ‘I recalled as I stared at them that Aaron and Jonathon and MJ and I visited the Headstones at Hickory Hill Cemetery Memorial Day and that we took some cleaner along to wash the grime off of them,’ Billy B. said with a quizzical stare. ‘Neva J. is on the beach under an umbrella with a Dixie Cup full of Merlot,’ Daryl said with some force. ‘Yes…but not forever,’ Billy B. said…

The voices we hear in the media are usually strident and opinionated. If you did not know better you would think that we all have evolved into creatures with bull horns attached to our mouths. It seems we have all become a bit of a niche person. You know the type of person who talks with God on a personal and business-like basis and may have been your friend until you parted ways…politically… Since you do not agree with their chosen politician you do not agree with them. Thus instead of our former understanding of disagreeing but not becoming disagreeable, we have decided to demonize the unenlightened.

It has been said that we read less than ever. When I was a lad my mom read two or three books per month and did not have a high school diploma. Now politicians tell us to throw out those books that do not agree with our religious/political ideology. These politicians have no purpose in their restriction on literature than their own political expediency.

We worry and fret and wring our hands together as the rich in our country get richer and the poor sit outside the gate of the city seeking a morsel of bread. But, someone has to be the wicker man…someone has to be the culprit and the goat and the one who has caused our economic woes…so we blame the poor among us and the visitor to our shores and the destitute and the homeless.

We become bored easily. Plenty to eat and warm in the winter and cool in the summer and a house on the hill that is protected from the rising sea…we look out of our gated community to determine who are the ringleaders of the insurrection…when all we need to do is to look in the mirror…

People are scurrying about it like it is almost Memorial Day. At Giant City today the mower guys were out two by two and waving and grinning at the old man on his seeking tour of new plant and tree species. I recalled the many cold days and several with snow and some ice that I had spent in the same woods just a few short weeks ago. Life is never dull…it is constantly changing. I was pointing my iPhone at some ground growth and the species finder said snake and so I peered to see if I could see it…and then decided if the iPhone saw the snake I had better trust its sight which I am certain is better than mine.

HBO Max has been transformed into Max as of today. There have been commercials heralding this transformation for weeks. I have yet to examine the changes but on their advertised face they sound much the same.

I reflected on the many times that I have been in groups… or work for another person and they benevolently endeavored to keep me in my place. You know what I mean by the Superior and Inferior Mystique. I have even experienced this dynamic in churches. I have never believed that I was anyone’s Superior or Inferior. What a bizarre concept that is rooted in a profound inferiority complex.

I often wondered when I was younger how old people morphed into looking like old people. Now I see the dark magic working on me. I rather like looking old…most days. In some circles, you get a modicum more respect. At times young people want to help you with your groceries. I get a price reduction for my haircut and sometimes the young lady does not charge me at all for a beard trim. Years ago a barber told me that in my computer notes regarding what type of haircut I was to receive it said that I was a very nice person. I try to keep my nice reputation intact when I receive my haircut.

As a youth I attended a church that had a lot of old congregants…like I am now. MJ and I would do the grocery shopping for some of them. On one occasion we brought back some Vlasic Dill Pickles to Connie. Now Connie had specifically requested Claussen Dill Pickles but we could not find them. When she saw what we had done there was nothing to do but for MJ and I to return to the Market and find the Claussen Dills that were kept next to the meat. Now I fear that senior church members do not receive the same attention.

I just finished my favorite Stephen King novel of all time, Fairy Tale. I was captivated. I customarily do my reading through Audio Books as it allows me to multitask. I simply could not stop listening to this wonderful and intricate yarn. Let me just say that after reading this masterpiece I can understand how alternate or parallel universes may exist. It also mirrored my love for dogs.

Expectations are high in our world. You can not have too much education we are told. If you want to get ahead just working one full-time job is a prescription of ‘Idel hands are the devil’s workshop.’ With promotion you can obtain the elusive prestige that you have been instructed is essential to being evaluated as a success. Often we are a square peg being jammed into a round hole.

The modern standard of excellence that we are striving to obtain is elusive. No one feels this more than women. Having both the stress of a job and a family and the societal expectations that they can do both with flare is a bit preposterous. Women are admonished that they must excel in their chosen careers while at the same time raising exemplary children…as well as being witty and adroit and always prepared for the next challenge. I wonder how we macho males would feel if women were leering at us while expecting excellence in our work product and home life and to be the fulfillment of adolescent fantasies?

Idols we seek to pattern ourselves after. Having grown up on John Wayne westerns we look for Jesus who must have watched them too and fashioned himself after the Duke’s example. We seek approval and validation from people who are like us. Shoot them up movies and cops and robbers and hard drinking at the bar to fulfill our idol of manliness and male achievement. Men want to cry but have been taught not to. Men need someone to listen to their deepest fears and challenges but that does not fit the template.

Everyone is not like you. We did not all hale from your neck of the woods. Perhaps you enjoy wearing red trousers with a smart bowler hat placed jauntily upon your head. Indeed you may march to the tune of your own drummer and speak your convictions to an audience of blank stares…be proud of who you are!

Judge, too closely we do. We assume that people are doing one thing or another with malice in their hearts when in reality they are feeling their way along the dark and windy road of life. We seek to diagnose the maladies that are in our neighbors…while we seek autonomy in our actions and purposes. We stumble often and at times fall. It is not about the stumbles and falls…it is about getting back up again and putting one foot in front of the other as we walk our life road.

‘Virtually the entire University is undermined with tunnels,’ Chet told Billy B. ‘You mean like the buildings have basements,’ Billy B. asked? ‘No, some buildings have basements but all have tunnels that are often under the basements,’ Chet replied. ‘Have you been in any of them,’ Billy B. asked? ‘Yes, last night,’ Chet said with a grin. ‘What is in them,’ Billy B. asked? ‘Some have Civil Defense candy and crackers from the 1950s and 60s’,’ Chet said. ‘I tried the candy and it is still good,’ he continued. ‘I wonder if anyone lives in those tunnels,’ Jane said. ‘It would be an excellent place for the homeless to stay warm…I imagine many heating pipes in them,’ Neva J. said. ‘Some of them are as large as a massive corridor while others you have to crawl on your belly to make your way through,’ Chet informed them. ‘Are they well lit,’ Jane asked? ‘Yes the University tunnels have lighting throughout them and periodically I have found couches and upholstered chairs and vintage furniture in them,’ Chet answered.

‘To the Tunnels, we shall go,’ proclaimed Neva J. as she loaded the picnic basket and packed the Merlot! ‘My goodness it is dark today…almost like night,’ said Jane as they loaded into the 57′ Chevy. ‘It has been a bit dark since the Crisis,’ Neva J. responded. ‘You just do not see the people that you used to on Campus,’ Billy B. mentioned as they locked the doors of the Old 57′ and entered the Tunnel. ‘It feels like air-conditioned comfort in here,’ said Charles who had decided to join the group at the last minute. ‘Both the heat and the AC are produced by a Steam Plant that burns coal and there are AC vents throughout the Tunnels,’ Chet said.

As the group walked for over a mile it occurred to Jane to ask Chet what he was doing in the Tunnels last night when he ate some of the Civil Defense candy. ‘Well, Beth and I enjoyed some after we watched Succession on HBO,’ Chet replied with a wink. ‘Beth who…Billy B. asked with a start…and what is Succession or HBO?’ ‘Oh I do not know where to begin…after the Crisis, we all came down here and now are in our mid-60s’…it beat the radiation sickness,’ he said with a strange look in his eyes. ‘But we are just kids now…what do you mean the mid-60s…that is the age of my grandparents,’ asked Jane with an exasperated look on her face.

Around the corner were Chet and Beth and Jane and Neva J. and Billy B. and Charles enjoying the quiet life of the retired. They often delighted in going around the corner to relive the memories of their youth and the unique opportunities of living in the Tunnels…and on the edge of two parallel universes…

We all have need of them…but no one talks about them. We hope that others will think that perhaps we have found a better way. I learned today that most toilets sold in Lowes are ADA compliant…they are a bit taller…and sometimes a bit can make all of the difference. It is a long way down for a seat on the low toilets…for a tall person.

The lids when released by your hand…come down slow. Slow is good rather than the hard crack of the old composite seats banging against the porcelain bowl. Have you tried a bidet? They can be attached to your toilet. It is a wet wild ride!

We looked at a self-cleaning toilet this morning. I gave it a thorough examination but could not find the little man or woman who was doing the cleaning work. Many years ago I worked with a student custodian who told me that he could not lower himself to clean toilets. He had taken a job in housekeeping. I asked him if he thought that we had self-cleaning toilets. Having spent my career in Building Services I told my colleague in a staff meeting that I was indeed concerned about the ply of toilet paper and that he should be glad that someone was concerned about it.

Believing that I had a working knowledge of toilets I was amazed when we visited Italy and in the town of Collodi, which is the home of Pinnochio, that the toilets at their town park were floor level…it appeared that sitting was not an option.

We are proud of our restrooms. We put a lot of money into them. We hang fine art on the walls and pipe in music and mount television and assign them a theme… It is no wonder that we have our water closets as a point of pride for our accomplishments…it has not been that long ago that we had a path to the outhouse and read the toilet paper before its necessary use.

Stories are the framework of our lives. Without them, we have nowhere to hang our hats or retrieve our coats. We all begin in the Cloak Room…

‘Chet, you need to place your hat in the Cloak Room,’ Mrs. K. said. Chet dutifully arose from his first-grade desk and marched into the Cloak Room and subsequently came back without his hat. Billy B. had never heard the term Cloak Room. He thought what an interesting title for your hats and coats and at times your gloves and scarves and snow boots…the kind with the three buckles down the front.

‘What is the little door in the back of the Cloak Room and where does it lead to,’ Billy B. asked Jane? ‘I have heard that it leads to the band room…but someone entered it once and was never seen again,’ she said with a wicked wink. ‘Do you think that is where Buddy went as we have not seen him in class for two weeks,’ Billy B. asked? ‘Buddy was rambunctious enough to explore what is beyond the Cloak Room Door but if he were in the band room he would have been found by the custodian, Mr. Watson, that evening,’ Jane mused. ‘I asked Mr. Watson if he has ever seen anything strange happen in the building and he said to never enter the little door at the back of the Cloak Room,’ Chet said as he placed his hat on his head and they all peered into the darkness behind the little door of the CR.

‘I am reading the most interesting of mysteries,’ Neva J. said to the group as they piled into the 57′ Chevy. It was an exceptionally warm May 17 and she had the ragtop down on the car. ‘What is the title of your new novel,’ Jane asked? ‘The Cloak Room,’ Neva J. said with a wide smile. ‘Would you like to accompany us as we explore the secret door of our Cloak Room,’ Billy B. asked? ‘Let’s come back after dark and slip in through the back door and see if there is anything to the myth of the CR,’ Chet said.

Mr. Watson was busily buffing the hallway tile floor. It gleamed under his expertise. As the kids got down on their hands and knees to enter the half door at the back of the CR Neva J. followed with a large flashlight. Suddenly it was morning and Mrs. K. said,’ Chet please place your hat in the Cloak Room…and there was Buddy in his assigned seat.

I grew up thinking everyone must have fried potatoes each night for supper. Southern Illinois is close enough to the south for the evening meal to be referred to as supper. In our part of the world after supper at a restaurant, the waitress or waiter would ask who wanted a cup of complimentary coffee. Yes, we consumed fried green tomatoes long before the movie was filmed. We also loved a big ripe red tomato fresh out of the garden as we plucked it and rinsed it off…if we had time…and took our trusty salt shaker out to liberally sprinkle it. Did you know that the tomato is a fruit?

Earl swore that there was no better steak than Hamburger Steak. Neva J. laughed each time he said this and informed him again that Hamburger Steak is just a hamburger with gravy on it. Earl also loved Chili-Mac and swore that you could not get good Chili-Mac around Eldorado…but that central Illinois had some delicious Chili-Mac.

Shawneetown had wonderful fried catfish. Shawneetown had been famous and had declined to have the railroad run through their booming town and thus lost the opportunity to Chicago… Neva J. and I often drove to Shawneetown for the catfish. It was fried at a bar and I often thought how fun it would be to get some beer to go with the Cat.

Eldorado had several little family-owned restaurants. When I was a boy I do not think we had any franchise eateries in town. When I would see advertisements for McDonalds I assumed they were located in the big city. The little restaurants in town were fun and served you your lunch or breakfast on a heavy plate and your coffee in a large white mug. It was a bit like a family sitting down for a meal. As the popular television show Cheers theme song says…’Where everybody knows your name.’

Smorgasbourghs were the ticket in my youth. Two Tonys had one in West Frankfort and one in Carmi. Earl and Neva J. considered them the epitome of fine dining and I agreed. All you could eat…that said it all. I soon discovered that the bread and vegetables and sweets were at the beginning of the line and the succulent meat was at the end. I endeavored to save space on my overburdened plate for the meat. One Christmas Neva J. swore that we were going to enjoy Christmas Dinner out that year. Earl assured her that there would not be anything open but she proudly proclaimed that she was certain that Two Tonys would be open and ready for business. Christmas we drove first to Carmi…it was a bit closer…and found it closed. Next, we drove to West Frankfort…closed. Finally, we found succor at Poor Boys Market in Harrisburg and purchased some ground beef for some wonderful Christmas Hamburgers.

The children of the Great Depression had a great respect for having enough to eat and a restaurant with a bar of food that was available for the taking was like Christmas in July! Earl and Neva J. loved Ponderosa Steak House in Harrisburg. Often Neva J.’s sisters Guelda and Wanda would accompany them and Earl and Neva J. would buy their meal. They rejoiced in the Food Bar that had sundry kinds of delicious salads and hot food as well. Finally, their stomachs got the best of them and they began taking some home for later…as they knew that they would be hungry again. They performed this feat by wrapping the culinary treasure in several napkins and placing them in their purses. Earl and Neva J. stopped taking them as the management told Earl what they were doing.