The above image is the ideal of a perfect romance, the one event in life that is searched for and hoped for, the one event that rarely ever happens, or if it does, it is fleeting. This is only my opinion, of course.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
I scanned this from my step mother's old photographs
LOOKING AT THIS PHOTO, I see the pain many women suffer from having to live as an alcoholic or WITH an alcoholic. If it is staged, it is a great pose and looks quite qenuine. Robert
Monday, April 4, 2011
SLICE OF LIFE: MIDWEST IN THE 1960S
THOSE WERE THE DAYS...Gone but not forgotten. And when you read my novel, AN AMERICAN WANDERING, you will remember an America that will never be again, for better or worse.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Friday, January 21, 2011
WIEN COFFEE SHOP, YOKOHAMA 1962 & 1963
WIEN COFFEE SHOP, YOKOHAMA 1962 & 1963
blogaboutjapan.blogspot.com/
Uploaded by roberthuffstutter on 20 Jul 09, 12.36PM PST.
blogaboutjapan.blogspot.com/
Uploaded by roberthuffstutter on 20 Jul 09, 12.36PM PST.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
img01--SANTA MONICA 28 March 1964
browsing the Flickr photostreams, this photo is one that captures the essence of my youth.
The Monica Hotel was one of my haunts in 1960. While I was not old enough to sip cocktails, I did so without questions about my age. It was a very happy bar and I enjoyed sitting at the bar watching the beautiful people passing by. It was air-conditioned and the longer I sat inside this bar, the more joyful my mind and imagination became.
If the viewer will note the left side of this image, the old Merry Go Round on Santa Monica Pier is visible. I do not recall too much graphitti in the 60s, but I do remember many chic and sexy young people like the gal and guy passing by.
It was a time when a few words of conversation could strike up an interesting transient relationship. Yes, those were the days.
In the far distance, one can view the Mountains where Malibu was located on PCH at the end of the pennisular range of mountains. I never worried about riding a bike, thus the sign meant nothing at all to me, I always had transportation, transient as it was, whenever the party or parties ended for the night or morning.
The Monica Hotel was one of my haunts in 1960. While I was not old enough to sip cocktails, I did so without questions about my age. It was a very happy bar and I enjoyed sitting at the bar watching the beautiful people passing by. It was air-conditioned and the longer I sat inside this bar, the more joyful my mind and imagination became.
If the viewer will note the left side of this image, the old Merry Go Round on Santa Monica Pier is visible. I do not recall too much graphitti in the 60s, but I do remember many chic and sexy young people like the gal and guy passing by.
It was a time when a few words of conversation could strike up an interesting transient relationship. Yes, those were the days.
In the far distance, one can view the Mountains where Malibu was located on PCH at the end of the pennisular range of mountains. I never worried about riding a bike, thus the sign meant nothing at all to me, I always had transportation, transient as it was, whenever the party or parties ended for the night or morning.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
img01--SANTA MONICA 28 March 1964
A SHORT STORY ABOUT THE GREAT TIMES ON THE STRAND
Of all of the photos I have discovered by browsing the Flickr photostreams, this photo is one that captures the essence of my youth.
The Monica Hotel was one of my haunts in 1960. While I was not old enough to sip cocktails, I did so without questions about my age. It was a very happy bar and I enjoyed sitting at the bar watching the beautiful people passing by. It was air-conditioned and the longer I sat inside this bar, the more joyful my mind and imagination became.
If the viewer will not the left side of the image, the old Merry Go Round on Santa Monica Pier is visible. I do not recall too much graphiti in the 60s, but I do remember many chic and sexy young people like the gal ad guy passing by.
It was a time when a few words of conversation could strike up an interesting transient relationship. Yes, those were the days.
In the far distance, one can view the Mountains where Malibu was located on PCH at the end of the pennisular range of mountains. I never worried about riding a bike, thus the sign meant nothing at all to me, I always had transportation, transient as it was, whenever the party or parties ended for the night or morning.
_____________________________________________________
img01--SANTA MONICA 28 March 1964
Photo project for state college photo journalism class back in 1964.
Uploaded by Lance & Cromwell on 16 Mar 09, 6.36PM PDT.
Of all of the photos I have discovered by browsing the Flickr photostreams, this photo is one that captures the essence of my youth.
The Monica Hotel was one of my haunts in 1960. While I was not old enough to sip cocktails, I did so without questions about my age. It was a very happy bar and I enjoyed sitting at the bar watching the beautiful people passing by. It was air-conditioned and the longer I sat inside this bar, the more joyful my mind and imagination became.
If the viewer will not the left side of the image, the old Merry Go Round on Santa Monica Pier is visible. I do not recall too much graphiti in the 60s, but I do remember many chic and sexy young people like the gal ad guy passing by.
It was a time when a few words of conversation could strike up an interesting transient relationship. Yes, those were the days.
In the far distance, one can view the Mountains where Malibu was located on PCH at the end of the pennisular range of mountains. I never worried about riding a bike, thus the sign meant nothing at all to me, I always had transportation, transient as it was, whenever the party or parties ended for the night or morning.
_____________________________________________________
img01--SANTA MONICA 28 March 1964
Photo project for state college photo journalism class back in 1964.
Uploaded by Lance & Cromwell on 16 Mar 09, 6.36PM PDT.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
ARRIVING IN VENICE BEACH, CALIFORNIA
Check out this image in my FLICKR PHOTOSTREAM for more details and links to my essays. If you need to EMail me, huffstutter7@aol.com
Monday, April 5, 2010
Riding Amtrak (1975)
Riding Amtrak (1975)
Eastern USA, November 1975.
Uploaded by Hunter-Desportes on 22 Nov 09, 11.37AM PDT.
Eastern USA, November 1975.
Uploaded by Hunter-Desportes on 22 Nov 09, 11.37AM PDT.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Devil Bar
...it's all the red. And of course, it is because this is the only place on the West Coast where one can truly enjoy the true "martini from hell"...and still retain one's sanity. Yes, this is where it's at. The longer one sits here, the more mellow one becomes. Keep in mind, however, California's fierce laws against driving while intoxicated, thus hire a driver for your pub crawling while enjoying a time out from the times that trouble mens' souls.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
360 YEN PER U.S. DOLLAR 1963
ESSAY ABOUT THE ROOFS OF JAPAN: Memories of my time spent in Japan during the early 1960s by Robert L. Huffstutter
When I first arrived in Japan, in August of 1961, my first impressions were so many and varied it is difficult to describe in a short essay, but it is an essay I have been writing in various form throughout these past years. Each mention I make of Japan is part of this ongoing essay, one that will only end when my life ends. So, to say that Japan made an impression on me is an understatement. From that first day in August so many years ago, my love and fascination for Japan has increased into volumes, many yet to be recorded, though I continue writing.
Now, about the roofs. The roofs of Japan are like no other roofs anywhere, their tiles, their decor, their natural blend into the ever-present shilouettes of the hills behind almost every scene in the old woodblocks, the early photographs, the contemporary photographs, and in almost each of my own paintings of Japan.
I love the roofs of Japan, the ones in your image, the traditional and classic. But not those roofs only, no, but the roofs of the lesser structures too, those wooden structures still remaining that were constructed in the 19th century. They were plentiful to the eye in the early 1960s and I hope there are many left.
But those roofs constructed to simply provide a roof over one's head have a certain type of charm too; they are not just slopes of plywood like so many I see in the USA, put up to keep the rain out and nothing more. No these economical roofs constructed to keep one dry in Japan do not forget tradition or heritage, thus even those roofs have a personality of their own, and they weather soon to appear as though they were built when Hearn was looking down at Yokohama from his hilltop abode.
But enough about the roofs, those with history and those built for residential purposes and commercial purposes. The eventually converge and meet in the metropolitan congestion of cities in Japan. My relationship with the cities of Japan is confined mostly to Yokohama. Yes, Yokohama, I knew it well for my time spent. It was Yokohama where I went for sketching, for a getaway on weekends, for a time to party, Oh, Yokohama, I knew you well. Your roofs were alway the subject of my visual delights as I rode the trains to and from Sagami-Otsuka.
They flew by me quickly on those trains that stopped at towns like Tsuruma, Yamato, and so many others before finally reaching the train station in Yokohama. Oh, what a mass of humanity going one way and another, quickly and briskly, soon to disappear in one shopping street and then another.
During my first few weeks of residence in Japan, my footsteps fell on many streets that fascinated me, but were not the streets where I had intended on going. I was always looking for Iza-zake-jo, that street where everyone seemed to want to be, where there were hundreds of paper lanterns hung at a most ornate entry, plastic cherry blossom attached to the many lines that run along the way, sakura, sakura, pink and beautiful even when the season was over. And always the joyful aromas of delicious curry and soba with strange spices I had never tried. The roofs, the roofs, with their diverse angles popping up with impressive dragon motifs and little symbols I knew nothing about.
The roofs of Japan, yes, they made quite an impression on me my first day in Japan, and on my last day in Japan too. As the vessel that took me away from my beloved left its wake from the pier at Yokosuka, heading for my country, there were tears in my eyes for a country I had loved from my very first day, and a country that I would love forever.
We had shared so many hours together; we had shared stories abot our families and we shared sad moments when she told me about her father, a man she never knew. She was the daughter of a Burma Road soldier and never returned home. She had shown me his photo once, and then never again. He had looked so young and handsome in his uniform. We understood that all was forgiven. It had not mattered to us. What had mattered had been the time we had spent sketching in Sankien gardens, in Yamashita park, in Hakone and by the side of little roads in villages when we just decided to let the trains take us where we wanted to go.
As my vessel moved away from the pier, we waved, she with a white hankerchief, me with my hand and then my hat until there was no longer an image but only a memory. And the ship moved beyond the horizon. She turned and returned to her home in the large apartment buildings of Totsuka; I stayed on deck of that large transport, leaning on the rail, still seeing what I imaged were the shilouettes of those eternal mountains, but they were ghost images only. When the sun finally set on the Pacific, I turned in for the night and wrote a letter.
The roofs of Japan appear in my paintings and in my dreams. When I return, the reality of those roofs will make me smile once again.
THIS ESSAY HAS NOT YET BEEN COMPLETELY EDITED FOR ERRORS............
When I first arrived in Japan, in August of 1961, my first impressions were so many and varied it is difficult to describe in a short essay, but it is an essay I have been writing in various form throughout these past years. Each mention I make of Japan is part of this ongoing essay, one that will only end when my life ends. So, to say that Japan made an impression on me is an understatement. From that first day in August so many years ago, my love and fascination for Japan has increased into volumes, many yet to be recorded, though I continue writing.
Now, about the roofs. The roofs of Japan are like no other roofs anywhere, their tiles, their decor, their natural blend into the ever-present shilouettes of the hills behind almost every scene in the old woodblocks, the early photographs, the contemporary photographs, and in almost each of my own paintings of Japan.
I love the roofs of Japan, the ones in your image, the traditional and classic. But not those roofs only, no, but the roofs of the lesser structures too, those wooden structures still remaining that were constructed in the 19th century. They were plentiful to the eye in the early 1960s and I hope there are many left.
But those roofs constructed to simply provide a roof over one's head have a certain type of charm too; they are not just slopes of plywood like so many I see in the USA, put up to keep the rain out and nothing more. No these economical roofs constructed to keep one dry in Japan do not forget tradition or heritage, thus even those roofs have a personality of their own, and they weather soon to appear as though they were built when Hearn was looking down at Yokohama from his hilltop abode.
But enough about the roofs, those with history and those built for residential purposes and commercial purposes. The eventually converge and meet in the metropolitan congestion of cities in Japan. My relationship with the cities of Japan is confined mostly to Yokohama. Yes, Yokohama, I knew it well for my time spent. It was Yokohama where I went for sketching, for a getaway on weekends, for a time to party, Oh, Yokohama, I knew you well. Your roofs were alway the subject of my visual delights as I rode the trains to and from Sagami-Otsuka.
They flew by me quickly on those trains that stopped at towns like Tsuruma, Yamato, and so many others before finally reaching the train station in Yokohama. Oh, what a mass of humanity going one way and another, quickly and briskly, soon to disappear in one shopping street and then another.
During my first few weeks of residence in Japan, my footsteps fell on many streets that fascinated me, but were not the streets where I had intended on going. I was always looking for Iza-zake-jo, that street where everyone seemed to want to be, where there were hundreds of paper lanterns hung at a most ornate entry, plastic cherry blossom attached to the many lines that run along the way, sakura, sakura, pink and beautiful even when the season was over. And always the joyful aromas of delicious curry and soba with strange spices I had never tried. The roofs, the roofs, with their diverse angles popping up with impressive dragon motifs and little symbols I knew nothing about.
The roofs of Japan, yes, they made quite an impression on me my first day in Japan, and on my last day in Japan too. As the vessel that took me away from my beloved left its wake from the pier at Yokosuka, heading for my country, there were tears in my eyes for a country I had loved from my very first day, and a country that I would love forever.
We had shared so many hours together; we had shared stories abot our families and we shared sad moments when she told me about her father, a man she never knew. She was the daughter of a Burma Road soldier and never returned home. She had shown me his photo once, and then never again. He had looked so young and handsome in his uniform. We understood that all was forgiven. It had not mattered to us. What had mattered had been the time we had spent sketching in Sankien gardens, in Yamashita park, in Hakone and by the side of little roads in villages when we just decided to let the trains take us where we wanted to go.
As my vessel moved away from the pier, we waved, she with a white hankerchief, me with my hand and then my hat until there was no longer an image but only a memory. And the ship moved beyond the horizon. She turned and returned to her home in the large apartment buildings of Totsuka; I stayed on deck of that large transport, leaning on the rail, still seeing what I imaged were the shilouettes of those eternal mountains, but they were ghost images only. When the sun finally set on the Pacific, I turned in for the night and wrote a letter.
The roofs of Japan appear in my paintings and in my dreams. When I return, the reality of those roofs will make me smile once again.
THIS ESSAY HAS NOT YET BEEN COMPLETELY EDITED FOR ERRORS............
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
ESSAY ABOUT THOMPSONS AND ENERGY
CHILDHOOD MEMORIES: UNCLE JIM AND AUNT DORT
My Uncle Jim and I on the stonewall at Grandfather Hawthornes. From the time my uncle and aunt took me out of the city's home for orphans when I was around three years of age, I lived with them until I turned eighteen. The first few years were spent with Grandmother and Grandfather Hawthorne. We moved down the street from the Hawthornes into a home owned by Doctor Frank Day in 1948. I still recall the joy of having my own room. We did not have television, but somebody bought me my own radio and I was able to listen to all of the good old radio programs that many people my age still chatter about for hours. My favorite radio programs were Gangbusters, Sky King, The Lone Ranger and My Friend Irma. Oh, there were others, too many to reall at a moments notice, but I will say that it was radio that enabled me to envision scenes in my imagination that are much akin to a gallery of slides or photos, on file and ready for an immediate recall whenever I want to remember. Frankly, I'm glad I didn't have a television to keep me company. But more about the radio days in another posting. For the moment, my hat is off to my Uncle Jim for treating me like his own son, may he rest in peace. Uncle Jim passed away in the late summer of 1984. Not a day passes that I do not remember him.
My Uncle Jim and I on the stonewall at Grandfather Hawthornes. From the time my uncle and aunt took me out of the city's home for orphans when I was around three years of age, I lived with them until I turned eighteen. The first few years were spent with Grandmother and Grandfather Hawthorne. We moved down the street from the Hawthornes into a home owned by Doctor Frank Day in 1948. I still recall the joy of having my own room. We did not have television, but somebody bought me my own radio and I was able to listen to all of the good old radio programs that many people my age still chatter about for hours. My favorite radio programs were Gangbusters, Sky King, The Lone Ranger and My Friend Irma. Oh, there were others, too many to reall at a moments notice, but I will say that it was radio that enabled me to envision scenes in my imagination that are much akin to a gallery of slides or photos, on file and ready for an immediate recall whenever I want to remember. Frankly, I'm glad I didn't have a television to keep me company. But more about the radio days in another posting. For the moment, my hat is off to my Uncle Jim for treating me like his own son, may he rest in peace. Uncle Jim passed away in the late summer of 1984. Not a day passes that I do not remember him.
ESSAY ABOUT THOMPSONS AND ENERGY
AN ESSAY ABOUT THOMPSON SUB MACHINE GUNS, TRAINS, ENERGY AND COAL
One of my fondest memories of a toy was this hand-made and hand-carved wooden replica of a Thompson Sub-Machine gun. One of my relatives who had been in the South Pacific during World War II and who had a Thompson, spent some of his down time after the war making wooden items as a way to regain his serenity.
The gun was actual size and most realistic, but it was wooden. Highly varnished, thus shiny, it was a favorite toy and was used many times in childhood war games in the big woods behind this home pictured.
Most of the neighbors had boys, thus as we grew older we were a tight unit of lads, not a gang by any means, but a unit of friends who had the respect we needed by simple civility to the other. If there was ever a disagreement among us, we worked it out by simple avoidance of the other for a few days or a stand and shout session of name-calling. We shared many memories and good times.
At that time in history, the late 40s and 50s, families normally stayed wherever they had a home. There was no moving for the sake of rapid upward mobility or to find a place that did not need up-dating. To be quite frank, there was not one single home on that block that couldn't have used one hell of lot of up-dating. However, everyone was pretty happy. Homes on that block were heated by coal.
There were railroad tracks just a few houses south of where I grew up, thus the sound of trains was part of my youth; there were, I recall some mighty big steam locomotives that roared past our neighborhood. The old Missouri Pacific route of the Eagles had double tracks, the Kansas City Southern, the freight line had one track only. The KCS was basically an oil supply train that ran from the Standard Oil Refinery in Sugar Creek, Missouri to various areas throughout Kansas City, Missouri.
While speaking of refineries, I am reminded of energy.
If one stood at the top of a hill a few blocks north of our block, the eternal flame of the Standard Oil Refinery could be seen. It was a flame that died in the 70s, never to be fill the sky with it's orange glow again.
So, when I think of energy, I think of our natural resources, not windmills...
By Robert L. Huffstutter
One of my fondest memories of a toy was this hand-made and hand-carved wooden replica of a Thompson Sub-Machine gun. One of my relatives who had been in the South Pacific during World War II and who had a Thompson, spent some of his down time after the war making wooden items as a way to regain his serenity.
The gun was actual size and most realistic, but it was wooden. Highly varnished, thus shiny, it was a favorite toy and was used many times in childhood war games in the big woods behind this home pictured.
Most of the neighbors had boys, thus as we grew older we were a tight unit of lads, not a gang by any means, but a unit of friends who had the respect we needed by simple civility to the other. If there was ever a disagreement among us, we worked it out by simple avoidance of the other for a few days or a stand and shout session of name-calling. We shared many memories and good times.
At that time in history, the late 40s and 50s, families normally stayed wherever they had a home. There was no moving for the sake of rapid upward mobility or to find a place that did not need up-dating. To be quite frank, there was not one single home on that block that couldn't have used one hell of lot of up-dating. However, everyone was pretty happy. Homes on that block were heated by coal.
There were railroad tracks just a few houses south of where I grew up, thus the sound of trains was part of my youth; there were, I recall some mighty big steam locomotives that roared past our neighborhood. The old Missouri Pacific route of the Eagles had double tracks, the Kansas City Southern, the freight line had one track only. The KCS was basically an oil supply train that ran from the Standard Oil Refinery in Sugar Creek, Missouri to various areas throughout Kansas City, Missouri.
While speaking of refineries, I am reminded of energy.
If one stood at the top of a hill a few blocks north of our block, the eternal flame of the Standard Oil Refinery could be seen. It was a flame that died in the 70s, never to be fill the sky with it's orange glow again.
So, when I think of energy, I think of our natural resources, not windmills...
By Robert L. Huffstutter
Sunday, January 31, 2010
ROBERT'S LATEST PHOTOS OR ART
this is a work in progress and has not been edited or even put into proper form yet...............
Like I said, that government employees have a key to the treasurery is not myth. While the majority of the population aspired to high position in free enterprise commerce, there was a certain element who found the government benefits ripe for harvesting; they had the wisdom to realize that their jobs would be secure as long as there was a government. Though the majority of these people were not exactly those who invent wheels, they greased the wheels. And their decisions to stick with government service has paid off. Just in case folks do not realize it, the majority of the stimulus money will be kept within the government circle of employement. So, to see the administrtion bashing private enterprise is odd in some respects, but there has to be a boogy man to blame for the excess money drained out of the treasurery and blaming it on banks keeps the eyes off the cherry orchard and money tree farms the government maintains and prunes for itself.
The only thing that sucks is that the private who risks his life gets the lowest salary of anyone employed by the government.
You know why the top officials in government are not concerned that their salaries aren't equal to the top CEOs in private enterprise don't you? Well, how many Senators do you know of who aren't millionaires or like the majority of them, those with the long service, who are not multi-millionaires?
Yes, I know. In my visits to the VA on a regular basis, I meet numerous men of my generation who decided to go into government entry level jobs when their military was over. Those who went to work for the VA who had the minimal medical training are now millionaires. As I said, money just rolls into their mailboxes. Of course, there is that reputation about government jobs based on the snail-motions of the postal workers inside the post offices that causes people to believe that all government employees are like postal employee, or the majority
Like I said, that government employees have a key to the treasurery is not myth. While the majority of the population aspired to high position in free enterprise commerce, there was a certain element who found the government benefits ripe for harvesting; they had the wisdom to realize that their jobs would be secure as long as there was a government. Though the majority of these people were not exactly those who invent wheels, they greased the wheels. And their decisions to stick with government service has paid off. Just in case folks do not realize it, the majority of the stimulus money will be kept within the government circle of employement. So, to see the administrtion bashing private enterprise is odd in some respects, but there has to be a boogy man to blame for the excess money drained out of the treasurery and blaming it on banks keeps the eyes off the cherry orchard and money tree farms the government maintains and prunes for itself.
The only thing that sucks is that the private who risks his life gets the lowest salary of anyone employed by the government.
You know why the top officials in government are not concerned that their salaries aren't equal to the top CEOs in private enterprise don't you? Well, how many Senators do you know of who aren't millionaires or like the majority of them, those with the long service, who are not multi-millionaires?
Yes, I know. In my visits to the VA on a regular basis, I meet numerous men of my generation who decided to go into government entry level jobs when their military was over. Those who went to work for the VA who had the minimal medical training are now millionaires. As I said, money just rolls into their mailboxes. Of course, there is that reputation about government jobs based on the snail-motions of the postal workers inside the post offices that causes people to believe that all government employees are like postal employee, or the majority
Thursday, December 17, 2009
GENERATION AFTER GENERATION, LOVE AND JOY KEEP US GOING...
http://freeartforyourhome.blogspot.com/2009/12/welcome-to-free-art-for-your-home.html
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Japanese Man
who among us is not guilty of some of the sins of war?
It is unfortunate that wars have created the destiny of mankind, all linked in some detail to the other, from the dawning of history until the present. It is as if we were players in a board game." Robert L. Huffstutter
It is unfortunate that wars have created the destiny of mankind, all linked in some detail to the other, from the dawning of history until the present. It is as if we were players in a board game." Robert L. Huffstutter
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
HOT DOGS ON CITY BEACH, LAGUNA, CA
"I have heard these hot dogs they sell here are really great," the blonde coed stated to the guy next to her waiting for his dog to be dressed up like he ordered. He smiled at her and asked her if she also liked burgers.
"Sure," she said, "cheeseburgers with the works." He looked at the menu above the cooks head and read all about the types of condiments applied to the beef patties. "You are one that goes in for the fancy things, aren't you?" he asked. She nodded. The two ate their sandwiches at the counter and said nothing more to each other.
About two weeks later, the couple met again, by chance, at the same hot dog stand.
"I have heard these hot dogs they sell here are really great," the blonde coed stated to the guy next to her waiting for his dog to be dressed up like he ordered. He smiled at her and asked her if she also liked burgers
"Are you suffering from an early stage of some kind of memory loss," she asked. He seemed confused. He looked at her with suspicion and said nothing. When his order was ready, he had the cook sack it. He tipped the cook two dollars and left the stand. The blonde watched him leave. She noted which alley he went down. She hurried after him, leaving her order still on the grill. When she saw him enter into a dark, long limo, she shot a photo of the license plate.
"Didn't think you were coming back," the cooks said. She smiled. "Those dollar bills he gave you?" she questioned. The cook appeared puzzleld. "Oh, the tip--he gave you two dollars, right?"
"Sure, sure," he said. "Okay," she said and handed him a ten dollar bill, "I'll trade you. You give me those two dollars he gave you and I will give you a ten, okay?"
"Okay," the cook said, happy he had a few extra dollars.
"Sure," she said, "cheeseburgers with the works." He looked at the menu above the cooks head and read all about the types of condiments applied to the beef patties. "You are one that goes in for the fancy things, aren't you?" he asked. She nodded. The two ate their sandwiches at the counter and said nothing more to each other.
About two weeks later, the couple met again, by chance, at the same hot dog stand.
"I have heard these hot dogs they sell here are really great," the blonde coed stated to the guy next to her waiting for his dog to be dressed up like he ordered. He smiled at her and asked her if she also liked burgers
"Are you suffering from an early stage of some kind of memory loss," she asked. He seemed confused. He looked at her with suspicion and said nothing. When his order was ready, he had the cook sack it. He tipped the cook two dollars and left the stand. The blonde watched him leave. She noted which alley he went down. She hurried after him, leaving her order still on the grill. When she saw him enter into a dark, long limo, she shot a photo of the license plate.
"Didn't think you were coming back," the cooks said. She smiled. "Those dollar bills he gave you?" she questioned. The cook appeared puzzleld. "Oh, the tip--he gave you two dollars, right?"
"Sure, sure," he said. "Okay," she said and handed him a ten dollar bill, "I'll trade you. You give me those two dollars he gave you and I will give you a ten, okay?"
"Okay," the cook said, happy he had a few extra dollars.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
picnikfile_tQz4eF
picnikfile_tQz4eF
Nephew, UncleJim, Aunt Dorothy, Robert Clifton after a chicken dinner in the autumn of 1947. Robert Clifton was an infrequent dinner guest and enjoyed living a reclusive lifestyle exclusive of family members. The drama surrounding this family portrait is the identity of the person who pushed the button on the Kodak camera with the imitation leather panels. I can remember that camera very well
Nephew, UncleJim, Aunt Dorothy, Robert Clifton after a chicken dinner in the autumn of 1947. Robert Clifton was an infrequent dinner guest and enjoyed living a reclusive lifestyle exclusive of family members. The drama surrounding this family portrait is the identity of the person who pushed the button on the Kodak camera with the imitation leather panels. I can remember that camera very well
Friday, October 30, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Red Yugo
The Yugo is the slightly less well known cousin of the Trabant.
Uploaded by london_emigre on 7 Aug 07, 11.18AM PDT.
Uploaded by london_emigre on 7 Aug 07, 11.18AM PDT.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
NYC - UWS: The San Remo
If my memory serves me correctly, I went to a party in one these suites in the autumn of 1960. Let me just say, the name sounds mighty familiar, and the bit about the terraces. Yes, it had to be the San Remo. It all began when I arrived in Times Square. I was sitting in a Greek Restauraunt eating spahetti. That was my first clue that there was something less than normal about Times Square. Too, the newstands were less than traditional. Let me put it this way--the magazines laid out were different than the ones in Kansas City. So, I was sitting there eating spaghetti...and, well, it turned out to be a whirling, spinning time that included such places as the Pepperment Lounge, Mama Leone's restaurant and more martinis than I had ever sipped in my life.
NYC - UWS: The San Remo
The San Remo, a luxury co-operative apartment at 145-146 Central Park West, was designed by Emery Roth in 1939. Construction began weeks before the Great Depression. In the 1970s, the San Remo converted toa coop.
NYC - UWS: The San Remo
The San Remo, a luxury co-operative apartment at 145-146 Central Park West, was designed by Emery Roth in 1939. Construction began weeks before the Great Depression. In the 1970s, the San Remo converted toa coop.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Mr. Enzo Watches TV
YES, A DOG NAMED MR. ENZO who's a sports fan. See other cool photos at the website of TACOSNACHOSBURRITOS...
Mr. Enzo was very intrigued by The Bears game.
Uploaded by tacosnachosburritos on 2 Jan
Mr. Enzo was very intrigued by The Bears game.
Uploaded by tacosnachosburritos on 2 Jan
The French Foreign Legion, 1955.
THE LANDMARK SERIES were popular in the 1950s and were probably responsible for the interest in history of millions of children. Althouh these casual biograpies were dotted with what has to be dialogue that is the work of the author's imagination, they are factually correct in dates and historically accurate. Editor
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The French Foreign Legion, 1955.
Landmark Books were a series of history books published in the 1950's for children. I loved reading them as a kid, but got most of them from the library where the had dull covers without dustjackets. I've been picking some up at thrift shops. I really enjoy the cover art, and since I seem to barely be able to make a dent in my monthly upload limit, I'm sharing them with you.
Uploaded by Marxchivist
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The French Foreign Legion, 1955.
Landmark Books were a series of history books published in the 1950's for children. I loved reading them as a kid, but got most of them from the library where the had dull covers without dustjackets. I've been picking some up at thrift shops. I really enjoy the cover art, and since I seem to barely be able to make a dent in my monthly upload limit, I'm sharing them with you.
Uploaded by Marxchivist
Monday, October 19, 2009
On The Road
DO YOU HAVE THE ORIGINAL HOWL? I HAVE IT, PICKED IT UP AT CITY LIGHTS IN THE EARLY 60S, BUT CANNOT LOCATE IT AT THE MOMENT.........UPON REREADING IT, NEEDLESS TO SAY, MY POLITICAL VIEWPOINTS HAVE CHANGED CONSIDERABLY, BUT FOR THE TIMES, AT CERTAIN TIMES, ESPECIALLY IN THE FOG OF SAN FRANCISCO, IT WAS COOL READING..............Robert
On The Road
first edition paperback
Uploaded by Eli Nixon on 19
On The Road
first edition paperback
Uploaded by Eli Nixon on 19
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Ice Cream Waffle at the CNE
Ice Cream Waffle at the CNE
That's a big bite. And a very unflattering picture.
Uploaded by makeworkproject on 6 Oct 09,
That's a big bite. And a very unflattering picture.
Uploaded by makeworkproject on 6 Oct 09,
Thursday, August 20, 2009
At the Hospital
WHEN I CAME ACROSS THIS PHOTOGRAPH IN NEWMEXICO51'S FLICKR PHOTOSTREAM, I KNEW I HAD TO WRITE AN ESSAY...
DEALING WITH CREATIVITY AND "LEAVE ME ALONE" ATTITUDE
The definition of the desire to write. To write, one so often must ignore those close to us in order to view the events and characters that are either fictional or so far back in memory that any contact with the presence annoys and disconnects. Such it is, such is the way it has been. There is only one way to come to terms with this, a lesson it has taken me more than 50 years to learn: when one becomes so anxiety-ridden in a project that's creative in nature, art, writing or whatever, one finally must be assertive and stand up or sit up and say: "it is over for the day." One must divorce one from our creative projects when it is time for family or friends. We can only remain reclusive for so long, lest we be forgotten by those who love us. Robert L. Huffstutter
DEALING WITH CREATIVITY AND "LEAVE ME ALONE" ATTITUDE
The definition of the desire to write. To write, one so often must ignore those close to us in order to view the events and characters that are either fictional or so far back in memory that any contact with the presence annoys and disconnects. Such it is, such is the way it has been. There is only one way to come to terms with this, a lesson it has taken me more than 50 years to learn: when one becomes so anxiety-ridden in a project that's creative in nature, art, writing or whatever, one finally must be assertive and stand up or sit up and say: "it is over for the day." One must divorce one from our creative projects when it is time for family or friends. We can only remain reclusive for so long, lest we be forgotten by those who love us. Robert L. Huffstutter
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
THE REAL BONNIE AND CLYDE?
"Honey, you are my one true love," the said as they saw their individual reflections in the magic eye of the mystery camera.
THE TRUE LOVE STORY OF MY COUSIN BETTY JEAN
"By golly, Clarency boy, I can hardly wait for the pitchers to come out," she giggled. "
"Yea, honey, I know the will be some really super 'pitchers' cause you're my Betty Boop, for sure." "Oh, Clarency boy, you sure do have that gift of saying what a girl wants to hear."
"Oh', my honey, look at those pitchers! They are super dupers," the said and walked hand-in-hand to the Maid-Rite for a deluxe Maid-Rite. They share a malted milk.
They married, had a baby and divorced. Both married their best friends spouses once the divorce was final.
THE TRUE LOVE STORY OF MY COUSIN BETTY JEAN
"By golly, Clarency boy, I can hardly wait for the pitchers to come out," she giggled. "
"Yea, honey, I know the will be some really super 'pitchers' cause you're my Betty Boop, for sure." "Oh, Clarency boy, you sure do have that gift of saying what a girl wants to hear."
"Oh', my honey, look at those pitchers! They are super dupers," the said and walked hand-in-hand to the Maid-Rite for a deluxe Maid-Rite. They share a malted milk.
They married, had a baby and divorced. Both married their best friends spouses once the divorce was final.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
MORE MUD WRESTLING CHAMPIONSHIP PHOTOS A
THE REAL ORIGIN OF MUD WRESTLING
ORIGINATED IN KANSAS CITY IN APRIL OF 1950, THE YEAR OF THE BIG FLOOD.
AS THE STORY GOES, TWO YOUNG WOMEN, IDA MAY SMITH (not real last name) AND BETTY JEAN BROWN (not real last name) were running from parking lot of a honky tonk called the Travelux on 24 Highway in the old area called the inner city (a term used for unincorporated areas of Jackson County, Missouri at that time).
To be precise, the old Travelux was on the north side of 24 highway about one quarter mile west of Wilson Road and Brookside, an area near the Mt Washington Cementery. The Travelux is no longer in operation, but its spirit still lingers throughout the entire area.
To be even more detailed, the Travelux was on the old trolley line that ran from Fairmount to downtown Kansas City, Missouri. There was a trolly called "the goat" that took the area residents from Fairmont to the Mt Washington Bus Stop. That has no relevance, however to this tale. Later about the trolly and the antics that went on inside that trolly at another time.
At that time in Kansas City area history, there was no karioke events in that area, just "low-down" country and western music. One might have heard songs current then, songs by Hank Williams like "Your Cheating Heart" and "My son calls another man Daddy," real emotionally inspired tunes. There was rain coming down and the two women were making a run for the door of the Travelux. Throughout the years, the Travelux had a reputation for being a spot where a guy could meet a lonely woman, if you catch the drift here. The blue lights that highlighted the outline of the honky tonk added to the reputation. Who has heard that song, "House of Blue Lights?" More about that later. So, the Travelux was a hot spot for meeting chicks.
According to rumors, both women were hot to get back in a man's arms, hurrying to meet a soldier home on leave from Korea. His name was Jim Smith (not real last name). Ida Mae had driven a 38 Ford coupe to the Traveluxe; Betty Jean had arrived in her ex-husband's 1937 Terraplane.
As the story goes, as this tale unfolds, during the race to the door, Ida Mae made a remark about Betty Jean's automobile. Remember, Betty Jean was the one with the Terraplane. The Terraplane was later to become a Hudson but not at that time. Exactly what Ida Mae said is not known; rumor has it that the remark was less than complimentary about the design of the auto. Hot headed and said to have been an only child, Betty Jean slapped Ida Mae's face. That was, according to those still alive for years after the event almost passed into the dark and dim anals of history, "when all hell broke loose." Before the two finally got into the Traveluxe to get liquid nourishment and clean up, they had drawn quite a crowd of spectators, mostly men, except for Bertha, a barmaid. Bertha's wisdom kept her running to and fro the bar, serving beer in bottles and getting ten-cent tips for keeping the crowd nourished. More about Bertha at a later time.
The two women cursed, spat, slapped, kicked and behaved in a manner that would not have been befitting to any women in that period of time. When it all ended, the two women realized that during their combatant activity, Jim Smith had hurried away in his father's Oldsmobile.
He would later return from Korea, a decorated veteran and purchase a new Chevy Deluxe from Rost Chevrolet in Fairmount. Thus, this is the true and authentic tale about the origins of mud wrestling.
Remember, it originated in the inner-city area of Kansas City, Missouri, not too far from Blue Summit, but now incorporated into the city limits of Independence. Or is it Kansas CIty? It does not matter, just call it the KC Metro area.
By R.L. Huffstutter
ORIGINATED IN KANSAS CITY IN APRIL OF 1950, THE YEAR OF THE BIG FLOOD.
AS THE STORY GOES, TWO YOUNG WOMEN, IDA MAY SMITH (not real last name) AND BETTY JEAN BROWN (not real last name) were running from parking lot of a honky tonk called the Travelux on 24 Highway in the old area called the inner city (a term used for unincorporated areas of Jackson County, Missouri at that time).
To be precise, the old Travelux was on the north side of 24 highway about one quarter mile west of Wilson Road and Brookside, an area near the Mt Washington Cementery. The Travelux is no longer in operation, but its spirit still lingers throughout the entire area.
To be even more detailed, the Travelux was on the old trolley line that ran from Fairmount to downtown Kansas City, Missouri. There was a trolly called "the goat" that took the area residents from Fairmont to the Mt Washington Bus Stop. That has no relevance, however to this tale. Later about the trolly and the antics that went on inside that trolly at another time.
At that time in Kansas City area history, there was no karioke events in that area, just "low-down" country and western music. One might have heard songs current then, songs by Hank Williams like "Your Cheating Heart" and "My son calls another man Daddy," real emotionally inspired tunes. There was rain coming down and the two women were making a run for the door of the Travelux. Throughout the years, the Travelux had a reputation for being a spot where a guy could meet a lonely woman, if you catch the drift here. The blue lights that highlighted the outline of the honky tonk added to the reputation. Who has heard that song, "House of Blue Lights?" More about that later. So, the Travelux was a hot spot for meeting chicks.
According to rumors, both women were hot to get back in a man's arms, hurrying to meet a soldier home on leave from Korea. His name was Jim Smith (not real last name). Ida Mae had driven a 38 Ford coupe to the Traveluxe; Betty Jean had arrived in her ex-husband's 1937 Terraplane.
As the story goes, as this tale unfolds, during the race to the door, Ida Mae made a remark about Betty Jean's automobile. Remember, Betty Jean was the one with the Terraplane. The Terraplane was later to become a Hudson but not at that time. Exactly what Ida Mae said is not known; rumor has it that the remark was less than complimentary about the design of the auto. Hot headed and said to have been an only child, Betty Jean slapped Ida Mae's face. That was, according to those still alive for years after the event almost passed into the dark and dim anals of history, "when all hell broke loose." Before the two finally got into the Traveluxe to get liquid nourishment and clean up, they had drawn quite a crowd of spectators, mostly men, except for Bertha, a barmaid. Bertha's wisdom kept her running to and fro the bar, serving beer in bottles and getting ten-cent tips for keeping the crowd nourished. More about Bertha at a later time.
The two women cursed, spat, slapped, kicked and behaved in a manner that would not have been befitting to any women in that period of time. When it all ended, the two women realized that during their combatant activity, Jim Smith had hurried away in his father's Oldsmobile.
He would later return from Korea, a decorated veteran and purchase a new Chevy Deluxe from Rost Chevrolet in Fairmount. Thus, this is the true and authentic tale about the origins of mud wrestling.
Remember, it originated in the inner-city area of Kansas City, Missouri, not too far from Blue Summit, but now incorporated into the city limits of Independence. Or is it Kansas CIty? It does not matter, just call it the KC Metro area.
By R.L. Huffstutter
Sunday, August 9, 2009
go ped no ped no mo
go ped no ped no mo
Don't worry. Staged. No people were hurt during the making of this photo. The go ped on the other hand..................
Uploaded by 4PIZON on 27 Jul 07, 4.49AM PDT.
Don't worry. Staged. No people were hurt during the making of this photo. The go ped on the other hand..................
Uploaded by 4PIZON on 27 Jul 07, 4.49AM PDT.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Sarah Palin Miss Alaska
Sarah Palin Miss Alaska
You don't have to have good looks to be a good president, but it helps! Go Sarah!
Uploaded by I'mSarahToo! on
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
USED CAR LOT IN TRENTON MISSOURI 1958, FRANK'S USED CARS, 9TH ST
USED CAR LOT IN TRENTON MISSOURI 1958, FRANK'S USED CARS, 9TH ST
Originally uploaded by roberthuffstutter
A brief essay about pin ball machines, maid-rites and high school girls in the late 50s by robert l. Huffstutter
one of the best things about the location of this used car lot in trenton, missouri in 1958 was the maid-rite hamburger stand just a block east on 9th. While lingering on this lot talking with my uncle frank, i was often overcome by the greasy good smell of the steamed burgers and headed on down the street. There was a most fantastic pin ball machine inside with lots of bumpers and bouncers with illustrations of buxom blondes smiling and lighting up every time they got bounced by one of the pin balls. There was a lot of laughter, malt mixing machine noises and pin ball noise inside the maid-rite. It was the perfect place for sixteen year olds. There were some cute counry girls who lingered around and enjoyed talking to city boys like me. Yes, i told them all about the latest trends, like the pink and black fashion craze. The nearest drive inn movie was in chillicothe, missouri, out of bounds for all of us. Those were great times in the late 50s.
IF YOU ARE NOT A FOLLOWER, PLEASE TAKE THE TIME TO BECOME A FOLLOWER; IT IS HARD TO GET THESE BLOGS GOING UNTIL A FEW BOLD PEOPLE WILL BECOME FOLLOWERS...THANKS, ROB
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Sky
THIS COULD BE THE BEGINNING OF A GREAT LITERARY WORK.
Zoo-Copenhagen-Denmark
Uploaded by bibbi.nelson on 23 May 09, 1.23PM PDT.
Zoo-Copenhagen-Denmark
Uploaded by bibbi.nelson on 23 May 09, 1.23PM PDT.
Friday, July 10, 2009
48 States Flag
There is much one could say here............I do recall when the last two were added. Collecting stamps and what a thrill it was then to add two new states. If we had not added them, they would have been given away, for sure, so I do celebrate all 50. Remember when Panama was U.S. Territory. Carter gave it back. Now, Chinese soldiers have made it a fairly important center for strategic operations and energy explorations throughout the area. I"ll bet AMERICA is going to be so excited when we get all the windmills spinning at once. It could create a new wind current and the low flyers might just drift from east to west, depending on the direction of the props. I know you are following me so far. Thanks for your service.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
ABSTRACT OIL--BAJA WEEKEND--1960S--DETAIL A
ABSTRACT OIL--BAJA WEEKEND--1960S--DETAIL A
One of my first oils. A bit thin on the oil. A bit too geometrical, a bit too unacademic and too amateurish, but i didn't claim to be braque, nor do i now. Upon reviewing this recently unpacked canvas after nearly fifty years of storage inside of a cedar trunk, i must admit that it is much better than i remember it. Does one's vanity become less a factor after such a length of time? Well, this settles it, i am going to get out the oils this weekend. Surf's up, dude.............
One of my first oils. A bit thin on the oil. A bit too geometrical, a bit too unacademic and too amateurish, but i didn't claim to be braque, nor do i now. Upon reviewing this recently unpacked canvas after nearly fifty years of storage inside of a cedar trunk, i must admit that it is much better than i remember it. Does one's vanity become less a factor after such a length of time? Well, this settles it, i am going to get out the oils this weekend. Surf's up, dude.............
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
SHOULD THEY BE INVESTIGATED?
NO MORE WINE-TASTING PARTIES FOR ME, NO WAY, NO HOW...
ILLUSTRATION OF WINE-TASTING Party By R.L. Huffstutter,
Story by Velma Raye Doolittle
How in the hell am I always so damned lucky? That's what my first husband kept saying after he found out his favorite aunt died and left her fortune to his twin brother and not one damned cent to him. "Life sucks," he said as he vacuumed those little white ass things that fly all over hell when you blow on them, dandelions after they bloom. He hated dandelions with a passion once they turned into that stage. Sure, he was weird, a real nut, really, but he did like dandelions when they were like yellow flower things. But anyway, about his A-hole twin brother, Marty. Once Marty inherited all his aunt's money, he promised Arty, my first husband, that he would make sure he got his share of the fortune. That pleased Arty. Marty was the older of the two and he always looked up at his older brother. I mean, like the A-hole was four minutes older. Big deal, right? Not really. What an A-hole. I told Arty that he shouldn't count on the money until he had it in his hot little hands. Anyway, it is all history now. I mean, like it is over between Arty and I and the last I heard Marty had bought a vineyard up in the Sonoma Valley. Or maybe it was the Napa valley. His big kick in life was to bottle cheap wine, a wine that cost hardly nothing but tasted good. Both of the brothers had been raised by parents who had been winos. Seriously, I used to listed to their dad lay around and talk about how great life was back in the days when he could buy a fifth of Cold Duck for less than a dollar. Now he was one worthless and shiftless piece of crude, that dad of theirs. He too had once had money; he squandered it on a chain of trailer courts in the late 6Os. But that's another story. So, about wine-tasting parties, the whole essence of this writing? Why won't I go to any more of them? Right, you can't wait to find out, right? I mean like the suspense is killing you, huh?
ILLUSTRATION OF WINE-TASTING Party By R.L. Huffstutter,
Story by Velma Raye Doolittle
How in the hell am I always so damned lucky? That's what my first husband kept saying after he found out his favorite aunt died and left her fortune to his twin brother and not one damned cent to him. "Life sucks," he said as he vacuumed those little white ass things that fly all over hell when you blow on them, dandelions after they bloom. He hated dandelions with a passion once they turned into that stage. Sure, he was weird, a real nut, really, but he did like dandelions when they were like yellow flower things. But anyway, about his A-hole twin brother, Marty. Once Marty inherited all his aunt's money, he promised Arty, my first husband, that he would make sure he got his share of the fortune. That pleased Arty. Marty was the older of the two and he always looked up at his older brother. I mean, like the A-hole was four minutes older. Big deal, right? Not really. What an A-hole. I told Arty that he shouldn't count on the money until he had it in his hot little hands. Anyway, it is all history now. I mean, like it is over between Arty and I and the last I heard Marty had bought a vineyard up in the Sonoma Valley. Or maybe it was the Napa valley. His big kick in life was to bottle cheap wine, a wine that cost hardly nothing but tasted good. Both of the brothers had been raised by parents who had been winos. Seriously, I used to listed to their dad lay around and talk about how great life was back in the days when he could buy a fifth of Cold Duck for less than a dollar. Now he was one worthless and shiftless piece of crude, that dad of theirs. He too had once had money; he squandered it on a chain of trailer courts in the late 6Os. But that's another story. So, about wine-tasting parties, the whole essence of this writing? Why won't I go to any more of them? Right, you can't wait to find out, right? I mean like the suspense is killing you, huh?
Friday, June 26, 2009
Stillerman Grocery And Market
Stillerman Grocery And Market
Uploaded by billhm on 19 Mar 09, 8.23AM PDT.
Uploaded by billhm on 19 Mar 09, 8.23AM PDT.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
COPY of ORIGINAL ELVIS PRESLEY PHOTO (COPYRIGHTED BY RLH 09)
COPY of ORIGINAL ELVIS PRESLEY PHOTO (COPYRIGHTED BY RLH 09)
Originally uploaded by roberthuffstutter
ELVIS PRESLEY IN THE U.S. ARMY IN GERMANY, copy from original photo in my collection. Photo taken by cousin serving in U.S. Army in Germany while Elvis was serving tour in Germany.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
New York
THERE ARE LOTS OF GOOD SHORT STORIES THAT COULD BE WRITTEN ABOUT TAXIS. I MENTION THIS BECAUSE I SAW THIS EXCELLENT WORK OF ART BY ddhabicht........editor
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Saturday, May 23, 2009
dude!
I LIKE THIS. I HAVE BEEN THROUGH TRUTH OR CONSEQUENCES, NEW MEXICO. I WAS ON A GREYHOUND. IT STOPPED FOR LUNCH. I WALKED OVER TO A LIQUOR STORE AND BOUGHT A PINT OF SEAGRAMS TO GET ME THROUGH TO LOS ANGELES. TIMES WERE DIFFERENT IN THE 60S. THERE WAS FREEDOM TO DRINK AND LAUGH AT THINGS WE SAW OUT THE BUS WINDOWS. THOSE WERE COOL DAYS, OF COURSE THE BUSES LOOKED DIFFERENT, BUT I RODE THE TRAINS MOST OF THE TIME, SO IT DIDN'T MATTER. WHAT MATTERS ANYWAY, REALLY? THAT I BOUGHT A PINT OF LIQUOR IN THE 60S. GET REAL, SELF. WE WILL BECOME AN ELEMENT SOMEDAY ANYWAY AND NEVER BE HEARD OF AGAIN. I HAVEN'T HEARD FROM GEORGE WASHINGTON, HAVE YOU? IN A WAYOUT MOOD THIS AM. ROB
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
INDUSTRIAL AREA, NKC, 1984
THERE HAS TO BE MORE TO THIS IMAGE THAN MEETS THE EYE. IF NOT, WHY IS A SINGLE PIECE OF ROLLING STOCK ISOLATED AND SIDETRACKED BY WHAT APPEARS TO BE AN ABANDONED ROW OF INDUSTRIAL SHOPS. YES, THERE IS A STORY HERE. SO, KEEP THIS IN MIND AND RETURN IN A FEW DAYS AND CHECK ON THE FICTION CREATED SURROUNDING THIS RAILROAD IMAGE....THANKS, ROB
Monday, May 11, 2009
January 20th, 2009
ONCE UPON A TIME, THERE WAS A NATION CALLED AMERICA, A PROUD NATION...but the ACLU began bugging the government to disclose their secrets.....
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
UNCLE ART'S SURPLUS LOT IN DENVER DETAIL C
STILL LIFE WITH CLAY POTS; ANOTHER VIEW OF UNCLE ART'S AUTO PARTS, HIGH ON A MOUNTAIN IN THE DENVER, COLORADO AREA. UNCLE ART AND HIS GIRLFRIEND HAD DECIDED TO TAKE A TRIP TOGETHER FAR FROM THEIR HOME IN LUDLOW, IOWA BACK IN THE EARLY 50S. THEIR 39 DESOTO BROKE DOWN IN MANITOU SPRINGS AND WHEN THEY COULD NOT GET ANYONE TO WESTERN UNION THEM THE MONEY FOR THE PARTS, THE TWO VOWED TO TURN THEIR BACK ON THE REST OF THE FAMILY AND MAKE IT ON THEIR OWN. BY THE MID 60S, ART AND MAXINE WERE MILLIONAIRES, HAVING BUILT ONE OF THE LARGEST SURPLUS AUTO PARTS AND JUNK YARD COMPLEXES WEST OF THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER. DURING THAT PERIOD OF TIME, NEARLY TWO MILLION AUTOMOBILES SAID GOODBYE TO THE HIGHWAYS AND RETIRED AT ART'S AUTO SURPLUS. EVENTUALLY, AS ONE CITY AFTER ANOTHER TRIED TO INCORPORATE DIFFERENT AREAS, ART'S TEN ACRES WERE SWALLOWED UP BY A SMALL CITY THAT REQUIRED HE INSTALL A BOARD FENCE AROUND THE ENTIRE JUNKYARD. TODAY, ON THE WEST SIDE OF DENVER, ONE CAN STILL SEE THE THOUSANDS OF AUTOS AS THEY GAIN ALTITUDE. THE FENCE HAS BEEN PAINTED BY WOULD-BE ARTISTS. ART SAYS THE SECRET OF HIS SUCCESS WAS THE LIFETIME GUARANTEE HE OFFERED ON HIS PARTS. HE OFFERED A LIFETIME GUARANTEE ON ALL ITEMS. IN THE BEGINNING, THE LG COST ONE DOLLAR. HE RAISED THE PRICE TO FIVE DOLLARS IN 1970. IN HIS SPARE TIME, ART ENJOYS READING PARTS CATALOGS AND HIS WIFE KNITS GLOVES
DOUBLE IMAGE WITH AUNT AND UNCLE
THIS IS A GHOST STORY TYPE OF PHOTOGRAPH. MORE THAN 50 YEARS HAVE PASSED AND THEY HAVE NOT AGED ONE DAY, NOR HAVE I.............................
Monday, April 27, 2009
EARL IS ATTACKED BY RARE BIRD OF AMAZON: EARL'S TREK TO AMAZON 1995
EARL IS ATTACKED BY RARE BIRD OF AMAZON: EARL'S TREK TO AMAZON 1995
Originally uploaded by roberthuffstutter
Friday, April 24, 2009
ONE OF KCMO FIRST SKYSCRAPERS
THE CASE OF THE SMILING FACE: A MYSTERY THAT HAS HAUNTED THIS VIEWER SINCE 1984 By R.L. Huffstutter
According to friends who viewed this photo over 20 years ago, there is a smiling face behind one of the windows. I have yet to find it. Perhaps somebody with special viewing equipment can locate it and blow it up to solve this smiling mystery.
Posted 1 second ago.
According to friends who viewed this photo over 20 years ago, there is a smiling face behind one of the windows. I have yet to find it. Perhaps somebody with special viewing equipment can locate it and blow it up to solve this smiling mystery.
Posted 1 second ago.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
ONE VERY SAD GRADE SCHOOL PRINCIPAL
THIS IS A TRUE STORY BASED ON A TRUE EXPERIENCE
THE CASE OF THE MISSING NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE BY ROBERT L. HUFFSTUTTER
THIS MAGAZINE, THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC, WAS LIKE FINDING GOLD WHENEVER I CAME ACROSS ONE. BACK IN THE 40S, WHEN I WAS IN GRADE SCHOOL'S EARLIEST GRADES, I RECALL TAKING ONE FROM A BUNDLE THAT WAS BOUND FOR A PAPER DRIVE AT OUR ELEMENTARY SCHOOL. I WAS THRILLED AS I VIEWED THE PHOTOS AND DID MY BEST TO PRONOUNCE ALL OF THE GEOGRAPHICAL WORDS. BEFORE THE DAY WAS OVER, I WAS CALLED TO THE PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE. WHILE SITTING OUTSIDE HIS OFFICE I WONDERED WHAT I HAD DONE WRONG. I FOUND OUT WHEN HE CALLED ME INTO HIS OFFICE AND CALLED ME A THIEF. "YOU TOOK SOMETHING THAT DID NOT BELONG TO YOU," HE STATED.
THAT HAPPENED IN 1949; I WAS IN THE SECOND GRADE. I WAS DEVESTATED. I WAS A THIEF. THE PRINCIPAL TAUGHT ME A LESSON. ACTUALLY, HE TAUGHT ME TWO LESSONS. I LEARNED A VERY VALUABLE LESSON ABOUT RULES AND REGULATIONS, AN IMPORTANT LESSON, BUT THE LESSON THAT HAS REMAINED WITH ME DURING THE LAST SIXTY YEARS IS THAT THERE ARE MANY PEOPLE IN THIS WORLD WHO HAVE NO INTEREST IN EDUCATING THE YOUNGER GENERATION; THEIR INTEREST IS RECEIVING A BIG PAYCHECK AND WEILDING AS MUCH POWER AS POSSIBLE. PEOPLE LIKE THAT PRINCIPAL DID NOT GIVE ONE RAT'S ASS ABOUT A YOUNG STUDENT OR THE EDUCATION OF THAT STUDENT. THE PRINCIPAL WAS, BY HIS MANNER AND ACCUSATION, INTERESTED ONLY IN FEELING GOOD ABOUT THWARTING A THEFT THAT MIGHT HAVE CUT THE SALES OF THE PAPER DRIVE BY ONE TENTH OF A CENT. HE WAS PROUD THAT HE HAD PERFORMED A CIVIC DUTY AT THE EXPENSE OF THE CURIOSITY OF A YOUNG BOY JUST EAGER TO BEGIN LEARNING ABOUT THE WORLD AND ALL OF LIFE'S ACTIVITIES.
YES, HE SERVED A GREAT PURPOSE IN MY LIFE. HE REMINDS ME OF SO MANY PEOPLE I HAVE MET DURING MY LIFETIME, PEOPLE WHO COULD HAVE MADE A POSITIVE DIFFERENCE IN THE LIVES OF MANY PEOPLE, OR A NATION, BUT INSTEAD CHOSE TO BOLSTER HIS OWN EGO AND IMPORTANCE BY HIGHLIGHTING MY LACK OF CHARACTER AND FLAWS. THESE PEOPLE, UNFORTUNATELY, HAVE MULTIPLIED GREATLY SINCE 1947.
THE CASE OF THE MISSING NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE BY ROBERT L. HUFFSTUTTER
THIS MAGAZINE, THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC, WAS LIKE FINDING GOLD WHENEVER I CAME ACROSS ONE. BACK IN THE 40S, WHEN I WAS IN GRADE SCHOOL'S EARLIEST GRADES, I RECALL TAKING ONE FROM A BUNDLE THAT WAS BOUND FOR A PAPER DRIVE AT OUR ELEMENTARY SCHOOL. I WAS THRILLED AS I VIEWED THE PHOTOS AND DID MY BEST TO PRONOUNCE ALL OF THE GEOGRAPHICAL WORDS. BEFORE THE DAY WAS OVER, I WAS CALLED TO THE PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE. WHILE SITTING OUTSIDE HIS OFFICE I WONDERED WHAT I HAD DONE WRONG. I FOUND OUT WHEN HE CALLED ME INTO HIS OFFICE AND CALLED ME A THIEF. "YOU TOOK SOMETHING THAT DID NOT BELONG TO YOU," HE STATED.
THAT HAPPENED IN 1949; I WAS IN THE SECOND GRADE. I WAS DEVESTATED. I WAS A THIEF. THE PRINCIPAL TAUGHT ME A LESSON. ACTUALLY, HE TAUGHT ME TWO LESSONS. I LEARNED A VERY VALUABLE LESSON ABOUT RULES AND REGULATIONS, AN IMPORTANT LESSON, BUT THE LESSON THAT HAS REMAINED WITH ME DURING THE LAST SIXTY YEARS IS THAT THERE ARE MANY PEOPLE IN THIS WORLD WHO HAVE NO INTEREST IN EDUCATING THE YOUNGER GENERATION; THEIR INTEREST IS RECEIVING A BIG PAYCHECK AND WEILDING AS MUCH POWER AS POSSIBLE. PEOPLE LIKE THAT PRINCIPAL DID NOT GIVE ONE RAT'S ASS ABOUT A YOUNG STUDENT OR THE EDUCATION OF THAT STUDENT. THE PRINCIPAL WAS, BY HIS MANNER AND ACCUSATION, INTERESTED ONLY IN FEELING GOOD ABOUT THWARTING A THEFT THAT MIGHT HAVE CUT THE SALES OF THE PAPER DRIVE BY ONE TENTH OF A CENT. HE WAS PROUD THAT HE HAD PERFORMED A CIVIC DUTY AT THE EXPENSE OF THE CURIOSITY OF A YOUNG BOY JUST EAGER TO BEGIN LEARNING ABOUT THE WORLD AND ALL OF LIFE'S ACTIVITIES.
YES, HE SERVED A GREAT PURPOSE IN MY LIFE. HE REMINDS ME OF SO MANY PEOPLE I HAVE MET DURING MY LIFETIME, PEOPLE WHO COULD HAVE MADE A POSITIVE DIFFERENCE IN THE LIVES OF MANY PEOPLE, OR A NATION, BUT INSTEAD CHOSE TO BOLSTER HIS OWN EGO AND IMPORTANCE BY HIGHLIGHTING MY LACK OF CHARACTER AND FLAWS. THESE PEOPLE, UNFORTUNATELY, HAVE MULTIPLIED GREATLY SINCE 1947.
Monday, April 20, 2009
NAVAL AIR SQUADRONS: VQ-1
A MEMOIR OF MY TOUR OF DUTY IN VQ-1, THIS BROCURE WAS CREATED FOR A CHANGE OF COMMAND CEREMONY IN 1962. ONE C.O. (COMMANDING OFFICER) MOVES ON AND ADVANCES TO THE RANK OF CAPTAIN; THE NEW C.O. TAKES OVER COMMAND OF THE SQUADRON. THE PHOTO IS ONE OF A LOCKEED CONSTELLATION, fondly called Willy Victor; they are designated as WV in naval aircraft identification terms. The other type of aircraft employed by our squadron was the A3D Skywarriors, made by Douglas Aircraft Corporation. The squadron logo or patch hints not too subtly at the object or squadron mission. The missions of VQ squadrons pertained to all aspects of electronic warfare.
It was a great tour of duty. Because I had never flown on the Constellation when they were used by TWA for commercial use, my assignment to VQ-1 gave me the opportunity to fly on the Lockeed Constellation. Throughout my time in the Navy, one of the best flights I ever experienced was on a Constellation while I was on leave in the United States. The Connie flew from what was then Washington DC's Anacostia Naval Air Station to San Diego. It was a long and low altitude flight that afforded one continuous and glorious view of the continental United States beginning in Washington DC, continuing on down the east coast to Cherry Point MCAS and then onward west to San Diego. The flight included grand views of the midwest, some small southern Rocky areas and the Grand Canyon. A most memorable flight.
It was a great tour of duty. Because I had never flown on the Constellation when they were used by TWA for commercial use, my assignment to VQ-1 gave me the opportunity to fly on the Lockeed Constellation. Throughout my time in the Navy, one of the best flights I ever experienced was on a Constellation while I was on leave in the United States. The Connie flew from what was then Washington DC's Anacostia Naval Air Station to San Diego. It was a long and low altitude flight that afforded one continuous and glorious view of the continental United States beginning in Washington DC, continuing on down the east coast to Cherry Point MCAS and then onward west to San Diego. The flight included grand views of the midwest, some small southern Rocky areas and the Grand Canyon. A most memorable flight.
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