This morning over coffee Nicole and I were talking about stories she’s heard me tell. These stories were about a variety of stuff. She’s heard me laughing about them over the years, and since they haven’t gone away — she suggested I make them into short plays. Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t. But the first one that ALWAYS comes to mind involves a baltimore city bus along with my friends (twins) Mark and David.

 

The twins and I were coming home from Cardinal Gibbons High School (which just ended it’s long history this past year or so) and we were on the very back seat of a crowded bus. We’d been playing b-ball after school and we were just relaxed and, like everyone, just getting bumped up and down by another seemingly “shockless” # 51 bus winding it’s way through the city. David started to complain, somewhat loudly that he went over to see the cute girl who lived across the street, but he was “interrupted” in his quest by her “intruding” father — who came to the door. The father proceeded to carve David a fresh new one because he thought it was too late to be stopping by, that no decent boy would stop by at that time of night and what kind of girl did he think lived in his house to be keeping some boy’s company past 9 o’clock at night! David then added his x-rated description of the father, making judicious of the famed “M” word so frequently extolled by young black men. Well, surprise, surprise. In the very seat in front of us, who should turn around anger written all over his face. The girl’s father. “Yeah, that was me!” Is what he started up with. And he carved David a new one AGAIN. Only this time, the entire back of the bus was witness to the embarrassment — to say the least. That girl’s father looked David dead in his eye and dared him to say another word. Repeating most of what he’d said the night before.

So what did we do? I’ll tell you what we did — we got the HELL offa that bus. And when we hit the sidewalk, we fell down laughing! We couldn’t stop. We drowned in it. We laughed and laughed and laughed. What are the odds, ladies and gentlemen?! What are the odds of THAT man being on THAT bus, the very next day after THAT incident occurred? Oh it was rich. The look on David’s face as the father unleashed on David was jaw-dropping. To this day, I can’t re-tell this story without having that same kinda laughter in my voice. I ask you again, “what are the odds?”

The look on David’s face……………

I’ve got a couple more stories to add. But for now, I’m happy this one came to light.

 

Me and Me buddy Dwight ONCE AGAIN made our way to donuts a couple Saturdays ago. That’s Dwight, and that’s my pretty red Kona. Dwight had NEVER had a hot donut. Well we changed all that. The Fractured Prune is a fanciful hot donut place. Anything you want on a donut, they can put there. And they come out hot and delish. It’s on Harford Rd, and we motored on up there from our starting point — Barnes and Noble on 33rd St. This ride was a bit longer and hotter than our excursion for donuts. But was it ever worth it. And with a hot ride back, we felt earned our meal.

I’ve had that red Kona for the longest time. And it’s created an “emotional memory” that I fall back on. See, just when I think I can ignore it FOREVER, it wears me down with all the memories of the rides we’ve shared. So I just can’t let it go. We’ve had some fun over the years. I love the red and black trip, and being a cross bike it can take me anywhere. I’m thinking of riding it for my next Century Ride (my first Century Ride inna long time), coming up at the end of this month. I’m hoping the red Kona get me through 100 miles.

I didn’t know that by simply leaving one of my bikes in the basement, it would cast such a spell over me. Wonder if that happens to other riders?

Recently, I did a Welch Library Podcast with the Dean of the School of Medicine and CEO of Johns Hopkins Medicine, Dr. Paul Rothman.

Of course since Alonzo was the one who wanted the picture the most — Alonzo was the one who got left in the dark. Literally. What can I say, sometimes social media don’t always work out in your favor. Dean Rothman is a big sports fan, and an alumni of my alma mater — the Univ. of Iowa. But, he was quick to admit his allegiance to his native New York. We talked Library business (metrics for assessment, future direction and progress, etc…). Just another day at the office. People are always surprised that we are able to get such high-ranking Johns Hopkins folk to spend some time with us. You never know till you ask, sez I.