Dick Summer Connection

I’m sitting here in this big, comfortable, black, leather Pappa chair in my living room, wishing I were strapped into the left front seat of my plane, getting ready to go vroom-vroom. I call my plane, Ms. T, because the tail number ends with the letter and because she is a lady. Ms. T is in the shop right now, so I’m temporarily grounded. So I thought I’d take a few minutes to tell you a little about airplanes, and pilotsand a Propchick.

Next time you’re sitting in an airliner waiting to take off, or in the terminal, here’s something to look for. When you see a small single engine plane with the wing on top, chances are that it’s a Cessna. If the wing is on the bottom, chances are it’s a Piper. If it has one wing on top, and another on the bottom, chances are that it’s either very old, or a very hot little aerobatic airplane called a Pitts.

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I’m not a political guy. But the current MIS-QUOTING of Judge Sotomayor is driving me nuts. Here’s what she said:

“I would hope that a wise Latina woman with the richness of her experiences would more often than not reach a better conclusion than a white male who hasn’t lived that life.”

PLEASE NOTE THE LAST FIVE WORDS – “WHO HASN’T LIVED THAT LIFE !” To me…a non political guy…that statment means that somebody with a specific life experience, would understand a situation from that specific life experience, better than someone who does not have that life experience. That’s the difference between knowing that you shouldn’t touch a hot stove, and remembering the painful sizzle that happened to you the last time you tried it. As a non political guy…that makes sense to me. You decide.

More “Summer Smiles” from Carole:

Dear Dick:

Listening to your podcast and reading your blog always takes me back, and your latest about summertime is no exception.

Like you, I’m a city kid. The first 10 years of my life were spent in the Bronx, almost spitting distance from Yankee Stadium. We lived in a 4th story walk-up that used to get the afternoon sun – so to cool off, we’d sit out on the fire escape listening to the roar from the Stadium, and munching on chilled canteloupe that Mom would give my brother and me.

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Betsy NAILED it. The power of Summer and the joy of being a “loser.”

Hi Dick,

Are you sure those young girls in the ocean really needed your help? I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if it was all a big scam in order to be rescued by a young, handsome lifeguard. 😉

I too have great childhood summertime memories. For me it was hoola hoops, pogo sticks, climbing trees, digging foxholes, catching lightning bugs, cherry cokes and penny candy. It was ducks and rabbits, hamsters and turtles. It was playing all day with only a “be back by supper” from the folks. It was simple and it was carefree.

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Lots of great summer memories coming in. Here’s one from Dick Butler: The answer to the final question is…we don’t so get it while you can.

Dick;
You brought back memories sitting on the stoop with my family just watching the world go by then the ice cream truck would come,( his name was jolly don’t ask me why ) he was always grumpy but we didn’t care fast forward to the 90’s I’m working in L.A. for a production co. they have us stay with one of the local guys. There’s myself and a couple of Aussies & the native Calif. at the end of day we get some beer and sit on the stoop the Aussies& myself the local guy thinks were nuts make a long story short by the end of that summer we had the whole neighborhood doing it. Local guy told us it kept going till he moved about 4yrs.later
Dick Butler

P.S. how the h do we slow this down??

Life is like a giant roll of toilet paper. The closer it gets to the end, the faster it goes. That’s one of the truest statements ever made by Big Louie, his own bad self, the Chief Mustard Cutter of the Louie- Louie Generation. Hard to believe, but it’s time for the Lazy, Crazy, Hazy Days of Saturdays In the Park, with the Summer Wind blowing in the hair of the girls in Itsy, Bitsy, Teenie, Weenie, Yellow Polkadot Bikinis, as they’re Walking in the Sand on Summer Days and lounging around watching the fireworks with you from Under the Boardwalk on Soft Summer Nights.

Where I grew up in Brooklyn, when there were no more pencils, no more books, no more teacher’s dirty looks, it was stickball, kick the can, The Cyclone Roller Coaster and the Parachute Jump at Coney Island, Italian ice cups, hanging on the stoop with some of the guys singing doo-wop, cheap dates on the Staten Island ferry that was a short cruise from Brooklyn to Staten Island for about a quarter. The Mets and the Yanks and Fourth of July fireworks that stretched for miles along the harbor and parades with Seventy Six Trombones and the absolutely most beautiful girls in the world wearing their summer dresses.

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There’s a new little girl in our family. Her name is Cecilia. She already knows what she wants and when she wants it. She’s only a few weeks old, but she’s already trying to talk, and she gets upset when people don’t quite understand what she’s saying.   She has her grandmothers little half smile. And she knows things I don’t know…because she’s a girl.

You can see the difference between men and women from the time little girls are born. For one thing, they smile more than boy babies. Boy babies mostly eat, drink, burp and pee. And we don’t change much when we get older. When Cecilia looks at me and smiles that little half smile, it’s like she’s thinking…we girls can certainly get along without those other kind of people…but if we don’t take care of them who will?

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