Follow me on a trip through and across the sometimes bizarre and magical happenings in my life.Unless otherwise stated these stories are as true as I remember them..however odd,unlikely,unbelievable or far-fetched they may seem.The fiction will come later.
For many reasons. First off, when I was a kid...my dad had the habit of re-telling old stories over and over. But you know, most of them were worthy of a re-hashing a few times over. It was a bit of a thing to patiently listen, and know the punchline way in advance. He's been gone for a few years now, it would be great to hear a story or two, just one more time. And...apparently I have the same trait. I've had the the rolls of eyes...and the " yeah we heard that one" Regardless.. Here is a link to the story about Rick Rojatt ( the Human Fly ) that I wrote a few years ago. Today, Sept 16/2014, Clay Lacy Aviation got in touch to say that they appreciate the story coverage. Clay Lacy was the pilot of the DC-8 that the Human Fly was strapped to. Clay continues to have a magnificent career in the business of flying.
Harte Lake was drained over the weekend so cracks in the lake’s dam
could be evaluated. Maggie Beck / Union Democrat, Copyright 2014.
with the state of California continue to evaluate damage at the Twain
Harte Lake dam, even as problematic movement in the granite that caused a
leak on Sunday continued Monday.
Local and state crews worked on the granite formation
known as The Rock throughout the day over what is now a drained Twain
Harte Lake. The state dam safety team pressed forward on an assessment
that engineers said could take days, weeks or longer depending on what
Local sewer provider Twain Harte Community Services
District also started bypassing a main sewer line near the dam serving
the Twain Harte community.
As work continued, the cracking activity in the granite
dome anchoring the dam continued in the morning with another loud
popping noise and noticeable movement. Tom Trott, THCSD’s general
manager, said district staff were on The Rock at the time.
Though not as significant as the explosion-like
phenomenon that closed the dam on Sunday morning, the continued movement
is concerning, especially as a special team from the state is
evaluating what is causing the cracks and how they can be fixed — if at
“It does look like some cracks got bigger, and it does look like there are some new cracks,” Trott said.
Once the state’s assessment is complete, repairs to the
concrete and metal dam adjacent the granite slab could take months,
according to the California Department of Water Resources.
“It’s not going to happen overnight,” said Andrew Mangney, an engineer with DWR’s Division of Safety of Dams Central Region.
Old School tough. Rougher and tougher than anyone you know. This story was rekindled into my memory banks by a friend at the gym.
Lee Moran was a Hell's Angels biker from the Sonny Barger era of biker hoodlums. But the Lee Moran legend lives in the history books of the cult world of powerlifting.
In a universe of extremely large and amazingly strong people, Lee Moran stands out. In 1984, he attempted a world record ....1000 pound squat. A serious undertaking to be sure.
Did his quest for a new world record go smoothly?
No, No my friends it did not. During attempt number one....with 945 lbs on his back...he passed out and the bar came off his neck....rolled over THE BACK OF HIS HEAD....and crashed to the floor. Good time to stop and re-assess...Yes? No. Minutes later....second attempt at 945lbs....with blood spurting out his nose...Lee just manages to hoist up the weight. Would a normal man then call for 1003 pounds?...is Lee Moran normal?
The old style bar ( not designed to hold 1000lbs ) required that the collars be reversed in order to fit.
This unfortunately was a bad idea. When Lee Moran set himself up with the 1003 pound bar on his shoulders...one of the collars fell off...and the steel plates started to unload from one side. Totally and completely unbalanced and out of control, Lee had no choice but to let go of the whole unfolding disaster and get away from it. Luckily and amazingly, no one was injured.
This would be a great time to stop and investigate the whole matter, and draw up some new guidelines and procedures....right?
Just a short while after two epic disasters that would have crippled any other human on the planet....Lee Moran climbed under the 1003 pound bar for a final attempt.
In a feat of strength and determination not seen before or since, on that day in 1984, Lee Moran came back to set a world record of 1003 lbs in the squat. Oh, and by the way...here's the proof.
closing time at the Jiminy Cricket Cocktail Lounge
by dm gillis
A hand and forearm fell out of the large, sloppily bundled package
as it was lifted over the bumper and into the trunk. There were three
men. Fat Phil O’Malley stood lookout. A man in a tee shirt and jeans
folded the forearm back at the elbow, and considered taking the Rolex as
he did. He changed his mind, and closed the hood.
“You sure this is his car, Phil?” said the third man, named Jack.
“I checked the hotel register when the night guy went to the can.”
“All righty, then. It’s July, and it’s hot. By dinnertime tomorrow,
the smell will be enough to attract attention. Someone will call the
cops, and they’ll clean it up.”
“He was one lippy son of a bitch,” said the man in the tee shirt.
“Not anymore,” said fat Phil O’Malley, lighting a cigarette.
* * * * *
The Jiminy Cricket Cocktail Lounge was just off the highway near the airport, next to the YVR Astor Airport Inn.
It was the small hours of Wednesday morning and Larry Glick sat at
the bar, listening to Antonio Martini at the electric piano and looking
at his own reflection in the mirrored wall behind the rows of bottles.
It was getting on toward closing time and big fat Phil O’Malley was
behind the bar, pouring last drinks.
“Last call, fella,” O’Malley said to Glick. “What’ll you have?”
“Same,” Larry Glick said. “Better make it two.”
Big fat O’Malley cracked two beer and put them on the bar. Glick slid some cash across to him.
The Lounge was still mostly full, despite the hour. Glick imagined it
was the usual swarm. But he’d noticed they were all the type of guys
you’d expect to see in a bar or tavern, not an airport lounge. They were
wearing work boots, grubby jeans and tee shirts.
“Rough crowd,” Glick said to O’Malley.
“They work for a living,” the fat man said. “No shame in that.”
“Truth,” said Glick, and gulped back some beer.
“Where you from, mister?” said O’Malley to Larry Glick, loading glasses into the washing machine.
“No shame in that, either” said Larry Glick.
Phil O’Malley shrugged and continued loading the washer.
“I knew a Chicago fella once,” said a man, slurring his words, a few
barstools down. “He packed heat, a .45. I told him Canada wasn’t the
place for that, but he wouldn’t listen. Ended up killing a broad
downtown because she wouldn’t return his affections. He’s doing federal
time up the valley now. Last I heard, he was in isolation ‘cause he
don’t get along with the rest of the population. I guess people from
Chicago are just assholes.”
“Ease up, Jack,” Phil O’Malley said.
“I ain’t seen a gun in twenty years,” said Glick. “Not since the Marines. Not all Americans are the same.”
“Bunch of bastards….”
“C’mon, Jack,” said fat O’Malley. “Let’s end tonight without trouble.”
“I gotta clean up the mess when one of yous goes postal,” said Jack.
“You a janitor?” said Glick.
“No,” said Jack. “RCMP. They call me Policeman Jack. You can call me sir.”
Glick smiled and sipped his beer. Antonio Martini was singing Volare à la Dean Martin.
“There was another American I had dealings with…,” Policeman Jack
said, sipping his rye and Coke, “from Cincinnati. He was running hot
handguns and meth into the country along a dirt road that cut over the
border at an uncontrolled crossing. But I settled his hash. We shot it
out on that very same road when no one else was around. I tapped him
thrice, and I left him there for the coyotes.”
“That’s real nice,” said Larry Glick, reading labels on the bottles across from him.
“Please, Jack,” said Phil O’Malley. “We close in a half hour. Let’s not have trouble. I don’t want to be talking to on-duty cops until 6:00 a.m.”
“Is that what you’re doing up here?” said Policeman Jack to Larry
Glick. “You up here running guns and selling meth to schoolchildren?”
“I sell semiconductors.”
“My ex-wife’s brother sold semiconductors outta Silicone Valley. He
was a coke-fiend. You a coke-fiend? You in possession? How about I frisk
you and find out?”
O’Malley said: “You’re shit-faced, Jack. And you got no probable cause.”
“He’s an American semiconductor salesman. That’s all the probable cause I need.”
“You’re drunk, Policeman Jack,” Larry Glick said. “You ain’t touching
me. You think you got cause, call in some of your sober pals. You
carrying your weapon right now, by the way, all blotto?”
“I carry it in my sleep, fella.”
“Well that’s real interesting. But now, since you’ve been so
forthcoming with stories of Americans you’ve known, I want to tell you
about a Canadian I once knew.”
“Where you taking this?” said fat Phil O’Malley, under his breath.
“To its logical conclusion,” Larry Glick said, and then, “It happened
a long time ago. This guy I knew, a Canadian, we’ll call him Skyler
from Regina. He fell in love with a beautiful young woman in Milwaukee,
but the woman, let’s call her Venus, didn’t want to have anything to do
with him. She thought he was dull. He sold pet food to grocery store
chains for a living, drove a base model Honda and dressed out of the
Sears Catalogue. She rejected him, so he secretly followed her round for
months, studying her, finding out what she liked, where she went, what
she ate and drank. A lot of people would have called it stalking. And I
guess he was a little obsessed with her; he just couldn’t help it.
“One evening, he’s following her in a rental car. It’s in Toronto,
where she’s gone on a brief vacation. Anyway, he trails her to this club
in a refurbished warehouse. He decides to go in, and gives his car to
the valet. Once he’s in the club, he’s shocked at what he sees. There’s
Milwaukee Venus in a black corset, holding a ping pong paddle in her
hand, slapping the ass of this old guy tied to the wall. Turns out it’s
an S&M club for rich old dudes that like to get spanked, and Venus
is a real spanker.
“Now, in a strange way, Skyler sees his in. He figures he can take a
paddling from Venus if it means they can be together. So, he shoulders
his way up to the bar and asks the bartender, ’Hey, how do I get spanked
by that blonde over there?’ And the bartender says, ’Take a number,
chump.’ So, Skyler takes a number and orders a ginger ale. He’s number
27, and Venus is currently spanking number 10. He’s got a bit of a wait
ahead of him before he gets paddled, so he starts to look around the
joint, and notices that he’s one of the youngest guys there. Which is
saying something, because he’s 49. He’s in a huge room filled with
granddads and a few young women with paddles and riding crops. It’s very
weird, and he starts to wonder if he shouldn’t just forget the whole
thing. That’s when this oldster comes up to him and introduces himself.
“’Hey there, young fella,’ says the half naked old guy. ’I haven’t
seen you round here before. You must be new to our little club.’
“’Yeah,’ says Skyler. ’I just thought I’d drop in for a spanking.’
“’Well, my name’s Archie,’ says the old guy, and Skyler shakes the
man’s well manicured hand. ‘You like a good spanking, do you?’
“’A hard spanking’s good to find,’ Skyler declares, not knowing what else to say.
“’A decent spanking needs to be earned, however,’ says Grandpa
Archie. ’You figure you’ve earned a good spanking? Have you been wicked?
Can you provide examples?’
“Skyler wonders why all the questions, but decides to play along.
“’I haven’t really thought about it much,’ he says.
“’Well,’ says Grandpa Archie, ‘I redirected 75 tons of UN
Humanitarian Aid meant for Ethiopian refugees last month. Waddaya think
of that?’ Skyler’s quietly appalled. If this guy’s someone’s granddad,
then he’s a lousy granddad.
“Lousy Granddad continues: ’I made $108,000 off that deal, and I
spent it on coke, booze and prostitutes. It’s not the first time,
either. Meanwhile, I keep my wife in a cut-rate seniors’ home. She’s got
dementia. She doesn’t even know my name, anymore. I haven’t visited her
in 8 months, and then it was to have her sign over Power of Attorney so
I could cash in her investments and sell her possessions. You see, I’ve
really been a bad boy.’
“Skyler ponders that. He recalls dropping eggs onto cars from a
highway overpass when he was 10 years old, and wonders if that might
“Then Grandpa Archie points to the wall where an obese man is in
chains and being spanked by a redhead in a purple ballet tutu. ’You see
that porky bastard cuffed to the wall,’ he says. ‘The one in the blue
and red striped boxers? That’s the CEO of the Bank of Canada. That son
of a bitch embezzles, gropes women in public and is generally running
the economy into the toilet. You got anything that compares to that?’
“’No,’ admits Skyler from Regina. ’I guess I don’t.’
“’And yet,’ says Grandpa Archie, ’you figure you deserve a spanking?
C’mon, give it some thought. There must be some seeds of meanness inside
of you. Ever cheat or steal or ignore an injustice? Do you have any
admissions of failure? Any pleas for forgiveness? How about a simple
desire for understanding?’
“’No,’ Skyler says. ’I sell pet food to grocery stores for a living; I
donate 15% of my gross income to charities; I attend church: I
volunteer at a homeless shelter; I return my library books on time; I
“’Phaw!’ says Grandpa Archie. ‘Typical Canadian. You see the men in
this place? They aren’t your typical Canadians. This isn’t any place for
a typical Canadian. You want to be in a Tim Horton’s choking on a
cruller and a double-double. I don’t know why they let self-righteous
little pricks like you into this place.’
“Skyler wondered, too. Though he couldn’t recall behaving
self-righteous at any time that evening. He’d paid the cover to get into
this debauched place where he was surrounded by depraved old men, sure.
He even believed for a short time that he might participate in the
debauchery. But he understood in that moment that he lacked the kink and
immoral edge necessary to have a woman like Milwaukee Venus spanking
only him with her ping pong paddle. Then he wondered, for a single mad
moment, if he could be wicked retroactively – get his spanking tonight
and then perhaps misdirect a truckload of kitty-chow tomorrow. But he
knew he couldn’t. He gulped back his ginger ale and let his number 27
fall to the floor.”
“And then…?” said Policeman Jack.
The energy in the room had changed.
Phil O’Malley stood still behind the bar, engrossed, having hung on
every word of Larry Glick’s story. And he wasn’t alone. Everyone in the
bar was captivated, all of the rough-lookers in their jeans and tees.
Even Antonio Martini had stopped singing like Dean Martin to catch every
word. For his part, Policeman Jack had ditched his arrogance, and was
waiting for more.
Larry Glick had half a beer left and chugged it back. It was always
like this whenever he told this story, in cocktail lounges across the
continent. But this group seemed even more sucked in than the others.
“Well,” Glick said, “Regina Skyler decided then and there that he was
only good at one thing, and that was being good. He looked around him
at the S&M nightclub clientele, hoping he would learn from the
depravity of his experience. Then he looked over at Milwaukee Venus as
she perspired, exerting herself in her black satin corset, slapping some
anonymous senior executive on his ass for some perverted narrative of
iniquity. He noticed then that there was a dim magenta spotlight casting
an array of erotic shadows across the pale geography of her shimmering
back and shoulders. It made him think he might weaken. But he didn’t. He
put his empty glass on a table and walked out.”
“That’s it?” said Antonio Martini, who sounded more like Jerry Lewis now than Dean Martin.
“Of course not,” said Larry Glick. “Skyler went home to Regina and
continued to sell pet food to grocery stores. A week later, he landed a
$12 million deal with a nation-wide chain – who knew dog food was worth
so much? He continued to donate 15% of his gross income to charities,
and continued to volunteer at the homeless shelter. Once he thought he
might live dangerously and return a library book late, but he just
couldn’t pull it off. He did, however, stop clothes shopping out of the
Sears catalogue and started ordering from Land’s End.
“Then about a year later, he met a woman named Edna at a church
picnic. Three months after that, they eloped, impulsively like two nutty
kids, in Las Vegas during a pet food convention.”
“And they lived happily ever after?’ said O’Malley, with a warm chubby smile.
“For the duration of the pet food convention they did,” said Glick.
“Skyler blew a wad on Edna. They stayed at a ritzy hotel; they ate at
the best restaurants; he bought her a wardrobe of designer clothes. They
even gambled, which wasn’t normally Skyler’s style. But good clean
living paid off and he won 50 grand at blackjack. And that’s how it went
until they got home.”
“Then what happened,’ said one of the rough looking crowd, at a table near the exit.
“Then they went home, and Edna got news that her mother had died,
which sort of rained on the new couple’s parade, but waddaya gonna do?
The news of her mother’s death, however, woke Edna up to the realisation
that no one lasts forever. So, she figured it was time for Skyler to
meet her father, who hadn’t been at their wedding since they eloped. He
was some bigwig with the World Bank, and Skyler was real impressed with
that. For him, that made meeting the old man seem like a big event.
“They planned their little family shindig for a Sunday, after church.
It was gonna be a barbecue, pork chops with extra fat and some nice
thick steaks. Edna even made her favourite Jell-O mold salad, the one
with the canned fruit cocktail. And who doesn’t like that recipe?
“Anyway, the big day arrives, and Edna goes out to the airport to
pick up her father and is surprised at Arrivals to find that daddy’s
gotten married also, to a woman much younger than him and, in Edna’s
opinion, a little bit on the brassy side. But that’s how men are, she
decides. And in her mind, she quietly blesses the union.
“On the way home, daddy’s bride seems amused by the blandness of
Regina, which Edna finds mildly offensive. And she can’t help looking at
the young brassy thing in the backseat, through the rear view mirror,
thinking that there is something terribly wrong with the whole
“At the house, Skyler’s in backyard barbecue heaven, marinating meat,
tossing salad and making an alcohol-free Sangria recipe he’d found in Healthy Pentecostal Magazine.
And he’s in the backyard with a spatula in his hand, checking the coals
in the pit, when he hears the Honda pull into the driveway. Skyler’s
been waiting all week for this moment, and runs out front to greet his
father-in-law. And when he does, when he runs up to the passenger side
door to open it, he’s stunned to be met by a man he already knows, a
well-kept man in his 60s wearing an expensive Hawaiian shirt and a
Tilley hat. It’s Grandpa Archie from the Toronto S&M bar. And
getting out of the backseat is Skyler’s old obsession, Milwaukee Venus.
“Skyler drops his spatula as Archie holds out his well manicured hand to shake.
“’Well, well,’ Archie says. ‘Aren’t you the last person I expected to meet today.’
“Venus just smiles sheepishly and gives her suitcase to Edna, who’s
picking up on some very weird energy, and wondering what it all could be
about. After a moment, Edna pipes up and says, ‘What’s going on here?’
“But no one speaks, until Archie timidly says to Skyler, ‘Waddaya
think of the little woman?’ Which was really the wrong thing to say.
“’It was kind of all of a sudden,’ Venus says. ‘It was just a couple
of weeks ago. He asked me to be with him at the piercing parlour when he
got his Prince Albert. I was holding his hand during the procedure, and
that was when he popped the question. It was just so damn romantic.
What’s a girl supposed to do?’
“’And he’s stinking rich,’ says Skyler.
“’A girl’s gotta think ahead.’
“That’s when Skyler bends down and picks up his spatula,” Larry Glick said. “Then he walks into the house.”
Now the Jiminy Cricket Lounge was silent. Larry Glick threw a 10 spot
onto the bar, telling big fat Phil O’Malley to keep it. Then he began
to shimmy off of his bar stool.
“Well what happened then?” said O’Malley, scooping up the sawbuck.
“You ain’t going nowhere,” said Policeman Jack, putting his hand at
his side where the room assumed he kept his service weapon. “Not until
you finish the story.”
“No need for gunplay,” Glick said, belching politely into his hand. “Justice was done.”
“How?” hollered one of the rough-lookers by the exit. “You’re starting to piss us off. What the hell happened?”
“You may not like it.”
“Try us,” said Policeman Jack, his hand having disappeared now into his sports jacket.
“Okay,” said Larry Glick. “Archie and Venus just stand there, waiting
for Edna to say something. But Edna’s mute. She’s never seen that quiet
fatal look in her husband’s eyes, and couldn’t imagine why it was there
in the first place. In about a minute, Skyler returns with a 30.06
hunting rifle, loaded with cartridges he’d proudly made himself in his
basement, according to instructions out of Christian Survivalist Ammo Magazine.
He’d used them more than once to take down deer in season. Now he puts
the rifle’s butt to his shoulder and takes aim, moving the sights back
and forth between Grandpa Archie and Milwaukee Venus. Who’s gonna go
first? Everyone stands still, all wide-eyed, as Skyler chambers a
bullet, and then settles his aim of Grandpa Archie.
“’Skyler don’t,’ Edna screams. ‘Whatever it is, we can work it out.’
“’No we can’t, Edna,’ Skyler says. ‘And suddenly I know that that’s
okay. I never thought I could hate until this moment. And I never knew
that it could feel this way. I’ve always denied myself hate. They said
it was wrong. It was sin. That a man would always regret it. Can you
imagine how a man struggles to keep himself from hating in this world,
Edna? Of course you can’t; you’re a woman. They said hate could kill a
man. But it’s not like that, at all. I know it now. It’s deliverance,
Edna. I wish I’d known sooner. Now I know why Hitler did what he did. I
feel like I could fly. It’s ecstasy. It’s a drug, Edna. And I want more.
And I know how to get it.’
“That’s when Skyler finally squinted and drew a bead. He had Lousy
Grandpa Archie’s high forehead in his sights. ‘Say bye, bye, old man,’
Skyler said, and squeezed the trigger.
“What, click?” said Policeman Jack. “Failure to fire?”
“Failure to fire,” said Larry Glick. “The warning in Christian Survivalist Ammo Magazine stated clearly that The Publisher takes no responsibility for ammunition’s failure to fire, or otherwise misfire.
“You call that justice?” said O’Malley?
“In its own savage way,” said Glick. “Because now Milwaukee Venus
sees her chance to defend her man, Archie, and yanks a .32 S&W
revolver outta her purse and fires six rounds into Regina Skyler, who
drops like a rock onto his front lawn.”
“This is a very disappointing story,” said Policeman Jack.
“Maybe,” said Larry Glick. “But it makes one point very clear.”
“And what is that?” said O’Malley.
“Canadians can be just as hateful and prone to homicide as
Americans,” said Glick. “But when it really counts, you’re too weak and
useless to pull it off. Even when you’re holding all of the cards,
you’ll find a way to fuck it up.”
“That’s it?” said one of the rough-lookers near the exit.
“That’s it,” Larry Glick said, checking his gold Rolex. “And with that, I’m going back to my room to get some shuteye.”
“Maybe not,” said Policeman Jack.
Unfortunately...didn't get shots of the best old iron. There is a fantastic old logging truck at 7km...all grown over...perfect for the collection. Excuses....didn't have my camera. Had my camera...didn't have time as I made a dash for the crewboat. Also there is an old loader in the rhubarb, a great old Cat near the beach...and misc logging stuff in the active area near the beach.
I don't know how long this link will work. The last one worked for several months before it went dead. This is a professionally produced Discovery Channel show that features some of the main players at the Kiewit Toba/Montrose IPP project. There are few things to look at.
1. You will see Sam and Arlen Fitzpatrick talking about the inherent dangers on that project...shortly before Sam was killed by a large boulder that came from the work-site above him. 2. The hellbent drive to make schedule and profits by the managers is weaved into all aspects of the documentary. Safety appears to be a nuisance. 3. In the brief scenes with Jim McBride at the accident scene, the background is littered with uncountable loose rocks and boulders on the steep slope. 4. The avalanche technician in the video, was later involved in the helicopter crash at the Toba/Montrose site. news story here... http://www.courierislander.com/news/local/chopper-crashes-in-path-of-dynamited-avalanche-1.125372
The appeal process to reinstate the full $250,000 fine against Kiewit ( pennies to a 12 billion dollar a year corporation ) is still in play....lead bravely by Sam's dad...Brian Fitzpatrick . At the moment, the Kiewit appeals process has reduced the WorkSafeBC fine to around $90,000.