On The Sly

Kids today sure have a lot of modern conveniences. Most of them have their own cell phones, MP3s, computers with all kinds of flashy fast-action games, expensive toys of many varieties and swimming pools in their backyards.

But I'm pretty happy about the time period that I grew up in. We didn't have all those things as kids, but somehow we found ways to entertain ourselves. Even if sometimes it was using our baseball cards to play imaginary games for hours in our bedrooms.

Kids of today will never get to experience some of the fun things that we got to do while we were growing up. Their loss, I guess. I wouldn't trade any of the following for a cell phone:

Simple toys like the hula hoop, Slinky and paddle ball. My friends and I could hit that little rubber ball hundreds of times and never get tired. We'd have contests of who could hit it the most times without missing.

Running through the sprinklers on a hot summer day because no one in the neighborhood had a swimming pool.

Watching Bucky Beaver commercials for Ipana toothpaste because we didn't have a remote to check other shows during the commercials.

Big rubber hot water bottles that your Mom made you put on whatever ailed you.

Sitting in the balcony at the Strand Theater and "accidentally" throwing popcorn on the people below.

Getting a frozen custard at a little stand on North Margaret Street. Frozen custard seemed to taster richer and better than plain ice cream.

Going out to the milk box on a winter morning before school and getting two glass quarts of milk, both with the cardboard cap pushed up because the cream froze.

Walking home from football, basketball or baseball practice because your family had "only" one car and Dad took it to work.

Wearing picky, heavy wool baseball uniforms and sweating like crazy during the game.

Singing "100 Bottles of Beer on the Wall" on the team bus after a football win over Keeseville High School.

Playing a great inter-city Catholic school rivalry like MAI vs. St. John's or St. John's vs. OLVA.

Listening to the borders in the MAI gym sitting together at the top of the bleachers yelling, "You, You, You!" at opposing players who committed a foul.

Sitting in the big green grandstand on a chilly autumn night at Bailey Avenue ballpark and watching Peru's Leon Angevine carry the ball against the Plattsburgh High School defense.

Hurrying home from school in October so you could watch the final innings of a World Series game on the family's little black-and-white tv. If you were really lucky, you rigged up your transistor radio with an earplug and ran the cord up your sleeve, so you could listen to the game during ninth-period study hall. Sister Anthony of Jesus never caught us!

Opening a five-cent pack of baseball cards and finding Duke Snider or Pee Wee Reese or, best of all, Jackie Robinson!

Putting some of those baseball cards on the spokes of your bicycle with a wooden clothes pin. Every one of us pretended we were the police.

Riding that bike along the street and being chased and nipped at by a barking dog. Dog leash law? Are you kidding me?

Parking for hours at the Orange Julep, watching and talking to girls. And wishing!

The thrill you felt when your Dad told you that you could have your own phone in your bedroom!

I guess simple pleasures were enough for us in those days. But they all combined to help shape the kind of people we are today. I think we are one lucky generation. I wouldn't trade any of those things for any modern day toy, regardless of how many songs you can fit on it!

Posted by Foxy Gagnon at 6:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

I remember that in 1983 Johnny Lee had a country music hit called "Lookin' for Love in All the Wrong Places." That happens sometimes. Lately, though, I've been lookin' for lunch. And I've found some good places along the way, as noted in some previous blogs.

But I may have hit "Bingo" with my latest adventure. Have you ever read the Press-Republican monthly insert, the Senior Sentinel? Inside is a calendar of lunches at the Clinton County Senior Citizens Center. For months I've been reading about "turkey and biscuits with mashed potatoes," and "breaded pork chop with sweet potatoes" and "meatloaf with gravy."

Have I tempted you? Well, I was tempted enough by "roast turkey with gravy" that I decided to try one of these Senior Citizens lunches. The center is located at the site of the former Seton Catholic Central or Mount Assumption Institute on North Catherine Street. I arrived at the same time as "Midge" Sorrell and his sister Sally Griffin. They escorted me to the elevator and to the cafeteria, where lunch is served.

I first had to register, as a first-time guest, and then find a seat. Lorraine Hardy, an 88-year-old volunteer at the center, tried to find me a table. Lorraine knows this place well. She's been volunteering for 25 years and in 2003 she was named the "Senior Citizen of the Year." She led me to a table where two ladies were quietly chatting. There were about five vacant seats.

The ladies seemed to panic when this stranger with a ponytail approached the table.
They accounted for all five vacants seats by telling Lorraine, "Well, Helen will be here, and she might bring her friend, and Bob and Joan always sit here."

I told Lorraine that I could just sit by myself the first time. But she insisted that I "make some friends." She led me to a table of men near the entrance. This looked safe. So I sat with Brother Rene, Gerard, George and John. Brother Rene, who taught at MAI and Seton Catholic for 39 years, was a familiar face, but I had never sat and talked with him.

Lunch began promptly at noon with general announcements from a staff member, followed by a moment of silent meditation and then the Pledge of Allegiance to the flag. Within seconds, dinner was served. To some of us! Brother Rene was the first one served. Something of a tradition, I think. But I was a close second! I guess because I'm a first-time visitor.

I'm sure next time I'll have to do what the others do -- wait until my table number is called and go to the counter to get my lunch. But for today, I was served! And the lunch was delicious. A nice slice of turkey breast, mashed potatoes with gravy, squash, a roll with butter, and an oatmeal-raisin cookie with milk.

There were 35 seniors in attendance. The meal, served daily, costs just $5.25 if you are under 60. For the senior seniors (over 60) the meal is just $2.25. I can hardly wait to get older now!

As John pointed out to me, many people think that this senior citizens lunch is for only poor people or people on welfare, but that's not the case. The Senior Citizens Center is open to the public, and not just for lunch. There are bingo games, demonstrations, musical events and many other activities. Plus, thanks to an anonymous donor there's that big-screen tv that I've been dreaming about.

My first experience at the Senior Citizens Center was a fun one. People were friendly and talkative. I'll definitely be back.

In case you are wondering, the former MAI-Seton Catholic building is still owned by the Brothers of Christian Instruction, based in Alfred, Maine. It's great that the building is still used, but I'm sure that the seniors only use a small part of the building.

The Clinton County Senior Citizens Center is under the direction of Kathleen Hazel, who works with a great staff. Looks like I'll be more than a stranger at the center in the months ahead. Who knows? Maybe I can even talk some of the blogoteers into meeting me for lunch. How's teriyaki chicken and garlic potatoes sound?

Posted by Foxy Gagnon at 8:47 AM | Permalink | Comments (7)

My parents graduated from Rouses Point High School back in the early 1940s. As a child and into my early teen years we would often spend all day Saturday in Rouses Point, visiting my paternal grandparents, Leo and Alvina Gagnon, who we called "Poppa" and "Miner."

I have always had fond memories of Rouses Point, playing pitch-and-catch with my Dad and brother in the park with the gazebo. And going to Anctil's for ice cream sodas. Spending time in Furman's Department Store, where Miner worked. It was owned by Harry and Dot Furman, who became longtime friends of my grandparents and parents. Buying penny candy at Laundrie's Store on Lake Street. Visiting Mrs. Hill, who lived near my grandparents, who always wrapped a few homemade cookies in a napkin when I'd leave.

The first 45 rpm record that my father outlawed was in Rouses Point. I was nine years old, and we were shopping in that pharmacy on the corner of Lake and something-street when I found the Sun Records hit "Great Balls of Fire" by Jerry Lee Lewis. I had seen Jerry Lee on the Ed Sullivan Show and I loved that song. I asked my Dad if I could buy it. He said a firm, "No!"

I asked why and he just smiled and said, "I don't want you to buy that record." It was probably years later before I realized that my Dad thought that was a dirty song with nasty song lyrics. Goodness gracious!

My grandparents were friends with Bertha and Hank Jillson, who owned the Holland Hotel. Miner would often bring me to visit them, and the big chairs in the lobby and the quiet atmosphere left pleasant memories. The first bar I ever sat at was at the Holland Hotel, sipping a free coke while Bertha and Miner chatted.

In Rouses Point we also visited an old man named Dennis Wells. He had been a friend of my Dad's since my Dad was a kid. He was a nice old man, but he smoked cigarettes constantly. I liked Dennis Wells and when I was old enough to drive I would often borrow my Dad's car and visit him on a Saturday morning in Rouses Point. He would save his copies of The Sporting News for me. I read that publication from cover to cover when I was a teenager. My middle name is Dennis, in honor of Dennis Wells.

Eventually, Miner and Poppa moved to Plattsburgh and the visits to Rouses Point became fewer and fewer. So, indeed, it was quite a coincidence when I dated and fell in love with a girl from Rouses Point. The visits to the little village increased in number and before long I had all kinds of nieces and nephews and in-laws living in that quiet village of my youth. The village of Rouses Point will always have a special place in my heart.

And that's why Al Ryan's book is such a great thing! Al Ryan, who grew up in Rouses Point, has written a book titled A LOOK BACK INTO THE MID-20TH CENTURY AT THE SMALL UPSTATE NY VILLAGE OF ROUSES POINT. It's a history of the village and a walk down memory lane of the places and faces he recalls. The soft-cover 36-page book has many photos from the 1920s up to the present. Anyone who grew up in Rouses Point would love this book.

I read the book from cover-to-cover and passed it on to my Mom, who has read it twice, enjoying Al's stories about the village where she spent her teenage years. The village of Rouses Point today is in many ways the same. Oh, there are many more streets as the population increased and the houses stretched to the edge of town. But, make no mistake about it, the unique feeling of growing up in a small village like Rouses Point, or Ausable Forks or Keeseville or Chazy, for that matter, is something that will never change.

You can contact Al for more information at dod2243@comcast.net.

Posted by Foxy Gagnon at 8:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

As you probably know, I'm not a Yankees fan. As you can probably guess, I'm not a Joe Torre fan. And I'm not a fan of the YES Network, except that I love the Mike & the Mad Dog Show and I watch the Yankees' games -- at least when they are losing.

I don't think Torre is the greatest Yankees' manager ever. In fact, last year in On the Sly, I called for his firing. I don't think he is a baseball strategist. I don't think he's enough of a motivator. I want a manager, no matter what the sport, who shows some fire sometimes. I seldom, if ever, saw that from Torre. But, make no mistake about it, the players loved him. He treated them like adults, never criticized them, and faced the reporters redundant questions night after night.

But I am a huge baseball fan and I can't believe how this self-proclaimed "greatest franchise in the history of baseball" has treated Joe Torre. It's not easy to defend a guy who just turned down a $5 million dollar job. It's hard to feel sorry for him. Heck, I would manage the Yankees for a lot less than that and give the reporters a lot more creative answers than Torre has given over the past twelve years.

Torre has been paid much more than any other big league manager. As baseball's longest-running manager, he deserved some of that big salary. The rest of the salary he deserved just for putting up with the New York media all those years. Let's see how his replacement reacts after a 10-0 loss to Toronto when beautiful Kim asks a dumb question. Or when some sports reporter from the Trenton Tribune questions the batting order or asks, "Why didn't you take Chamberlain out sooner?"

Through the years, managers such as Hal McRae, Ozzie Guillen, Lou Piniella and Earl Weaver have yelled at reporters, thrown them out of his office, thrown things and cussed like a 32nd Street hooker. Joe Torre never did that. Not once in twelve years in dealing with the New York media.

And, for getting his team into the playoffs twelve times out of twelve, Torre is offered a paycut. That's a throwback to the days of the Brooklyn Dodgers when outfielder Carl Furillo was offered a paycut because he didn't hit .300. He hit .297.

This is the same great Yankees franchise and ownership that abandoned Bernie Williams this spring, after the classy outfielder gave 16 seasons of productive baseball to the team. Both Bernie and Joe Torre belong in the Yankees' Hall of Fame of Classy Guys, but the Yankees' hierarchy sure doesn't.

I hope that the YES Network and public relations office will ease up a bit on their braggadocio about how great a franchise they are. If this is how they treat some of their finest, they are not an organization that I would want to be affiliated with.

This is the franchise that has by far the highest payroll over the last many years. And this is the franchise that hasn't been crowned World Series champs since 2000. One thing for sure: the 2008 baseball season will be an interesting one in New York for whoever is lucky enough to be Joe Torre's successor.

Posted by Foxy Gagnon at 4:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (9)

When I was a kid my Uncle Viv lived on Bailey Avenue. His name was Vivian Venne and he was my grandmother Gagnon's brother. We visited him often. He lived with his wife Elizabeth and his children, my cousins, Helen, Nyoka and Ronald.

I remember Uncle Viv well. He could tell stories, and he loved to tell stories about his baseball playing days and what a fast runner he was. He was a little skinny guy who smoked a big pipe. He would tell me that he could run so fast that he'd hit an infield grounder and he'd be at first base before the ball even got to the shortstop.

He would tell me that he could hit a ball over the fence at Bailey Avenue ballpark and he could be touching home plate before the ball would land on the other side. I was about eight years old and I'd laugh at his stories and so would my Dad, but I'd be half wondering if he might really be telling the truth.

The thing I remember most about Uncle Viv, though, is that he fixed watches and clocks. When you would go in his backdoor, just to the left, off the kitchen, was his shop -- full of watches and clocks. Sometimes he would show us some unique timepiece that he was working on. He could fix anything.

He would have hundreds of clocks hanging on the walls, never with any empty spaces. And his workbench would be covered with watches of all kinds, including the popular item of the day, the pocket watch. Back in those days every man had a watch. It was part of your everyday life.

I remember my first watch. I got it when I was about ten. It was silver with a silver flexible wristband. I was proud to have my own watch, that my parents figured I was old enough to have a man's watch, instead of some cheap plastic thing. I remember giving it to a guy on our bench during a Babe Ruth baseball game at OLVA when I was thirteen. I thought he was a friend of our coach and that he would hold it for me since I had forgotten to leave it at home that day.

As you might guess, after the game I didn't think about my watch, and that's the last time I ever saw it. That guy, whoever he was, walked away with my watch. Maybe he's reading this now and will feel guilty, and he'll bring back my watch.

But it occurs to me, as I work with young men and women as my videographers, that kids today don't wear watches. I think I might be part of the last generation to wear watches. I think those good ol' traditional names like Timex and Bulova might have to look into some other product to manufacture, if they haven't already.

Not one of my videographers wears a watch. How in the world do they know if they are getting to work on time? Easy! They all have cell phones. No need for a watch when you can just check the cell phone to find out the time, temperature, wind speed and relative humidity.

Used to be that a watch was a big traditional family item to pass on to the next generation. Grandma would say, "Your grandpa left you his watch, Bobby." Or, Mom would say, "Joey, here is your daddy's watch. He'd want you to have it."

What are future generations going to leave? Their cell phones? Their assortment of ringtones? Their CD collections of Eminem, Akon and Ludicrus? Boy, the world sure has changed a lot since the good ol' days of Uncle Viv on Bailey Avenue.

Posted by Foxy Gagnon at 7:31 AM | Permalink | Comments (6)

The word "dude" has been around for over a hundred years, but I've never heard it used so much as in the last two years. Or, the last two days.

When I was growing up, I remember hearing the term "dude ranch." I never went to one, but I assumed it was a place where men went to ride horses and tell stories around a campfire. When I was growing up, no one ever called me a "dude." I mean, Sister Genevieve never said, "Hey, dude, did you finish your English homework?" And Coach Flynn never told us in the locker room, "Okay, dudes, this is an important game."

I didn't even know I was a dude until the summer of 2005. That's when some new friends, college-age friends, began spending time with me watching movies, listening to music and videotaping sports events. That's when I started hearing them say things like "rich dude" (that wasn't in reference to me!) and "old dude" (that wasn't in reference to me, either!) and "cool dude" (aha!). Sometimes someone could be called just plain ol' "dude."

No matter what, I've found this term has become more and more a part of our culture. I hear guys and girls in their twenties saying it all the time. I found out that my new friends were always referring to me as "dude" -- as if I didn't have a real name. I found this so interesting that I ordered a custom-made tee shirt that says on the front "DUDE."

Despite being around the word so much lately, I haven't found myself calling anyone "dude." I don't tell my brother, "Hey, dude, pass me the bucket of wings!" And I don't ask my videographer, "Can you hear me through your headphones, dude?"

If you look up "dude" in the dictionary it will say something like "a man excessively concerned with his clothes, grooming and manners." I don't think that's what those girls are meaning when they call me "dude." It might also define "dude" as "a man reared in a large city." Does Plattsburgh qualify?

Today I received an e-mail with the title "It's free, dude." When I opened it, there was a link which brought me to a website called "Arcade World" offering free video games. This evening I heard two news commentators use the popular word. One was in reference to George Clooney: "The dude is really a class act!" Hey, if I'm called the same word as George Clooney, I have no problem with that.

Anyway, be on the lookout for this word. I think it's ready to take over our culture, replacing antiquated words like "sir," "pal" and "buddy." Hey, now that you know it's so acceptable, maybe you'll start using it, too. In the meantime, I'm happy that I'm a dude and I've got the tee shirt to prove it.

I think I'll ask the dudes in the newsroom of the Press-Republican what they think of the word.

Posted by Foxy Gagnon at 11:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (12)

My usual retired teacher's day schedule brings me to downtown Plattsburgh around 11am. Most days I have banking, be it my personal accounts or my little tv business account, and eBay mailings. With a variety of places to choose from, some days I eat lunch downtown.

Way back when I was a teacher and confined to a forty-minute lunch period, my two favorite lunch spots were Cafe Cumberland, a place for great soups, and Mr. Wu's Chinese restaurant for a quick and easy lunch buffet. I could enjoy great food and have time to get back to school with five minutes to spare.

Having unlimited lunch time is one of the big benefits of being retired. So, I think today I'll have a leisurely lunch downtown. I hope I have better luck than I did last Monday. Last week as I strolled out of KeyBank I was craving Chinese food. So, I took a left and headed to Mr. Wu's. I've been there hundreds of times, but I can't think of the actual name of the restaurant. I'll bet most customers call it Mr. Wu's.

Anyway, my lunch problems began when I noticed his OPEN sign in the window was not lit up. It then occured to me that this restaurant is closed on Mondays. Chinese food craving exited, and I thought of those Cafe Cumberland soups. Always two choices, always unique, like bean with bacon soup or corn chowder. Never the ordinary soups like chicken noodle or tomato.

However, a sign on the door informed customers that this spot was now closed. How disappointing. I hope some day this popular business re-opens. Well, now what? Since soup was on my mind I thought of Frechette's Grocery Store, just a quick drive down Margaret Street.

In my teaching days I would some days grab soup and a sandwich there after a quick stop at the post office. As my car approached the store I noticed that the parking spots in front and across the road were filled, but they also have ample parking on the side. However, not today! Every parking spot was filled. My longtime friend Paul Dingman had just taken the final spot and was exiting his vehicle.

I imagined the long line in front of the deli counter and, being the hungry guy that I was, I decided there was no waiting left in me. I'd tried three places and still hadn't tasted lunch. My stomach, now used to an 11am deposit, was beginnning to growl.

So I headed back downtown. The previous Monday my Mom and I had enjoyed a tasty lunch at the new Benji's Cafe on Margaret Street. Aha! that's the place. And luckily there was a parking spot right in front. Jumping out of my car, I headed to the front door of Benji's, only to see a sign that stated, "Closed today due to a death in the family."

This was getting serious. All I wanted was a simple lunch. Anything now would do. A bean sandwich. A cup of porridge. A slice of pizza. Yes, a slice of pizza, just a few doors down at Pizza Bono. That will be an easy one! However, there was a line crowding the front door. I would be waiting on the street for a simple slice of pizza.

A couple on their lunch hour said hello to me and advised that there was no place to sit. The place was too crowded. I think I heard their stomachs growling, too. I looked across the street and dreamed of the days when Zachary's was on the corner. All is saw was a bunch of furniture laughing back at me. I knew they didn't serve lunch at Affordable Furniture.

Then I remembered Lloyd's Fish Fry, located just across the Monopole alley from Pizza Bono and Woodstocks. I peered in. I saw a lady sitting at a table. And there was no closed sign on the door. Aha! I love fish. Much to my delight, when I entered, there was Lloyd Brown himself, the head honcho, greeting me with a smile.

It had taken over thirty minutes, but I had finally found lunch. "A fish sandwich and fries, please," I smiled. Within minutes I was eating. It was great. My stomach was pleased. I guess this should have been my first stop.

Had this been four years ago, I would have had to go without lunch. But this just goes to show you one of the many challenges a retired teacher with time on his hands faces. It's Monday. Anyone want to join me for lunch today?

Posted by Foxy Gagnon at 6:17 AM | Permalink | Comments (7)

I know I've already professed my love for Peter Pan peanut butter, but now Conagra, the manufacturer of Peter Pan, has answered back. You might recall that when the recall of Peter Pan peanut butter occured back in March, I was dismayed. I also followed the recall guidelines and threw out two full jars of peanut butter and returned the lids to Conagra.

I later received a $5 check to reimburse me for the peanut butter. Nice gesture, but it didn't taste too good between two slices of bread. From March through August all of us Peter Pan lovers looked for suitable substitutes to satisfy our peanut butter cravings. We mourned the day we dumped our love, and we longed for a second chance.

Finally, in August the store shelves were suddenly adorned with our Peter Pan peanut butter jars. There was cause for celebration and we, without hesitation, accepted Peter Pan back in our lives. The misdeeds of Conagra could be forgotten. Our love had returned.

And now Conagra has made one last gesture in winning our hearts back, as if that's necessary. In the mail the other day I received a colorful flyer. Red, yellow and white. Just like the Peter Pan labels. Inside the flyer was a coupon for a free jar of Peter Pan peanut butter! Free!

The coupon is accompanied by a "Pledge" that Peter Pan "is committed to being a trusted brand for you and the ones you love." Sort of sounds like a marriage vow, doesn't it? "Yes, honey, I'll be faithful. I did you wrong once, but never again."

To top it off, the flyer I received also instructed me to go to a special website and list the names of three friends who might enjoy a $1 coupon off Peter Pan peanut butter. Sort of like, who should I choose for my best man and ushers?

Anyway, what more could a guy ask more? I have made amends with Conagra for breaking my heart back in March, and for staying away for so long. Today I'll get my free jar of Peter Pan peanut butter and put it next to the four jars I've already purchased since its return.

This should be the last of the Peter Pan story. Hopefully, we can settle in and live happily ever after.

Posted by Foxy Gagnon at 7:41 AM | Permalink | Comments (6)