Tag Archives: Divorce

Harmonizing with Dick Dale on Power Plant Christmas Harmonicas

Originally posted December 20, 2013.  Added additional news about Richard at the bottom of the post:

I think it was while we were sitting in the lunch room eating lunch while I was still a janitor when the subject of harmonicas came up.  Dick Dale must have asked me if I played a musical instrument, because that was my usual reply,  “I play the harmonica… and the Jew’s Harp.”  Just about everyone knows what a Harmonica looks like.  I suppose most people in Oklahoma knows what a Jew’s Harp is.  It’s that instrument you put in your mouth and you flip the little lever and it makes a vibrating twanging sound.

A Jew's Harp

A Jew’s Harp

Dick Dale, worked in the warehouse, and we had been friends since my second year as a summer help.  He told me that he always wanted to learn to play the harmonica.  I told him I learned by just playing around on it.  I never took lessons or used a harmonica book or anything.

When I was growing up, my dad knew how to play the harmonica, so we had one laying around the house all the time.  So, one day when I was a kid, I picked it up and started playing with it.  It took about five minutes before my older sister ran to my mom and complained about me making a racket.  My mom told me to take it outside.  So, I not only learned the harmonica by playing around with it,  I was usually sitting alone in the woods while I was  learning it.  I have found that under these conditions, there is usually some basic part of the skill that is left out.  So, I knew that my harmonica playing was never really up to snuff.

In the spring of 1983, I joined the labor crew, and I no longer ate lunch in the break room.  I kept it in mind that Dick Dale wanted to learn to play the harmonica, so some time during the summer, I purchased a Hohner Marine Band Harmonica for him, and I began creating a song book with the songs that I knew how to play.  I made up my own notation.  The holes in the harmonica were numbered, so I wrote the numbers of the holes I would blow in, and put an arrow above the number pointing up or down to indicate whether I was blowing in the hole, or sucking the air through the hole.

A Hohner Marine Band Harmonica

A Hohner Marine Band Harmonica

During the summer I talked to Dick Dale a few times, and he was having trouble with his family.  He was getting a divorce from his wife of fifteen years.  He was pretty upset about that, because all along he thought he was happily married.  This turned out not to be the case.  In the process, Dick moved from Stillwater, Oklahoma to Ponca City.  I was living in Stillwater at the time.

When winter came around, my friend Tim Flowers, who was a summer help for two summers at the plant, including the summer I was on the labor crew, came to visit me in Stillwater.  I had bought a harmonica for him for Christmas, and I told him I wanted to go visit Dick Dale in Ponca City and take him his Harmonica for Christmas, along with the booklet I had handwritten (as we didn’t have computers back in those days….).

So, I called up Dick to make sure it would be all right if we dropped by for a little while.  He was at home in his new house, and said he would be delighted if we came by.  Dick knew Tim Flowers from the time he had been a summer help.  While Tim and I were carpooling, Dick would be carpooling with Mike Gibbs, and sometimes on the way home, we would play car tag going down the highway.

One day after a Men’s Club dinner at the plant, while we were leaving, I was in the front of the line of cars heading for the main gate.  In those days, there weren’t two separate gates (one for entering, and one for exiting).  So, the one gate had to open almost all the way up before the person exiting could go through the gate.

When I pulled up to the gate, I pulled up on the entrance side, and Dick and Mike pulled up on the exit side.  We had been racing with each other up to the main gate….  Dick was revving up the engine of his pickup truck which could easily outrun my little blue 1982 Honda Civic.  I had to be more cunning to stay in front of Richard (yeah.  I liked to call him Richard).

1982_Honda_Civic

A 1982 Honda Civic

As the gate opened, I was on the side where I could go through the gate first.  The way it worked was that as soon as I crossed the threshold of the gate, the gate would stop opening.  then, as I went through it, I drove over to the exit side and ran over the closed loop of the gate, so that the gate closed again leaving Richard and Mike waiting behind the closed gate as we made our escape.

Of course, as soon as we were out on the main highway, it didn’t take long for Richard to make up the mile lead I had gained while he had to wait for the gate to close and re-open.  So, the only way I could prevent him from passing me was by weaving over in the passing lane when he attempted to pass me, and then back again, when he returned to the right lane.

Eventually he was able to go around me, but from that day forward, whenever we were travelling home at the end of the day, and we were following each other, we would both meander back and forth across the highway on the way home…. when it was safe of course.  Since we were out in the country, on a seldom traveled rode, that was usually not a problem.  This came to an end when Richard moved to Ponca City.

When Tim Flowers and I arrived at Richard’s house in Ponca City that Christmas holiday, we surprised him when we handed him his very own harmonica with the booklet that I had written.  He invited us inside and we sat for a while as I explained to him how the booklet worked.  He said he appreciated it, and that he would work on learning how to play his harmonica so that we could play together.

We sat around and made terrible music together for a while.  Then, because I didn’t want to impose on Richard too much, we left to go back to Stillwater.  A couple of weeks later after the holiday, Richard said he had been practicing on the harmonica and he really appreciated the Christmas present.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but two and a half years later I was going to move to Ponca City after I was married, and my wife graduated from nursing school.  That was when Dick Dale, Jim Heflin, Bud Schoonover and I began carpooling together (See the post:  Carpooling with Bud Schoonover).  At the time Dick said that he had hoped to get over the tragedy of his marriage by the end of the year.  He had heard that it took a year to get over 5 years.  Since he had been married for 15 years, he figured by the end of 3 years he should be feeling like he was over it.

The only other person at the plant that I can remember that ever heard me playing the harmonica was Arthur Hammond.  He asked me one day in 1986 if I would bring my harmonica to work so that he could hear me play it.  So, I did, and while we were driving down to the Arkansas River to check batteries, I played some “harmonica blues” for him.  It was just stuff I was making up.

I had seen this movie called “Crossroads” with Ralph Macchio.  In the movie Ralph’s character is trying to learn how to play the Blues guitar from an old and once famous blues musician.  There are two things you learn as the movie unfolds.  The first is that in order to really know how to play the blues, you had to have experienced a real “Blue” time in your life.  So you had to play with the feeling that you had experienced.  The second thing was that Ralph had to play his guitar against a contract guitar player chosen by the devil in order to save the old man’s soul.

Crossroads (1986)

Crossroads (1986)

So, what was I supposed to do?  I had been blessed most of my life.  I hadn’t really experienced any “real” blues.  As Art was driving the pickup truck down to the river, I tried to dream up the bluest thoughts I could.  I thought…. what if the world ran out of chocolate…..  That would ruin everybody’s mood.  I piped out a few sorrowful sounding notes on the harmonica to try and portray my disappointment living without chocolate….. that sounded kind of lame.

Then I thought, wasn’t I upset that one time when I was a summer help and I stayed over to help feed the foremen that were having a dinner in the break room and Pat Braden and I fed the foremen, and no one offered me any food, so I had to go hungry for a couple of hours before I could go home and eat some leftovers at home.  I think I felt kind of blue that day…..  so I cupped my hand over the harmonica, tilted my head to the side and tried to remember that painful time as I shook my hand up and down so that the harmonica would make the sad “whaaa whaa” sound.

I drummed up a few more sad thoughts, and I thought I was really floundering as my debut as a blues harmonica player, so I paused for a few minutes to try and make myself feel bad about doing such a poor job playing the harmonica hoping that it would help.  Then Art said, “Hey.  You are pretty good!”  “What?”  I thought, “Oh… That’s Art, trying to be polite.”  “Thank you,” I said.  Boy.  How pitiful is that?  Surely I should feel bad enough now to play some blues at least a little better….

Anyway, a mile or two later, I decided to give it up.  I put the harmonica back in my pocket and told Art that was all I could do for now.  Finally.  We had some peace and quiet the rest of the way to the river.  I remembered that my sister would always run screaming to my mom when I was younger and blew a few notes on the harmonica, and here Art patiently listened and even complimented my playing.  Gee.  What a true friend he was.

Later, Dick Dale remarried, and as far as I could tell, he was a much happier person a few years after that.  I did what I could to help him.  Though, I think at times I confused him a little.  I will relay a story about that in a few weeks.

My Dear Friend Richard Dale

My Dear Friend Richard Dale

Richard Dale died at the age of 64 on Christmas Day, 2008.  He can now be heard in concert in Heaven playing the mouth organ.  Since I don’t play the regular harp, I hope one day to stand alongside him playing the Jew’s Harp.  Richard’s Mother Maurine Dale joined him in Heaven last month (November, 2015) at the age of 98.

Dick Dale and the Power Plant Printer Romance

Originally posted January 17, 2014.  I added more to the story:

When I first moved to Ponca City in 1986 I carpooled each day to the Coal-fired Power Plant in North Central Oklahoma with Dick Dale, Jim Heflin and Bud Schoonover (See the post:  “Carpooling Adventures with Bud Schoonover“).  Dick Dale had moved to Ponca City a couple of years earlier after his divorce.  He didn’t want to continue living in Stillwater where he felt as if everyone knew about his tragic situation.  We had been friends from the first day we met (which is often the case with Power Plant Men) when I was a summer help working out of the garage and he worked in the tool room and warehouse.

I wrote about Dick Dale this past Christmas, when I talked about his situation (See the post:  “Harmonizing with Dick Dale on Power Plant Christmas Harmonicas“).  I knew that even though it was a few years later, Richard was still feeling the impact from this emotional trauma.  One day I found the opportunity to play a “Power Plant” joke on him that I thought might help lift his spirits.

I recently wrote another post about how I had installed dumb terminals around the plant so that regular workers would be able to access the mainframe computer downtown in Corporate Headquarters in order to see their work orders, or look up parts in the warehouse, etc. (See the post:  “Working Smarter with Power Plant Dumb Terminals“).  In most places where I installed terminals, I also installed large IBM printers that printed using continuous feed paper.

IBM Dot Matrix Network Printer

IBM Dot Matrix Network Printer

For those of you who remember, at first most dot matrix printers would feed paper from a box underneath them.  they had holes down both sides of the paper where the sprockets would rotate and paper would come rolling out the top of the printer.

Dot Matrix paper with holes so the printer can feed the paper through. The holes sections with the holes were perforated so you could tear them off easily.

Dot Matrix paper with holes so the printer can feed the paper through. The holes sections with the holes were perforated so you could tear them off easily.

Ok.  Here is a quick one paragraph side story…

One day when my son was 5 years old, we had to wait a while in an airport.  We were sitting in a row of seats at the gate waiting.  My son kept popping up slowly, jerking as he rose, from behind the row of seats and would lay over the seat back and end up head down on the chair.  After doing this a few times, my wife Kelly who was becoming slightly annoyed asked him what he was doing.  He said, “I’m paper coming out of the printer”.  Of course, this cracked us all up.

Anyway, back to the story.  By the time I had to add the dumb terminals and printers to the Garage and Warehouse, I had already been playing around on the mainframe learning all sorts of ways to get into trouble. — Well, what else was I going to do during lunch while Charles Foster and I talked about movies and stuff?  I had a personal user account on the mainframe that basically gave me “God Access”.  They didn’t really have anything like “Network Security” back then.  — This was 1988.

Back then, we also didn’t have anything called “Email” either.  It wasn’t until 1989 that CompuServe first offered real Internet e-mail to its users.  When we wanted to send something to someone in the company, we either printed it out and put in an intra-company envelope and sent it by “snail” mail, or we could find out what printer they used and get the ID for the printer and send it to them.  It was a code like:  P1234.

Well.  I had been playing with this text editor on the Honeywell mainframe called FRED.  This stood for FRiendly EDitor.  For those of you who know UNIX, this was pretty much the same as the VI Editor found on UNIX mainframes.  The commands were the same.  Today, users of Microsoft Word would be horrified to find out what you had to go through to create a document back then.

I had been practicing using this editor, and found that by using the special escape codes for the printer, I could create documents that would come out looking pretty neat.  So, I had created some templates that would make it look like I was printing a Memo from some mainframe program.  That was about the time that I installed the printer in the garage.

So, I created a big long document that would print out on the garage printer as soon as I connected the printer to the network.  It went on and on about how the printer wasn’t happy about being placed in such a dusty environment and how it refused to be cooperative until it was moved to a cleaner place.  It would spit out a bunch of sheets of paper, printing protest after protest.

Then it ended up by saying that if it wasn’t moved right away, it was going to shut down in 10 minutes and it started counting down by 30 second intervals.  Then at the last minute, it counted down by 15 seconds until it counted down the last 10 seconds by feeding a sheet of paper for each second while it was counting… then it paused at the last second.  Finally, it printed out at the end a concession that since it was obviously not going to be moved to someplace cleaner, it might as well give up and be cooperative.

When I installed the printer in the office in the automotive garage, I knew it would take about 30 seconds to connect the first time, and by that time, I was outside making my way back to the electric shop.  By the time I arrived back in the electric shop Charles Patten, the foreman in the garage was calling me on the gray phone.  The gray phone is the plant PA system:

Gaitronics Gray Phone

Gaitronics Gray Phone

Of course, I knew why.  I answered the phone and Charles told me that something was wrong with the printer.  It kept shooting paper out of it and wouldn’t stop.  He had even turned it off, but when he turned it back on, it still kept feeding paper out.  I told him that sounded pretty strange to me and I would be right over to see what was going on.  I took my time returning to the garage giving the printer time to throw it’s tantrum.

By the time I returned, the printer had stopped ranting about being installed in a dirty environment and had given up it’s protest.  Charles said that it finally stopped.  I walked over to the printer and took the pile of hundred or so pages that it had printed out, and tore them off the printer and walked out with them.  I don’t even know if Charles had paid any attention to what the printer was saying.

I think I was the only person that knew that I had just “attempted” to play a joke on Charles.  After all, as the paper was feeding out it was carefully collecting into a nice stack in front of the printer on the floor, and unless someone picked up the stack and looked at it, they wouldn’t know that anything was even printed on it.  So, in this case, the joke may have been on me.  But then again, Power Plant Men are like that.  If they figure a joke is being played on them, then they figure out how to turn it around so that the joker is the one that has the joke played on them.  Maybe that was the case here.  Charles Patten was probably one of the most intelligent foremen at the plant, so it was possible.

Charles Patton

Anyway, back to Dick Dale.  I installed the printer in the warehouse and Dick Dale, Darlene Mitchell, Mike Gibbs and Bud Schoonover were happy to be connected to the Inventory program on the mainframe…..  um… yeah. sure they were…… especially Bud.

Bud Schoonover was the person that when it was his turn to run the tool room would not give you something if it was the last one.  So, if I needed a flashlight and it was the last one, and I asked Bud for a flashlight, he would say that he couldn’t give it to me.  Why?  You might ask.  Well, he would explain that if he gave the last one away, he would have to order some more.  Bud didn’t like ordering things on the computer.  So, in order to keep from having to order anything he simply didn’t give away the last one of any item.

Anyway.  I decided one Monday during my regular lunch time computer educational moments to send a letter over to the warehouse printer addressed to Dick Dale.  It was from an anonymous woman.  The letter sounded like it was from someone that really had a thing for Richard and remembered how they used to work together.  It also mentioned other people, like Mike Gibbs and Pat Braden and about how they used to hang around each other.

Since this was a fictitious character, I could say anything I wanted, but I wanted to put it in a time period back when I was still a summer help.  Well…  It wasn’t long before Dick Dale called me on the gray phone (no.  I won’t post another picture of the gray phone here.   I think you get the idea).  He asked me to come over to the warehouse.

When I arrived, Richard showed me the letter.  He was excited about it.  He was trying to figure out who it could be.  He thought about the people that had moved from the plant to Corporate Headquarters and wondered if it was one of them.  I thought for a little while, and I couldn’t come up with who it might be (obviously), since it was me.

The next day at lunch I sent another letter to his printer.  I mentioned more about the “old days” working at the plant.  On the way home Richard showed it to me.  I could tell that he was really excited about this.  I held back my smile, but inside it felt real good to see that Richard had finally come back to life.  For the past couple of years, he had been so down.  Now some woman was paying attention to him, and actually was telling him that she had always liked him.

Darlene Mitchell sent a letter to the printer ID I had sent in the letter to Richard, saying the following:

Dear Ghost Writer,

This has been the most exciting thing that’s happened in the warehouse in a long time.  We await your messages.  Dick is really trying hard to figure this out, and if you don’t give him a little hint, his little old brains are going to get fried.

He also requests that you send his messages to his printer only, that way I won’t be able to send my message back.  He takes all the fun out of everything.  P)24 is his number, and if you can’t get a response out of him, I’ll be glad to put my two cents in.

I’m sure Dick would like to see you too.  Maybe we can get him headed in your direction, if you tell me where that is.

So, long, see you in the funny papers.

<end of message>

Darlene-Mitchell

Darlene Mitchell another dear friend

On Thursday Richard called me and asked me to come over to the warehouse.  He showed me the letter he had received that day.  He said he was too excited.  He just had to find out who it was that was sending him these letters.  He said that since I knew everything there was to know about computers (a slight exaggeration), he asked me to see if I could find out where the letters were coming from.

I told him I would do what I could to see if I could track down who was sending the letters.  On the way home that day, he asked me if I had any luck.  I told him I was still looking into it.  I told him I thought there might be a way to find a log somewhere that would tell me.

So, after lunch on Friday I walked over to the warehouse.  When I entered, I signaled to Richard that I wanted to talk to him.  — Remember.  Richard and I had developed facial signals while carpooling with Bud Schoonover so that all we had to do was glance at each other and we instantly knew what each other was saying…

Richard and I stepped outside of the warehouse where we could be alone.  He asked me if I had found the person sending him the letters.  I told him I had (I knew I had to do this right or I would lose a good friend, so I said), “Yes.  I have.”

I could see the look of excitement in his face.  So I looked straight at him and I said, “I have been sending these letters to you.”  He was stunned.  He said, “What?”  I said, “Richard.  I have been sending them to you.”

I could see that he was very disappointed.  After all.  No two people could read each other’s expressions better than me and Richard.  We practiced them every day.  The corners of his mouth went down.  The middle went up.  Edges of the eyes went down.  Eyes began to water.  Yep.  He was disappointed to say the least.

I told him I was sorry to get his hopes up.  I put on the saddest look I could muster.  Inside I wasn’t so sad.  Actually I was pretty happy.  I knew this was a tough moment for Richard, but he had spent an entire week flying high.  For the first time in a long time, Richard had hope.  A  couple of hours of disappointment was well worth this past week.

I patted him on the back and he turned to walk back into the warehouse despondent.  I went back to the electric shop.

As for my part, I continued sending Dick Dale printed messages from time to time.  Just goofy messages like the following:

Dear Richard,

Sometimes when I type letters I find that the words I use are not always the typical type that I would use if I wrote a letter.  The letters that I make when I write a letter aren’t the type of letters that I use when I type a letter.  When I write a letter, the letters in the words are sometimes hard to distinguish, but the letters I type when i’m typing a letter are the type of letters that stand out clearly and uniformly.  I can’t really say that when I type I’m right, or when I write I’m right, because I usually type a different type of letter than I write when I’m writing a letter.  I typically use a different type of words when I’m typing than I use when I’m writing, so I really can’t say that writing is right when a typical typed letter is just as right as writing.  That is just the type of person I am.

Typical Typist

After a few more days, Darlene Mitchell and Dick Dale began sending me letters indicating that the warehouse workers had been taken hostage, and they had a list of hostage demands.  I would write back to them.  The hostage letters and my replies would make up an entire blog post just by themselves.

So, what followed this episode?  Well.  Within a few weeks  Dick Dale had attended an event at the Presbyterian Church in Ponca City where he met a very nice woman, Jill Cowan.  He began dating her, and within the year they were married on November 13, 1988.

I like to think that I had given him the kick in the pants that he needed at the time that he needed it.  For that one week where he had hope, he believed that someone else really cared for him (which I really did, just not in the way he was thinking).  If he could believe that, then maybe it could really be true, even if in this case it turned out to only be one of his best friends.

I know that Dick Dale lived happily ever after.  As I mentioned earlier, I wrote a post about Dick Dale about a time when I gave a Christmas present to Dick Dale, Christmas 1983.  Well. as it turned out, my friend Richard was presented to Saint Peter at the gates of Heaven 25 years later on Christmas Day, 2008, 20 happy years after his marriage to Jill.  I don’t really miss him.  He is always with me in my heart to this day.

My Dear Friend Richard Dale

My Dear Friend Richard Dale

Harmonizing with Dick Dale on Power Plant Christmas Harmonicas

Originally posted December 20, 2013.  Added additional news about Richard at the bottom of the post:

I think it was while we were sitting in the lunch room eating lunch while I was still a janitor when the subject of harmonicas came up.  Dick Dale must have asked me if I played a musical instrument, because that was my usual reply,  “I play the harmonica… and the Jew’s Harp.”  Just about everyone knows what a Harmonica looks like.  I suppose most people in Oklahoma knows what a Jew’s Harp is.  It’s that instrument you put in your mouth and you flip the little lever and it makes a vibrating twanging sound.

A Jew's Harp

A Jew’s Harp

Dick Dale, worked in the warehouse, and we had been friends since my second year as a summer help.  He told me that he always wanted to learn to play the harmonica.  I told him I learned by just playing around on it.  I never took lessons or used a harmonica book or anything.

When I was growing up, my dad knew how to play the harmonica, so we had one laying around the house all the time.  So, one day I as a kid, I picked it up and started playing with it.  It took about five minutes before my older sister ran to my mom and complained about me making a racket.  My mom told me to take it outside.  So, I not only learned the harmonica by playing around with it,  I was usually sitting alone in the woods while I was  learning it.  I have found that under these conditions, there is usually some basic part of the skill that is left out.  So, I knew that my harmonica playing was never really up to snuff.

In the spring of 1983, I joined the labor crew, and I no longer ate lunch in the break room.  I kept it in mind that Dick Dale wanted to learn to play the harmonica, so some time during the summer, I purchased a Hohner Marine Band Harmonica for him, and I began creating a song book with the songs that I knew how to play.  I made up my own notation.  The holes in the harmonica were numbered, so I wrote the numbers of the holes I would blow in, and put an arrow above the number pointing up or down to indicate whether I was blowing in the hole, or sucking the air through the hole.

A Hohner Marine Band Harmonica

A Hohner Marine Band Harmonica

During the summer I talked to Dick Dale a few times, and he was having trouble with his family.  He was getting a divorce from his wife of fifteen years.  He was pretty upset about that, because all along he thought he was happily married.  This turned out not to be the case.  In the process, Dick moved from Stillwater, Oklahoma to Ponca City.  I was living in Stillwater at the time.

When winter came around, my friend Tim Flowers, who was a summer help for two summers at the plant, including the summer I was on the labor crew, came to visit me in Stillwater.  I had bought a harmonica for him for Christmas, and I told him I wanted to go visit Dick Dale in Ponca City and take him his Harmonica for Christmas, along with the booklet I had handwritten (as we didn’t have computers back in those days….).

So, I called up Dick to make sure it would be all right if we dropped by for a little while.  He was at home in his new house, and said he would be delighted if we came by.  Dick knew Tim Flowers from the time he had been a summer help.  While Tim and I were carpooling, Dick would be carpooling with Mike Gibbs, and sometimes on the way home, we would play car tag going down the highway.

One day after a Men’s Club dinner at the plant, while we were leaving, I was in the front of the line of cars heading for the main gate.  In those days, there weren’t two separate gates (one for entering, and one for exiting).  So, the one gate had to open almost all the way up before the person exiting could go through the gate.

When I pulled up to the gate, I pulled up on the entrance side, and Dick and Mike pulled up on the exit side.  We had been racing with each other up to the main gate….  Dick was revving up the engine of his pickup truck which could easily outrun my little blue 1982 Honda Civic.  I had to be more cunning to stay in front of Richard (yeah.  I liked to call him Richard).

1982_Honda_Civic

A 1982 Honda Civic

As the gate opened, I was on the side where I could go through the gate first.  The way it worked was that as soon as I crossed the threshold of the gate, the gate would stop opening.  then, as I went through it, I drove over to the exit side and ran over the closed loop of the gate, so that the gate closed again leaving Richard and Mike waiting behind the closed gate as we made our escape.

Of course, as soon as we were out on the main highway, it didn’t take long for Richard to make up the mile lead I had gained while he had to wait for the gate to close and re-open.  So, the only way I could prevent him from passing me was by weaving over in the passing lane when he attempted to pass me, and then back again, when he returned to the right lane.

Eventually he was able to go around me, but from that day forward, whenever we were travelling home at the end of the day, and we were following each other, we would both meander back and forth across the highway on the way home…. when it was safe of course.  Since we were out in the country, on a seldom traveled rode, that was usually not a problem.  This came to an end when Richard moved to Ponca City.

When Tim Flowers and I arrived at Richard’s house in Ponca City that Christmas holiday, we surprised him when we handed him his very own harmonica with the booklet that I had written.  He invited us inside and we sat for a while as I explained to him  how the booklet worked.  He said he appreciated it, and that he would work on learning how to play his harmonica so that we could play together.

We sat around and made terrible music together for a while.  Then, because I didn’t want to impose on Richard too much, we left to go back to Stillwater.  A couple of weeks later after the holiday, Richard said he had been practicing on the harmonica and he really appreciated the Christmas present.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but two and a half years later, I moved to Ponca City after I was married, and my wife graduated from nursing school.  That was when Dick Dale, Jim Heflin, Bud Schoonover and I began carpooling together (See the post:  Carpooling with Bud Schoonover).  At the time Dick said that he had hoped to get over the tragedy of his marriage by the end of the year.  He had heard that it took a year to get over 5 years.  Since he had been married for 15 years, he figured by the end of 3 years he should be feeling like he was over it.

The only other person at the plant that I can remember that ever heard me playing the harmonica was Arthur Hammond.  He asked me one day in 1986 if I would bring my harmonica to work so that he could hear me play it.  So, I did, and while we were driving down to the Arkansas River to check batteries, I played some “harmonica blues” for him.  It was just stuff I was making up.

I had seen this movie called “Crossroads” with Ralph Macchio.  In the movie Ralph’s character is trying to learn how to play the Blues guitar from an old and once famous blues musician.  There are two things you learn as the movie unfolds.  The first is that in order to really know how to play the blues, you had to have experienced a real “Blue” time in your life.  So you had to play with the feeling that you had experienced.  The second thing was that Ralph had to play his guitar against a contract guitar player chosen by the devil in order to save the old man’s soul.

Crossroads (1986)

Crossroads (1986)

So, what was I supposed to do?  I had been blessed most of my life.  I hadn’t really experienced any “real” blues.  As Art was driving the pickup truck down to the river, I tried to dream up the bluest thoughts I could.  I thought…. what if the world ran out of chocolate…..  That would ruin everybody’s mood.  I piped out a few sorrowful sounding notes on the harmonica to try and portray my disappointment living without chocolate….. that sounded kind of lame.

Then I thought, wasn’t I upset that one time when I was a summer help and I stayed over to help feed the foremen that were having a dinner in the break room and Pat Braden and I fed the foremen, and no one offered me any food, so I had to go hungry for a couple of hours before I could go home and eat some leftovers at home.  I think I felt kind of blue that day…..  so I cupped my hand over the harmonica, tilted my head to the side and tried to remember that painful time as I shook my hand up and down so that the harmonica would make the sad “whaaa whaa” sound.

I drummed up a few more sad thoughts, and I thought I was really floundering as my debut as a blues harmonica player, so I paused for a few minutes to try and make myself feel bad about doing such a poor job playing the harmonica hoping that it would help.  Then Art said, “Hey.  You are pretty good!”  “What?”  I thought, “Oh… That’s Art, trying to be polite.”  “Thank you,” I said.  Boy.  How pitiful is that?  Surely I should feel bad enough now to play some blues at least a little better….

Anyway, a mile or two later, I decided to give it up.  I put the harmonica back in my pocket and told Art that was all I could do for now.  Finally.  We had some peace and quiet the rest of the way to the river.  I remembered that my sister would always run screaming to my mom when I was younger and blew a few notes on the harmonica, and here Art patiently listened and even complimented my playing.  Gee.  What a true friend he was.

Later, Dick Dale remarried, and as far as I could tell, he was a much happier person a few years after that.  I did what I could to help him.  Though, I think at times I confused him a little.  I will relay a story about that in a few weeks.

My Dear Friend Richard Dale

My Dear Friend Richard Dale

Richard Dale died at the age of 64 on Christmas Day, 2008.  He can now be heard in concert in Heaven playing the mouth organ.  Since I don’t play the regular harp, I hope one day to stand alongside him playing the Jew’s Harp.  Richard’s Mother Maurine Dale joined him in Heaven last month (November, 2015) at the age of 98.

Dick Dale and the Power Plant Printer Romance

Originally posted January 17, 2014.  I added more to the story:

When I first moved to Ponca City in 1986 I carpooled each day to the Coal-fired Power Plant in North Central Oklahoma with Dick Dale, Jim Heflin and Bud Schoonover (See the post:  “Carpooling Adventures with Bud Schoonover“).  Dick Dale had moved to Ponca City a couple of years earlier after his divorce.  He didn’t want to continue living in Stillwater where he felt as if everyone knew about his tragic situation.  We had been friends from the first day we met (which is often the case with Power Plant Men) when I was a summer help working out of the garage and he worked in the tool room and warehouse.

I wrote about Dick Dale this past Christmas, when I talked about his situation (See the post:  “Harmonizing with Dick Dale on Power Plant Christmas Harmonicas“).  I knew that even though it was a few years later, Richard was still feeling the impact from this emotional trauma.  One day I found the opportunity to play a “Power Plant” joke on him that I thought might help lift his spirits.

I recently wrote another post about how I had installed dumb terminals around the plant so that regular workers would be able to access the mainframe computer downtown in Corporate Headquarters in order to see their work orders, or look up parts in the warehouse, etc. (See the post:  “Working Smarter with Power Plant Dumb Terminals“).  In most places where I installed terminals, I also installed large IBM printers that printed using continuous feed paper.

IBM Dot Matrix Network Printer

IBM Dot Matrix Network Printer

For those of you who remember, at first most dot matrix printers would feed paper from a box underneath them.  they had holes down both sides of the paper where the sprockets would rotate and paper would come rolling out the top of the printer.

Dot Matrix paper with holes so the printer can feed the paper through.  The holes sections with the holes were perforated so you could tear them off easily.

Dot Matrix paper with holes so the printer can feed the paper through. The holes sections with the holes were perforated so you could tear them off easily.

Ok.  Here is a quick one paragraph side story…

One day when my son was 5 years old, we had to wait a while in an airport.  We were sitting in a row of seats at the gate waiting.  My son kept popping up slowly, jerking as he rose, from behind the row of seats and would lay over the seat back and end up head down on the chair.  After doing this a few times, my wife Kelly who was becoming slightly annoyed asked him what he was doing.  He said, “I’m paper coming out of the printer”.  Of course, this cracked us all up.

Anyway, back to the story.  By the time I had to add the dumb terminals and printers to the Garage and Warehouse, I had already been playing around on the mainframe learning all sorts of ways to get into trouble. — Well, what else was I going to do during lunch while Charles Foster and I talked about movies and stuff?  I had a personal user account on the mainframe that basically gave me “God Access”.  They didn’t really have anything like “Network Security” back then.  — This was 1988.

Back then, we also didn’t have anything called “Email” either.  It wasn’t until 1989 that CompuServe first offered real Internet e-mail to its users.  When we wanted to send something to someone in the company, we either printed it out and put in an intra-company envelope and sent it by “snail” mail, or we could find out what printer they used and get the ID for the printer and send it to them.  It was a code like:  P1234.

Well.  I had been playing with this text editor on the Honeywell mainframe called FRED.  This stood for FRiendly EDitor.  For those of you who know UNIX, this was pretty much the same as the VI Editor found on UNIX mainframes.  The commands were the same.  Today, users of Microsoft Word would be horrified to find out what you had to go through to create a document back then.

I had been practicing using this editor, and found that by using the special escape codes for the printer, I could create documents that would come out looking pretty neat.  So, I had created some templates that would make it look like I was printing a Memo from some mainframe program.  That was about the time that I installed the printer in the garage.

So, I created a big long document that would print out on the garage printer as soon as I connected the printer to the network.  It went on and on about how the printer wasn’t happy about being placed in such a dusty environment and how it refused to be cooperative until it was moved to a cleaner place.  It would spit out a bunch of sheets of paper, printing protest after protest.

Then it ended up by saying that if it wasn’t moved right away, it was going to shut down in 10 minutes and it started counting down by 30 second intervals.  Then at the last minute, it counted down by 15 seconds until it counted down the last 10 seconds by feeding a sheet of paper for each second while it was counting… then it paused at the last second.  Finally, it printed out at the end a concession that since it was obviously not going to be moved to someplace cleaner, it might as well give up and be cooperative.

When I installed the printer in the office in the automotive garage, I knew it would take about 30 seconds to connect the first time, and by that time, I was outside making my way back to the electric shop.  By the time I arrived back in the electric shop Charles Patten, the foreman in the garage was calling me on the gray phone.  The gray phone is the plant PA system:

Gaitronics Gray Phone

Gaitronics Gray Phone

Of course, I knew why.  I answered the phone and Charles told me that something was wrong with the printer.  It kept shooting paper out of it and wouldn’t stop.  He had even turned it off, but when he turned it back on, it still kept feeding paper out.  I told him that sounded pretty strange to me and I would be right over to see what was going on.  I took my time returning to the garage giving the printer time to throw it’s tantrum.

By the time I returned, the printer had stopped ranting about being installed in a dirty environment and had given up it’s protest.  Charles said that it finally stopped.  I walked over to the printer and took the pile of hundred or so pages that it had printed out, and tore them off the printer and walked out with them.  I don’t even know if Charles had paid any attention to what the printer was saying.

I think I was the only person that knew that I had just “attempted” to play a joke on Charles.  After all, as the paper was feeding out it was carefully collecting into a nice stack in front of the printer on the floor, and unless someone picked up the stack and looked at it, they wouldn’t know that anything was even printed on it.  So, in this case, the joke may have been on me.  But then again, Power Plant Men are like that.  If they figure a joke is being played on them, then they figure out how to turn it around so that the joker is the one that has the joke played on them.  Maybe that was the case here.  Charles Patten was probably one of the most intelligent foremen at the plant, so it was possible.

Anyway, back to Dick Dale.  I installed the printer in the warehouse and Dick Dale, Darlene Mitchell, Mike Gibbs and Bud Schoonover were happy to be connected to the Inventory program on the mainframe…..  um… yeah. sure they were…… especially Bud.

Bud Schoonover was the person that when it was his turn to run the tool room would not give you something if it was the last one.  So, if I needed a flashlight and it was the last one, and I asked Bud for a flashlight, he would say that he couldn’t give it to me.  Why?  You might ask.  Well, he would explain that if he gave the last one away, he would have to order some more.  Bud didn’t like ordering things on the computer.  So, in order to keep from having to order anything he simply didn’t give away the last one of any item.

Anyway.  I decided one Monday during my regular lunch time computer educational moments to send a letter over to the warehouse printer addressed to Dick Dale.  It was from an anonymous woman.  The letter sounded like it was from someone that really had a thing for Richard and remembered how they used to work together.  It also mentioned other people, like Mike Gibbs and Pat Braden and about how they used to hang around each other.

Since this was a fictitious character, I could say anything I wanted, but I wanted to put it in a time period back when I was still a summer help.  Well…  It wasn’t long before Dick Dale called me on the gray phone (no.  I won’t post another picture of the gray phone here.   I think you get the idea).  He asked me to come over to the warehouse.

When I arrived, Richard showed me the letter.  He was excited about it.  He was trying to figure out who it could be.  He thought about the people that had moved from the plant to Corporate Headquarters and wondered if it was one of them.  I thought for a little while, and I couldn’t come up with who it might be (obviously), since it was me.

The next day at lunch I sent another letter to his printer.  I mentioned more about the “old days” working at the plant.  On the way home Richard showed it to me.  I could tell that he was really excited about this.  I held back my smile, but inside it felt real good to see that Richard had finally come back to life.  For the past couple of years, he had been so down.  Now some woman was paying attention to him, and actually was telling him that she had always liked him.

Darlene Mitchell sent a letter to the printer ID I had sent in the letter to Richard, saying the following:

Dear Ghost Writer,

This has been the most exciting thing that’s happened in the warehouse in a long time.  We await your messages.  Dick is really trying hard to figure this out, and if you don’t give him a little hint, his little old brains are going to get fried.

He also requests that you send his messages to his printer only, that way I won’t be able to send my message back.  He takes all the fun out of everything.  P)24 is his number, and if you can’t get a response out of him, I’ll be glad to put my two cents in.

I’m sure Dick would like to see you too.  Maybe we can get him headed in your direction, if you tell me where that is.

So, long, see you in the funny papers.

<end of message>

Darlene-Mitchell

Darlene Mitchell another dear friend

On Thursday Richard called me and asked me to come over to the warehouse.  He showed me the letter he had received that day.  He said he was too excited.  He just had to find out who it was that was sending him these letters.  He said that since I knew everything there was to know about computers (a slight exaggeration), he asked me to see if I could find out where the letters were coming from.

I told him I would do what I could to see if I could track down who was sending the letters.  On the way home that day, he asked me if I had any luck.  I told him I was still looking into it.  I told him I thought there might be a way to find a log somewhere that would tell me.

So, after lunch on Friday I walked over to the warehouse.  When I entered, I signaled to Richard that I wanted to talk to him.  — Remember.  Richard and I had developed facial signals while carpooling with Bud Schoonover so that all we had to do was glance at each other and we instantly knew what each other was saying…

Richard and I stepped outside of the warehouse where we could be alone.  He asked me if I had found the person sending him the letters.  I told him I had (I knew I had to do this right or I would lose a good friend, so I said), “Yes.  I have.”

I could see the look of excitement in his face.  So I looked straight at him and I said, “I have been sending these letters to you.”  He was stunned.  He said, “What?”  I said, “Richard.  I have been sending them to you.”

I could see that he was very disappointed.  After all.  No two people could read each other’s expressions better than me and Richard.  We practiced them every day.  The corners of his mouth went down.  The middle went up.  Edges of the eyes went down.  Eyes began to water.  Yep.  He was disappointed to say the least.

I told him I was sorry to get his hopes up.  I put on the saddest look I could muster.  Inside I wasn’t so sad.  Actually I was pretty happy.  I knew this was a tough moment for Richard, but he had spent an entire week flying high.  For the first time in a long time, Richard had hope.  A  couple of hours of disappointment was well worth this past week.

I patted him on the back and he turned to walk back into the warehouse despondent.  I went back to the electric shop.

As for my part, I continued sending Dick Dale printed messages from time to time.  Just goofy messages like the following:

Dear Richard,

Sometimes when I type letters I find that the words I use are not always the typical type that I would use if I wrote a letter.  The letters that I make when I write a letter aren’t the type of letters that I use when I type a letter.  When I write a letter, the letters in the words are sometimes hard to distinguish, but the letters I type when i’m typing a letter are the type of letters that stand out clearly and uniformly.  I can’t really say that when I type I’m right, or when I write I’m right, because I usually type a different type of letter than I write when I’m writing a letter.  I typically use a different type of words when I’m typing than I use when I’m writing, so I really can’t say that writing is right when a typical typed letter is just as right as writing.  That is just the type of person I am.

Typical Typist

After a few more days, Darlene Mitchell and Dick Dale began sending me letters indicating that the warehouse workers had been taken hostage, and they had a list of hostage demands.  I would write back to them.  The hostage letters and my replies would make up an entire blog post just by themselves.

So, what followed this episode?  Well.  Within a few weeks  Dick Dale had attended an event at the Presbyterian Church in Ponca City where he met a very nice woman, Jill Cowan.  He began dating her, and within the year they were married on November 13, 1988.

I like to think that I had given him the kick in the pants that he needed at the time that he needed it.  For that one week where he had hope, he believed that someone else really cared for him (which I really did, just not in the way he was thinking).  If he could believe that, then maybe it could really be true, even if in this case it turned out to only be one of his best friends.

I know that Dick Dale lived happily ever after.  As I mentioned earlier, I wrote a post about Dick Dale about a time when I gave a Christmas present to Dick Dale, Christmas 1983.  Well. as it turned out, my friend Richard was presented to Saint Peter at the gates of Heaven 25 years later on Christmas Day, 2008, 20 happy years after his marriage to Jill.  I don’t really miss him.  He is always with me in my heart to this day.

My Dear Friend Richard Dale

My Dear Friend Richard Dale

Harmonizing with Dick Dale on Power Plant Christmas Harmonicas

Originally posted December 20, 2013.  Added additional news about Richard at the bottom of the post:

I think it was while we were sitting in the lunch room eating lunch while I was still a janitor when the subject of harmonicas came up.  Dick Dale must have asked me if I played a musical instrument, because that was my usual reply,  “I play the harmonica… and the Jew’s Harp.”  Just about everyone knows what a Harmonica looks like.  I suppose most people in Oklahoma knows what a Jew’s Harp is.  It’s that instrument you put in your mouth and you flip the little lever and it makes a vibrating twanging sound.

A Jew's Harp

A Jew’s Harp

Dick Dale, worked in the warehouse, and we had been friends since my second year as a summer help.  He told me that he always wanted to learn to play the harmonica.  I told him I learned by just playing around on it.  I never took lessons or used a harmonica book or anything.

When I was growing up, my dad knew how to play the harmonica, so we had one laying around the house all the time.  So, one day I as a kid, I picked it up and started playing with it.  It took about five minutes before my older sister ran to my mom and complained about me making a racket.  My mom told me to take it outside.  So, I not only learned the harmonica by playing around with it.  I was usually sitting alone in the woods while I was learning it.  I have found that under these conditions, there is usually some basic part of the skill that is left out.  So, I knew that my harmonica playing was never really up to snuff.

In the spring of 1983, I joined the labor crew, and I no longer ate lunch in the break room.  I kept it in mind that Dick Dale wanted to learn to play the harmonica, so some time during the summer, I purchased a Hohner Marine Band Harmonica for him, and I began creating a song book with the songs that I knew how to play.  I made up my own notation.  The holes in the harmonica were numbered, so I wrote the numbers of the holes I would blow in, and put an arrow above the number pointing up or down to indicate whether I was blowing in the hole, or sucking the air through the hole.

A Hohner Marine Band Harmonica

A Hohner Marine Band Harmonica

During the summer I talked to Dick Dale a few times, and he was having trouble with his family.  He was getting a divorce from his wife of fifteen years.  He was pretty upset about that, because all along he thought he was happily married.  This turned out not to be the case.  In the process, Dick moved from Stillwater, Oklahoma to Ponca City.  I was living in Stillwater at the time.

When winter came around, my friend Tim Flowers, who was a summer help for two summers at the plant, including the summer I was on the labor crew, came to visit me in Stillwater.  I had bought a harmonica for him for Christmas, and I told him I wanted to go visit Dick Dale in Ponca City and take him his Harmonica for Christmas, along with the booklet I had handwritten (as we didn’t have computers back in those days….).

So, I called up Dick to make sure it would be all right if we dropped by for a little while.  He was at home in his new house, and said he would be delighted if we came by.  Dick knew Tim Flowers from the time he had been a summer help.  While Tim and I were carpooling, Dick would be carpooling with Mike Gibbs, and sometimes on the way home, we would play car tag going down the highway.

One day after a Men’s Club dinner at the plant, while we were leaving, I was in the front of the line of cars heading for the main gate.  In those days, there weren’t two separate gates (one for entering, and one for exiting).  So, the one gate had to open almost all the way up before the person exiting could go through the gate.

When I pulled up to the gate, I pulled up on the entrance side, and Dick and Mike pulled up on the exit side.  We had been racing with each other up to the main gate….  Dick was revving up the engine of his pickup truck which could easily outrun my little blue 1982 Honda Civic.  I had to be more cunning to stay in front of Richard (yeah.  I liked to call him Richard).

As the gate opened, I was on the side where I could go through the gate first.  The way it worked was that as soon as I crossed the threshold of the gate, the gate would stop opening.  then, as I went through it, I drove over to the exit side and ran over the closed loop of the gate, so that the gate closed again leaving Richard and Mike waiting behind the closed gate as we made our escape.

Of course, as soon as we were out on the main highway, it didn’t take long for Richard to make up the mile lead I had gained while he had to wait for the gate to close and re-open.  So, the only way I could prevent him from passing me was by weaving over in the passing lane when he attempted to pass me, and then back again, when he returned to the right lane.

Eventually he was able to go around me, but from that day forward, whenever we were travelling home at the end of the day, and we were following each other, we would both meander back and forth across the highway on the way home…. when it was safe of course.  Since we were out in the country, on a seldom traveled rode, that was usually not a problem.  This came to an end when Richard moved to Ponca City.

When Tim Flowers and I arrived at Richard’s house in Ponca City that Christmas holiday, we surprised him when we handed him his very own harmonica with the booklet that I had written.  He invited us inside and we sat for a while as I explained to him  how the booklet worked.  He said he appreciated it, and that he would work on learning how to play his harmonica so that we could play together.

We sat around and made terrible music together for a while.  Then, because I didn’t want to impose on Richard too much, we left to go back to Stillwater.  A couple of weeks later after the holiday, Richard said he had been practicing on the harmonica and he really appreciated the Christmas present.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but two and a half years later, I moved to Ponca City after I was married, and my wife graduated from nursing school.  That was when Dick Dale, Jim Heflin, Bud Schoonover and I began carpooling together (See the post:  Carpooling with Bud Schoonover).  At the time Dick said that he had hoped to get over the tragedy of his marriage by the end of the year.  He had heard that it took a year to get over 5 years.  Since he had been married for 15 years, he figured by the end of 3 years he should be feeling like he was over it.

The only other person at the plant that I can remember that ever heard me playing the harmonica was Arthur Hammond.  He asked me one day in 1986 if I would bring my harmonica to work so that he could hear me play it.  So, I did, and while we were driving down to the Arkansas River to check batteries, I played some “harmonica blues” for him.  It was just stuff I was making up.

I had seen this movie called “Crossroads” with Ralph Macchio.  In the movie Ralph’s character is trying to learn how to play the Blues guitar from an old and once famous blues musician.  There are two things you learn as the movie unfolds.  The first is that in order to really know how to play the blues, you had to have experienced a real “Blue” time in your life.  So you had to play with the feeling that you had experienced.  The second thing was that Ralph had to play his guitar against a contract guitar player chosen by the devil in order to save the old man’s soul.

Crossroads (1986)

Crossroads (1986)

So, what was I supposed to do?  I had been blessed most of my life.  I hadn’t really experienced any “real” blues.  As Art was driving the pickup truck down to the river, I tried to dream up the bluest thoughts I could.  I thought…. what if the world ran out of chocolate…..  That would ruin everybody’s mood.  I piped out a few sorrowful sounding notes on the harmonica to try and portray my disappointment living without chocolate….. that sounded kind of lame.

Then I thought, wasn’t I upset that one time when I was a summer help and I stayed over to help feed the foremen that were having a dinner in the break room and Pat Braden and I fed the foremen, and no one offered me any food, so I had to go hungry for a couple of hours before I could go home and eat some leftovers at home.  I think I felt kind of blue that day…..  so I cupped my hand over the harmonica, tilted my head to the side and tried to remember that painful time as I shook my hand up and down so that the harmonica would make the sad “whaaa whaa” sound.

I drummed up a few more sad thoughts, and I thought I was really floundering as my debut as a blues harmonica player, so I paused for a few minutes to try and make myself feel bad about doing such a poor job playing the harmonica hoping that it would help.  Then Art said, “Hey.  You are pretty good!”  “What?”  I thought, “Oh… That’s Art, trying to be polite.”  “Thank you,” I said.  Boy.  How pitiful is that?  Surely I should feel bad enough now to play some blues at least a little better….

Anyway, a mile or two later, I decided to give it up.  I put the harmonica back in my pocket and told Art that was all I could do for now.  Finally.  We had some peace and quiet the rest of the way to the river.  I remembered that my sister would always run screaming to my mom when I was younger and blew a few notes on the harmonica, and here Art patiently listened and even complimented my playing.  Gee.  What a true friend he was.

Later, Dick Dale remarried, and as far as I could tell, he was a much happier person a few years after that.  I did what I could to help him.  Though, I think at times I confused him a little.  I will relay a story about that in a few weeks.

My Dear Friend Richard Dale

My Dear Friend Richard Dale

Richard Dale died at the age of 64 on Christmas Day, 2008.  He can now be heard in concert in Heaven playing the mouth organ.  Since I don’t play the regular harp, I hope one day to stand alongside him playing the Jew’s Harp.  Richard’s Mother Maurine Dale joined him in Heaven last month (November, 2015) at the age of 98.

Dick Dale and the Power Plant Printer Romance

Originally posted January 17, 2014.  I added more to the story:

When I first moved to Ponca City I carpooled each day to the Coal-fired Power Plant in North Central Oklahoma with Dick Dale, Jim Heflin and Bud Schoonover (See the post:  “Carpooling Adventures with Bud Schoonover“).  Dick Dale had moved to Ponca City a couple of years earlier after his divorce.  He didn’t want to continue living in Stillwater where he felt as if everyone knew about his tragic situation.  We had been friends from the first day we met when I was a summer help working out of the garage and he worked in the tool room and warehouse.

I wrote about Dick Dale this past Christmas, when I talked about his situation (See the post:  “Harmonizing with Dick Dale on Power Plant Christmas Harmonicas“).  I knew that even though it was a few years later, Richard was still feeling the impact from this emotional trauma.  One day I found the opportunity to play a “Power Plant” joke on him that I thought might help lift his spirits.

I recently wrote another post about how I had installed dumb terminals around the plant so that regular workers would be able to access the mainframe computer downtown in Corporate Headquarters in order to see their work orders, or look up parts in the warehouse, etc. (See the post:  “Working Smarter with Power Plant Dumb Terminals“).  In most places where I installed terminals, I also installed large IBM printers that printed using continuous feed paper.

IBM Dot Matrix Network Printer

IBM Dot Matrix Network Printer

For those of you who remember, at first most dot matrix printers would feed paper from a box underneath them.  they had holes down both sides of the paper where the sprockets would rotate and paper would come rolling out the top of the printer.

Dot Matrix paper with holes so the printer can feed the paper through.  The holes sections with the holes were perforated so you could tear them off easily.

Dot Matrix paper with holes so the printer can feed the paper through. The holes sections with the holes were perforated so you could tear them off easily.

Ok.  Here is a quick one paragraph side story…

One day when my son was about 6 years old, we had to wait a while in an airport.  We were sitting in a row of seats at the gate waiting.  My son kept popping up slowly, jerking as he rose, from behind the row of seats and would lay over the seat back and end up head down on the chair.  After doing this a few times, my wife Kelly asked him what he was doing.  He said, “I’m paper coming out of the printer”.  Of course, this cracked us all up.

Anyway, back to the story.  By the time I had to add the dumb terminals and printers to the Garage and Warehouse, I had already been playing around on the mainframe learning all sorts of ways to get into trouble. — Well, what else was I going to do during lunch while Charles Foster and I talked about movies and stuff?  I had a personal user account on the mainframe that basically gave me “God Access”.  They didn’t really have anything like “Network Security” back then.  — This was 1988.

Back then, we also didn’t have anything called “Email” either.  It wasn’t until 1989 that CompuServe first offered real Internet e-mail to its users.  When we wanted to send something to someone in the company, we either printed it out and put in an intra-company envelope and sent it by “snail” mail, or we could find out what printer they used and get the ID for the printer and send it to them.  It was a code like:  P1234.

Well.  I had been playing with this text editor on the Honeywell mainframe called FRED.  This stood for FRiendly EDitor.  For those of you who know UNIX, this was pretty much the same as the VI Editor found on UNIX mainframes.  The commands were the same.  Today, users of Microsoft Word would be horrified to find out what you had to go through to create a document back then.

I had been practicing using this editor, and found that by using the special escape codes for the printer, I could create documents that would come out looking pretty neat.  So, I had created some templates that would make it look like I was printing a Memo from some mainframe program.  That was about the time that I installed the printer in the garage.

So, I created a big long document that would print out on the garage printer as soon as I connected the printer to the network.  It went on and on about how the printer wasn’t happy about being placed in such a dusty environment and how it refused to be cooperative until it was moved to a cleaner place.  It would spit out a bunch of sheets of paper, printing protest after protest.

Then it ended up by saying that if it wasn’t moved right away, it was going to shut down in 10 minutes and it started counting down by 30 second intervals.  Then at the last minute, it counted down by 15 seconds until it counted down the last 10 seconds by feeding a sheet of paper for each second while it was counting… then it paused at the last second.  Finally, it printed out at the end a concession that since it was obviously not going to be moved to someplace cleaner, it might as well give up and be cooperative.

When I installed the printer in the office in the automotive garage, I knew it would take about 30 seconds to connect the first time, and by that time, I was outside making my way back to the electric shop.  By the time I made it back to the electric shop Charles Patten was calling me on the gray phone.  The gray phone is the plant PA system:

Gaitronics Gray Phone

Gaitronics Gray Phone

Of course, I knew why.  I answered the phone and Charles told me that something was wrong with the printer.  It kept shooting paper out of it and wouldn’t stop.  He had even turned it off, but when he turned it back on, it still kept feeding paper out.  I told him that sounded pretty strange to me and I would be right over to see what was going on.  I took my time returning to the garage giving the printer time to throw it’s tantrum.

By the time I returned, the printer had stopped ranting about being installed in a dirty environment and had given up it’s protest.  Charles said that it finally stopped.  I walked over to the printer and took the pile of hundred or so pages that it had printed out, and tore them off the printer and walked out with them.  I don’t even know if Charles had paid any attention to what the printer was saying.

I think I was the only person that knew that I had just “attempted” to play a joke on Charles.  After all, as the paper was feeding out.  It was carefully collecting into a nice stack in front of the printer on the floor, and unless someone picked up the stack and looked at it, they wouldn’t know that anything was even printed on it.  So, in this case, the joke may have been on me.  But then again, Power Plant Men are like that.  If they figure a joke is being played on them, then they figure out how to turn it around so that the joker is the one that has the joke played on them.  Maybe that was the case here.  Charles Patten was probably one of the most intelligent foremen at the plant, so it was possible.

Anyway, back to Dick Dale.  I installed the printer in the warehouse and Dick Dale, Darlene Mitchell, Mike Gibbs and Bud Schoonover were happy to be connected to the Inventory program on the mainframe…..  um… yeah. sure they were…… especially Bud.

Bud Schoonover was the person that when it was his turn to run the tool room would not give you something if it was the last one.  So, if I needed a flashlight and it was the last one, and I asked Bud for a flashlight, he would say that he couldn’t give it to me.  Why?  You might ask.  Well, he would explain that if he gave the last one away, he would have to order some more.  Bud didn’t like ordering things on the computer.  So, in order to keep from having to order anything he simply didn’t give away the last one of any item.

Anyway.  I decided one Monday during my regular lunch time computer educational moments to send a letter over to the warehouse printer addressed to Dick Dale.  It was from an anonymous woman.  The letter sounded like it was from someone that really had a thing for Richard and remembered how they used to work together.  It also mentioned other people, like Mike Gibbs and Pat Braden and about how they used to hang around each other.

Since this was a fictitious character, I could say anything I wanted, but I wanted to put it in a time period back when I was still a summer help.  Well…  It wasn’t long before Dick Dale called me on the gray phone (no.  I won’t post another picture of the gray phone here.   I think you get the idea).  He asked me to come over to the warehouse.

When I arrived, Richard showed me the letter.  He was excited about it.  He was trying to figure out who it could be.  He thought about the people that had moved from the plant to Corporate Headquarters and wondered if it was one of them.  I thought for a little while, and I couldn’t come up with who it might be (obviously), since it was me.

The next day at lunch I sent another letter to his printer.  I mentioned more about the “old days” working at the plant.  On the way home Richard showed it to me.  I could tell that he was really excited about this.  I held back my smile, but inside it felt real good to see that Richard had finally come back to life.  For the past couple of years, he had been so down.  Now some woman was paying attention to him, and actually was telling him that she had always liked him.

Darlene Mitchell sent a letter to the printer ID I had sent in the letter to Richard, saying the following:

Dear Ghost Writer,

This has been the most exciting thing that’s happened in the warehouse in a long time.  We await your messages.  Dick is really trying hard to figure this out, and if you don’t give him a little hint, his little old brains are going to get fried.

He also requests that you send his messages to his printer only, that way I won’t be able to send my message back.  He takes all the fun out of everything.  P)24 is his number, and if you can’t get a response out of him, I’ll be glad to put my two cents in.

I’m sure Dick would like to see you too.  Maybe we can get him headed in your direction, if you tell me where that is.

So, long, see you in the funny papers.

<end of message>

On Thursday Richard called me and asked me to come over to the warehouse.  He showed me the letter he had received that day.  He said he was too excited.  He just had to find out who it was that was sending him these letters.  He said that since I knew everything there was to know about computers (a slight exaggeration), he asked me to see if I could find out where the letters were coming from.

I told him I would do what I could to see if I could track down who was sending the letters.  On the way home that day, he asked me if I had any luck.  I told him I was still looking into it.  I told him I thought there might be a way to find a log somewhere that would tell me.

So, after lunch on Friday I walked over to the warehouse.  When I entered, I signaled to Richard that I wanted to talk to him.  — Remember.  Richard and I had developed facial signals while carpooling with Bud Schoonover so that all we had to do was glance at each other and we instantly knew what each other was saying…

Richard and I stepped outside of the warehouse where we could be alone.  He asked me if I had found the person sending him the letters.  I told him I had (I knew I had to do this right or I would lose a good friend, so I said), “Yes.  I have.”

I could see the look of excitement in his face.  So I looked straight at him and I said, “I have been sending these letters to you.”  He was stunned.  He said, “What?”  I said, “Richard.  I have been sending them to you.”

I could see that he was very disappointed.  After all.  No two people could read each other’s expressions better than me and Richard.  We practiced them every day.  The corners of his mouth went down.  The middle went up.  Edges of the eyes went down.  Eyes began to water.  Yep.  He as disappointed to say the least.

I told him I was sorry to get his hopes up.  I put on the saddest look I could muster.  Inside I wasn’t so sad.  Actually I was pretty happy.  I knew this was a tough moment for Richard, but he had spent an entire week flying high.  For the first time in a long time, Richard had hope.  A  couple of hours of disappointment was well worth this past week.

I patted him on the back and he turned to walk back into the warehouse despondent.  I went back to the electric shop.

As for my part, I continued sending Dick Dale printed messages from time to time.  Just goofy messages like the following:

Dear Richard,

Sometimes when I type letters I find that the words I use are not always the typical type that I would use if I wrote a letter.  The letters that I make when I write a letter aren’t the type of letters that I use when I type a letter.  When I write a letter, the letters in the words are sometimes hard to distinguish, but the letters I type when i’m typing a letter are the type of letters that stand out clearly and uniformly.  I can’t really say that when I type I’m right, or when I write I’m right, because I usually type a different type of letter than I write when I’m writing a letter.  I typically use a different type of words when I’m typing than I use when I’m writing, so I really can’t say that writing is right when a typical typed letter is just as right as writing.  That is just the type of person I am.

Typical Typist

After a few more days, Darlene Mitchell and Dick Dale began sending me letters indicating that the warehouse workers had been taken hostage, and they had a list of hostage demands.  I would write back to them.  The hostage letters and my replies would make up an entire blog post just by themselves.

So, what followed this episode?  Well.  Within a few weeks  Dick Dale had attended an event at the Presbyterian Church in Ponca City where he met a very nice woman, Jill Cowan.  He began dating her, and within the year they were married on November 13, 1988.

I like to think that I had given him the kick in the pants that he needed at the time that he needed it.  For that one week where he had hope, he believed that someone else really cared for him.  If he could believe that, then maybe it could really be true, even if in this case it turned out to only be one of his best friends.

I know that Dick Dale lived happily ever after.  As I mentioned earlier, I wrote a post about Dick Dale about a time when I gave a Christmas present to Dick Dale, Christmas 1983.  Well. as it turned out, my friend Richard was presented to Saint Peter at the gates of Heaven 25 years later on Christmas Day, 2008, 20 happy years after his marriage to Jill.  I don’t really miss him.  He is always with me in my heart to this day.

My Dear Friend Richard Dale

My Dear Friend Richard Dale

Harmonizing with Dick Dale on Power Plant Christmas Harmonicas — Repost

Originally posted December 20, 2013:

I think it was while we were sitting in the lunchroom eating lunch while I was still a janitor when the subject of harmonicas came up.  Dick Dale must have asked me if I played a musical instrument, because that was my usual reply,  “I play the harmonica… and the Jew’s Harp.”  Just about everyone knows what a Harmonica looks like.  I suppose most people in Oklahoma knows what a Jew’s Harp is.  It’s that instrument you put in your mouth and you flip the little lever and it makes a vibrating twanging sound.

A Jew's Harp

A Jew’s Harp

Dick Dale, worked in the warehouse, and we had been friends since my second year as a summer help.  He told me that he always wanted to learn to play the harmonica.  I told him I learned by just playing around on it.  I never took lessons or used a harmonica book or anything.

When I was growing up, my dad knew how to play the harmonica, so we had one laying around the house all the time.  So, one day I as a kid, I picked it up and started playing with it.  It took about five minutes before my older sister ran to my mom and complained about me making a racket.  My mom told me to take it outside.  So, I not only learned the harmonica by playing around with it.  I was usually sitting alone in the woods while I was learning it.  I have found that under these conditions, there is usually some basic part of the skill that is left out.  So, I knew that my harmonica playing was never really up to snuff.

In the spring of 1983, I joined the labor crew, and I no longer ate lunch in the break room.  I kept it in mind that Dick Dale wanted to learn to play the harmonica, so some time during the summer, I purchased a Hohner Marine Band Harmonica for him, and I began creating a song book with the songs that I knew how to play.  I made up my own notation.  The holes in the harmonica were numbered, so I wrote the numbers of the holes I would blow in, and put an arrow above the number pointing up or down to indicate whether I was blowing in the hole, or sucking the air through the hole.

A Hohner Marine Band Harmonica

A Hohner Marine Band Harmonica

During the summer I talked to Dick Dale a few times, and he was having trouble with his family.  He was getting a divorce from his wife of fifteen years.  He was pretty upset about that, because all along he thought he was happily married.  This turned out not to be the case.  In the process, Dick moved from Stillwater, Oklahoma to Ponca City.  I was living in Stillwater at the time.

When winter came around, my friend Tim Flowers, who was a summer help for two summers at the plant, including the summer I was on the labor crew, came to visit me in Stillwater.  I had bought a harmonica for him for Christmas, and I told him I wanted to go visit Dick Dale in Ponca City and take him his Harmonica for Christmas, along with the booklet I had handwritten (as we didn’t have computers back in those days….).

So, I called up Dick to make sure it would be all right if we dropped by for a little while.  He at home in his new house, and said he would be delighted if we came by.  Dick knew Tim Flowers from the time he had been a summer help.  While Tim and I were carpooling, Dick would be carpooling with Mike Gibbs, and sometimes on the way home, we would play car tag going down the highway.

One day after a Men’s Club dinner at the plant, while we were leaving, I was in the front of the line of cars heading for the main gate.  In those days, there weren’t two separate gates (one for entering, and one for exiting).  So, the one gate had to open almost all the way up before the person exiting could go through the gate.

When I pulled up to the gate, I pulled up on the entrance side, and Dick and Mike pulled up on the exit side.  We had been racing with each other up to the main gate….  Dick was revving up the engine of his pickup truck which could easily outrun my little blue 1982 Honda Civic.  I had to be more cunning to stay in front of Richard (yeah.  I liked to call him Richard).

As the gate opened, I was on the side where I could go through the gate first.  The way it worked was that as soon as I crossed the threshold of the gate, the gate would stop opening.  then, as I went through it, I drove over to the exit side and ran over the closed loop of the gate, so that the gate closed again leaving Richard and Mike waiting behind the closed gate as we made our escape.

Of course, as soon as we were out on the main highway, it didn’t take long for Richard to make up the mile lead I had gained while he had to wait for the gate to close and re-open.  So, the only way I could prevent him from passing me was by weaving over in the passing lane when he attempted to pass me, and then back again, when he returned to the right lane.

Eventually he was able to go around me, but from that day forward, whenever we were travelling home at the end of the day, and we were following each other, we would both meander back and forth across the highway on the way home…. when it was safe of course.  Since we were out in the country, on a little traveled rode, that was usually not a problem.  This came to an end when Richard moved to Ponca City.

When Tim Flowers and I arrived at Richard’s house in Ponca City that Christmas holiday, we surprised him when we handed him his very own harmonica with the booklet that I had written.  He invited us inside and we sat for a while as I explained to him  how the booklet worked.  He said he appreciated it, and that he would work on learning how to play his harmonica so that we could play together.

We sat around and made terrible music together for a while.  Then, because I didn’t want to impose on Richard too much, we left to go back to Stillwater.  A couple of weeks later after the holiday, Richard said he had been practicing on the harmonica and he really appreciated the Christmas present.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but two and a half years later, I moved to Ponca City after I was married, and my wife graduated from nursing school.  That was when Dick Dale, Jim Heflin, Bud Schoonover and I began carpooling together (See the post:  Carpooling with Bud Schoonover).  At the time Dick said that he had hoped to get over the tragedy of his marriage by the end of the year.  He had heard that it took a year to get over 5 years.  Since he had been married for 15 years, he figured by the end of 3 years he should be feeling like he was over it.

The only other person at the plant that I can remember that ever heard me playing the harmonica was Arthur Hammond.  He asked me one day in 1986 if I would bring my harmonica to work so that he could hear me play it.  So, I did, and while we were driving down to the Arkansas River to check batteries, I played some “harmonica blues” for him.  It was just stuff I was making up.

I had seen this movie called “Crossroads” with Ralph Macchio.  In the movie Ralph’s character is trying to learn how to play the Blues guitar from an old and once famous blues musician.  There are two things you learn as the movie unfolds.  The first is that in order to really know how to play the blues, you had to have experienced a real “Blue” time in your life.  So you had to play with the feeling that you had experienced.  The second thing was that Ralph had to play his guitar against a contract guitar player chosen by the devil in order to save the old man’s soul.

Crossroads (1986)

Crossroads (1986)

So, what was I supposed to do?  I had been blessed most of my life.  I hadn’t really experienced any “real” blues.  As Art was driving the pickup truck down to the river, I tried to dream up the bluest thoughts I could.  I thought…. what if the world was out of chocolate…..  That would ruin everybody’s mood.  I piped out a few sorrowful sounding notes on the harmonica to try and portray my disappointment at living without chocolate….. that sounded kind of lame.

Then I thought, wasn’t I upset that one time when I was a summer help and I stayed over to help feed the foremen that were having a dinner in the break room and Pat Braden and I fed the foremen, and no one offered me any food, so I had to go hungry for a couple of hours before I could go home and eat some leftovers at home.  I think I felt kind of blue that day…..  so I cupped my hand over the harmonica, tilted my head to the side and tried to remember that painful time as I shook my hand up and down so that the harmonica would make the sad “whaaa whaa” sound.

I drummed up a few more sad thoughts, and I thought I was really floundering as my debut as a blues harmonica player, so I paused for a few minutes to try and make myself feel bad about doing such a poor job playing the harmonica hoping that it would help.  Then Art said, “Hey.  You are pretty good!”  “What?”  I thought, “Oh… That’s Art, trying to be polite.”  “Thank you,” I said.  Boy.  How pitiful is that?  Surely I should feel bad enough now to play some blues at least a little better….

Anyway, a mile or two later, I decided to give it up.  I put the harmonica back in my pocket and told Art that was all I could do for now.  Finally.  We had some peace and quiet the rest of the way to the river.  I remembered that my sister would always run screaming to my mom when I was younger and blew a few notes on the harmonica, and here Art patiently listened and even complimented my playing.  Gee.  What a true friend he was.

Later, Dick Dale remarried, and as far as I could tell, he was a much happier person a few years after that.  I did what I could to help him.  Though, I think at times I confused him a little.  I will relay a story about that in a few weeks.

My Dear Friend Richard Dale

My Dear Friend Richard Dale

Dick Dale and the Power Plant Printer Romance

When I first moved to Ponca City I carpooled each day to the Coal-fired Power Plant in North Central Oklahoma with Dick Dale, Jim Heflin and Bud Schoonover (See the post:  “Carpooling Adventures with Bud Schoonover“).  Dick Dale had moved to Ponca City a couple of years earlier after his divorce.  He didn’t want to continue living in Stillwater where he felt as if everyone knew about his tragic situation.  We had been friends from the first day we met when I was a summer help working out of the garage and he worked in the tool room and warehouse.

I wrote about Dick Dale this past Christmas, when I talked about his situation (See the post:  “Harmonizing with Dick Dale on Power Plant Christmas Harmonicas“).  I knew that even though it was a few years later, Richard was still feeling the impact from this emotional trauma.  One day I found the opportunity to play a “Power Plant” joke on him that I thought might help lift his spirits.

I recently wrote another post about how I had installed dumb terminals around the plant so that regular workers would be able to access the mainframe computer downtown in Corporate Headquarters in order to see their work orders, or look up parts in the warehouse, etc. (See the post:  “Working Smarter with Power Plant Dumb Terminals“).  In most places where I installed terminals, I also installed large IBM printers that printed using continuous feed paper.

IBM Dot Matrix Network Printer

IBM Dot Matrix Network Printer

For those of you who remember, at first most dot matrix printers would feed paper from a box underneath them.  they had holes down both sides of the paper where the sprockets would rotate and paper would come rolling out the top of the printer.

Dot Matrix paper with holes so the printer can feed the paper through.  The holes sections with the holes were perforated so you could tear them off easily.

Dot Matrix paper with holes so the printer can feed the paper through. The holes sections with the holes were perforated so you could tear them off easily.

Ok.  Here is a quick one paragraph side story…

One day when my son was about 6 years old, we had to wait a while in an airport.  We were sitting in a row of seats at the gate waiting.  My son kept popping up slowly, jerking as he rose, from behind the row of seats and would lay over the seat back and end up head down on the chair.  After doing this a few times, my wife Kelly asked him what he was doing.  He said, “I’m paper coming out of the printer”.  Of course, this cracked us all up.

Anyway, back to the story.  By the time I had to add the dumb terminals and printers to the Garage and Warehouse, I had already been playing around on the mainframe learning all sorts of ways to get into trouble. — Well, what else was I going to do during lunch while Charles Foster and I talked about movies and stuff?  I had a personal user account on the mainframe that basically gave me “God Access”.  They didn’t really have anything like “Network Security” back then.  — This was 1988.

Back then, we also didn’t have anything called “Email” either.  It wasn’t until 1989 that CompuServe first offered real Internet e-mail to its users.  When we wanted to send something to someone in the company, we either printed it out and put in an intra-company envelope and sent it by “snail” mail, or we could find out what printer they used and get the ID for the printer and send it to them.  It was a code like:  P1234.

Well.  I had been playing with this text editor on the Honeywell mainframe called FRED.  This stood for FRiendly EDitor.  For those of you who know UNIX, this was pretty much the same as the VI Editor found on UNIX mainframes.  The commands were the same.  Today, users of Microsoft Word would be horrified to find out what you had to go through to create a document back then.

I had been practicing using this editor, and found that by using the special escape codes for the printer, I could create documents that would come out looking pretty neat.  So, I had created some templates that would make it look like I was printing a Memo from some mainframe program.  That was about the time that I installed the printer in the garage.

So, I created a big long document that would print out on the garage printer as soon as I connected the printer to the network.  It went on and on about how the printer wasn’t happy about being placed in such a dusty environment and how it refused to be cooperative until it was moved to a cleaner place.  It would spit out a bunch of sheets of paper, printing protest after protest.

Then it ended up by saying that if it wasn’t moved right away, it was going to shut down in 10 minutes and it started counting down by 30 second intervals.  Then at the last minute, it counted down by 15 seconds until it counted down the last 10 seconds by feeding a sheet of paper for each second while it was counting… then it paused at the last second.  Finally, it printed out at the end a concession that since it was obviously not going to be moved to someplace cleaner, it might as well give up and be cooperative.

When I installed the printer in the office in the automotive garage, I knew it would take about 30 seconds to connect the first time, and by that time, I was outside making my way back to the electric shop.  By the time I made it back to the electric shop Charles Patten was calling me on the gray phone.  The gray phone is the plant PA system:

Gaitronics Gray Phone

Gaitronics Gray Phone

Of course, I knew why.  I answered the phone and Charles told me that something was wrong with the printer.  It kept shooting paper out of it and wouldn’t stop.  He had even turned it off, but when he turned it back on, it still kept feeding paper out.  I told him that sounded pretty strange to me and I would be right over to see what was going on.  I took my time returning to the garage giving the printer time to throw it’s tantrum.

By the time I returned, the printer had stopped ranting about being installed in a dirty environment and had given up it’s protest.  Charles said that it finally stopped.  I walked over to the printer and took the pile of hundred or so pages that it had printed out, and tore them off the printer and walked out with them.  I don’t even know if Charles had paid any attention to what the printer was saying.

I think I was the only person that knew that I had just “attempted” to play a joke on Charles.  After all, as the paper was feeding out.  It was carefully collecting into a nice stack in front of the printer on the floor, and unless someone picked up the stack and looked at it, they wouldn’t know that anything was even printed on it.  So, in this case, the joke may have been on me.  But then again, Power Plant Men are like that.  If they figure a joke is being played on them, then they figure out how to turn it around so that the joker is the one that has the joke played on them.  Maybe that was the case here.  Charles Patten was probably one of the most intelligent foremen at the plant, so it was possible.

Anyway, back to Dick Dale.  I installed the printer in the warehouse and Dick Dale, Darlene Mitchell, Mike Gibbs and Bud Schoonover were happy to be connected to the Inventory program on the mainframe…..  um… yeah. sure they were…… especially Bud.

Bud Schoonover was the person that when it was his turn to run the tool room would not give you something if it was the last one.  So, if I needed a flashlight and it was the last one, and I asked Bud for a flashlight, he would say that he couldn’t give it to me.  Why?  You might ask.  Well, he would explain that if he gave the last one away, he would have to order some more.  Bud didn’t like ordering things on the computer.  So, in order to keep from having to order anything he simply didn’t give away the last one of any item.

Anyway.  I decided one Monday during my regular lunch time computer educational moments to send a letter over to the warehouse printer addressed to Dick Dale.  It was from an anonymous woman.  The letter sounded like it was from someone that really had a thing for Richard and remembered how they used to work together.  It also mentioned other people, like Mike Gibbs and Pat Braden and about how they used to hang around each other.

Since this was a fictitious character, I could say anything I wanted, but I wanted to put it in a time period back when I was still a summer help.  Well…  It wasn’t long before Dick Dale called me on the gray phone (no.  I won’t post another picture of the gray phone here.   I think you get the idea).  He asked me to come over to the warehouse.

When I arrived, Richard showed me the letter.  He was excited about it.  He was trying to figure out who it could be.  He thought about the people that had moved from the plant to Corporate Headquarters and wondered if it was one of them.  I thought for a little while, and I couldn’t come up with who it might be (obviously), since it was me.

The next day at lunch I sent another letter to his printer.  I mentioned more about the “old days” working at the plant.  On the way home Richard showed it to me.  I could tell that he was really excited about this.  I held back my smile, but inside it felt real good to see that Richard had finally come back to life.  For the past couple of years, he had been so down.  Now some woman was paying attention to him, and actually was telling him that she had always liked him.

On Thursday Richard called me and asked me to come over to the warehouse.  He showed me the letter he had received that day.  He said he was too excited.  He just had to find out who it was that was sending him these letters.  He said that since I knew everything there was to know about computers (a slight exaggeration), he asked me to see if I could find out where the letters were coming from.

I told him I would do what I could to see if I could track down who was sending the letters.  On the way home that day, he asked me if I had any luck.  I told him I was still looking into it.  I told him I thought there might be a way to find a log somewhere that would tell me.

So, after lunch on Friday I walked over to the warehouse.  When I entered, I signaled to Richard that I wanted to talk to him.  — Remember.  Richard and I had developed facial signals while carpooling with Bud Schoonover so that all we had to do was glance at each other and we instantly knew what each other was saying…

Richard and I stepped outside of the warehouse where we could be alone.  He asked me if I had found the person sending him the letters.  I told him I had (I knew I had to do this right or I would lose a good friend, so I said), “Yes.  I have.”

I could see the look of excitement in his face.  So I looked straight at him and I said, “I have been sending these letters to you.”  He was stunned.  He said, “What?”  I said, “Richard.  I have been sending them to you.”

I could see that he was very disappointed.  After all.  No two people could read each other’s expressions better than me and Richard.  We practiced them every day.  The corners of his mouth went down.  The middle went up.  Edges of the eyes went down.  Eyes began to water.  Yep.  He as disappointed to say the least.

I told him I was sorry to get his hopes up.  I put on the saddest look I could muster.  Inside I wasn’t so sad.  Actually I was pretty happy.  I knew this was a tough moment for Richard, but he had spent an entire week flying high.  For the first time in a long time, Richard had hope.  A  couple of hours of disappointment was well worth this past week.

I patted him on the back and he turned to walk back into the warehouse despondent.  I went back to the electric shop.

So, what followed this episode?  Well.  Within a few weeks  Dick Dale had attended an event at the Presbyterian Church in Ponca City where he met a very nice woman, Jill Cowan.  He began dating her, and within the year they were married on November 13, 1988.

I like to think that I had given him the kick in the pants that he needed at the time that he needed it.  For that one week where he had hope, he believed that someone else really cared for him.  If he could believe that, then maybe it could really be true, even if in this case it turned out to only be one of his best friends.

I know that Dick Dale lived happily ever after.  As I mentioned earlier, I wrote a post about Dick Dale about a time when I gave a Christmas present to Dick Dale, Christmas 1983.  Well. as it turned out, my friend Richard was presented to Saint Peter at the gates of Heaven 25 years later on Christmas Day, 2008, 20 happy years after his marriage to Jill.  I don’t really miss him.  He is always with me in my heart to this day.

My Dear Friend Richard Dale

My Dear Friend Richard Dale

Harmonizing with Dick Dale on Power Plant Christmas Harmonicas

I think it was while we were sitting in the lunchroom eating lunch while I was still a janitor when the subject of harmonicas came up.  Dick Dale must have asked me if I played a musical instrument, because that was my usual reply,  “I play the harmonica… and the Jew’s Harp.”  Just about everyone knows what a Harmonica looks like.  I suppose most people in Oklahoma knows what a Jew’s Harp is.  It’s that instrument you put in your mouth and you flip the little lever and it makes a vibrating twanging sound.

A Jew's Harp

A Jew’s Harp

Dick Dale, worked in the warehouse, and we had been friends since my second year as a summer help.  He told me that he always wanted to learn to play the harmonica.  I told him I learned by just playing around on it.  I never took lessons or used a harmonica book or anything.

When I was growing up, my dad knew how to play the harmonica, so we had one laying around the house all the time.  So, one day I as a kid, I picked it up and started playing with it.  It took about five minutes before my older sister ran to my mom and complained about me making a racket.  My mom told me to take it outside.  So, I not only learned the harmonica by playing around with it.  I was usually sitting alone in the woods while I was learning it.  I have found that under these conditions, there is usually some basic part of the skill that is left out.  So, I knew that my harmonica playing was never really up to snuff.

In the spring of 1983, I joined the labor crew, and I no longer ate lunch in the break room.  I kept it in mind that Dick Dale wanted to learn to play the harmonica, so some time during the summer, I purchased a Hohner Marine Band Harmonica for him, and I began creating a song book with the songs that I knew how to play.  I made up my own notation.  The holes in the harmonica were numbered, so I wrote the numbers of the holes I would blow in, and put an arrow above the number pointing up or down to indicate whether I was blowing in the hole, or sucking the air through the hole.

A Hohner Marine Band Harmonica

A Hohner Marine Band Harmonica

During the summer I talked to Dick Dale a few times, and he was having trouble with his family.  He was getting a divorce from his wife of fifteen years.  He was pretty upset about that, because all along he thought he was happily married.  This turned out not to be the case.  In the process, Dick moved from Stillwater, Oklahoma to Ponca City.  I was living in Stillwater at the time.

When winter came around, my friend Tim Flowers, who was a summer help for two summers at the plant, including the summer I was on the labor crew, came to visit me in Stillwater.  I had bought a harmonica for him for Christmas, and I told him I wanted to go visit Dick Dale in Ponca City and take him his Harmonica for Christmas, along with the booklet I had handwritten (as we didn’t have computers back in those days….).

So, I called up Dick to make sure it would be all right if we dropped by for a little while.  He at home in his new house, and said he would be delighted if we came by.  Dick knew Tim Flowers from the time he had been a summer help.  While Tim and I were carpooling, Dick would be carpooling with Mike Gibbs, and sometimes on the way home, we would play car tag going down the highway.

One day after a Men’s Club dinner at the plant, while we were leaving, I was in the front of the line of cars heading for the main gate.  In those days, there weren’t two separate gates (one for entering, and one for exiting).  So, the one gate had to open almost all the way up before the person exiting could go through the gate.

When I pulled up to the gate, I pulled up on the entrance side, and Dick and Mike pulled up on the exit side.  We had been racing with each other up to the main gate….  Dick was revving up the engine of his pickup truck which could easily outrun my little blue 1982 Honda Civic.  I had to be more cunning to stay in front of Richard (yeah.  I liked to call him Richard).

As the gate opened, I was on the side where I could go through the gate first.  The way it worked was that as soon as I crossed the threshold of the gate, the gate would stop opening.  then, as I went through it, I drove over to the exit side and ran over the closed loop of the gate, so that the gate closed again leaving Richard and Mike waiting behind the closed gate as we made our escape.

Of course, as soon as we were out on the main highway, it didn’t take long for Richard to make up the mile lead I had gained while he had to wait for the gate to close and re-open.  So, the only way I could prevent him from passing me was by weaving over in the passing lane when he attempted to pass me, and then back again, when he returned to the right lane.

Eventually he was able to go around me, but from that day forward, whenever we were travelling home at the end of the day, and we were following each other, we would both meander back and forth across the highway on the way home…. when it was safe of course.  Since we were out in the country, on a little traveled rode, that was usually not a problem.  This came to an end when Richard moved to Ponca City.

When Tim Flowers and I arrived at Richard’s house in Ponca City that Christmas holiday, we surprised him when we handed him his very own harmonica with the booklet that I had written.  He invited us inside and we sat for a while as I explained to him  how the booklet worked.  He said he appreciated it, and that he would work on learning how to play his harmonica so that we could play together.

We sat around and made terrible music together for a while.  Then, because I didn’t want to impose on Richard too much, we left to go back to Stillwater.  A couple of weeks later after the holiday, Richard said he had been practicing on the harmonica and he really appreciated the Christmas present.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but two and a half years later, I moved to Ponca City after I was married, and my wife graduated from nursing school.  That was when Dick Dale, Jim Heflin, Bud Schoonover and I began carpooling together (See the post:  Carpooling with Bud Schoonover).  At the time Dick said that he had hoped to get over the tragedy of his marriage by the end of the year.  He had heard that it took a year to get over 5 years.  Since he had been married for 15 years, he figured by the end of 3 years he should be feeling like he was over it.

The only other person at the plant that I can remember that ever heard me playing the harmonica was Arthur Hammond.  He asked me one day in 1986 if I would bring my harmonica to work so that he could hear me play it.  So, I did, and while we were driving down to the Arkansas River to check batteries, I played some “harmonica blues” for him.  It was just stuff I was making up.

I had seen this movie called “Crossroads” with Ralph Macchio.  In the movie Ralph’s character is trying to learn how to play the Blues guitar from an old and once famous blues musician.  There are two things you learn as the movie unfolds.  The first is that in order to really know how to play the blues, you had to have experienced a real “Blue” time in your life.  So you had to play with the feeling that you had experienced.  The second thing was that Ralph had to play his guitar against a contract guitar player chosen by the devil in order to save the old man’s soul.

Crossroads (1986)

Crossroads (1986)

So, what was I supposed to do?  I had been blessed most of my life.  I hadn’t really experienced any “real” blues.  As Art was driving the pickup truck down to the river, I tried to dream up the bluest thoughts I could.  I thought…. what if the world was out of chocolate…..  That would ruin everybody’s mood.  I piped out a few sorrowful sounding notes on the harmonica to try and portray my disappointment at living without chocolate….. that sounded kind of lame.

Then I thought, wasn’t I upset that one time when I was a summer help and I stayed over to help feed the foremen that were having a dinner in the break room and Pat Braden and I fed the foremen, and no one offered me any food, so I had to go hungry for a couple of hours before I could go home and eat some leftovers at home.  I think I felt kind of blue that day…..  so I cupped my hand over the harmonica, tilted my head to the side and tried to remember that painful time as I shook my hand up and down so that the harmonica would make the sad “whaaa whaa” sound.

I drummed up a few more sad thoughts, and I thought I was really floundering as my debut as a blues harmonica player, so I paused for a few minutes to try and make myself feel bad about doing such a poor job playing the harmonica hoping that it would help.  Then Art said, “Hey.  You are pretty good!”  “What?”  I thought, “Oh… That’s Art, trying to be polite.”  “Thank you,” I said.  Boy.  How pitiful is that?  Surely I should feel bad enough now to play some blues at least a little better….

Anyway, a mile or two later, I decided to give it up.  I put the harmonica back in my pocket and told Art that was all I could do for now.  Finally.  We had some peace and quiet the rest of the way to the river.  I remembered that my sister would always run screaming to my mom when I was younger and blew a few notes on the harmonica, and here Art patiently listened and even complimented my playing.  Gee.  What a true friend he was.

Later, Dick Dale remarried, and as far as I could tell, he was a much happier person a few years after that.  I did what I could to help him.  Though, I think at times I confused him a little.  I will relay a story about that in a few weeks.