Batman lives in Pottstown

My brothers and I, when growing up, would regularly watch the TV version of "Batman" (c. 1966) and when the show opened, we would pose in front of the picture tube and swing our arms to match the "pow!" "bif!" "blap!" and other "sock it to them" that sent the villains flying.

My older brother, it seems, spoke of watching the show while at school, and somehow, got the impression that Batman, lived in a town called Pottstown, PA - about 20 miles up the road from us.

One day, while we lined up in front of the TV to do our "pows!" he proudly announced to my younger brother and I, that "Batman lives in Pottstown!" I don't recall our response at the time, but today, we still greet each other with "Hey! Batman lives in Pottstown!"

Imagine our surprise, when after Thanksgiving dinner, we decided to ask Mr. Google where Batman lived.

In just milliseconds, Mr. Google replied, "380 South San Rafael Avenue, Pasadena, California." And sure enough, appraised at $11,377,778 - Stately Wayne Manor with its 10 bedrooms, 6 baths and 16,599 sq ft space (which may or may not count the Batcave) appeared.

My older brother searched the "backyard" for signs of the Batcave exit - and is not convinced that "this is the place." Nor does he believe that the Gotham City Police Headquarters is in the Warner Brother's Studio back lot.

It's Been A Busy While

After moving the office and doing a lot of de-cluttering, my parents asked me to do more of the same at their place. I have now spent hours with sorting through years of accumulated (to be nice, let's call it) "stuff." One of the consequences of the office move was relocating a lot of my father's business stuff that was stored in the office where we had plenty of room.

All of it was moved to my parent's house and into their basement. Their basement wasn't fit for even mice, being dark and clammy. So the first order of business was to install a lot of overhead lighting and then, once they could see the sorry state of things, I was asked to paint all the walls white along painting the cellar steps. 10 gallons of white paint and 2 gallons of grey paint later, the cellar is much brighter. Then de-cluttering took place with me being able to see what I was looking at!

This lead to me being asked to paint their dining room, then their living room, and then their bedroom, a couple hallways, and bathroom. I even hung some wallpaper (borders.) All this done, they asked me to do some painting down the shore. I have painted and de-cluttered until I have dropped. And there is still more to do. The last bit of painting was their garden shed as you can see in flickr (on the right.)

This is a murky shot of the house down the shore's attic. I removed an entire dumpster worth of "stuff". The attic had never been emptied even by the guy my folks bought the place from. The previous owner was a depression-era child - so he hoarded old rusty nails, scraps of wood, old ripped out electrical wire, half-used paneling, odds and ends of dry wall, you name it. I even found two old bathroom mirror cabinets - apparently obtained at a garage sale for $2 each and left upstairs for that "some day project." That some day never came.

Wondering about what had become of the previous owner, I located one of his sons on the Internet and we exchanged a number of "catching up" emails. They were family friends of my parents - time just caused us to drift apart. Sadly, the old-timer has passed away, after a slow decline from Alzheimer's Disease. He taught me a bunch of things about boats, being an ex-Navy man that served in WWII.

Elsewhere's down the shore, people are still recovering from the aftermath of "Super-Storm Sandy" and work continues with many seashore cottages being "jacked up" so that the next flooding shouldn't be so harmful. Just watch the first step as you leave the house!

One of the low-lying houses that I spent some hours of my boyhood in is no longer there. The lot was cleared this past month. The memories of happy times enjoyed at the shore haven't been cleared from my head - but the place died a little - it just isn't the same without both the people and the places that used to be there.

As some of you know, me and my two brothers were called the "Three K's" when growing up since we all have names starting with "K". So I found the name of this boat to be of humorous interest. I sent the phone-photo to my brothers when I saw it. :) The "Two K's." My brothers are still arguing over which of us would be the missing "K" continuing with this morning's go-round about someone being a "Special K."

From the old box in the attic

My Dad was recently rummaging through some old boxes he had in his attic and came across this old wooden case. It belonged to my great-grandfather, Harry Davis Mousley. He was born on 3 Jul 1883 in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and died rather young at the age of 47 on 9 Nov 1930 in the same city. He married Emma Louise Dreby, who was born 25 Aug 1884 in Gloucester, New Jersey and who also died at the rather young age of 48 on 7 Mar 1933 in Philadelphia.

My father never knew his grandparents - he was born a few years later - and his understanding of the "family lore" was colored by his father who did not get along with his mother. "She was a good cook" is about the only thing we can recall him saying about her. Harry Davis and Emma ran a foundry on Cedar Street in Philadelphia known as the "Cedar Street Foundry". How original huh? This foundry was established when Harry Davis' father, Harry Lincoln Mousley was not included in his father's foundry business (Charles Mousley and Sons). So the family had two foundries in the city of Philadelphia around 1920 being run by cousins competing against each other.

Harry Davis and Emma owned a small summer cottage in Cape May, New Jersey, and my grandfather told tales of his summer vacations there - how they drove on sandy paths in a Model T Ford that was constantly blowing tires - and how he caught lots of fish and caddied at a golf course there. The cottage, no longer in the family, still stands - and seems to be in good condition (I've not been inside it!)

From what I understand, Harry Davis drank a little too much and got himself run over by a streetcar or wagon one day. His wife Emma suddenly inherited the family business and ran it with an "outsider," and eventually sold some (or all of it) to him just before she died - to the great dismay (and anger) of my grandfather - who would slowly buy the "outsider" out and forever hold a grudge against his parents.

Somehow this case survived the "purge" and "turmoil." I suspect my great-grandfather burned his name in the wooden case.

Inside, are several drawing tools, and unfortunately, not the complete set. The case is labeled "The Technical Supply Company of Scranton" - and a look on-line uncovers a 1900 company catalog which would have been about the right time period and in facts, shows a similar case on page 65.

I wonder what he drew with this set of fine tools. They still shine, even a 100 years later.

In search of old memories...

I have, in the past, written about my "honorary" Aunt Bea.

Aunt Bea was one of my paternal Grandmother's friends - she grew up "around the corner from the church" they both attended. Later on, when my dad served his 2 weeks a year in the Army Reserves, my mom stayed with my dad's mom with my older brother (who was a one year old) and got to know Aunt Bea too - and the three of them became "best buddies" and they all went shopping together. Aunt Bea moved out west to California with her second husband (the first one died suddenly) and has lived out there for more than 40 years (the second husband died too, of cancer). When my parents had their 50th wedding anniversary she came back to the east coast to join the party and has become very active once more with our family.

This June, she turned 90 years old and asked me to locate her second husband's younger brother.  I have tried a number of times to "find him" but have had no luck so far.  His name is (or was) Richard Donald Kane, born July 19, 1930 in Chester, PA.

While I was searching for him, I rummaged through the box of stuff my grandfather left behind and found this photograph, dated circa 1941..

It shows my dad between two recently made US Sailors.  The man on the right is an "unknown" but the man on the left is Philip Lewis Hallworth (Jr.); MOMM2 (Motor Machinist 2nd class) US Navy World War II (22 Oct 1919 - 13 Oct 1963), my Aunt Bea's first husband.  My eye was caught by the navy hats (you may recall my recent "acquisition" of my great-uncle Marshall's WWI sailors hat.)

I was just a toddler when Philip passed away - and do not recall ever having met him.  Everyone that knew him (that remains with us today) speaks very highly of him, and recalls he went deaf while working in the engine rooms of the various ships he worked on.  Today he rests in the Beverly National Cemetery, in Beverly, NJ (Section X Site 3315).  My Aunt Bea plans to join him there someday.

The mystery man seems to be hauntingly familar, as if somewhere in my past, I encountered him - but nothing more that the vaguest of shimmering thought surfaces to the forefront.  Perhaps, some night, it will come to me - that elusive memory.  Looking at the photograph, he seems to have been a nice guy.  My dad has no memory of this "photo op," and says the events of the time (the outbreak of the war) and his um... unfortunately timed, flying of a Japanese Flag out his bedroom window and its aftermath are all he can recall.

Another photograph sends me down memory lane...

Jerry Lewis or Pete Seeger?

I'm still a zombie.

I got this photograph from new photojournalist Farside of Fifty who reports seeing these two plain orange cones and a Socky Head (last seen in Fargo, North Dakota) getting ready for a swim.


The only thing in my empty head is this (over and over again):

One hen
Two ducks
Three squawking geese
Four Limerick oysters
Five corpulent porpoises
Six pairs of Don Alverso's tweezers
Seven thousand Macedonians in full dress battle array
Eight brass monkeys from the ancient sacred crypts of Egypt
Nine sympathetic apathetic diabetic old men, each with a marked propensity for procrastination and sloth.
Ten lyrical, spherical, diabolical denizens of the deep who swim to and fro about the quo and the quay and the queasy at the very same time
Ten tipsy tailors timidly torturing a terrified tit-mouse.

or is it?

Ten lyrical, spherical, diabolical denizens of the deep who haul, stall, crawl around the about the quai of the quay of the quivvy at the very same time?

...anyhooo...

Eleven corinthian columns careening cautiously, closely contiguous to the covered catacombs of a catholic convent.
Twelve turbulent tom-tits, twittering tumultuously in the top of a tall tamarac tree.
Thirteen thirsty thespians thriftily thumbing through thirty-thousand theological theses.

I've been wondering all morning if I heard Jerry Lewis saying this or Pete Seeger singing it...or heard it from somewhere else...and how to make it stop!

P.s., I like "verse 9" the best - what is your favorite?

Car Keys

Before 1913, cars, like most houses, did not have keys. Starting a car back then meant flipping a dashboard switch to Battery, moving an ignition timing lever, check that the gas was flowing, and setting a choke - before winding the hand crank at the front of the car. If the car started, you move the dashboard switch to Magneto, advance the ignition timing, and shut down the choke. Shutting the car off meant setting the dashboard switch to off.

Electric starting was invented by Charles Kettering in 1912. However the mass market car from 1908 into the 1920s was the Ford Model T, which did not have electric start and remained starter-less and key-less until 1919! From 1919 until the production of the Model T ended in 1927, Ford made locking electric starters but only had 24 different keys! The keys were stamped with a number as was lock face - so you could look at a key and look until you found a car that had a lock that matched! Worse yet, from the security standpoint, you could buy a master key from a mail-order catalog.

It wasn't until 1932 that the steering wheel locked when you turned off the engine - making it harder for thieves to drive off after hot-wiring a car ignition.

Even more incredible, it wasn't until 1949 that Chrysler invented the key-turn starter, where the engine would start when you twisted the key and the no longer needed to press a separate start/stop button. In 1993, the now common passive key-less entry system was introduced - being fitted into the Corvette.

Some day, the car may simply recognize our voice and unlock the doors when we say, "open" and start, when we say, "start." Losing or forgetting your key will become a thing of the past - but you sure won't want to loose your voice!

And before any of you ask - this entry was inspired by me locking my keys in my car - again, something I've been doing since 1978! - this past weekend...

Its times like that, when I wish I was Edward Scissorhands.