It iIt is the summer of l962 and I am waiting, impatiently, on a large, rectangular concrete slab which purports to be the “
Merrick Station of the
Long Island Railroad. I’m positioned at the forward part of the station which gives me an opportunity to look back and see that there are 5 other would be passengers, discretely separated from each other in what they apparently conceive to be their private space. Merrick is a friendly town, but the station, scheduled to be replaced in the near future, seems to bring out personality quirks best restrained. The train is late, as usual. Surprise! To ad to my annoyance, there is a significant and all encompassing drizzle which makes the situation intolerable.I’m in an ugly mood and look for a receptacle in which to discard my thoroughly soaked newspaper. Naturally, there’s only one garbage pail and, of course, it is located at the rear of the platform; so I roll the newspaper, concealing the headline which all but screams what I already knew, that the Vietnam war was not going to be a cakewalk, and stuff it behind the nearest billboard. The downers are piling up but I’m not ready to throw in the towel. What I needed was a smoke and as an innovative, nicotine addict, I’m always prepared to ‘feed the monkey.’ Rain may dampen my butt, but not the fag that nestled in my pocket, secured in a device of my own creation. Essentially it was a cylinder within a cylinder, insulated with ‘silver foil’ and 4 air holes that permitted satisfactory combustion. The distal end of the cylinder was open to permit ignition and curved to protect the cigarette from the elements. On the rare occasion that I had the need and opportunity to use the gizmo, I invariably realized how clever the design was, which in turn bolstered my self-esteem. So, there I was, damp all over and ready to bite anybody’s head off with or without provocation, eager for the comfort clutched within my grasp. My trusty Zippo in hand, my entombed
Chesterfield clenched between my teeth, I turned my back to the wind and ‘lit up.’ Drawing deeply and exhaling slowly I looked up, contentedly, and unexpectedly locked eyes with a man whose facial features were unmistakably Japanese. I wasn’t sure if he was smiling or scowling at me, but when he started to walk in my direction, bells started ringing.. Was it the flag pin in my lapel? If I were Japanese, it wouldn’t be much of a stretch to stir up the memory of
Hiroshima. Well, that was okay with me; I hadn’t forgotten
Pearl Harbor either. He was about 5 feet from me when I focused on his lapel pin. It was the numeral ‘442’ framed against a back-ground of red enamel, a familiar number, but I was too busy stripping the cigarette from my holder and didn’t have time for a second thought. “Please, do not put that cigarette holder away.” The voice was soft-spoken, cultured and certainly not hostile. “Why are you interested in my cigarette holder?” Then the significance of the lapel pin dawned on me. “The “442”, is that the 442nd Infantry Regiment?” “Yes it is. Not many people recognize it.” “Well, I do. This country owes the 442nd a debt of gratitude for their bravery and sacrifice as well as an apology for treating them so shabbily.” “Thank you, but I would rather talk about your cigarette holder. Did you design this by yourself, or did you purchase it?” “I designed and fabricated it myself; it’s one of a kind. Are you an attorney?” He laughed. “No, no, no. I am not an attorney, but I have a friend in
Japan who is a design engineer and he once showed me a cigarette holder to be used in adverse weather; it was very similar to your instrument. He specializes in designing impractical devices and is quite successful at it. I shall call him tonight and let him know that others share his creative hobby.” I decided to ignore his use of the word ‘impractical’ and our shared ride to New York City was just the beginning of a steadfast friendship that ended with his demise in 2003. He was named after the Emperor Mikado; his friends called him ‘Mike.’ The passage of a friend, a happening that is occurring with unrelenting frequency, invariably triggers, for me, the recollection of diminished memories. Despite my sadness, I smiled when I recalled how we met, aware that now the
Merrick station was now a one story attractive edifice, provided with an escalator that was frequently inoperative. In the center of the platform was a white-washed concrete structure with signs advising that it was a ‘Smoke Free Waiting Room.’ I have been told that the ‘trains still run late.’. I gave up smoking the same year I met ‘Mike’ and my doo-dad is probably resting on the bottom of a garbage dump, waiting for a bright eyed archaeologist to dig it up in the distant future. I remembered Mike’s friend in
Japan who had invented a cigarette holder similar to mine and on a whim, I checked Google for “Useless Inventions.” To my surprise I came up with “History of Useless Inventions –the Art of Chindogu.“ It takes a certain amount of ingenuity to come up with unuseless inventions and I claim honorary membership in the International Society of Chindogu, despite the fact that my creations, while simple, nevertheless serve a practical purpose.. My latest creation is one of a kind (as far as I know) and on occasion generates compliments and/or amused chuckles, particularly from senior citizens who appreciate the practicality of my telescoping flag-pole. Essentially, what I have done is devise a telescoping flagpole that attaches (in a conventional manner) to the rear window of my Prius. I fly the American flag to show my concern and gratitude for the American warriors who are in harms way. I used a brass curtain rod to construct my flag-pole and coincidentally, my flag-pole ‘doubles in brass’ by permitting me to locate my car when parked on a crowded parking field. No longer will a panel-truck or SUV block my beacon. No more walking up and down the lanes, frustrated and angry, looking for my car and realizing, too often, that the ol’ grey cells are not what they used to be. Now I merely extend the flag-pole 2’ when I park the car, and reverse the procedure when I’m ready to drive off.- The Obama administration believes that American inventiveness will play a role in stimulating the economy. I’m not Steven Jobs (you might think otherwise because of the intricate, complexity of my idea) and you’re not Bill Gates, but don’t sell yourself short. We can always do more than we think we can. Edgar A. Guest, an American poet who passed away l959 said it clearly: IT COULDN’T BE DONE
T here are thousands to tell you it cannot done, failure; There are thousands to point out to you, one by one, The dangers that wait to assail you. But just buckle in with a bit of a grin, Just take off your coat and go to it; Just start to sing as you tackle the thing That “cannot be done,” and you’ll do
CHINDOGU By Leon Berger It is the summer of l962 and I am waiting, impatiently, on a large, rectangular concrete slab which purports to be the “
Merrick Station of the
Long Island Railroad. I’m positioned at the forward part of the station which gives me an opportunity to look back and see that there are 5 other would be passengers, discretely separated from each other in what they apparently conceive to be their private space. Merrick is a friendly town, but the station, scheduled to be replaced in the near future, seems to bring out personality quirks best restrained. The train is late, as usual. Surprise! To ad to my annoyance, there is a significant and all encompassing drizzle which makes the situation intolerable.I’m in an ugly mood and look for a receptacle in which to discard my thoroughly soaked newspaper. Naturally, there’s only one garbage pail and, of course, it is located at the rear of the platform; so I roll the newspaper, concealing the headline which all but screams what I already knew, that the Vietnam war was not going to be a cakewalk, and stuff it behind the nearest billboard. The downers are piling up but I’m not ready to throw in the towel. What I needed was a smoke and as an innovative, nicotine addict, I’m always prepared to ‘feed the monkey.’ Rain may dampen my butt, but not the fag that nestled in my pocket, secured in a device of my own creation. Essentially it was a cylinder within a cylinder, insulated with ‘silver foil’ and 4 air holes that permitted satisfactory combustion. The distal end of the cylinder was open to permit ignition and curved to protect the cigarette from the elements. On the rare occasion that I had the need and opportunity to use the gizmo, I invariably realized how clever the design was, which in turn bolstered my self-esteem. So, there I was, damp all over and ready to bite anybody’s head off with or without provocation, eager for the comfort clutched within my grasp. My trusty Zippo in hand, my entombed
Chesterfield clenched between my teeth, I turned my back to the wind and ‘lit up.’ Drawing deeply and exhaling slowly I looked up, contentedly, and unexpectedly locked eyes with a man whose facial features were unmistakably Japanese. I wasn’t sure if he was smiling or scowling at me, but when he started to walk in my direction, bells started ringing.. Was it the flag pin in my lapel? If I were Japanese, it wouldn’t be much of a stretch to stir up the memory of
Hiroshima. Well, that was okay with me; I hadn’t forgotten
Pearl Harbor either. He was about 5 feet from me when I focused on his lapel pin. It was the numeral ‘442’ framed against a back-ground of red enamel, a familiar number, but I was too busy stripping the cigarette from my holder and didn’t have time for a second thought. “Please, do not put that cigarette holder away.” The voice was soft-spoken, cultured and certainly not hostile. “Why are you interested in my cigarette holder?” Then the significance of the lapel pin dawned on me. “The “442”, is that the 442nd Infantry Regiment?” “Yes it is. Not many people recognize it.” “Well, I do. This country owes the 442nd a debt of gratitude for their bravery and sacrifice as well as an apology for treating them so shabbily.” “Thank you, but I would rather talk about your cigarette holder. Did you design this by yourself, or did you purchase it?” “I designed and fabricated it myself; it’s one of a kind. Are you an attorney?” He laughed. “No, no, no. I am not an attorney, but I have a friend in
Japan who is a design engineer and he once showed me a cigarette holder to be used in adverse weather; it was very similar to your instrument. He specializes in designing impractical devices and is quite successful at it. I shall call him tonight and let him know that others share his creative hobby.” I decided to ignore his use of the word ‘impractical’ and our shared ride to New York City was just the beginning of a steadfast friendship that ended with his demise in 2003. He was named after the Emperor Mikado; his friends called him ‘Mike.’ The passage of a friend, a happening that is occurring with unrelenting frequency, invariably triggers, for me, the recollection of diminished memories. Despite my sadness, I smiled when I recalled how we met, aware that now the
Merrick station was now a one story attractive edifice, provided with an escalator that was frequently inoperative. In the center of the platform was a white-washed concrete structure with signs advising that it was a ‘Smoke Free Waiting Room.’ I have been told that the ‘trains still run late.’. I gave up smoking the same year I met ‘Mike’ and my doo-dad is probably resting on the bottom of a garbage dump, waiting for a bright eyed archaeologist to dig it up in the distant future. I remembered Mike’s friend in
Japan who had invented a cigarette holder similar to mine and on a whim, I checked Google for “Useless Inventions.” To my surprise I came up with “History of Useless Inventions –the Art of Chindogu.“ It takes a certain amount of ingenuity to come up with unuseless inventions and I claim honorary membership in the International Society of Chindogu, despite the fact that my creations, while simple, nevertheless serve a practical purpose.. My latest creation is one of a kind (as far as I know) and on occasion generates compliments and/or amused chuckles, particularly from senior citizens who appreciate the practicality of my telescoping flag-pole. Essentially, what I have done is devise a telescoping flagpole that attaches (in a conventional manner) to the rear window of my Prius. I fly the American flag to show my concern and gratitude for the American warriors who are in harms way. I used a brass curtain rod to construct my flag-pole and coincidentally, my flag-pole ‘doubles in brass’ by permitting me to locate my car when parked on a crowded parking field. No longer will a panel-truck or SUV block my beacon. No more walking up and down the lanes, frustrated and angry, looking for my car and realizing, too often, that the ol’ grey cells are not what they used to be. Now I merely extend the flag-pole 2’ when I park the car, and reverse the procedure when I’m ready to drive off.- The Obama administration believes that American inventiveness will play a role in stimulating the economy. I’m not Steven Jobs (you might think otherwise because of the intricate, complexity of my idea) and you’re not Bill Gates, but don’t sell yourself short. We can always do more than we think we can. Edgar A. Guest, an American poet who passed away l959 said it clearly: IT COULDN’T BE DONE There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done, There are thousands to prophesy failure; There are thousands to point out to you, one by one, The dangers that wait to assail you. But just buckle in with a bit of a grin, Just take off your coat and go to it; Just start to sing as you tackle the thing That “cannot be done,” and you’ll do it.
It is the summer of l962 and I am waiting, impatiently, on a large, rectangular concrete slab which purports to be the “
Merrick Station of the
Long Island Railroad. I’m positioned at the forward part of the station which gives me an opportunity to look back and see that there are 5 other would be passengers, discretely separated from each other in what they apparently conceive to be their private space. Merrick is a friendly town, but the station, scheduled to be replaced in the near future, seems to bring out personality quirks best restrained. The train is late, as usual. Surprise! To ad to my annoyance, there is a significant and all encompassing drizzle which makes the situation intolerable.I’m in an ugly mood and look for a receptacle in which to discard my thoroughly soaked newspaper. Naturally, there’s only one garbage pail and, of course, it is located at the rear of the platform; so I roll the newspaper, concealing the headline which all but screams what I already knew, that the Vietnam war was not going to be a cakewalk, and stuff it behind the nearest billboard. The downers are piling up but I’m not ready to throw in the towel. What I needed was a smoke and as an innovative, nicotine addict, I’m always prepared to ‘feed the monkey.’ Rain may dampen my butt, but not the fag that nestled in my pocket, secured in a device of my own creation. Essentially it was a cylinder within a cylinder, insulated with ‘silver foil’ and 4 air holes that permitted satisfactory combustion. The distal end of the cylinder was open to permit ignition and curved to protect the cigarette from the elements. On the rare occasion that I had the need and opportunity to use the gizmo, I invariably realized how clever the design was, which in turn bolstered my self-esteem. So, there I was, damp all over and ready to bite anybody’s head off with or without provocation, eager for the comfort clutched within my grasp. My trusty Zippo in hand, my entombed
Chesterfield clenched between my teeth, I turned my back to the wind and ‘lit up.’ Drawing deeply and exhaling slowly I looked up, contentedly, and unexpectedly locked eyes with a man whose facial features were unmistakably Japanese. I wasn’t sure if he was smiling or scowling at me, but when he started to walk in my direction, bells started ringing.. Was it the flag pin in my lapel? If I were Japanese, it wouldn’t be much of a stretch to stir up the memory of
Hiroshima. Well, that was okay with me; I hadn’t forgotten
Pearl Harbor either. He was about 5 feet from me when I focused on his lapel pin. It was the numeral ‘442’ framed against a back-ground of red enamel, a familiar number, but I was too busy stripping the cigarette from my holder and didn’t have time for a second thought. “Please, do not put that cigarette holder away.” The voice was soft-spoken, cultured and certainly not hostile.
“Why are you interested in my cigarette holder?” Then the significance of the lapel pin dawned on me. “The “442”, is that the 442nd Infantry Regiment?” “Yes it is. Not many people recognize it.” “Well, I do. This country owes the 442nd a debt of gratitude for their bravery and sacrifice as well as an apology for treating them so shabbily.” “Thank you, but I would rather talk about your cigarette holder. Did you design this by yourself, or did you purchase it?” “I designed and fabricated it myself; it’s one of a kind. Are you an attorney?” He laughed. “No, no, no. I am not an attorney, but I have a friend in
Japan who is a design engineer and he once showed me a cigarette holder to be used in adverse weather; it was very similar to your instrument. He specializes in designing impractical devices and is quite successful at it. I shall call him tonight and let him know that others share his creative hobby.” I decided to ignore his use of the word ‘impractical’ and our shared ride to New York City was just the beginning of a steadfast friendship that ended with his demise in 2003. He was named after the Emperor Mikado; his friends called him ‘Mike.’ The passage of a friend, a happening that is occurring with unrelenting frequency, invariably triggers, for me, the recollection of diminished memories. Despite my sadness, I smiled when I recalled how we met, aware that now the
Merrick station was now a one story attractive edifice, provided with an escalator that was frequently inoperative. In the center of the platform was a white-washed concrete structure with signs advising that it was a ‘Smoke Free Waiting Room.’ I have been told that the ‘trains still run late.’. I gave up smoking the same year I met ‘Mike’ and my doo-dad is probably resting on the bottom of a garbage dump, waiting for a bright eyed archaeologist to dig it up in the distant future. I remembered Mike’s friend in
Japan who had invented a cigarette holder similar to mine and on a whim, I checked Google for “Useless Inventions.” To my surprise I came up with “History of Useless Inventions –the Art of Chindogu.“ It takes a certain amount of ingenuity to come up with unuseless inventions and I claim honorary membership in the International Society of Chindogu, despite the fact that my creations, while simple, nevertheless serve a practical purpose.. My latest creation is one of a kind (as far as I know) and on occasion generates compliments and/or amused chuckles, particularly from senior citizens who appreciate the practicality of my telescoping flag-pole. Essentially, what I have done is devise a telescoping flagpole that attaches (in a conventional manner) to the rear window of my Prius. I fly the American flag to show my concern and gratitude for the American warriors who are in harms way. I used a brass curtain rod to construct my flag-pole and coincidentally, my flag-pole ‘doubles in brass’ by permitting me to locate my car when parked on a crowded parking field. No longer will a panel-truck or SUV block my beacon. No more walking up and down the lanes, frustrated and angry, looking for my car and realizing, too often, that the ol’ grey cells are not what they used to be. Now I merely extend the flag-pole 2’ when I park the car, and reverse the procedure when I’m ready to drive off.- The Obama administration believes that American inventiveness will play a role in stimulating the economy. I’m not Steven Jobs (you might think otherwise because of the intricate, complexity of my idea) and you’re not Bill Gates, but don’t sell yourself short. We can always do more than we think we can. Edgar A. Guest, an American poet who passed away l959 said it clearly: IT COULDN’T BE DONE There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done, There are thousands to prophesy failure; There are thousands to point out to you, one by one, The dangers that wait to assail you. But just buckle in with a bit of a grin, Just take off your coat and go to it; Just start to sing as you tackle the thing That “cannot be done,” and you’ll do it.
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