A sizeable pothole near a crosswalk at the Behavioral Health Institute is large enough to cause serious damage. The hole is about 15 by 15 inches, but the worrisome aspect of the hole is its depth, possibly four inches.

Beneath the four inches of asphalt rests a small, round manhole cover, which was probably accessed to address a recent water or sewer issue. Most of the traffic simply straddles the hole, but if motorists aren’t extremely observant, there’s a great chance they’ll face some tire and some serious front-end repairs. Worse, it’s hard to imagine any biker retaining control after hitting that hole.

It’s clearly a danger; it’s unmarked and barely visible. Let’s hope crews fix the problem before serious injury or death results.

• • •

Every college has one. Highlands certainly did in the hiring in 1964, of John Adams as chairman of the English Department. I was in the first literature class he taught in the summer, and we English majors learned never to come to class unprepared. Adams, who passed away a few years ago, simply epitomized the notion that professors ought to have and maintain high standards.

When a professor expects the best of students, it’s understandable that the academic grapevine activates and some students avoid such a prof. We English students didn’t have a choice, as Adams taught several courses required for a major, and besides, we realized that a “B” with Adams was worth an “A” with other teachers. But the official transcript doesn’t show which professor awarded which grade.

At least in years back, athletes surely were aware of professors they made sure to avoid.
Except athlete David Luna, a former wrestler who recently said he defied the athletes-always-struggle belief by doing well in Adams’ classes.

• • •

It’s a great feeling knowing we have a Nobelist up Interstate 25. Paul Modrich, a resident of Raton, was on vacation in a New Hampshire cabin in the woods when he learned via email that he and a couple of partners had won the 2015 Nobel Prize in Chemistry. Modrich’s partners in the research are Tomas Lindahl and Aziz Sancar.

There’s an additional local connection: Bruce Wertz, the consummate statistician when it comes to tennis, reports that Paul Modrich’s father, Lawrence, played tennis against Bruce’s father, Bill Wertz in their much younger days. According to Bruce Wertz, athletes played a lot of tennis, especially during the summers, and some of the athletes competed in circuits which included Raton, Taos, Los Alamos, Las Vegas and Santa Fe.

• • •

“Where’s all the piñon?” people keep asking. On several recent trips to Santa Fe we’ve come close to seeing traffic jams as entire families park along the Interstate near Rowe to shake piñon off the trees.

I too wondered whether the crop was mythical, as I’ve failed to see it in stores or in the stands along Mills. Today, however, a man hoisted a plastic bag of piñon asking if I were interested.

“How much?”

“Fourteen dollars.” Fourteen dollars? As the world’s biggest softie when it comes to negotiating costs, I surprised even myself when I told the piñon seller I’d wait a few week until the price goes down. He didn’t pressure me at all and just walked off. Is he going to stick to his asking price without any haggling?

People complained when sellers asked $8 for a bag of piñon. I guess inflation is real.

• • •

Joe Romero, a 1956 graduate of West Las Vegas High School, sent an email that conjured up a host of memories of my own piñon-picking experiences as a youngster. Below is part of his recollection of the picking:

“(Your column) brought back memories of my childhood days when my family used to go up to the Mesa de Rowe and pick piñon. Everyone went: uncles, aunts, cousins, grandparents, brothers, sisters as well as some stray vecinos. It was a time of great fun and a great family picnic. We were always looking for the ‘ratonera’ (rat’s nest) to really hit it big. I can also remember that we were looking forward to Christmas empanaditas of sweet meat and piñon. Those were the days.

“I have been gone from Las Vegas for 57 years or so. I graduated from West Las Vegas High in 1956 and was the second graduating class from that high school. I spent my 10th grade at I.C. High School… I joined the Navy and made it a 30-year career. I went on to retire from another job and am now fully retired, living in San Diego.

“The pull of Las Vegas is still there and I read the Optic online, mostly to see which of my old friends have left me, but also because of your articles, which bring back memories of a time long ago when life was more carefree and happy…”

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