Something clicks when people are faced with a kind of commonality that matters. The flooding in Las Vegas proves  that such is true.

Let me explain:

    I first noticed this we-have-something-in-common phenomenon when I was a few years younger and a student at the University of Missouri. The Columbia campus is so spread out that a bicycle becomes the main means of transportation. Have a car? Forget it! Some dormitories are a mile from the classrooms.

So, I got used to riding my bike. The many miles I clocked convinced me that other bikers felt as I did: Riding is not for pleasure, and we don’t generally acknowledge one another as we pedal.

In the summer, Columbia is like one of Dante’s rings in The Inferno. It’s far worse than even the hottest day here, and it’s humid. On the rare occasion that we had rain, it came down out of nowhere and with a vengeance. Continue reading →

It’s great to come across someone who remembers when we played baseball without needing an instruction manual, and when we played with baseballs without covers. My dad wondered where all his black friction tape had gone before he saw the criss-cross patterns of my baseball — one of the few in the neighborhood.

In a column a few years back, I wrote about how Railroad barrio boys of the ‘40s and ‘50s got by, using the natural terrain as our baseball field. The street that dead-ends on the east side of Columbia was a natural for baseball. The tracks (and sometimes the Super Chief) often prevented baseballs from crossing the tracks and rolling all the way to Pecos Street.

Too many balls that our neighbor Don Archuleta sent over the tracks never returned, causing the majority of us to rule that “‘over the fence’ is out.” Continue reading →

If I have 11 pine nuts and I give you five, keeping six for myself, what do we have? We have a difference of a piñon.

What if our differences concern not quantity but time? My wife, Bonnie, and I have radically divergent conception of time, which I will now explain.

You see, I’m likely to say to Bonnie, “We haven’t seen Diana in two years,” to which my wife will reply, “It’s been more like 10 years.”

Who’s right? Well, let’s not go into that now, except to stress that I usually give her the benefit of the doubt. On one such occasion, we even looked it up and discovered that it had been closer to 10 years, but it wasn’t exactly 10 years, more like nine. Continue reading →

I don’t know whether my childhood friend remembers any of this, but for what it’s worth, this lesson is on redundancy.

Tony Lucero, about whom I’ve written before, was a fine baseball player. He made his way up from high school player to the Las Vegas Merchants, a local team composed mostly of out-of-high-school athletes like Nick DiDomenico, John Burns, Loyd Anderson, Chris and Adam Trujillo, Tony Serna, Casey Martinez, Ken Ludi and others (Sorry! I don’t have a ‘50s roster with me, and the risk of offending someone by an egregious omission often negates the good will one intends by mentioning others). I trust some reader will soon send me a complete roster.

And, in my circumlocutious way, I’ve given the impression that the column will be about baseball. No, it’s about redundancy. Here goes:

Back in the ‘50s, I joined the Merchants on a trip to Española for a baseball game. I went as the scorekeeper. After the game, the team manager treated us to hamburgers at a local restaurant. Continue reading →

It’s about a subtle facial expression, sometimes barely perceptible, but we all know it’s there. And it’s potent.

I’m referring to the raised-eyebrow syndrome that seems to have afflicted the Trujillo household. I’ll explain through the following narration:

My wife, Bonnie, was brought up reading Victorian novels, and now as a senior citizen, she enjoys various offerings on Channel 5, the PBS station, which shows “Masterpiece Theater” on Sundays and a complement of classical movies and mini-series based on the works of George Eliot, Jane Austen, Charlotte and Emily Bronte. An extremely popular series, Downton Abbey, also occupies my wife’s time — and sometimes even mine. Continue reading →

An experiment years ago on how children perceive worth yielded some interesting results — results based almost solely on the children’s economic status.

Here’s how it went: Children in the intermediate grades were asked to estimate the size of various coins, using a device that projected an image on a screen. The students were to adjust the aperture of the device, much in the same way a camera lens reduces and enlarges.

Is it any surprise that the kids from lower socio-economic backgrounds perceived the coins as larger than did those children whose families were better off financially? The lesson revealed, among other things, that money was dearer to the poorer kids.

But before we go too far into this numismatic foray, let me provide some disclosures: In my years in a parochial school, I resented those kids, usually from the more opulent parts of town, who flaunted their status; I seldom went to school with even a single coin in my pocket, even though I didn’t hesitate to ask Dad for “spare change” as I left for school; and finally, to me, money was worth so much more in those days. Continue reading →

It was in the early 1950s when then-President Dwight D. Eisenhower pushed through an act that created our Interstate Highway System.

With any new construction there are fears — usually economic — that whatever project is being undertaken, things will change. Not convinced? Read out-of-town newspapers that frequently contain articles of this group, or that group opposing the construction of a new Wal-Mart.

Fifty years ago, this newspaper published a full-page ad with the bold letters: What Would A Bypass Mean to You?” And an even bigger font used the word “Think,” followed by “About What A Bypass Would Do To Las Vegas’ Economy.” Continue reading →

Anyone who tries to learn a new language soon comes across words that are cognates, by definition, words that stem from the same source, as the German “ist” and the English “is.”

I’m sure many a language learner has tripped up on yet another form of linguistic confusion, as when two identical words in different languages spell the same, are pronounced differently and have different meanings. In a Spanish class in high school, I once tripped over “once,” which I thought meant “one time,” but which our teacher reminded me meant the Spanish “11.”

Additionally some constructions in this Las Vegas English-Spanish language bridge cause fits. We’re taught that “Jose” begins with an “h” sound but when we apply that rule to Jose’s girlfriend, Josie, we get laughed at. Continue reading →

BRANSON, MO. —The only things we ordered at an Irish pub in Branson, Mo., last week were a couple of chicken Philly sandwiches, a Ruben and spaghetti. It began as no big deal. But it grew.

Let me explain:

My son, Diego and his wife, Connie, joined Bonnie and me for lunch in downtown Branson. We were in the final days of a mini-vacation with the Coppock side of the family. We’d visited many restaurants, but never before had we been regarded with such obsequiousness. Never. We summoned the waiter to our sidewalk table, telling him we were ready to order our drinks.

Here’s how some of the exchanges went:

“Waiter!”

“Anon, anon, sir. I wish I could have arrived at your table five minutes before you needed me.” Continue reading →

“Nice going, Hemingway!” I thought to myself as this 230-pound body, tethered to a harness, sped down a slope called Inspiration Point, near Branson, Mo.

Imagine a 75-year-old man fantasizing about running with the bulls in Pamplona, Spain, a subject Ernest Hemingway wrote about, or in the style of George Plimpton, imagining that an average writer would play quarterback for the Detroit Lions, the inspiration for “Paper Lion,” a book and movie about such an accomplishment.

I was too busy to worry about thrusts, momentum, gravity, mass and velocity, as I sped down a long jet-line during our mini-vacation in Missouri Monday. Partially because of a dare from my young whipper-snapper sons, Adam and Diego, I attempted this half-mile-long zip-line trek.

I’d planned to observe the rides with the idea of writing about them, but the suggestion of my grandson and namesake convinced me. Yes, rather than simply write about it, why not do it, Pompah? Continue reading →