The Optic’s 125th anniversary observance recently was a great opportunity to see acquaintances of yesteryear.
     It was great to see Margie Crespin, whose father Carlos was a pressman at the Optic when I was there. I saw Jose “Luger” Lucero, Max Maez, Eloy Gonzales, Freddie Baca and others.
     And I met a man almost my age whose face meant nothing to me, but whose name meant everything, for in the moment it took to identify himself, a torrent of memories surfaced.

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    After a series of single-topic columns, this one will run the gamut, be a sort of clearing house. It’s an occasion to take care of much pending business.
     So, to Cris Trujillo, I have not forgotten the idea of writing about what life was like in the O50s, from the perspective of someone who grew up in Old Town;
     To Mary Ann, an associate at Wal Mart, who chides me for ending too many columns with, “But that’s a topic for a future column.” I promise to write soon about some of those incidents that remain cemented in my cranial storage unit;

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    It’s like the double-take a person makes when passing an accident scene: we’re disturbed by the possibility of seeing blood, but we still turn our heads to look.
     In a similar way, I confess to listening to a lot of radio and watching TV that’s bothersome. It started in late 1999, when I took a job as a recruiter for the U.S. Census Bureau. That job kept me on the road six days a week, through six northern counties.

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    We visited another country last week: Santa Fe.
    Let me explain: A leisurely drive to and in Santa Fe isn’t what it used to be. It’s as challenging as racing around the “glorietas” in Mexico City, in which a curbed circle, filled with flowers, appears in the middle of busy intersections.
     Rather than using on- and off-ramps, traffic in Mexico City stays on one level (or at least it did when we visited): if you want to make a U-turn, stay in the inside lane; to go straight, take the middle lane and work your way around the glorieta, and if you’re turning right, stay on the right.

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    Great minds run along the same gutters.
    In this vein, it’s obvious that my mind got raided Wednesday as Optic Managing Editor Dave Kavanaugh wrote on a subject I had planned, all about how the media get embroiled in politics.
    No, we don’t exactly confer on what’s in the hopper for the week; yet I wonder whether it is possible that as I slept (at work) Dave was able to “read” my mind: or perhaps I talked as I dozed.

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    One hundred twenty-five years. That’s five-fourths of a centennial and five-sixths of a sesquicentennial. I don’t know the term for 125 years but wanted to slip in that overblown sesquipedalian term anyway.
     Saturday, employees of the Optic, dressed in their finest regalia, will observe the celebration, the details of which have been beslubbered over our pages for weeks. There’ll be booths, treats, fun, entertainment, speeches and a chance to meet the Optic staff.

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    Was there ever a busier day in Las Vegas than last Saturday? My family attended an afternoon wedding of a long-time friend, Carlos Lopez, who took Charlene Lovato as his bride, at Our Lady of Sorrows Church. At the same time, a wedding was taking place at Immaculate Conception Church. Earlier that day, throngs turned out to honor our returning guard members. Carnegie Library celebrated its 100th anniversary; the Citizens Committee for Historic Preservation conducted its old houses tours, and about 60 youngsters performed in the evening in the Missoula Children’s Theater production of The Frog Prince.

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    Presidential candidate John Kerry delivered a speech in Albuquerque in July. He was greeted by throngs of enthusiastic supporters and a number of detractors.
     Unobserved at first, anti-Kerry members of the crowd began clacking their sandals together, over their heads. The sound of the flip-flops was emblematic of the protesters’ opinion that Kerry “flip-flops” on issues, in particular first voting to send troops to Iraq, then opposing it. Facing crowd of detractors as well as supporters is the price public figures have to pay.

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    Was it a mistake to have waited so long to have grandchildren? A trip to Salvation Army yesterday to donate a huge load of “stuff” the grandchildren have accumulated in 2, 4 and 8 years, respectively, reminded me that somehow we got by in our youth with much less stuff. Yeah, I know. You’re thinking, “Here he goes again about his childhood deprivations compared to what people have today.” You’re right. But beyond being a “have-not” entering a “haves” society, I want to write mainly about shoes, or lack thereof.

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    “Let’s get that fat guy in the middle.” Splat! Right in the gut! “Now, Fluoride looks like he needs a whacking.” Thunk! Ah, the sound and feel of rubber smacking human flesh!
     Sweating like stuffed hogs, a large number of us filled the mini-gym at Immaculate Conception School to engage in an exciting and exhausting activity.

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