Groceries

A consumer report survey of customers’ favorite and least favorite grocery stores was just published and the two grocery stores where I shop were on the top five and bottom five lists.

I wholly concur with the findings. 

Trader Joe’s was in the top five; actually, it was second from the top. I love my Trader Joe’s and I’m so fortunate to have one within walking distance. As a matter of fact, it’s a block from the church where I sing, so I hit TJ’s twice a week. 

The staff are ever so friendly. You can just tell that every employee is happy to be there and it shows. Also, there are plenty of staff on hand. If you find yourself searching for an item, a chirpy employee will magically appear to help. If check-out lines become the least bit crowded, a bell rings and several workers leap into place behind cash registers and beckon you into their queue. 

And the prices! Oh, you’ll love Trader Joe’s for the prices. Most of the items are their own brand, from the frozen foods to the wine, the prices are remarkably low. Frozen food entrees for $2.49 are common. Their wines are $2.99 a bottle and often score surprisingly high at wine tasting competitions. 

And there’s a whimsical side to Trader Joe’s that I enjoy. Italian food items will be under the name, “Trader Giotto’s”. Mexican will be “Trader Jose’s”. Their brand of Cheerios is “Joey-O’s”. Very cute, indeed. 

My Texan friends and family will soon have TJ’s opening up near them. Stores are already open in Dallas and Houston. One is opening in San Antonio very soon with plans for additional Texan stores to follow.

At the bottom of the survey is Jewel-Osco. I can vouch for that. 

When I need to go to a regular-type of grocery store, there’s a Jewel nearby. It’s crowded, messy, and their produce aisle is often picked clean. It’s not uncommon to find one lonely, bruised banana or just a few squished grapes available. Don’t bother looking for someone to assist. If you want something from the deli, be prepared to send up a flare in order to get their attention. When it’s time to check out, you may find a line so long that there are Cro-Magnons near the front of it.

As I write this, I have to laugh, though. 

Millions of people in Africa would be grateful for a meal of cold yam paste while typical Americans bang on their high chairs when we have to wait more than five minutes to pay for our bounty.

Missing My Chance at Fame

Do you remember those kiddy programs that would be broadcast from the local TV station every weekday afternoon when you were growing up? They were usually hosted by a local personality that kids adored, such as a clown, a Mister Rogers type, or in my case, a captain of a ship.

Captain Gus came on every afternoon at 4:00 pm and was broadcast from KENS-TV Channel 5 out of San Antonio. He had bright red hair, red mustache, would sit on this ship in the studio and begin the program with, “Ahoy there, little mateys!” Cartoons like Popeye and Bugs Bunny would be interspersed with Captain Gus entertaining us “little mateys” throughout the hour.

Of course, my younger brother and I loved to watch Captain Gus. It was like kiddie crack.

Next to Captain Gus’s ship  would be a dozen or so little kids sitting on bales of hay throughout the program. At one part, he would announce that we were going to “meet the mateys” and he would come around to each kid, one by one. Each “matey” would get to say their name, where they were from, and Captain Gus would usually ask them an interactive question or two.

At the end of each program, the good captain would let us know how we could be a matey on his show.

Oh my gosh, I wanted to be a matey! The kids looked like they were having such a good time and I wanted to be one of them. More than anything in the whole wide world, I wanted to be a matey on The Captain Gus Show.

After begging and pleading, my mom or my dad did manage to get me a “matey reservation” on the program. I was SO excited. I was five or six years old and I think my younger brother was too little to be a matey.

So, we drove the 70 miles to San Antonio and my dad took me inside the TV station. I was going to be a matey!

I remember it like it was yesterday. We walked into the studio and there was Captain Gus’s ship, the bales of hay where the matey’s sat, the bright lights, the TV cameras. . . .

. . . . And I totally freaked. I just lost it.

I wouldn’t let go of my dad’s hand. Tears and wailing ensued. I just couldn’t go through with it. It was all too much.

Maybe it never occurred to me that my dad would be in another room and I’d be alone with the mateys. Maybe I was afraid my dad wouldn’t be able to find me afterward and I’d be cast adrift on Captain Gus’s ship forever. Maybe the bright lights and big studio frightened me. Maybe I was shy and didn’t know any of these other kids. But whatever it was, there was no way I was letting go of my dad’s hand and sit on those bales of hay.

Anyway, I missed my big chance to be on TV. Afterward, I’d watch Captain Gus and his mateys with a pang of regret.

These were much braver kids than I.

Cities

Just some random thoughts about cities:

This is so clever: There’s a Starbuck’s next to every subway station in downtown Toronto. You come out of the subway, boom, there’s your coffee. BTW, “Tall, Grande and Venti” are the same in metric.

I’ve always wanted to live in Minneapolis. Maybe it’s because Mary Tyler Moore made it look so hip and glamorous when I was growing up. To me, “Minneapolis” means “cosmopolitan.”

I usually have a really good sense of direction and generally know which way I'm facing at all times. I come out of a subway, boom, east is that way. Except for when I’m in Seattle. I never know where I am or where I’m headed in Seattle. “The airport’s that way?”

Fifth Avenue in New York City and Michigan Avenue in Chicago are analogs of each other. Both of them run along the right side, lengthwise, of each city’s big parks as your heading out of town (Central Park and Millennium Park). Both have the ritzy stores where tourists like to shop.

I was born in San Antonio and spent a lot of time there growing up. It has the craziest layout of downtown streets of any city in America.

I still don’t know how to find my way around downtown San Antonio. It’s a miracle that the Mexican army was able to find the Alamo. I still have no idea where it is.

Chicago is laid out in a perfect grid with each city block measuring exactly one-tenth of a mile. If you’re at 6300 N. Clark, you’re exactly 63 blocks and 6.3 miles north of the center of downtown. If you’re at 4200 W. Division, you’re 42 blocks and 4.2 miles west of the center. That makes things easy. However, two main streets in Chicago are named “Chicago” and “Illinois.” Which is stupid.

I think Albany, NY has one of the most interesting skylines of any city in the U.S. It has these four, identical tall buildings and a flying-saucer shaped event center that is so very unique.

I used to drive through it quite often and would often find myself looking at its skyline rather than the highway.

The main part of Kansas City lies in Missouri. Only a small, scrubby suburb lies in Kansas.

Even though I grew up in Texas, I think the hottest I’ve ever been was in Des Moines while visiting an amusement park. It was 95 degrees, not a single breeze, and all that corn makes it extremely humid. Oh, and nothing is air conditioned in Des Moines. Nothing.

Even though I’ve traveled a lot, I’ve never been to any city in California. I’ve absolutely no desire to change that and can’t really say why.

I'd much rather go to Minneapolis. In January. Just like Mary Tyler Moore.

The Roller Coaster

Ah! A subject near and dear to my heart. They've certainly changed a lot over the years.

This was the coaster I grew up with, The Rocket, at Playland Park in San Antonio Texas.

See? Nice normal roller coaster.

And, now, we have a new one called Inferno in Spain.

God, I feel old.

The Rocket

Playland Park was an old fashioned amusement park near downtown San Antonio, which opened in 1947. I have an incredibly fond history with Playland Park.

I remember being about five or six years old and being amazed at their signature ride, a wooden roller coaster called The Rocket. To me, it looked like the most terrifying ride in the world.

I remember my dad and I watching the coaster and him explaining how it would gain enough speed from the first drop to make it coast up to the top of the second hill. I just thought that was the coolest thing ever.

My dad had grown up riding this same coaster and wanted to take me on it but there was no way I was going to get on it. Besides, I didn’t see any little kids riding it – only teenagers and the like – so I told my dad I would ride it when I was nine.

To me, nine years old seemed like “big kid” and, surely, I’d be brave enough to ride it then.

(I wasn’t)

Flash forward to 1972.

I was in the eighth grade and my mom took me and my friends to Playland Park for the day. All my friends were having a blast on The Rocket, but still, I was too afraid to conquer it. However, I got my best friend, Tim, to take my little pocket camera on board and snap this photo as it crested the lift hill.

A few days later when I got the photos developed, I was just amazed at the sight, looking down the first plunge of the terrifying ride. Frankly, I’m pretty amazed that the photo turned out this good, especially since a cheap little pocket camera had been used.

I love this photo.

Flash forward to 1980.

I was a junior in college and some friends of mine and I were in San Antonio for the weekend. Somehow, I convinced them to go to Playland Park for the day.

There, at the end of the midway was The Rocket, the source of my chickening out year after year. Finally, I rode the thing and just loved it.

I think I rode it about five times that day.

It’s a good thing I did, for the very next year, Playland Park closed forever and was abandoned. For several years after that, I’d drive past and see my old friend, The Rocket, becoming more and more weather beaten in the weeds.

Here’s a photo of what’s left of Playland Park in San Antonio.

I don't think there's anything more sad than an abandoned amusement park.

Epilogue: Strangely enough, the defunct old coaster was given new life. It was purchased by a small amusement park in Pennsylvania, dismantled piece by piece, refurbished and re-opened as The Phoenix. (A very appropriate name) It operates to this day at Knoebel’s Amusement Park in Elysburg, Pennsylvania.

Here's a photo of it after having been resurrected as The Phoenix:

I hear it still provides one hell of a ride.

One of these days, I’d love to go there and ride my old friend.

To me, it will always be The Rocket

The Rocket

I’ve been a roller coaster nut ever since I was five years old and saw my first coaster.

Playland Park was an old-fashioned amusement park near downtown San Antonio, Texas, where we were often taken as kids on weekends. At the end of the midway was the crown jewel of Playland Park: A wooden roller coaster named “The Rocket.”

The Rocket had been built in 1947 and stood about 80 feet tall; not a huge coaster by today’s standards, but it was definitely the main feature of the park. My dad had ridden it many times as a teenager and obviously had fond memories of it. I remember being about five years old when he took me around to the back of it where we could stand close to the first drop. A train of riders came clink-clink-clinking over the lift which seemed enormously high to me at the time. Then, whoooosh! It sped down the hill with everyone screaming and coasted up to the next. I stood there transfixed, in amazement. My dad then explained how the train gathered just enough speed from the first drop to make it to the top of the next hill; my first lesson in inertia. We stood there watching train after train speed around the wooden track.

I was hooked.

Of course, Dad asked if I wanted to ride it.

“Are you kidding me?” I thought. It looked absolutely terrifying. The ride seemed full of Big Kids; teenagers and the like. It was obviously too intense for the likes of a little kid like me. I'd ride the carousel, the little Ferris wheel and other kiddie rides, but the roller coaster was for Big Kids.

In my mind, nine years old seemed like a Big Kid, so I promised my dad I would ride it when I was nine.

Nine years old came and went. I was still too chicken to ride it then even though my dad reminded me that I’d promised to tackle it at that age.

When I was in the eighth grade, my mom took me and some friends for a day at Playland Park. Again, I was still too intimidated to ride the Rocket with all my friends. I remained watching them ride it over and over, seated on the same park bench where my dad and I had sat many years earlier.

However, I asked my best friend, Tim, if he’d take my little pocket camera and snap a photo from the front seat of the ride. It still have that photo to this day:

When I saw this terrifying sight, I knew I’d never ride The Rocket.

No way!

Flash forward to my junior year in college. . . .

I’d been visiting some friends in San Antonio for the weekend. That Saturday afternoon, we drove by Playland Park and just for fun, I suggested we head in for a while.

There it was. The Rocket. It didn’t look as big as when I was a little kid or in the eighth grade.

I was definitely a Big Kid now. . .

I bought a ticket and climbed on. . . .

That ride on the old, rickety roller coaster was one of the happiest, most exhilarating experiences I’d ever had. I remember cresting the top of the lift hill and looking down at that same park bench where I’d spent so many hours watching everyone else ride it.

It turned out that that summer was the last season for Playland Park. It closed just a couple of months after I’d finally conquered my beloved Rocket. The park was abandoned but the Rocket stood there for several years after that, silent and falling apart among the weeds.

I’d never get to ride it again. I’m so glad I finally did that one summer day in 1980.

Here are some pics of Playland Park having been abandoned many years ago: And the remnants of the carousel I rode as a little kid:
Epilogue:

It turns out that The Rocket was quite a popular coaster. In 1985, a small amusement park in Pennsylvania bought The Rocket, moved it piece by piece, re-assembled it, and re-named it “The Phoenix.”

The Rocket lives! It’s been thrilling riders ever since and, from what I hear, runs faster than ever.

If I ever make it to Pennsylvania, I’ll be sure to ride it. I’ll be the one waving to the little kid on the park bench; the one too afraid to ride.