On Father’s Day: Thanks, Dad!

I can’t believe I flunked the audition to get into the 6th grade chorus. Mrs. Wood went around the room listening to us sing, and I guess I wasn’t loud enough.

My father, a part-time opera singer, wouldn’t stand for it. He went to school and talked her into taking me. We sang at Christmas—I think they still did  religious Christmas carols in 1952

 I didn’t sing much again until I retired at age 67, inspired by my daughter’s high school chorus. I started with a church choir, then a gospel choir and then moved my way up to the prestigious City Choir of Washington and the Washington Men’s Camerata.

I was looking for some advanced choral music to practice with for the Camerata audition, when I came across my father’s choral books in a box that I received when he died. I carefully opened the box and thumbed through the books of songs, many of which I had heard him sing around the house. Often the high notes for tenors were accented by profanity when he couldn’t hit them. I tried the high notes and found that I could! I took out some of the dusty music and practiced with it as it brought back memories.

 

I passed the audition this time.

Thanks, Dad.

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Most writers I know are notoriously bad at math.  In ninth grade, when I was struggling with algebra, my father went to see my teacher. On the last day of school, I was stunned to find that I actually got a B in the class. As I walked out the door, the teacher came up to me and whispered: “It was a gift!” Thanks, again, Dad!

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My father, Philip Doan, never understood what I did for a living. If I wanted to be a journalist, he thought he would have to buy a newspaper company, which he couldn’t afford.

But he finally figured it out. In my late 30s I took out a $10 bill and said, “That’s where I work.” It had a drawing of the Treasury building, where I was the AP correspondent. You could even see my window in the Treasury press room.

Man, was he impressed! He would take out $10 bills from his wallet and show them to his friends. “That’s where Mike works,” he said proudly.

When I moved on but lost another job, he said, “Why don’t you go back to that place where you were on the $10 bill?” Maybe I should have done that.

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It’s summertime, kids. Time to jump in the pool! Uh oh, there’s no water in it! There are no public swimming pools in Halifax County!

Sure, there are private pools around, including the one at the YMCA. But It sure would be neat if there was a way to reopen the pool at Staunton River State Park. The State Park System doesn’t have the money to repair the pool. How can we get it fixed?

If Only I had Listened

Advice I wish I had taken:

 

When you are young, put your money in stocks listed in the Dow-Jones stock average. (Since I graduated from college in 1963, consumer prices have risen 800%, but the Dow Jones has gained 4,000%! Every dollar invested in 1963 would yield $4,000 today! Adjusted for inflation, that’s more than $1,000.) I would not do that in my 80s, though, because the markets can fluctuate.

 

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Drink plenty of water when you go on a bike ride to prevent dehydration.

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Howard Hughes is devouring land in Las Vegas. You should buy some while you are there.

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Stand up straight and don’t slouch. You will get bad posture in old age.

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Don’t eat snacks after dinner. They will make you fat.

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Put on sunscreen even on your arms. Otherwise, your skin will become fragile.

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Don’t get so stressed over little things. And don’t hold grudges. They just hurt you, not the person who made you angry.

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Take swimming lessons. You’ll never learn to do that on your own.

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What do you mean you can’t draw? Try it and maybe you will appreciate art more.

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As a child, don’t spend so much time alone. There are interesting people out there. And join the Cub Scouts!

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Value family above work.

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Travel the world while you are young. When you are old, it is too much of a hassle.

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Don’t let your wife help you with this list!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Advice I DID take:

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Get out of D.C. during the pandemic. Go to Southside Virginia, where it is safer.

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You should write a book. (“Riding the Media Wave.”)

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Don’t be a day trader. If a stock seems hot, it is probably too late already.

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Bike to work. It makes the two worst hours of the day spent commuting into the two best.

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Get eight hours of sleep. You will live longer.

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Avoid cigarettes. They will kill you.

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Find a good woman and make her happy.

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Enjoy children. They won’t stay young for long.

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Keep writing!

Mike Your Manners, Folks

Which side of the plate does the fork go on? How should you ask someone for a date? How do you stay safe on social media?

These are the kinds of questions Yvette Bethel answers for children throughout the region. And now adults, too.

 

Etiquette in the 21st Century? How quaint! I thought it went out with Emily Post and Miss Manners.

 

But Bethel charges ahead, preaching civility by holding etiquette classes at schools and recreation centers throughout the area through her All Forks LLC. (www.yvettesetiquette.net).

 

Children of all ages are shown a table setting and are asked to learn where everything goes. They go through various meal courses and are surprised to learn there are such things as a teacup and a saucer. They learn how to introduce themselves and start a conversation with a guest they don’t know well. And if you sneeze, cover your mouth and nose and say “excuse me.”

 

Children are told not to talk on the phone during dinner.  One boy took her advice and left his off the table at home, but his father was reluctant to stop talking on his own phone. The boy confronted him about the etiquette lesson. “We had a very nice conversation,” the boy told Bethel proudly at the next class.

 

 

When it comes to social media, Bethel focuses on safety. “I teach them not to accept a ‘friend’ request from just anybody, because you don’t know who’s out there,” she says. Their parents are encouraged to monitor their kids’ phone use. “No matter what you teach the children, it won’t work unless the parents are involved,” she says.

 

Bethel tries to get kids to put away their phones at bedtime. “Out of a class of 20, I was astounded to find that none of the kids did that,” she said.

 

For older kids, dating is a big topic. Bethel discourages boys from saying they are “getting with” a girl and instead says to call her a “friend.” Rather than focusing just on what the girl looks like, they should get to know her better. An invitation to go out should be preceded by some small talk.

 

Bethel, who once worked at Burlington Mills, has taught Sunday school for years at Laurel Grove Missionary Baptist Church in Sutherlin. A Halifax resident, she took on volunteer work, and on her son’s advice took on six foster children over time. She found that these kids needed training in such routine matters as grooming and table manners.

 

Bethel held a successful class at TJM Community Center and took online classes at IAP Career College to become a licensed etiquette consultant.  Then she went to public schools, community centers and even Averett University, where she taught foreign students American etiquette.

 

She is holding a Women’s Empowerment Tea Party at Washington Coleman Community Center on July 13. Contact her  allforks4life@gmail.com. Bethel also teaches cell-phone etiquette, self-grooming and how to be charitable. She holds workshops for various clients.

It must be hard to be married to an authority on etiquette (As a B&B spouse, trust me on this!) She told her husband, Linwood Bethel III, “I’m going to give you the same activity that I gave the kids. I said ‘When we go to the restaurant, I want you to put your phone away and I want you to observe and see how many people are actually talking.’ Now he’s more conscious and not talking on his phone.”

Young Love, Baseball and the Atomic Bomb

 

Only the classiest U.S. cities have two professional baseball teams. New York has the Yankees and Mets, Chicago the Cubs and the White Sox, and Los Angeles the Dodgers and the Angels. Oh, and Danville, Virginia, too, with the Otterbots and the Dairy Daddies.

 

What? How can that be? Yes, the Dairy Daddies of the Old North State League have started their season in the same arena in Dan Daniel Park used by the Otterbots of the Appalachian League. Both teams are made up of college players during their summer break. You’ll be hard -pressed to find any born I the last century.

 

What’s with these crazy names? Apparently, that’s the trend in minor league baseball now. Baseball is only part of the entertainment at these games. Who needs pricey Major League Baseball?

 

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My elementary school romance came in the third grade, when I fell in love with my teacher. I was really smitten.

Maybe it was mutual. The young Fairmont School teacher told my mother, “I wish I had a little boy just like Mike.” Aww!

I was so enamored that I memorized all of the state flowers for her, and I recited them in front of the superintendent of schools when he visited the class. I’ll bet my classmates were jealous. I couldn’t tell you what those flowers are today. I’ll bet I am even allergic to some of them.

We had a learning project about China. Really, in 1949, after the Communist takeover? That was pushing things. She took us to San Francisco’s Chinatown, and I had a lovely romantic lunch with her (and the other annoying third graders.) I should have bought her flowers, though I was too young to order champagne.

Then the bottom fell out! She got married! Arghh! My true love has forsaken me! Her new name was Mrs. Marston  (I don’t remember her maiden name.)

If the superintendent ever came back to class, I would have just declared to him, “She broke my heart!”

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News reporters are shown in movies and on TV as aggressive, combative people ducking in foxholes in wars. Or working all hours to bring down corrupt politicians. Or risking their lives to find the killer ahead of the police.

But some assignments can be fun and aren’t that hard. Take, for example, my coverage of nuclear explosions. You heard me right!

I experienced underground nuclear tests when I was the AP’s Las Vegas correspondent from 1968 through 1970. Suddenly the memories of U235 and U238 uranium in high school physics came back to me. I could actually explain an atomic bomb blast.

No, I didn’t go underground to report on these tests.  I sat at a bar at the Mint Hotel, the tallest building in Las Vegas at the time. When I felt the room shake, I called the Los Angeles bureau and said, “Release the bulletin. The bomb went off.” Then I would have another drink. The people in L.A. receiving my call were jealous and didn’t appreciate my style of reporting. I never won a Pulitzer Prize for my sterling stories.

Once, a visiting AP reporter from Boston joined me at the bar.  He was in Las Vegas to get a quick divorce. He started writing his own version: “Las Vegas buildings swayed like palm trees in a desert breeze.” Well, they didn’t, and I rejected it.

The last Nevada test was conducted in 1992. They were banned by a treaty in 1996. No more fun!

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Correction: In the column last week about Paco’s restaurant, I said Arrocha’s wife, Maribel Fragas, helps at the restaurant. She is actually co-owner.