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Main Street

Roger on Main StreetWell-aged

Here’s a part of aging I like: For people my age, a good-sized chunk of history is within our living memory. I personally remember some of the Great Depression and all of WWII, including war bonds, ration stamps, VE Day and VJ Day.

Although not around for the Wright brothers’ first airplane flight, I was already approaching middle age by the time Neil Armstrong stepped onto the moon.

I remember walking to first grade. The newest cars that passed me that day were 1934 models. Looking back, it seems like a scene from a period movie.

Famous people, now passed on, were alive and working during the lifetimes of us old folks. Robert B. Parker and Dick Francis, two of my favorite authors, are gone now. I remember a young Joe DiMaggio, as well as Fess Parker, Peter Graves, Art Linkletter, Ernie Harwell, Jimmy Dean, Mitch Miller, Eddie Fisher, and Bob Feller.

Local people I knew for decades remain alive in my memory. Clarence Blakeslee is a treasured example.

People my age have a seasoned view of the world. I’m happy with my memories and recommend old age for everybody.

The blonde is back

“How come you’re late?” asks the bartender when the blonde waitress comes through the door.

“It was awful,” she explains. “I was walking down Elm Street and saw a terrible accident. A man got thrown from his car. He was lying in the street with a broken leg and a fractured skull and there was blood everywhere. Thank God I took that first-aid course.”

“What did you do?” asks the bartender.

“I sat right down,” says the blonde, “and put my head between my knees to keep from fainting.”

Personnel management

The CIA had an opening for an assassin. After the background checks and testing, three candidates remained: two men and one woman.

For the final hurdle, the CIA agents took one of the men to a metal door and handed him a gun. “We must know that you will follow your instructions, no matter what. Inside this room you’ll find your wife sitting in a chair. You have to kill her.”

“You can’t be serious,” said the man. “I could never shoot my wife.” The agent replied, “You’re not the right man for this job.”

The second man was given the same instructions. He went into the room with the gun. All was quiet for five minutes. Then he came out with tears in his eyes. “I tried,” he said, “but I can’t kill my wife.”

“You don’t have what it takes,” said the agent.

It was the woman’s turn. She was told to kill her husband. She took the gun and went into the room. Shots rang out. The agents outside heard screaming, crashing, banging on the wall. Then all was quiet. The door opened and there stood the woman. She wiped the sweat from her brow and said, “You guys didn’t tell me the gun was loaded with blanks. I had to beat him to death with the chair.”

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