Monday, November 29, 2010

nugget # 12

The Diane McGuire in the following story, which was in a Checkers newsletter in 2004, is nowmy wife, Diane Donnelly.


The Hills are Alive with the Sounds of…
By Bill Donnelly

            A few weeks ago my running partner, who shall remain nameless, but whose initials are Diane McGuire, and I joined one Jesse Kregal while running a lap or two of Delaware Park.  Now Jesse is one of the Grand Old Men of Running, a title that only a very few hold, for you have to have been running since the day after Creation, and therefore you might have been good friends with Adam and Eve. 
Jesse has been the Timpanist for the Buffalo Philharmonic since 1970, and it was about that time he and fellow Philharmonic Flutist John Burgess, along with the Late, great running dentist Allen Gross, formed the Buffalo Philharmonic AC.  Jesse has been running ever since, and he still does quite well in the 70 to 74 age group.
Anyway, on this particular day a few weeks ago, as we were making small talk, the one who shall remain nameless, but whose initials are Diane McGuire, let out with a stupendous belch, but of course quickly followed by a contrite “excuse me!”  Jesse chuckled a bit, and I tried to smooth things over by pointing out that we runners can be a veritable symphony of sounds.  This got a much bigger chuckle from Jesse, who said he had to agree with me.
After that run, I got to thinking about my comment, and I soon came to the conclusion that there was definitely a story concerning this topic.  I mean, we runners can get pretty gross out there at times.  And not just the sounds we make and share as we run, but bodily fluids and projectiles that emanate from us.  I strongly contend that this is why we are never invited to participate in certain events.  How many runners did you see at Ronald Reagan’s funeral?  Were there any Harriers jaunting about at President Bush’s Inauguration?  And throughout the whole seventeen hours of the ceremony of Princess Diana’s wedding to Prince Charles, not a single singlet was to be seen on some fleet footed Peer.
And there are reasons for this.  We can be soooo disgusting.  We tend to get sweaty and smelly, we spit constantly without a how do you do, and those playful little projectiles we fondly refer to as “snot-rockets”.  Whoo-Boy, no wonder Princess Diana put her foot down when Charlie wanted to invite his running friend, Camilla Parker Bowles, to the wedding. 
By the way, when we were in Utica for the Boilermaker this year, one of the Belle Watlings saw a flyer for a local concert featuring a band called, and I’m not making this up, The Snot Rockets.  We figured they were runners gone bad who formed a punk band.
What’s nice about running is that it is so equal, no matter what gender a runner may be.  We all do these things.  Yeah, I know there are those few runners who can be running in 95 degree humid weather, and their hair is always in place and their makeup never runs.  Fran Emerling is one such runner.  Come to think of it, so was Camilla Parker Bowles.  Maybe that’s what Charlie saw in her. 
A few even pretend that they are different.  The first time I ran with one young female runner who shall remain nameless, but whose initials are Julie Doell, (Ha, you thought I was going to say Diane McGuire, but remember, I said a “young” female runner – oh oh, I didn’t really just say that, did I?  Please, nobody show this newsletter to Diane McGuire, ok?).  Oh yeah, so this young nameless female tells us that she can’t spit when she runs!  And she’s been running for about twenty years, which means she must have started when she was about three.  And she can’t spit when she runs.  OK.
Now to get to the noises.  Of course you have your burps, your sneezing, and your wheezing, your heavy breathing, and your tummy-growls.  (Gee, that could describe a certain someone that I know, who shall remain nameless, as she sleeps – really guys, DO NOT SHOW THIS NEWSLETTER TO Diane McGuire, OK!)  You also have a whole multitude of sounds that your snot-rockets make, from the first explosive honk, the buzz-bomb like noise it makes traveling through the air, to the kerplunk as it lands on the back of the neck of your intended victim.  (I’m just kidding about any of us runners ever aiming at anybody – so if number 739 from the Boilermaker is reading this, I wasn’t really trying to hit you on the neck!)  (DO NOT SHOW THIS NEWSLETTER TO NUMBER 739 – OK!)
Now, none of “these” noises are really all that embarrassing, at least not to us runners.  But there is that certain sound that once in a while escapes from the nether-regions of the body that most of us go to great pains to prevent.  You know the sound.  Some male runners I’ve run with would refer to it as “the moose are calling”, or “the geese are migrating early”, or “who cut the cheese?”  We guys have a way with words when we get together. 
I mean, it is just a natural function of the body; it’s just that in polite society, it’s not done.  You certainly didn’t hear anybody doing it at Ronald Reagan’s funeral, or at President Bush’s Inauguration, or for that matter, I heard not one “toot” during the whole seventeen hour ceremony of Princess Diana’s wedding to Prince Charles.  I understand another reason Princess Diana put her foot down was that Camilla Parker Bowles is known to be quite the flatulator, a talent she learned from running.
This sound is only embarrassing when males and females get together.  For some reason, we do not want members of the opposite sex thinking that such harmonic noises could possibly be created by anything other than flapping ones arm while holding your hand under your armpit.  In fact, when it is just a group of the guys running together, the quality and quantity of baritone sounds being put forth would amaze Leonard Bernstein, were he still alive.  I’m sure this is true when you ladies run together; only the pitch is much higher.
The real problem arises when men and women begin running together, which happens quite a bit these days.  Everything can be going along quite well, all loosey-goosey, you know, very relaxed.  But if you pay attention, you will start to notice a runner, maybe two, who seem to be running with a tighter expression on their faces.  If you look lower, you will notice a tighter expression on their butt-cheeks too.  Pretty soon the whole group might be running tighter, and coming up with excuses as to why the rest of you should run ahead while he or she stretches a tight tendon.  Listen sister, we all know it aint your tendon that’s tight.
I must tell you, all this is not healthy.  Runners start to develop stomach problems similar to those side affects most drugs advertised on TV can possibly create in a small percentage of those taking said drugs.  And remember when your mom would say do not make that face or it might stay like that?  Well, scientific studies have shown that the tight, sour look one gets when trying to keep nature from taking its course can become permanent.  The same is true for that tight running style, so be safe and just let it rip!
But I must say, all this talk of such things reminds me of a time I ran with a certain girl away back in about 1976.  Ha!  I bet you thought you could get through one of my stories without a Back in the Day routine, didn’t you.  Sorry, no such luck. 
Anyway, this young lady was named CeeCee, as in Rider, but I do not remember her last name.  She burst onto the scene in 1975, having been a pretty good high school runner, and she held her own in the marathon, hitting close to .  Pretty good for a girl back then, but what I liked was she was cute too.  Being the shy guy I’ve always been, however, I never approached her just to talk and try to get to know each other.
My big chance came one beautiful spring day as I was running alone in Delaware Park, and who should appear in the distance coming towards me but CeeCee, and she was alone, and she turned and joined me.  Oh happy day!  Until the burrito I had for lunch 45 minutes before caught up to me (I do have a cast iron stomach and can eat anything before running – just ask that certain someone who shall remain nameless – oh wait, don’t do that, she’ll want to see this newsletter –ok?) 
I also have a cast iron memory for details from Back in the Day, as you may have noticed, so I do remember exactly how the run went.  We were at the top of the hill near the statue of the hippy and his wolf and heading towards the police station.  I will now write what exactly transpired for you, with what I was thinking in parentheses, and what she said in italics, so it should be easy to follow.  Here Goes:
“Hi Bill, gosh, you are looking strong and good!”
(Holly Smokes!  Come on Bill, a good comeback!)
“You Too.”  (Duhhh!)
“Those legs of yours look so strong and fine.  I bet you could keep going for hours!”
“Running is fun.”  (Double DUHHHHH!)
“I sure would like to feel those legs to see how strong they really are!”
“Running is fun.”  (Take me now Lord!)
“I think you might just wear me out!”
“Do you like running?”  (OH OH!   That burrito is making noise.  Gots to hold it in!)  “Toot”  (Oh God!  I hope she didn’t hear that. I got to make it to the bathroom.)  “Hey, why don’t we pick up the pace a bit?”
“Sure, I’ll do whatever you want!”
“Great!”  (Too far to go!  Tighten-up!)  “Friipp”  (Oh no!  She must have heard that)  “FRAAPP”  (Just 100 yards to the bathroom, I can make it!)  “Bippity-boppity-Boo”  (Just in time!)
“I’ll be a minute, so if you want to run ahead, just go as FAR as you want!”  “POOT”
“I’ll just wait for you here by the door of the bathroom.  I need to stretch my tendon.”
(Thank God, and there’s toilet paper too!  I just wish she would move away from the door!  Oh, sweet release!)   “A WOP BOP A LOO BOP! A LOP BAM BOOM!”   (My word, she will surely be a mile away by the time I get out of here.  But wait, what do I see, is she waiting there for me?  Ohhh, OOHHH, Pretty Woman.)
And that is exactly how I remember that run.  You don’t think I would embellish on it, do you?  I do practice honest journalism, you know.  Oh yeah, nothing ever came of us, for as we were finishing the run, she “TOOTED” quite loudly, perhaps a sympathy toot, I’ll never know.  It’s just that Back in the Day, how could any self-respecting man go out with such a girl.  I just knew that if I did go out with her, I’d never be invited, as a couple, to Lady Di’s wedding.  (Remember, DO NOT SHOW THIS NEWSLETTER TO LADY DI ane McGuire, OK?)

     
           




 

Monday, November 15, 2010

nugget #11

This was a piece I wrote a very long time ago.
 
 
Checkers AC fields two teams in Sunday’s foot-bike-canoe race in Auburn
By Bill Donnelly
As appeared in The Buffalo Rocket
Wednesday, August 9, 1978

The Checkers Athletic Club, named after the famous meeting hall of the Belle Watling AC, is training two teams to compete in a unique relay race to be held this weekend in Auburn, NY.  The four person teams, one entirely women, the other men, will be competing in a variety of activities.
The first member of each team will lead off by running five miles.  The next member must then pedal a bike for 20 miles.  The final leg of the race will be the two remaining members teaming up in a canoe and paddling four miles.
The Checkers women’s team will be led off by Barbara Halm, then Sharon Caher on bike, and the sister team of Martha Dragoo and Nancy Miesczak in the canoe.  The men will have Alex Trammell running, Randy Halm and Mike Miesczak canoeing, and an ace cyclist on the bike.
In order to prepare for the race and generally get team members better acquainted, Alex and Mary Trammell threw a bit of a get-together this past Friday evening.  The party, attended by team members and friends, included a wine-tasting contest, swimming, a canoeing demonstration and fashion show.
The wine-tasting competition was held during a lovely 13 course dinner.  It is rumored that for desert the table setting was designed by the defensive front-four of the Green Bay Packers.
Dinner was followed by swimming, with Alex being first in the pool.  The fashion show was held during the swimming.  Martha Dragoo, Nancy Miesczak, Barbara Halm, Sue Jordan and Mary Trammell all modeled the latest in swimwear.
Later in the evening, Mike Miesczak gave a demonstration in canoeing.  Mike showed the proper way to place a 19 foot canoe in a 20 foot pool, how to enter the canoe from the diving board, and how to make quick tight turns.
Other entertainment was provided by Randy Halm, who stayed at the piano much of the evening.  Joe Jordan, titular head of Checkers AC, did magic tricks, including his very popular disappearing act.
Tom Donnelly was the token Belle Watling invited to the party, thus insuring the party’s success.  Tom and Alex Trammell staged a brief foot race along
Summit Ave.
for the guests.
Mr. Donnelly and Mr. Trammell were also involved in a type of shoving contest involving a door.  It was reported the door lost. 
Being athletes in training who must get up by in order to work out, marked the end of the party.  It is untrue that the wail of sirens heading towards Summit had anything to do with the party’s breaking up.

The above article, which appeared on page 10 of The Buffalo Rocket, was inspired when my brother, Bill Donnelly’s brother Tom Donnelly, told me all about the party he had gone to the night before, which was Friday, August 4.  I probably wheedled it out of him when I noticed he was looking mighty green around the gills, if you know what I mean.  It was quite a tale, and I knew I had to write about it for the Rocket, whose editor was Sharon Caher, a friend of mine and a participant at the party. 
I had already written a few things for her and she was interested in me trying my hand out in writing something more along the lines of the society columns which appeared in The Courier Express and The Buffalo Evening News.  Sharon figured the readership of her paper (both of them) would love to know what was happening in the High Society of North Buffalo, and what says High Society more than a Checkers AC party?
I took the facts as they had been related to me by Tom and put them into the language of the society columnist.  I learned this special, almost secret code when I took a journalism course at Buffalo State a few years before.  Swear on a Bible!  Society folk like their goings-on written in a code only they know so we peons cannot really know what is happening at their high-falutin parties.  Like we really care.   
Unless you are a member of High Society (Is their blood really Blue?) you probably do not know how to read between the lines of such columns, for why would you have ever bothered to read them.  So for you readers of the Checkers Chatter (all three of you) who have regular red blood, I will decode the above article.  I will put what I wrote in italics followed by what it means in bold print.  Read on if you care.

·        The Checkers Athletic Club, named after the famous meeting hall of the Belle Watling AC – This is just for those of you who didn’t know this little known fact.
·        The men will have Alex Trammell running, Randy Halm and Mike Miesczak canoeing, and an ace cyclist on the bike. – The ace cyclist was Jimmy Lanz, but since he wasn’t a runner or a member of Checkers at the time, why include his name.  He’s not part of Our Crowd!
·        Alex and Mary Trammell threw a bit of a get-together this past Friday evening. – Their folks were out of town, and since they (the folks) had a swimming pool at their fancy/smancy house, Alex and Mary had the party there.
·        included a wine-tasting contest, swimming, a canoeing demonstration and fashion show. – I’ll get to each of these items.
·        The wine-tasting competition was held during a lovely 13 course dinner. – There was a whole snot-locker full of wine consumed at the beautifully laid out dinning room table.
·        It is rumored that for desert the table setting was designed by the defensive front-four of the Green Bay Packers. – By the end of the meal, empty wine bottles were everywhere, and the table was a mess.
·        Dinner was followed by swimming, with Alex being first in the pool. – The drunken louts threw poor Alex into the pool fully clothed.
·        The fashion show was held during the swimming.  Martha Dragoo, Nancy Miesczak, Barbara Halm, Sue Jordan and Mary Trammell all modeled the latest in swimwear. – The dames, being a bit sloshed and hot on this August evening, stripped down to their skivvies, joined in the swimming, and got wet.
·        Later in the evening, Mike Miesczak gave a demonstration in canoeing.  Mike showed the proper way to place a 19 foot canoe in a 20 foot pool, how to enter the canoe from the diving board, and how to make quick tight turns. – After enough wine, why not get the canoe off the car and start paddling around the pool with it.  Swear on a Bible!
·        Other entertainment was provided by Randy Halm, who stayed at the piano much of the evening. – Having helped throw Alex into the pool, Randy hid under the piano to keep the same thing from happening to him.
·        Joe Jordan, titular head of Checkers AC, did magic tricks, including his very popular disappearing act .- Pretty much the same as with Randy, only no one knew where Joe hid.
·        Tom Donnelly was the token Belle Watling invited to the party, thus insuring the party’s success. – This goes without saying, but society columnists are known to be long-winded.
·        Tom and Alex Trammell staged a brief foot race along
Summit Ave.
for the guests. – Tom was in his underwear by now, as was Alex, and Alex actually chased Tom down Summit in an effort to throw him into the pool.  The neighbors loved it I’m sure.
·        Mr. Donnelly and Mr. Trammell were also involved in a type of shoving contest involving a door.  It was reported the door lost. – Tom tried hiding from Alex in a bedroom, and when discovered, Alex broke the door down getting at Tom.  Swear on a Bible!  Joe Jordan, who was under the bed, saw it all.
·        Being athletes in training who must get up by in order to work out, marked the end of the party. – The wine ran out early.
·        It is untrue that the wail of sirens heading towards Summit had anything to do with the party’s breaking up. - The wine ran out early.

            So now you know the rest of the story.  I gave it to Sharon, and she was able to confirm everything that I wrote was true, since she had been there, and being a newspaper editor, she fully understood the secret language of the society column.  Yet she did give it to her husband, Jim Caher, a lawyer who was Deputy Corporation Council for the city of Buffalo.  Once he read it through carefully to make sure The Buffalo Rocket could not be sued for libel or slander, he gave it the thumbs up, and the article was printed.
            Let me tell you, it was so well received by almost everyone.  That is, everyone who was not at the party.  Most of the party goers took it good naturedly, at least my brother did.  A couple people were a bit put off, and there are those who haven’t spoken to me since.  As most of these folks are not in Checkers anymore, I finally feel safe putting the article out there again.
            I was never asked to write another society column again.  I just don’t understand it.  And what’s more, I’ve never been invited to a party at Alex and Mary Trammell’s parent’s house, ever!  Not even for a pool party!  Swear on a Bible!  

Monday, November 8, 2010

nugget #10

This is the second of two nuggets I wrote which was banned from the Checkers newsletter, which led to me not writing for them anymore.  Is it really so bad?


I Suspect Her Mom
by Bill Donnelly

                A couple years ago a certain local journalist, who shall remain anonymous for my article, but whose initials are B.B. (not to be confused with Michael Beebe, whose place he took), mentioned in his running column in The Buffalo News that at an area road race a woman surprised everyone by winning the contest over all other runners, men included.  I forget most of the particulars, except that he mentions that the winner, who ran the 5K in 18 minutes and change, beat the next woman, Carrie Geise, by three minutes.  Carrie is a friend of mine, and I thought tough luck finally getting your name mentioned in one of “B.B.’s” running columns only because you were so slow you wound up that far behind the winner.
                When next I saw Carrie, I asked how she felt about this fact, and she was a bit upset because it had been the worst race she had run in quite a while.  I told her I understood how she felt, and that I would never point out in one of my articles the fact that she ran such a miserable race, and that she was three full minutes behind the first place girl, even if that girl won the race overall.  I mean what a thing to point out.  Whoops, did I just point out that same sad fact in this column?  Dang, I wish I knew how to erase stuff when I make such a blunder while writing on my computer. I of course have tried using White-Out, but that just messes up the screen.
                Oh well, I’ll just get to the point of why I mentioned the fact of this girl coming in first overall in what “B.B.” pointed out was a very rare occurrence.  I just wish I hadn’t embarrassed Carrie by mentioning her coming in three huge minutes behind the winner.  I just don’t want to be accused of being politically incorrect again.  Not that I get accused of that very often.  I, like many people, think political correctness is sometimes carried to extremes, and the last time I was accused of being politically incorrect, it took a heavy toll on me, both mentally and financially.
                You see, when I first moved back to Buffalo seven years ago, I left teaching behind and thought to follow my passion for cooking by opening a restaurant which was located at the corner of
Clark St
and
Kent St
over by the Broadway Market.  Now, I try to be politically correct at all times, as those who know me well will attest to, but the firestorm of accusations that followed my planned opening almost made me give up on ever again trying to follow my dreams.
                To help me, I started by hiring a Colored cook who came highly recommended.  His name was Stanley Buttski, and he was famous for starting the “Colored Chef School of Cooking”, which got its name because of the many colorful dishes he made.  His creations were a veritable rainbow of colors.  Then I bought me a Chinaman to work out front.  The Chinaman was actually a life-sized porcelain figure of Chef Boy-Ar-Dee dressed in a chef’s outfit, and I placed him by the front entry-way as sort of a silent greeter of the customers.
                Next I hired two girls to be my waitresses, who were Stella and Mandy.  Now I must tell you that when I first thought of describing why I hired these girls, if I did so in my usual straight-ahead blunt manner, some sensitive readers out there might misconstrue what I mean, so I have rethought what I was going to say.  This is, after all, a family newsletter.
               Here goes.  I hired Stella because she has two big earthenware jugs she would let me handle as I wished.  You know the kind of jugs, the kind you see hillbillies blowing into when playing in jug-bands, that is, after those galutes have finished drinking the moonshine out of them.  Well, Stella let me display her jugs in the restaurant for the obvious ambiance they brought to the place.
                Now Mandy didn’t work out, but I originally hired her because of the beautiful cute donkey she had, but Mandy was always late for work, which was in part because of that terrific donkey of hers.  You see, Mandy rode to work on her donkey, and let me tell you that despite it being one gorgeous donkey, it was so slow, and that was why Mandy was always late.
                Now if you do not quite understand why I had to be careful in describing these two waitresses and why I hired them, ask Checkers member Anne Reif.  She just knows me and how my usual straight talking way can make what is meant to be totally innocent sound like something else.  She especially will understand about the donkey.
                But anyway, back to my being labeled politically incorrect, which puzzles me to this day.  I got around to putting up the sign with the name of my restaurant just before the grand opening.  I called my place The P.E.T.A. Lounge, and in exquisite hand-scripted writing below the name, I had the full name that the initials stood for.  P.E.T.A. simply meant People Eating Tasty Animals.  And what menu specials I had.  We featured all sorts of rare and exotic dishes, some so rare because the creatures the recipes called for were so-called endangered species.  I figured better let the populace get to at least taste and enjoy these animals before they disappeared from the face of the earth.  What a shame that would be, no, what a crime that would be.
                We had great specials planned too.  One was polar bear stew, which was pricey, but if you ordered it, you would get a free pair of mittens and a hat made out of the fur of the very bear you were eating.  And the Siberian tiger goulash, I mean, who wouldn’t want a beautiful tiger skin rug for in front of the fire-place?
                But then this group I never heard of came along.  It just so happened they were called P.E.T.A. also, and as they had the name first, I figured maybe they had a legitimate beef with me, so I told them I would change my restaurant’s name to P.E.R.T.A., which would stand for People Eating Rare Tasty Animals.  Now, I don’t know what this group’s agenda was or why they now seemed even angrier than a bull being neutered with dull scissors, but they screamed political incorrectness at me everywhere they could.  And wouldn’t you know it, if one howls loud enough like a dog tied to the back end of a bus that’s going down the street, somebody ends up listening.  I got shut down before I even opened for business, and my dream was deader than a sack of kittens attached to the exhaust pipe of a car. 
                So don’t talk to me about political correctness!  Anyway, back to the point about the woman who won the race, in which she beat everyone, including what must have been one big group of girly-men.  Political incorrectness indeed!
                Well, Back in the Day (I bet you all missed that saying), which was held some time in July, 1978, the Belle Watlings sponsored a 10K race that took place at Spraguebrook Park.  Called the Sully/Brown Memorial Classic, the race started on a road, but quickly went into the woods, and the runners followed trails over brooks, tree roots, hills and dales, and then ended on a big grassy field.  It was unlike any other race in the area, and today’s trail runners would have loved it. 
                The race was run in honor of the two grand old men of the Belle Watlings, Dick Sullivan and Olcott Brown, who had both just turned 50 that month.  These days 50 years of age seems like nothing, but Back in the Day any runner older than that seemed to be one step away from the grave, thus the title Memorial Classic.  Sully, the founder of the Belle Watlings, is of course still running strong in his early 80s, but Orky Brown unfortunately passed away a few years ago.
The first running of this difficult race was on a typically warm July day, and the winner was Pete Edwards with a time of 34:02.  I came in 20th out of 145 entrants with a time of 38:38, and two places and three seconds behind me was Susan Schaefer, the first woman.  Sue beat the next woman, whom I shall not embarrass as some writers do by mentioning her name, but whose initials are Jane Chyndweth (oops, I wish I knew how to erase that) by over six minutes.  See Carrie, three whole minutes wasn’t so bad (oops again).  Darn, I so want to seem to be politically correct.          
                Anyway, I didn’t know Sue Schaefer; she was a 19 year old dame (oops) who had just burst onto the local running scene.  She was a babe (oops) who was quite the looker (oops), and if I had known she had such beautiful gams (oops) I would have let her pass me early so I could follow her and get a good rear view of her (oops).
                The real story took place at the second running of the Sully/Brown Memorial Classic in July of 1979.  I remember it was a hot day, but I was running well on that occasion.  I went into the woods in good shape, and by my calculations I was running in fifth place.  As I said, it was hot, and the terrain was getting to me, and with a little over a mile to go, who passes me but Sue Schaefer.  As I’ve mentioned in other articles about running Back in the Day, there were not many gals (oops) running then, and rarely was I passed by a member of the weaker sex (double oops).  I could say that in those days it didn’t bother me to be passed by a skirt (oops), but as my competitiveness made me hate to be passed by any runner, let alone a hot momma (oops), I would be lying.
                I didn’t like it, I’ll admit to that, but I had nothing left in me to do anything about it.  I settled in, as did Sue, and I stayed about 30 yards back of her.  We came out of the woods onto a road which quickly dead-ended at a cross road.  There were no signs there pointing which way to go, I just remember a fire truck sitting there for some reason.  I saw Sue stop and look both ways trying to figure which way to go, and as the leaders were out of sight, she guessed to turn right.  I followed her, and at that point we were about a half mile from the finish.  We turned onto the big grassy area and could see the finish a quarter mile away.  I kicked it in, as did Sue, and I finished with a respectable 37:14, exactly 12 seconds behind Sue.
                Going through the finish chute, friends came up and were pounding me on the back in congratulations, as if I had run the race of my life.  A short time later I realized why, as the four guys who had been leading the race crossed the finish line a few minutes behind me.  Turns out that when they got to the fire truck with half a mile to go, an older woman (to this day I wonder where Sue Schaefer’s mom was on that day) was standing there pointing them in the wrong direction, and off they went for some extra distance.  The things these lads had to say about this state of affairs would definitely not be considered politically correct by anyone’s standards, and certainly could not be repeated in this family friendly newsletter.
                So finally you may see my point in bringing up the race “B.B.” mentioned a couple years ago in which a woman won the race.  Back in July of 1979, perhaps for the first time in Western New York, and perhaps for the first time anywhere, a woman, Sue Schaefer, won a co-ed race, and wouldn’t you know it, I have the distinction of being the guy who came in second.  At least I can say I finished with a good view of the winner (oops, I better try me some of that White-Out again and see if it doesn’t work this time!).  I try so hard to be politically correct at all times, as those who know me will attest to.   
               





 

Monday, November 1, 2010

nugget #9

This is an piece I wrote shortly after October 13, 2006.  We in Buffalo awoke to two feet of heavy, wet snow, that combined with the fact the trees here still had their leaves on, made for quite the mess.  Most trees suffered major damage from the heavy snow taking down branches, and sometimes whole trees.  The area lost thousands of trees, streets were blocked, and almost everyone lost power for days, if not weeks.  Thus, the following story.


The Big Lie
By Bill Donnelly

            As you read this article, the thoughts of snow and the cold of winter cannot be far behind you, nor is the vision of the coming winter not so distant.  That’s because we live in Buffalo, and let’s face it, winter is one very long season here.
            Have you ever heard Buffalonians declare they would hate to live in a city like Los Angeles because the weather is too predictable, and that such a climate would become boring?  Yeah, right!  Like who could possibly handle 85 degrees and sunshine almost every day of the year.  I’m always hearing denizens of our fair city (and I plead guilty to doing this) say that they enjoy all the different seasons, and would never want to live elsewhere, and besides, we do not have to deal with all the natural and unnatural disasters other locales have to put up with.
            First off, let’s examine the part about natural disasters we do not have to deal with.  This is true, and I will now list the typical events we read about and explain why we in Buffalo do not suffer from them.  Let’s start with some that hit around the vicinity of Los Angeles.  Foremost are the wild fires, and we do not have these because all the snow we have almost year round helps suffocate them before they can start.  And how about those pesky mudslides?  Why, mud can’t slide if it’s frozen.  No threat of tsunamis because Lake Erie is usually frozen, thus no tidal waves.  The earthquakes that cause tsunamis and other destruction can’t happen because the ground is too frozen to crack.  And finally, what of Paris Hilton?  Why, she would never visit here, and I have this on good authority, because she would never be caught dead wearing long-johns, let alone underwear, so she is one of those unnatural disasters we never have to fear.
            Other natural disasters we do not get include floods (if we get six feet of water covering our city, it slowly melts causing little damage), hurricanes (we actually do get these, we just call them blizzards), and tornados (like Paris Hilton, ever hear of a tornado wearing long johns?).  So fine, we do not suffer these natural disasters, but we are way too cold to care.
            Now to the big lie, which is that we all enjoy the different seasons we get in Buffalo.  Oh really now!  What about spring, which is almost non-existent here, and what we do get is cold and rainy.  Summer, especially for runners, is usually too hot and humid.  Fall is nice, except when those beautiful colored leaves come down still attached to the tree branches under two feet of snow.  And as for winter, let’s face it; winter is just too darned long around these parts.  The old joke that Buffalo has only two seasons, winter and July 4th, is just not that far from the truth.  After all, how many months of the twelve can we get snow around here?
            I know, I’ll go through the month’s one at a time to figure this out.  We’ll start at the beginning with January.  I feel safe to say we would all agree that we can expect cold and snow during this frigid month.  I remember running in January Back in the Day when I was training for my first Boston in 1974.  In those days I ran my 16 miles a day no matter what.  Neither snow, freezing rain, blizzards, my girl friend, Eleanor, nor time of day could stop me from getting my oh so many miles in.  At that time in my life I made my living as a substitute teacher.  Not much of a living in that, so in 1974 I also worked picking up and delivering tax forms for 24 offices of a tax preparing firm that shall remain nameless, but whose initials are H&R B.  This endeavor would take me four hours, so on days I also taught (or at least survived the kids) I would not get home till eight at night.  Yet running I would go.
            I would spend no time stretching in those days, but by the time I put on seven layers of cotton shirts and sweats, and four layers of long johns and sweatpants, usually with some old socks pinned inside the front of the pants to prevent frost-bite to certain delicate body parts (THANK GOODNESS for modern protective running wear), it would be 8:30 before I was out the door heading for eight laps around the Delaware Park Meadow (which we call Ring Road now).  I remember that January night I first did this clearly, for it was bitter cold, with no wind or clouds.  Heading around the park with the snow crunching beneath my Tiger Bostons, I was totally alone with only my daydreams of winning the Boston Marathon to keep me going.
            Just as I was passing by the zoo near Colvin, the nearby howl of a wolf shook me to my soul, for even as a boy growing up on the prairies of Minnesota, I had never heard such a terrifying sound, for wolves were long gone there.  What a noise it was, and what feelings it leaves one with when one is not expecting it.  My next lap was probably the fastest I ever ran, and I was probably wondering how I would clean my long johns later.  Yes, there is nothing like those cold dark nights of January.
            Next we look at February.  It doesn’t snow a whole lot in this month because even snow knows not to come out when it’s so cold.  The Seneca Indian words for February are “scajacquada ana keemosabe”, which when literally translated means “the moon when even a horse’s pitoot knows to stay in the wigwam or casino to stay warm.”
            March is just the most depressing month of them all.  The temperature finally starts to get above freezing, but this is usually accompanied by freezing rain.  Then you get a real glimmer of hope when you have a warm breezy day of 65 degrees, only to be followed by a day with a howling snow storm, which is nature’s way of reminding you winter is long from over.
            April showers are often in the form of snow, and the only really warm day a Buffalonian will see is if he or she is running the Boston Marathon, and then you have a 50% chance of roasting in the heat of a sunny hot day. And here comes May, and one hopes for no more snow.  But wait, I seem to remember coming to Buffalo the first weekend of May back in 1989 in order to watch my brother Tom run in the Buffalo Marathon.
            Tom was in particularly good shape for this marathon, having trained under the direct guidance of Jeff Galloway back before Jeff dumbed down his training advice to reach a wider, more lucrative audience.  Tom and the others he trained with were doing up to 13 one-mile repeats at a pace, and they had as long as 30 mile runs, hitting the 26 mile mark at 2 hours and fifty-six minutes.  Tom was truly ready to try and conquer what to him was the most sought after trophy, the coveted Donnelly Cup, which goes to the Donnelly with the fastest marathon time.  Tom hated that I held it, and even though Tom’s PR of was a full half-second per mile slower than mine, he had unrealistic dreams of glory for that marathon in 1989.  Unfortunately for Tom, Buffalo’s own Mother Nature has a sick sense of humor, and had other plans for Tom.
            Tom awoke that May morning to find close to six inches of wet, sloppy snow on the marathon course.  No one ran well that day, and Tom was no exception, for his legs tightened right up from the snow he had been kicking onto his tights, and he dropped out after the half-way point, having realized his dream of ever owning the Donnelly Cup was forever dashed.  His six year old son Paul looked at the anguish and disappointment on his dad’s face, and even at such a young age, he understood and vowed then and there to some day try to wrest away the cup from his Uncle Bill, and he started on the quest when he ran his first marathon a couple years ago in a time of 2:49.  He has hit the low since then, and yes, he has a long way to go, but he may be able to overcome some great obstacles, such as having inherited his dad’s running ability.  You see, he is related to me too, and he just may have gotten some of my superior, more talented running genes passed on to him if he was lucky enough.
            So much for May.  June can be a fair month, and so far as I can remember, there is no snow during it.  July and August just get too hot and miserable, and we start looking fondly towards the cooler months of winter, when we get to take a vacation to Florida to escape the cold.  These months are tough to run in, and you start to hear runners talking fondly of running in the cold because it is easier to dress for cold running than it is for hot and humid training.  September can have some hot days, however it is usually quite pleasant, but we have in the back of our minds that October is just around the corner.
            And we all have a different feeling for October now, especially after our “Ach du lieber Surprise” a couple years ago when we woke up on Friday the 13th to two feet of snow, which looked like double that since it was on top of two feet of downed tree pieces parts.  So we can all agree that we can see snow in October.  November is a lot like March, in that we do get snow, but more often than not, we get freezing rain, which makes us runners wish for snow.  It’s just easier and more comfortable to run in snow.
            Finally we get December, and everyone starts dreaming of a white Christmas.  Bah, humbug I say!  By then I’ve already had enough of the white stuff, and we still have months more of it to go.  I would take a green Christmas any day, and I bet Santa would too.  Notice he doesn’t live in Buffalo.  I hear he thinks it is too cold and snowy.  He’ll take the good old North Pole, thank you very much.
            So let’s recount.  Hmmm, let’s see, oh, THAT WOULD BE EIGHT MONTHS OUT OF THE TWELVE WE CAN GET SNOW!!!  It’s just too long!!  Maybe one week of snow would be enough, no, let’s make that two days.  The rest of the days could be sunny, dry and 85 degrees for all I care.  Gee, maybe I should move to Los Angeles.  Oh, but what about those natural disasters?
            I hate to break it to you Buffalonians, but we are not totally safe from them.  The History Channel has been running a series along the lines of what if a certain type of disaster hit specific cities or areas.  I’ve seen the one about if a category 5 hurricane were to hit New York City.  Then there’s the one about what it would be like if a huge tsunami were to hit the west coast and Los Angeles.  Well, I hear the have a show in the works to be shown next December entitled: “Disaster: What if Paris Hilton moved to Buffalo!”  NOOOOOOO!!!