124 - Names
Ron Pataky considers the naming of names.
Home | Over Here
Ron Pataky considers the naming of names.
Ron Pataky tells of a finger in a box.
Ron Pataky recalls the day he tried to capture a cat.
...Summer vacation! All summer long to goof off as a kid wished...
Ron Pataky continues his richly humorous account of his youthful days.
Ron Pataky considers boys and gals and soap and shoes.
"Whatever the case, foot and toe plague definitely seemed a guy thing,'' writes Greg Hill.
"Farm people, I learned early on, ate the chicken FEET, actually considering them a delicacy of sorts (at least that's my assumption, giving the slurping that went on),'' writes Ron Pataky.
Ron Pataky recalls school friends with unusual names.
Ron Pataky recalls the days of shared songs.
...There were along the way, in many phases, causes for which I would have "fought to the death" ... as long as no violence had been required...
Ron Pataky continues his entertaining autobiography.
...Let's get one thing straight right now. Pin-ball machines were not just simple, silly playthings, designed by well-meaning sociologists to keep kids off the streets!...
Ron Pataky continues his vastly entertaining account of his younger years.
Ron Pataky considers the finer points of teenage female anatomy.
Ron Pataky recalls the days of wartime rationing.
Ron Pataky brings immortality to a certain bluebird.
...I had seen this bright red, satin-like thing, with incredible white piping, hanging on a rack at the sporting goods store up on the city square...
Ron Pataky recalls the inglorious days of the red jacket.
Ron Pataky's hopes were ruined by a bunch of pheasant chicks.
"By the age of twelve or so, it was clear that I already had developed into a self-authenticated Dirty Old Man!'' writes Ron Pataky, continuing his hilarious account of his early years.
"There was some talk to the effect that the doctor took one look at me and slapped my mother!'' writes Ron Pataky.
Ron Pataky, continuing his autobiography, tells of early stirrings.
Ron Pataky tells of raising and lowering the flag.
"Chestnuts and iron stoves were meant for each other,'' writes Ron Pataky.
...We didn't stand a whole lot on ceremony in those days. Nor did we normally contemplate things existential. Today was today. Cows needed milking. Animals needed feeding. Shit
required shoveling...
Ron Pataky continues his lively life story.
"Making hay may have been, along with iron-smelting, autopsies, and winter-fishing off the frozen and treacherous banks of Greenland, among the worst jobs known to civilized man,'' writes Ron Pataky.
"It was not necessarily a first-rate day when Grandpa announced we were going to 'shovel' the outhouse.'' writes Ron Pataky.
...
...The point is that we had an actual Luger pistol, made way off over there in Germany somewhere, and, in our young minds, almost certainly handled at one time by Hitler himself!...
Ron Pataky continues his autobiography.
"I wasn't the sort of kid who made up a lot of stories, but the stories I did make up had a good bit of pizzazzy tang. You betcha your bootsa!'' writes Ron Pataky.
Ron Pataky tells of the day a rattlesnake tried to bite him.
Ron Pataky recalls days at the market with his grandma.
...I did wish, though, that our only toilet hadn't been all the way downstairs!
For a brief time, I even thought I'd solved that problem.
There was, I discovered, a painted metal floor-register near the wall, out of which blew ... absolutely nothing...
Ron Pataky continues his revealing life story.
Ron Pataky recalls a startling moment.
...Grossmutter, who spoke not a single word of English, would sit, often for eight or ten hours a day, in a straight-back chair against the small wall between the pantry opening and the door to our tiny enclosed back porch...
Ron Pataky continues his engaging autobiography.
....You should have seen that women chase a chicken or two for the evening's supper! For sheer violence, I was certain it rivaled scenes from the actual Crusades!...
Continuing his autobiography, Ron Pataky tells of his Grandma.
"It wasn't hard to find field mice in the corn crib. You could almost call them, and they would come,'' writes Ron Pataky, continuing his engaging account of his younger days.
...I believe it was the last time in my life, other than for food, that I ever shot a living creature. On the other hand, I have, since then, blasted the living hell out of every variety of stump, tree, log, bottle, target, barrel, or tin can imaginable.,,
Shooting a rabbit left Greg Hill with deep regrets.
"So far as I could see, the single lesson learned from digging potatoes would be the knowledge that potatoes can be eaten raw, and that they don't actually taste all that bad,'' writes Ron Pataky, continuing his entertaining autobiography.
Ron Pataky recalls the day when Grandpa scared the hell out of two normal teenagers.
...Our thinking was that we'd thoroughly dissuaded leakage. We hadn't. That thing floated superbly... for about the first full minute. Then, we looked on in horror (all we had to do was observe six legs crowding the boat's floor), as water began to rise around our lower extremities at a truly alarming rate...
Ron Pataky recalls an ill-fated sailing venture.
"It seems, therefore, safe to say — given this enlightenment — that "cleaning out the chicken coop" may indeed be the least favorite of all jobs to pass a kid's way while he is growing up on a farm,'' writes Ron Pataky.
"American hedgerows simply cannot compete with the hedgerows of France. But the American variety is much more fun,'' writes Ron Pataky, continuing his autobiography.
...Grape jam was Grandpa's favorite. Grandma liked her special grape and raspberry strudel. Either one was fine with me...
Ron Pataky continues his life story.
,,,the idea was that the water, having basked the day in brilliant sunlight, should have been, if not actually warm, at least bearable to non-Laplanders...
Ron Pataky continues his entertaining autobiography.
"Whether parachuting out of the hayloft that one time (Gordie's stupid trick), throwing eggs at a barn-side drawing of Hitler (Gordie's stupid idea), or sitting crouched under an orange crate in the proud, devil-may-care personage of a certified Spitfire ace, we pretty much made our own playthings,'' writes Ron Pataky.
"Sympathy, in fact, was an alien word to a farm kid,'' writes Ron Pataky, continuing his autobiography.
"Pain, a farm kid quickly learned, had a wonderful way of eventually disappearing, given a steady nightly application of Watkins and a steady daily application of continued manual labor,'' writes Ron Pataky.
... it might be fair to say I bullied him psychologically at times...
Ron Pataky records his relationship with his younger brother.
...those same stairs were also the perfect place for reading a decent book, or even a poem or two, on cold winter days...
Ron Pataky reveals his boyhood hiding place.
"I did establish early on that a guy could actually doze while milking a cow,'' writes Ron Pataky, continuing his autobiography.
...Grandpa bought it new, all right; but he then drove that stupid thing until the only way you conceivably could have told its age would have been to saw it in half and count the rings...
Ron Pataky tells of vheicle which more than earned its keep.
..."She would prepare, "for market," the assorted farm-grown fruits and vegetables, and the cheeses she generally had made the night before. He would hitch up the wagon, a sleek wooden job, originally hand-produced somewhere in a cavern, I think, by an advanced Pithecanthropus group.''...
Ron Pataky continues his lifed story.
"Boyhood, then, except for my years at the market, was largely of the "out-of-sight, out-of-mind" variety,'' recalls Ron Pataky.
Ron Pataky tells of a marriage made in the Land of Second Blessings.
Ron Pataky reecalls a thrilling boyhood game which his grandpa failed to appreciate.
...There, Reverend Lahm, actually imported to this country by Grandpa and Grandma, would drone on for a full ninety minutes and more - always in German...
Continuing his life story, Ron Pataky recalls some of the trials of childhood.
"Corn was not only the main item offered at the annual soirees; it was, to all intents and purposes, the only item!,'' writes Ron Pataky.
"If I hadn't been horribly embarrassed by something at least twice during the day, I imagined that the heavens were no doubt saving up my portions for a real dilly somewhere down the pike!'' writes Ron Pataky, continuing his autobiography.
"For some strange reason, although shaky when it came to my writing and penmanship, I was inordinately confident even then concerning my conversational prowess,'' writes Ron Pataky, continuing his vivid life story.
Ron Pataky tells of lake park paradise.
...only one of Dad's friends ever proved unacceptable to Mom. His name was Joe J., and he was a bumpy-faced, foul-talking, woman-hungry clod who had no more notion of how to act around a lady than I'd have had of proper behavior in the presence of a splinted anteater...
Ron Pataky continues his autobiography.
"We did eventually get a clackity, used tractor which I swore even then was older than anthracite — which Gordon promptly drove through the barn door, thus causing the barn door to be left open for a spell, horses and their potential theft notwithstanding,'' writes Ron Pataky.
Ron Pataky recalls the fiendish vehicle in which he learnt to drive.
Ron Pataky recalls radio days.
No farm kid I knew ever wore shorts,'' writes Ron Pataky.
"It didn't take this farm kid long to dispel the quirky notion that sleeping on hay or straw afforded some sort of ethereal delight. It didn't. The facts were (and presumably still are) that it clawed and scratched in tortuous fashion at skin,'' writes Ron Pataky.
"And, of course, I'd discovered girls, thanks in no small part to the Williamson girl next door,'' writes Ron Pataky, continuing his autobiography.
"That first year at Simpson was a veritable study in early teen doldrums,'' writes Ron Pataky, continuing his life story.
"These were absolutely great days! I had mail coming and going at my house on a daily basis, and the three-cent charge per letter was something even I could afford. I'd race home from school each afternoon to see what postal treasure had arrived that day, and I was rarely disappointed,'' writes Ron Pataky.
"In the unlikely event that I might someday be asked my advice on the most important thing a youngster could learn, I truly believe I would sing the highest praises of a thorough general knowledge of the world around us,'' writes Ron Pataky.
"I think it's fair to say of my early education that I was probably more clever and resourceful than actually book-smart,'' writes Ron Pataky, continuing his autobiography.
Continue reading "58 - Extremely Sophisticated Vocabulary" »
Ron Pataky reveals the contents of his school report cards.
"Daily mail delivery quickly became a main feature of American life - in the cases of families with boys at war, the main feature,'' writes Ron Pataky, continuing his autobiography.
Ron Pataky recalls the outbreak of war.
,,,One involved a baby Gordon eating the better part of a box of Ex-Lax, and giggling aloud through the entire untidy episode that messily followed...
Ron Pataky continues his autobiography.
Continue reading "54 - A Tiny Grape In A Humongous Vineyard" »
...My advice, then, is to pay more attention to first kisses, starry skies, country roads, city parks, rain, winter mornings, and the incomparable smells of new-mown grass and berries along the way, and less to the broken windows, illnesses, wars, and, yes, even the deaths, that come as unwelcome attachments to this deep and unfathomable business of life...
Ron Pataky recalls the halcyon days of his boyhood.
Ron Pataky recalls the day he and a friend hitched a rie to the Ohio State Fair.
Ron Pataky recalls the joy of acquiring his first motorised transport.
Ron Pataky, continuing his authobiography, tells of Little Kenny's baseballing day to remember.
Ron Pataky admits that his sporting ability was severly limited.
"When I was out on the farm, things were great. But when beckoned thither by the lights of the city, I often felt like a boy who was born for the express purpose of serving as an unfortunate example to others,'' writes Ron Pataky, continuing his life story.
Ron Pataky tells of a perfect cure for a headache.
Ron Pataky tells of an embarrassing situation.
"The vivid memory I have of that day was of people weeping, often uncontrollably, as the caisson bearing the President's body rolled slowly by,'' writes Ron Pataky who witnessed the funeral procession.
...Like many other days in the life of a farm kid, I saw a bird's nest in one of the thick elderberry patches along the fence line.,,
Ron Pataky recalls how he became a collector of birds' eggs.
...Suddenly, for no apparent reason, my brother collapsed, sinking like a bag of wheat to our wooden floor, where he continued to lay without moving for what might have been fifteen minutes, but what seemed like hours. Nothing would wake him!...
Continuing his autobiography, Ron Pataky tells of a night of terror.
Ron Pataky recalls how he fooled a teacher.
...I sent away for a packet of "1000 Used Stamps from Around the World - Guaranteed." The "guarantee" bothered my young brain a bit. Were they guaranteeing them not to be new? Or what then?,,,
Young Ron Pataky decides to enter into the world of big business.
Ron Pataky tells of a time when it was both safe and unsafe to be young.
Continuing his autobiography, Ron Pataky tells how one of the steps at his home came to be badly chipped.
"One of the first things I learned in school was the value that teachers obviously put on daily prayer. You could actually be asked to leave the room if you chose to cut-up during Morning Prayer. Had a boy committed such an offense twice, I rather imagined he might be asked to leave the planet!'' writes Ron Pataky, continuing his autobiography.
Ron Pataky was a radio fan first class when he was a boy.
...I knew, for example, that if I could ever meet Margaret O'Brien, she would be mine. The same might even be true of Joan Leslie...
Ron Pataky tells of writing fan letters.
Ron Pataky tells of a bad attack of stage fright.
"There was one fool who lived across the wide cul-de-sac circle. He was a Marine major, and the sort of man of whom I was thoroughly ashamed even at the age of eight or so,'' writes Ron Pataky continuing his life story.
Continuning his autobiography, Ron Pataky tells of an inspirational lady.
...It was there in Parkfairfax that I had my one and only run-in with the law. And if I had hand-picked my victim from an International Police Agency roster, I could absolutely, positively never have selected more of a dandy of a wrong one. If life had been a giant freeway that day, everyone else, I was convinced, would have been windshields, and I would have been the solitary, utterly doomed bug!...
Ron Pataky continues his exhilirating autobiography.
Ron Pataky tells of high life in a Washington hotel.
"It was in Bethesda, later to be continued in Parkfairfax, Virginia, that Gordie, a few other buddies, and myself, developed our first flirtation with a mother's nightmare. Because there was that special aura of danger about them, I suppose, we began to collect and store Black Widow spiders!'' writes Ron Pataky, continuing his astonishing autobiography.
...They were fast times, even for kids. I checked almost every day, and there was a war going on! Gordon and I bounced from school to school like empty tankers in a level nine sea....
Continuing his autobiography, Ron Pataky recalls moving from city to city with his parents.
...I'll guarantee you this: If you were hearing the damned story for the first time, there is no way in bloody hell you'd believe one shred of it! People just couldn't BE that stupid!...
Ron Pataky tells of the outbreak of World WarTwo.
"Mom, in cahoots with my "teacher," took it upon herself to bake individual cupcakes for every single member of my "class." Plus one for the teacher. Each cupcake had been hand-decorated with red, white, and blue icing, and each "flew" a tiny paper American flag.'' writes Ron Pataky, continuing his autobiography.
...They were generally built far enough away from the house itself to at least temper the blending of wonderful cooking odors with their sneaky (and often abrupt) aftermath scents. Among other things, this meant long and dark treks on winter night...
Ron Pataky continues his redolent autobiography.
Ron Pataky's account of an accident with a sickle is guaranteed to make every reader wince.
Ron Pataky, continuing his autobiography, tells of his grandfather's unsual hands.
"Grown trees lend exclamation points to life when you realize that you are the one who years ago put that original, small twig into the ground!''
Ron Pataky continues his autobiography.
...A bath at day's end was a near to paradise as a normal farmer ever got in this life, even though it lasted but minutes and was followed by a goosebumpy exit in the breeze of even the warmest late afternoon...
Ron Pataky continues his vividly-told life story.
...The truth is that gagging, eye-watering assignments like scraping chicken poop into a manageable puddle were invariably offset by other, more appealing circumstances, arriving daily to touch and warm the heart...
Continuing his autobiography, Ron Pataky tells of life on the family farm.
...Gold Stars in many, many windows brought tears to us all, and it seemed to many at the time that even the flowers of the field wept with us during the worst days. Through it all, however, a redeeming fact of sorts was the awareness that, even then, through all of the world's darkness at the time, kids were always going to be kids...
Continuing his autobiograpy, Ron Pataky recalls wartime days.
..."Come on out," I sweetly invited Cousin Dana. "You can see the pigs a lot better from out here." Putting one small patent-leather foot ahead of the other, she daintily tiptoed onto the board, knowing that Cousin Ronnie would be there to help if she should encounter trouble...
But Cousin Ronnie had other ideas!
Ron Pataky continues his entertaining autobiography.
...Sundays were set apart for the Lord. The two darlings actually had paid the money to import a Lutheran minister "from the old country" to preach in the small rented house they called "church."...
Ron Pataky continues his life story.
...The market is where I learned an essential part of eventually being a truly rare adult male, thus attractive in obvious and distinct ways to distaff counterparts. Exhibit One: I could trim, clean, or otherwise prepare any item of fruit or vegetable known to civilized man...
Ron Pataky continues his entertaining autobiography.
"As noted earlier, winters in the market were normally a bitch. In our particular indoor section, which encompassed perhaps 30 x 45 feet (with a small outdoor sidewalk area), there was a single pot¬bellied stove at the common floor's very center. While its top surface was ideal for roasting Ohio chestnuts, its effect within the broader field of fumarolery left a whole, whole bunch to be desired.''
Ron Pataky continues his autobiography.
Ron Pataky continues his engaging autobiography.
"My formative years were steeped in broccoli, plums, sauerkraut, books, ration books, hickory nuts, hunting, memorial services, girls, and the glories of rutabaga,'' writes Ron Pataky, continuing his autobiography.
“My father's people are Hungarian, although we never wore the fact on our sleeves,’’ writes Ron Pataky, continuing his autobiography.
...As she read this letter, however, we could scarcely miss the fact that she had begun to sob. Very little noise, but sobbing nonetheless. When one of the older kids asked her what was wrong, she smiled through her abundant tears and told us that her husband was finally coming home, in less than two weeks! He’d been gone for almost FOUR YEARS...
Continuing his autobiography, Ron Pataky tells of letters from a war front.
“There was, in the entire field of lower education, absolutely NO curse worse for a boy than being called to stand and go to the blackboard while in the midst of a spell of inexplicable penile swelling! It was like trying to hide a decidedly prominent tent in an otherwise flat meadow, and a guy just knew that every pair of binoculars in the county had his momentary crotch-malady firmly zeroed in,’’ writes Ron Pataky, continuing his autobiography.
“Indeed, it wasn't until junior high that I actually got my first goodnight kiss, a then-respectable half-second job from the tender mouth of Shirley Varchmin, whose lips I don't remember, but whose kiss I will never forgot,’’ writes Ron Pataky, continuing his life story.
...Although her penchant for hugging me tightly was somewhat less than fully appreciated, what absolutely bothered me most was the penetrating piscine odor that inevitably lingered on my being for something like several months following each such intimate contact...
Ron Pataky recalls unwelcomed close encounters with a market stall holder.
...A huge part of my life at the time involved the venerable Third Street Market, which covered a full one-fourth of a downtown city block. Therein stood Pataky's Fruits and Vegetable Market, fronting the Walnut side of Third and Walnut...
Ron Pataky continues his autobiography.
...But, Barbara would’ve never involved herself in an exercise such as rolling dizzily down a hill. Or rolling any other way! Down anything! She and Peggy were the kind of girls who wore sparkling clean, neatly-pressed dresses (under which we guys imagined sparkling clean, only slightly moistened panties)...
Ron Pataky continues his autobiography.
...Mr. Williamson was the kind of guy I imagined ate his meat raw and probably worked off steam by clawing at a bare, rough-hewn wooden post in the evenings. He looked almost absurdly tough, and it was authoritatively spoken by the adults in town that he actually was tough! I thanked the Lord more than once for the fact that he was on our side!...
Continuing his autobiography, Ron Pataky recalls his celebrity-loaded boyhood neighbourhood.
...Grandpa Downing, a small, finely-sculpted, extraordinarily handsome man, labored all of his life at a nearby brickyard. The fourteen kids absolutely doted on their dad. To the days of their individual deaths, most of them had at one time or another mentioned the "wonderfully clean" smell of Grandpa Downing’s sweat! (I just report the facts, folks. I don't explain them)...
Ron Pataky, continuing his autobiography, tells of his family tree.
...Except for the on-again/off-again presence of a young father with a quick and nasty temper, the house was a place of relative comfort and security. When Dad was away from the home, which was a good bit of the time, it was also more or less a place of peace, although Mom was known to raise a broom on occasion for purposes apart from houseflies, ceiling cobwebs, or an occasional errant wasp or bee...
Ron Pataky, continuing his autobiography, recalls his first home.
“Time would pass, of course, as it has a way of doing, and the mysteries of both girls’ breasts and my curious churnings would become, if not completely understood, at least temporarily tolerated,’’ recalls Ron Pataky.
“Something was going on! Precisely what, I couldn't tell, but I did have the sense that it was going to have my full approval and support when I finally would become privy to the full story...’’
Continuing his life story Ron Pataky tells of his discovery of GIRLS.
For some years now Open Writing has been publishing a weekly poem by American humorist Ron Pataky.
Ron’s unique take on the world makes his rhymes instantly and hilariously recognisable. How the Pataky “style’’ evolved will now be revealed in the ensuing weeks and months. Today we begin the serialisation of Ron’s autobiography, Over Here.