“He that hath a beard is more than a youth, and he that hath no beard is less than a man.”

Shakespeare, ‘Much Ado About Nothing’

I had them all; sideburns in the 60s, a moustache in the 70s, a beard in the 80s. And why not? The paucity of hair on my head offered few options for style change, but the face was another matter. I could grow it there, and I did.

The sideburns were fun as an accessory to my bell bottom pants in the late 60s. I took a moustache into the Army in the early 70s, but shaved it off when a corporal ‘advised’ me of ‘the policy’ on facial hair, none 1 inch above the lip or 1 inch below the nose. Of course, there was no policy, there was harassment. But who was I, a raw recruit, to argue?

The beard came last in the 80s, as a means to draw attention away from the rapidly disappearing hairline. It seemed to work, but after ten years, as the gray dominated, I shaved it off. Wow, I looked like a kid, again. Have you ever noticed that about men who shave off their beards, they look more youthful?

Now, here it is, about three decades later, and beards are in vogue, again, but with a twist. Men are not growing full beards, yet they aren’t shaving regularly, either. The two, three or four-day growth look is the rage.

A suit and tie, slacks and open collar dress shirt, jeans and t-shirt, flannels, the unshaven look goes well with them all. Like any new fashion, this ‘stubble’ look took some getting used to, but it’s here, and it’s cool (is ‘cool’ used anymore?).

Yes,  I’ve tried it and I like it. I don’t like beards on high schoolers, it seems a bit precocious. But I do like the unshaven look on adult men. Of course, I’m retired, so I’d probably do it regardless of fashion. But now I have an excuse to leave the razor on the shelf. And just to be more daring, I might try those skinny pants that are fashionable. Age be damned, I’m going for it, turning back the clock.  Who’s with me?

There was an old man with a beard, who said: ‘It is just as I feared! Two owls and a hen, four larks and a wren have all built their nests in my beard.

Edward Lear

Steve

August 2018
stephen.bottcher@gmail.com
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As ‘bar flies’ go, our group is not your ordinary ‘flies’.  Going out for a beer, or two, every five or six weeks is not what bonafide ‘flies’ do.  But, when the time rolls around for us to have a night out and ‘howl at the moon’, there’s no limit to our enthusiasm, ‘flies’ or not. And Caverly’s Irish Pub, a corner bar in Rochester’s ‘Southwedge’, is our favorite.

The real ‘bar flies’ already had their elbows ‘dug’ in and ‘locked’ onto the bar when we arrived,  guffawing the evening away with idle chatter, each beer bringing more guffaws and louder chatter. Not our ‘cup of tea’, we’re here for some sophisticated and sober conversation. Believe me!

The five of us walked our beers to the round table by the screened front door, a spot that might offer a rare breeze on a humid July evening,  and allow us to greet the ‘bar dog’ when it ambled in, and it always did.

As is customary, our evening began with a toast to new and lasting friendships. Coincidentally, a new friend, another neighbor, joined us this evening, passing our simple standards of being retired and looking for idle conversation while enjoying a beer with friends.

Friendship was our theme tonight, as we quaffed beers and recalled what Bruce Springsteen coined, ‘the glory days’ of working, hanging out and growing up with others our age whom we called our best friends. And when ‘old men’ talk about those times, the eyes light up, the voices come alive, and the enthusiasm needle moves off the charts. Tonight was no exception.

As a kid laboring in Connecticut tobacco fields, or a farmboy building a speedboat in a cellar of his New York farmhouse, or a band of boys running the streets of a coal mining town in eastern Pennsylvania, our stories carried us back to a simpler time. The names weren’t recalled easily and the smiles belied the hardships of those days, but as it always does, our memory filter remembers those earlier times with buddies as the best of times. Tobacco still grows in Connecticut, the boat sank, was salvaged, then disappeared with time, and the boys of eastern Pennsylvania abandoned the hard life streets of coal towns for greener pastures.

The Caverly barmaid surprised us with a serving of blueberry scones while feigning regret that there wasn’t a bachelor among our good looking group. Nevertheless, we soaked up the flatter willingly and washed down the scones with the last of our beer, before strolling to the car, laughing that it took 18 ‘beer nights’ before someone hit on us. Is that a record of sorts?

Outside, some motorcyclists volunteered their bikes for a photo shot but we declined, politely, of course, and cautioned them about the barmaid. But who knows, maybe they’re interested. It’ll make a fine story one day, when they’re having their own ‘glory days’ conversation…

“There is only one thing better then making a new friend, And that’s keeping an old one”   Elmer G Leterman

Steve
July 2018
stephen.bottcher@gmail.com

“I’d whip that ‘cannonball’ down the lane and watch the pins explode like they were thunderstruck. It was noisy and it was fast”

Unless you lived in or visited the New England region, then you probably haven’t experienced ‘candlepin bowling’. It was game for all ages to enjoy, even a young, skinny kid like me could have fun with bowling down candlepins, and I did, lots of it.

The game was unique to the northeast region and into Canada.  A bowler had three chances to knock down ten tall, tapered wooden ‘pins’ with a four or five inch ball that you cradled in the palm of your hand, then rocketed it down the oiled hardwood. The knocked down pins, deadwood they were called, were left where they lay to be used to deflect and knock down other standing pins on the second and third roll, before a new group of pins was reset.

New England ingenuity has given much to the world that improved the quality of life. or just made it more fun. From earmuffs* to snow shovels*, ballpoint pens* to disposable razors*, basketball* to wooden golf tees*, and the indispensable microwave oven*, to name a few. Yankee know-how also brought us this game of ‘candlepin bowling’.  While other inventions spread worldwide, candlepin bowling’s popularity was never too far beyond the border of these six northeast states.

The balls were solid, no holes. Youngsters didn’t need big muscles to lift them but strength certainly helped propel them down the lane. The pins were fifteen inches tall, or so, and symmetrical. The good bowlers could whip that sphere down the lane with a ferocity that would make your head spin, and the pins would scatter every which way. Strikes were rare and the recreational bowler generally scored under a hundred for a game, ten frames, but the better bowlers were above a hundred.

There may be a few candlepin ‘houses’ left, but as Ten Pin’ bowling took hold in New England, the ‘small’ game began to fade. It was a bigger thrill to get more strikes, more spares and more scoring with the bigger ball and fatter pins and more bowlers flocked to the new game.

While driving through a Massachusetts town a few years ago, I passed a candlepin bowling house. Instantly, it was the late fifties, early sixties and I could hear the balls whizzing and the candlepins ‘flying’ . I should have stopped to roll a game, but I had a schedule to meet. Nevertheless, the moment recalled for me wonderful memories of bowling the small ball and tall pins in my home town of Worcester, the birthplace of candlepin bowling**.

Like the giant brick mills that lined the New England waterways, candlepin bowling faded into obscurity except for a few die-hard centers. Nowadays, it’s part of a New Englander’s nostalgia.

The circus is gone. Baseball, arguably, is no longer the National Pastime and fewer folks attend church on Sunday. Change happens…

I should have stopped…

Steve
srbottch.com
Feb 2018

* New England Today, Living – Yankee Magazine Jan 22, 2018
** Wikepedia

*** revised 2/8/18