The “Enforcer” was a nickname...

we lovingly bestowed upon my Father.

Sid Sambur was a small man with big opinions on what constituted right vs. wrong.  He had no qualms about tossing out the Yellow BS flag if he noticed wrongdoings. When it came to “putting people in their place.,” he wasn’t equipped with a pause button. He would not submit  to being taken advantage of or being belittled.

There’s multitudes of Sambur stories of my father’s Clint Eastwood persona. Here’s one example: 

In the early 70’s, I was still living at home in the Bronx. It was toward dusk when I headed out with a buddy on a short bicycle ride. Unfortunately, I flatted out. We began pushing our bikes back to our somewhat safer neighborhood. As the darkness descended, we pushed faster. Too late. We found ourselves in a cul de sac of teenage White thugs displaying sharp knives. Their message was simple and direct. “Drop the bikes, you Jew Bastards and run.” This wasn’t the time to attempt negotiations. We dropped the bikes and ran.

When I got home, I was more than shaken. (Those were the longest knives I’ve ever seen!) Dad heard me come in and asked, “What happened to you? Where’s your bike?” Between sobs, I related the events to him. “Jeffy! Get in the car. We’re going to the Police Station.” 

Dad drove to the PD as if our jalopy had lights and sirens. Sid Sambur didn’t gently make entry into the Station. He erupted volcano-like through the front door. I followed along  on the trail of  pumice and ash. “I want to speak to someone about a bicycle theft. Those hoodlums pulled knives and called my son a Jew Bastard. I want to file a report.” 

The Cops response to Sid’s explosion was shall we say, underwhelming. Only a bicycle theft? Just knives instead of a Saturday Night Special? Being called an Anti-Semitic slur? Yawn! thought New York City’s Finest. 

The Detectives were lethargic at best. Sid got louder and angrier. There was finger pointing too. Finally one blue collar guy had enough and began filling out the paperwork. After I gave my statement, we were ushered out the door. My Dad was still voicing his strong opinions.

I never did get my bicycle back, but I did see another dimension to my Father. 

Sid Sambur is no longer with us. May he finally get a good night’s sleep and Rest In Peace. 

I believe he passed on his “when you see something, say something” gene to Jeffy his youngest son. 

If Sid were alive today, he’d be nauseatingly appalled (like me) at our current state of affairs. He too would see the stark similarities between Germany In the 1930’s and America in the present.

 

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2020/02/adolf-hitler-was-most.html 

The difference is my Father would verbally speak out. I use an I Pad to get my point across. I fear the repercussions of getting punched in the face or worse by voicing my opinions. Like I mentioned in my last post, there’s a lot of pissed off people out there.

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2020/06/seeking-serenity-in-uncertain.html

So...on this Fathers Day, I’d like to Thank Sid Sambur for bequeathing me with my “Don’t follow the crowd” gene. That “Lord of the Flies” mob mentality is oftentimes wrong. 

Last photo: Me toasting to the memory of Sid. He was the ultimate survivor. 

Cheers to all the great Dads who made a difference.

Seeking Serenity in uncertain...

angry and awkward times. 

Do you know what the most worthless item of 2020 is?

A day timer!

Our lives are now in a constant holding pattern. The new norm is cancellations.

Like so many others my spring and summertime plans have been nuked and ravaged by Covid.

April camping and hiking in Canyonlands National Park? That didn’t happen. The Earth Day tree planting gig? Negative. The five night backpack trio into the Grand Canyon? Yuck! Yuck! Yuck!  The Friends of the Library Book Sale? Fahgettaboudit. The entertaining, informative and inspiring Green Drinks Happy Hours. Gone to Zoom.A Rockies baseball game fundraiser for Joe? What’s baseball? (No ballgame but donations are still being accepted. Proceeds go to the American Cancer Society) https://www.joescanlanmemorial.com/ 

Since mid-March my calendar contains nothing but emphatic slashes. There’s been no letup. All the cool volunteering gigs, the Brew Festivals, the groovy concerts in Buckley Park and the Steamboat Springs Crane Festival have been cancelled. Yet! The Four Corners Motorcycle Rally is still scheduled for Labor Day Weekend. Go figure. Varoom! Varoom! 

On the bright side. I haven’t been furloughed or fired, contracted the virus or failed to pay my bills.  I live in Durango, CO. I’m at an epicenter of natural beauty. My nice young neighbors do Welfare Checks on the new old guy in the ‘hood. My situation could be worse. 

But I know things aren’t right in the World. There’s more than a few pissed off and edgy people out there.

Two examples: On a Memorial Weekend hike, I came upon a single parent and her two kids. They had backpacked down to a scenic campsite adjacent to a creek. It was mid morning, sunny and almost sweltering. They had a napalm sized campfire blazing away. I smiled before saying, “Good Morning! Maybe you aren’t aware of this but there’s a Forest wide fire ban in effect. We haven’t seen rain in a long time. It’s awfully dry.”

Mom sort of glared at me before telling me to mind my own business. I backpedaled away after she informed me my Mother dresses me funny. Sheesh! Of course, I phoned the authorities. 

At a recent Covid related demonstration in Durango, an organizer described mask wearing people as “cowards.” The reason? They were submitting to the local Health Department’s suggestion of looking like the Frito Bandito in public places. OY! This could only lead to the Govment taking away our firearms! Where will all this tyranny end! 

At least Durango’s demonstrators weren’t hoisting AR-15’s. 

“Liberate Michigan! Liberate Wisconsin! Liberate Virginia!” Instigated the Commander of Controversy. 

His Followers followed.

All this was going on prior to the murder of George Floyd. Riots and looting broke out in major cities. Mayors mandated curfews. The mayhem was followed by the  theatrics and absurdity of President Lying Scumbag performing a photo op while clutching a Bible. (There’s never a lightning bolt when you need one.) 

Do African Americans have a reason to gripe? You bet they do. 

When the first British slave ship (Isabella in 1684) discharged 150 African slaves in Philadelphia, the die was cast. Bigotry and racism would become a cornerstone of America’s History. Slavery (AKA that Peculiar Institution) would hound our Country from 1776 to our present times. 

The dream of “all men are created equal” was penned by Thomas Jefferson.  Our Founding Father was a philosophical slave owner who was blind to his own hypocrisy. That was just the beginning of our Nation’s embrace of White Supremacy. Google the Three/Fifths Compromise (1787), the Dred Scott Decision (1857), Sharecropping (slavery light), Jim Crow laws, the rise of the  KKK (1865), Plessy vs.Ferguson(1896), 3,446 lynchings and finally ponder why it took until 1947 for Jackie Robinson to swing a bat in the Major Leagues.

A historian could fill volumes with more examples. (Me too.)

So far in the post, I’ve covered “uncertain” and “angry.”

Here’s the awkward part. 

Covid 19 hasn’t been cured. There Is no vaccine. The virus is still lurking around. People will continue to get infected. Many will die.

It’s a crappy time to be sociable. Attempting to make new friends and acquaintances when you’re seen as a possible virus vector is awkward. (Socially distanced hugs and handshakes are pretty unsatisfying). All my plans to get involved with my new community have been derailed.

For these reasons and the many others I mentioned in this older blog.

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2020/04/im-not-sociologist-nor.html

I’ll revert to my old sociable hermit mode and seek out nearby silent, serene and spectacular places. There’s more than a summer’s worth of exploring nearby. Hopefully the marmot terrorists will leave my truck and camper alone.

 https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2020/05/im-not-mechanically-inclined.html

Does this mean I don’t wish to see anyone? Not at all. Friendly, good natured people with entertaining or interesting stories are always welcome in my camp. Bonus if they bring IPAs, desserts or cold veggie pizza.

Hope to see some of you this summer and fall. 

Stay sane, safe and healthy out there,

Jeff

I’m not mechanically inclined...

The rare times I check under my vehicle’s hoods, all I see are incomprehensible gizmos, gadgets and doohickeys. Well that’s not 100% correct. I can point out the engine and the battery. Oh yeah, and the window washer reservoir too. That’s about it. The rest I chalk up to mechanized magic.

It’s not that I’m stupid or lazy, I’ve never been interested in learning the ins and outs of carburetors, fuel pumps and alternators. I don’t even know the difference between volts, watts and amperes. It’s not a concern of mine. BUT I can tell you Mexico abolished slavery in 1824, the Antiquities Act (granting presidents the right to set aside National Monuments) occurred in 1906, that the National Park Service was established in 1916 and LBJ signed the Wilderness Act into law in 1964.

Great info for trivia contests, but not helpful when things break down. 

Somehow, I’ve survived.

So...recently on a shake down camp out with my new toy, I was forced into dealing with mechanical issues. 

A) I changed a flat tire for the first time since Reagan was President. It only took me two hours.  (The Penske Racing pit crew hasn’t called to offer me a job). Actually I was pretty proud of myself since I wasn’t crushed under the axle while yanking the tire off. AND! All my fingers are still attached.

After patting myself on the back, I shouldered my backpack for a bit of exploring in La Plata Canyon. 

B) Upon my return to my new home, I spotted a marmot peeking out from beneath the front wheel well. Now I know engines are rated by horsepower, there’s no mention of marmot power. Of course, I yelled at it. “Hey! Get outta there!” Apparently it didn’t understand Bronx accented English. The BIGLY rodent retreated into the hinterland of the Toyota’s engine compartment. I discovered how to unlatch the hood and peered inside. Yes, there was a chubby fur ball wedged between a few thingamajigs. I found a stick and poked it with the dull end. It didn’t budge. I prodded it again while yelling, “Come on! Move!” That time it fell out of the compartment and waddled away. I figured I better check to see if there was any damage. I cranked the key and “Whew!” the truck started. Oh what a feeling! Toyota!

The rest of the camp out was somewhat uneventful. 

But what is eventful is the quiet, peace and beauty of La Plata Canyon. I live 15 minutes away from where the La Plata River crosses Highway 160. We are practically neighbors.

Last photo: That’s me in my palatial dining room. 

Stay safe, sane and healthy. 

Jeff