Snowbirds, Damn Yankees and Traffic Jams

By Jake Jakubuwski

Copyright, 2012

All Rights Reserved

I was reading some posts on Face Book the other day and one poster told another that he was almost ready to become a “Snowbird.” That is, he was going to retire to Florida as soon as he could get his money, IRAs and the IRS straightened out.

Being a former, twenty-plus year, resident of theSunshine State, I have a bit of knowledge about Snowbirds, in general. Damn Yankees, more specifically — and traffic jams created by both Snowbirds and Damn Yankees who either come to Florida for a vacation or they’re looking for a place to wait out the cold weather in New England, Canada, Detroit and Ohio — especially Ohio.

First off, a Snowbird is a Damn Yankee who is only vacationing, in Florida,  any time between late September to about the middle of April or the first of May. Later, their plumage may change as they take up permanent residence in Florida.

Snowbirds, are a migratory North American species, who begin to show up on Florida (Particularly Southwest Florida. I lived inFt. Myers) highways just shortly before the first frost hits their northern home state or immediately after. They may come for a week, ten-days, a month or maybe even the entire winter. Some sub-species of Snowbirds migrate toLas Vegas, So. California, Arizona and other states that have mild winters.

You can easily spot them. They have Ohio (Or other foreign) license plates on their cars, drive with their foot on the brake and make sudden, unanticipated, turns into alligator farms, Indian souvenir shops and Denny’s. They also like shell shops, Tiki Huts and to tie up traffic on US 41 while rubbernecking at the orange groves or folks fishing in the roadside ditch or canal.

I’ve often wondered, as I followed a Snow Bird from North Ft. Myers to Punta Gorda, how much Sloan’s Liniment they’d have to use to get the “cricks” out of their necks after a hard day of rubbernecking 

If you watch them driving along at a sedate 35 miles an hour (In a 65 MPH zone), you would think they were watching a mobile tennis match. Their heads are constantly swiveling from left to right. Left to right. Left to right. It’s almost mesmerizing to watch. Sometimes it was downright scary.

 Depending on which side of the car, SUV, Motor Home or pickup truck they’re sitting on…their left or right hand and arm are getting a workout as they try to get the other Snowbird to look at the alligator on the side of the road, the dead snake in the fast lane or the gal cutting her grass in a bikini (Well, okay, so I looked at her too!). Stll, I can’t help but speculate about what keeps them from poking each other’s eyes out with all that random finger pointing.

It’s easy to spot them in WalMart. She’s wearing a shocking pink shorts and top ensemble with flip flops that have big daisies on the top of the strap and carrying a huge beach bag decorated with seashells and seahorses. Either that or she’s wearing a Mumu that contains enough material for a Boy Scout to make a good sized tent.

 Usually it – the Mumu - has a floral pattern that reminds me of my grandmother’s old upholstered living room furniture with huge flowers all over it that she had covered with clear plastic covers. She, the Snowbird, still has the same beach bag. Did I mention the blue hair? Or, the paper fan from Flower’s Funeral Home?

 Sometimes they’re not driving but riding three-wheel, adult bicycles.  At various mobile home parks where so many of these Snowbirds nest, they actually decorate those bikes and have parades!

He, on the other hand, is wearing shorts and a nylon see-through shirt or a ribbed undershirt, with black over-the-calf socks and either tennis shoes or leather sandals. Some have on gold wristwatches and most have bad eyesight along with very white legs and extremely red, sun-burned faces. You even see some of the male Snowbirds pulling oxygen tanks and hurriedly puffing on a cigarette before they go into WalMart or Denny’s…

 A Damn Yankee, on the other hand, is a Northerner who has decided to move to Florida for good.

 Or at least until they’re called to their final reward.

 A Damn Yankee may have been a dyed-in-the-wool Snow Bird at one time, but now he/she shakes her fists at the Snowbirds driving and sightseeing and making all those unanticipated stops at tourist attractions. And, generally making traffic a nightmare.

 A Damn Yankee still dresses about the same as they did when they were Snowbirds but now they mostly have a good tan. If you get trapped into a conversation with a Damn Yankee, they will invariably tell you how much better things were inMinnesotawhere winter lasts longer then the gestation period of Homo Sapiens!

 They also bemoan the fact that it’s too hot, the sun’s too bright and the air is too humid. Duh?  You moved to the semi-tropics, right?

 At least there is seldom any snow, ice storms, blizzards, and little need for Snow Emergency Routes, snow tires and darned few people drop dead from trying to dig their car out of a snow drift that’s about as high as the old Caloosahatchee Bridge.

 Another complaint they have is that there is no ice fishing in Florida! The last time I was in Minnesota and went ice fishing; the only thing I caught was a cold! At least in Florida, I have caught BIG fish that I could eat without using an ice axe to clean them.

 Some Damn Yankees, if they live in Florida long enough, begin to take on local coloration and the only way you can tell them from  native “Crackers” is their accent, That, and the fact they still haven’t gotten over the novelty of eating on the patio, nearly all year around and drinking sweet tea.  Another way is to watch them drive.

 I have a friend in Florida who’s daddy homesteaded (Yeah! Really) a piece of property on Pine Island. As far as Mr. Starling was concerned a Damn Yankee was anyone who lived North of the Florida state line.

 He even went so far to tell me, one time, that: “…them Damn Yankees from Pensacola….”  I gently reminded him that Pensacola was in Florida. He opined that it shouldn’t be because the only thing that made it better then Southern Georgia was the beaches which were just one more place them Damn Yankees could tie up traffic and make life miserable for the native sons..

 About twenty-five years ago, I moved to the Piedmont area  of North Carolina. This is a great place to live except for all those Florida Crackers and Damn Yankees, from Florida, who come up here in the summertime and then want to tell me how much nicer the weather is in Florida.

I spoke to one the other day while we were waiting for a traffic jam to break up and I asked him where he was from. He said: “Florida, but I moved down there from Ohio about ten years ago. I shoulda stayed inOhio!”  I agree — he should have. At the very least, he should have stayed in Florida.

In fact, I might still be living in Florida if the population hadn’t gone into overdrive and there were more Damn Yankees on the road then Crackers. Then, again, I think I’ve become acclimated to this area…I’ll most likely stay here until…

I liked Florida where the fishing was great and I didn’t have to explain why I talked funny. Here, that mostly happens when local folks say: “Y’all ain’t from around here, are you?” After twenty-five years, I’m beginning to blend in and like to think I’m learning to talk like the locals do…

Twenty years ago, I was writing a series of weekly newspaper articles that were mainly concerned with security issues. The one that follows used an experience I had in a Dale Carnegie class to point out that America was getting tired of crooks and cretains just ignoring all the relevant laws and social mores that helped keep our veneer of civilization from craking and falling apart.

Then, yesterday, a “friend” on Face Book posted a story (Joke) about Texas women being independent and willing to do things their own way. That story reminded me of this one about a real cowboy and “Momma” , his wife.

Hope you enjoy it….

Remember, Don’t Booger Momma!

By Jake Jakubuwski

Copyright, 1992, 2012 All rights reserved

            I met Buck and Momma Sumpter (not their real names) at a Dale Carnegie class in 1972.  Buck was a real, honest-to-goodness cowboy, who had literally spent years “in the saddle.”  Momma, Buck’s wife, was bigger than Buck and carried herself like she just wouldn’t “book no foolishness from nobody.”  This, as I later found out, was mostly true.  However, Momma had a marvelous sense of humor and a soft spot for strays and hard luck stories.

At any rate, part of the Dale Carnegie training required each “student” to relate a story about something that had happened during their life that made a lasting impression on them, and what they had learned from the experience.

When Buck’s turn came, he told the following story.

“We was workin’ on a ranch in Wes’Texasan’ Momma an’ me had us a little house down the road from the ranch.  One day, the fellas and I decided to go into town after we was finished work an’ have us a beer or two.”

“Well, we all met up at a place where the music was good an’ the beer was cold an’ ‘fore I knew it, I’d had more beers than I could remember, an’ I could jest make out that the clock said it was midnight.  Man!  I knew Momma was gonna be UNHAPPY!  We didn’t have a phone, an’ I couldn’t call her.  So, I had another beer whilst I thought it out.”

“An’ while thinkin’, I drunk enough of that good, cold beer to get a little confused about where I parked my car.  Truth was, I just plain couldn’t find it.  Not wantin’ to waste more time, I decided I could walk the four miles to the house, in an hour, easy.  An’ I figured it wouldn’t hurt to carry a six-pack along.  After all, it was a warm night”

“Bout the time I got close to the house, I had drunk three of the beers an’ I saw a light still on.  I knew Momma was waitin’ up, an’ I was in for it.  So, real quiet like I snuck up to the house figurin’ that if Momma had dozed off, I could slip in an’ she’d never know, right?  Wouldn’t ya’ know it?  I kin’ a peeked through the screen door an’ Momma was bright-eyed an’ readin’.”

“I knew I couldn’t sneak in, an’ I thought about it a bit an’ figured the only thing to do was have a little fun with Momma an’ try to kid her inta forgettin I told her I’d be back earlier.  So, I snuck real quiet like to the window that Momma was sittin’ by, jumped up real quick an’ let out the godawfulest roar I could.”

“Did that booger Momma!?  Man, let me tell you!  Momma come outa that chair like the devil’d grabbed her ankle!  She turnst t’wards the window with my 12-guage on her hip…an” I knew boogerin” Momma weren’t the best idea I’d ever had!  I threw the last three beers straight up in the air an’ fell back’ards to the ground yellin’, Momma!  (KAYBOOM!).  It’s me!  (KAYBOOM!).  Buck!”

“Momma’s first shot took out the top of the window an’ the three beers I throwed in the air.  Her second took out the screen in the bottom of the window.  I’m lucky t’be here ‘cause that lady knows how to use a shotgun!  An’ if I hadn’t been jest plain, fallin’ down drunk lucky, she’d a got me for sure!”

The instructor asked Buck what he had learned from the experience and Buck said, “I learned that you don’t booger Momma!”

I remembered the foregoing the other day when I saw two bumper stickers on the same car.  One said, “Fight Crime:  Shoot Back!” and the other one said, “When Momma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy!”  Then several other things popped into my mind.

More Americans than ever are buying guns for protection.  More Americans than ever are taking self-defense classes.  More Americans than ever are demanding their streets and neighborhoods back.  More Americans than ever want stiffer punishment for criminals

Those facts should send Tommy and Tessie Thug a very clear and forceful message:  “Momma (America) ain’t happy!  So, don’t booger Momma!”

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The Ultimate Recyclable

By Jake Jakubuwski

Copyright, 2011

There’s no question in my mind that today “things” are different then when I was a kid. I’m not saying they are better, or worse, just different.

A couple of times a week, I do a coffee klatch with a bunch of other “old” guys who remember twenty-five-cent-a-gallon gasoline and nickel candy bars. One thing I’ve noticed is that all of them seem to think that if we could just get the country back to what it was like right after WWII, everything would be just dandy — again.

As much as I hate to burst their bubble — it ain’t gonna happen. But on the flip side that’s not all bad either.

The Sears Catalog

In the late 40s and early 50s I can remember unpaved streets and outhouses within the city limits of Baltimore. I remember my grandfather’s house inGlen Burnie, Maryland having an outhouse. Indoor facilities consisted of a “chamber pot” that was slid under the bed for use during the night! We also had a hand-pump under the grape arbor where we “drew” our water for cooking, drinking and bathing — year around.

I surely don’t want to go back to living like that. On the plus side, there were not as many automobiles on the roads and streets back then, so the streets were our playground. If we had a game of stick ball going, widely spaced cars, light poles and “ash” cans were home plate and bases. You made do with what you had to do with.

One thing we did have that we don’t have today was the ultimate recyclable: The Sears Roebuck catalog! Man, that book got used, reused and used up!

Way back before my time, the Sears Catalog sold cars, tractors and even “Modern House Kits”. You could buy garden equipment, groceries, yard goods, shoes, lamps, auto parts, tires, and thousands of other items that just made you look through the catalog for hours and hours and hours wishin’ you had a pocket full of money or, fewer dreams.

By the time I could peruse the Sears catalog, cars, tractors and housing kits were bygones. But it was still a book chock full of things that could be had a little cheaper the in a regular store and your  “Satisfaction” was “Guaranteed”. Not only was the catalog a great way to shop — especially if you lived in a rural area where there were no such thing as malls or even “Department” stores — it was also great entertainment.

We could spend hours looking at bicycles, wagons, Red Ryder BB guns and other things that we kids thought we could not live without but might never own.

I think some of us kids sharpened our reading and math skills with the Sears Catalog. We could look at the price of an item, calculate the shipping and figure out how much we’d have to save over how long a period of time it we wanted to buy new galoshes, a Red Ryder BB gun, a Roy Rodgers hat or a new Schwinn.

I know the Sears Catalog helped me become a better reader — I was always finding new words that I didn’t know, like: ”guaranteed” and “duvet”. I remember my grandmother taking the catalog away from me when I asked her how to pronounce “l-i-n-g-e-r-i-e”. She swatted me upside the head and told me I wasn’t to look in that section of the catalog anymore!

I imagine her admonition probably kept me out of that section of the catalog for a good ten minutes. And, even then, I never looked “in that section” after that unless I was sure there were no adults around or I was by myself in the outhouse. I know that in today’s advertising world seeing a lady in a bra is no big deal. Back then, before I was ten, those glossy photographs of ladies in their “unmentionables” was, well … unmentionable.

The Risqué Factor for pictures like that was high enough that some pre-adolescents had been known to tear those pictures out of the catalogs and show them to their friends in out-of-the-way corners of the school playground and cloak rooms. We didn’t have locker rooms back then because we didn’t have gyms. Regardless, speculation regarding what that lingerie covered was a hot topic back then.

Anyway, back to the more practical side of the “Ultimate Recyclable” aspects of the Sears Roebuck Catalog.

In my grandfather’s house, we lived in what today would be described as a “finished basement”. Back then it was a “cellar”. The floors had linoleum on them and we had an eat-in kitchen and a “parlor” where the radio was — TV was still several years away. My grandfather had a big “Easy” chair that set next to a pot-bellied stove and in the winter months, that’s where Pop stayed most of the time when he wasn’t working.

Every morning, Pop would come downstairs (The bedrooms were on the first floor) and build a fire in the pot-bellied stove. He’d tear a couple of pages out of the “old” catalog, crumple them up, lay a few pieces of kindling on them and light the pile with a kitchen match. When he was satisfied that he had a good start to his fire, he would put a small amount of coal on top of the kindling.

In the spring, when Pop planted his garden, he would use pages out of a catalog, along with newspapers to cover his seedlings and keep them warm and moist.  He also used catalog sheets and newspaper as insulation in his tool shed.

I knew some folks that used the pages as shelf liners in their kitchen cabinets and pantries.

But the way I most vividly remember the Sears    Catalog was in the outhouse. I don’t think I knew what real toilet paper was until I started the first grade! Up until then, we had, and used, the Sears Catalogs in the outhouse! Being paper, they were biodegradable and just kinda disappeared into the stuff at the bottom of the pit.

The glossy sheets (The ones found in the lingerie section) were really not suitable for anything but looking at (At least in my pre-teen mind) or lining shelves and covering seed beds. Judging from my memories of my peers comments, that section did get a lot of attention when they used the “facilities”.

However the newsprint pages that composed the rest of the catalog were ideal for completing the job we went to the outhouse to accomplish. If you ripped out a page and crinkled it up, it made a fairly good substitute for the toilet paper that we did not have. It was a little rough, but usable.

The glossy pages, on the other hand, just didn’t have the wipe-ability of the coarser pages. Besides, those were the pages that Pop was most likely to use in his seed beds — those pages apparently had better “dimensional stability” when they got wet. Pop didn’t use the term dimensional stability but he knew what he was doing.

Now you know why I considered the Sears Roebuck Catalog as being essential to America’s shoppers, gardeners, fire-starters, fledgling readers and mathematicians, nascent voyeurs and as an indispensible aid in helpingAmerica finish the job by being the paper that got the job done.

I truly consider the Sears Catalog (The last “BIG” book was printed in 1993) to have been the ultimate recyclable. From sales to sanitation that book did it all. I don’t miss it but I sure do remember it!

If you’re interested, this link:

(http://www.searsarchives.com/catalogs/history.htm)

will give you a pretty thorough history of the Sears Catalog and the changes it made in the buying habits of Americans. A lot of famous Americans were featured in its pages but for some reason, there’s no mention of the recyclability of that venerable old catalog as we used it.