Back in the 50s when I was in Jr. High in Los Altos, the town had a Dad’s Club for men. Their main purpose was to put on a charitable musical revue each year called the Fathers’ Frolics. The cast was liberally filled with well-known local businessmen, teachers, doctors and
It was another lazy afternoon at The Scruffy Dog Cafe with a few of us regulars shooting the breeze at our unofficial table off in the corner, masochistically waiting for refills on what the Scruffy Dog’s owner generously calls coffee on his menu.
“You fellas might remember that I was sent over to the IBM facility in Croydon, south of London” I began, as the customary reprobates were sitting around our usual table in The Scruffy Dog. Today there was Little Joe, still hiding from the sheriff, Lois, our guardian angel who helped
Hundreds of buses for the Hoppa Hotel but not a one for the Holiday Inn In the 80s and 90s I flew into London several times a year. I usually had a hotel booked in Kensington or even Croydon, so it was taxi time. There were, however, those occasional times
I was in the Army in the mid-60s, stationed in Berlin as a telephone repairman / switchboard operator. Our outfit was a Signal company, which included any job pertaining to communications – telephone, radio, microwave, crypto, whatever. Our sergeants and officers were not the the strict gung-ho types you see
Another tale about the folks who gather for coffee and grub at The Scruffy Dog Cafe somewhere in the Midwest. This time Little Joe's latest money-making scheme runs afoul of the law as he tries to fleece tourists out of a buck to park in an empty field.