Posts filed under ‘REMEMBERANCES’
WHO IS WALT TRIZNA?
WHO IS WALT TRIZNA?
Who is Walt Trizna? Well, you’re about to find out.
I’m going to occasionally take a break from posting short stories and websites and let you know something about who is responsible for providing these posts.
These posts will be remembrances of my youth growing up in Newark, NJ. There will be sections of a memoir I began in 2000. Next will be memories of my college days, my experiences in the air force and then my career in science.
I have been very lucky that I have had two overlapping careers. As a scientist, I spent thirty-four years working from 1974-2008. I have been working as a writer from 2000 to the present and hopefully beyond.
I hope you will find these posts interesting.
MY LIFE WITH MILLIE AND SAM: THE FINISH
MY LIFE WITH MILLIE AND SAM
10/16/2021
Millie was losing even more weight, and her arthritis was causing her great pain. She hadn’t eaten for two days. So, I made one of the most difficult calls I have ever made in my life. I called the vet’s office and said it was time. I drove her to the vet. Went inside to tell them we were in the parking lot. As I walked back to my car there was Millie lying on the back seat looking at me with her beautiful eyes full of love.
A vet who has known Millie all her life came into the exam room and immediately said by the smell she could tell the problem was her kidneys.
The process went very fast. First Millie got something to make her sleep. Millie was standing and just keeled over. The vet said it was not usually so dramatic. Next came the injection which would relieve Millie of all her pain and sleep forever.
Millie is gone now but will never be forgotten.
Update 6/27/2025
Since this story was first written my cat, Sammy, has died at the age of 17. I have never been much of a cat person, but after 17 years I must say Sammy grew on me. However, Sammy being Sammy, I’m not sure of Sammy enjoying having me around.
MY LIFE WITH MILLIE AND SAM: A PETS’ STORY
Recently, my cat, Sammy (Samantha), died. She will probably be the last pet I have. And this will be the first time this house has been without a pet in about 35 years.
We’ve gone through a host of various types of animals as pets over the years. There have been lizards and snakes. I had a ball python for 25 years. We’ve had gerbils and a hamster. The hamster was found by a friend around Christmas time. The girls named it Noel. There was a hermit crab named Shelly. We have also had three dogs and four cats as pets one time or another. I’ll save most of their stories for the future.
This story will concern the last two pets who lived in this house. Millie, a fantastic dog and Sammy who would demonstrate an attitude when she wasn’t sleeping, which was most of the time. But no matter what their personality, they were part of the family.
MY LIFE WITH MILLIE AND SAM
This is a story about my dog, Millie, and my cat, Sam. Both remarkable pets.
My wife, Joni, and I adopted an SPCA dog. He was a terrier of an unknown mixture named Whitey for obvious reasons We loved him and had him for years. I would be sitting in a chair in the living room, and he would sit in front of me. I would say, “He’s coming up” and he would jump into my lap. Of course, he was white, but when he got a haircut portions of grey skin would show.
When Whitey died Joni said, “No more dogs.” Whitey’s death was grieved by the entire family.
My brother’s wife had quads, and they already had two kids at the time. We went to my brother’s house to celebrate the high school graduation of Lauren, Katie, Christopher and Andrew. All went on to get degrees, and some of the kids, advanced degrees.
When we arrived at Mike’s house the first thing he said was that we should go into the garage. He had a female Chocolate Lab named Haley. She was gaining weight, so Mike cut down on her food. His daughter, Jessica, came home from nursing school and said, “Dad, she’s pregnant.” When we walked into the garage there was Hailey nursing nine pups of various types. There were Chocolate Labs, Yellow Labs and pups colored brown and white. Mike did not know who the father was but my money is on a German Shepard. The pups were born at the beginning of June. Joni could not resist having one of these pups. Who could? At the beginning of August found Joni, my daughter, Lynn, and myself driving to my brother’s house to select one.
At that time there were seven or eight left. They were outside when we got there running around in a pack. Falling, jumping but always staying together. The pups were let into the house and we all sat down to have lunch. Joni had her eye on a Chocolate Lab named Chubs because he was the largest of the liter. As Joni was eating her lunch, and the pups were playing, a brown and white pup came and sat next to Joni. We did not pick out a pup. The pup picked us. I wanted to name her Molly, but Lynn wanted Millie. From the title of this piece, you could see who won.
A ST. PATRICK’S DAY MEMORY
Here is a memory I rekindle this time every year.
DOWN NECK ST. PATRICK’S DAY PARADE
A NEWARK EVENT
During my youth I lived in a section of Newark, New Jersey referred to as the ‘DownNeck’ Section of Newark. The area was also known as the Ironbound Section due to the many factories in the area. The title ‘DownNeck’ was acquired, which I once read, due to the shape of the Passaic River running past the area. And on the Sunday afternoon, nearest to St. Patrick’s Day, the residents of this area and my street, Christie Street, were treated to what had to have been one of the shortest St. Patrick’s Day parades in existence.
The local Catholic Church sponsored the parade, whose steeple I could see from my parlor window. Across the street from my house was the parking lot for the Balentine Brewery’s trucks. Weekdays were filled with the rumble of Balentine Brewery trucks set on the mission to quench the thirst of a parched city. Sunday was a day of rest for the trucks, making the parade possible.
Magically, sometime before the parade, a green line appeared down the center of our street, harbinger of the gala event. I never witnessed this line’s creation, but every year it materialized. At approximately 1:30 in the afternoon the residents began to gather on the sidewalk. Since the brewery and Catholic Church’s school took up one side of the street, the number of residents was few. Of course, there were always the annoying boys riding their bikes down the center of the blocked off street before the parade began. I was proud to be one of their number.
The parade began around the far corner from my house, on Market Street. With a band, not a school band, but one made up of adult men most of which had almost mastered the instrument they were assigned. Before the band came a few ruddy-faced Irish men, decked out in their top hats, waving to the minuscule crowd. At the front of this procession were the parish priests. The parade was half a block long and took thirty seconds to pass. The procession turned the corner onto Ferry Street, melting into the Down neck neighborhood, ready to continue the tradition next year.
A CHRISTMAS TREE STORY
THIS IS A REPOST OF A STORY FROM LAST CHRISTMAS WHICH I THINK REFLECTS THE SPIRIT OF THE SEASON
A CHIRISTMAS TREE STORY
For many years my family practiced a Christmas tradition involved in obtaining a Christmas tree. This experience holds a special place in our hearts. Those of you buying a live tree this Christmas season, a tree with an enormous price, may shed a tear after reading this story.
Many years ago, a friend at work told me about a unique tree farm where trees cost seven dollars. I can assure you that the prices of trees on Christmas tree lots, at that time, were much more. I obtained directions to the farm, and one Sunday afternoon, piled the family into our car and off we went. After a few wrong turns I found the farm. And for years we went there for our Christmas tree and experienced the true meaning of Christmas.
The tree farm was south of Phenixville Pennsylvania. I learned from the owner that the property was once the site of a small airport having a hanger in which he could store his powder blue tail-dragger single engine high wing plane. After many years the hanger was falling apart, and much to his amazement, he was able to fire up the engine and taxi the plane out. But I doubt that the plane will ever fly again.
Now back to the trees.
The tree farm was made up of groves of jack-pine trees, and he spent the off season trimming the trees for sale for Christmas. He was in his late seventies or early eighties, and you could tell, for now, it was his life’s work.
Now a jack-pine is an evergreen with branches, far apart, along its trunk. They were scraggly looking trees, but you could load ornaments along the full length of the branches. As opposed to the usual ‘full’ Christmas trees where only the tips of the branches could be decorated. Once decorated, these jack-pine trees were beautiful.
For tree selection my two daughters brought along multiple scarves to drape on trees which showed promise. Once the ‘perfect tree’ was chosen I cut it down and carried it to the small trailer he kept on the property. He wrapped the tree with twine then went inside with my wife and daughters to sip hot chocolate. While I was left to tie the tree to the car roof coming close to suffering frostbite.
On the wall of the trailer were mounted news articles. Clippings about the farm and his generosity. He donated trees to churches and organizations. I’m he would give trees to those suffering hardship.
Once home, we decorated our scrawny ‘Charlie Brown tree’ and turned it into a thing of beauty.
After a few years of getting our trees at the farm the owner told me he thought he was charging too much so he lowered the price to five dollars. I began bringing him a loaf of homemade cinnamon raisin bread and he told me I could have a tree for free. I assured him that five dollars was what I would pay.
The man through all the years had a collie running free on the property. But the dog wandered somewhere causing someone to complain. A township official arrived and warned the man about his dog. The next time we went to buy a tree he told me that that’s it and he was selling the property. I hope he got a good price and I’m sure some developer filled the land with McMansions sitting cheek to jowl. Houses with no character, only volume.
I will never return to that property for it would spoil my memories of a wonderful Christmas tradition. That fellow was the epitome of the Christmas spirit with the kindness and generosity of the holiday season.
MY NEED TO FLY, PART II
Upon entering the air force, the first plane I flew was the T-4, a Cessna 172. After that aircraft came the Cessna T-37, a small straight winged twin engine jet which would be my downfall.
Flying a jet is totally different than flying a propeller aircraft. The major difference, other than speed, is throttle management. You see, with a propeller aircraft you push the throttle forward and the power is available instantaneously. With a jet it takes time for the engines to wind up and provide the power you need. I also had trouble with trim management. You use the trim to help maintain control of the aircraft. Trim tab are small panels on the primary control surfaces. My instructor could take his hand off the stick in a turn and the plane would complete the turn. When I was in control if I took my hand off the stick, while flying straight, the results were somewhat less than control.
So, I washed out of pilot training, but did fulfill my dream of learning to fly. From flight training I entered the Titan II missile program and became commander of a four-man crew for the rest of my air force career.
BACK TO BASICS
My blog is returning to stories both personal and of the mind.
MY NEED TO FLY, PART I
Ever since I can remember I have been in love with airplanes and flight. Reading about their history and current developments along with learning about famous pilots in the past kept my interest alive.
In my youth I began on the road of becoming a voracious reader with comic books. The genres I loved the most were superheroes and horror. If you read my short stories you would see that my love for horror continues.
One thing I remember about comic books back then was the back page. Most of the time there were ads. One of the common ads was of some wimpy guy having sand kicked into his face by a muscular Heman. With the help of this ad, you could become a muscular Heman, and I guess kick sand into a guy not as well-developed as you.
Now I’m talking about the early 1960s, less than 20 years after the conclusion of World War II. The country still had a massive amount of military equipment. You could find ads at the back of comic book for some of this equipment for sale. Of course, readers of comic books had plenty of money to make purchases of these items. For sale were army jeeps for $99. A lot of money back then. I am shocked at the price of cars these days. I bought my first Volkswagen Beetle in late 1969 for slightly over $2000. The only reason it was more than $2000 was that I wanted a radio, AM. There were also ads for crated airplanes from World War II with no indication whether they were bombers or fighters.
This was way before the War Bird movement for restoring and flying such aircraft came into existence. Now these same planes are for sale for millions of dollars. I recall reading a story, not long ago, of a Hellcat, a navy carrier aircraft, being flown cross-country to a school where these aircraft were used for instruction. The plane ran out of fuel and the pilot made a perfect emergency landing in a farm field. When it was time for the farmer to plow, the plane was offered by the government for free to whomever would tow it away. Obtained for free was an aircraft which would cost millions today/
It was no surprise that when I was in high school these ads caught my attention. I, along with some friends of mine who were also crazy about airplanes decided to buy one. Where money would come from was caught up in our dreams.
Now, we planned to buy an airplane. Did we have any tools to accomplish the construction of said plane? No! Did we have any of the skills required to accomplish this task? No! Did we have a place to do the work? No! Of course, nothing came of this plan, but for a very short time, we dreamed
My interest in airplanes never wavered and was carried into college where I enrolled in Air Force ROTC. I took a gamble that I would qualify for piolet training, and I won. When you qualify for piolet training, the government pays for 36.5 hours of flight instruction during your senior year.
I was going to learn to fly – for free.
I still look back on those days of flight training fondly. Of the day when I was shooting touch and go landings. My instructor had me stop on the runway, got out, and I was on my own rejoining the traffic pattern.
I flew twice a week and remember one morning when the air was like silk, and the plane and I became one. Now, this flying was taking place in Oklahoma where it can be rather windy. One afternoon I was flying solo in the little Cessna 150 being used for flying lessons and the wind was blowing hard. I came in for a landing on a runway long enough to land a Boeing 707. I flew the length of the runway but couldn’t stay over the runway long enough to land and had to go around.
Then there was the time I was lost flying solo. I have no sense of direction and did not believe my instrument used for direction. But that’s another story.
Even with a few speedbumps I enjoyed every minute I spent learning to fly.
YOU KNOW YOU’RE GETTING OLD WHEN:
You remember when preparing a piece for publication required carbon paper and white-out.
YOU KNOW YOU’RE GETTING OLD WHEN:
You remember, as a writer, submitting a piece for publication would need that you include S A S E.
YOU KNOW YOU’RE GETTING OLD WHEN:
You remember when psychics were once called fortune tellers.
Walttriznastories's Blog 