Stupid Phone!
(Terry Story #4)

This is actually a "Terry's Dad Story."

Zack used a room in his home as an office for his construction business. One day Terry walked into my room laughing.

You'll never guess what I found Dad doing just now," he said.

"Tell me," I replied.

"I went into his office and he was at his desk holding the phone to his ear. He had a disgusted look on his face and mumbled something about the stupid phone not working right."

"Well, the reason it didn't work was that he was trying to dial the number by punching it in on his typewriter keyboard."

Of course we all had a big laugh over that—but none of us could have imagined that someday we actually would be dialing a phone by punching numbers (or just one number) on a keyboard.

Taking a Dive in a Japanese Restaurant
(Terry Story #5)

This is one of those "you had to be there to see it" type of stories.

Terry and I went with some friends to a Japanese restaurant. Neither Terry nor I, nor our dates, had ever been to a Japanese restaurant, and we were surprised to find that we were expected to remove our shoes and sit on cushions, while dining at a very low table.

Well, neither Terry nor I have ever been what you would call "athletic" nor were we particularly comfortable sitting cross-legged on these cushions.

Anyway, Terry needed to use the restroom, so he excused himself and went to stand up. However, one foot tripped over the other and he landed face down on the floor.

To this day we remember Terry as being the only person in the world who could fall off of an eight-inch thick cushion that was on the floor of a Japanese restaurant.

Moving Target
(Terry Story #6)

Getting back to when were kids, Terry had a paper route and delivered the Los Angeles Herald Express every afternoon on his bicycle.

This was back in the days when the city was first designing its extensive freeway system and when it often exercised "Eminent Domain" to re-locate homes that were in the path of the soon-to-be-built roadways.

I remember Terry telling me how he was becoming more frustrated with his job each day.

"Well, it happened again," he would say. "I went to toss a paper onto a customer's front porch—but wasn't able to do it—the house was moving down the street."

Personas Non Gratas?
(Terry Story #7)

There was a time when I was dating a black girl, and I had brought her to Terry's house a couple of times. One Saturday afternoon Terry and I and a third friend were jitterbugging with our dates on the backyard patio when Terry's dad came home. We didn't know he was expecting some business associates to come by for a meeting and that they'd be there at any moment.

"I hate to break up your party," he said rather urgently, "but this is an important meeting and I'd really like it to be quiet and business-like while they're here. So I'd appreciate it if you would all leave right now."

As we prepared to leave, Zack pulled me into his office and said, "I don't want you to think I'm asking you to leave because your girlfriend is colored."

Well, as far as I could tell, Zack didn't have a prejudicial bone in his body—but his words somehow lacked lacked a certain element of conviction—and I think he realized it.

So he added, "After all, I'm part of a minority group, too, you know."

"Really?" I asked. "What minority group is that?"

"Geniuses," he replied with a disarming smile. "Now get out of here!"

Computers? Who Needs Them?
(Terry Story #8)

When Terry and I finally got together via email, after not seeing each other in over 40 years, I was naturally curious to know if he was interested in computers.

"Oh, I've got one," he replied, "but I don't use it all that much—just for occasional email and a few other things."

"But you must have used computers in your bank work," I suggested.

"Well," Terry said, "when they first came on the scene, I tended to resist them."

"In fact," he went on, "I was the last person in the bank to give up using memo pads and carbon paper. I held out as long as I could—but it got to where you couldn't find carbon paper anymore."

Rollercoaster Heart Attack
(Terry Story #9)

I've always loved riding on rollercoasters. There was a time when a wooden rollercoaster was the main thrill-ride at any amusement park—and the most expensive. You could ride the Tilt-A-Whirl or the Octopus for 10 cents, but you had to pay a quarter to go on the Cyclone Racer. (Sometimes I would blow a whole week's worth of selling newspapers on the ride.)

Now, of course, the newer high-tech corkscrew rides named after comic book characters are faster and scarier—and I ride them, too, when I go to Magic Mountain with my grandkids. But I still prefer the vintage wooden rollercoasters.

Sadly, however, when I was a kid none of my friends liked any of the fast carnival rides. So I would consider it a major achievement if I could get one of them to go on the rollercoaster with me.

I had begged Terry for years, assuring him that it was not all that bad and that after the first steep drop it was really lots of fun. So one day he finally agreed to give it a try.

Well, my favorite spot on the ride was the front seat of the first car. And I would sometimes wait through two or three rides to get that front seat. This time it was empty when we arrived at the loading platform.

"Look," I excitedly told Terry, "We can sit in the very front!"

"No way," replied Terry, who looked like he was about to give up on the whole idea.

Well, I quickly claimed the front seat in hopes that he would change his mind, but he reluctantly climbed into the second seat of the second car. Nobody took any of the seats between us, so, by looking over my shoulder I could easily keep an eye on Terry to see how he was doing. He looked very pale. But at least he was on the ride.

As we climbed to the top of the first rise, I kept looking over my shoulder and assuring Terry that he had nothing to be worried about. He did not look convinced.

Anyway, as we crested the top I turned to face forward and raised both hands high over my head (as we courageous and seasoned rollercoaster riders are wont to do). I could hardly wait to reach the bottom so I could look back to see how Terry had survived the first drop.

But what I saw nearly gave me a heart attack.

Terry was nowhere to be seen.

"Omigod!" I thought. "He's fallen out. Whaddo I do now?" I was panic-stricken.

It was about then when I saw a hand come shakily over the back of the front seat in the second car.

It was Terry!

I sat petrified as a second hand came over the seat, and then saw a terror-stricken face coming up between the hands.

By now we were cresting the second rise, so I faced forward again. However, my arms didn't seem to want to go up in the air this time. So I just grabbed my safety bar and looked back to see if Terry was okay.

Well, as we began to careen down the second drop Terry vanished again. But at least I knew where he was. He somehow managed to survive the trip by clinging to the safety bar while alternately sliding off and back onto the seat.

He did not enjoy the ride. Nor did he ever go on a rollercoaster again.

And the self-satisfaction I normally felt after getting someone to go on the ride with me was, not surprisingly, diminished considerably.

Roller Coaster Ecstasy (Another True Story)