Sheldon Weaver

Sheldon Weaver - Unedited - Unplugged - Story Teller Extraordinaire 

 



Sheldon, above sharing stories with youth on a hay wagon trip
--------------------------------

Every New Year when I was growing up, four family's would get together. They where Ralph Replogle's, Richard Putt's, Ray Reighard's and the Gerald Weaver family. Just in case you have never met them, those four men where the funniest people I have ever met. Ray was the king of humor and it still runs in his children. When we all got together, we had the best of times.
Second part of the story. My Dad was never what you call a man's, Man when it came to fight or flight he was always the latter. He did have one defense. If he was startled or frightened, he would yell at the top of his lungs, with a force that could turn the most harden mugger into a cowering child. As a young boy I used his defense for my great since of amusement.
Third part, our home was above the funeral home it consisted of a kitchen, living room, two bed rooms, a casket room and the prep room. We had fixed up the third floor as a extra place to hang out.
The forth part of the story is a Sock Monkey.
Story:
One New Years Eve when I was around twelve we had the party at our house above the funeral home. The adults where in the kitchen and the kids where above on the third floor, as we waited for the magic hour to arrive, I saw that my Dad was in the kitchen by the window that was behind the sink. I / we, hatched a plan. I had taken my Sock Monkey and tied a noose around it neck. Then we opened the attic window and slowly lowered the monkey down. Just when Bill Reighard,( my cohort in crime.) said do you think it's in front of the window, and before "dow" left his mouth. We heard the loudest roar that has ever been heard in the Weaver Funeral Home, before or since. It was followed by a stampede from the kitchen that was triggered by my Dad's sonic warning. What was even funnier, was my dad trying to explain what he saw out of the window. We finally had to admit to the deed, and it went into the history book as one of the most exciting New Years ever! To this day, every time I see Bill that is one of the first of the memories we bring up.
Take care my friends have a happy new year,
and watch out for flying Sock Monkeys!




Sheldon's  Sock Monkey


----------------------------
 Another trip down Sheldon's memory lane. The next time you get a bad meal at a bad restraint or have to wait forever for cold food or just have poor service. Just remember it could be worse! Years ago a person and I with another couple went out to eat at a place that shall remain nameless ( Duncansville Hoss's, the old one.) , they may have had to close it after, what had happen to me. Any way back to the story. Everything was preceding as planned, we ordered, and our food came out. My friend was sitting across from me and we where sitting next to the isle. He had just taken his time to cut up his steak in small bite sized cubes, and was just putting the first bite into his mouth, that is when I heard someone running in my direction from behind me. I then heard the unmistakeable sound of someone throwing up. At that very second I felt "as I could best describe as chunks hitting the back of my head". I watched as projectile vomit shot past my ears and went all over our table and plates of carefully cut steak. (This would be a good time to interject, that wile I have a strong constitution, I do not do vomit very well.) Out of the corner of my eye I see a man running to the bathroom making small deposits on the floor as he went. Every waitress had magically disappeared and I know as I scanned the room I saw at least a dozen people with there first three fingers pressed against there lips, trying to hold back a pending disaster of epic proportion. All eyes focused on me, to see if my recently eaten food would join the food on the table and would in turn, start the mass carnage. Now, this is the funny part. I look over at my friend who was still looking at his fork with his first bite of steak on it, and it struck me so funny, I started to laugh hard! He looked at me and also started to laugh. The laughter from us must have relieved the pressure of the situation. Eventually a waitress came to our table and asked if there was anything she could do? I asked if they had a shirt I could use. She said no but we have hats! She then asked if we wanted another table. I said no its kind of hard to eat with fresh puke in your hair. We all left restraint, and I went directly home to the shower. So, the next time your food is cold or not to your liking, remember it could be worse! Take care my friends


--------------------------
Sheldon's memories, This winter was the first time I was skiing in years, and it brought back a flood of memories. I wanted to tell you a few of the funnier ones. The first involved a teacher that will remain anonymous ( I will use his code name "Rabbit") . We where at the bottom of the mountain at the main lift, with a large group waiting to get on the chair lift. When it was "Rabbits" turn, he partnered up with a young attractive girl to ride up with on the chair lift. (This was the goal of all the guys). I am sure he was trying to look as cool a possible, but he failed to realize, as he stood waiting for the chair, that he was slightly a head of the ski bunny he was with. The chair hit her, and the force of the blow knocked the bar down that keeps you on the chair. The bar hit "Rabbit" and knocked him down, (here's the funny part.) The bottom of the bar, where you put you feet, entangled with he's belt and started to drag, then lift him up into the air. Rabbit was hanging from the bottom of the chair lift as he headed to the top of the mountain. Quick thinking from the lift attendant stopped the chair with Mr. Rabbit hanging 8 feet off of the ground. All this had happened in front of most of the ski club. The lift has no reverse and I don't think Mr. Rabbit was keen on the idea of a trip to the top of the mountain. After what seemed like hours, a few tall people reached up and grabbed his skis so he could untangle himself, and they let him slowly drop to the ground. He was safe, but his cool factor suffered greatly. We, that where there that night will never forget. Next Time I will tell you a story about our leader, Brian Walter, that stills make me laugh uncontrollably. Until next time my friends


                                                                   --------------------------


Sheldon's Memories, Ok, the Brian Walter story. I don't know if this will translate into a good story. It maybe one of those "you had to be there moments". So I will have to set the story up a little. We had a lot of snow that winter, we even had a lot at the bottom of the ski run. There was a building at the bottom of the hill that we called the Warming Hut, and the snow was a good two feet above the double doors, that opened out. The snow there, was cleaned out so the doors could open, but then went up two feet at a steep angle to the level of the snow. , and like everything is at Blue Knob it was icy! The Warming Hut was packed when we decided to stop in and get warmed. This is where Brian enters the story. Brian skis up, takes off his skis, and has them and his poles in his arms as he walks to the door. As soon as his boot hit the ice, his feet shot out, and for a second or two he was completely horizontal. The ice and the angle, shot him forward at an amazing speed. When he crashed (and I mean crashed) into the doors it looked and sounded like a train wreck! Skis and poles flew everywhere, and Brian lay in a lump at the bottom of the doors. When he hit, everyone ( and I mean everyone) inside jumped, and then we all watched Brian try to get to his feet. After he gathered up his skis and poles, Brian took one step and did it again! Only this time everyone was watching and I was rolling in the snow with laughter. Not to be deterred, Brian gathered his equipment up one more time, took one step, and Bam! This was the third time he hit the doors with a massive crash! I couldn't take it anymore. Brian with all the dignity he could muster, gathered up his skis and poles, then crawled into the Warming Hut. I had laughed so hard that I warmed my self up and not wanting to be the doors next victim, I decided to keep on skiing. Now for the rest of the story. I always fancied my self as a good skier and that night I had not fallen once, (other than with laughter). Well as I was walking to the Ski bus I started down a steep hill and build up speed. That is when I hit ice and did a Brian! I slid completely under the bus. Everyone (and I mean everyone) in the bus saw me. Only my head was sticking out! I watched as no fewer than a half a dozen bus windows flew open, and heads came out everywhere. As I layed there I tried to decide if I should gather up my skis, poles and my pride or just let the bus run me over. I still don't know if Brian's head was one of the ones sticking out of the bus. Anyway you know what they say about karma. That is the Brian story, according to Sheldon Thank care my friends and remember don't do a Brian! (Or a Sheldon) PS. Brian just in case you or Tina has to save my life sometime, I'm sorry for the story.


-------------------------------------------


Quick "Sheldon Story" This is a short story that takes place in the early 80s with a good buddy, Troy Byers. I am driving my Mercury Capri 2 and Troy is riding with me on the road from frosty hollow that joins 36, it is close to Sells airport. We where doing about 60 heading on the road to 36. I was not paying attention when I realized that someone had knocked the stop sign over at the T in the road. I started to brake at the yellow lines of 36. Needless to say I did not slow down much in the 8 feet before my car did a Dukes of Hazard off of a 3 foot drop in to the freshly cut corn field. I know we cleared at least 60 feet before we Hit the ground HARD very HARD! Now this is the funny part. In the early 80s there was a Movie that was popular, called Billy Jack, he was part Indian and a black belt, war hero. One thing that caught on then was his Billy Jack hat. (The hat looked like a sombrero made of quarter inch thick leather that was very hard and had designs cut into it.) Troy was warring this fashion statement but not his seatbelt at the time we left the road. When we hit the ground, Troy hit the roof, Literally! The force smashed that thick leather hat down on his head to the point that only his considerably large nose, and equally proportioned ears where sticking out. Now the best part is that it stuck like that. My only help to find a good way out of the field, came from a blind hat with ears and a big nose! No one was hurt that day and we eventually got his hat off. The only thing wrong with the car was the horn did not work and the passenger sun visor had a large dent in it. My stories are 100% true "as I remember them!" and they always seem to have a memory picture that I will never forget and bring me great joy. Troys leather Billy Jack hat is one of those memories. The more stories I tell the more I remember. Until next time my friends.


--------------------------------------


Sheldon's stories, This takes place on a nice warm sunny day in July about 1977. Darin and I are in the back seat of our black 76 Chrysler Newport "Custom" with my Dad behind the wheel. We where motoring along about 60 mph, on 26 in route to Huntingdon. Just then a bright red Alfa Romeo Spider, with two collage "graduate" want bees on there way to meet up with Mrs. Robinson, passed us like we where standing still. I looked at Darin and he looked at me, we both said at the same time "Pass Him" Now this is where I need to give you some more information. Our 76 Newport was not your run of the mill GrandPa car. It looked like one. But this was a undercover FBI car with Cop Brakes, Cop trans and a Cop 440! Now unless your a Mopar Motorhead you will not know of a carburetor called a theroquad That year the 440 HP came with a large 1000 cfm. carb. The front two barrels where smaller but the back two would suck in gulf balls. incase you have never ridden in a car with one, I will explain. When the long peddle hit the floor, the motor would take a big gulp of air, the 727 trans would down shift, then all heck would brake loose! It felt like you where hit from behind with a Mack truck. Now you need to know something about my Dad. My dad did not drive fast. But he also did not liked to be passed by anyone, especially two punks in a red sports car. All it took was the words "pass him" and two seconds later, the crap hit the fan. We where doing well over 120 when we went by them. One old guy in a Black Mafia, looken, staff car. With two kid's heads sticking out of the window, and laughing our butts off. The look on there face's where priceless. One more story about that car and my Dad. I was at a Boy Scout camp at the Bedford Speedway, and the whole week we where there, it rained, (Hard). We where all trying to stay dry so everyone was sitting in the bleachers under the roof. The track was solid Mud! I mean Deep Mud! Just then Lance Barkman said "who's that A$$ whole in that nice car? I looked, then said. "That's My DAD! He cam flying around the track at the Bedford Speedway, with my poor Mother hanging on for dear life. He stopped right in front of us. I hopped in and we took off! With the sound of our 440 and two giant roster tails of mud!. Yea my DAD was COOL! Take care my friends.




(1) Another story from Sheldon's past. After the birth of John Henry, my wife and I knew we where done having children. So, I decided to man up and get a vasectomy. The day came and I bravely went into the doctor office, after I disrobe and put on the gown. (This is the part that my wife loves.) A older woman (I found out later it was the doctor's mother) tells me get on the table, and had me put my heels into the stirrups. (Guys say a little prayer and thank God you where not born a girl!) if you have never been exposed like that you don't know what your missing. She didn't even give me a sheet to cover my man hood. Ok a tissue would have worked. After an hour (10 minutes) the doctor came in, and no kidding he was eating a hoagie and from the smell it, it had extra onions. He told me what was going to happen. The one thing that stuck in my mind was when he told me "it was going to feel like getting kicked in the balls"(his words). Now that has happened to me before and I have never enjoyed it, but I was still trying to be brave. So he leaves and "mom" starts to shave my parts that should never be shaved, then she covers me in only disinfectant. The doctor comes back in the room, still having onion breath, carrying a needle that looked like it was 3 feet long. I figured it was filled with anesthetics, but I swore only had water in it. He jaggies me all over and I'm still trying to be brave, thinking this will be over soon and it will all be worth it. He makes the first cut and I'm still ok, but this was the ball kicking part, he pulls down on the Vas deferens. That is the technical term for the most painful part of a man's body. When he pulled down it felt like it was hooked to my ear. (PAIN, when he said it felt like getting kicked in the balls I did not realize it would last for a half an hour!) then he soldered the ends and stitched it up. That's when I remembered I had two of them, and I had to go through the whole thing again! After I hobbled to the car an drove home, I jumped in to the shower to try to wash away the memories, I looked down to see blood running down my legs, I thought this cant be good. So I got the ice bag out, and tried to ice it. This is another thing that no man should have to do. A week went by and the swelling went down and I started to walk normal again. That is when I did one of my top ten stupidest things ever. I thought I would jump of the tailgate of my pickup. I know for a fact that they hit the ground! Anyway, months later I had a friend that was thinking about having a vasectomy. I encourage him, secretly laughing inside, knowing what I went through. Well the next time I saw him I asked how it went. He said they put him to sleep and it was all over. That was when I replied "YOU CAN DO THAT!"




Sheldon's signs of our age! Do you remember, when you could not speak a sentence with out using "like" at least seven times?


Sheldon's, Signs of our age! Do you remember when bullying in school meant: Bear fats, purple flugies, buck wheats, being locked in a locker, the dreaded "Bag Tag", juugies, Horse bites, Indian burns, flat tires, wet willies, wedgies, and the worst thing of all "Tree Jobs". Now days if you get picked last for a ball game, you are being bullied. ( I got picked last, because I stunk!) Kids now are such wimps. I am sure each generation thinks that about there kids.


Another "Sheldon's Stories" I was mowing my yard today in my ski parka and gloves, day dreaming of warmer days, and this story came to mind. I call it "Bee careful in cemeteries" The story takes place on a very warm day in July, at the Bedford Forge Church Cemetery. This is a beautiful little cemetery with one bad trait, Ground Nesting Yellow Jackets. (Just in case you don't know about them, they are very aggressive and have a wicked sting. ) On many occasions (from a safe distance) I have enjoyed seeing the gravediggers and Vault men try to get rid of these nasty little creatures. Just the site of grown men dancing a flailing around, trying not to get stung, makes me laugh. As with most of my stories I seem to get paid back with a vengeance.. Anyway. We where standing at the graveside, with the temperature hovering around 110. I was fashionably dressed in a Black pinstriped, Swedish knit three piece suit, from the Young Men's Shop. (By the way, not the best thing to try to stay cool in.) ( My Funeral shorts idea never took off). The pastor was half way through his committal service, when I felt something in my pant's leg, at that very second I felt like someone shot me in the leg with a Police Taser. This was just above my knee. I grabbed at it, all the wile trying not to disturb the service. Then BANG I got hit again (it felt like a hot knife with a dull blade stuck into my leg) only this time six inches higher. I grabbed that one with my other hand. Then BANG (this one felt like a big strong fat bald man just slapped me as hard as he could only on one square inch of my leg) , now encase you where not counting, I have ran out of hands and this was higher than the last sting. Knowing, only my tightie whities where my last defense, I decided to try to get out of the area as quickly as possible. FYI it is hard to run in a dignified manner with both hands grabbing your left leg, especially when that leg is paralyzed. My only cover was the vault truck at the end of the grave yard. I was almost their when BAM, (this one felt like blazing vice gripes just pinched off an chunk of my leg), and it was within three inches of the last thing on my body that I want to have stung. I'm sure by then the yellow jackets where thinking, "Man is this hole seem long this morning" I finally made it to the truck and right in front of the vault guys, I drop trawl, but not before one more got me just to say Bye. (That one felt like, well you get the idea , IT HURT!) I ripped off my paints and started swing them around my head, trying to keep from getting stung by the Yellow Jackets that where left alive. After the vault men realized that I had not lost my mind, they could not stop Laughing. (Pay back!) After I felt it was safe I went back to the tent. Oh yes I did put my pants back on. When the service was over. I told my Dad what had happened, and said I'm Mad and I going home. I got in the hearse and took off, as I drove, all I could think about was, what are the signs of anaphylactic shock, and if I got them all. Now every time I go to that cemetery. The vault guys want to tuck dollars into my belt. Just remember, Bee safe my friends.


Sheldon's story's It's been a wile since my last story. I thought I would tell a short one on my mother. (Mothers Day!) Late one night, we had a death at someone's home. My Mother and father went to the home to make the removal. When they got there, my Dad went into the bedroom to talk with the family. My Mother sat down on the couch in the living room, with a lady that was sitting there, after some time went by, my Mother tried to make small talk with the lady it was then that the family and my father came back into the room and my Mother realized the she was sitting with and talking to the dead lady.




I have had a request for a Chaz story. So here is a montage: Charles use to tricker treat every year in the same cheap bunny mask. When he was 4 that wasn't bad but when you open your door to a 6 foot 5 inch man with a bunny mask. Well, lets just say you may need long term therapy. Charles use to bring a basket ball to my house that he had over inflated to the point it would get stuck in my hoop, so one time I was trying to get his ball unstuck and Charles disappeared. I just happened to look over in time to see an arrow fly from behind the garage and go through our second story window. It got stuck in the curtain of the window, and looked funny. I went back to see Charles putting my bow away, and telling me, he was trying to hit the yard. I said you missed and go tell my Dad. (I never saw such a look of total fear.) Staying with Charles and bows. One time at the high school when we shot bows for Jim class Charles took one of those little bows that could hardly make it to the bale, and shot an arrow almost 200 yards, that hit the step under the door of the HS. (The total truth), 2 seconds later Mr Hoover and Mr. Saint Clair stepped out of the door. (Another look of total fear!) Charles was sled riding with Darin and I at the FH. We had been throwing snow balls at him most of the night. when he was walking up a steep bank at the bottom to the parking lot. I had just picked up a big chunk of ice and pitched it as high as I could in the general direction of Charles. Well, he just reached the top of the bank, stood up as tall as he could, when that chunk of ice hit him right between his eyes. He went down like a red wood. I have many others. One story is will have to wait for another night, but it's worth it! Good night my friends.


I haven't written anything for awhile. So here is a gem from my brain. Today I figured out why they have turns in the roads. They help remind old people to turn off there turn signal, that they left on from the last turn, they made over five miles ago. That came to me as I was riding my motorcycle, trying to look cool with my left turn signal on, for well I don't know how long. Things like that happen to me every time, "I think I'm all that and a bucket of chicken" as my wife would say. So I decide to make a list of what makes bikers look cool on there bikes. I am talking motorcycles not bicycles. No one looks cool on a bicycle! I hate those skinny people in there spandex thinking they are so healthy. All wile I have to take my hand out of the fries to put it back on the wheel, just to swerve across the road, so I don't run there vegetarian butts over. I almost spilled my big gulp! Back to Motorcycles! You may think your cool on a bike unless you: Ride a bike with only one cylinder! Have more than two wheels! Have a windshield the size of a glass door, or any windshield! Wear a helmet. (Your smart but not cool) Ride a motorcycle that's purple and has a missing windshield (Prince). A scooter is not a motorcycle and you can never look cool on one, unless your Brad Mock. Ware shorts! Ware fake hair! Singing born to be wild, at the top of your lungs! Ware a shirt that says " if you can read this the Bi**h fell off" everyone knows they never had a girl in the first place! Men, Never, never ride with another man! A woman with another woman, now that's cool! Ride with one of your kids fake tattoos on! Here are some of the things that may be cool, but I just don't understand: Handle bars so high that you have to stand to reach them! Have your feet higher than your hands! Having a cute little girl holding on to the back end of a crotch rocket, with there stupid boy friend doing 100 on one wheel!!! Riding a bike that you have to lay on the tank! Riding a bike that is bigger than a truck just so it makes you look smaller! Face it, it's the only way big guys like me can, even think we could look cool. What! Do you want to see us in spandex on a bicycle! Be safe out there my friends!


A poem by Sheldon H. Weaver I use to come up with poems when I would try to sleep. I could never remember them the next day. This poem, I took the time to write down one night around 3am, when I was 18. Whispering willows of tempestuous white, shattered the moonbeams red blaring light. The dawn of temptation died in disease, as all the young virgins were brought to their knees. The stars did light the sky aflame, as a young hero who had no name. Shot the beast that ate the light, that stole the sparkle from the night. The virgins did not want the beast to die, for the beast did try, and the virgins did lust. and all that remained, was the light that came, and the misguided feelings of a young boys trust. and I ended it with "and who cares." Oh well it was 3am.




My daughter is so sweet, after fourteen Christmases she finally realized that momma was not having an affair with Santa Claus, and that it was really her daddy dressed up. Now she likes the song! That's my baby girl!


Lamborghini for Christmas, My son was just saying how much he liked his Christmas presents. I told him when he gets bigger he can buy me a Lamborghini for my Christmas present. He said what did you say? I said a LAMBORGHINI he said "I thought you said a longer weenie." I said that would work too.




I have to tell you the story about Len's Chrysler 300. Dewayne McKnight had a friend that wanted to sell this car and told Len, he also said it was FAST. So Len and I went together and bought the car for $100.00 fifty each. We drove it home from Altoona with no brakes. The car was nice, but Len wanted to fix it up and he did! It looked beautiful! He paid for my half of the car, and it was all his. Now the only reason we survived this car was because of the Good Lord and prayers from our mothers. We would drive 36 at well over 100 miles an hour, every time we where in the car. It had a 440K motor and air plane gears. The best part of the car was when you tramped on the gas, the glove box would fly open and the big ash, ash tray would fly off on to the floor. We would sit in the back seat and pull the faces back of the people in the front seat and yell G forces! What fun, I miss the old days.


Last night around 1am, the house was very quiet and as I was ready to go to sleep, I thought I could here something or maybe it feel something. I could barely tell it over the loud ringing in my ears ((The ringing is normal. ( to much loud Disco music as a teen.)) It sounded like a very low rumble, like our furnace was trying to start and couldn't. It would go for five seconds then stop then do it again. This went on for a half an hour, then I decided to investigate. I went to see if the furnace was trying to start, but after a long time it did not turn on, so I tried to sleep in the basement recliner until it did. I could still hear it, but more like feel it. Time went by and it would not stop! I started to feel like I was in a Edgar Allen Poe book, the tell tale heart. It would not stop! I looked and looked to no avail. The sound had no direction. I finally laid back in the recliner to try to sleep, but it was still there, a feeling more than a sound, I turned on classical music on my iPhone. But I could still hear or feel it. I turned the music up but it was still there. On and off, on and off it would go, over and over. Was it coming from my head? Was I loosing my mind? Sometime after three I must had drifted to sleep. The next day I told my family what I had heard and wanted to know if they heard or felt it, they all said no. A short wile later my son Grant laughed and said look, I had my phone set on vibrate and it was getting messages all night. That's just one more reason teens should not have phones! Take care my friends.




The reason I hate the Easter bunny! After years of this happening, I finally realize it's the Easter Bunny's fault that I'm fat! I start off each year with a New Year's resolution of loosing weight, and I do well. I lay off sweets and sodas and in general try to watch what I eat. I get down 20 lbs or so, then that old Easter bunny comes and we get candy for the kids and a basket for the wife and I. I know better but I have to try some, just some jelly beans, only the black ones, then I try a teeny tiny, micro small Milky Way. That's it, it's all over! The next thing I know I'm scrounging through to the kids basket's when their not looking, then when that are looking (I don't care any more), I go for the small chip bags, after all they're small. Soon I'm in the fridge at night cleaning out the ice cream. Now I'm almost back up to the weight I started, can't think about anything that does not have sugar in it and all the kids want to know what happened to all their candy! I HATE THAT BUNNY!


Kids don't do great things because their parents did things for them, they do great things despite what their parents did for them.


15 years ago yesterday, my father died. He loved being a Funeral Director, and he was the best! He was also the best Dad! He did not hunt, fish, camp, ski, skate, do karate, play tennis, or ball of any kind he did not build things, could not change a tire or know how to even check the oil, nothing that I enjoyed. But that is not want a father is all about. He liked to read, eat, and was very funny. He was very compassionate, and would cry at a TV commercial, or music. He was not what you call a man's man. But he always made me feel safe, and would NEVER let anything hurt me. He Loved my mother and his baby boy so much. One night he followed my mother and I home, with his high beams on the whole way, just to see the the red in my hair. I could tell you so many wonderful funny stories about my Dad. But to night, I just want to say that when he laid dying of one of the worse, most painful type of cancers, he showed me such strength, such bravery, he still wanted to take care of my mother and I, he wanted to spend more time with his new little granddaughter. But he was ready to meet his Lord, and at this point we wanted him to be free of his pain. He was the best Dad in the world. I hope I could be half the funeral director that my dad was, but If I could be just a tiny bit of the father that my Dad was to me, then when it's my time to meet The Lord, I will die a happy man.




Every New Year when I was growing up, four family's would get together. They where Ralph Replogle's, Richard Putt's, Ray Reighard's and the Gerald Weaver family. Just in case you have never met them, those four men where the funniest people I have ever met. Ray was the king of humor and it still runs in his children. When we all got together, we had the best of times. Second part of the story. My Dad was never what you call a man's, Man when it came to fight or flight he was always the latter. He did have one defense. If he was startled or frightened, he would yell at the top of his lungs, with a force that could turn the most harden mugger into a cowering child. As a young boy I used his defense for my great since of amusement. Third part, our home was above the funeral home it consisted of a kitchen, living room, two bed rooms, a casket room and the prep room. We had fixed up the third floor as a extra place to hang out. The forth part of the story is a Sock Monkey. Story: One New Years Eve when I was around twelve we had the party at our house above the funeral home. The adults where in the kitchen and the kids where above on the third floor, as we waited for the magic hour to arrive, I saw that my Dad was in the kitchen by the window that was behind the sink. I / we, hatched a plan. I had taken my Sock Monkey and tied a noose around it neck. Then we opened the attic window and slowly lowered the monkey down. Just when Bill Reighard,( my cohort in crime.) said do you think it's in front of the window, and before "dow" left his mouth. We heard the loudest roar that has ever been heard in the Weaver Funeral Home, before or since. It was followed by a stampede from the kitchen that was triggered by my Dad's sonic warning. What was even funnier, was my dad trying to explain what he saw out of the window. We finally had to admit to the deed, and it went into the history book as one of the most exciting New Years ever! To this day, every time I see Bill that is one of the first of the memories we bring up. Take care my friends have a happy new year, and watch out for flying Sock Monkeys!




It's been a long time since I had a "Sheldon Story" and I thought it was time. Now I did not want this to get out about me, but in the interest of public awareness, I thought it should be told. Please don't think less of me! Now for the last 8 to 10 years, my hearing has gradually gotten worse. I had blamed it on being of the Disco generation and dancing in front of the 10 foot speakers at the Martinsburg Park (I don't care DISCO ROCKS!) any way. I have had growing tinnitus and loss of hearing, and a lot of problems in crowded rooms, many times I had to almost read lips. Sometimes my right ear would close up to the point I would not hear out of it at all. My wife has told me for years to get my ears looked at, but I felt what's the point, I'm getting older and they can't do much other than hearing aids. For a week now I have had sharp pain in my right ear, to the point that I finally said yes on going to the Doctor. Tuesday I went in to Mainline medical, because of my ear infection. (IF YOU HAVE A WEAK STOMACH, PLEASE STOP READING). The doctor took one look in my ear and said you have ear wax in your ears, I thought ok they have told me that for years and I would go home and take care of it with a Q tip. WELL! he said I will have my nurse take care of that and I said ok. She got this chrome syringe that was (and I'm not kidding) the size of a Pringles can, and a big bowl of warm water. I held this little horseshoe cup under my ear. Then she fill up this I instrument of torture, and shoved it into my ear and pushed the entire contents in, then immediately pull the contents back out. She then repeated, then repeated, then repeated, then repeated, refilled then repeated. She would look then do it again, NOW it felt like she stuck a high pressure car washer in my ear followed by a suction pump! It felt like my head went to the bottom of the ocean then to the top of Mount Everest all in two seconds! Hurt! Yes! The last time she did it she said "I got it." (Here is the gross part!) she had pulled out a thing that was almost a inch long and as round as a pencil. I said that was in my HEAD? Then she said there is more, I said "WHAT!" after three more times she pulled (and again I'm not kidding) a thing that was 3/4 of an inch long and as round as a pencil. I have to say this with all respect to my Lord and savior. Oh my dear God! I CAN HEAR!!!!!!! It felt like a miracle happened! I could hear Better than I have for 20 years. She went to the other ear and did the same thing 10 to 12 times then she went to get the Doctor to try. I said I don't care how long it takes, get that thing out of me. The whole time I kept thinking of a Star Trek movie where the Klingons put brain eating cockroaches in some poor guys ears. Just get that thing out of me. WELL after a few more very painful tries with tweezers he pulled out another inch of this crap that they call ear wax but looked more like it came out of a plugged drain. I COULD HEAR, I COULD HEAR!!!!! Thank you Lord I can hear! All of those years of being yelled at because I could not understand or hear what was said are now over! My hearing is 20/20 I thanked and I apologized to the doctor and nurse for putting them thought this, but they looked as happy as I was. For a day I had to wear ear plugs in me ears because everything is so LOUD!!!! I still have the ringing but it not nearly as bad because I CAN HEAR EVERYTHING!!! So don't say anything around me that you don't want me to hear! And always remember, listen to your wife and when a doctor says you have wax in your ears, you may need more than a Q-tip! Thank you my friends, that is all.


Observation' from Sheldon. "The new MAN" Being the Man of the house, my role of protecting my family, seems to come down to killing spiders in the kid's rooms, and hunting down and killing the occasional dreaded Bat that has the bad luck to come into our home. Other duties of today's man "me" are doing the dishes, cleaning my Toilet and taking out the trash. The trash is what I would like to talk about, now. I know that it is impossible to ask anyone other than me to push the trash down into the trash can, when I come home I find this heaping pile of modern art that is three feet above the lid of the garbage can! I swear my wife plays Jinga with all of the trash. Is it because I am so manly that I am the only one with the upper body strength to push the trash in to the can? Am I the only one with the mental ability to know how to fold a pizza box to get it to fit in the trash, or understand how a milk jug and boss bottle can be squeezed smaller when you unscrew the cap, or that when you put a paper plate with Mac and cheese you always put it in cheese down.?No, lets just position Reynolds wrap to blow off the top every time I walk by. Or let's pour spaghetti sauce in the bottom of the bag along with something sharp. The trash can is NOT a basket ball hoop! Isn't it bad enough that I have to take it out in the coldest and hottest days of the year, If not for me, we would have 50 trash bags that weigh 12ozs each, and Why, Why, Why is it that every time I set a trash bag down, it falls the opposite direction,than the way I think it will. I hate that! Does anyone care to look at my poor fingers after the plastic ties of 6 large garbage bags cut in to them, to the point of amputation? NO! It is so hard to be a modern MAN! Take care my friends.


Time for another" Sheldon's stories." This is just one story of a long time friend Len Bassler. We go back to the first grade and while I have so many memories of our mis adventures, only a few a dare repeat. I have entitled this one "Don't play with gunpowder!" "Back in the day" to use a phrase from Pawn Stars. The boys of Woodbury enjoyed many things that would now days put us in prison. One example, is the enjoyment we had of making things go BANG! Some of the Woodbury boys had mastered small arms fire, ( Darin Meck i.e. Pyro.) he was the master of the pop bottle rocket. He would light them, then aim them at his target (usually us). others, myself included found creative ways to turn M80s, M90s and M200s into noise. Some where turned into heavy artillery, and even though I was never involved, I do know some mail boxes suffered. Now Len's mother "Delphine" was keenly aware of this and gave Len direct orders to not walk across the road. To remedy this I simply carried him across, thus not directly disobeying his mother. On one of these times we came up with a new type of explosive. We took a tick tack case, filled it up with gun powder, packed tissue paper in it then added gasoline. We lit the homemade A-bomb, than ran. Well it would not light, so Len decided to pick it up and gently blow on it! Now me, being a good friend and not thinking that was a good idea, thought about saying something to him, But my curiosity out weighted my concerns, so Len blew gently; ever so gently, once, then twice, on the third attempt, he got the results we wanted. From I would say 10 inches away the power ignited with all the power of a 50 cal muzzle loader all aiming right at his face. As a small mushroom cloud rose into the sky, Len was yelling/ screaming PUT ME OUT, PUT ME OUT, PUT ME OUT!!! He was spinning around with his hair on fire, and he was smacking his head and spinning and smacking and spinning, saying PUT ME OUT! I said I will, but I can't stop laughing! His hair was still smoldering as I approached from my safe distance. The top of his head looked like real tiny pubic hair. All his eyebrows where gone, and under closer examination we notice all his eyelashes where curled under, into his eyes. Len's only thought was, what do I tell my Mother! We where sure she would notice her son was looking slightly African American and took up smoking. Feeling a little like the kid from Christmas story, we concocted a plan to say he was to near the burning trash, "yea that would work, it had to work". Anyway he survived with no ill affects, other than a mysterious, early gray spot in his hair. Now I never like to have anyone think I'm smarter than any of my friends. So here's a FYI. Never point a 12gage shotgun at a pine tree (or any other tree). With the barrel 3 inches away, and pull the trigger! When I hear stories of life flashing, I believe them. I can't explain how, but I saw in slow motion the shot come out of the barrel hit the tree, go in then come back out with pieces of the tree, aimed right for my face. That split second took 10 minutes, and the whole time I was repeating, this is going to HURT, and it did! Len, I and others are alive today because of a lot of prayers of our mothers.




I have others I have to find or lost them, and hundreds of stories in my brain. But typing with my thumbs on my iPad, not knowing how to spell or use punctuation takes me for ever!

















My Roots - The Potchaks - circa 1927

My Roots - The Potchaks - circa 1927
From Left: Son, Steve - Dad, Frank - Mom, Anastasia (Makar) - Sons; John, Mike, Frank, Chuck (Author's Dad) - Twins, Pete & Mary - Daughter, Catherine. Photo taken in Wilmore, PA