ROUND FIGURES

 

 

The call was from Sara at the bank. She sounded concerned…

 

“Mr. Wolfsie, I wanted to let you know as quickly as I could. It’s about your checking account.”

 

 “I think I know why you’re calling,” I said, dreading the worst. “How much are we talking about here?

 

“$3.32,” she said. “You added your mail deposit incorrectly and we had to issue you a credit. I am sorry to bring you the bad news.”

 

I hung up and accessed my account online. Sara was correct. I looked in disbelief, but there it was: my correct balance was now $1,003.32. How could this happen? I quickly hit the “Pay Bills” button and sent $3.32 to my Shell Oil credit card. It barely paid for a gallon of gas, but that was not the point of the transaction. My account now had an even one thousand dollars. I could feel my blood pressure returning to normal.

 

This preoccupation with round numbers is really the only compulsion I suffer from as long as you don’t count making sure that all my hangers in the closet point in the same direction and that the shirts themselves are completely buttoned while awaiting their turn to be worn. But who doesn’t do that?

 

When I get an electric bill for $87.45, I send them $100. Why? First, because I require even numbers in my checkbook, and second, because the next month my bill will be about $13.00 less. If I keep doing this for about nine months, all of a sudden I get a month free from IPL. I bet they have no idea I’m pulling something over on them.

 

This fixation goes way back. When I first started driving in the ’60s, I always put exactly five dollars' worth of gas in the tank. In the ’70s it was ten dollars. Then 20, 30, 40…now 50. Never  $40.92 or $50.13.  Even if getting to $50.00 results in some spillage, I think that’s worth a good night’s sleep, don’t you?

 

Okay, I know what’s happening now. Half of the people reading this are saying things like: “Hey, Gladys, you have to hear this: Dick Wolfsie does exactly what I do. I wonder if he also re-ties his shoes before he puts them away in his closet. (Note to those readers: I do.)

 

Others are saying:  “Herb, Dick Wolfsie is nuttier than a pecan pie. He gives the electric company extra money. He must have an IQ of about 85.”

 

(Note to readers: I like to round that up to 100.)

 

Mary Ellen hates this trait in me and watches me closely to be sure that this preoccupation does not cost us extra money. When the water bill comes in for 97.18, she insists I write a check for exactly $97.18. How incredibly weird is that?  Is she trying to drive me insane?

 

Of course, this obsession does have its downside…

 

“I’m afraid I have to write you a ticket, Mr. Wolfsie. You were going 76 miles per hour in a 55 mph zone. That’s gonna cost you $175.00.”

 

“Gee, officer, it’s my first offense. Can you cut me a break? How about 80 miles per hour and let’s make it an even 200?”

 

By the way, in case you’re interested, I’m 60 years old. I also like rounding down.

 

ROUND FIGURES

 

The call was from Sara at the bank. She sounded concerned...

 

“Mr. Wolfsie, I wanted to let you know as quickly as I could. It’s about your checking account.”

 

 “I think I know why you’re calling,” I said, dreading the worst. “How much are we talking about here?

 

“$3.32,” she said. “You added your mail deposit incorrectly and we had to issue you a credit. I am sorry to bring you the bad news.”

 

I hung up and accessed my account online. Sara was correct. I looked in disbelief, but there it was: my correct balance was now $1,003.32. How could this happen? I quickly hit the “Pay Bills” button and sent $3.32 to my Shell Oil credit card. It barely paid for a gallon of gas, but that was not the point of the transaction. My account now had an even one thousand dollars. I could feel my blood pressure returning to normal.

 

This preoccupation with round numbers is really the only compulsion I suffer from as long as you don’t count making sure that all my hangers in the closet point in the same direction and that the shirts themselves are completely buttoned while awaiting their turn to be worn. But who doesn’t do that?

 

When I get an electric bill for $87.45, I send them $100. Why? First, because I require even numbers in my checkbook, and second, because the next month my bill will be about $13.00 less. If I keep doing this for about nine months, all of a sudden I get a month free from IPL. I bet they have no idea I’m pulling something over on them.

 

This fixation goes way back. When I first started driving in the ’60s, I always put exactly five dollars' worth of gas in the tank. In the ’70s it was ten dollars. Then 20, 30, 40…now 50. Never  $40.92 or $50.13.  Even if getting to $50.00 results in some spillage, I think that’s worth a good night’s sleep, don’t you?

 

Okay, I know what’s happening now. Half of the people reading this are saying things like: “Hey, Gladys, you have to hear this: Dick Wolfsie does exactly what I do. I wonder if he also re-ties his shoes before he puts them away in his closet. (Note to those readers: I do.)

 

Others are saying:  “Herb, Dick Wolfsie is nuttier than a pecan pie. He gives the electric company extra money. He must have an IQ of about 85.”

 

(Note to readers: I like to round that up to 100.)

 

Mary Ellen hates this trait in me and watches me closely to be sure that this preoccupation does not cost us extra money. When the water bill comes in for 97.18, she insists I write a check for exactly $97.18. How incredibly weird is that?  Is she trying to drive me insane?

 

Of course, this obsession does have its downside…

 

“I’m afraid I have to write you a ticket, Mr. Wolfsie. You were going 76 miles per hour in a 55 mph zone. That’s gonna cost you $175.00.”

 

“Gee, officer, it’s my first offense. Can you cut me a break? How about 80 miles per hour and let’s make it an even 200?”

 

By the way, in case you’re interested, I’m 60 years old. I also like rounding down.

 

GOODBYE TO A FRIEND

Military historian and arms collector Fred Ropkey died this past week. He opted out of medical treatments that might have prolonged his life for a few months. After 84 years, he was not surrendering. He simply wanted to walk headlong into the truth.

 Fred was no fan of war. Few people are. Yet he knew that every tank, aircraft and piece of artillery he recovered was not only a work of exquisite design, but combined they represented the hundreds, maybe thousands, of lives that had been lost—or saved.  

His passion, which was almost an obsession, got its roots early. At age eight, his parents gave him a WWI sword and a Civil War pistol belonging to his great-grandfather. At 16 he bought an armored WWII scout car and drove it to school. He stood up in the auditorium at Pike High School the day after Pearl Harbor and “reported” the Japanese attack to his fellow students. He tried to enlist in the Marines, but he was too young. He would later serve during  the Korean conflict as a battalion commander.

Fred’s collection of arms grew over the years, and he stowed his thousands of acquisitions on the sprawling 100 acres of family land (dating back to the Great Depression) on the northwest side of Indianapolis. At the time, says his longtime mechanic Skip Warvel, the idea was to simply find a place to restore those treasures. But it was really more a warehouse than a showcase. So in 2005, Fred moved everything to Crawfordsville, signaling a new vision and purpose.  “Build it and they will come,” his wife Lani recalls him saying. Then he added: “Who would think that a little pole barn on a 50-acre cornfield in Crawfordsville could change so many lives?”  It was no longer simply a standing building; it was a building that stood for something. He called it the Ropkey Armor Museum.

Once it opened, Fred and Lani fully realized the impact the collection had on people. “Are you familiar with that tank?” he once asked an older man who was examining the vehicle. “I practically lived in it,” said the WWII veteran who revealed that he had not seen his “old girl” in 40 years. “Thank you,” he said to Fred. “My life has now come full circle.” Later, according to Fred, the veteran retreated to a hotel room with a bottle of bourbon and wrote an entire account of his experiences, those notes now part of the museum’s Wall of Heroes.

To the end, Fred loved digging into history, uncovering the human stories behind each piece he salvaged. He found tanks, aircraft, even parts of ships in barns or buried underground, where the  government had discarded them. Fred was always mystified by the lack of appreciation for these historical artifacts. “We can fix that,” he would say to Skip. The mission was simple: No matter the degree of disrepair, it was an obligation to resurrect the piece, honoring those who had lived and died in it. “Everything in the museum runs, flies, or floats, but the cannons don’t fire,” says Warvel, who uses the original spec manuals to make repairs.

Over the years, I was honored to be Fred’s friend. We toured both facilities on a number of occasions for television segments on WISH-TV. I’ve ridden in Sherman Tanks and sailed around a lake on a Vietnam-War-era vintage patrol boat. I will miss Fred. I won’t miss the harrowing ride in a Russian biplane.

Fred Ropkey could converse knowledgeably (and endlessly) about every U.S. combat mission in WWII. At the end of Fred’s life, he chose not to share his plight with others, instead enduring his cancer pain privately.

This was the one battle Fred Ropkey did not want to talk about.

 

 

THANKS BUT NO THANKS

 THANKS, BUT NO THANKS

Like most guys, when I walk past the magazine rack at the bookstore, I start to drool.  Just yesterday I saw one cover that made me glad I am a healthy, normal male.  There she was: perfectly proportioned, with golden skin and a great pair of legs. It was the best looking turkey I had ever seen. Obviously, there are some other attributes of the bird I could have alluded to, but I’m trying to keep this column classy.

At the time, I was looking at Food Network Magazine, the Thanksgiving edition—the perfect holiday purchase for those who don’t have a turkey of their own yet, but who want to live vicariously through others who have enjoyed tremendous success in the kitchen.

The magazine is 218 pages of recipes and cooking tips, including a handful of ads for anti-depressant drugs, which kind of captures the holiday spirit we all feel. One of the articles about preparing leftovers includes a beautiful shot of a bowl of turkey soup. I’m bettin’ except for one poultry little difference it’s the same recipe as the chicken soup the month before. The editor says this is her favorite leftover, but turkey soup is not a leftover. If her first course this Thanksgiving is really turkey soup, she should not be editor of this Food Network Magazine.

Food scientists did extensive research to answer such burning questions as: how many dishes does the average host or hostess serve with the turkey? (answer:  seven); do people favor pumpkin, apple, or pecan pie? (pumpkin);  white wine or red? (a tie); and finally, how long is it after the meal before everyone is talking to each other again? (about two weeks).  Another interesting statistic is that the average American gets up at 9:00 a.m. to begin the preparation for the day. This is certainly true of my wife, Mary Ellen, because if is she is not done with her makeup by 10:00, we can’t make the early buffet at Embassy Suites with our friends, the Haversticks.

Here’s a fascinating find: 72% of the country prefers lump-free mashed potatoes. But only 12% have ever had any. And did you know that 51% percent of T-Day diners opt for whole berry cranberry sauce  and 49% want jellied?  There was talk of a recount (especially in the Red states), but it’s really academic because 75% of families completely forget the stuff is in the fridge until after dessert.

Celebrity cooks offer 50 tips for preparing the annual feast. Iron Chef Judy Joo suggests passing around a small blow torch for each person’s individual pumpkin crème brulees. What fun! And with all the little kids around the table, what could possibly go wrong? John Shook, the chef at a favorite Los Angeles café, advises amateur cooks to always serve some old favorites for side dishes, just in case you “screw up the turkey.”  Confidence! Isn't that what cooking is all about? 

My favorite tip is from Seamus Mullen, a gourmand from one of New York’s finest eateries. Seamus says to throw the leftover meat from the usually less popular legs and wings (along with some oyster stuffing) into the food processor before you go to bed that Thursday night. I ask you:  Is there a better way to begin shopping on Black Friday than with a nice dark-meat turkey smoothie?

 

 

 

 

 

 

ROPE A DOPE

 

Imagine finding yourself stranded in the forest, with no food or water. Or caught in an avalanche, freezing to death beneath a mountain of snow. Sounds scary, doesn’t it?  But you’d have absolutely nothing to worry about if you were wearing your Paracord Survival Bracelet. (Also required: a cell phone, your GPS, warm blankets, a week’s supply of food and a Coleman stove.)

Yes, this is the hottest thing in survival gear since the lit match. Technically, it’s called a 550 Cord, which confused me because that’s also the name of the Levi’s I wear. The bracelet is made of 90 feet of intricately woven thread crafted into a nifty piece of rope jewelry. The material was first used in WWII by paratroopers. The manufacturer describes it as having a “32-strand woven nylon outer sheath with an inner core of seven 2-ply yarns.”  I know, I know, it sounds a lot like Charmin.

Think how lucky James Franco would have been in the movie 127 Hours if he had been wearing one of these.  There he was with one arm under a 6-ton rock. How cool if he could have gotten this bracelet off the other hand with his mouth and then unraveled 90 feet of fiber with his teeth so that he could…let’s see, he would take the cord and…well…. Okay, I have no idea how this item could have possibly helped him.

Here are three uses suggested by the manufacturer:

1.      Replace a broken zipper pull:  Nothing would be more embarrassing than being rescued after 12 days on a deserted island and being caught with your fly open.

 

2.      Detain a person:  When you are shipwrecked in the middle of nowhere and help finally comes, isn’t that the first thing you’d think about: Who do I need to tie up?

 

3.      Fishing Line:  “Our white cord will rarely catch fish in clear water,” admits the bracelet company, “but you may have a chance in murky water if you have stink bait and a hook.” Not a problem. A lot of hikers who forgot to bring even one protein bar have a jar of chicken guts and beef liver in their backpack.

 

The manufacturer is concerned that people will not want to use the rope in an emergency because making it back into a bracelet is harder than solving the Rubik’s Cube with your feet. They are probably right. It’s a good thing that auto safety systems do not allow you to disengage the airbag apparatus on your own. “Push the off button, Agnes. We’re going to hit that truck head on, but I have no idea how to stuff that thing back into the steering wheel.”

The makers of the Paracord Survival Bracelet will give you a free one if you use their product in a legitimate emergency. Simply send them the story of how you used the rope along with a photograph demonstrating the life-threatening predicament you were in.

Dear Survival Bracelet Maker,

My wife and I were recently cleaning the gutters on our roof when the ladder tipped over. As I helped her repel down the side of our house using your nifty piece of jewelry, I tried to get my cell phone out of my pocket to send a picture, thus qualifying for a free replacement. I was too slow but I am attaching a photo of her on the ground with two broken legs.

Personally, I think this bracelet is a waste of money at $39.95. Better not safe, than sorry.

 

 

  

ROPE A DOPE

 

 

Imagine finding yourself stranded in the forest, with no food or water. Or caught in an avalanche, freezing to death beneath a mountain of snow. Sounds scary, doesn’t it?  But you’d have absolutely nothing to worry about if you were wearing your Paracord Survival Bracelet. (Also required: a cell phone, your GPS, warm blankets, a week’s supply of food and a Coleman stove.)

Yes, this is the hottest thing in survival gear since the lit match. Technically, it’s called a 550 Cord, which confused me because that’s also the name of the Levi’s I wear. The bracelet is made of 90 feet of intricately woven thread crafted into a nifty piece of rope jewelry. The material was first used in WWII by paratroopers. The manufacturer describes it as having a “32-strand woven nylon outer sheath with an inner core of seven 2-ply yarns.”  I know, I know, it sounds a lot like Charmin.

Think how lucky James Franco would have been in the movie 127 Hours if he had been wearing one of these.  There he was with one arm under a 6-ton rock. How cool if he could have gotten this bracelet off the other hand with his mouth and then unraveled 90 feet of fiber with his teeth so that he could…let’s see, he would take the cord and…well…. Okay, I have no idea how this item could have possibly helped him.

Here are three uses suggested by the manufacturer:

1.      Replace a broken zipper pull:  Nothing would be more embarrassing than being rescued after 12 days on a deserted island and being caught with your fly open.

 

2.      Detain a person:  When you are shipwrecked in the middle of nowhere and help finally comes, isn’t that the first thing you’d think about: Who do I need to tie up?

 

3.      Fishing Line:  “Our white cord will rarely catch fish in clear water,” admits the bracelet company, “but you may have a chance in murky water if you have stink bait and a hook.” Not a problem. A lot of hikers who forgot to bring even one protein bar have a jar of chicken guts and beef liver in their backpack.

 

The manufacturer is concerned that people will not want to use the rope in an emergency because making it back into a bracelet is harder than solving the Rubik’s Cube with your feet. They are probably right. It’s a good thing that auto safety systems do not allow you to disengage the airbag apparatus on your own. “Push the off button, Agnes. We’re going to hit that truck head on, but I have no idea how to stuff that thing back into the steering wheel.”

The makers of the Paracord Survival Bracelet will give you a free one if you use their product in a legitimate emergency. Simply send them the story of how you used the rope along with a photograph demonstrating the life-threatening predicament you were in.

Dear Survival Bracelet Maker,

My wife and I were recently cleaning the gutters on our roof when the ladder tipped over. As I helped her repel down the side of our house using your nifty piece of jewelry, I tried to get my cell phone out of my pocket to send a picture, thus qualifying for a free replacement. I was too slow but I am attaching a photo of her on the ground with two broken legs.

Personally, I think this bracelet is a waste of money at $39.95. Better not safe, than sorry.

 

 

I AIN’T GOT NO BODY

 

I started reading Golf Digest when I was in high school with the hope I could increase my scoring average. It didn't help, so I finally cancelled my subscription last year.  Same with Playboy.

I was browsing through the magazine rack at a local bookstore and saw the October issue of Mess magazine. Actually, it was Muscle and Fitness magazine, but Arnold Schwarzenegger’s photo was positioned in front of the publication’s name and his huge head blocked out all but four letters. In one of the articles, the former governor and body builder (who has graced the cover countless times and is now the executive editor) refers frequently to loving his MF magazine, not quite the charm as the abbreviation for Gentlemen's Quarterly.

In small print at the bottom of the magazine's cover is a note that states the picture of the world’s most famous body builder has not been digitally enhanced in any way and that the muscular arms shown are 100 percent the result of Arnold's efforts. The same cannot be said of his face, which is 50 percent the work of his plastic surgeon.  The cover also says that on page 57 you will learn how to add one inch to your own arms. That interested me because right now I am just shy of reaching the crock pot on the top shelf in the kitchen. I began skimming the pages and noticed that men refer to their beefed-up biceps as their "guns.’ And that is why they believe in the right to bear arms.

Editor-in-chief Shawn Perine also heralds the importance of a good mental attitude when it comes to physical fitness. "All growth starts with your head," says Shawn, evident by the Terminator's noggin on the front cover.

In another section, fitness guru Jay Cutler fields questions about the most effective exercises for achieving a rock hard body. I favor ‘dips’ as a great mass builder,” says Jay. A similar result can be achieved by any dip with a sour cream base. Jon Jones, another physique freak who writes for MF reports that his favorite workouts are the Bulgarian Split Squat, the Keiser Push Pull and the Glute Hamstring Raise. Why he doesn't include the Sumo Squat Stretch is simply a mystery to me.

The pages are also full of ads for bodybuilding supplements. Choose from
Jet Fuel, Beast Amphetalin, Horsepower X, Shock Therapy and my favorite: Hemo Rage. Not only is it an effective nutritional supplement but it’s soon to be a major motion picture.

Food, if it can be called that, is heavily advertised in the monthly periodical. The culinary delight that really intrigued me was smoked tofu. Bodybuilders are not generally into eating tofu, so they smoke it, instead.

In the last article, there is a question-and-answer feature with Arnold, who is now in his sixties. He admits he doesn't enjoy working with a big dumbbell, anymore. Coincidently, this is exactly why, when Arnold was governor of CalEEEfornia, his first chief of staff quit after two months.