Crops-Bodacious deThymus Vulgaris thinks his way Through:

Life on the roofs is just a head game
Humans only want you to stay up there
Labeling me a flesh eater,
calling me ugly, 
I can hear stupid
For I am a mischievous sort
Life in the streets is just a head game

Humans only want you to stay up there
Labeling me a flesh eater,

Only seeing me stoned, 

they drove me out!

Why do I call myself a Protector you ask
Because my mouth is dirt monkey nasty
I will deliver us from the deadly adversaries...
minions of Garguiem, Tarasque, and Peluda.

Yo! I'll be a Hanky Pink for Life. 
turning me to stone, 
hah, see who laughs last!

Crops: Grandma and Boy Feed Ducks

A little red head boy, named Bernard.  Bernard wears a purple and gold Minnesota vikings uniform.  The viking uniform is a gift from his grandfather.  His grandma Pearl, has brought him to Washington Park, to feed  his friends the ducks.    Her blue Olds-Mobile is parked at South high school.  He feeds bread crumbs to the stream.  She tells him stories of Jewish Lore of a long time ago, and a village far far away, a place she calls Suffern New York.   She speaks of the Golem of Suffern, something that was a secret only known to the Rothbard family.

The ducks gobble the crumbs up. The boys feeds more crumbs into the crystalline stilled lake.  The thrown Arrow white bread creates ripples in the still chilled water.   The ripples spread out.   Stilled and then splash, the ducks move towards the white pieces of bread soaking in the water.  Harmony resounds. The Gargoyle on top of South High School smiles at the beauty of the scene.

 One does not see the smile because it is slight, and he is made of stone, and micro-feasures on stone do not show up unless one looks putting their head on the rock.
 
Ripples Spread Out! 

Grandma Pearl's Words on Creativity:

Raymond Loewy Designer of the Modern Image 

I consider myself very luck that in middle age I have been able to develop a new exciting outlet for that tiny spirt of artistry I had often felt.   Thanks to App School and talented dedicated teachers I am just beginning to know the joys and satisfaction of light and color.   I no longer see a tree with some leaves.   I see the beauty of line and form.  This heightened observation or nature is one of the delights that has come to me thru trying to paint.  Since Childhood I have looked at and admired masterpieces of art.  I still look and admire but now I see what makes them great- all the elements of good design are there.  I know I shall never be a really good painter but I do know that for me Painting is more than a past-time it is a fulfillment. (This note was found in a recipe box, made by my grandfather, the note was tucked away for posterity.)

Guinea Pig is Bored

Another day grew into another night; another day and another night; the Guinea pig Spook ate, slept, and slept growing tired of the Sisyphus Cycle.

Finally the Spook had enough of eating, shitting, and sleeping, and decided she would attempt to escape.   The night finally came when the owner put shampoo in her fur and messaged it all around her crazy curly fur.  She waited till the shampoo was washed off; then Spook bit down on the plainly visible arm of her owner.

And then Spooks ran.   Spooks slid across the wood floor, headed across the kitchen, to the dinning room, and out the back door.  The owners husband opened the back door, spooks darted through the gap in the door, and slid into the sunny driveway.


  Spooks attempted to cross the tar black road.

Just then a neighbors car went speeding down the street.  The neighbor did not see the Guinea pig.
Car tires hit Squeaks.  Squeaks flew up into the air, and then landed on the ground, only to be hit  a second time,  Spooks lay on the street a fresh meal served up to the neighboring Turkey Vultures.

Then spooks woke up from a really nasty dream.

Adopted and Retold by Gregorio Roth from the Scandanavian Folk and Fairy Tales edited by Claire Booss.  

Alexander Rothbard: The Sale Part Two

(Continued from July 3rd 2010) I reached into my bag and brought out five cartons of Philip Morris and 500 Flat 50's.  I started my presentation and the dealer interrupted with, "What else do you want to sell?"  He bought my entire stock, built the display himself,  asked for two posters and went outside and put them up with paste, a perfect angle shot.  That did it.  It was the most difficult job in my life to hold back the tears.  I thanked the dealer and went out.   It was a little after 2:00 p.m. and my bag was empty.  However, the sale did not cheer me because he had bought,  I did not sell.  After five minutes of thinking "Why" ,  I returned and asked the dealer why he bought. the Philip Morris from me.  He stated that he had watched me through this window while I was making up my mind to come i, said I looked real "beat" and in need of a lift, so when I came in and put those cigarettes on the counter and started to talk, he could not help but try to cheer me.  I then noted that he took the flat 50's and opened them up--again.  "Why?".  "For the one cent sales"  was the answer--a new one on me.


That sale did the trick.  I bought five cartons of Philip Morris back from the dealer and a carton of Flat 50's, with the provision that if I did not sell them he would buy them from me--again. From 2:30-6:30 p.m.  I not only sold the cigarettes but also sold, displayed and merchandised 5 additional cigarettes from this same dealer since there was no jobber in the area, and he called a jobber and ordered 10 Philip Morris for delivery to him the next morning.  A most unforgettable sale.

Alexander Rothbard

Like my grandfather, I am also in sales and feel a special connection to the man who would bring Marlboro out west.  He to me was always confident, he was a man who could sell anything.   He was also a friend of many business men in the Denver area.   I looked up to my grandfather as a hero.  But all heroes have to start somewhere.  This note written by my grandfather illustrates that the first steps are always the toughest.   I have been at that frustration point, where all I saw was failure.  It is comforting to know that a man loved by many had to start somewhere as well.     


 I will have this article in two parts, one part today, and the other part will be published tomorrow, enjoy:

"I Remember the Sale"

By: Alexander Rothbard 

The sale I'll never forget happened a long time ago.  It was my third day as a Philip Morris salesman.  The first two days were a training period, third day I was on my own.  


The assignment slip gave a list of the streets (in a strange city, I asked a million questions as to how to reach my destination.   During the first subway ride I kept thinking and planning how I was really going to sell Philip Morris.


I analyzed my approach, presentation and closing but still no sale.  About 2:00 in the afternoon I hit low ebb--all the enthusiasm gone, my hopes and dreams shattered.    All I could see was failure.  The next stop was a tobacco shop.  I must have looked at the store for 10 minutes, actually fearing another refusal.  Well it had to be and I was desperate.  I walked in and gave no introduction other than I was from the Philip Morris Company.  (Continued Tomorrow)


Poetry Link: Grandfather