Tag Archives: memory loss

Forgotten Films of My Teenage Years

I love movies. You don’t have a collection of nearly 8000 DVDs without having a major affection for the world of cinema. One of the things that still amazes me, however, is how a film can almost completely disappear from the public’s memory. Just the other day I was thinking about several movies that I would love to see again, or better yet pick up on DVD or Blu-ray. Remember these weren’t silent films that were truly lost or destroyed. They weren’t films that were held back or banned by the talent involved or the courts either. None of these were huge hits, but they all got fairly wide releases as far as I could tell.

Partners starring Ryan O’Neal and John Hurt
So Fine also starring Ryan O’Neal
Coast To Coast starring Robert Blake and Dyan Cannon
If You Could See What I Hear starring Marc Singer
Nate & Hayes starring Tommy Lee Jones and Michael O’Keefe
Die Laughing starring Robbie Benson
Americathon starring John Ritter

I would also love to once again see a couple of foreign films I saw at the old Plaza East Cinemas and one I saw at the old Capitol theater.

Shadowman
It’s Not The Size That Counts
Flatfoot

I think the Warner Archives may have a couple of these films and I actually found a region 2 DVD of Shadowman under its original title Nuits Rouges on Ebay recently but was unable to spare the money for it at the time. Of course I’m not saying that these films are impossible to track down. I managed to track down bootlegs of Beyond Westworld and National Lampoon’s Disco Beaver From Outer Space, so if I really wanted these films I’m sure I could find them. Heck some might even be on Netflix. But of those 10 films is there anyone else that remembers all 10 of them? Does anyone remember 5 of them? How about The Fantastic Animation Festival, 20th Century Oz, or The Legend of Hillbilly John?

Some studio spent thousands or millions on these films and now they are nearly forgotten. Well here is my salute to these forgotten if slightly flawed gems. And let’s just throw out Squeeze Play while we’re at it. Now if I could just remember the name of the film about the young girl working her summer at a British hotel…

What Do I Say Now?

I started this blog to talk about memories. As I get older and the world keeps getting faster and more demanding, I find myself losing more of the memories that I had. I thought this blog would be a good way to remember those things, but I soon had my mind occupied with my job and my health. I lost my will to write and had no time to write, so where does that leave me?

Recently I was in Goodwill looking at the items they had for sale when I ran into something odd. It was a tiny sculpture of a mountain range in wood with some little plastic sticks protruding out of it. On the front was a plaque commemorating the removal of the last party line by C&P Bell. I think the little plastic sticks may have been phone line poles at one point and the bars and wires had been cut or broken off years ago.

I got to thinking back to the old rotary phone my mom used to have. She had been on a party line prior to my birth because it was cheaper and my dad was always looking to save money. Once I was born and he died, my mom quickly had us switched to a private line. A party line was pretty common in the old days. Two or three families would actually share the same line and each family had a different ring for their calls. These weren’t ringtones mind you. Family A might have a ring that was three short bells, family B might have a ring that was one long bell, and family C might have a ring that was two medium bells. You listened for the phone to ring and then listened to hear which ring you actually heard. If you picked up the phone to make a call and someone was on the line, you were supposed to hang up and wait. Of course some nosey neighbors might forget about the hanging up part and just listen in on your calls.

My wife and I got to talking about some of the changes phone service had went through since our childhood. I mentioned person to person calling which she was not really familiar with. The way that worked was a person would place a call by dialing the operator and telling them that they wished to call a specific person at a certain number. The operator would dial the number and then ask for that person. If they were there, the operator would connect the call and you would be charged an additional fee for the call. If they were not there, then the operator would thank them, hang up and then inform you that your party was not there and there was no charge. People going on long trips often used this as a way to let someone back home know that they had arrived safely. They would make a person to person call but either the person on the receiving end would know that was the signal, or they would ask to speak to their self at that number which also signaled the other person that they had arrived safely. Collect calls were often used the same way.

The subject of collect calls brought up 1-800-COLLECT, 1-800-CALL ATT and other similar services. I don’t know if these companies are still in business. I’m also doubtful about the continued existence of the programs that used to have you dial a long string of numbers before you place your call to connect at a reduced rate.

Of course rotary phones are a thing or the past now as well. And unlike the old days when you leased your phone from Ms Bell because it was illegal for a person to actually own their own telephone, all phone service is digital and most of it is cellular. I remember my friend that got a car phone in the 80s. The thing had a case the size of a shoebox that had to be plugged in to the cigarette lighter for power and the car had to have a special antennae as well.

Of course with the proliferation of cell phones these days, the era of the payphone and phone booth are nearly at an end. I got to thinking back to a song by Garth Brooks called Baton Rouge. It’s about a trucker in love with a girl and he keeps “stopping ever hundred miles, calling Baton Rouge”. Nowadays he’d have his bluetooth in and they could talk the whole trip if they really wanted to.

I actually miss the old days of the tethered phone that weighed several pounds and required you to know or look up the number of anyone you wanted to call. And if you decided to leave town for the weekend, your phone calls didn’t follow you.

Don’t Forget To Remember What You Don’t Want To Forget

I remember a lot of what it was like when I was growing up. Oh sure I’ve forgotten a lot of it as well, but there are plenty of things that were just as basic as remembering to breathe. If I needed a quick bit of change, I would scour the neighborhood for discarded pop bottles. Each bottle would get you a dime which was enough money to make a phone call. Two bottles would pay for a comic book. I think Slurpees were fifty cents each, so five bottles would send you rocketing toward brain freeze if you so desired.

I also knew how to add, multiply, subtract, and divide. I could spell most of the words I could speak. School actually taught us these things along with history, state capitals, and other boring facts that we didn’t want to learn but did anyway. I loved books and movies, so I also learned who wrote what books and who directed which films. We didn’t have the Internet and the IMDB, so if I wanted to make a checklist of all of the Godzilla films, I had to know which books to look up the information and then memorize them. Same for the kids that lived on sports scores or music or what ever their field of interest was.

There were always certain films that I would read about and want to see. It started with Disney films, then monster movies, then Woody Allen films, then Oscar winners, and then various films important to the history of cinema like Battleship Potemkin or Citizen Kane. There doesn’t seem to be any interest in any of this with my son’s generation. Comic books have been replaced by video games. Spelling has been replaced by spell check or just ignored completely. Math was no longer important to them once pocket calculators became cheap and of course now the calculators are antiques replaced by computers and smart phones.

Sometimes I wonder what has replaced all of the information that we used to have to remember. People don’t have to memorize phone numbers, their phones memorize the numbers for them. People don’t have to know where to go look something up because a search engine will do that for them. With all of the free memory space available to today’s generation what do they choose to remember? Video game button combinations. Somewhere my remaining aging brain cells are crying.

I Don’t Remember Buying That

Over the last few weeks we have moved over ninety boxes of toys from the old house to the new house. Some of them contain items I remember fondly such as my Mego Planet of the Apes dolls or old Star Wars toys. Some of the boxes contain toys that I recall buying, but that aren’t nearly as special to me. For example I have a couple or six boxes full of Simpsons action figures and a few Simpsons playsets as well. I bought the Android’s Dungeon comic shop playset because it was a comic shop and had the exclusive Comic Book Guy action figure. Of course what good is a playset without a few more figures, so I got Bartman. Then I picked up some other figures and a few more playsets because I wanted a little more diversity in my Springfield. When KB Toys put a bunch of them on sale, I had to buy even more of them. Next thing I knew I had a mini collection of Simpsons toys.

All of those items I remembered buying, but then I ran across the action figures for The Matrix and Austin Powers. Did I actually buy those? I must have because they’re quite clearly in my collection. Maybe they were on sale or clearance and I just couldn’t pass them up. The only problem there is that the price tags don’t seem to indicate this being the case. The Matrix figures appear to have all been purchased for the regular retail price of $9.99.

Finding items like this in my collection is like finding a hidden surprise, but it also hits on another problem. If I don’t remember buying them or having them, how badly would I miss them if I sold them? The Matrix figures all have very nice sculpts, but The Matrix isn’t a touchstone film with me. I enjoyed it, but the only personal milestone I can think of that is tied to it is the fact that it was the first film I saw at the Marquee Cinemas. The theater was having its pre-grand opening and was giving out free admission to celebrate. The wife and I had stopped to purchase tickets for Star Wars Episode One: The Phantom Menace which was scheduled to open that weekend and stumbled into the giveaway promotion. I took the kids to see The Matrix and the wife went to see Shakespeare In Love. It was a fun evening, but nothing that would make me want to hold on to the toys as a reminder of it.

If I would just cut my toy collection down to the toys that actually mean something to me, I could probably make a few bucks selling the other items on eBay. Except when I look for these toys on eBay I run into two situations. Either they aren’t selling at all or they’re selling for so much money that I don’t want to sell them because if I ever decided that I did want them again, I’d never pay the price it takes to get them back. Yes, I have some serious issues with turning loose of things.

What Was I Thinking?

I’m sure that when a lot of you read that title you expected a post describing some new crisis I was dealing with caused by a bad decision on my part in the first place. Nope. I was being reflective a few days ago about my childhood and started wondering about what I was really thinking at certain points in my life. Watching my granddaughter as she discovers new things and seeing her eyes grow wide and a smile form on her face or a giggle escape her mouth, I wonder what she is really thinking. How is her brain processing that toy that makes a rattling sound when you shake it or that sweet taste that she gets from Gerber apples? Then I got to wondering what I thought about certain firsts in my life.

I remember my mom, my aunt, and my cousin telling me about this time when I was a toddler and they took me to Shoneys with them and I demolished the Shoney burger my mom had gotten to eat. I think it was a Shoney burger. It might have been a Big Boy or a Slim Jim (two other sandwiches from that time). My memory isn’t as good as it used to be. But as much problem as I have now trying to remember the style of the burger, I have an even great er problem trying to remember the actual incident in question. I was so young that my memories of the incident are all second-hand even though I was the person they involved. I remember hearing of it happening, but I don’t actually have a single memory of the event that is my own.

Even going further on to things I do have a very basic memory of happening, I don’t truly have some of the all important memories of what I was thinking because I wasn’t really thinking for myself. I was parroting what I had heard or I was saying what I thought I was supposed to say and what the other person wanted to hear. I remember a conversation I had with my mom that somehow got on to the topic of nudity in movies at the time. Keep in mind that this was when I was in grade school. I hadn’t seen any nudity in movies or much of anywhere else, but it was a topic that had been on the news and there were forces crying about the new permissiveness. If you missed those reports, wait a few months they still pop up all the time, and I’ll let you in on a secret; they’re still B.S. More on that later. Anyway, we’re having this conversation because of some report on the news and I in my wisdom as a pre-teen stated that they don’t even call it what it really is. They call it making art. At this point my entire knowledge of making art involved finger painting and glueing macaroni to construction paper. So why did I say that? Obviously I had heard someone on television make this argument and I also figured that my mom would be anti-nudity since she always insisted that I wear clothes. I have no idea what I really thought about the subject, but I had perfectly parroted what I had heard and said what I thought my mom would want to hear.

Before I move on with the original point, let me clear up what I stated about the “new permissiveness” being B.S. If you study the past you will find tons of nudity and sexuality in Greek and Roman times. The British had things like The Pearl and a serialized story called My Secret Life. The French had nudie postcards. Yes, you say, but America is going down the tubes in regards to our movies. There’s so much more filth in them today. So who’s familiar with Can’t Stop The Music? It’s a 1980 film about The Village People and it features a dance number in a men’s shower with a shot of full frontal male nudity and some bare female breasts. It’s rated PG. Logan’s Run has a naked Jenny Agutter and is rated PG. These days a film gets a PG-13 for French kissing. I used to go to the drive in a lot with my mom, my sister, and her family. It was nothing for a trailer for an upcoming film to feature nudity and be played in between two family films like Golden Voyage of Sinbad and Big Jake. Movies today are if anything more conservative than in the past unless you go back to the height of the Hayes Code. We now continue with our regularly scheduled remembrance.

So I look back on my life and I wonder which emotions were real, which thoughts were my own? How much of what I know about my childhood is really how someone else remembers my childhood and their interpretation has become canon? There is one childhood memory that just happens to tie into both the subject of movies and nudity that I truly do recall what I was thinking. In 1974 a movie came out called Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry.

Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry

Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry


...not to be confused with Dirty Sally

…not to be confused with Dirty Sally


There was also a television series around that time called Dirty Sally which was a spin-off from Gunsmoke and concerned an old woman and a stubborn mule. I think it was on Fridays on CBS. My mom and I loved it. When we saw the ads for Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry we figured it had to be similar to Dirty Sally. Even though the ads for Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry had nothing to do with the old West and featured Peter Fonda driving fast cars and running from the cops, it had to be something close to Dirty Sally. It had the word Dirty in its title… twice. Further proof to this theory was that I had one time seen an ad for a movie called Dirty Dingus McGee and it appeared to be a western. So with dirty in the title twice, Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry had to be some sort of modern western comedy. I just didn’t know why they weren’t advertising the crazy old mule which was the funniest part of Dirty Sally. Mom and I were all set to go see the movie when my older sister intervened. She explained to my mom that the film contained some female nudity and she probably didn’t need to be taking me to it. My mother always took my sister’s advice (or so it seemed to me) and so my hopes of seeing Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry were shot down by a meddling older sister. To this day I still remember the anger I felt at my sister and the betrayal I felt when Mom told me that we weren’t going. Had she taken me, I would have seen a film that had absolutely nothing to do with an old woman and her mule. I would have been disappointed, however, I also would have at least had some basis for my next opinion on nudity in movies.

Suitcase Full of Memories

I had today off from work, but no money to do anything. I gave the wife her Valentine’s gift last night (the newest Rachel Morgan book from Kim Harrison entitled Ever After) and she fixed us a nice meal of comfort foods (steak, potatoes, peas, and cornbread). After eating we decided to go move some more boxes from the old house.

At the moment we’re trying to clear out the attic which mostly holds my toys. I still have a large amount of the toys I grew up with and I used to collect them as well, so there are plenty of boxes of odd action figures and the like. There was also a large suitcase that my sister had gotten me when I graduated high school back in 1982. I used it several times, but not recently. I had no idea that anything had been packed away in it, but was pleasantly surprised to find that something had indeed been stored in it. When I was a baby, my mom had a drawer in which she kept awards that I had won at kindergarten. She also had my baby book in there and artwork I made in school. She saved my Doctor Doolittle sweatshirt and my Jungle Book shirt. As I grew up she kept other things in there as well. My graduation program, my diploma from NEC, and other items. I had wondered the other day where some of this stuff might have gone. When I opened the suitcase, the question was answered for me as soon as I spotted the green trimmed white sweatshirt with Rex Harrison and a pushme-pullyou on it. This was the holy grail of childhood treasures.

I wish Mom was still alive to go over some of these items with me. I’m not sure what the significance is of some of them. I think the old mercury thermometer in the blue plastic case was my baby thermometer, and I don’t think this one was designed to go under your tongue. I’d really like to know what was special about it. There is a plastic elephant that I played with as a toddler, but I didn’t think it was a seminal item from my childhood. There was a stuffed doll with red hair and a bell inside it that I remember being much more important to me, but I didn’t find it in the case. I also remember hearing Mom, my aunt, and my cousin talk about a string of plastic bells that I had to have from Arlens back when I was still a baby. That also hasn’t shown up. I did find a toy lion that Mom said I used to carry everywhere with me.

The funny thing is, as much as I would love to have Mom tell me about all the things I don’t remember, I would also love to hear her tell me about all the other stuff just one more time as well. At one point I wanted to take a video camera and record my mom and my aunt talking about their lives and my childhood so that I could pass it on to my kids. I kept putting it off because there was always something else that needed to get done. Now both of them are gone and I can never hear those stories ever again. There’s probably an extra bit of nostalgia over this tonight because it was the day after Valentine’s Day, February 15, 2007, that my mom passed away. She had always been an incredibly strong woman. She broke her hip in 2002 and never regained her ability to drive or to walk unassisted. She had gotten worse before one night in January 2007 she fell in the shower. She kept going further down hill. My wife and I sat with her in the hospital for several weeks on the late night shift. My sister and her family sat with her during the day.

One night she seemed to be pulling out of it. She wanted to watch Charles Stanley, a television preacher she enjoyed, and I made sure to find him for her. We talked and she seemed coherent. About a week later they were putting her in hospice. I had to return to work and so my wife took the evening shifts at hospice. On Thursday afternoon, I drove my wife up to sit with her and let my sister and her husband go home and rest. It was a rough day. It had snowed on Wednesday morning and my son had fallen asleep at the wheel of his car and slammed into a power pole. He missed a gas meter by a few feet. The car was totalled, but he was fine. My other sister had been planning to come in from out-of-state, but had a medical emergency of her own come up and wasn’t able to be there. We were worried it was cancer.

When I got to Hubbard Hospice House, my wife asked if I was coming in or just dropping her off. Mom’s condition hadn’t really changed since they moved her there. She wasn’t better, but she wasn’t any worse either. She was just out of it. She didn’t seem to know a lot of what was going on. She couldn’t really talk anymore. At least not to where you could understand the words. Those of us that knew her seemed to instinctually know her meaning however. I told my wife that I was going in. I didn’t plan to stay long, but I wanted to Mom to know in whatever sort of fog she was in, that I was there and I loved her.

When I got in, she was worse. Lots worse. Her breathing was more labored. The staff all said she likely didn’t have long. My sister didn’t want to leave, but she had to eat and shower. She needed some rest too. I called work and told them that I would not be in. Mom needed me and I was going to be there. My sister left and told me to call her if there was any change. I sat there with my wife for an hour or so and we talked to Mom. She couldn’t reply, but we wanted to let her know she wasn’t alone. My other sister called and I talked to her. I held the phone to Mom’s ear and let her talk to her as well. Mom’s eyes seemed to show at least a glint of recognition. My sister told her that she loved her and we finished the call and hung up. Within moments Mom’s breathing slowed even more. We called the nurses and began trying to reach my sister that had just left and my cousin. Everyone was on their way, but before any of them could get there she was gone. I held her hand and held my wife and cried. My cousin and her son arrived just a few moments later. It was over so fast. She was no longer in pain.

My sister and her husband soon showed up as well. My wife began making the calls. She had her parents go to the house and get the kids. Her dad talked with the kids and told them what had happened. Our daughter went home with them, but my son decided to stay home to help field phone calls.

That was 6 years ago, but not a day goes by that I don’t think about her and miss her. There have been many times something has happened and I think, “I need to call Mom and let her know,” only to suddenly remember that I no longer need to tell her because she already knows. As I said I’d give anything to be able to ask her about the stuff in that suitcase. I wish I could remember what all that stuff meant, but at least I will never forget who saved it for me and I will always remember how amazing and wonderful she was. Happy Valentine’s Day, Mom. I miss you so much.

Losing My Mind

People say it all the time, “I’m losing my mind.” Usually they only mean they have done something slightly silly. Usually it’s related to forgetfulness. The problem is, how do you get someone to believe you when you really do start losing your mind?

I’ve noticed myself forgetting stuff much more frequently lately. This is another reason for this blog. It forces me to remember, and it puts it down where I can refer back to it if I need to. So let’s examine the memory loss.

The most obvious signs for me are forgetting people’s names and my diminishing vocabulary. Everybody forgets someone’s name at one point or another, but with me it has now gotten to where I will blank out on the name of people who I work with. I work with them on a daily basis and have known them for seven years in many cases. Yet last night I totally lost this one lady’s name into the recesses of my mind. After a few moments, I was able to pull up her last name, but had only a vague idea about what the first letter of her first name might be. It was a couple of hours later before it finally came back to me. I recently found an old phone list and couldn’t remember half the people on it. If there was only a first or last name listed, I couldn’t supply the missing name to save my life. Keep in mind that these were people I knew well enough to have gotten their phone numbers and that I was likely enough to have a need to call that I would have taken the time to write their name and number down on a list that I carried with me.

The diminishing vocabulary is something that also bothers me, especially when I am trying to write. I used to write quite a bit. I have a complete script I wrote shortly after high school as well as numerous novels I began and never completed. I also have a script I worked on with a couple of friends and a half-dozen or so additional pieces that I worked on solo up until about the early 2000s. I had a large enough vocabulary that I had little trouble writing these pieces and making each character’s voice sound unique to them. I had the ability to always pick just the exact right word. These days I often have trouble remembering the name for that small furry creature that goes meow and likes to climb the drapes.

So the question is, am I actually losing my mind and did so many people jokingly use that phrase to the point that I now sound like the boy who cried wolf?