Women Are Smarter

Before I lose all my male friends out there because of this blog title, let me remind you that many women have experienced childbirth and we should consider ourselves lucky they're still speaking to us.

This whole mental exercise came about because I was assigned the job of babysitter on Tuesday of this week. Little Miss Maddie Addler came for a visit with grandpa while Chelsea, her mom, went on a job interview. NO PROBLEM. An hour tops, what could possibly go wrong. We'll watch a little TV, empty the toy box... Fifteen minutes into this visit she begins staring out the patio door looking for mom, the lower lip slowly comes out and quietly, very quietly, tears start to roll down her cheek. "Grandpa ain't cuttin it, where's mom."

"Let's try lunch." It was at this point I realized I didn't have the talent to wipe the tears, give some verbal love, open the microwave lunch package, pour her drink and hold her at the same time. So I put her down. The nanosecond I turn my back, she's managed to put her foot in the dog's water bowl, and utter those famous first words that all toddlers learn, "Uh, Oh."

OK, wipe up the water, strap her into the highchair, get the lunch from the microwave, look back at her and smile. At this point she's giving me the same look I give the waiter in the restaurant when my Bud Light bottle has been empty for way too long. "What's taking so long, Mom is a lot faster." The feeding process was a reminder that toddlers have more hands than a typical adult. It's impossible to hold a feeding spoon, keep two little hands out of the food and grab more napkins at the same time. The only one really enjoying this process was the dog. He gets to lick up food off the floor he normally doesn't get to eat.

Thanks to a bib, wet paper towels, and the dog, there was very little evidence of lunch once mom returned. Maddie was happy with a full stomach. I was happy to see Chelsea, accomplish my duty, and doing it all without having to change a diaper.

The title of this blog is not meant to negate all the efforts that men accomplish in this modern world. My two sons-in-law take on the same duties daily, that I described above. They also fix the plumbing, wire the house and work six and seven days a week. But this is the modern man. Women have been at this life-giving experience before we all left the cave. They have tenure. They invented multitasking. If experience is still the best teacher then men will have a distinct disadvantage until we start giving birth. Only then will we know true, multi-need responsibility. For all my success with Maddie, she still left the house with a wet foot and sock from her visit to the dog's water bowl, my wife wouldn't have allowed that to happen.

Mountain Postcards

Cades Cove, Newfound Gap, Clingmans Dome are where cars and cameras collect inside Great Smoky Mountain National Park. 800 square miles of pristine natural areas, with the Tennessee/North Carolina state line cutting through the horizontal center, the park offers some of the prettiest auto drives in the eastern half of the U.S., especially in the spring and fall. Cades Cove is a broad fertile valley surrounded by mountains in the western section of the park. The deer are so use to cars, they practically pose for you. At Newfound Gap you can straddle the state line and look into the valleys of each state. Yes, they look the same. Clingmans Dome is the highest point in the park, with a required large parking lot. Like most National Parks, Smoky Mountain is heavily visited. Patience with traffic and parking areas is rewarded by a quarter-mile walk down any trail where you can experience the sounds and smells the Cherokee Indians found hundreds of years ago.

Vicki and I did a fall color visit to the park. I was there to capture the color, she was there to keep me from venturing too far down a rocky ledge in search of image perfection. The colors and scenes are visual cliches, but in this waterfall, ridgeline, deep woods environment one can achieve a mental, maybe even spiritual rejuvenation. The postcard slideshow below is a mix of photos from last year and this year.

Mountain Postcards Slideshow

To Make A Buck

As I sat out this past summer wondering if the the freelance world had come to an end because of the economy it started taking me down two divergent paths of thought. What would I do to replace what I have done and what have I done to get to this time and place.

As I think back to my pre-TV13 employment history, the mental images are both entertaining and cringe-inducing. I didn't start working even part time until college, by then it was of course by necessity. My list of employment titles include: road service dispatcher, glass cutter, fork-lift driver, Jeep assembly line inspector, deputy dog warden...HUH!...what the hell is a deputy dog warden you might ask; that sounds like a plastic badge and certificate your awarded if you buy five cans of Alpo. In the late 60's Lucas County hired college students to go door-to-door to survey licensed dogs in a given neighborhood. The methodology was to approach an address, ask the owner if they owned a dog, and was it licensed. If it was, you copied the license number on a legal pad. If the dog wasn't licensed, you offered to sell the owner a dog license which were carried with you.

I had a knack for getting the houses with dogs representing the opposite ends of the K9 world. I'm working a street in East Toledo. I knock on a door which elicits a ground-rumbling WOOF from the backyard. As I walk to the side of the house to look in the backyard, I see what looks like a cross between a Great Dane and a Mastodon chained to a tree; big chain, the kind you tow cars with. Suddenly a voice yells out from the front porch of the house next door; "Yea, what do you want." Two guys are sitting taking a many-beer break from their doctoral studies. "Is that your dog sir," I ask. "Yea, so what," comes the answer. "Does it have a license and if it does I need the number on it." The reply with a wry smile, "It's on his collar, go back there and get it." I look at him, I look at the dog, I mark down on my pad for the address "ND" (no dog).

Then there's the house occupied by the sweet little retired lady and her two little matching yappers. I ring the doorbell, she arrives at the door, what seems like twenty minutes later, with bouncing, yapping white furballs. "DO YOU HAVE LICENSES FOR YOUR DOGS" I ask in my Jeep assembly line voice. "Oh yes, I'll get the numbers for you, come on in," she replies. As I wait in this yapping frenzy I try to suppress the desire to drop-kick Itsy or Bitsy through the dining room archway.

What would I do for a buck? Let's face it, photographers are useless individuals outside their realm. The down-sized economy has me making mental lists: Discount Store Greeter, "Morning mam, put your kids in the cage over their and enjoy your shopping." No, that wouldn't work. Human Traffic Cone, the person who stands with the rotating sign at highway construction projects, commanding cars to stop or proceed with caution. This wouldn't work for me because I'm the kind of person who really does want to see what happens when a Smart Car meets a Black Top machine. Baby Photographer, not at all, too much work photoshopping out the duct tape.

So here's my dilemma. If I try to work any career beyond what I'm doing now, it will have to pay quite well just to afford the extra expenses in legal fees. So please, don't forget me out there.

The Woman In Charge

The C-46 twin-engine charter plane carrying the California Polytechnic football team has just cleared the runway on takeoff at Toledo Express Airport. Suddenly it seems to loose power and comes crashing back to the ground. It was 10:02 PM, October 29, 1960. Twenty-two of the forty-eight passengers will die in the crash. The survivors are taken to Toledo area hospitals.

At Maumee Valley Hospital on Arlington Avenue the emergency room supervisor, registered nurse Carolyn Koberstein (formerly Carolyn Bacho), is due to get off work at 11PM. The hospital has been notified that ambulances are on the way. Just as the first victims arrive, the Toledo Police Chief, also shows up demanding to see a supervisor. Koberstein orders him out of the hospital yelling she hasn't got time for him right now. A few days later she will find herself in a heated discussion with the hospital administrator over the incident. She will have many of these types of discussions before her death in 1963.

She began life as Carolyn Marie Foster on February 14th, 1921. Her mother, Mary Foster, claims it was the best Valentine's Day gift she ever received. Raised on a farm with three brothers in Oregon, Ohio, she developed a hardened, competitive nature that would help her survive problems later in life.

After finishing high school, Carolyn began dating Ted Bacho, one of the summer farm workers whom she had known since grade school. Unfortunately, World War II interrupted. Ted enlisted in the Army Air Corps and Carolyn, wanting to do her part for the war effort, enrolled in nursing school at Lucas County General Hospital (later Maumee Valley).

Completing her nursing training allowed her to enlist in the Army Nurse Corps where she was given the rank of Second Lieutenant. In May of 1945, while on Army leave, she married Ted Bacho after his release from a German prison hospital. Deciding it was time to start a family she applied for a discharge.

On May 2nd, 1946, Carolyn gave birth to twins prematurely. The baby girl died at birth. I would spend my earliest years in and out of hospitals because of severe allergies and rheumatoid arthritis. I spent nearly a year in the crippled children's ward at Maumee Valley Hospital. Thankfully, because of her training, my mother was able to work at the same hospital. The post-war era produced a wealth of new discoveries. One of the new drugs on the market was cortisone. I was fortunate to be one of the first in the country to receive injections of the drug. My ability to walk and eventually start school would be one of the few bright spots for my mother in the 1950's. My father saw his businesses fail and self-confidence erode during this same time. They were divorced in 1957
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My mother's army records list her as only 5 feet, 2 inches tall. But as that Toledo Police Chief became aware she could command a room or situation. She's driving me home one day when we happened upon an accident with one car flipped on its side, police and emergency personnel have yet to arrive. She jumps out of our car, climbs on top of the car on its side to begin pulling people out. She ends up with so much blood on her hands and clothes the police think she's one of the injured. She could discipline, with a touch of humor. If I complained about not having anything to do, she would repeat a line she learned from my grandmother: "How about I put blisters on your butt and you can sit in the corner and pick them off." She could be kind and thoughtful. During grade school on very cold winter days she would turn on the oven in the kitchen and drape my clothes over the warm door and sides before I put them on. The same oven also baked the world's best apple pies.

She eventually met and marred Paul Koberstein, a gentle hard-working man. She convinced my new stepfather that she only had two personal goals in her life; a stable family and my college education. She died at 42 years old while I was still in high school. Paul gave her the gift of the first goal. I made sure to give her the gift of the second one.

Best Kept Secret

Vicki can't answer the phone call from Ted because he might hear the grandkids yelling in the background. Jennifer, Chelsea and Vicki have to finish their grocery shopping before Ted gets off work at 3 PM for fear of running into him accidentally at the store. Does the CIA worry about these things in their covert operations? Well the Bachos, Addlers. Schmeichels and Ted's great collection of friends from the Cleveland area worried about those things trying to keep his 40th birthday party a surprise. It appears we pulled it off. His surprise was genuine as we gathered at the picnic shelter in Twinsburg, Ohio. Here we consumed portions of an R2D2 cake and renewed friendships and memories of the past 40 years.

On August 13th, 1969, I left St. Vincent Hospital in Toledo. As I'm driving across the Cherry Street Bridge it suddenly hit me, I'M A FATHER. My very next thought was how this might turn out. Well 40 years later I can answer the question by simply saying: I'm very proud of him. The video below is 40 years of still photos. The music: "Taking the Day Off" from the John Hughes film "Ferris Bueller's Day Off".

Wisdom Takes A Holiday

My son Ted celebrates his 40th birthday this year. He put together a Words of Wisdom list on his blog (tedbacho.blogspot.com). The blog got me to thinking about my own experience with life's lessons and surprises. The entries below are in no particular order and you'll notice some of them go way back. They are examples of what can happen when neurons short-circuit

1. Always make sure your socks match when visiting the orthopedic surgeon.

2. Always check the back windows before entering a car wash.

3. A hammer is not the proper tool to use when working on a porcelain toilet.

4. A flashlight left in the film processor means less newsfilm for the newscast.

5. Never request a caption contest when the photo is of you and a chimpanzee.

6. Your infant son's plumbing works the same whether the diaper is on or off.

7. Be vigilant of the downward trajectory of a light stand in an antique store.

8. Never put an old mattress at the curb before the new mattress arrives.

9. It's harder to shoot an assignment when you've brought everything but the camera.

10. When working in the attic try to stand on the wood joists, rather than the drywall of the hallway ceiling.

This is far from a complete list, and since my family accuses me of taking Alzheimer's out for a spin periodically, there will be future entries.

See You Next Time

The Last Mission

The calendar reads April 19, 1944. The outside temperature is 20 degrees below zero. The B 17 "Hoosier Hot Shot" of the 8th Air Force, 91st Bomb Group, has taken multiple hits from German fighter attacks and three engines are on fire. This is the 28th mission for the 23 yr. old radio operator, Tech. Sgt. Ted Bacho. It will be his last. The plane is quickly losing altitude and the pilot, Lt. Stanley Swenumson, has ordered the crew to bail out. Some of the crew are wounded and some, because this is their first mission, are afraid to jump out. As Bacho works his way through the dying plane, he helps a couple of the wounded get to the side door, he opens it and helps them bail out. As he stands in the door encouraging the fearful to follow him, he is hit in the right arm by a twenty millimeter shell, knocking him back in. Crew members help him back to the door and bail out. Free falling from 30 thousand feet, he realizes he has no control over his right arm and can't pull the rip cord of his parachute. Through the endless free fall and bitter cold he struggles to pull the ripcord with his left hand; finally the chute pops open.

He ends up in a German prison hospital, where they amputate his right arm above the elbow. The doctors tell him he is probably alive because the bitter cold slowed the blood loss of a very serious wound. In December of 1944 he is repatriated back to the U.S. For his missions, wounds, and assistance to the crew, he is awarded the Air Medal, the Purple Heart and the Distinguished Flying Cross.

Ted Bacho Sr. was born on July 25, 1920. He died on February 3rd, 1971 of cancer. The years between the war and death will be difficult. A failed business, alcoholism, and divorce will create a slow free fall, that to many, might suggest a failed life. However, through it all, he remained optimistic and never lost his sense of humor, love of family and the value of human relationship. While he didn't talk much about the war years, he suggested the challenges of the Great Depression and that frigid free fall of 1944 were greater than the disappointments of life. Right-handed before the war, he loved oil-painting as a hobby. He relearned to paint, drive a stick shift, tie a tie, and light a cigarette with a book of matches with only his left hand.

Within the last year of his life he saw his son graduate from college and the birth of his grandson. His sense of humor can be suggested by a family story. He is leaving the house on a warm summer day wearing a short-sleeved shirt. His left hand is reaching for his car keys, the right shirt sleeve shows only the stump of an arm. One of the neighborhood boys is on the sidewalk sucking his thumb. As Ted walks by he wiggles the stump at the boy and says, "Ya know I used to suck my thumb, and look what happened to me." The jaw dropped open and the thumb came out.

Ted Sr. didn't live long enough to receive his lifetime achievement award. During my years at TV13, I was constantly running into people who would say, "I knew your dad, God what a great guy he was", or "what a funny guy he was", or "he had the greatest stories". Last year I got a phone call from a guy living in Virginia who knew my father. He found my name on the Internet and called to find out what happened to him and to tell me how much he liked him, 37 years after his death. If he were still alive, I would have called to tell him about each of these conversations. I would have reminded him about the effort he put into pulling on that ripcord, and these are the real rewards of his last mission.

See You Next Time

Ted Bacho Photo Archive: The In-Car Camera

"So what happened at work today dear," Vicki Bacho might have asked in the last week of July, 1981. I probably replied, "did a story on sprint car racing that was pretty interesting." I then probably also changed the subject.

The photo caption from the front page of the Aug. 5, 1981 edition of National Speed Sport News reads:

"A NEW ANGLE--In order to stimulate interest in Northern Ohio and Michigan sprint car racing, Sprints On Dirt point leader John Naida let Ted Bacho, a TV cameraman from WTVG-TV, mount his sprinter for a few laps around Ohio's Oakshade Raceway. Bacho, obviously unfazed by the Channel 13 designation, got his footage and 13 newscaster John Gillespie also got a ride in the car as well. No track records were set. (Dennis Charles photo)"

Tales of Josh

Last week I made some references about Josh the Wonderdog. Well I thought it was time to pass along some particular nuances about this over-zealous family member. As you might realize from the photo, Josh is not a small dog. We think he's a mix between a Chow and Retriever. At ten years old, he's starting to show some age, he sleeps a lot and moves pretty slow as he gets up on all-fours because of arthritis. Josh might be just playing us on this aging thing, because if the neighborhood black cat shows up outside the fence he turns into a six month old guard dog who can't get to the fence fast enough.

Josh's size factor brings up the next personality trait. Now this dog puts fear into the heart of the guy who cuts my grass. If somebody comes to the door, and Vicki answers it, Josh will force himself between Vicki and whoever is standing outside the door. Howwwwever....if a thunderstorm comes up, he mutates from Wonderdog into a whimpering mass of K-9 jelly. If I'm watching TV during a thunderstorm, he would prefer I'm sitting in a love seat, so he can occupy the second position. If I'm at my desk, during a storm, he insists on proving there's enough room under the desk for my two legs, the surge protector, and him. If we're trying to sleep during an overnight storm, it's like having a newborn in the house. I find myself babbling"Yes Josh, it's only a storm."

Sleeping at night, has a few other Josh factors. He's not allowed on the furniture or the bed, but he is in the room, sleeping on the floor. Awareness on the way to the bathroom is important. And then there is his K-9 hearing, he hasn't lost it. I have to be aware of what dangles over the edge of the bed at night. If he hears something, he wants to immediately check it out. It's that fear of the cold nose on my hand or foot that has made me a light sleeper over the years.

This brings us to Saturday morning. The window in our bedroom is near floor level. We're trying to sleep in. Josh upon hearing a noise outside has pushed aside the curtain to have a look. By this time, our paranoia has kicked in and we think he's barking out to the neighbors: "See, see what my humans are doing on a Saturday morning. See what there doing...they're...sleeping in, while all of you are awake." Like I said, it's like having a child in the house again.

But, like any family member, we'll continue to love him.

Finally, my son deserves partial credit for the title of this posting. Vicki decided to start her own blog. Ted came up with the title: "Tails from Josh's Mom". She'll be writing about family and grandchildren. I look forward to it. It can be found at: vlbacho.blogspot.com.

See You Next Time

Ted Bacho Photo Archive: Blizzard of '78

On January 26, 1978 the Toledo area got hammered by 13 inches of snow with 50 mph winds. The storm left drifts up to 16 feet in some areas, with 30,000 Edison customers losing power.

Enjoy the rest of your summer.

Why Toledo

"You live in Charlotte, ya gotta love that, right?" "Eh, it's ok," I reply.

I wish I had a freelance job for every time I've had that exchange. Yes it's true that my bride of forty years, Josh the Wonderdog, the house we live in, and three of the grandchildren take me back there as often as possible.

Charlotte has a beautiful modern skyline, a couple of major sports teams, and soon the NASCAR Hall of Fame, all very attractive, and all very expensive. Therein lies my first gripe, it's hard to enjoy any of their offerings, without emptying out my wallet. The periodic spending desires for such entertainment wouldn't be bad if you were able to mix in some free attractions; in Charlotte there aren't many. There is no riverfront, no lakefront beaches, no metropark system, no zoo, and a very mediocre museum. There are two large man-made lakes in the area, unfortunately they are surrounded by overpriced homes, occupied by inflated egos. To be fair, Smoky Mountain National Park is two hours away, and Atlantic beaches are four hours away. These are nice for a day or weekend jaunt, but not the after dinner, after the fight with the wife, place to go to relax.

The second gripe is traffic. Getting from point A to B is the other reason for that relaxation need. The interstates are too few, and many of the main thoroughfares don't recognize the value of the left turn lane. The northern cities have many problems, but Toledo, Cleveland, Detroit and others know how to move traffic.

The final issue is more personal. I've never found it easy to make friends in Charlotte. I'm somewhat to blame because I'm very reticent about my life and my work. For me, it's easier to maintain old friendships, than to develop new ones. This is not a favorable formula for expanding one's business or social connections in an unknown city.

I'll probably retire in the Carolinas because the daffodils are out of the ground in February, and the fall leaves last through November. I'll enjoy sharing the house with Vicki and Josh the Wonderdog, but Toledo will always be home.

See You Next Time

Why Toledo slideshow

Punched in the Eye of the Beholder

Sustaining one's place in today's competitive and technological environment is not for the faint of heart. Just about the time you start to feel good about your place in life, someone or something (new technology) comes along suggesting you nothing but a cave-dweller. As I streak (wearing clothes this time) into my senior years, I'm fully aware of all the twenty and thirty somethings I'm competing with. Age is never an issue with me. Keeping these new hips working is my main concern. The only thing that really makes me angry is why I can't get a senior discount, with my AARP card, on that new hd camera I want to buy.

As I view the photos on this blog, I realize they are not award-winning images. However, they do make me feel good about myself and my life. While I may be a cave-dweller, I'll continue to produce art for the walls.

SEE YOU NEXT TIME

The Value of Age: Cars of Greenfield Village

The Fam Does Baptism

OMG another entry into the world of blogdom! That's like saying we need another Paris (or Perez) Hilton. That's like saying we need another politician who lost the instructions for the proper use of the zipper on his fly. That's like saying...well you get the idea.

Yes it's true, another night Ted can't sleep, and he's run out of hips to write about. Sorry, for anyone not on the email hip list (that's sounds kinda weird to say), I had both hips replaced within the last eighteen months and I sent out weekly rehab updates via email. The mental exercise kept the brain functioning properly, and the kind response shortened the rehab time.

This is going to be a free flowing, hopefully weekly blog, with a variance of subject matter. I'll try not to embarrass my family or the real writers out their (sorry..."there"). It's called "BachoCam" but I promise to stay far away from the boring subject of cameras, unless of course, it relates to a piece of human stupidity that makes you smile.

This week's subject: "family gatherings."

The Bacho Clan got together for a baptism of the latest member, Maddie Addler. Who I must say, is one of the cuter...sorry, I broke out in grandparent there.

Anyway, we got together to bless this little wonder who had heart surgery about twelve weeks into her young life. It's amazing how the Lord has the ability to stop you in your tracks, smack you around a little to remind you what's important in life, not that new vacation home you just purchased. Her life is beating perfectly now, thank you. So we all came together. The six grandchildren ran around bumping into each other like the balls on a pool table, and the adults ran around trying to control this box of puppies. I filled up the closets fast with kids (JUST KIDDING, child welfare... sheesh), while the adults consumed more beer. At the end of this little bash, Vicki and I were happy the refrigerator was big enough, there was no drywall to replace, and realized you can't place a price on a child's smile.

SEE YOU NEXT TIME.

Ted Bacho Photo Archive:

On May 7th, 1975 fire destroyed the Tiedtke Department Store at Summit and Adams streets in downtown Toledo. I lived four blocks from the river in East Toledo.