I can’t let May get away without celebrating the birthday of the two brothers without whom The House of Mars could never have been the House of Mars. The original Marshuns, Marcel and Marceau. In their nine years, they’ve been asked to serve several roles and they’ve excelled at all.
September 11, 2005 – December 22, 2011
I got the idea to attend a pet adoption fair to look for a cat, one cat, for Niles who had cancer and was lonely after his beloved Fremont succumbed to his own cancer.
I appealed to the spirit of the Huge Biggie Fremont to direct me to a suitable companion for the cat he’d protected for the the last five years of his life.
The first cats I came upon were none other than the Brothers Mar. How could I not adopt them both. Fremont had sent me a sign. These Fremont/Niles dopplegangers were the cats for his little Niles.
They not only proved up to the job of hospice cats, they excelled, never leaving Niles who spent his last weeks on the recliner.
2007 – 2013
Two years passed and I brought Marcos, Mars#3 , home
It took a while but they all became buddies. Well, Marceau and Marcos did.
Marcel was more the trainer. He believed in keeping his distance
Cat Correctional Guards
September 5, 2013 – present
Enter the 4th Mar, Marble
Need I say more? I can always say more, but what can be said about Marble that hasn’t already been said. He’s a criminal genius.
They accepted him immediately and now one or the other is always tagging along, keeping an eye on him.
Many jobs, all well done, Twin Princes. May you stick around another nine years
The Mustang turned 50 last week. Tributes have filled the news, recounting how it changed the driving scene for the young men of the era along with fellow muscle cars, Camaro, and Charger . This called for a listen here, you don’t know what you’re talking about from me because I was there, and I’m here to tell while that may have been true for the Camaro and Charger, when it came to the Mustang, the Mustang was a girl’s car. At least it was in my neck of the woods and I have the tales to prove it.
The Infamous Egg Caper
I had two friends at college who had Mustangs, Bobbi C and Barb P. Ironic isn’t it that their names sound like Bob?
Bobbi had inherited her ’64 gray blue Mustang from her older sister.
Barb’s ’67 navy blue ‘Stang had been bought new, but from a sad source of income – the money she’d inherited from her parents. She’d been orphaned in her early teens.
Both Barb and Bobbi were recruited for our spur-of-the-moment egg caper.
We pause for a bit of history here. I went to a small Catholic women’s college next to West Point. It was believed that a good portion of Ladycliff’s students went there in hopes of marrying a cadet. This may have been true in earlier years, and there may have been true for a small portion of my class , but as far as my friends and I were concerned, all I can say is Ha!
It was 1968, and we were the first wave of baby boomers and we served as the advance guard for the full-blown protester/feminist/what-have-you that was soon to descend on the world. If you were fortunate to have come of age in the ’60s you’ll understand it when I say the ’60s didn’t really get underway until the ’70s. As for the crew and I, we regretted the day we’d enrolled at Ladycliff, but were imprisoned there by parents who knew there really wasn’t much trouble we could get into there. Speaking of trouble – back to the egg caper.
I can’t remember whose idea it was, but since I remember Ginger L being involved, I’d say she was probably the creator. Ginger was famous for her sayings which would send us into hysterics as we sat around smoking cigarettes in the student lounge that was creatively known as “The Smoker. Some of the bon mots I remember are
- “No matter where you go……..there you are.”
- “Always remember, a penny earned is …….still a penny.”
- “Beauty is only skin deep but…ugly is to the bone.”
Oh, well. They were funny at the time, and if you’re thinking it wasn’t tobacco we were smoking you’d be wrong. Remember the 60s weren’t really the 60s. Speaking of that kind of stuff, if someone happened to put a quarter in the jukebox and chose Bob Dylan’s Rainy Day Women #12 & 35 as one of their three songs, we’ d form a long conga type line and march all around the lounge behind Ginger, singing the chorus. Everybody must get stoned.
Oh yes, the egg run. It was Halloween of our senior year and we were bored so we decided to go throw eggs at (who else but?) cadets. We rounded up Bobbi and Barb and their Mustangs as well as Margie H and her soon-to-be vintage ’59 Porsche 356A Speedster, inherited, like Bobbi from her older sister,
and Terry B and her ’67 red Pontiac Lemans. Terri’s dad had promised her a red convertible if she went to college and graduated. Wisely he waited until senior year to buy it for her.
I can’t recall which car I rode in but we formed a motorcade as we headed into bustling (not!) downtown Highland Falls, and after a pit stop at the IGA, where we bought out their supply of eggs, headed up to the West Point Gate.
Now remember this was way, way, way before 9-11-2001, so the guard didn’t even make us stop. He just waved us through. Perhaps he was used to seeing Ladycliff girls coming to “The Point”. Little did he know!
We had timed it so we’d get there shortly after the cadets were getting out of the mess hall. We didn’t even bother to spread out, just rode through, tossing eggs and cackling louder than hens, a la The Wicked Witch of the West. Hey, we were the Wicked Witches of West Point, ha ha ha ha ha. I swear that just popped into my head. Sorry, sometimes I just knock myself out, but back to the caper.
We rode past all the academic halls, the library, theater, on out to Trophy Point and circled back up past Michie Stadium where the football games were held, the athletic fields, even the Commandant’s House. If there was a cadet out we got him, or, in more cases than not, we missed him.
Finally we headed back out the way we came. And guess what in t hose pre-, pre-, pre-, pre-cellphone days, the guard just gave a wave and a nod as we headed out.
Dare I say had we pulled the prank today, those Mustang license plates would be on some kind of subversive , to-be-watched list. But by the time any cadets or MPs managed to get to a phone to call to order him to “stop those crazy girls, ” those crazy girls had disposed of the empty egg cartons and were back in the smoker.
If I tell you that the egg caper was one of my most vivid memories of Ladycliff, does it give you an idea of how exciting our four years were? Well life got much more exciting and I met more Mustang owners along the way. They were all female. That’s because the guys I met were all driving Camaros, Firebirds, Plymouth Road Runners, Chargers and Challengers.
As for me, I couldn’t afford $2,350 for a Mustang so I ended up buying a Volkswagen Beetle.
Next post – Episode 2 . Two VW’ers take a Mustang to Boston