Sarge died a couple of years back. Heart attack. In WW2 he got machine gunned down one side, from shoulder to hip. Used to take off his shirt in bars and show the women, who promptly went home with him. Best guy to work for. Almost everyone hated him, but I spent 12 years with him as my captain, and it was all bluster. Always yelled at us before shift change and the other guys leaving felt sorry for us, having to sweep the parking lot on Sunday. Once they left he'd tell us it was a day of rest, and not to bother him. And he'd chew your out but when the Chief showed up and tried to go after one of us he stuck up for you and asked the Chief if that was enough bs or did he want go outside and duke it out. Then he'd chew you out once more for luck, wink, and go back in his office/bedroom. He retired when they rode his butt about smoking cigars in the station and in the truck. Told them, if the cigars go I go, and he did. He once told the mayor (female), she should do what god intended and get in the kitchen and have babies and leave the work to the men. Three days off. With pay, he was so proud of that. Came up to me once and told me if I played Moon River this year he was going to bust the piano with an axe. We had to sing God Save the Queen, and Stouthearted Men, then he usually was happy to try and pick up the waitress.

The problem with guys born between 45 and 50 in Canada, (which is me too), is that even at high school you'd never admit to liking Elvis and most of us knew our parents music from the Am Am radio band. Early Beatles and Stones stuff, then I went where there was no radio or TV for 6 years. (Way north).

John Conley
Musica est vita