Doing the “Freddy”

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I’m not sure if it was 1964 or 1965 when our class presented a show on the auditorium stage for the rest of the school.  I don’t recall much about it except for the following:

The song, “King of the Road” by Roger Miller was popular at the time, and I wanted to be a part of the group of boys that performed it, but at some point, I was put into a secondary group that was to do “the Freddy,” a dance, that went along with the song, “I’m Telling You Now” by Freddy and the Dreamers.   The moves of the dance were sort of like flapping your arms & legs like wings (you’ll see by the video).  Well, part way through the song, I noticed that people on the front row were beginning to point and laugh.  It was then that I looked down and found that my zipper was down.  I guess my two options would have been to reach down and zip it up, or turn around and zip it up… or (only two choices?), just keep dancing… which is what I did.

This was the Swansboro Elementary Cafeteria when I was in 1st through 5th Grades.  At the center, toward the back of this photo, there is a window.  This is where we took our food trays, dirty plates, and other garbage when we were through eating.  One day we had sauerkraut with our meal.  I didn’t like sauerkraut, so I didn’t eat that, and I didn’t finish the pint of Maola milk either.  I noticed that some boys were stuffing their empty milk cartons with their sauerkraut.  This was because there was one or more teachers standing where you took your tray to make sure we had eaten all our food.

I normally would not be bold enough to try this, but this day, I stuffed the sauerkraut into my half empty milk carton and walked up toward the window.  Apparently, the sharp eyed teacher had seen me.  She looked at my tray, and then lifted my milk carton, saying something to the effect, “Oh, you need to go back and finish your milk.”  Now, I believe that she knew exactly what she was doing.

I returned to the table and tried to swallow the sauerkraut and milk mixture, but after several attempts I went back to the window and left my tray.  I still do not like sauerkraut.  I like milk… but not sauerkraut!

Marrakesh Mediterranean Cuisine

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This is the second Mediterranean/Middle Eastern/Turkish, etc. restaurant that Suzanne has mentioned to me.  The first, Urban Turban, was great and I have visited several times and the food is consistently good.

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My first visit was for lunch on Saturday.  I had the Kefta Kabob (beef & lamb), rice, tabbouleh salad, bread and iced mint tea. (Menu)  The older gentleman, I guess the owner, came out to my table to explain what was on the menu.

I loved the “shtick” and wished that the Turkish Grille in Fayetteville would mimmick the Desert Chic (Sheik).  The atmosphere was everything that pleased.  And now my review goes south.  I just didn’t like the flavor of the kefta kabob, nor the tabbouleh, and the rice (supposed to be a neutral flavor), added to the disappointment.  The iced mint tea was delicious and refreshing.  The bread, fresh out of the oven, warm and soft was good also.

Now, I don’t have broad experience in this type of food, but having tried several items at the Sherefe Mediterranean Grill, over several years, in Fayetteville, and the Urban Turban in Cary, and lunch at the Turkish Grille, I have come to think of myself as “liking” this type of food.  *I really, really like the tabbouleh salad at the Urban Turban.  I like the rice at the Turkish Grille, and they make a good Greek salad.  And, I like the Doner Kabob and salad at Sherefe.

Perhaps it was not having condiments or sauces to add to the flavor.  A squeeze of lemon for the tabbouleh salad “just didn’t make it.”  *The analogy would be the difference between a good, home-made spaghetti sauce and what you get out of a Chef Boyardee can.  The flavor just wasn’t there for me.

NOTE [03/20/23]: Apparently, I did not mention anywhere above that Marrakesh (Facebook, Wixsite, Menu)is located in Jacksonville, NC. The Urban Turban has been closed for several years now.

A few weeks ago, on Sunday, the day after we celebrated the life of James Frederick Sharpe, Jr. “Jim” a group of us, including Mary Ann, Jamie, Danny, Si, Si’s girlfriend, Ray and Jacquelyn (who was celebrating her 50 birthday) went to Marrakesh for lunch. Mary Ann had kept the location a secret, and I didn’t realize they were going to be celebrating Jacquelyn’s birthday also. I wasn’t looking forward to going to Marrakesh again because, as I had said above the food was bland.

But, to my surprise, what I had for my entrée turned out to be very flavorful. I did not enjoy the appetizer, spinach in a philo dough pastry, which was pretty flavorless… but I had ordered the Gyro Platter, with rice and a Greek Salad. The shaved lamb was delicious. The rice had good flavor and the salad was also good.

Motivated by a Fraction.

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I read the following article, Final Lesson: You Don’t Get an A for Just Showing Up from the Faculty Focus web site, and it reminded me of something in my college past.

Many years ago, I took a class in which there were only 13 students. I don’t recall, but it might have been a Real Estate course. The instructor was Col. Joseph Dunn. My heart wasn’t in the course, and when the first test was handed back, that was revealed to me. Col. Dunn gave three grades for each test: a number grade .e.g. 83, 78, 92, etc.; a matching letter grade e.g. A+, B-, etc., and he also gave a fractional grade e.g. 2/13, 5/13, etc. I had never seen a fractional grade before, but this is what it represented. At first there were 13 students in the course, and that became the denominator. The numerator was how you ranked in taking that particular test, with number 1 being the best.

So, on the first test I received two grades that didn’t actually matter much. A letter grade and it’s matching number grade. But, the fractional grade I received was 12/13. Talk about having to deal with self-image, how cruel to actually know where you stood in relation to the rest of the class. But, this wonderful means of grading was just what I needed.

The student that received the 13/13ths fractional grade, on the first test, dropped the course shortly thereafter. But, when the second test came around I received a 2/12ths, and surprisingly the same grade on my final exam. I needed that motivator, and am thankful for it.

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I came to UNC-W in the summer of 1975, took four courses and my grades were then good enough to attend there.  I had Col. Dunn for several classes, and then I graduated in the summer of 1976 after taking several courses.

Col. Dunn had white hair, not silver-gray, and it was cut in a way that reminded me of the Roman statues (just the head and bust).  I think most of us feared taking his classes because he would “bull-dog” you for answers, and might not even stop his questions when you said in exasperation, “I just don’t know.”  Does that sound like personal experience?-)  But, I recall that when he talked about how the moon looked over Three Rivers Stadium, he would say, “It was bootiful, simply bootiful.”

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The following has nothing to do with Col. Dunn and the class, except that one time there were four of us (students) sitting in the back of the classroom talking.  It must have been before class started, and we had turned our desks so that we were all facing each other (as if we could have played cards).  Well, one of the other guys told a joke.  I actually think the guy was the one that received the 13/13 grade on the first test.  For most of my life, I was quick to get a quip or a joke.  Literally, if it took more than a fraction of a second, then something was wrong.  So when the joke was told, I didn’t “get it,” but I laughed anyway.  A girl said, “You didn’t get that did you,” to which I finally agreed, “no, I didn’t”.   The others just repeated the joke, with no other explanation, and no matter how many times they told it, I still didn’t get the joke.  Class started, and we all moved to our seats nearer the front of the room.

A week later, I was sitting in the back of the class, by myself as Col. Dunn was teaching, and all of a sudden I had a flash of insight.  I got the joke, that had been told a week before, and I laughed out loud.  The class turned around and looked at me quizzically, to which I just waved them off with my hands and mumbled something about getting the joke.

The joke?  Well, that’s difficult to write, because it was a play on the way the words sound, but here goes.  It came in the form of a question.  “Did you hear about the queer bear that laid his paw on the table?”  That’s it.  That is all there was to it, and yet it was so funny to think that my mind had to process it for a whole week before I understood it.