ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1996, Roanoke Times
DATE: Wednesday, October 9, 1996 TAG: 9610090006
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
COLUMN: BEN BEAGLE
SOURCE: BEN BEAGLE
I don't know why a lot of people like me feel we just have to write about October.
Some of us write these poignant, moving pieces about colorful leaves spinning into winter on vagrant winds and stuff like that. And morning mist. And early frost.
These romantic types don't mention that somebody has to clean up all those leaves after they stop spinning.
Dull people like yours truly here write these clever little pieces about the funny things that can happen during leaf gathering - which may or may not make up for the other people who just write about them falling.
Well, this year it's going to be different. No leaf columns - except to mention that I wish I could operate a leaf blower in such a way as to blow leaves in an orderly way into nice piles.
Leaf blowers are good for blowing filth off the driveway, but they are not all that good with leaves.
Anyway, although I know you may regret it, I'm going to get sentimental and remember an October more than 50 years ago, when I came to Roanoke in a wool suit that made me sweat a lot. It was the only suit I had.
It was considered good form to to look sharp when you were sworn into the Army of the United States.
Roanoke still had streetcars, and the bus station was underground. You could catch a passenger train just about anytime, and the American Theater was still on Jefferson Street.
For the swearing in, I had come, late, to this strange building on Campbell Avenue in which all of these two-stripers ran around acting like they were generals.
As I took the oath to defend my country against all enemies, foreign and domestic, the World Series was on the radio somewhere, and you could hear the streetcars through the open windows.
The series and the streetcars didn't seem to care that life as I had known it was ending.
Some ladies from the USO gave us sandwiches in this room above the Cavalier Restaurant on Jefferson Street, and I went to the movies to kill the time before the train was due.
At the American Theater that night, I sat through "The Horn Blows at Midnight" twice. I ate every one of the six Hershey bars, with almonds, my mama had put in my toilet kit.
The train came and I got on, shivering a little from sugar overload, and thus began one of the less notable military careers in this century.
OK. You can bring on the spinning leaves now.
LENGTH: Medium: 54 linesby CNB