What’s Going On Here?

Terry Hopkins - Lang Jewelry 08-13-2013From time to time, I’ll go back looking at directories of photos I’ve run before to see if I missed anything. When I hit one containing photos of Terry Hopkins and Brad Brune smoking cigars on the riverfront and swapping lies, I was about to skip to the next one.

This thumbnail jumped out at me, though. What in the world is in this photo? What is that arm doing? What is he pointing to and why? Click on it to make it larger.

When I blew it up, it all became clear. Terry, whose dad had been in the sign business, was feeling where the lettering for Lang Jewelers had been scraped off the window when it closed after being in business since 1916. The buildings on the west side of Main street reflected just like I was shooting directly at them.

I’d like to call it art, but I have to confess to accident instead.

The Heritage Trio

Crystal Lander - Jackson and Anna Nice - Cape- 11-01-2013I posted a shot the other night of a couple of young women playing a guitar and singing on Water Street.

Well, with my readers, you never know what kind of memories are going to get triggered. Brad Brune posted a long, hilarious account of his musical career that I’m going to let you read under the original story. You might have to press Ctrl-F5 to refresh your browser to see all the new comments.

To give you a hint at his prowess, after taking a test in his early grade school days and asking how he did, he was told, “Don’t worry, Bradley, Brunes are good at sports.”

Linda Stone weighs in

Heritage Trio Professional Picture revBefore long, Linda Stone Schrimsher said she had a photo of the The Heritage Trio, a band featuring¬†Gary Fischer, David Hahs and Brad. Here’s what the boys looked like.

A more cleancut set of lads could not be found in Cape County. (Here is Brad today.)

Other stories about music in Cape



Escape from Cape

Emerson Bridge 08-187-2013_8293My escape from Cape didn’t go as smoothly as I hoped. Mother and I were supposed to meet a plumber at her trailer on Kentucky Lake at 11 a.m. to move a shutoff valve to a place where it would be easier for her to get at it. I stayed up late to get the van loaded so we could pull out early.

I carefully activated an existing 8 a.m. alarm on my smartphone to give myself plenty of time to do a sweep of the house for forgotten items and to have coffee and a bowl of cereal. When I heard her moving about, I checked to see how much more time I could doze before having to put my feet on the floor.

My phone read 8:32. Unlike Brad Brune, who operates on Brune Standard Time, I got the a.m. and p.m. part right; I just hadn’t noticed that the alarm was set to go off on MTWTF, and today was S.

Mother elected to leave me behind

I loaded up the car, plugged in my phone and iPad, wrote down my starting mileage and pulled out of the driveway. Two blocks from the house, the Bluetooth display on my GPS said, “Disconnecting.” The phone was doornail dead. I tried artificial respiration, but ended up pulling the battery and doing a cold boot. It came back.

I plugged the charger in. Dead phone. Since the Verizon dealership was within eyesight, I went looking for help. Matt and Kelsey gave it their best shot, but the office was in the middle of a server upgrade, so they were busy handing calls to techs. They essentially did what I had already done, but with better results. I was back on the road again.

Cell towers and “if only”

KY cell tower 08-17-2013 8304As I got close to the trailer, I glanced at this cell tower and thought “if only.” Will, who was half of Will-Vera Camp Ground, approached Dad in the early 70s and said he was considering expanding his park and wanted to know if Dad would like to go in with him because of his construction background. Dad begged off saying he was working hard to wind down the business so he could retire, so the project never got off the ground.

I don’t know if this tower is on the plot Will was considering, but it’s adjacent to the park, so it might have been. I negotiated contracts with two cellular carriers to put cell sites on our newspaper building for somewhere between $6,000 and $8,000 a month if I remember right. This tower would probably have brought in as much money for Will and Dad as a raft of trailers.

Where’s the plumber?

Goodbye 08-17-2013_8331When I got to the lake, Mother was steaming. Not a pretty sight. The plumber wasn’t there, he hadn’t answered his phone and hadn’t returned messages she had left for him. On the off-chance that she had dialed the wrong number, I called one listed in my phone and left VM saying that I was going to have to get on the road, but I would turn on the water so she’d be able to stay the weekend.

About 10 minutes later, the plumber called me, very apologetic. He had every intention of being there at 11, but he had been involved in a car crash that left him with a totaled vehicle, several broken ribs and some other injuries. I allowed as how that might be an acceptable excuse.

I helped her with some odd jobs, then took the obligatory goodbye shot next to a new sign Brother Mark had made, Niece Amy painted and Son Matt hung to replace the original that had gone missing.

About an hour north of Nashville, I stopped at a rest area intending to take a 22-minute nap before pressing on. I had scarcely started settling in when a young security guard approached my window. Wondering what kind of hassle I was going to get, I rolled down the window.

It turned out he was a nice guy who wanted to point out that he thought my driver’s side headlight was burned out. “Geez,” I said. “I just replaced that one in February, and the passenger side one burned out yesterday. Thanks for pointing it out. I carry a spare bulb, so I’ll replace it before it gets dark.”

I jettisoned the idea of a nap, changed the bulb and made Manchester, TN, before calling it a night. Tomorrow will be a better day, right?


Brune Standard Time

Terry Hopkins - Brad Brune - Cape riverfront 08-13-2013Terry Hopkins was in town to see his Dad, so we decided to meet for lunch. He was kind enough to take me out to LaGrand’s Transmissions to pick up my van, which was in for routine service. He said Brad Brune was going to meet us noonish at Broussard’s on Broadway.

We arrived a couple of minutes after noon, but no Brad. We waited about 10 minutes, then took up the server’s invitation to grab a table, get something to drink and peruse the menu. We told her to be on the lookout for an older gentleman. “He’ll probably be in a walker, with an oxygen tank and a nurse helping him along.”

After waiting about 20 minutes, we apologized to the server and assured her that he’d be along any minute. “We’ll give him another five minutes.”

Brad had problems with AM and PM

Terry finally decided to call Brad to make sure he hadn’t forgotten us. His cockamamie excuse was that he had, indeed, set an alarm to remind him of our appointment, but that he had gotten AM and PM mixed up. He assured us that he would be reminded at midnight of our planned visit.

When the server came back, we explained that Brad was held up by a flat tire on his walker. “He’s able to top it off from his oxygen tank, but it’s a slow leak. He can’t shuffle too fast, so he only gets about 25 feet before he has to blow it up again.”

The server wondered why Brad’s nurse couldn’t help him. We explained that Brad has always been fiercely independent. We went ahead and ordered for him: the daily special of gumbo. “You may have to run it through a blender,” we warned her. “He has to take his food through a straw, and you wouldn’t want to be the one who has to clean out the clogs.”

Miracles of medical science

When Brad, operating on Brune Standard Time, finally showed up 45 minutes late, the server seemed genuinely disappointed to see that he arrived under his own power. We attributed it to a strong will and the miracles of medical science.

I sat back and listened to the two of them swap tales of athletic daring and female conquests. Or, maybe I have that backwards. I don’t think it’s worth looking up the score in either case. I had no stories to tell in either category, so mostly I listened in awe tinged with disbelief.

We strolled down to the river where Brad offered us chocolate-flavored cigars. I passed, but Terry enjoyed his with relish. I mean, he lit it up and savored it, I don’t mean that he slathered it with a pickle condiment.

Bobby Jones and Theresa L Wood dance

Towboats crossing off Cape 08-13-2013

We watched, curious, at an intricate dance where the lightly-loaded northbound Bobby Jones passed the heavier and longer Theresa L. Wood, which had been idling against the current close to the riverfront. We kept waiting for the Wood to crank up the steam and follow, but the Bobby Jones slowed off Cape Rock and appeared to be drifting back downstream.

It all becomes clear

Three towboats off Cape 08-13-2013I went to the car to get my portable scanner to see if we could hear what was going on. By the time I got back, it all became clear: the two northbounders were holding fast to give the southbound Preston N. Shuford plenty of room to pass.

Had to take oblgatory floodwall photo

Terry Hopkins - Brad Brune - Cape riverfront 08-13-2013We finished our visit with the obligatory photo against the floodwall mural.

After abandoning Brad, Terry and I headed off on a super secret mission that you might read about tomorrow. I’ll try to use the Steinhoff Standard Time calendar and not the Brune Standard Time version. He may have B.C. and A.D. confused on it.

You can click on the photos to make them larger.