Calico's legacy lives on to this day

She lived a full life, representative of her era: She ate a lot, was promiscuous and stayed out late. Yet she was beloved.

Today would have been her 50th birthday. She was gone too soon.

I write, of course, about Calico, my childhood dog. I don't know her death date, which is lost to history (sometime in early 1980). I also don't know how she ended up in our family, another story lost to history. But I know her birth date: May 3, 1965. Fifty years ago today.

Calico Stanhope was a beagle, part of the generation of dogs whose status in society was elevated by Snoopy of "Peanuts" fame. I've seen pictures of her as a puppy, when she was frisky and small. By the time I was old enough to remember, she disappeared from family photos, appearing only in shadows, a family version of the Loch Ness Monster. (In that era, adults didn't waste film on the family dog. Film was expensive to develop!)

Calico was the beloved dog of my childhood, but to my friends, she was an obese, wart-covered, snorting hound who never missed an opportunity to hump their legs.

She loved eating garbage. In the days before you had to leash a dog – I lived in a rural community, where there still is likely no leash law – Calico wandered the neighborhood. That meant that garbage night was often Mardi Gras for her – an opportunity to take advantage of mysteriously tipped-over cans and enjoy the spoils of coffee grounds, egg shells and other treasures. Like a generation of Americans that followed, she learned that if you eat garbage, you get fat.

She was definitely portly. Her belly was inches off the ground and sometimes the warts on her paws nearly rubbed her stomach. Her weight made it tough for her to breathe, causing her to snort when she walked. My friends often thought she was growling at them, which they assumed was as bad as it would get. Wrong on both counts.

I loved Calico, despite her bad habits, which included a tendency to sit on the lawn in front of my bedroom window at night and howl, then respond to her echo. My sisters loved her, too.

Unfortunately, as much as she was loved, she gave love. Uncomfortably so.

Calico was "fixed" at an early age (Dogs undoubtedly don't consider that being "fixed."), but had no qualms familiarizing herself with the legs of my friends. The 10-year-olds who had earlier been terrorized by her growling (grunting) would suddenly find her attached to their legs, fully enjoying the sexual revolution of the 1970s.

"Just shake her off," I would tell them, unaware of how inappropriate it was.

Calico's later years saw her mellow. She slept more, ate more, and kept going. She lived past her 14th birthday (98 for dogs) as an indulgent, gluttonous, oversexed dog.

She was the canine Keith Richards, a dog who overcame all obstacles to survive.

We finally had her "put down" when the entire family left on a two-week vacation and determined that her quality of life was terrible, which sounds much harsher now than it did then. In fact, it sounds like we killed her so we could enjoy a vacation. Could that be right? Nevermind.

Regardless, her legendary life ended.

She has been gone for 35 years, but her influence endures.

Whenever a dog eats from the garbage or barks at something invisible or wanders a neighborhood, it is paying tribute to Calico. Anytime a dog familiarizes itself with the leg of a terrified fourth-grader, it's a tribute to Calico.

She lived slow, died old and left a hideous corpse.

But what a legacy!

Brad Stanhope is a former Daily Republic editor. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Those addictive, terrible, wonderful smartphones

Don't let technology enslave you! #PutYourPhoneDown.

It's a quandary, isn't it? Even those of us who make fun of kids having their noses in their smartphones become slaves to technology. If you don't believe it, look up from your phone and look around.

The other day, I went walking outside my office complex and wasn't surprised. Every person – every single person – was looking at their smartphone screen. It was almost enough for me to post it on Facebook. Instead, I texted my amazement to Mrs. Brad.

LOL, as we say online.

Handheld technology has taken over the world.

This is where the old-timer is supposed to complain about society and how it's not as great as when people actually talked to each other. But to write about that, I would need to search Google on my smartphone for information about when cellphones reached the tipping point and whether there have been any significant studies about social interaction since.

If I find it, I'll tweet about it (You can follow me @bradstanhope), because the explosion of smartphones is the #biggestchange of my lifetime.

I've thought about this a reasonable amount lately – about how much we rely on technology in our everyday lives. I'm not alone – based on social media posts, a lot of people do so.

But I'll be frank: I'm as reliant on the technology as a garden-variety teenager. I don't know what I would do if smartphones were no longer available, but it would likely include a lot of fetal-position crying. And I'm not alone – witness the number of people who you'll see staring at their phones today.

Sometimes, it's ridiculous. Consider the scene at sporting events, where something dramatic happens and most fans are recording it on their phones. I guess they want to see a terrible video of something they could have watched live.

But that's what people do. If we have smartphones, we use smartphones.

I use mine for communication, maps, music, Internet access and to buy things. And that's all while I'm driving! (Just kidding . . . as far as you know. ROTFL.)

In fact, I recently started putting my phone in another room while relaxing with Mrs. Brad, because I was too often checking scores of sporting events instead of being present with her. But then I still sneak away and check my phone. Just in case, you know.

Has there been a revolution in history that changed our basic daily habits so fast? Fire was a game-changer, but it took decades before the caveman stopped using electric heaters. Centuries after the invention of the printing press, most people still didn't read. Automobiles were plentiful within a decade or two of their introduction, but there were still horse-driven buggies. Even personal computers, which came on at a breakneck pace, didn't move from luxury to necessity as fast as smartphones.

A decade ago, almost no one had them. Now we all depend on them: They are our phone book, camera, video recorder, radio, music collection, stereo, TV, personal computer, bank and phone.

How do you react if you forget your phone at home? It's time to panic!

I guess this is a long journey to say this: We love our technology. We want our smartphones.

If terrorists really wanted to paralyze us, they would find a way to make it impossible for us to use them. How could we live if we had to go back to the old days?

#unthinkable.

Brad Stanhope is a former Daily Republic editor. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Who is the Bay Area's most popular athlete?

The Golden State Warriors are the best team as the NBA playoffs start. They're the most exciting team in their sport. They have a charismatic star who will be named the league's most valuable player in a couple of weeks, a player who is perhaps the league's most popular.

But he's the second-most-popular active athlete in the Bay Area.

With the NBA playoffs opening, the baseball season getting rolling and the NFL draft approaching, it's time for my sort-of annual column – naming of the most-popular Bay Area athletes. It's based on how beloved they are among both casual and passionate fans. Disagree? Feel free to comment online and tell me about how I hate the Raiders or Sharks.

Here's the top 10 list, counting down, with apologies to Klay Thompson, Joe Thornton and the entire Oakland A's roster. After all, there are just 10 spots.

10. Departed 49ers. Frank Gore, Patrick Willis, Mike Iupati and coach Jim Harbaugh all would have been contenders for the list (well, all but Iupati), so they are placeholders at No. 10.

9. Draymond Green, Warriors. Among core basketball fans, he's higher up the list. By the end of the playoffs, he will likely also move up with general fans, too. He is a ball of energy, enthusiasm and diverse skills, universally considered "the heartbeat" of the Warriors.

8. Hunter Pence, Giants. The kale-eating, scooter-driving outfielder became a favorite with his preacher-like "sermons" during the 2012 playoffs and World Series. Now he's a fixture in San Francisco, a twitchy, energetic favorite who hits in the middle of the order and rarely has a day off (except now, when he's out with a broken forearm).

7. David Carr, Raiders. Makes it by default – the Raiders have a lot of fans and he's their best young quarterback in a generation. Carr could become a fixture on the Bay Area sports scene, assuming the franchise doesn't move away.

6. Mike Krukow/Duane Kuiper, Giants. The team's TV announcers have been together for two decades and fans feel like they're part of the family. They are, if you watch 150-plus games a year.

5. Billy Beane, A's. It's not by design, but Beane, the A's general manager, trades away every player who could possibly make this list. He's also the only Bay Area sports figure who's been the focus of a blockbuster movie.

4. Colin Kaepernick, 49ers. His position is as close as royalty as the Bay Area sports scene has: 49ers quarterback. While not Joe Montana or Steve Young (or even John Brodie), Kaepernick led the team to three straight NFC championship games. Next season will be crucial – will he become an elite quarterback or slide into being an average QB on a mediocre team?

3. Madison Bumgarner, Giants. His performance in the World Series was unprecedented – in baseball, not just Giants history. The fact that it came after a really good season and that Bumgarner has a John Wayne persona made it even more striking. And he's 25.

2. Stephen Curry, Warriors. If you're a Warriors fan, you're lucky: You get to follow one of the most remarkable careers in NBA history. Curry is creative, funny, likable and the greatest shooter in NBA history.

1. Buster Posey, Giants. Who else? He's played five years in the major leagues and has won three championships, a rookie of the year award and was MVP – all for a team that hadn't won a title in nearly 50 years. Young Giants fans think the team always has a great player with a perfect baseball name. They don't. Sometimes the best player is named Bobby Murcer or Randy Winn.

Brad Stanhope is a former Daily Republic editor. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Does the ordre of letters in a word mattre?

For the past several years, a behind-the-scenes war played out between the acting world and traditional media.

The issue: Spelling. Of one specific word. Is it "theater" or "theatre?"

It's "theater," of course, but not everyone agrees. The tension is particularly rampant in Fairfield-Suisun, because the drama groups all decided to spell their facilities wrong. At least according to newspapers and Americans.

The drama troupes call them "theatres." You know, the Downtown Theatre. The Missouri Street Theatre. Solano College Theatre.

Newspapers – particularly this one – drew a line in the sand. They said, in essence, that you can call the building a "theatre" if you want and you can call your troupe a "theatre," but we won't use "theatre" as a generic term, because we're not British. And it's not the 18th century. And we learned how to spell in elementary school.

Isn't this the kind of thing we fought the Revolutionary War to prevent? Wasn't King George III trying to force us to spell wrong? Didn't the Boston Tea Party have the desire for freedom to spell correctly?

Isn't this a step backward?

Then I thought about it. And realized I might be wrong.

We let groups self-identify all the time. Every few years, a subgroup of our culture comes out with a new way to describe themselves and we go along. The dictionary is filled with words that are considered outdated or even politically incorrect, so we don't use them anymore.

So maybe the theater . . . er, theatre . . . people are right. Maybe we should just give them a break and let them spell wrong if they want.

Aftre all, there's nothing that says you can't change the ordre of lettres in words, right? And we do speak English, which means that sometimes the people in the mothre country might be correct in how they spell things.

Whether the lettres are in the right ordre or not isn't really up to me. Or to you. Language changes ovre time and sometimes we should change with it.

When I say "we," I mean not only you and me, but newspapres, television reportres and even dictionary editors.

Perhaps the theatre people are on to something. Maybe our language is changing and they are making it bettre fastre.

Aftre all, they do a lot of great plays. You know, "A Streetcar named Desier," "Fiddlre on the Roof," "Jane Eyer" and "Petre Pan."

To deny them the right to spell the word incorrectly could create, to paraphrase Shakespeaer, "the wintre of their discontent."

I guess my point is to let the theatre people embrace their inner misspellre.

Then I thought about it and realized they're wrong. I'm American. We have rules. We spell words correctly.

I'm not ready to change the Constitution to say, "We the people, in ordre to form a more perfect union."

It's time to re-draw that line in the sand.

Otherwise, soonre or latre, we'll be spelling wrong and not know it.

Brad Stanhope is a formre Daily Republic editor. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Missing silverware mystery not so mysterious

It was like a science fiction movie where people start disappearing, but no one realizes it's widespread.

Except it was spoons, forks and plates, not people. And it was only at the homes of people who have a certain type of resident: High school and college-age students.

It's chilling. And it happened to us.

Mrs. Brad and I noticed it a few years ago. Our silverware, which we got as wedding gifts in the last millennium, started to disappear. First was spoons.

Then forks.

Making it worse? The gradual disappearance of a few plates.

What in the world? Where did our stuff go?

The first option of course is to check to see whether the hired help was stealing our silverware. The only problem was we had dismissed most of the servants during the Great Recession, when we had to cut the household staff to the gardener, my driver and our washer woman.

So we took the next obvious step: We asked our sons. They were in high school, the age where we were beginning to trust them to take food into their rooms (with the stern warning that mice and rats would come after any uneaten food left on plates). Perhaps they had some spoons, forks and plates in their rooms.

They had kitchenware in their rooms, but not nearly enough to explain all that was missing. When pressed, they said they were sure they hadn't lost silverware.

Silverware?

Missing?

Us?

No, we always return it.

We knew that wasn't really true, since Mrs. Brad and I had both seen plenty of dirty plates with silverware – and even some food (mouse food!) left in their rooms: Bowls with dried ramen noodles. Hardened cereal.

But when their rooms were cleaned and the silverware and plates were all in the dishwasher, a kitchen inventory revealed the truth.

We were down at least two plates. And we'd gone from 10 spoons and forks to three or four of each.

What was happening? Was a terrorist sneaking into our house and taking spoons and forks? Was someone using a giant magnet to suck them away? If so, how did they avoid knives? Were aliens harvesting our silverware to power a return trip to their planet?

We were baffled. Our sons insisted that they were innocent. The silverware was gone.

Then we talked to some friends and found the same thing happened to them.

They were down to a few spoons and forks. The plates were gradually disappearing. And they had kids of about the same age as ours.

The reason was obvious. There is obviously some mathematical formula that combines the age of your live-at-home children with the number of forks and spoons. As the kids get older, silverware disappears. It's not their fault, it's just math.

Now I joke with young parents: "Sure, it's hard now, but wait until the spoons go!" They look at me like I'm crazy, but just wait. They'll see.

I realize that the disappearing silverware is God's way of making sure kids move out. If ours stay much longer, Mrs. Brad and I will be forced to eat with our fingers out of pans – which only happens now when Mrs. Brad is out of town.

Look at it this way: At some point, we'll lose two occupants of our house, but gain some spoons and forks. I'll miss my sons, but you know the old saying: It's great to have kids, but they're not much help when you're eating a bowl of ice cream.

Brad Stanhope is a former Daily Republic editor. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Cheers for Jupiter – and roller derby

It's time to give Jupiter some props: Like a bodyguard in school who keeps the goons away, the planet may have cleared the way for Earth. To exist.

At least according to scientists, whom I never question. Even when they insist that canals exist on Mars, draining blood can cure illnesses or that a walk is as good as a hit. If they weren't smarter than me, they wouldn't be allowed to wear those white jackets, right?

Anyway, a couple of astronomers (which I'm told are different from astrologers) published a paper this week in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences. It's one of several magazines to which I subscribe, arriving Tuesday along with Grit and Cracked and a few days before The Saturday Evening Post. The astronomers say that our inner solar system once had a bunch of what they call "super-Earths." Those are planets larger than ours, but not as big as Neptune.

(Neptune is really big. When it sits around the sun, it really sits around the sun! When Neptune steps on the planetary scale, the scale says "one at a time please!" Am I right? Neptune is big!)

The point of the article was that at some point in ancient history (probably before the American Revolution and maybe before the invention of the fork) Jupiter bulldozed in and smashed those "super-Earth" planets into the sun, which laid the foundation for the creation of the Earth and other smaller planets . . . wait . . .

Did they really say creation of the Earth? Scientists said that?

Nevermind. I don't want to get sidetracked. But the Earth was created? Hmm.

Anyway, the idea is that Jupiter pushed toward the sun, smashed those would-be planets into the sun, then returned to its normal rotation – presumably with its hands in its pockets, whistling and hoping that nobody noticed.

The best parallel – and I'm sure you're already thinking this – is roller derby.

Jupiter played the role of the "jammer," who smashes skaters out of the way so that the "pivot" can skate ahead and score points. In this case (to use a 50-year-old metaphor), Jupiter was Charlie O'Connell and the Earth was Joanie Weston, both of the Bay Area Bombers.

Got it? Much easier to understand now, right?

Another interesting part of the theory, which is known as the Grand Tack scenario (because the "Gran Torino scenario" involves a racist character played by Clint Eastwood), is that Neptune was drawn toward the sun because of its huge mass. The only thing that stopped it was Saturn, which entered a "planetary dance" with it due to both planets' large mass, a dance that sent both farther into the solar system.

That's ironic, because I owned a Saturn for several years and find it unlikely it could travel anywhere without some sort of maintenance. Although perhaps the "planetary dance" would have been a better excuse for when my side-view mirror came off than the truth: I backed into the side of the garage.

But enough of that. Why do you keep side-tracking me?

My point is that Jupiter should be appreciated. After all, most of us have some love for Mars (great candy bar!), Pluto (cute dog, even if it's not a "planet" anymore), Venus (cool songs, one version by Frankie Avalon and another by Shocking Blue and Bananarama) and even Saturn (affordable car, even though the side-view mirrors seem defective).

Jupiter? Other than an occasional song mention (which prompts my first-ever mention of San Francisco-based band Train), it doesn't get much love.

But Jupiter made it possible for Earth to be created, according to scientists. Three cheers for Jupiter!

And roller derby, which made this science lesson understandable.

Brad Stanhope is a former Daily Republic editor. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Let's hope comments let off steam

A longtime radio host once expressed it simply: "I love the listeners, hate the callers."

My feelings aren't that strong, but sometimes they get close. Not about callers, but about some of the people who post comments on this and other websites. Calling someone a "troll" is now a cliché, but spend a few minutes or hours reading the comment section of nearly any online publication and you'll likely feel that way.

The Daily Republic has significantly higher standards for website commentary than most sites. People who post their thoughts on Dailyrepublic.com can pick what name they want to appear, but there are filters that block profanity and common slurs. Editors at the paper can also see more information and even block certain folks.

Still . . .

Go on the Daily Republic's site any day and you'll feel like we live in an angry, judgmental, vicious world.

That's how it appears to me, at least. In my post-newspaper life, I'm like many readers – a guy who checks the paper online from his office, home or on his phone. I read the stories and, because comments are listed at the bottom of each story, I often see them.

The rage is palpable. People post comments calling for torture for accused criminals. The phrase "put a bullet in his head" appears regularly. They cite the race of people involved in stories. They rage against "incompetent" or evil police officers or elected officials. They turn local items into a referendum on President Obama. They mock the Daily Republic for missing a typographical error in a document that has 30,000 words and was printed with a one-day deadline cycle.

They're angry and mean.

Occasionally – maybe one comment out of 10 – someone is nice. More often, people make inoffensive comments.

The rest of the time? Mud-throwing, angry, bitter, mean people who are wishing the vilest outcome for others.

I might be a Pollyanna, but come on! Do people really feel that strongly? Are they really that angry, vindictive and spiteful?

Here's the truth: Those comments are rarely, if ever, directed at me. My columns tend to motivate nicer comments (until this one, at least).

But when I read other comments? It makes me think about the fact that nearly all of us think criminals should be punished, but most of us don't want people tortured.

Most of us see faults in our community, but don't think there's a conspiracy to ruin things.

A vast majority of us get angry about things, but hopefully aren't as uncivil in real life as many of the people who comment on the Daily Republic website (and others).

Yes, it's even worse elsewhere. Try going to national media websites and you'll see the comment sections degrade into hateful, angry diatribes that often have nothing to do with the article.

Here's my hope: A few angry people spend most of their time raging online about news stories, rather than venturing out in public. They use website comments as a way to let off steam and keep the rest of us safe.

Otherwise, it's a world filled with rage.

As Don Henley sang in "The Heart of the Matter," how can love survive in such a graceless age?

It can't in the comment sections.

Brad Stanhope is a former Daily Republic editor. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Like Churchill said, always tell the truth

Can we trust anyone with the news?

In the wake of NBC's six-month suspension of Brian Williams for embellishing the truth about a helicopter incident in Iraq came word that Fox News' Bill O'Reilly is accused of telling untruths about the danger he was in while covering hostilities in Argentina, El Salvador and Northern Ireland.

(As if the description "former 'Inside Edition' host Bill O'Reilly" wasn't enough to shake his credibility).

Is everybody associated with covering the news guilty of making things up to make themselves appear more heroic? Let's hope not.

Walter Cronkite had it right: Credibility is the backbone of any news reporter. He told me that right after I forced him to go on the air to announce the death of President John F. Kennedy. Cronkite said he couldn't do it and I told him he had to – that America needed to hear it from someone who viewers respected.

Please don't make me into a hero for doing that, I was just his friend. That's what I tell people at my appearances before local service clubs, too.

What is it about guys like Brian Williams and Bill O'Reilly (allegedly), who feel the need to embellish stories about reporting? Do they think the fact that they were present isn't enough? Do they think they need to show heroism to gain favor among their viewers or readers? If so, it's sad.

When I helped Woodward and Bernstein uncover the Watergate scandal, we all just wanted the truth to come out. The fact that they didn't credit me – that in fact, in their book and movie, they called the editor "Ben Bradlee" in an obvious reference to me – was OK. It was enough that I was there, helping uncover the truth. I didn't want credit, something I always tell the audience at paid speaking engagements around Solano County.

If being heroic was crucial to being a great reporter, I would have made a much bigger deal about my role in capturing John Wilkes Booth after he killed President Abraham Lincoln. But that was just something that occurred as part of my job. I'm not a hero, just a reporter. Well, maybe I'm a hero, but when I tell audiences about how I helped capture the killer of our 16th president, I emphasize that I was pursuing a story and just happened to change history.

Williams' lies are particularly confusing – why does it matter whether the news reader on a national network was in a helicopter that was shot down? Trust me, it's not all that great, even if you're in the cockpit with the pilots like when I talked "Sully" Sullenberger into landing on the Hudson River in 2009. That was terrifying and the fact that I saved all those people's lives didn't change that.

I always emphasize that when I'm appearing at functions at local schools for my basic appearance fee.

I hope the investigations will settle the issues about how much Williams and O'Reilly (allegedly) lied about their experiences. Viewers and readers deserve to know that they can respect and trust those who bring them the news. It's like Winston Churchill said: "The truth is incontrovertible. Malice may attack it, ignorance may deride it, but in the end, there it is."

I'll never forget when he told me that. It was during a bombing of London by the Nazis, right after I saved his life, which likely also saved the Western Hemisphere.

As I always tell the large crowds who pay to see me, that had nothing to do with my ability as a reporter.

You can still trust me. But make sure the check clears when you pay me.

Former Daily Republic editor Brad Stanhope is no hero, just a simple columnist. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Love for DST, Suisun City; not Smokey Bear

Today marks the official turning of the seasons in Solano County: From gloomy to sunny.

We have pleasant winters here, but the start of daylight saving time – extending sunlight into the evening – makes it an even better place.

I'm a longtime proponent of daylight saving time, much to the chagrin of some people who would apparently prefer to live in eternal darkness. While the idea of year-round daylight saving time makes sense, I admit that the excitement of an immediate one-hour extension of sunlight, such as will happen today, makes the second Sunday in March an annual highlight.

And once more, I'd like to point out that we're on "standard time" for 18 weeks a year, "daylight saving time" for 34 weeks a year. When will we call the November-to-March period what it really is: Daylight wasting time?

It's daylight saving time, baseball spring training is rolling and Tony Wade is awakening from his long winter's slumber. Everything is as it should be.

Let's celebrate by emptying my notebook:

•  •  •

Three things that Suisun City has done right:

1. A cluster of downtown eateries. The development (redevelopment?) of the waterfront area stalled over the past several years, but most of the restaurants have survived and thrived. Consider that the Athenian Grill, Babs Delta Diner, The Joy of Eating and Cast Iron Grill all are on the east side of Main Street, while such restaurants as La Cabana, Taqueria Tepa, Main Street Bar and Grill, Puerto Vallarta and the new Ironwood American Bistro line the west side. There are plenty more, too. That's a lot of good food in a small geographic area, all walkable. That's a success.

2. Suisun City's section of what's called the "Central County Bikeway." That's the bike/walking paths along Highway 12 for much of the city, including both sides of the highway between Sunset Avenue and Marina Boulevard. Not only are the paths great for the safety of kids on the way to school, they provide a great weekend and evening place for walkers, runners and bicyclists.

3. The Kroc Center. When the NorthBay YMCA left town and the site was vacant for years, the big building on Pintail Drive looked like a dead weight around the city's neck. But when The Salvation Army came to town, renovated the building and began pouring money into community programs, it became one of the bright spots of the region. There have been few if any missteps since it opened – the city has a great nonprofit that serves nearly every part of the community.

•  •  •

Brief detour: When I was a kid, quicksand was a staple of dramatic TV. Rarely did a week go by that someone wasn't trapped in the stuff, struggling to get out. We learned that the more you struggled, the worse it got. We also knew the way to get out was to have someone throw you a lasso and pull you out with a horse.

I spent a good portion of those years hoping to avoid quicksand and rattlesnakes, which seemed to appear every time a character on a cowboy show was on the ground.

Now? Both largely gone. Rattlesnakes don't often appear and I haven't seen quicksand on TV or in a movie for years.

•  •  •

I know a lot of people respect Smokey Bear, but he pulled a punk move when he told us (particularly children) that only we can prevent forest fires.

We have a generation of people wracked with unnecessary guilt over the fact that they've been good, but somehow forest fires happened. That's not fair.

Shouldn't Smokey be held accountable?

Brad Stanhope is a former Daily Republic editor. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.

Calling someone a 'smoker' is hilarious

Mrs. Brad just couldn't stop laughing.

I wasn't sure why. She gets that way sometimes.

Finally . . . after I asked what was so funny and she started and stopped several times because she was laughing so hard . . . she told me.

"I said 'OK, smoker,’ ” she said. Then she started laughing again. Uncontrollably.

That's what was so funny. I was getting over a cold, so when I had a raspy cough in the middle of a conversation, she called me a "smoker."

Which is hilarious. To Mrs. Brad. Who couldn't stop laughing.

How much she appreciates her own sense of humor is one of Mrs. Brad's most charming characteristics. She's not alone: There are plenty of people who tickle themselves when they say or do things that (they think) are funny. Mrs. Brad? She really laughs hard at some of her gags. Really hard.

It's nothing new – she's done it since we started dating, as teenagers.

Not often. Just intensely.

Mrs. Brad is pretty funny. While I get most of the comedy credit in our family because of my imagination and love of the spotlight, Mrs. Brad can do spot-on impersonations and frequently makes observations that make me laugh out loud. However, nothing is as funny to her as when she's funny – particularly if I'm the target.

Take, for instance, the great "spoon-in-chocolate-milk caper." We were dating and she mixed a glass of chocolate milk (we were still  young, so I drank chocolate milk and she made it for me!), but . . . and here's the hilarious part . . . she left the spoon in it, just below milk level.

She thought I was going to have the spoon bang against my front tooth, leaving me sputtering and stammering!

It didn't happen.

That's because when she handed me the glass, she was laughing so hard she could barely breathe. For about five minutes. Because the spoon was going to hit me in the tooth!

I immediately laughed, even though I didn't know why. It's contagious that way. After about 10 explanation false starts, I finally found out why – there was a spoon hidden in the glass! – that was it – just a spoon, hilariously waiting to strike my mouth.

There have been other memorable incidents over the years that brought her uncontrollable laughter – the time she shoved me down the hill while we were walking at Veterans Memorial Park on Fairfield Avenue, the time she hit me in the eye with the plastic nose of a stuffed animal, the times she hid a plastic Jack-in-the-Box doll under the bed sheets or in my car, waiting for me to find it. Also, anytime I choke or throw up.

Invariably, the incidents end the same way: With me asking what's so funny and Mrs. Brad starting to tell me, then laughing so hard she has to stop, start again, and so on.

When she finally gets to the "punch line," I laugh.

Not because it's so funny – after all, calling someone "smoker," pushing them down a hill or hitting them in the eye with a stuffed animal's plastic nose isn't that funny – but because she's laughing so hard.

And her memories of such events often bring back the laughter.

Don't believe it? When she reads this, she'll laugh the entire time about when she put the spoon in the chocolate milk.

That was hilarious!

Brad Stanhope is a former Daily Republic editor. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.