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I’ve been home from the radio station since 0500 hours. The house is still cool – which will change in few hours.

Yesterday, I woke up at 1100 hours and it was already 80 degrees inside. I opened up the sliding glass door and our bedroom window to cool things off before tumbling back into bed for another couple of hours sleep.

My mind is cluttered with a bunch of junk, otherwise I’d be in bed by now trying to get some sleep. Instead I find myself writing about some of the busy thoughts racing through my brain.

There are times I’d like to jus’ write about my feelings. However there are two draw backs to this – first, would anyone care and second – what if I share too much?

A friend of mine, who blogs as well, says he simply writes for himself and no one else. I thought that was a pretty good idea – but then I realized I like to write for others as well – so it wouldn’t really work for me.

I guess I like an audience.

Plus, admittedly – I’d like to be somewhat famous for what talents I use. Saying that aloud suddenly sounds very egotistical or conceded – you take your pick.

Sorry.

Many times when I can’t sleep – and that’s been more often than not – I’ll slip out of bed and come to the computer and bang out a few paragraphs of nonsensical thought. I say nonsensical because in the end what I write is never shared and often deleted when I’m done.

It does relax my mind enough; however to eventually let me drift off for a couple to three hours of sleep. I call my screwed-up sleep pattern – “sleeping in shifts.”

I’ve been “sleeping in shifts,” for years and am unable to break the habit.

In the end I have but one question – do I post this or not? This morning I think I will, jus’ to see what sort of reaction it provokes from those who read it.

Hopefully, a quiet mind and sleep are on the horizon — like the sun that’s jus’ now rising in the East.

An iconic radio and television broadcaster, who hosted such TV shows as “American Bandstand,” “Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve” and “TV’s Bloopers and Practical Jokes, ” Dick Clark has died at age 82. He became the host of “Bandstand” when it was a local show in Philadelphia back in 1956, and was a key figure in taking the show to a national audience — remaining the show’s host until it ended its run in 1989.

Clark also produced and acted in a handful of successful films during the time “American Bandstand” originated from Philadelphia — including “Because They’re Young” and “The Young Doctors.”

He even appeared in the last original “Perry Mason” episode in 1966. Called “The Case of the Final Fade-Out,” the episode featured “Perry Mason” creator Erle Stanley Gardner in a small role as a presiding judge.

Among Clark’s many accomplishments was his successful integration of pop music.  Through “American Bandstand” the he helped introduce black artists to a predominantly white audience and successfully integrated the “Bandstand” audience, which in a time of segregation, featured both black and white couples dancing together on stage.

For many years Clark hosted various national music countdown programs on radio.  He also produced several radio and television programs through Dick Clark Productions.

That company produced the American Music Awards, the Golden Globe Awards, and the Academy of Country Music Awards. Clark also produced Bandstand and many of the shows he hosted.

Dick Clark Productions was sold in 2007 for 175 million dollars.

Clark also had a hand in the global fundraiser ‘Live Aid’ and in the grass-roots ‘Farm Aid.’ He was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1993.

It was August 13th of the same year, Clark along with Paul Revere of “Paul Revere and the Raiders,” opened “Dick Clark’s American Bandstand” club on the 2nd Floor of the Harolds Club in downtown Reno. The business eventually closed in 1999 when it was decided Harolds Club was to be razed, to make room for Harrahs Outdoor Plaza.

I met him during the Grand Opening and came away believing he was one of the nicest guys ever.

Clark’s last TV appearance was on his annual “New Year’s Rockin’ Eve” special to usher in 2012.  Through labored speech caused by a stroke in 2004, Clark reported on the festivities in New York’s Times Square.

In addition to his New Year’s Eve special, Clark’s lengthy and groundbreaking career has included his hosting of various incarnations of the game show “Pyramid,” as well as the Miss Universe pageant.

Dick interviewed a nine-year-old Michael Jackson during the Jackson 5’s first “Bandstand” appearance in 1970, and introduced the first Native American rock group, “Redbone,” to audiences in 1974, while Madonna told him she wanted “to rule the world” on her “Bandstand” debut in 1984.

Dick Clark died of a massive heart attack at St. John’s Health Center in Santa Monica, California.  He had suffered a major stroke at the age of 75 in December of 2004 as well as battling Type-2 diabetes for a number of years.

Authorities at Lake Tahoe solved the mystery of a scuba diver who disappeared July 10, 1994 in the mountain lake’s deep, frigid waters.  The well-preserved body of Donald Christopher Windecker was discovered July 23, 2011 on an underwater shelf, 265 feet below the surface.

A remote-controlled mini-submarine with a robotic claw raised the man’s remains July 27th, near Rubicon Point. Just beyond the ledge where his body was found, the lake plunges to a depth of 1,645 feet.

Windecker’s discovery has added grist to the rumor-mill Lake Tahoe doesn’t give up her dead. The most famous of these stories involves Jacques Cousteau’s visit to the massive Alpine lake in the 1970s.

The famous Frenchman supposedly brought with him, a special high altitude submarine to the lake to investigate Tahoe’s depths. He’s reported to have emerged from the water — shaken — but not from the cold, saying, “The world is not ready for what I’ve seen.”

Furthermore, Cousteau’s first venture to Lake Tahoe was also his last one — as he refused to return.

This event’s coupled to the long-held belief the lakes been the dumping ground for the Mafia in the 1950’s and 60s as well as the final resting place for Chinese railroad laborers from the century before.  It conjures up images of hundreds of people standing on the bottom of the lake’s bed, arms outstretched, eyes-wide open.

Creepy!

Actually, Cousteau’s visit never happened and it’s doubtful that the mob used the Lake like it’s rumored because they were always under surveillance. Moreover, records show large numbers of Chinese railroad laborer remained on the California Pacific Railroad’s payroll even after the transcontinental railroad was finished in 1869.

Finally, University of Nevada, Reno biology professor Jennifer Hollander explains to the Reno Gazette-Journal why bodies lost in Lake Tahoe don’t often float.

“All of our bodies have bacteria that live in them,” she said. “They are anaerobic, meaning they thrive without oxygen.”

“When we die, our bodies stop breathing and the bacteria kick into gear breaking down our bodies. It’s called putrefaction. The bacteria produce gases as waste: carbon dioxide, methane, hydrogen sulfide.”

“In warm water, the bacteria will still work just fine, so gases will build up and bodies will float. In cold water, the lower temperatures make them relatively inactive. It doesn’t kill them, but they can’t grow. They become inactive.”

As for Windecker — his body was protected from marine life by his dive suit. Instead his remains were subject only to the slower working cold bacteria.

So there’s no truth to the rumors — but plenty of fact behind the truth.

At six-years-old, I had no idea one day the world would commemorate the 100th anniversary of the sinking of the RMS Titanic. In fact, at the time, it was hard for me to even grasp the magnitude of the disaster.

One evening, Mom and I were in the kitchen. She was cooking dinner and I was more than likely getting in her way.

We were talking about the Titanic and why it sank, when I asked, “What does ‘women and children first,’ mean?”

She explained the men on the Titanic gave up their seats in the lifeboats to the women and children in order to save their lives. And because of this, the men died when the ship sank.

I was impressed with their bravery.

Her simple explanation awakened an ideal in me that remains to this day, as I told her, “I’d give up my seat for you and Adam.”

Mom looked at me sort of strange for a second or two and then her eyes teared up. I was sure that I’d done something wrong as she left the kitchen to go to the bathroom.

Later that night, when I was supposed to be asleep, I over heard Mom telling Dad what I’d said and how proud of me she felt.  Then she added, “I know he’s jus’ a little boy, but I think he actually meant it.”

That long overheard-conversation has stuck with me ever since.

April 14th, 2012 marks the 100th anniversary of the day the British passenger liner RMS Titanic struck an iceberg about 375 miles south of Newfoundland and sank jus’ two and a half hours later.  The Titanic was on her maiden voyage, having disembarked from Southhampton, England April 10th.

The ship was bound for New York and had made stops in France and Ireland before heading west towards the United States East Coast.  The Titanic carried two-thousand-224 people and the sinking caused the deaths of one-thousand-514.

At the time of the voyage, she was the largest ship afloat.

The Titanic was jus’ four days into its crossing when it hit the iceberg at 11:40 p.m. local time.  Just before 2:20 a.m., the ship broke up and sank.

People thrown into the icy waters of the North Atlantic died within minutes from hypothermia.  The 710 people who survived in lifeboats were taken aboard the RMS Carpathia some hours later.

The catastrophe was met with shock and anger around the world because of the massive loss of life and the operational failures which led to what took place.  The wreck of the Titanic still sits on the seabed, more than 12-thousand feet below the surface.

Since it was re-discovered back in 1984, thousands of items have been recovered and put in museums around the globe.  Countless books, memorials and exhibits help keep her memory alive along with the movies which have been made.

Now thousands of records on the passengers and crew are available to the public.  With the simple click of a mouse, historians and genealogists can search for the names of those who were on board the ship or who helped rescue survivors.

All the data is available in a single location and is temporarily free of charge to access at www.ancestry.com/titanic.

The wreckage of the Titanic will go under United Nations protection April 15th, 2012. The UN Protection will prevent unethical or non-scientific exploration of the wreck.

The RMS Titanic company claimed the wreckage nearly 20 years ago. Since then, more than five-thousand items have been pulled from the ship’s remains.

Many of those are in exhibits around the United States.  The company hopes to possibly auction all of the items off in one lot.

Services for life-long Del Norte resident Eric Epperson will be Saturday, April 14th, at 1 p.m. at the Cornerstone Assembly of God, in Crescent City, California. Eric died suddenly April 5th in Medford, Oregon after an illness.

He’d been the PE teacher at Crescent Elk Middle School for 15 years, coaching boys basketball .  He also spent six years working in the Warrior football program — two years with the junior varsity and four years working as an assistant coach for with varsity team.

Retired Del Norte High School coach, Dick Trone writes of Eric in his January 15, 2010 edition of ‘Warrior Memories,’ from the Daily Triplicate: “Through the years Del Norte has had a number of outstanding linebackers, and Eric rates with the very best. He was part of a group that featured Dennis Hintz, Lee Musholt, Marc Slayton and Shawn Lesina that was very stingy giving up yards or points.”

Eric graduated from Del Norte High in 1986, where he was not only an outstanding linebacker and fullback, but a skilled varsity basketball player and golfer.  He later played football at College of the Redwoods before graduating from Humboldt State University.

As my friend, Collen Rankin-Wheeler reminds me, “If you want a beer — have two — one for Eric.”

He was 44 years-old, having been born November 5th, 1967. Eric leaves behind a wife and daughter.

The first time I met Don Balliette, I knew I was in the presence of someone special. By this time he was already in a wheelchair, having been left a quadriplegic after the pick up truck he was driving rolled several times.

At the time I was a driver for CitiLift in Reno and Don was a passenger. He told me he’d been a cowboy before getting injured.

Don often told me about working as a horse shoeing assistant, a packer and guide and as a farm and ranch hand.  From that time on, I called him “Cowboy.”

He spent his “wheelchair years” volunteering for victim impact panels, the Reno Rodeo, at the Marvin Picollo School, Mothers against Drunk Driving and Sparks Christian Fellowship Church and painting western scenes.  Unfortunately, Don passed away after a long illness, March 11^th 2012.

During his memorial service the 29^th, a number of folks could be heard saying, “Now Don’s in Heaven with a perfect body — running and jumping.”  But as Pastor Scott Parker noted,  “No way — Don’s riding a horse — at a full gallop.”

I’m going to miss his smiling face and sunny disposition.

In my wife’s business of Port of Subs, making sandwiches, they offer 18 different cold subs. My favorite is the Number 1; ham, salami, capicolla, pepperoni and provolone on sourdough.

After 20-years of doing the same thing, she’s got the process down to a science. She also has certain phrases she uses when directing her employees or assisting customers.

One noontime lunch rush, a Reno police officer handed her a note. She quickly read it, laughed, then shoved the note into her work pants’ pocket.

That evening she came home and placed the note on the refrigerator. She told me I ought to read it as she headed for the bedroom to change clothes.

“Men are so sensitive,” she said as she disappeared down the hallway.

Without waiting I walked over and started reading it. I couldn’t help laughing aloud.

In the note, the officer suggests she find something different to say besides, “He has a small one.”

Often referred to as “The Crown Jewel of the Sierra,” at a depth of 1,645 feet, Lake Tahoe’s clarity is unmatched by other Alpine freshwater lake. It’s also the second deepest lake in the U.S., behind Oregon’s Crater Lake and 7^th over-all in the world.

When Lt. John Fremont first laid eyes on it in February 1844, he marveled at its size and breadth.  He decided it required a distinguishing name, something fitting and well-known.

Fremont named the huge body of water: Lake Bonpland.

At the time Aime’ Bonpland was a famous French botanist and explorer. He was also the author of several works on plant life throughout America.

However, Bonpland’s name failed to stick to the lake. Instead settlers along its shores preferred the Native American’s name for the massive waters: Tahoe.

“What’s now called Tahoe Lake, I named Lake Bonpland upon my first crossing of the Sierra and put it on the map of that expedition,” he wrote in later years. “I suppose Tahoe to be an Indian name, though I’ve not visited the head of the American River since I first crossed it in ’44.”

As for Bonpland, a number of years before having the lake named for him, he left the U.S. for Paraguay. There he found himself in trouble with the county’s dictator, Dr. José Gaspar Rodríguez de Francia.

Bonpland was tossed in jail for 11-years after being accused of spying, eventually dying in 1858 in Santa Ana, Paraguay.  But don’t worry – though Lake Tahoe no longer bears his name several other places do — including the lunar crater, Bonpland.

I wonder what Fremont would have to say about that.

Cain knew he was a two-bit crook. That was jus’ the way it was and he accepted it.

“Besides,” he thought, “The bosses keep asking me to finish one job or another, so they gotta like how I get things done.”

Cain had been questioning his life-style the last couple of weeks. It all started when he met Rosie.

She was a show-girl and Cain was smitten. He also felt certain Rosie liked him back.

Unfortunately, she was tied up with Mick, who was also a penny-ante criminal, though Mick had no idea how small-time he was. To Cain’s way of thinking — that made Mick a purely dangerous man.

It was mid-afternoon when Cain’s phone rang.

“Yeah,” he answered.

It was Mick, “Meet me on the Mape’s side of the Lincoln Tunnel.”

“Okay, give me twenty minutes,” he responded as he hung up the receiver.

“Dumb fuck,” Cain mumbled as he picked up his car keys, “its Lincoln Alley — not tunnel.”

It wasn’t the first time Mick had called the alley-way downtown the tunnel. He was from back east originally and often screwed shit like that up.

Cain wheeled the old Buick into the alley and immediately saw Mick standing at the end, across the street from Reno’s newest hotel-casino. Next to him was a large rolled up piece of carpet.

“Son of a bitch,” Cain muttered as he pulled up to Mick.

He’d seen this before and while he didn’t know for a certain fact what was inside the rolled of carpet, he felt he knew it had been alive at one time. Cain knew it wasn’t a good thing to be too curious.

“Same place?” he asked as he got out of the car.

“Yup,” answered Mick as the two stuffed the roll into the sedan’s trunk.

They headed eastbound out of Reno and through the nicer part of Sparks. Highway 40 ran though both and out into the middle of Nevada’s wide open desert.

They were headed to a small place they nicknamed, “Hell Hole.” It was jus’ this side of the Nev-Mass Tungsten mine, on a dirt road, little used anymore and obscure to most anyone, unless they knew where to look.

Cain had been there before.

As usual Mick was shooting his mouth off – talking about one job after another. This was one of the reasons Cain thought of him as dangerous – should the syndicate discover how god-damned mouthy Mick was, he and who ever he was around, would end up dead.

Then Mick said something that caught Cain’s attention.

“Cock sucking whore was trouble,” Mick commented, hiking his left thumb over his shoulder, indicating the roll in the trunk, “So I did the Boss a favor. Besides I was tired of her shit anyways.”

Cain felt his grip on the steering-wheel tighten as he thought about Rosie.

It was the longest 45 minutes Cain could ever recall as he turned onto the dirt road that led to “Hell Hole.” And by the time he stopped the car, he wanted to cut the fucking Irishman’s tongue out and slice his throat.

As he turned the key in the trunks lock, he wanted to ask, “Is this Rosie?”

He fought off the urge, and lifted his end of the roll from the car. Cain tried not to think – only act – like he’d learned to do killing Nips in the Pacific a few years ago.

The pair moved over to the opening of the abandoned mine shaft, the one they labeled, “Hell Hole,” and in a back-and-forth rocking motion launched the roll of carpet and its content into the opening.

The roll slipped into the darkness of the maw with no difficulty. Both men stood there for a second as if listening for it to make a sound – which it didn’t.

Mick leaned over and laughingly called down into the hole, “Kiss my lily-white ass, Rosie darling.”

Cain, who’d already started back to the Buick, spun around. Again he didn’t think — he  jus’ acted.

He smashed his right foot into Mick’s leaning body. The blow sent the Irishman off-balance and into the hole.

However, Mick managed to jump forward a bit and was now clinging to the opposite-side of the smooth-edged mine shaft, struggling and clawing to gain a hand-hold. But he couldn’t, and instead slid into the black chasm and unlike the carpet roll, Cain heard his screaming as it faded away into nothingness.

It was the first time he’d killed a man since the war. He wandered back to the car and leaned against it, fishing out the half-full pack of Lucky Strikes from his jacket pocket.

He watched his hand tremble as he held the match to the tip of his smoke, marveling at the sensation. Cain couldn’t tell if he was more frightened at what he’d jus’ done or if it was the excitement of killing.

Cain rested against the car and smoked his cigarette until it was nearly burned down to his fingers. He flicked it away, reached back and slammed the truck of the Buick shut.

He then climbed behind the wheel.  It was a less-than-ten-minute drive back to the highway.

“Fucking asshole,” Cain stated as he turned onto 40 heading to Reno.