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Meet Uncle Fred,
Who lives in our shed,
Safe under chain, lock and key,
His parents are dead,
and some have said,
they couldn't live with the ignominy...
This thing they had bred,
was no child, but instead,
a throwback to pre-history;
When it first raised it's head,
the midwife had fled,
from such a horrid monstrosity.
Yet despite the the bloodshed,
Dad gave him a bed,
Where prying eyes could not see.
Now don't be misled,
we keep him well fed:
Road-kill for dinner and kittens for tea.
And though he fills us with dread,
We love Uncle Fred,
He is, after all, family.
In 1996 I was a third year medical student, spending nights and long days at the VA hospital in Tucson, AZ. Ten years later I still am more instantly comfortable in a VA then any other strange hospital, I suppose because of the governmental consistency of the rooms and halls. I'm still more scared of VA nurses then any others (although now with the benefit of hindsight I understand the frustration of dealing with endless streams of arrogant/clueless kids pretending to be doctors)
Anyway, I have special training in spending days and days in hospitals, but it's not the same when you're there for a family member. I choose to remember happier times.
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The Thoroughbred industry is reeling from the news that champion and top stallion Uncle Mo has been euthanized at the age of 16 after an injury. Some of the Coolmore stallion's top-earning progeny include Mo Donegal, Golden Pal, Nyquist, and Arabian Knight, all of which have embarked on stud careers of their own. My condolences to all who knew and loved Uncle Mo.
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Rest Easy Johnny
2006-11-06
When I think back on the time I spent with my uncle, I have trouble pinpointing when I found out he was injecting prescription drugs.
Before my uncle moved into my house in the suburbs, I remember him getting married at city hall with his now ex-wife Val. After that were sporadic visits from time to time for Sunday lunches with the family, and of course Christmas. Every Christmas he’d come to the house with oysters which we would both shuck and eat with lemon juice. After my grandfather died, and my brother left for England, eating oysters at Christmas became our Christmas ritual as no one else liked the taste.
During the time he was married, or perhaps after he and his wife had split up, I sort of knew he had a drinking problem. When he took me and my cousin (his daughter) up north to go camping one weekend, I saw my uncle drunk and irritated. Camping was fun, but toward the end of every night when it was time for bed, his daughter didn’t want to sleep and slurred shouts were made and that was that.
Once Johnny moved into my house, everything sort of came into view quite quickly. Unemployed, he could not afford to drink, so he joined AA and was proud of his monthly poker chip style sobriety milestones. The milestones of course meant nothing. He may have not had a ‘drink’ at the pub, or kept peach schnapps under the bed, but if there was Nyquil in the house, you knew where to look for the empty bottle.
That’s when I found the needles. Soon after he moved in I had got the flu and my mom got me some Nyquil to help me sleep. I had the bottle in my room in the basement. My uncle’s room was in the basement as well. I remember getting home from school on a Friday and not being able to find it. My uncle left for his AA meeting and I went into his room and found the bottle empty. I rummaged through his dresser and found heaps of empty codeine bottles, blackened spoons, lighters, bloody cotton swabs, and needles. On one spoon was a greenish substance that looked almost like wassabi. The drawer was littered with bloody things. It was an eye-opener, but I kept it to myself.
I wasn’t naive of intravenous drug use. I grew up listening to the Sex Pistols and was interested in the life of Sid Vicious. I can remember being so utterly depressed by the movie Sid and Nancy. I read Junky and The Western Lands by William S. Burroughs and The Basketball Diaries by Jim Carroll. There were documentaries on A&E, PBS, and various other stations regarding various kinds of narcotic abuse. The “war on drugs” had educated me well on how and what people do to get up, down, and fucked.
It was easy to see when Uncle Johnny had just shot up. His eyes were glassy, his speech was slurred, and he moved in slow disjunctive movements. He fell asleep on the toilet, fell down the stairs, dozed off at dinner, and spent most of his time nodding off in his room watching TV or reading a book.
Throughout the month he would have to change injection points. Toward the end of the month was when he moved down to his ankles. That’s when I’d come home from high-school and have to wipe drops of blood from the kitchen and hallway floors.
The week before his disability payment he’d be broke and ‘off’. He’d get a haircut, talk more, eat more, be more visible, and have chronic diarrhea; a side effect of being ‘off’. That time of the month was the best time of the month. The time we would talk a lot and joke around.
Then I went to University.
I never talked to my uncle on the phone from University. If I did, I don’t remember. I saw him when I went back for visits, and of course at Christmas. The oyster ritual continued. At the end of a Christmas visit one year, I can remember going to his bedroom to say goodbye. His door was shut and I knocked a few times before opening the door to find him passed on his bed with his legs slung over the side with his pants around his ankles; a needle still dangling from a vein in his penis. For some reason I knew he wasn’t dead. I walked up to him and slapped him viciously hard in the face, and ran out. I was at the door getting ready to head to the airport and up came Johnny with his pants pulled up; his hands rubbing the cheek I had slapped. He said something incoherent and I left.
Sometime after that, I was at my apartment in Ottawa and my brother called to say there had been a fire at my house. No one was hurt in the fire, but my cat did succumb to smoke inhalation and had died. The fire had started in my uncle’s room. Apparently he had lit a cigar with a match and in his dosed-up state, had simply thrown the match onto a chair before going outside. The fire marshal noted that as most of the walls in the basement (finished by my grandfather) were made in the 1960’s out of cardboard thin sheets of wood, we were lucky the entire house didn’t go down. With a driveway full of firefighters, police, and neighbors, it was clear that my uncle was completely mashed. Because the house was my grandmothers, the fire marshal did a very kind thing and reported that the fire had been caused by faulty electrical work, hence, guaranteeing that insurance would pay for repairs. Nevertheless, insurance was unable to repair the rift that had finally widened into a chasm between my uncle and both my mother and grandmother. He moved to a rooming house in a seedy part of Toronto and I guess everyone was a little happy to see him go, including myself.
In spite of everything that had happened, he still came for Christmas and the oyster ritual continued, and if I was in Toronto, id go downtown and see him at his rooming house near Yonge and Dundas and chit chat. I knew nothing had changed. I knew he was still using, and I knew he had started drinking again. I also knew there was nothing I could do about it and accepted him for who he was; my interesting and smart junky uncle.
This past Friday just after getting to work my brother called to tell me that my uncle had been found dead in his room. He had died in his sleep from a seemingly accidental overdose of methadone and alcohol. He was 60.
My Uncle Johnny lived at my house for most of my high-school and University years. I feel it necessary to say that he had a positive influence on who I am, and despite the choices he made, he always provided advice from the heart.
I’ve been told that, in time, the hurt will fade, only to be replaced by positive memories that soothe the soul. Already, I can feel that happening.
Maybe it’s because Uncle Johnny and I had a unique relationship. He was a remarkably smart man, and I respected his humor, stories, and confidence. He was there at times when my father was not, and while I will always call him “Uncle Johnny”, he was, in a subtle way, a father figure.
He talked to me about things I didn’t want to talk to anyone else about, and the advice he gave was honest and non-patronizing. His life was filled with experiences very few people have had, and from the tales he shared with me and the mistakes he had made, I was able to make some of the right choices for myself. Even if he didn’t intend to do that for me, he did, and because he did, I will truly miss him.
“Take it easy brother. Be cooool” is how he ended our last meeting in Toronto in September of last year. (2005)
I just want to say “You too man. Rest easy”.
Uncle Tobys, Australia’s leading brand of oats, has
launched Nature’s Mix, a no‑added sugar range that
is naturally sweetened with dried fruit and nuts.
Uncle Tobys became the largest range of muesli
bars in Australia to receive a 4 ‘health star’ rating.
The range has 50% more wholegrains, and 40%
less sugar in the yoghurt bars.
"1949" is written on the back of the print. Uncle Alec was partial to the biggest, most powerful Oldsmobiles money could buy. He bought a new one every two years.
Although the year is 1949, I am pretty sure the model pictured here is a 1948 Olds 98 Club Coupe. If it is a 1948 it has the old 115 horsepower 257 cubic inch flathead straight eight, and not the cool new 135 horsepower 303 cubic inch overhead valve V8. The Olds Rocket, as the new V8 was called didn't come out until 1949. Don't fret, Unca Alec, as I always called him, would have a new Rocket V8 within a year.
As I mentioned, Alec liked the big Oldsmobiles. My favorite was his '63 Olds Starfire two door hardtop. It was electric blue with four bucket seats, a brushed chrome center console that ran down between the two rear buckets and on to the front and up into the dash. It had a 330 horsepower 394 cubic inch V8. I think it was the one that had a speedometer with a thermometer-style bar that would change from green to yellow to red as it traversed from left to right across the miles per hour numbers. It might have been his '57 that had that trick speed-o-meter, but I remember he used to joke that after it turned red and passed the 125 miles per hour mark, the radio would come on and play "nearer my god to thee."
He finally gave up on Oldsmobiles and went to Chryslers in 1972. Kelly Motors, the local Sonora Olds dealer used to insist on placing big bumper stickers that had two green shamrocks and said "Buy Kelly Cars." on each car they serviced. As clever as that motto is, my uncle insisted on the service shop leaving his bumper unsullied by any such frivolous B.S.
Well, the fools at Kelly Motors either insisted on, or inadvertently put a set of matching "Buy Kelly Cars" stickers on the back bumper of his car. Not only that, John Kelly refused to have his slaveys remove them when Uncle Alec told him to.
So, Alec told John Kelly to go to hell and assured him that he'd seen the last of Alec Brady at his dealership. He peeled out of the driveway, now remember, Alec is 83 at this point, blasts up to the Opera Hall Garage and trades his year-old Olds in on a brand new Chrysler Newport two door hardtop. Later after the next meeting of the Lions' club, where Alec was known as "King Brady," he invited John Kelly out to the parking lot. No, not to fight, but to admire what Alec assured John was the first of what would be a whole line of Chryslers, purchased each and every even numbered year, instead of every odd year, as he had when he was an Oldsmobile man.
This is a character that appears in memory flashbacks (played by Josh Cherry). We called him Uncle Papa for no apparent reason. What we developed was a character that drank a lot, rubbed mayonnaise on his face and spanked cats with whisks; think David Lynch meets Scrubs.
Watch: Now You're Being Ridiculous
Uncle Nick thanks everyone for attending his 90th birthday party, held Saturday, Dec. 5th at the Oasis banquet hall in Mississauga.
Special thanks goes to Gary U.S. Bonds!
For information about Uncle Herbert, click on the link below...
Image given to Sam Seder's Majority Report to use to promote the show available at majority.fm. I gave them permission to use the image in any manner they see fit. Others must adhere to CC license as related to this image.
The Uncle Al Show was a children's television program originating in Cincinnati. The show was hosted by Cleveland native Al Lewis (1924–2009) (not to be confused with the actor who played Grandpa on The Munsters), and later was co-hosted by his wife, Wanda.
The show enjoyed a remarkable 35-year run (1950–1985) on WCPO-TV, making it one of the longest-running local children's shows in American TV history. (Sesame Street holds the national record, as it has now surpassed 40 consecutive years on the air.) Uncle Al holds the unofficial record for the longest-running regularly scheduled series with the same host for the show's entire run.
The show's origins were completely happenstantial. In the summer of 1949, then-General Manager Mort Watters asked Lewis (hired on two months earlier as WCPO's first art director) to host an hour-long filler show called Al's Corner Drugstore, in which Lewis, dressed in a soda jerk's uniform, would take phone-in requests for songs which he would play on his accordion, which would later become one of his many trademarks along with his straw boater hat.
At that time, the show was not aired in a closed set, so people could walk in from off the street to watch the show in person. Neighborhood children began doing just that, and Lewis, having a natural affinity for children, invited them onto the stage during the show. The same kids would return on subsequent occasions bringing friends, and they all took to calling Lewis "Uncle Al".
When mothers began calling into the station requesting tickets to be on The Uncle Al Show, a Cincinnati institution was born- again, completely by accident, although Lewis himself never treated it in such a manner, as evidenced by the show's exceptional longevity. The Uncle Al Show made its official début on June 12, 1950. Having originally started as a 15-minute outing, it quickly expanded into an hour long show airing three episodes daily:
First episode: 9-10 am (ET)
Second episode: 11 am-12 noon (ET)
Third episode: 1-2 pm (ET)
By the mid-late 1960s the show was scaled back to one 90-minute episode per day from 9 to 10:30 am, running opposite WLWT's Paul Dixon Show.
By 1955 Uncle Al had become so popular that executives from CBS came to Cincinnati to consult with Al about hosting a similar show on their network; this was before WCPO switched affiliation from ABC to CBS in 1961. Station executives understandably refused to release Lewis from his contract, so CBS brass settled on Howdy Doody alum Bob Keeshan to host their new kids' show, which became Captain Kangaroo. When WCPO switched network affiliation from ABC to CBS in 1961, both shows would run back-to-back on weekday mornings.
Lewis' wife Wanda joined the show in 1956. Initially, Wanda was called "Captain Windy", costumed in a superhero-like outfit during the early days of the show, and was seen "flying" Superman-style before she made her entrance on stage. Her shy, quiet manner inspired colleague Paul Dixon to call her "The Windy One" when they co-starred on their own show.
Uncle Al's show was picked up by ABC from October 18, 1958 until September 19, 1959.
The kids who visited Uncle Al were more than just audience members; most of them were selected to be active participants for different skits on the show. While Wanda would handle the more educational aspects of the show, featuring kids assisting in one way or another, Uncle Al got kids involved as helpers for puppets doing different odd jobs, or he would enlist a child from the crowd on-the-spot to be a barker for games at Uncle Al's circus ("Step right up! Win a prize!"). Then-eight-year-old future film superstar George Clooney appeared in a 1970 episode of Uncle Al playing a ship's captain in one of the show's skits.
By the 1960s, kids who appeared on the show each were given a nametag sticker in the shape of a bow tie modeled after Uncle Al's sartorial trademark. While the kids were told the name tag was a ticket to get in and a souvenir to take home, the primary reason for them was so that Lewis could refer to each child by name. Initially the tags were plain white, but later included the name of the show to one side, and WCPO's "9" logo to the other, with room in the middle for the child's name.
Other activities included dance contests, celebrating birthdays of kids in the audience that day (which was usually done during their trip to the circus near the end of the show) and singing, accompanied by Al himself, who often played either a banjo, a guitar or his trademark accordion singing simple ditties like this one:
"When we sing together songs are such delight..
Har-mo-nee makes the melody right.."
Each day the show would end with Uncle Al, Wanda and the kids all singing a prayer on the air before the kids made their way off the stage:
(they sang the first three lines of the prayer)
"Help me, God, to love you more,
Than I ever did before,
In my work and in my play,
(the last five lines they spoke)
Please be with me through the day,
Thank you for the friends we meet,
Thank you for the food we eat,
Thank you for the birds that sing,
Thank you, God, for everything!"
The cast and the kids would then say their goodbyes and the kids would walk off the set as the closing credits ran. The show's closing theme was the last few verses of the Disney standard It's a Small World written by Robert & Richard Sherman.
Throughout the years The Uncle Al Show remained a perennial ratings champion in Cincinnati, especially when the show ran three times a day. Personalities from competing stations knew they were in trouble when their shows were rescheduled opposite Uncle Al. The show ran an estimated 15,000 episodes, with an estimated 440,000 children having appeared on the show throughout its run.
By 1975, the show had adopted a more educational base, with guest appearances by members of the Cincinnati Police and Fire departments, representatives from the Cincinnati Zoo, educators and many others. But despite the educational enrichments, The Uncle Al Show continued to hold fast to the values the children came to love from day one.
By the early 1980s, demographics were changing, and The Uncle Al Show was not immune. The show was first cut down to a half-hour, and then moved from its weekday slot to an early-morning weekend show. The show was renamed Uncle Al Town with the final episode taped on May 29, 1985. Despite the show coming to an end, both Al and Wanda remained at WCPO to the end of the 1980s.
Al and Wanda both retired to their home, a large farm near Hillsboro, Ohio. But in retirement, the Lewises remained active in their community, and on occasion made personal appearances at festivals and other functions in Cincinnati. Surrounded by his family, Al Lewis died at his Hillsboro home on February 28, 2009 at the age of 84. He was survived by his wife Wanda, his four daughters and his 13 grandchildren.