# The Great Curtain Conflagration of 1963



## SifuPhil (Nov 11, 2013)

1963. A year that saw so many changes in the world: JFK was assassinated, the first American conquered Mt. Everest and _General Hospital_ premiered on television.

It was also the year of the dreadful Great Curtain Conflagration.



I've already confessed to having had a love affair with science when I was a boy, and in 1963 I was a mere 5 years old. That didn't stop me from wondering how the world worked and what would happen if A, B and C were combined under high temperatures and pressures. In fact, it was the year of my scientific awakening and of my first glimpses into the wonders of the scientific method. 



I hadn't yet constructed my subterranean science lab at this point, so of necessity my experiments were performed "on the fly". I carried out much field research in my backyard and in the adjacent woods - making honey trails for ants to see if I could get them to march off a cliff, catching butterflies in nets and imprisoning them in my beloved "killing jars", and digging up the back yard in multiple locations in search of the ever-elusive fossil record of prehistoric life in Yonkers, NY.

This regimen of nature study was all well and good and quite educational, but I found myself with a thirst - nay, a _hunger_ - to dabble in the physical sciences. I wanted to learn about temperatures and pressures, about elemental chemistry and about why a body in motion will remain in motion until acted upon by an outside force. 



Once again it was a Saturday, this time in October. There had been an uncharacteristic cold snap going on for the last few days, as a result of which my father had already replaced all the window screens in the house with the storm windows, heavy bastards that only he could lift and install. They may have been bulletproof, I'm not sure, but I do remember even my older brothers having trouble carrying more than one at a time.

Of course, Dad carried two in each hand. Superman had nothing on Dad.

So here I was sniffing around in my brother Mickey's bedroom on the first floor, a marked contrast to my palatial penthouse suite on the second. While mine took up a full third of the second level of the house and even had a full bath just outside the bedroom door, Mickey's room was a little 10'x12' cubicle down the short hallway from the kitchen and living room. 

It did seem to suit his monk-like ways, however; I often think that my own solitary nature was strongly influenced by Mickey's habits. He had acquired a love of all things Asian by, perhaps oddly enough, having served in the Army in Korea as an electronics specialist. He had learned Judo at the hands of a 120-pound-soaking-wet, five-foot-nothing ROK instructor who, if the stories Mickey told were true, would toss his 5'11", 200+ pound frame around the dojo like a ragdoll.  

But Mickey went beyond the physical aspects of Oriental life and delved into their philosophy, finding in Buddhism his True Path. He had just returned from service in 1963 and had brought with him a cornucopia of books, figurines, incense burners and other ephemera that at the time could _only_ come from overseas. 

Spencer Gifts wasn't selling that kind of stuff at the time. :chargrined:

Between Mickey's stories about the mysterious Far East and the undeniable allure of the strange items in his room to a 5-year-old, it was fated that I would be a frequent visitor to his "temple". Of course I would put little paper hats on his Buddha figures and wrap his incense in Scotch Tape, all in the quest for scientific knowledge, you understand. 

So on this chilly October day I had managed to occupy my ADHD mind until around 2PM. Mom and Dad were in the house but Susie and David were both out somewhere doing who-knew-what. That wasn't important to my juvenile mind.

... the fact that Mickey was _also_ absent from the house _was_. 

I made a bee-line to his bedroom and began my ritual investigations of his treasures. I patted Hotei's belly for good luck; I checked under the bed for the latest _Playboy_ (negative results); I found his pipe and took a whiff of the Cherry Blend tobacco pouch, sitting next to the wooden matches that ...

Whoa, wait! Matches? MATCHES?!? Yowza - the *Mother Lode*!



There is nothing like fire for bringing fascination and excitement into a young boy's life. Since the first caveman lit the first fire in his cave, little boys the world 'round have been seeking to emulate that first joyous experience, and here at last was _my_ chance.

I snuck a peek around the door-frame - Dad was in the basement running the table saw, and Mom was in the kitchen. All clear.

I took the first match out of the large cardboard container and struck it smartly against the rough edge. It flared with a power and majesty that until now I could only imagine, but at this moment was an actual witness to. I held the match as I marveled at the changing colors of the dancing flame, but all too soon the show was over. I shook the match out as I had seen Mickey do so many times, tossed it in the wastebasket and reached for the next match.

Somewhere along the fifth or sixth match I became aware of a ... a noise, I guess it was. A crackling, very distant and faint but still discernible. I shrugged it off and lit the next match, still fascinated by the simple physics involved in having a chemical activated so simply, and ...

*Oh! The wastebasket! Oh sh*t!!!*

Yes, one of the extinguished matches that I had tossed in the trash container proved not to be as extinguished as I thought and had caught fire to some scrap paper. It was a small fire at this point, still contained within the metal basket, so I wasn't unduly alarmed. I thought briefly and my still-developing brain came up with a simple solution - 

Put the fire out with water.

I started to run toward the kitchen when I realized Mom was in there and would no doubt have some concerns over my latest experiment. She had proven how emotionally-charged she was after the _last_ experiment, the one with the duct-taped family cat and the cherry bomb. I couldn't rely upon her to have an objective, scientific view of my activities any more.



Thinking quickly I sauntered into the kitchen, _la-de-da_, "Hi, Mom", took a glass from the dish strainer on the counter and filled it with water.

"_Boy, I'm thirsty!_"

Mom smiled and went back to dropping her unfiltered Chesterfield ashes into whatever dinner she was making.

I power-walked down the hall, back to Mickey's bedroom. The flames had grown a little. I threw the glass of water on the fire, but it didn't seem to have much effect. Odd, that ...

Sweat now formed on my brow, just a light sheen but enough so that I _knew_ I was now sweating. What to do? Tell Mom? A moment's reflection on the outcome of the taped-and-exploding-cat experiment once again showed me the only course of action now possible.

I power-walked back to the kitchen. "_Gosh, Mom, I'm REALLY really thirsty!_" Back to the bedroom. Toss. Flames are getting higher - they're now over the rim of the trash-basket and showing no sign of being affected by water, a liquid which, by all written accounts in science journals previously consulted, _should_ have extinguished the fire.

So much for peer-reviewed literature. I made a note to cancel my subscriptions to _Scientific American_ and _Popular Science _and cursed the day that _A Boy's Treasury of Modern Science_ (pub. 1953) was ever published.

Power-walk back. "_REALLY REALLY *REALLY* thirsty!_" Bedroom. Flames. 

By now the flames had decided that they were bored living in such a confined environment as the metal waste container and had decided to set out in search of more fertile ground, in this case the heavy curtains hanging on either side of the bedroom window. They were beginning to catch rather nicely, or so the calmer, more observant part of my brain noted. Meanwhile, the emotional _left_ side of my brain was saying

"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!"

That's when Mom, her maternal instincts no doubt triggered by concern over my dehydration, decided to peek around the doorway to see if I was alright.

They claim that mother's can often read their children's minds. I found this to be true, because she let out with a scream that EXACTLY mirrored that of my left-side brain - 

"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!"

I have to admit, even in the midst of this potential tragedy, I noted that HER rendition was MUCH superior to mine.

She tried to open the window but, due to it's Brinks-like construction, utterly failed.

"*MIIIIIIIIIKE!!!!*" she called my father, knowing he could handle anything with his superpowers. He came up the basement stairs three at a time, whacking his head on the low overhead beam in the stairwell in the process. He gained the room, took one look at the wastebasket and at our now-red-tinged profiles, dashed to the storm window, flung it open (his manly muscles straining nicely in the process - I would swear I saw his _Brachioradialii_ getting _vascular_!) and tossed the flaming basket and now-fully-engaged curtains out the window into the backyard. 

Mom was panting and puffing and making little squeaky noises - "_Oh ...uh...ew..._". Dad was looking first out the window then at me, with a look that would itself have put out that fire. He dashed out to the yard and sprayed the garden hose on the still-smoldering ruins, still glaring up at the bedroom window, his soot-streaked face and glowing bruise on his bald head giving a nice study in color contrasts.

I tried to blend into the paint in the corner, but was unsuccessful. 




Albert Einstein once said, 

_"Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I'm not sure about the former._"

Nice to know that I'm on a first-name basis with one of the greatest scientific minds ever.


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## Anne (Nov 11, 2013)

Phil.  Were you disciplined much as a child??  Just curious.


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## Diwundrin (Nov 11, 2013)

:applause2:I swear I can sell the smoke!  :lofl:

Thank you for reinforcing my gratitude, I'm sooooo glad I never had children. 



Brought back a memory if I may hijack for a moment.

We all smoked where I worked.  That we were surrounded by copious amounts of paper and oiled tickertape and massive brown bottles of metholated spirits for the Roneo copier had no impact on our behaviour.   
A young, newish girl was working the phones for incoming train manifest reports in a glassed off area, smoking like a chimney,  headset on, 'fag' in one hand and typing with the other when I saw her make a quick move out of the corner of my eye. 

She stood, threw the headset on the desk, grabbed the paper bin, threw the huge window up as though that was an easy thing to do,(usually took 2 of us)  swung the paper bin out onto the stone sill and pulled the window down.  She then walked back to the desk, put the headset back on and resumed working.

Meanwhile a pillar of fire was shooting up the outside of Central Station in full view of a major portion of the Sydney CBD at 3am!

The Fire Brigade Headquarters was directly opposite, across Railway Square!  I sat like a stunned mullet figuring the angles, and pre-composing the inevitable round of reports and explanations that would ensue while I awaited the sirens.  None came!  No one took a blind bit of notice.  The fire went out and the only evidence was a blackened, slightly warped and now empty tin waste paper bin on a 1st floor window sill.

When it cooled off we replaced it with one stolen from another office further up the hallway and hid the burnt one in a public bin.
No one but she and I ever seemed to notice the slight sooty look to the outside of that window. 



I never said a word of rebuke to her for setting the damned thing alight in the first place.  Her quick thinking reaction and sheer cooool just impressed the hell out of me too much.
Reeeespect!

Shame about those heavy shutters eh Phil??


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## Ozarkgal (Nov 11, 2013)

Phil: 





> I started to run toward the kitchen when I realized Mom was in there and would no doubt have some concerns over my latest experiment. She had proven how emotionally-charged she was after the _lastexperiment, the one with the duct-taped family cat and the cherry bomb. I couldn't rely upon her to have an objective, scientific view of my activities any more.
> _



You are a real painter of stories....Can't blame your mom for her skepticism of your experiments!  It's kids like you that make me glad I never had any....You surely would have been tied to the bedpost until check out time at 18. 

  I think the cat in question has the makings of another story.  Oh, and where does the chubby belly dancer fit in...another story perhaps?


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## SifuPhil (Nov 11, 2013)

Diwundrin said:


> Brought back a memory if I may hijack for a moment.



I don't mind hijacking like that - it was a wonderful story and eerily similar to mine. 



> Shame about those heavy shutters eh Phil??



Ever since then I have bought the lightest, cheapest ones on the market. I vowed never to be in the same situation again. 




			
				Ozarkgal said:
			
		

> I think the cat in question has the makings of another story.  Oh, and  where does the chubby belly dancer fit in...another story perhaps?



The cat is perhaps one of those stories that the world is not yet prepared for ... 

The belly dancer was the closest picture I could find that would illustrate Newton's First Law. 

Maybe I should run a poll with several story titles and see which one should be next ...


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## Katybug (Nov 11, 2013)

You can write a story, man...you had my attention. I couldn't get to the ending fast enough, then reread to appreciate your style.  

Di, you're also a very good story teller, great hi-jack!


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## Jillaroo (Nov 11, 2013)

_I would have loved to be a fly on the wall in Phils home when he was growing up, would have been one hell of a ride_


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## Diwundrin (Nov 11, 2013)

> Maybe I should run a poll with several story titles and see which one should be next ...



Waiting.  

I was thinking of starting an 'Anecdotes' thread but may not be necessary, you've kicked us off nicely, thank you. 

We all have stories but only amusing and quirky ones are really interesting to others as pure entertainment. Plenty of scope for the sob stories and cutesy ones elsewhere.


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## Ozarkgal (Nov 11, 2013)

Dennis the Menace comes to mind.


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## Casper (Nov 11, 2013)

_*OMG Phil......we had two boys and they were absolutely angelic compared to your antics......mg:

That poor pussy cat......WHY??? 

Such a great story though and very funny....:lofl:
*_


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## SifuPhil (Nov 11, 2013)

Thank you, all. 

It wasn't _me_ that was really doing all that - it was my evil _Doppelganger_. We were often confused for each other - you can probably see why ...


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## Jillaroo (Nov 11, 2013)

_And i bet you used to get smacked constantly for fibbing, you can't get out of it now Phil we have it in writing _


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## SifuPhil (Nov 11, 2013)

Jillaroo said:


> _And i bet you used to get smacked constantly for fibbing, you can't get out of it now Phil we have it in writing _



Actually I was never physically punished, not once. Ever. 

... which might explain the way I am now ...


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## Casper (Nov 11, 2013)

SifuPhil said:


> Actually I was never physically punished, not once. Ever.
> 
> ... which might explain the way I am now ...



_*Ya think.....??*_


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## Jillaroo (Nov 12, 2013)

*Phil Wrote*
                         Actually I was never physically punished, not once. Ever. 

... which might explain the way I am now ... 

_*Oh Phil i can see your nose growing as we speak, admit it you are a bad boy*_


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## Casper (Nov 12, 2013)

_*Actually Phil, I wasn't either......
But I never nearly burnt the house down either.....*_


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## SifuPhil (Nov 12, 2013)

Casper said:


> _*Ya think.....??*_



Well, sure - smart, sexy and dynamic! 



Jillaroo said:


> _*Oh Phil i can see your nose growing as we speak, admit it you are a bad boy*_



I'm a GOOD boy, yes I am! 

I just do _bad_ things once in a while - wait 'til you hear about The Great ... well, I better not give it away.


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## TICA (Nov 12, 2013)

Great story and I for one, have no doubt it is true.  I actually see the whole thing happening.   Your parents were very understanding.


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