Poobah Classic: The Case of the Hirsute Thief

Note: The Poobah is out of town for the next few days attending a senior dinner for Claire Koeneman at Cal Poly Pomona. To keep you entertained. Here’s a Poobah Classic from the archives.
There are 8,000 stories in the Naked City – this is one of them

I drove through the pre-dawn streets. The traffic lights cycled through their silent and regular routine, directing dozens of ghost cars to dozens of ghost locations. The street glared with rain and my windshield turned runny from the fat drops. It was weather best described as cheap film noir.

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Poobah Classic: Please Give Me a Clue

Note: The Poobah is out of town for the next few days attending a senior dinner for Claire Koeneman at Cal Poly Pomona. To keep you entertained. Here’s a Poobah Classic from the archives.

No, really…true story…

My father died about a year and a half ago. He’d been in reasonably good health for an 86-year-old, but by his last year started to decline like, well, an 86-year old. Still, he had a reasonably good run and didn’t have any pain at the end. You can’t ask much more from life than that.

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Poobah Classic: Tea and Cookies on the Black Sea

Note: The Poobah is out of town for the next few days attending a senior dinner for Claire Koeneman at Cal Poly Pomona. To keep you entertained. Here’s a Poobah Classic from the archives.

 


“You ever go in here?” the pilot said to his co-pilot.

“Yeah, it scared the shit out of me. It’s waaaaay short and that down slope’s wicked,” the co-pilot answered. “High pucker factor for sure.”

I had to agree. After hundreds of hours of flight time, I’d never been to a loose gravel runway with an upper end on the down slope of a Turkish mountain, the other end wetted by the Black Sea, and so short it was barely long enough to land our airplane. To say the flying was challenging was an understatement. To say it was frightening was too.

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