Carl has a story.

This is my neighbor Carl.  He just told me that he is 94 1/2 years old.

He is 94 years old.  It’s curious that he added the half, like he wants to get credit.

My mom started doing something similar when she turned 90, but in a brain-shrinkage way.  A month after her birthday, she figured she was 91.  Asking about her assertion, I learned that she was going for something like 90.1 years old, because she should get credit for the month.  A month is not a tenth of a year, but it approximately made sense.

Carl is standing next to his 1968 Chevy Chevelle Malibu.  I think he said it’s a 1968.  Carl tells me so much, I lose track.  Behind him, in the garage, is a Ford Model A.

Other things that Carl told me yesterday.

To treat an open wound, like a cut or puncture, put a slab of bacon on the wound to draw out any infection.  It has to have the rind on it.  Turpentine is good too.  I swear, in a previous conversation, he recommended cob webs to stop bleeding.¹

Carl has not worn shorts since he was 8 years old.  That was so long ago, they weren’t even called shorts.  They were knickers, and he thought they looked ridiculous.  He doesn’t count a swim suit as shorts.

Buying, selling, repairing and collecting are Carl’s primary hobbies.  The day before, a woman wanted to buy a riding lawnmower that he had out.  Instead of selling his mower, he taught the woman how to fix her mower, which was a similar model.  She did, and came back to thank him.

Carl showed me some old phonographs in his collection.  He told me that he has a celluloid phonograph cylinder with the song, “N*gg*r Loves His Possum”, that he hasn’t gotten to play.  I told him that you can’t talk like that, it’s racist.  Carl thought it wasn’t racist because they do love a possum. 

Howie Chizek taught us that you can’t judge the past on modern day sensibilities, so I don’t judge.  I did look up the song on Youtube, but didn’t find it appealing.  I fear what the Youtube algorithm is going to do with my search.

Around 1952, Carl joined the army and was stationed at headquarters in Germany, somewhere around Munich.  On an outing, he discovered a Nazi bunker near the Black Forest.  It sounded like a cache of Allied supplies captured by the Germans.  It contained crates of 45 caliber ammo and boxes of military food rations. 

Carl started selling off his loot, but was eventually confronted by an officer.  The officer was going to be returning to the states in a month, so he offered Carl a deal.  The officer would forget all about Carl’s failure to report his discovery if Carl forgot all about his discovery.  He took the deal.  The officer shipped crates of ammo home as part his personal possessions.

I may start shooting video interviews of Carl.

¹ Don’t take medical advice from an online rando talking to some old guy. None of this is verified.