By Tim Robinson
ASSOCIATE PUBLISHER

(Editor’s Note: Tim Robinson is filling in for Jerry Robinson this week.)

The publisher is busy this week writing his first book, again. It is called "Do as I say, not as I did."
 I think he was stung by a bungle bee when he was young.
 I have a list here of his other exploits;

One day he rented a compressor and was painting our house in McMicken Heights. It was a summer day. I was three or four and went outside to sit on the steps to watch him. I had snuck out without any clothes on and was watching, bare bottom, on the warm porch. The spray hose broke and covered me with green paint. I howled. Mom came running out shouting "Why did you paint Timothy green?" He told her it was the only color he had.


At our Salmon Creek house I was watching him install some paneling on his bedroom wall when I was ten. He was smacking the base with a big, rubber hammer and it would not bbbbbbudge. Suddenly a large handled screwdriver bbbbbbbroke thhhhhhhrough. He'd been looking for that for an hour. He hid the gaping hole with a two by four instead of cutting a patch of new paneling and gluing it over the hole. My first lesson in craftsmanship was complete.


He said his transgressions began when his big brother brought home a Model A Ford in 1936. His brother let him drive it. When his brother asked if he had ever driven a car, he blithely said, "Sure, lots of times."
 Climbing into his big brother's jewel, he had to ask where the starter was located. That should have been a clue. Dad said he breezed it backwards, clean across the street and straight into a woodpile. His brother did not strangle him after he explained he forgot where the footbrake was.


Penance was in order. Dad got baptized the next Sunday. The preacher had a heck of a time lifting his skinny body into that big tank but the dunking was deserved. His mom handed him the tray of crackers and tiny containers of grape juice. He drank one and was reaching for another one before she stopped him. Even though he never had enjoyed real grape juice at home, his mom knew it was not polite to take more than one.

Years later, not being much of a drinker, he was chosen as master of ceremonies at a golf banquet. He did not realize that his support team (read designated drivers) were stopping every fifth house, on the way to the event to top off their drinks. One + martini(s) did him in.


Wobbly legs and poor posture should have been a clue that he was not prepared to MC the event. A front row patron began heckling him as he slurred out some greetings. Dad poured a glass of ice water on the head of the heckler before passing out behind the podium. He found himself on the floor of the kitchen pantry two hours later, holding a cup of black coffee. He never ever again drank a martini.


Dad is an inveterate golfer. He's also fearless on water holes. It goes back to the Sandy River in Oregon where his own dad had tossed him in, expecting him to learn to swim or drown. I'm not certain if there was malice there but Dad walked along the bottom of the river to the pilings of the dock to pull himself to safety. He became a pretty good, self-taught swimmer after that. I think they call that immersion therapy today.

When he was playing in a golf tournament at a local course, he drove his tee shot into a shallow creek. His playing partner was former State Sen. Andy Hess. He could see his ball but could not reach it without help. He asked Andy to hand him a four-iron, which he jammed into the creek bed. Leaning on the club, he bent over to get the ball and went kerplunk himself into the gentle waters while in sight of a handful of hooting golfers watching gleefully from the next fairway. Andy helped wring him out. He was penalized three strokes. Two for him and one for Andy who pulled him out.


On another occasion there was a large maple tree looming in the distance. His tee shot went into a big grassy hole at the base. He could see the ball so decided to hit it out. Swoosh---out came two balls. Somebody had buried one there and never looked. Andy charged him two strokes. One for each ball.

He's always been lucky. Lucky the green paint was water based and easily washed off. Lucky the paneling mistake didn't show behind the headboard. Lucky he only hit a woodpile, lucky he found that piling underwater, lucky that he did not become a drinker, lucky that he had friends like Andy to pull him out and lucky he has a fan base of subscribers who enjoy reading about his life in this column.