They're O.R. Scrubs
by Kyle
I recently had dinner in Bridgeton with Dr. Nathan J. Goldschmidt (BHS '95). Nate had just flown in from Switzerland on the CERN Space Plane, the same CERN Space Plane featured in Dan Brown's Angels and Demons. Nate did his undergraduate work at Johns Hopkins and holds a Ph.D. in particle physics from the University of Michigan. Perhaps most impressive of all, Nate won the Cumberland County Science Fair back in junior high.
We got to talking about the massive renovation effort taking place at the historic Sheppard House on Commerce Street. This building was also known as "The Grand Olde House" restaurant. It was even a nursing home at one point, although the lingering stench of death probably explains why the restaurant didn't last.
Nate's father informed us that the reason the Sheppard House is being renovated is because it is being turned into "The Jacques Cousteau Institute for Marine Studies." I assumed he was joking and responded by commenting that their first experiment should be a study of the garbage to water ratio of the Cohansey River.
Mr. G said, "No. I'm serious."
There was no way he could have been serious. I made another joke about snorkeling in the raceway (which is like six inches deep), and again, Mr. G said, "No, they really are turning it into the Jacques Cousteau Institute for Marine Studies."
I still didn't believe him. I said I couldn't wait to get the lab results back to determine whether the fish I caught in Jeddy's was a sunny or a bass, and something about thank God for the Jacques Cousteau Institute so I could finally have some closure.
Yet again, Mr. G insisted he was absolutely serious.
It suddenly occurred to me---Mr. G was serious. The Grande Old House is now being turned into The Jacques Cousteau Institute for Marine Studies. I swear to God, this caused me to immediately break out into a cold sweat. I think I actually had an allergic reaction to the news.
I said: "Bridgeton will be home to the Jacques Cousteau Institute for Marine Studies? Are you kidding me? An 'institute' of any sort is bad enough. The most I could tolerate would be a CHUBB Institute. But an 'institute for marine studies'? That just takes it all too far. And now Jacques Cousteau is involved?"
The sheer audacity of it all was, and still is, purely astonishing.
This exchange prompted Nate to remark: "Suddenly our lives are a Wes Anderson movie."
Which got me thinking.
Our lives have always been that way.
Just a few years ago, Pete Rose (yes, that Pete Rose) actually showed up in town and was actually inducted into the Bridgeton Hall of Fame.
Yes, there's a Bridgeton Hall of Fame. And no, Pete Rose is not from Bridgeton.
Before that, Joe DiMaggio came to town. He somehow didn't get inducted into our Hall of Fame, but he did sign a baseball and an 8x10 glossy photo for me. A certain Bridgeton Legends contributor will tell you all about asking me for my pen so that he too could get Joe DiMaggio's autograph. My flat denial of the pen request probably explains his lifelong rage directed at yours truly. Or maybe it's because I shattered several of his teeth two days before Christmas while fighting over a Santa Claus hat.
That occurred in December 1986, just minutes before West Avenue Elementary School was dismissed for Christmas vacation.
I guess the school system didn't pay very well back then, because one of our frequent substitute teachers from those days had a second career as a magician, and supposedly staged a daring escape from a locked box which had been dropped into the Cohansey. But I can't confirm this. I wasn't there.
Another former substitute teacher of ours actually knows John Travolta, and hung out on the set of "Pulp Fiction" when they were filming "The Bonnie Situation."
In this same town, just six square miles, there used to be a woman who carried around a tennis bag full of cats---living, breathing cats---and seeing her always felt like a celebrity sighting.
And let's not forget about the black panther sightings down at the sewer plant.
And let's not forget about "The House of Satan."
And let's not forget about the time an elephant ran wild through the streets.
Of course, there's the time the King and Queen of Sweden came to visit Bridgeton's "Swedish Village"---but not even Wes Anderson would have the nerve to put that in one of his films.
But it happened. It all happened. And all you have to do is write it down.
About a month ago, a friend told me a story that took place in Bridgeton roughly thirty years back. A group of kids convinced this one kid that his head would glow if he stuffed enough lightning bugs up his nose, the way your mouth glows if you put a flashlight in it. The kid either believed them or was determined to prove them wrong. In any event, he proceeded to shove lightning bugs up his nose, two and three at a time, as fast as the others could catch them, until he literally had dozens of them impacted in his sinuses, more than the growing crowd of children ever thought possible.
What began as a childish prank became something more significant.
With that many lightning bugs smashed in his head, they all began to wonder---would his head really glow? Could we have been right?
As the sun slowly set behind him, the street turned dark.
And they all learned the truth.
E-mail stories to getaholdofkyle@yahoo.com
I recently had dinner in Bridgeton with Dr. Nathan J. Goldschmidt (BHS '95). Nate had just flown in from Switzerland on the CERN Space Plane, the same CERN Space Plane featured in Dan Brown's Angels and Demons. Nate did his undergraduate work at Johns Hopkins and holds a Ph.D. in particle physics from the University of Michigan. Perhaps most impressive of all, Nate won the Cumberland County Science Fair back in junior high.
We got to talking about the massive renovation effort taking place at the historic Sheppard House on Commerce Street. This building was also known as "The Grand Olde House" restaurant. It was even a nursing home at one point, although the lingering stench of death probably explains why the restaurant didn't last.
Nate's father informed us that the reason the Sheppard House is being renovated is because it is being turned into "The Jacques Cousteau Institute for Marine Studies." I assumed he was joking and responded by commenting that their first experiment should be a study of the garbage to water ratio of the Cohansey River.
Mr. G said, "No. I'm serious."
There was no way he could have been serious. I made another joke about snorkeling in the raceway (which is like six inches deep), and again, Mr. G said, "No, they really are turning it into the Jacques Cousteau Institute for Marine Studies."
I still didn't believe him. I said I couldn't wait to get the lab results back to determine whether the fish I caught in Jeddy's was a sunny or a bass, and something about thank God for the Jacques Cousteau Institute so I could finally have some closure.
Yet again, Mr. G insisted he was absolutely serious.
It suddenly occurred to me---Mr. G was serious. The Grande Old House is now being turned into The Jacques Cousteau Institute for Marine Studies. I swear to God, this caused me to immediately break out into a cold sweat. I think I actually had an allergic reaction to the news.
I said: "Bridgeton will be home to the Jacques Cousteau Institute for Marine Studies? Are you kidding me? An 'institute' of any sort is bad enough. The most I could tolerate would be a CHUBB Institute. But an 'institute for marine studies'? That just takes it all too far. And now Jacques Cousteau is involved?"
The sheer audacity of it all was, and still is, purely astonishing.
This exchange prompted Nate to remark: "Suddenly our lives are a Wes Anderson movie."
Which got me thinking.
Our lives have always been that way.
Just a few years ago, Pete Rose (yes, that Pete Rose) actually showed up in town and was actually inducted into the Bridgeton Hall of Fame.
Yes, there's a Bridgeton Hall of Fame. And no, Pete Rose is not from Bridgeton.
Before that, Joe DiMaggio came to town. He somehow didn't get inducted into our Hall of Fame, but he did sign a baseball and an 8x10 glossy photo for me. A certain Bridgeton Legends contributor will tell you all about asking me for my pen so that he too could get Joe DiMaggio's autograph. My flat denial of the pen request probably explains his lifelong rage directed at yours truly. Or maybe it's because I shattered several of his teeth two days before Christmas while fighting over a Santa Claus hat.
That occurred in December 1986, just minutes before West Avenue Elementary School was dismissed for Christmas vacation.
I guess the school system didn't pay very well back then, because one of our frequent substitute teachers from those days had a second career as a magician, and supposedly staged a daring escape from a locked box which had been dropped into the Cohansey. But I can't confirm this. I wasn't there.
Another former substitute teacher of ours actually knows John Travolta, and hung out on the set of "Pulp Fiction" when they were filming "The Bonnie Situation."
In this same town, just six square miles, there used to be a woman who carried around a tennis bag full of cats---living, breathing cats---and seeing her always felt like a celebrity sighting.
And let's not forget about the black panther sightings down at the sewer plant.
And let's not forget about "The House of Satan."
And let's not forget about the time an elephant ran wild through the streets.
Of course, there's the time the King and Queen of Sweden came to visit Bridgeton's "Swedish Village"---but not even Wes Anderson would have the nerve to put that in one of his films.
But it happened. It all happened. And all you have to do is write it down.
About a month ago, a friend told me a story that took place in Bridgeton roughly thirty years back. A group of kids convinced this one kid that his head would glow if he stuffed enough lightning bugs up his nose, the way your mouth glows if you put a flashlight in it. The kid either believed them or was determined to prove them wrong. In any event, he proceeded to shove lightning bugs up his nose, two and three at a time, as fast as the others could catch them, until he literally had dozens of them impacted in his sinuses, more than the growing crowd of children ever thought possible.
What began as a childish prank became something more significant.
With that many lightning bugs smashed in his head, they all began to wonder---would his head really glow? Could we have been right?
As the sun slowly set behind him, the street turned dark.
And they all learned the truth.
E-mail stories to getaholdofkyle@yahoo.com
posted by Kyle at 10:02 PM
