
<img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-28-peter-t-brown-5-of-9/33405611644_ed5a91e741_t.jpg" alt="Peter Brown" class="post-thumb"/>

What follows is a serial essay written by my father, Paul Rasmussen, about his best friend, Peter Brown. [Part 1](https://erikras.com/2017/04/24/peter-t-brown-1-of-9/), [Part 2](https://erikras.com/2017/04/25/peter-t-brown-2-of-9/), [Part 3](https://erikras.com/2017/04/26/peter-t-brown-3-of-9/), [Part 4](https://erikras.com/2017/04/27/peter-t-brown-4-of-9/)

I-55 wasn't complete, and we had to get off the Interstate in Mississippi. Peter was driving, and pointed out to me that a policeman had been following us for several miles. He carefully obeyed the speed limit, so we were both surprised when the cop turned on his lights and siren and pulled us over. When Peter asked why he had been pulled over, he was told that he had been driving "too close to the center line". A bus driver, Peter had naturally kept his driver-side wheels consistently close to the middle line when driving carefully. ![Sheriff Car](https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-28-peter-t-brown-5-of-9/34322246705_e0a3612aed.jpg "Sheriff Car")

The sheriff wore a name tag identifying him as "Robert 'Pee-Wee' Miller", which I took to be a bad sign. We were placed in the back of the squad car while the cop pawed through our belongings. When I asked what probable cause justified his search, I was told "the fact that you are driving a foreign car". In a cooler in the trunk he found a half ounce of pot. I figured that since the car was in my name, I was probably already legally responsible, and it might be beneficial to keep Peter's record clean, so I said the pot was mine.

We were jailed on a Friday afternoon, and placed in a two-man cell. Our new home had a sink with lightly running water, a toilet, and two bunk beds. We couldn't see other inmates, but there were at least two. After a while we managed small amounts of communication with them, but most of our information came from our jailer. ![Carroll County Mississippi Sheriff's Department Badge](https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-28-peter-t-brown-5-of-9/33938072130_a053e230b0_m.jpg "Carroll County Mississippi Sheriff's Department Badge") His name was Pigmeat Carver, and he explained that Carroll County hadn't put up their share of the money, so the interstate stopped at their border. All foreign cars were pulled over for speeding if at all possible, and searched for weed. When found, $1500 bail was set. When the bail was paid, the prisoner was released, and never heard from again. Nobody had ever returned for a court date. We were told that we would be given the chance to make a phone call later, and indeed we were. Four days later.

Pigmeat's mother prepared prisoner meals, which were delivered by Pigmeat. In the morning we were brought grits, powdered eggs and cold black coffee. At noon our jailer brought us sugar-laden iced tea and a baloney sandwich. For supper we had a mystery meat, beans, and more coffee. It was clear that even without exercise we would not be gaining weight.

![Old Carroll County Jail (Carrollton, Mississippi)](https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-28-peter-t-brown-5-of-9/5228261334_b04ccee28d.jpg)

Old Carroll County Jailhouse

On Saturday it was explained to us that we should stop talking about a phone call - that nothing could be done about that on the weekend. I was glad I had my harmonica with me, and that it hadn't been confiscated along with our watches and wallets. The acoustics were great. At first I was a little hesitant about subjecting the others, a truly captive audience, to my music. As the hours dragged on though, I stopped caring. The blues sounded particularly good.

With nothing to make chess pieces from, Peter and I experimented for the first time with blindfold chess. At first we couldn't both hold the board position in our head for more than four or five moves before one or the other of us lost it, but we definitely got better as time went on.

On Saturday night we had a long talk, and decided to make some changes. I decided I would head to my parent's home in Findlay, Ohio and write my master's thesis, then find a job and try to get my girlfriend to marry me. Peter decided he would go back to Champagne and get instructions from the University hospital to help him manage his kidney failure.

On Sunday I found a disturbing story penned on the wall under the lower (my) bunk. It was so well written that I knew it to be true. A Memphis physician driving a Porsche had been stopped and jailed due to confusion over the drugs in his Doctor's bag. At his hearing the Judge released him, but when he went to the garage (owned by the Sheriff's brother) to get his impounded car, it was closed. Nobody was around, so he drove off. He was stopped by the Sheriff before he reached the county line, thrown back in jail, and tried for stealing his own car.

When Pigmeat dropped off our breakfasts Monday morning we learned that we would see a judge Tuesday morning, and that we could make a phone call right after that. We were also told that Pigmeat would be gone all day Monday because he was the town's shoe salesman, and sold shoes on Mondays. Sure enough, there was no lunch, and we never saw Pigmeat again until he brought our mystery meat.

![Gavel](https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-28-peter-t-brown-5-of-9/33512665993_35bfbabfed_m.jpg "Gavel")On Tuesday morning we were taken to the judge for our hearing. After he pronounced that we would each be released on $750 bail, Peter reminded the Judge that he had only been charged with "Driving too close to the center line", and not with possession. The Judge examined the paper work, agreed with Peter, and said "In that case, your bail (glancing at Peter) is set at zero, and your bail (looking at me now) is set at $1500".

Finally we were allowed to each make a phone call. I called my parents and arranged for them to wire $1500. Peter called Mary and told her we were heading back to Carbondale. After the money was transferred, our possessions were returned, and we were driven to the garage where my car had been impounded. I was careful to pay the sheriff's brother the money I owed him for taking care of my car. We stopped once for gas, and once to buy a couple of big steaks. We each showered and changed while Mary cooked us a big meal. It was good.

After a few days, I left for Findlay, where I apologized to my parents, and thanked them for their loan. I then spread my books and notes out onto their dining room table and left them there for a week while I wrote my master's thesis. I managed to get it approved by [Dr. Azrin](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nathan_Azrin), the Department Head, in record time. I am sure it didn't hurt that my research provided support for Dr. Azrin's recently invented overcorrection procedure. In the acknowledgments section I credited Sheriff Robert "Pee-Wee" Miller.

To be continued... [Part 6](https://erikras.com/2017/05/02/peter-t-brown-6-of-9/)


Peter T. Brown - 5 of 9


<img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-27-peter-t-brown-4-of-9/33405611644_ed5a91e741_t.jpg" alt="Peter Brown" class="post-thumb"/>

What follows is a serial essay written by my father, Paul Rasmussen, about his best friend, Peter Brown. [Part 1](https://erikras.com/2017/04/24/peter-t-brown-1-of-9/), [Part 2](https://erikras.com/2017/04/25/peter-t-brown-2-of-9/), [Part 3](https://erikras.com/2017/04/26/peter-t-brown-3-of-9/)

During the day I took classes and interned at a mental health center in another town, and Peter took some Social Work courses. At night we played pinball. As was our habit, we brought our autistic analytical skills to the task, and became very good pinball players. We joined the International Pinball Association and became card-carrying members. I was "Flips", because of my mad flipper skills. Peter was "Plunger", because he was agonizingly slow introducing each ball into play. Having previously determined the optimum amount of momentum the ball should carry as it exited the chute, he would routinely bend over and examine the plunger marks closely before loosing the ball. ![Paul Flips Rasmussen](https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-27-peter-t-brown-4-of-9/34149915452_b7ae30fdac.jpg "Paul Flips Rasmussen")

We became good friends with John, the owner of the pinball parlor, and regularly helped him out behind the counter. When John held a pinball marathon with a hundred dollar prize for the team which played one machine continuously the longest, Peter and I joined a fellow named Louis and entered. Louis was pretty good, and Peter was much better, but nobody in town was as good on this particular machine as I was. Before we started, I told my teammates that primarily we wanted to win the prize money, but secondarily, if we could do it, I wanted us to try to play the entire time on a single dime. ![Pinball Machines](https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-27-peter-t-brown-4-of-9/33497672553_8c1935202f.jpg "Pinball Machines") It would be difficult because the free games counter on Gottlieb machines only goes to 15. It also required winning one or more free games on the opening game.

I started it off, and played for hours. Eventually I turned it over to Peter, who would play for an hour or two and then turn it over to either Louis or me. Every time I turned it over to Peter it had 15 free games on it. Peter said he usually had a dozen games on it when he turned it over to Louis. Three times that night I was woken by Peter and told I needed to relieve Louis right away. Strangely, all the other teams quit after only 18 hours, so there was no reason to continue. I wasn't surprised that we accomplished our primary objective. I was amazed we accomplished our secondary goal.

Much as we had for Putt-Putt holes, Peter and I began to document all the existing pinball machines. For each machine we encountered, we drew a diagram, and recorded payouts and best strategies. We stopped in at unknown bars and bowling alleys whenever possible in our search for different machines. Along the way I learned a great deal about the different machines. I loved the short, solid reliable Gottlieb flippers, and Gottlieb's classic art. Williams machines had longer flippers which produced faster ball speeds. Bally's machines were loud and colorful, with many ramps and spinners.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-27-peter-t-brown-4-of-9/33465886074_0a1a1d66a2_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Pinball Data Sheet">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-27-peter-t-brown-4-of-9/33465886074_3c18dac85c_c.jpg" alt="Pinball Data Sheet"/>
</a>

My friend Peter was not easy to like. He was naturally overbearing, and could be quite critical. He tended to perseverate on many topics, and many people just tuned him out. He tended to expound in such detail that it was mentally exhausting to keep up with him. He didn't really have any good friends other than me. Nevertheless, sometime that fall Peter and Mary became an item. Mary was one of the thirteen students in my Behavior Modification graduate program, and had become a good friend of mine during the previous year. Their love for each other didn't really affect me, except of course they argued more.

In December Peter made himself a Doctor's appointment, and for some reason I went with him. I stayed in the car and read a book while he went in. When he came back to the car more than an hour later he was pale and shaken. He explained to me that he had known for several years that this day would come, so it was not a complete surprise to him, but that his kidneys were shutting down. It was a surprise to me. Peter explained that he had been told he probably had less than year to live unless he received a donated kidney, or arranged for regular dialysis. We didn't talk about it much, but when he told me that he had learned that all three of the pinball machine manufacturers were field testing their new machines at the New Orleans airport, and asked me if I would go to New Orleans with him, I said yes. When he suggested that, if New Orleans didn't work out for us, we might move on to Miami, I said sure.

In January I was through with all my graduate work except for my masters thesis, which I had not yet begun. In fact, I had no ideas for it. Early in January, Peter and I packed up my Volkswagen Beetle with all we owned and took off. Our plan was to try to earn money hustling pinball at the airport. If hustling didn't work out, we would diagram all of New Orleans' pinball machines, then drive to Miami and write a book about pinball. But — a funny thing happened on the way to New Orleans.

To be continued... [Part 5](https://erikras.com/2017/04/28/peter-t-brown-5-of-9/)


Peter T. Brown - 4 of 9


<img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-26-peter-t-brown-3-of-9/33405611644_ed5a91e741_t.jpg" alt="Peter Brown" class="post-thumb"/>

What follows is a serial essay written by my father, Paul Rasmussen, about his best friend, Peter Brown. [Part 1](https://erikras.com/2017/04/24/peter-t-brown-1-of-9/), [Part 2](https://erikras.com/2017/04/25/peter-t-brown-2-of-9/)

It was a beautiful morning when we left Beloit. I had the top down on the bright red 1963 Ford Galaxie 500 convertible I had bought shortly after Christmas for $300, and Peter was driving his very used 1950 Cadillac. We stopped at a roadside stand just outside of town and bought a couple of quarts of fresh strawberries. For 20 miles I pitched overripe berries high in the air, splashing them onto Peter's windshield when successful. He passed me on the largely deserted interstate, and retaliated in kind. When we had used or consumed all our ammo, we resorted to one-upmanship. He passed me slowly, never glancing at me, while sitting in the passenger side. I passed him, laid back with my crossed feet up on the dashboard while I pressed a golf club on the accelerator. We were young, reckless, and happy. ![Red Ford Galaxie 500 Convertible](https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-26-peter-t-brown-3-of-9/34132626841_432996a46d.jpg "Red Ford Galaxie 500 Convertible")

Peter rented an apartment and got a job as a city bus driver. I slept on his couch, and lived off the numerous coins he dumped from his pockets onto the living room floor every night on his way to bed at the end of his shift. While he slept until afternoon, I would get up, roll the coins, and walk them to a bank to exchange them for the day's paper money.

Some afternoons we played Putt-Putt. A professional league had just formed, and we dreamed of making money as professional putters. It was a good game for a couple of logicians to tackle. Unlike other miniature golf courses, all Putt-Putt holes are exact replicas of about a hundred different hole designs. All holes are par two, and all holes can be aced. All the side boards are metal, so bounces are consistent. For each hole, there is a single best way to attempt to ace it. ![Classic Putt-Putt](https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-26-peter-t-brown-3-of-9/34263400145_6ebe818df2_m.jpg "Classic Putt-Putt") That summer, Peter and I applied our Aspergers-like focus to Putt-Putt. Peter shmoozed the attendant, and he looked the other way when we skipped the ball-eating 18th hole. We recorded our scores on all the different holes we played, and took our scorecards to the University of Illinois computer center. Using Peter's father's physics department account code, we learned a little Fortran, entered the data on punch cards, wrote a control program, and put our card stack in the queue to be run. Ten minutes later we could pour over our green and white striped pin feed printout and determine which holes we were worst on. Armed with this knowledge, we would practice our bad holes over and over, letting other putters play through when necessary. Spending my practice time working on things I was bad at instead of things I was good at is one of the many things Peter taught me.

Peter's parents lived in Champagne, and we occasionally went there for a meal. Peter's father was a gourmet cook, but I only remember one meal there. Corn. Just corn. But we did it right. First Peter's father filled a large pot with water and started it boiling. Then we got in his car and drove a quarter mile to where the University of Illinois Agriculture Department had planted a field of their brand new Illini Super Sweet variety. We quickly stole 50 ears, and sped home to our boiling water, shucking as we went. It was, of course, the best corn I ever ate. I ate 10 ears, while Peter and his father each had 12. Peter's step-Mom couldn't stand watching us slobber our way through so much butter and corn, and had to leave the room.

![What Butter is Made For](https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-26-peter-t-brown-3-of-9/15653708862_c7e994ba01.jpg)

Some nights we visited Tuna, an old high school friend of Peter's. Tuna's front door had a permanent sign saying that a writer lived there, and didn't want to be disturbed. "Please go away!", it said. Tuna may have been a writer during the day, but at night he was a chess player. He had dozens of chess sets scattered around. The one he liked most was built like a pyramid, with the four middle squares elevated the highest to emphasize their importance. We talked chess and played chess until Tuna's wife went to bed, and then we talked chess, played chess, and smoked Tuna's weed. Tuna kept his weed in a wooden box which opened to reveal more than a dozen drawers and compartments. On special occasions Tuna pulled weed from the vial marked "All the weed I've ever smoked". He explained that a little of every new bag of dope went into that vial, and always had. Since the vial had never been empty, it followed that it contained some from all.

I learned about openings, middle games, and end games. I learned the Ruy Lopez, and the Sicilian Defense, and I fell in love with the Queen's Pawn opening. Our best games were when Peter and I teamed up against Tuna, with Tuna playing blindfold. Once we beat him.

One night we visited Peter's old high school friend Mark. While Peter and others from his elite high school went to college, Mark stayed home and moved off the grid. Five miles from town, deep in old growth pines, Mark had built a cabin from a Mother Earth News design. His garden, goats and rabbits provided almost all of his food. He claimed he wouldn't need to go into town at all if wasn't for beer.

After sharing a fine product from his garden with us, Mark took us to what he called his "canopy". It was incredible, perhaps even more so thanks to his garden. First we walked 50 feet from his front porch to his entry tree. "Follow me", he said, as he climbed the tree. The branches were worn from use, and easy to climb. Fifty feet up, and again 100 feet up, were small wooden platforms and rope bridges extending to other trees. Mark was fearless, and before long I felt comfortable too. It was beautiful in the trees, but the best was yet to come. We descended by walking further and further out onto a limb away from the trunk, while holding onto a higher branch, until the branch you are standing on descends far enough for you to step off that branch onto another branch! Then, repeat. It was thrilling, and much safer than it sounds.

A friend of Peter's told him the exact location of a marijuana patch out in the country, hidden in the middle of a corn field. One night Peter and I drove out and found it. The plants were over 10 feet tall, and there were hundreds of them. We waited a few nights, then drove out a second time, this time with knives and large trash bags. We labored for an hour, filling two large bags, then we hid the bags amongst the tall corn, and drove home. A few nights later we drove out a third time, quickly picked up our hidden bags and headed home.

Over the next few days I learned a great deal about the difference between the imported marijuana I had been exposed to, and industrial hemp planted in vast quantities in Illinois during World War II. The minuscule amounts of THC in hemp made it worse than worthless, since it still came with legal risk. Its only value was the slight placebo high it could produce in a person who smoked it before they realized what it was. We bagged it all, and gave a bag to anyone who wanted one. That didn't get rid of much though, since our friends knew better.

The harvest had been a bad idea, and I was anxious to put it behind me. Very early one morning I walked through a section of town where the homes had mailboxes on the street, and I put a bag in every third mailbox until all the bags were gone. I figured that one might say something to one's neighbor, but only the people next door to you. Anyway, problem solved.

In August I found out that not only had I had been accepted into the Behavior Modification Masters Degree program at S.I.U., but they would pay me $222.22 each month, so on September first I said goodbye to Peter and drove to Carbondale to begin two years of graduate school. Peter stayed in Champagne, still driving a bus. The next summer, though, he moved to Carbondale to join me. By then I was anxious to move out of my over-garage one bedroom apartment, which through no fault of my own had become totally flea-infested. Peter and I joined my friend Mary, and the three of us rented a three bedroom apartment underneath a mental health center. Our deal with Mary was that we would buy all the groceries, and she would do all the cooking. The arrangement worked out well.

I am not sure when Peter and I combined our finances. I guess the process started in Beloit at Goody's when it stopped mattering who paid for the beer or the Italian Beef sandwiches we routinely had delivered there. We never discussed it, but at some point we crossed the line and became family. From then, until the end, whoever had money paid, and there was no accounting.

To be continued... [Part 4](https://erikras.com/2017/04/27/peter-t-brown-4-of-9/)


Peter T. Brown - 3 of 9


<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-25-ian-is-four/33885274170_bc1d713784_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image post-thumb" title="Four years old">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-25-ian-is-four/33885274170_1a44e9235c_t.jpg" alt="Four years old"/>
</a>

My youngest little baby turned four years old today. It's hard to believe that only four years ago our family was incomplete. It feels like there have been four of us since forever. Even though it's a Tuesday night, we invited over Ian's best friend, Gael, and his other friend, Mara, who has an older sister who is Nora's best friend at school. Nora's best neighborhood friend, Carmen, also came to our little soirée. Carmen is exactly six years older than Ian, so she also got to blow some candles.  I made sloppy joes, which, when paired with a bag of potato chips, make a pretty decent party meal for kids. I went this morning to the grocery store that is known for having the best branded cakes. There were several cakes, but only one with Ian's favorite cartoon character. There were several families swarming around the cakes, but I deftly seal-team-six'd in and snatched the prize.

First we begin with an exit interview I conducted with Ian last night when he was still a three-year-old.

<iframe src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/4LU0g4g65U8?ecver=2" width="640" height="360" frameborder="0" style="position:absolute;width:100%;height:100%;left:0" allowfullscreen></iframe>

I might be biased, but that seems pretty cute. I don't know what to tell my future self either.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-25-ian-is-four/33885147190_941c39546a_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Ian's Fourth Birthday">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-25-ian-is-four/33885147190_4927ea247a_z.jpg" alt="Ian's Fourth Birthday"/>
</a>

Dining like kings. The beer was at the grownups' table.

How many American preschool birthday parties have green olives?

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-25-ian-is-four/33885148820_c84042ec9d_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Ian's Fourth Birthday">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-25-ian-is-four/33885148820_b8fa757bc9.jpg" alt="Ian's Fourth Birthday"/>
</a>

Happy birthday boy.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-25-ian-is-four/33885160850_44d6be3513_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Ian's Fourth Birthday">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-25-ian-is-four/33885160850_b98a53402d.jpg" alt="Ian's Fourth Birthday"/>
</a>

Blaze, and the monster machines!

<iframe src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/D-tRl-n459E?ecver=2" width="640" height="360" frameborder="0" style="position:absolute;width:100%;height:100%;left:0" allowfullscreen></iframe>

Ian, how old are you?

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-25-ian-is-four/33885150470_a3e23854ba_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Ian's Fourth Birthday">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-25-ian-is-four/33885150470_3e25aa9077_z.jpg" alt="Ian's Fourth Birthday"/>
</a>

Four!

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-25-ian-is-four/34138188961_db0a610c45_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Ian's Fourth Birthday">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-25-ian-is-four/34138188961_9b644ffd5d.jpg" alt="Ian's Fourth Birthday"/>
</a>

A good time was had by all.


Ian is Four!


<img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-25-peter-t-brown-2-of-9/33405611644_ed5a91e741_t.jpg" alt="Peter Brown" class="post-thumb"/>

What follows is a serial essay written by my father, Paul Rasmussen, about his best friend, Peter Brown. [Part 1](https://erikras.com/2017/04/24/peter-t-brown-1-of-9/)

It is a bad idea to hire a senior in college to be a security guard for that college. I don't know how straight a line I would have walked on my own, but Peter definitely drew me to the dark side. It is not that Peter was immoral. Instead he was bored, and looking for excitement. He decided we should make a copy of the college's master key, so one late night when we were both on duty we located the maintenance department's key duplicating machine. We discovered that the available blank keys were incapable of becoming a master duplicate, but in the time available to us, Peter learned how to use the key duplicator. Later we learned where the supply of blanks capable of becoming a master was stored, and duplicated the master key checked out to us at the start of each shift. We weren't really bad boys, but we definitely experimented with the idea. We decided to develop a false identity in case one of us needed to disappear to South America or somewhere. We chose a name - Duncan Wesley Tuttle - and started with a public library card. Later Duncan applied for and received membership to the Red Cross, the ![International Frisbee Association](https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-25-peter-t-brown-2-of-9/34106081052_5c407ee46b_m.jpg "International Frisbee Association")International Frisbee Association, and the American Contract Bridge League, among others. Our plan to seek a social security card and driver's license never materialized.

One evening I was on duty at the old hospital. A four story building, it was totally deserted, though still eerily equipped with many beds. Guards weren't supposed to use the elevator when guarding the building, but we had never been given a reason, and we all routinely used it. When it jerked to a stop trapping me between floors, I wasn't sure what to do. I was expecting my girlfriend to bike to the hospital around supper time in order to bring me something to do eat, and I had left an outside door unlocked for her. When I thought the time was right, I started yelling for help, and sure enough, Betsy found me. There was no question about what our next step would be. Betsy went to fetch Peter. Peter brought tools. After less than an hour's labor he was able dismantle enough of the elevator door for me to crawl out. We threw the removed parts onto the roof where they would never be found. We never reported it, and never heard a word about it.

Peter and I decided to summer in Champagne, where Peter grew up. If accepted, and if I could afford it, I planned to enter graduate school in Carbondale, Illinois in September. Before we left Beloit, we threw a party at our apartment for all our fellow guards on the force. A good time was had by all, and sometime after midnight, when the last liquor bottle was empty, I went to bed. At 2:30 am, Peter woke me up and told me to get dressed. "Come on", he said. "We are going to rob the safe". The trust I had in my friend is revealed by noting that I dressed completely before asking "What safe?".

![Safe](https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-25-peter-t-brown-2-of-9/34132393041_a1b2eaf0e4_m.jpg "Safe") Peter had a plan, and I was part of it. We walked to the college, and let ourselves into the old Middle College building. The building had a tower at the top which provided us with a concealed view of the campus all around us. We waited there until we spotted the security guard on his rounds. When he had entered the Union building, examined, and left it, we walked the short distance to the Union and entered it ourselves. Peter explained that he had seen and memorized the safe combination while watching it being opened one morning, so I stood guard while Peter opened the safe. He put money from the safe into a cloth bag he produced from his pocket, and opened a window at the back of the building. We walked a couple of hundred yards to the Gym, concealed ourselves in some bushes across from the entrance, and waited until the guard covering that half the campus had entered, checked, and exited the Gym. While we waited, Peter told me that the previous night he had left some shoe prints in the ground and some dirt on the wall below the window he had opened.

When the coast was clear, we let ourselves into the Gym. We took a padlock from the unassigned padlock box, and locked the money bag into a remote locker in a remote corner of a remote locker room. Empty-handed, we walked unseen back to our apartment. Several weeks later, just before we left Beloit, we returned to the locker, and fortunately remembered the lock's combination. Our haul amounted to about $250. That, plus my last paycheck from Martin Security, took me through the summer.

To be continued... [Part 3](https://erikras.com/2017/04/26/peter-t-brown-3-of-9/)


Peter T. Brown - 2 of 9


<img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-24-peter-t-brown-1-of-9/33405611644_ed5a91e741_t.jpg" alt="Peter Brown" class="post-thumb"/>

What follows is a serial essay written by my father, Paul Rasmussen, about his best friend, Peter Brown.

When I left for college my father armed me with just one cryptic piece of advice. "You will find that some people have much more money to spend than other people, so be careful." My mother, less vocal but more practical, sent me a $7.00 check every week. I traveled only 70 miles, from Kenosha to Beloit, but nobody else from my high school was at Beloit College. I wasn't particularly fond of my high school self, and I looked forward to the opportunity to reinvent my personality. For both good and bad, much of the character I developed at Beloit was the result of my friendship with Peter. He was two years older than me, although only a year ahead of me in college. Throughout our time together, he was always the leader of our duo. The Butch to my Sundance. The older brother I never had.

It has been said that ethics is the science of morals, and morals are the practice of ethics. Peter was highly ethical, and imparted much of that to me. He knew the rules, and respected them, and now I do too. I thank him for that, but then I must also blame him in part for my mixed morality. Peter and I did not always follow the rules. Sometimes the risk/reward ratio seemed to be unbalanced on the side of reward. Occasionally I accept responsibility for my past actions, but on good days I absolve myself of much of my guilt by remembering how hard it is to withstand social pressure, and by remembering the importance of friendship.

![Beloit College](https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-24-peter-t-brown-1-of-9/33405663484_4843e1aee9.jpg "Beloit College")

I had been assigned to the second floor of Blaisdell Hall, along with fourteen other eighteen year old freshmen, and Gary, our nineteen year old sophomore hall supervisor. Beginning my first week of college, and continuing all year, six or seven of us would occasionally sit in the hallway outside the hall supervisor's room late at night and talk for hours. Peter did not live in Blaisdell, but he was Gary's friend, a frequent participant in our late night discussions, and, by all appearances, the brightest of us all. He had come from University High School in Champaign-Urbana, where his father was a nuclear physicist.

Our hall talks were always late at night, but in the daytime the boys on our hall played a game we invented and called "Bloodball". First we moved the couch, chairs, lamps and end tables out of our small shared living room. Then we taped a wastebasket to the middle of the windowsill, about four feet off the ground. Teams of two competed to put or throw a tennis ball into the waste basket. There was only one rule: No knives. We grappled with each other for hours, and took pride in the blood we left on the walls. Somewhere along the way, Peter and I developed a good partnership. When intramural basketball began, Peter and I found ourselves on the same team, and we continued to have success with our bounce passes.

Beloit College was a strange school. It used a trimester system, with students spending all of their first twelve months at Beloit. Students scheduled the five terms of their middle two years any way the liked - two terms at school, two vacation terms, and one "field term" (a college approved 4 month job, anywhere in the world, sometimes paid) before returning to Beloit for their last two terms. Because of this, I totally lost touch with all my high school friends who reunited in Kenosha after their first year of college, and I lost touch with most of the friends I made my first year in college when we scattered for two years before returning for our last year.

![Shuffleboard](https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-24-peter-t-brown-1-of-9/33863177440_ee64f4eb75.jpg "Shuffleboard")

I saw Peter off and on during my middle two years, and along the way we became friends. Our partnership shifted from bloodball and basketball to shuffleboard - the barroom game where you slide your pucks down the waxed surface, knocking your opponent's pucks into the gutter, and leaving your own puck in the three point zone. The shuffleboard table was at Goody's, a bar about a quarter of a mile from campus. To say that Peter and I spent many hours there and got to be good at shuffleboard would be a tremendous understatement. Winners held the table, and losers bought winners a 20 cent draft beer. On good days Peter and I could play continuously, undefeated for hours.

When I returned to Beloit in September of 1970 for my senior year, I lived in a fraternity house, and spent most of my free time cavorting with my fraternity brothers, but as the year progressed I spent more and more time with Peter. He got a full-time job with the Martin Security Agency, and with his encouragement, and with my schoolwork well-controlled, I took a 40 hour per week security job too. My Security Guard assignments included the new Beloit Hospital, the old Beloit Hospital, and a plain clothes (wearing my only suit and tie) assignment at a resort lodge just across the state line in Illinois. However 90% of my shifts, and Peter's too, were either 8 pm to 4 am or 11 pm to 7 am at Beloit College. In January I moved my few belongings to Peter's off-campus apartment.

To be continued... [Part 2](https://erikras.com/2017/04/25/peter-t-brown-2-of-9/)


Peter T. Brown - 1 of 9


<img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-19-snapchat-ar-fun/33752672440_730eefa905_t.jpg" alt="Snapchat AR Rainbow" class="post-thumb"/>Yesterday, Snapchat, who is really kicking ass lately in the selfie-camera augmented reality tricks, where they can virtually put a hat on you, or makeup, or facial hair, etc., has released some new augmented reality trickery, but for the front-facing camera, so that you can place virtual objects into scenes, move them around, and they will appear to remain in the same physical location as you move your phone. We are just cracking the surface of this sort of technology. It seems inevitable that we will someday be wearing lightweight glasses that can display virtual objects and information that will appear, to our brains, to exist in the physical world.  I first wrote about augmented reality [way back in 2009](https://erikras.com/2009/03/23/augmented-reality-one-step-closer-to-the-holodeck/), literally the day before my daughter was born, and [again in 2012](https://erikras.com/2012/02/23/i-wonder-where-that-plane-is-going/).

Unlike with the manufacture of physical items, once you put in the effort to create a 3D model, there is no limit to the number of copies you can sell _at no additional cost_. I foresee a marketplace of virtual stuff that you can throw into your videos for fun. Some will be free and branded, of course – imagine dropping the robot protagonist of a summer blockbuster into your living room. Heck, why not celebrities themselves, like a virtual Madame Tussauds™?

On my sunny walk this morning, I played around with some of the initial AR tricks available in the Snapchat app. Still flawed, but pretty cool, huh?

<iframe src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/D6IN8-3DLac?ecver=2" width="480" height="860" frameborder="0" style="position:absolute;left:0" allowfullscreen></iframe>

The confetti is the Barcelona colors, an effect specific to my geographic location.


Snapchat AR Fun


<img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-17-mourning-an-internet-friend/34102904965_58745c9ba3_t.jpg" alt="Black Ribbon" class="post-thumb"/>I have a different relationship to social networks than I think most people do. As a [transatlantic telecommuter](https://erikras.com/2011/08/30/transatlantic-telecommuter/), I spend much of my day physically isolated from other humans. When I was doing this before Twitter and Facebook, I was much more chatty and collegial with my coworkers over whatever chat service we used to use. I also blogged more. Whilst I certainly suffer from the distraction, [filter bubble](https://erikras.com/2011/06/01/filter-bubbles-scare-me/), and other dopamine-based addictive issues with Facebook (I saw a report the other day that the average Facebook user that logs in every day checks their newsfeed 150 times a day...seems high, but...) that everyone does. But Facebook also scratches my innate human social itch that would not otherwise be alleviated by watercooler chitchat.  I have [made quite a few friends](/2008/03/15/friends-ive-never-met/) via this blog, and I've even [met some of them](/2012/10/08/meeting-internet-people/) in meatspace, a fantastic antonym to cyberspace.

There have only been a few online friends of mine who were so secretive as to never ever share a photo of themselves, and often use aliases for their name, such that I was never 100% sure what their real name was. When someone tells you, "Hey, you can follow me over on this other network where my name is completely different," it can be a little weird. One such friend was Lee Buckley.

## Lee

I'm not sure when Lee first commented on my blog. For a while I wasn't sure if she was a she, since there was another comment by a totally different person around the time that she showed up: "[Great story, my wife and I were LOL. We live in Segovia...](https://erikras.com/2010/08/27/buying-an-iphone-4-in-spain/#comment-207900025)". Lee was always a regular commenter, which is of great value to a blogger. Comments are the dopamine pellets that keep a blogger going. Here is a sample:

> [Toddler Conversations](https://erikras.com/2011/07/15/toddler-conversations/#comment-252938225) - Oh, god, has she grown up in a couple of weeks! She's gone from baby face to toddler face (so stylish with the longer hair and bangs!) And she's obviously having so much fun speaking English.

> [I wonder where that plane is going](https://erikras.com/2012/02/23/i-wonder-where-that-plane-is-going/#comment-447129405) - I ALWAYS wonder where that plane overhead is going (and always want to be on it). And since I grew up in NYC, knowing that so many flights were going to so many wonderful places drove me nuts (no wonder I ended up moving overseas). This is wonderful!!

> [The Perfect Dirty Joke](https://erikras.com/2011/02/09/the-perfect-dirty-joke/#comment-316969041) - A lot of the Italian restaurants in Madrid are run by Argentines (granted, many are descendants of Italian immigrants). I'm from NYC and it's pretty common that immigrants will open restaurants whose cuisine are not of the culture they come from. My favorite Italian restaurant in my neighborhood in Queens was owned by a guy from Peru and his wife from Ecuador. (They met working in an Italian restaurant).

Of all my 200+ Facebook friends, I have about 8-12 people with whom I communicate with - actual comments, not just likes - on a near daily basis. Like it or not, you end up feeling closest to those people. I actively enjoy their "virtual" company. And Facebook knows it and does its best to show me more things from these people. Lee was one of these select few.

I knew that she had health problems – she cited several as reasons why she couldn't meet us when we were last in Madrid – was 20+ years older than me, and had been in and out of the hospital with cancer and other issues.

On Saturday, a common friend sent me a worried message asking if I knew why people were posting "Rest in peace" messages on her Facebook page. I saw that her last Facebook post was a share of a video – last Monday, exactly one week ago as I write this – that I had shared about [New York state offering free tuition to low income students](https://www.nytimes.com/2017/01/03/nyregion/free-tuition-new-york-colleges-plan.html?_r=0), a post I had shared specifically hoping she'd see it.

Concerned, I immediately contacted someone that I knew was one of her closest "care for my cat during my hospital stay" meatspace friends. He told me to call him on the phone, where he informed me that Lee had passed away on Friday night.

* * *

Unlike when you lose someone with whom you have shared experiences in person, literally everything Lee and I ever said to each other is _recorded_ and can be read back through. That's pretty strange.

To finish up, I think it's appropriate to share two of her comments, to console me, as a good friend would, upon losing my grandfather-in-law and a fetus.

> [Ramón Hidalgo Caballero, 1920 - 2011](https://erikras.com/2011/12/02/ramon-hidalgo-caballero-1920-2011/#comment-378385947) - I bet \[your daughter\] will remember him. Keep showing her photos of him. Also, memory get fuzzy as kids enter older childhood/adolescence, but I bet when she's older she'll remember. Or that's been my experience.
> 
> Also, the photos you've posted here are precious. I never got to know either of my grandads. I envy those who did.

> [Pregnancy Terminated](https://erikras.com/2011/06/11/pregnancy-terminated/#comment-223837448) - Erik, we've never met and probably never will, but I love to visit your blog, read stories about Nora and your family and your town and compare your musings on being a foreigner in Spain to my own.. And at first I didn't want to put a comment here, because your loss is so personal. But I also know that a loss like yours can make other people feel uncertain about what to say, to the point of saying nothing. My sister lost her first baby to crib death when he was 8 weeks old. and I remember how isolated I felt because many of my friends said nothing, under the good intentions of not saying the wrong thing.
> 
> From the impression I get of you and Marga, you seem like exceptional people, and I know that whatever the future will bring you, you'll deal with it with grace and optimism. You both have a lot of love in your life, and that's all anyone really needs. _Un abrazo muy fuerte._

I'll miss you dearly, Lee. _Un abrazo muy fuerte._


Mourning An Internet Friend


<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-10-splash-trails/33569421740_71a39564d2_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image post-thumb" title="Splash Thumbnail">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-10-splash-trails/33569421740_2d97f7b6ee_t.jpg" alt="Splash Thumbnail"/>
</a>

Yesterday my family and a friend of ours went out for a walk along a local river bank. It was as lovely and peaceful as you would expect such a nature walk to be. There was one section where you could go down next to the river, and, as usual, it was lined with smooth round stones, carved by the passage of a millennia of water molecules. While there, I discovered the perfect fusion of two passions that my almost-four-year-old son and I have: throwing rocks into rivers and interesting technical photographic techniques, respectively.  I have an app on my phone called [Slow Shutter Cam](https://itunes.apple.com/us/app/slow-shutter-cam/id357404131?mt=8), which lets you do a variety of photography tricks that you would normally need a serious DSLR to accomplish, one of which is called Light Trail, which is typically used for such things as recording cars on a highway as just streaks of headlights. But I discovered that water splashes also look pretty doggone cool.

Next time I will take a tripod to get crisper backgrounds, but what follows are the results of either me holding the phone by hand, or propping it up on some rocks. Pretty cool if you ask me.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-10-splash-trails/33913476036_58a4f74b0c_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Slow shutter tricks with river rock splashes">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-10-splash-trails/33913476036_f91961d96b.jpg" alt="Slow shutter tricks with river rock splashes"/>
</a>

This is a normal photograph of where we were. Picturesque, don't you think?

Okay, here come the liquid parabolas...

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-10-splash-trails/33913476906_6bc719600d_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Slow shutter tricks with river rock splashes">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-10-splash-trails/33913476906_8a44ecbe20.jpg" alt="Slow shutter tricks with river rock splashes"/>
</a>

Splash!

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-10-splash-trails/33913477036_4f1af48d5c_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Slow shutter tricks with river rock splashes">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-10-splash-trails/33913477036_2c8d0cdf29.jpg" alt="Slow shutter tricks with river rock splashes"/>
</a>

Splash!

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-10-splash-trails/33913477706_d74b984448_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Slow shutter tricks with river rock splashes">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-10-splash-trails/33913477706_221c22c00c.jpg" alt="Slow shutter tricks with river rock splashes"/>
</a>

Splash!

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-10-splash-trails/33913478156_eb13511cb0_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Slow shutter tricks with river rock splashes">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-10-splash-trails/33913478156_bf4c95d4ee.jpg" alt="Slow shutter tricks with river rock splashes"/>
</a>

Splash!

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-10-splash-trails/33913478386_569298f9d4_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Slow shutter tricks with river rock splashes">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-10-splash-trails/33913478386_0fd2ba426f.jpg" alt="Slow shutter tricks with river rock splashes"/>
</a>

Splash!

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-10-splash-trails/33569284910_540a3d8e69_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Slow shutter tricks with river rock splashes">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-10-splash-trails/33569284910_2e3c1028d8.jpg" alt="Slow shutter tricks with river rock splashes"/>
</a>

Splash!

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-10-splash-trails/33569285430_e32970a5c3_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Slow shutter tricks with river rock splashes">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-10-splash-trails/33569285430_89d2b94624.jpg" alt="Slow shutter tricks with river rock splashes"/>
</a>

Splash!

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-10-splash-trails/33569286560_6ce3af94da_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Slow shutter tricks with river rock splashes">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-10-splash-trails/33569286560_b74058fd14.jpg" alt="Slow shutter tricks with river rock splashes"/>
</a>

Splash!

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-10-splash-trails/33569286860_984ec237d7_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Slow shutter tricks with river rock splashes">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-10-splash-trails/33569286860_9cb2aa008c.jpg" alt="Slow shutter tricks with river rock splashes"/>
</a>

Splash!

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-10-splash-trails/33569287030_f88b1ab141_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Slow shutter tricks with river rock splashes">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-10-splash-trails/33569287030_2bc23e84a4.jpg" alt="Slow shutter tricks with river rock splashes"/>
</a>

Splash!

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-10-splash-trails/33569287390_7bbf5a74f3_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Slow shutter tricks with river rock splashes">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-10-splash-trails/33569287390_f5236a252c.jpg" alt="Slow shutter tricks with river rock splashes"/>
</a>

Splash!

Pretty cool, huh? Did you get wet?


Splash Trails


<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-09-return-to-cabarceno-zoo/33084260444_faf26b6742_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image post-thumb" title="Cabárceno - April 2017">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-09-return-to-cabarceno-zoo/33084260444_655404e69f_t.jpg" alt="Cabárceno - April 2017"/>
</a>

The last (and only other) time [we went to Cabárceno Zoo](https://erikras.com/2012/03/11/visiting-cabarceno-zoo-cantabria-tourism/), Nora was not quite three years old. She just turned eight, and her brother, Ian, is about to turn four. It was time to return. It is amusing to compare the prices as I blogged them back then. The adult price went up from 21€ to 30€, the kid price went down from 18€ to 17€, and the family year membership went up from 100€ to 135€. This time we decided to buy the year-long pass, which becomes cheaper if you go more than once.  Since we had been there last time, they have installed an aerial tramway to transport tourists across the rugged terrain. It's a _lot_ of fun silently gliding over the animal exhibits.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-09-return-to-cabarceno-zoo/33797756721_5410837ca6_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Cabárceno - April 2017">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-09-return-to-cabarceno-zoo/33797756721_6ddf2b0ac9.jpg" alt="Cabárceno - April 2017"/>
</a>

One of the tramway stations. One of the three-dozen cars (Car #1) on each line has a glass bottom. We just missed lucking into it twice.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-09-return-to-cabarceno-zoo/33797757521_a191eece73_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Cabárceno - April 2017">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-09-return-to-cabarceno-zoo/33797757521_e292daa2ae.jpg" alt="Cabárceno - April 2017"/>
</a>

We went with Ian's best friend from school, Gael.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-09-return-to-cabarceno-zoo/33797760211_168d6dd796_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Cabárceno - April 2017">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-09-return-to-cabarceno-zoo/33797760211_7fcf0a0dd9.jpg" alt="Cabárceno - April 2017"/>
</a>

Flying over the hippo exhibit.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-09-return-to-cabarceno-zoo/33084256164_0b5db16dde_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Cabárceno - April 2017">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-09-return-to-cabarceno-zoo/33084256164_6467592aa8.jpg" alt="Cabárceno - April 2017"/>
</a>

Four muddy hippos.

<a href="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-09-return-to-cabarceno-zoo/33770456232_4d0bebc1f1_o_d.jpg" target="_blank" class="flickr-image" title="Cabárceno - April 2017">
  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-09-return-to-cabarceno-zoo/33770456232_5a4943eac0.jpg" alt="Cabárceno - April 2017"/>
</a>

Those are bears traveling on their well worn paths. The zoo has between 65 and 70 bears. They aren't 100% sure how many they are because of all the caves in the terrain.

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Elephant selfie with the missus.

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They really don't look so big from up high and non-adjacent to any known objects of scale.

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  <img src="https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-09-return-to-cabarceno-zoo/33084252984_b6307dea1c.jpg" alt="Cabárceno - April 2017"/>
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Gorgeous view of Santander in the background. Pro Tip: Don't wait until right before lunch when the kids can't stop saying "I'm hungry!!" ever two seconds before taking your family group shot.

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Giraffes sure are strange creatures.

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The girls.

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Turkeys have the ugliest faces. This one was all puffed out, presumably to cool himself down, as it was quite warm. As before, the farm animal section was a great hit with the kids. While they spent time ripping grass from a nearby lawn to feed through a slit to some goats, I had a nice rest in the shade.

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Is there anything better than lying under a tree on a hot sunny day? I think maybe not.

After a brief rest, we walked over to the birds of prey show. It's been a long time since I've seen a spectacle and immediately begun planning how I can return to the show with all the people I love. Both my wife and I said, almost simultaneously, "We have to bring my parents to see this," each referring to our own progenitors.

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Before the show, for 3€, you could hold one of the birds. I chose the obvious species. Best 3€ I've spent for a photo op ever. It was surprisingly light; it couldn't have been more than 4-5 kg. He didn't mind at all being so close to my face.

They have trained the birds to fly as close as possible to the spectators, sometimes even nicking them with a wingtip. Some of the vultures had 2.5 meter wingspans. At the end of the show, the trainers come out with a treat on a big rope that they swirl around. Then, they direct your attention to a nearby mountaintop, where you can just barely make out a bird, which then swoops down, low to the ground the whole time, and just as it is arriving the trainer flings the faux prey into the air, and the bird grabs it. It was pretty spectacular.

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After a short break for ice cream, we went to see the gorillas and tigers.

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The gorillas in the gorilla exhibit did some of the best gorilla-ing I've ever witnessed. It was like a full documentary in 3D. The casting director did an excellent job. We had two juveniles playfully beating the crap out of each other, whilst the rest of their family ignored them. We had an attack where one of them malevolently knocked another one out of a hammock, which required the huge patriarch to intervene, and last, but not least, we had a mother caring for her newborn, which peed all over her. You couldn't write a better gorilla script.

Stay 'til the end to see how a gorilla mother wipes her baby's bottom.

<iframe src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/fJX9aMDJI0w?ecver=2" width="640" height="360" frameborder="0" style="position:absolute;width:100%;height:100%;left:0" allowfullscreen></iframe>

Then it was off to the tigers.

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There were three tigers, who all had to be kept separate so they didn't maul each other to death.

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The white tiger still had clotted blood on his little stump of a tail, evidence of the animosity.

From the animals I most wanted to pet to the other end of the spectrum.

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Some of them looked like they had two heads. I never kn

ew there were so many different kinds of rattlesnakes.

![](https://d1js6qm6cshi0v.cloudfront.net/oldblog/2017-04-09-return-to-cabarceno-zoo/l4FGBFxFdJDwpwIz6.gif)

Nope. Nope. Nope.

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It's no wonder we chose these guys for the source of evil in Eden.

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There's something about having legs that makes animals more cuddly.

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Ian and his friend are in the three-year-old preschool class, which is called Turtles, so they have learned a lot about them over the school year so far.

What a wonderful day! Cabárceno Zoo has shot up to the top of the list of places to take friends and family who come to visit. Plus, it's very car-heavy, i.e. you have to drive between exhibits, so even our less able-bodied family members will be able to attend. We're gonna use the heck out of that annual pass!


10 posts from April, 2017