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Chuck Warn

Chuck Warn

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A.E. Neuman

A.E. Neuman
What me worry?

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friend of dogs and fan of baseball

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Yes We Did

Yes We Did
2011

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Wednesday, November 12, 2014

The Day After Veteran's Day 2014

The day after Veteran's Day finds me thinking a lot about my Dad Virgil who we buried in Toledo nine years ago, on Veteran's Day 2005. If there is a force in the universe after all, the fact that a
D-Day veteran like my Dad lived 83years then was delivered to afterlife on the one day everyone honors vets presents to me the possibility that oversight controls on our lives indeed exist.
Or maybe it is pure coincidence.
Anyways, RIP Virgil Warn. Thanks for giving me life. Thanks for flying into D-Day on a glider and managing to survive your battle wounds. Thanks for teaching me that when life gets tough, baseball and dogs can bring me peace. Thanks for lots more too.
I love and miss you Dad.

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

DayAfterElectionDayBlues2014

The GOP wave hit yesterday. Now the race for the WhiteHouse2016 is on big time. Things will get done and when they do JoeBiden will be given a lot of credit from both sides of the aisle.
Obama?
He is now back to where he is most comfortable: head of the BarReviewCommittee while old pro Biden gets his hands dirty up to the elbows fixing the broken government. Meanwhile, Hillary's time has passed.
Now it's on to the convention (Columbus?) and let's win there...

P.s. Within one week, baseball went away till spring and the Dems got shellacked...need new interests...maybe a new rescue dog?

Thursday, October 23, 2014

WarnWorldDailyJournal #Roxie #RIP

Thinking of Roxie...Sunday, July 13, 2014

Sunday morning coming down...been up most of the night with Roxie my 14 year old Husky rescue who is dying. She is a sweet girl and only today have I begun to see the twinkle leave her happy dog eyes.
She does not deserve the ugly open wound that I continue to dress several times daily with triple thick paper towels held in place by an ace bandage that has become truly disgusting with Roxie's seeping month long daily bleeding out. Her beautiful Husky coat is still that except where her tumors have taken over her body which is pretty much all over.
It is hard to write this with the tears blurring. My vision.
Three months ago yesterday, I consoled my beloved cat Ned three days before his nineteenth birthday and his ashes now sit on my office fireplace mantle with those of his sister LuLu who died in 2006 and my beloved dogs Bogart, Sunny and Emma. Roxie will soon join them there and then it will just be me and my 15 year old Shih Tzu Teddy.
Life.
What is it?
Who deserves it?
Death.
Who welcomes it?
Those are two things shared by all living things.
Death makes me sad.
Life also makes me sad.
Happy?
Love.
Share.
Pain.
Health.
Injury.
Illness.
Healing.
Scars.
Heartsick.
The End

Today is the last ball game before the All-Star break and my Detroit Tigers have beaten our chief division rivals three straight to take a seven and one half game lead on the Kansas City Royals.
And so goes the road to a fourth consecutive American League Central Division championship for the Tigs.
Go Tigers!
Monday, July 14, 2014
Happy Bastille Day!
Roxie is still alive but has been unable to get out of her dog bed next to my bed for 36 hours. She might die on her own sometime today but, if not, tomorrow I will do what is necessary to ease her suffering. Roxie is a good girl and I am going to miss her a lot.
I am sitting with her in her death bed just three months after doing the same for my cat Ned who had been a large part of my family since August 1995. The death of my pets has been a common thread throughout my life since 1955 when my dog Suzie died on our farm outside Toledo on Hellwig Road.
In 1963, I turned 13 years old and started liking girls a lot more at the same time my Mom divorced my Dad after he lost his job at Rossford Army Depot when JFK got elected in 1960 and cut the defense budget enough for the ripple to be felt by a D-Day veteran working as a lumber handler at Rossford Army Depot who counted among his closest pals at work a bunch of "colored guys" as African Americans were called then in Toledo.
Anyways, my Norman Rockwell life on the shores of Lake Erie from the age of eight until thirteen playing baseball every day at Pryke's Field with kids from the neighborhood ended abruptly in May 1963 when Mom left dad and took me with her, not that Dad even asked me if I wanted to live with him and his Mom whose apartment in the city he moved to in South Toledo.
My point here is that the first thing Mom did after she kicked Dad out was put our dog Ringy to "sleep".
And that was my second life experience with the death of a dog I loved. Ringy was given to my Mom by my Dad as a puppy the same week I was born on September 13, 1949.
One of the best stories I ever heard from my Mom involved the time Ringy saved me as an infant in a buggy from a rat that jumped from the roof of the store my Mom had parked me outside of while she bought milk. She saw something fall in with me as she,was paying for the milk and as she rushed towards me to check out what it was our new puppy Ringy beat her to my buggy and jumped right in to chomp down on the rat before it could do the same to baby Chuck. The story is the source of my lifelong dog love and rat hate. Something very basic was forever embedded into my brain. I heard that story often enough in my youth to have a real memory of the scene created from hearing the story rather than any baby memory.

So just to summarize my 1963 so far: puberty, parents divorce, living with single Mom, Ringy dead, Reno Beach to Toledo, Eisenhower Junior High to Woodward High School.
Then in November, JFK was killed and I got the news in Latin class after lunch from our severe but friendly principal Virgil Sloan over the speakers that echoed throughout the eerie silence of hallways and classrooms filled with the most students of any high school in Toledo then at 2,400 plus hundreds more teachers and staff, as all of us reacted with total shock and silence.
My final memory from 1963 was playing penny ante poker on New Year's Eve with some kids from our North Toledo neighborhood that Mom and me moved into early September, 1963 after living the summer in the family room of Polly and Bill Harder, my Godparents, on Williston Road a few miles up from Woodville Road and the eventual and now lamented Woodville Mall which I only visited once in 2003 when I was home from LA to help my Mom during her final days.
In the fall of 1963, I entered Wooward High School as a freshman along with 700 kids I never met before. My Mom graduated from Woodward in 1943 and we both felt good about me following in our family tradition.
And so on...
Roxie is alert but remains immobile and incontenant. Would I want to go on like that?
Would Roxie?
Not likely.

Tuesday, July 15, 2014
Midnight finds me feeling helpless to do anything to help Roxie.
Except let her know I love her.
3am update: she is still alive.
Later that same day...
Roxie is dead.
Our vet Doctor Mohan at Shadow Hills Pet Clinic gave her two shots, the first to sedate her then the one that ended my sweet girl's life. I cried over her before taking her body to the crematory then cried even harder when the guy wheeled her away to the furnace on her last journey.
Byebye baby girl, my sweet Roxie.
This Ides of July is sad because Roxie died today.
It is also the day of the Annual MLB All Star Game ‪#‎asg‬ and that makes me mix a wild vision of past dogs and baseball games including other all star games beginning in the early 1960s when they had a short experiment with having TWO All Star games each season which was soon judged to be excessively diluting baseball's magic dust with the American baseball fan, including this 12 year old Detroit Tiger fanatic from Reno Beach, Ohio.
Since then, I have always tuned into the all star game and even attended the 1984 game at Candlestick Park in San Francisco while up there for the Democratic National Convention that nominated Walter Mondale and Geraldine Ferraro to take the shellacking from Ronald Reagan.
Dogs and baseball live together in my mind and soul and have ever since I can remember back to our Hellwig Road farmhouse days in the 50s with an outhouse where we pumped our own water and filled a galvanized tub every Sunday night for the week's bath while listening to radio dramas like Gunsmokes and Fibber McGhee.
Our dogs were always around the house, in or out.
Ringy.
So-So
The strays that adopted us for weeks or months at a time including a memorable blind in one eye boxer bitch who I loved as a 5 year old and the poor little spaniel that got hit by a farmers combine during harvest season 1956. I can still recall vividly that farmer coming up our farmhouses driveway carrying our dead dog and looking like he felt really bad about it.
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
Up at 3 am after sleeping soundly for 5 or 6 hours trying to dream about Roxie and my other dead dogs.
My eyes,continue to fill with tears as I try to capture my feelings of the moment In order to understand that I AM feeling.
Life is fleeting.
Sunday, July 13, 2014
Sunday morning coming down...been up most of the night with Roxie my 14 year old Husky rescue who is dying. She is a sweet girl and only today have I begun to see the twinkle leave her happy dog eyes.
She does not deserve the ugly open wound that I continue to dress several times daily with triple thick paper towels held in place by an ace bandage that has become truly disgusting with Roxie's seeping month long daily bleeding out. Her beautiful Husky coat is still that except where her tumors have taken over her body which is pretty much all over.
It is hard to write this with the tears blurring. My vision.
Three months ago yesterday, I consoled my beloved cat Ned three days before his nineteenth birthday and his ashes now sit on my office fireplace mantle with those of his sister LuLu who died in 2006 and my beloved dogs Bogart, Sunny and Emma. Roxie will soon join them there and then it will just be me and my 15 year old Shih Tzu Teddy.
Life.
What is it?
Who deserves it?
Death.
Who welcomes it?
Those are two things shared by all living things.
Death makes me sad.
Life also makes me sad.
Happy?
Love.
Share.
Pain.
Health.
Injury.
Illness.
Healing.
Scars.
Heartsick.
The End

Today is the last ball game before the All-Star break and my Detroit Tigers have beaten our chief division rivals three straight to take a seven and one half game lead on the Kansas City Royals.
And so goes the road to a fourth consecutive American League Central Division championship for the Tigs.
Go Tigers!
Monday, July 14, 2014
Happy Bastille Day!
Roxie is still alive but has been unable to get out of her dog bed next to my bed for 36 hours. She might die on her own sometime today but, if not, tomorrow I will do what is necessary to ease her suffering. Roxie is a good girl and I am going to miss her a lot.
I am sitting with her in her death bed just three months after doing the same for my cat Ned who had been a large part of my family since August 1995. The death of my pets has been a common thread throughout my life since 1955 when my dog Suzie died on our farm outside Toledo on Hellwig Road.
In 1963, I turned 13 years old and started liking girls a lot more at the same time my Mom divorced my Dad after he lost his job at Rossford Army Depot when JFK got elected in 1960 and cut the defense budget enough for the ripple to be felt by a D-Day veteran working as a lumber handler at Rossford Army Depot who counted among his closest pals at work a bunch of "colored guys" as African Americans were called then in Toledo.
Anyways, my Norman Rockwell life on the shores of Lake Erie from the age of eight until thirteen playing baseball every day at Pryke's Field with kids from the neighborhood ended abruptly in May 1963 when Mom left dad and took me with her, not that Dad even asked me if I wanted to live with him and his Mom whose apartment in the city he moved to in South Toledo.
My point here is that the first thing Mom did after she kicked Dad out was put our dog Ringy to "sleep".
And that was my second life experience with the death of a dog I loved. Ringy was given to my Mom by my Dad as a puppy the same week I was born on September 13, 1949.
One of the best stories I ever heard from my Mom involved the time Ringy saved me as an infant in a buggy from a rat that jumped from the roof of the store my Mom had parked me outside of while she bought milk. She saw something fall in with me as she,was paying for the milk and as she rushed towards me to check out what it was our new puppy Ringy beat her to my buggy and jumped right in to chomp down on the rat before it could do the same to baby Chuck. The story is the source of my lifelong dog love and rat hate. Something very basic was forever embedded into my brain. I heard that story often enough in my youth to have a real memory of the scene created from hearing the story rather than any baby memory.

So just to summarize my 1963 so far: puberty, parents divorce, living with single Mom, Ringy dead, Reno Beach to Toledo, Eisenhower Junior High to Woodward High School.
Then in November, JFK was killed and I got the news in Latin class after lunch from our severe but friendly principal Virgil Sloan over the speakers that echoed throughout the eerie silence of hallways and classrooms filled with the most students of any high school in Toledo then at 2,400 plus hundreds more teachers and staff, as all of us reacted with total shock and silence.
My final memory from 1963 was playing penny ante poker on New Year's Eve with some kids from our North Toledo neighborhood that Mom and me moved into early September, 1963 after living the summer in the family room of Polly and Bill Harder, my Godparents, on Williston Road a few miles up from Woodville Road and the eventual and now lamented Woodville Mall which I only visited once in 2003 when I was home from LA to help my Mom during her final days.
In the fall of 1963, I entered Wooward High School as a freshman along with 700 kids I never met before. My Mom graduated from Woodward in 1943 and we both felt good about me following in our family tradition.
And so on...
Roxie is alert but remains immobile and incontenant. Would I want to go on like that?
Would Roxie?
Not likely.

Tuesday, July 15, 2014
Midnight finds me feeling helpless to do anything to help Roxie.
Except let her know I love her.
3am update: she is still alive.
Later that same day...
Roxie is dead.
Our vet Doctor Mohan at Shadow Hills Pet Clinic gave her two shots, the first to sedate her then the one that ended my sweet girl's life. I cried over her before taking her body to the crematory then cried even harder when the guy wheeled her away to the furnace on her last journey.
Byebye baby girl, my sweet Roxie.
This Ides of July is sad because Roxie died today.
It is also the day of the Annual MLB All Star Game #asg and that makes me mix a wild vision of past dogs and baseball games including other all star games beginning in the early 1960s when they had a short experiment with having TWO All Star games each season which was soon judged to be excessively diluting baseball's magic dust with the American baseball fan, including this 12 year old Detroit Tiger fanatic from Reno Beach, Ohio.
Since then, I have always tuned into the all star game and even attended the 1984 game at Candlestick Park in San Francisco while up there for the Democratic National Convention that nominated Walter Mondale and Geraldine Ferraro to take the shellacking from Ronald Reagan.
Dogs and baseball live together in my mind and soul and have ever since I can remember back to our Hellwig Road farmhouse days in the 50s with an outhouse where we pumped our own water and filled a galvanized tub every Sunday night for the week's bath while listening to radio dramas like Gunsmokes and Fibber McGhee.
Our dogs were always around the house, in or out.
Ringy.
So-So
The strays that adopted us for weeks or months at a time including a memorable blind in one eye boxer bitch who I loved as a 5 year old and the poor little spaniel that got hit by a farmers combine during harvest season 1956. I can still recall vividly that farmer coming up our farmhouses driveway carrying our dead dog and looking like he felt really bad about it.
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
Up at 3 am after sleeping soundly for 5 or 6 hours trying to dream about Roxie and my other dead dogs.
My eyes,continue to fill with tears as I try to capture my feelings of the moment In order to understand that I AM feeling.
Life is fleeting.
v

Saturday, October 11, 2014

Happy 64th Birthday to Karen Lee!




Saturday, October 11, 2014

On October 13—two days from now, on Monday—my first wife, Karen Lee Shinn Warn (those are just the names I know her by) will celebrate her 64th birthday. Wherever she is and however her life turned out in the years since we last spoke after my second divorce in 1983, she will always remain my first and forever love since the first night we met on a hot summer Sunday night high school dance outside Toledo on July 24, 1966.
After my #2 Suzan (she changed the “s’ to a “z” for good luck) returned to Toronto from our home in Los Angeles due to the flame out of our one year marriage which began so promisingly (!!!) at 5am on the Strip in Vegas at the Candlelight Wedding Chapel next to the Riviera, I decided that I wanted to see Karen (by then calling herself LEE, her middle name, which I had suggested in the 70s after listening to her constant complaining that KAREN sounded like a rock) and she was open to the idea on the phone so I drove from LA to SF with my dog Cooper  though my vivid memory of that day remains her obviously feeling like she made a mistake agreeing to have lunch. It was awkward for us both, enough to halt further communication since that day. I still often think about her but since she has never reached out I must assume she has no interest in sharing war stories.
Anyways... Susan (this was before she got lucky) and I had a splendid wedding party on my birthday September 13, 1982 including her parents who surprised us by flying in from Toronto along with my business partners from Boise and an ex girl friend of mine who Susan and I had visited in Vail and flew in for the event. The ceremony was performed by ELVIS his own self so it is truly shocking that my second marriage collapsed so easily after my first one endured over a decade.
Both became training for my third and final marriage which lasted from January 7, 1989 until she moved away to Savannah  on July 31, 2000.

Three years later to the day, my Mom died on July 31, 2003.