A friend from high school days, Eva Jean Young, lives in a San Antonio Senior Retirement Center. She sent me a list of events that were sponsored by the activities department of her home. First, there was time set aside for exercise. Later, there was a meeting for the ladies called the Delta Society while the men were having fun on the golf-putting green. But the highlight of the occasion was a period of time set aside for an activity called reminiscing.

When people are young, say fifty and below, there is very little motivation to spend time reminiscing. But, when we enter into our sixties and seventies and eighties, the art of reminiscing is a delightful and rewarding way to spend quality time with others who happen to be in the same age bracket.

It can also be quality time spent with that smaller and more cohesive group known as family. When that happens, we are likely to encounter a few road blocks. I can hear it now - "Oh no, not another boring story from grandpa!" Or "Doesn't grandma know we have heard that story a dozen times?"

These comments could seal our lips and silence our voices if we allow these road blocks to remain. Since every life that is lived becomes an integral part of the history of our time, we must not allow others to push the mute button that prevents our stories from being told. And so, with the mute button disengaged, here are some of my "I Remember When" stories. They are told in no particular order; they are simply the written form of that fascinating activity known as reminiscing.

I remember when gasoline was ten cents a gallon. No, that is not a misprint - gasoline, where I lived in West Texas in 1939, was ten cents a gallon. I was a student in high school making seventy-five cents a week in a part time job. With that amount of money I could buy two gallons of gas for the car; spend thirty more cents for two hamburgers and soft drinks; have twenty-five cents left over to keep in my pocket which gave me a secure feeling of being financially solvent when I went out on a date.

Today's young people live in a world far removed from the world I lived in. My great- grandson, Lance, once told me that he needed money to buy gas for his pickup truck. In exchange for yard work, I gave him a check for $18.00. If gasoline were still ten cents a gallon, his $18.00 would have bought him 180 gallons of gas. At 20 miles per gallon he could have driven his truck a distance of 3,000 miles.

Remembering 1940 politics. Although I was not raised in a politically active family, I became an exception to the norm. I distinctly remember when President Franklin D. Roosevelt was running for his third term in office in the year 1940. As the president of my senior class in high school, I became interested in national politics, and I soon discovered what being in the minority meant.

I was an admirer of Senator William Borah of Idaho who was a staunch isolationist and a supporter of the Neutrality Act of 1939. President Roosevelt opposed the Neutrality Act and that was the beginning of my descent into the dark recesses of being a certified political minority.

In 1940 the Democratic Party controlled the South, including Louisiana and Texas. I don't recall any of my classmates giving their public support to any politician who was not a dyed-in-the-wool Democrat. Then, one day I showed up in school wearing a “Wendell Wilkie For President” political button. While I admired Roosevelt for all the innovative and progressive programs which helped to lead us out of the Great Depression, I was still an advocate of the Neutrality Act (a position that changed after Pearl Harbor and after serving in the U.s. Navy). So, I gave my youthful enthusiasm and support to Wendell Wilkie, the Republican candidate from Ohio.

Yes. I remember well when Roosevelt was elected president for the third time. How could I forget? I supported the losing candidate and became known as a member of the loyal opposition. In the general election, Roosevelt received 499 electoral votes and Wilkie received 82. If I had worn my Wilkie button before the election for senior class president, I may not have won. On the other hand, I may have been the Harry Truman of my day - winning against all odds.

Money and Innovations. Yes, I remember 1940. The average income for an American family was $1,725.00 a year. New cars were selling at the high end for about $850.00 and you could rent a nice house for $30.00 a month. Movie tickets cost 30 cents and you could send a letter from coast to coast for 3 cents. 1940 was a year of innovations for the average household. Hoover vacuum cleaners were advertised with the slogan, "It beats as it sweeps as it cleans." Their deluxe model had a retail price of $52.50 which made it out of the reach of the average household.

It was a year in which the Radio Corporation of America was promoting their 1941 RCA Victor Triumph Radio, featuring six RCA Victor preferred type tubes for only $16.95. They were sold with the slogan, "A Super-Sensitive, Super-Styled Superheterodyne Radio." I am certain that I listened to the weekly episode of The Lone Ranger on their economy model which was priced at under $10.

The practice of reminiscing is usually an enjoyable experience bringing a smile to our face and a soft laugh in our voice. But there are times when memories of the past produce a totally different reaction.

California Adventure. It was on a trip to California when I experienced an event that made my heart beat faster and elevated my level of anxiety in a dramatic fashion. There were four of us on the trip: me, my wife Doris, my cousin Mary, and her husband Bob. While San Francisco was our destination, we decided to spend some of our time in one of America's most scenic parks, Yosemite National Park.

Park Rangers were on hand to provide useful information about the park and its population of free roaming wildlife including the California state animal, the Grizzly bear. This was the beginning of our desire to spot an untamed bear in its natural habitat. Fortunately, it was not long until we located one in a clearing in the woods not far from the road.

With camera in hand I got out of the car in order to obtain a close up picture of the bear. Unfortunately, I did not notice the presence of two bear cubs hiding in the bushes behind their mama who quickly turned her attention from her cubs to the potential threat of harm to them from a car load of curious and stupid humans beings.

The natural instincts of a mama bear to protect her cubs turned this bear from being the object of human curiosity into a ferocious animal intent on doing bodily harm to anyone trespassing on her home territory and create a real threat to her cubs. My mind began processing all of this information as I focused the camera on the bear she focused her attention on me and began a rapid pace toward me.

This was no time to try to reason with an angry mama bear, so I made a mad dash to the open door of the car and dove, head first, into the front seat while others shut the door. With a rapidly heart, I knew that it was not the intention to simply frighten me, it was her intention to first maul me and then with a powerful blow from her giant right paw, bring my life to a premature end. She indicated this by jumping up on the hood of the car where, with blood in her eyes, she glared at us and left a paw print on our dusty windshield.

As we traveled on to San Francisco, we made sure that no one washed our windshield - we wanted to make sure that our story of an angry mama bear was a believable one and that I was snatched from the jaws of death and had one more story to add to my collection of "I Remember When stories. "