The Class Of 68

In the 16 months I’ve been writing my blog I’ve mentioned, on quite a few occasions, my time in Chrysler when I served my apprenticeship with 17 other guys from 1968 to 1972. In March of this year, one of those 17, Harry, stumbled across my blog and got in touch. He mentioned a couple of others; Garry who had been shipwrecked in the Pacific and Eddie who was now running an engineering business in Germany. I managed to find Garry on Facebook and from memory was given Eddie’s e-mail address by Harry, who has German relatives. I’ve always kept in touch with another Eddie so that was five who were now in contact – but what about the other 13? I set out to try and trace them – after all I’ve nothing else to do with my time! Our last reunion was in 1992 but what had happened to the missing 13 members of the Class of 68 during the intervening 17 years?

I started off with Douglas - I recalled that he was employed in the Scotch Whisky industry. Accessing the part of my brain which generally holds masses of useless information, I came up with the name of his employer and an e-mail to his old company managed to trace him quite quickly.

That was the easy one but after that it became increasingly difficult however I’m pleased to say that Douglas joined me in the task. The first thing to be said is that the internet is amazing and without it, the search would have been significantly more difficult and time consuming but the ease with which guys who ‘disappeared’ 17 years ago were traced was quite amazing.

Remembering that Graeme had been involved with the auto industry in the Midlands, I simply typed his name into Google, sent an e-mail off to the last company mentioned and there he was – in my in box within 24 hours. Similarly with Allan who worked in the oil services industry in the North of Scotland – a simple search on Google and an e-mail to his company and he had joined the list of the rediscovered.

Meanwhile Douglas was taking the easy option. He already knew where Jim was and had a good idea about Robert but managed to get his PA to do the searching for him for the others and on a daily basis the Class of 68 were gradually brought together again.

It became something of a race between myself and Douglas’s PA. Charles was proving elusive but I reckoned he was working in Angus Council and sure enough the PA won the race and Charles was found. She also found Peter, Herbert, Tommy (another one) and Kenny.

The inboxes were now bulging with long lost tales of what we got up to in those halcyon days in Chrysler but we were still missing a few souls. There was Alistair who I reckoned was in the teaching profession and who was traced a few days ago by, yes you’ve guessed it, the amazing PA! And so we’re down to one missing apprentice – Jim Shields who was supposedly working in the shipping construction industry in Glasgow. I reckon we’re only a few days from reaching him and that will end the search for the Class of 68.

Whether we’ll all make it to the reunion we hope to hold next year remains to be seen but I’ll be there for sure.

The tankard, which was presented to Garry on his 21^st birthday, shows the names of the 18 who made up the Class of 68.

The following URLs will take you to the previous Blog postings about the ‘Chrysler days’.

http://tomsfrenchblog.blogspot.com/2008/07/sloop-john-b-finally-finally.html

http://tomsfrenchblog.blogspot.com/2008/09/pure-and-unadulterated-nostalgia-i.html

http://tomsfrenchblog.blogspot.com/2008/11/interviews.html

http://tomsfrenchblog.blogspot.com/2008/11/go-and-get-bucket-of-steam.html

http://tomsfrenchblog.blogspot.com/2009/05/chrysler-goes-bust.html

Update On Recent Blogs

Thought I’d update you on a couple of things I blogged about recently. Firstly, there is a new investigation into the Lockerbie bombing of Pan Am Flight 103. If you read my last post on this subject (5^th October), you’ll realize that the Al Megrahi trial was a bit of a farce and the conviction would never have stood in a ‘normal’ court.

I’m sure there were all sorts of deals happening in the background of the trial and the subsequent conviction and appeal, but most commentators accepted that Megrahi could not have acted alone (if indeed he was involved at all) and the new investigation is designed to establish if anyone else was involved.

I reckon that with Megrahi supposedly dying, they wont bother to prove or disprove his innocence or guilt and so the focus of the new investigation is into the eight other suspects, none of whom were even interviewed.

You know – the more you hear of this, the more you realize that something really smelly went on!

Secondly, I wrote the other day about Sarkozy trying to force his son, Jean, into the chairmanship of La Défense, the Canary Wharf look-alike. Well Jean, or Prince Jean as the French press have dubbed him, has withdrawn from the ‘race’ despite the fact that there was NO race. He cited the bad publicity his father was getting and explained that it would be best for all concerned if he continued colouring-in and listening to stories at his kindergarten, rather than run one of Europe’s most important business centres. A good result for La Défense but of course the Sarkozy clan are trying to claim some credit for actually listening to the French public. Have they no shame? Sorry – they’re politicians and as we know from the floating duck house, the bath plug and the porn films, all claimed for on expenses, politicians don’t know the meaning of the word !

PS – a bit of a cop-out this blog but I had a late dinner party last night and looking at the half-empty (half full ?) port decanter, I’m surprised I that I can even open my PC and boot it up!

The Tory Joker

The House of Commons must be a depressing place to be at the moment. No more troughing in the almost unlimited expense system which existed until recently and which most MPs (of all parties it has to be said) regarded as a legitimate extension to their parliamentary salary of £64,000 per year. The Labour MPs face humiliation within the next 6 months or so at the next election, forcing many of them onto the streets where the prospect of finding a job, for the first time, terrifies them, whilst the Tories, salivating power for the first time since 1997, are still appalled at the thought that the polls might be wrong and they won’t actually be voted into office.

Those of us who take an interest in politics find it all fascinating and the most fascinating aspect of it all is the continued attacks on Mr Gordon Brown, our poor, downtrodden Prime Minister. Now those of you who read my blog, know that I cannot stand the man. He may well be good company in the pub watching the footie with a pint in his hand but never has a man been so clearly ill-equipped to run a country as this guy. Even his own party knows it and occasionally, they let him know that if they’re all out of work in 6 months time, it’ll most certainly be his fault. Piling misery upon misery are the Tories whose current strategy is to attack, attack, attack. This can become a rather unedifying spectacle but when they do it with style and above all humour, it becomes good fun and game sport for all.

I have to say it doesn’t take much to reduce Brown to an embarrassing side show in the Commons. A bit of wit and repartee with the Prime Minister is met by sullen looks and humourless ripostes. It’s probably just as well that he doesn’t have staplers to throw or fax machines to reduce to their electronic components as he hurls them to the floor and so he sits and growls, completely incapable of humerous debate. A few jokes. A bit of repartee with the Opposition. A smile or two. It would all help but at the end of the day, when the Tories wish to reduce the Prime Minister to a complete laughing stock, up steps William Hague, the Shadow Foreign Secretary.

You may remember him stepping into the highlight as a 16 year old at the 1977 Tory party conference. He then entered politics, as he was destined to do with a middle name of Jefferson, and ended up becoming the Leader of the Opposition in 1997 after the Labour landslide win but then had to resign when Labour won their second term in Parliament in 2001. During his 4 years as Leader of the Tories, his time at the Dispatch Box was wonderful to watch. He was constructive, knew his brief inside out and more, nearly every speech was liberally sprinkled with humour.

These days, when the opportunity calls for the Opposition to ‘have a go’ at the Government, the Tories press him into action and up he steps . The Labour MPs cringe because they know that here is a speaker with authority and who will reduce their Minister to a gibbering wreck.

Last week, as Shadow Foreign Secretary, he was debating the proposal to put Tony Blair into the seat as President of The European Union. As usual, he managed to get his point across with great good humour and at the same time, poke relentless fun at Gordon Brown, despite the fact that it was David Milliband who was his opposite number that day. Look at the YouTube video of his speech. Milliband just sits there in hysterics.

http://order-order.com/2009/10/22/sarko-says-non-to-president-blair/

Scotland …. Scotland … Oops!

He stood up and screamed , West Ham scarf tied round his wrist, shaven head beaded with sweat, veins protruding from his neck, jaw jutting forwards and teeth bared, his face scarlet with rage. He managed to fit the c-word once and the f-word three times into one busy little sentence.

Reading that paragraph written by a journalist covering a recent football match brought it all back to me in a flash; those vicious West Ham fans, desperate for blood, heading in our direction, ready to tear us limb from limb. It did not look good. In fact, on reflection, it looked positively suicidal.

We’d bought some corporate tickets to take two senior clients to the football. It was England vs Scotland at Wembley. The winners, over two legs, would go through to the European championships. The ‘corporate’ tickets cost £750 each and included a pre-match meal, a post match dinner with special guests and unlimited booze. It was still expensive but we’d been working on this deal for nearly four years and we were getting to the end so a bit of ‘corporate hospitality’ was not amiss, even at these prices.

The problem was quite apparent as soon as we took our seats. We were in the England ‘end’ of the ground and whilst there’s quite a few things you can do to remain inconspicuous in hostile territory, wearing full Scottish dress (i.e. – a kilt- as one of the clients was), is not one of them.

Despite the occasional neanderthal glances in our direction, the first half was passing relatively peacefully, that is until right against the run of play, Scotland had the temerity to score a goal. Now it’s rare enough for Scotland to score a goal but for them to score against England, well, wrong end or not, two of the four of us (the Scots) instinctively stood and cheered.

Bad move. As the elation poured from us in shrieks of ‘C’mon Scotland’ and our colleagues tried to drag us back into our seats, it was noticeable that quite a few of the surrounding England ‘supporters’ had left their seats and were heading in our direction. I immediately noticed the West Ham scarves and remembered that good footballing club or not, their fans were amongst the worst on the planet.

I refused to be intimidated by this show of ungentlemanly behaviour by the ‘home’ fans and continued to cheer my team’s goal whilst goading the approaching mob, happy in the knowledge that there were several stewards around who, no doubt, would calm the Neanderthals down and we could continue to watch the game. No such luck. The stewards took one look at the shaven-headed thugs and did the best vanishing act you’ve seen since David Copperfield made that Jumbo Jet disappear!

My life was just passing before me. I was wondering if, upon reports of our deaths, the deal would still be completed. Would the company categorize this as ‘death on business’ and my heirs would get four times my salary as an insurance payout? And just as the first thug was close enough that I could read the tattoos on his tongue, the long arm of the law intervened and we were surrounded by the boys in blue. Phew!

The outcome was that we were ‘arrested’ , held by the police until they could establish what had happened (wrong tickets – wrong end etc) and eventually, despite our protestations, we were ejected from the game.

Needless to say that managing to get two senior banking clients ‘arrested’ and thrown out of a football game caused a bit of consternation within BT but I’m pleased to say the deal was completed and we celebrated by – yup – you’ve guessed it - by going to another football match. This time in Paris where hopefully there would be no West Ham supporters.

Where's The Beef ?

Guy and I were a bit early for his appointment at the hospital last Wednesday so we decided to get lunch at McDonalds (McDo to the French). We didn’t have enough time to actually sit down so we went through the McDo Drive and really impressive it was too. It might have been due to the fact that it was lunchtime but there were McDo staff everywhere. It was just like when you arrive at an American airport Hire Car compound – you’re assaulted by people at every turn and before you know it you’re in your car and off you go. It was just like that. The car hadn’t even stopped when a guy accosted us and asked what we wanted. We placed our order and were given a ticket. We continued driving and then somebody took our ticket off us and then asked for the money. We continued driving (very slowly I may add) and another person took our ticket again and shouted through the window (of the restaurant) and then a carrier bag was thrust through the car window and we were waved off.

‘€11.50 – that’s expensive for two McDonalds’, I said to Guy – ‘what happened to the 99p burger deal.’ ‘That’s Burger King, dongo’, he said. A bit confused, I drove onto the hospital where we parked in the basement (and yes – you pay to park at French hospitals) and eagerly opened the carrier bag. Yup – there were the fries and the orange juices and then the burgers. What a disappointment. You see these adverts on the telly where the guy takes hold of his burger with both hands and then finds his jaws don’t open wide enough for him to take a bite. I could have swallowed my excuse for a burger in one fell swoop. It was pathetic. I've seen bigger fairy cakes! Has no-one ever taken these robbing bandits to the Trading Standards for complete and utter misrepresentation?

Like many crap places I go for lunch (the Fawlty Pergola for one), I swear I will never return but I just had to give McDo one more chance. It is, after all, where divorced parents go to hand their kids over for the weekend so it has a special place in children’s (and step-parents) hearts, but they’re a bit old for ‘Happy Meals’ now so we’ve upgraded to Big Macs – ha! Big Macs – that’s gotta be a joke!

And so today, just as the memory of a rubbish €11.50 meal was fading, I read that McDonalds worldwide profits have increased, primarily due to their new innovation – a 1/3^rd pound burger! I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or look in the French Yellow Pages for the equivalent of the Trading Standards office.