10-4. It’s today’s date. It was also a popular response when you acknowledged that you heard someone, especially in the 1970s. The phrase was often followed by “good buddy.” 10-4 was a way of saying the message was received on radio communications. “10-4, good buddy” was CB talk — that’s citizen’s band radio for those of you who didn’t experience it.

The phrase spread into popular culture when it was used in C.W. McCall’s No. 1 song in 1975 called “Convoy.” That song, and a related movie, introduced us to Rubber Duck, Pig Pen, Sod Buster and, of course, the smokeys and bears. About that same time, the “Smokey and the Bandit” movie took the trucking lifestyle and CB communication to a new level. Burt Reynolds, Sally Field, Jerry Reed, Jackie Gleason and that really cool 1977 Pontiac Trans Am, helped, too. 

A few years ago, some good buddies of mine and I were feeling nostalgic and decided we would buy and install CB radios in our vehicles. What we were quickly reminded of was the importance of a quality antenna. And since none of us wanted to install a whip antenna on our vehicles, we settled for limited range and, as a result, only picked up the local school bus communication. I had a magnetic antenna that I put out through the moonroof on my truck when I wanted to use it. Seemed like a good idea, until the wind whipped it off and it slammed back and forth on the side panels. Regardless, we relived our youth and tried to recall all that CB lingo. It might seem silly with today’s technology, but the recent hurricane devastation and loss of power and modern communication methods remind me how important citizen’s band radio can be in emergency situations.

Back to 10-4. Ever wonder where the phrase originated? It is one of the “ten-codes,” or radio signals, invented by the Association of Public-Safety Communications Officials-International. The ten-codes are credited to Illinois State Police Communications Director Charles Hopper, who created them between 1937-1940 for use in quick and clear radio communications among police officers.

According to policecodes.net and other sources, the use of the number 10 before all of the codes wasn’t too important, as it was simply a placeholder to give the motor-generator time to speed up enough to hear the second part of the code. The 4 was chosen to mean “acknowledgement” of a message. These handy codes were quickly adopted by CB radio enthusiasts and truckers. Now you know. 

So, as a salute to the 1970s, truckers, radio operators and CBs in general, I challenge you to say “10-4, good buddy” as many times as you can today. 

Have a fantastic Friday, and thanks for reading. 

Shane Goodman
Editor and Publisher
Times Vedette digital editions
shane@gctimesnews.com
641-755-2115

I like to chew ice. Crushed ice preferably, but any type will suffice. It’s a habit — a bad one, some say. But I still chew ice.

It drives my kids crazy, and they continually ask me to stop. My friends in the dental industry tell me to knock it off, too. My wife, Jolene, is more patient with me, except for that childbirth incident. When our daughter, Sara, was in the early stages of entering this world, I wandered over to the soda machine in the hospital where they also had this wonderful, crushed ice. I came back to the delivery room, made a few crunches and was told by Jolene to “stop (expletive) chewing that (expletive) ice!” Lamaze class didn’t teach me how to respond. I stopped chewing ice for the moment, but the addiction returned — and I blame it on Frederic Tudor, the “Ice King.” 

Frederic and his brother, William, envisioned a need for something people in the early 1800s didn’t realize they needed: ice. The brothers devised a plan to ship ice from their home state of New England to the Caribbean. They were confident once people tried it, they would not want to live without it. Despite strong efforts, their business plan failed. As such, William pulled out of the partnership. Frederic drummed up enough money to continue, but the ice industry simply wasn’t catching on. Frederic persisted, and his ice business turned a profit in 1810. After some modest ups and some devastating downs, Frederic eventually found consistent success after developing techniques to convince people they actually needed frozen water.

Frederic created this incredible demand in many southern U.S. cities, and even Havana, but like any new business, he had to find ways to continually improve. He soon enlisted help to devise a way to cut ice into large grids and float them downstream where a conveyor belt would lift the blocks from the water and carry them up to icehouses.

The ice industry was growing, but it was still a slippery slope. Only one-tenth of the ice made it to sale, and operations were unsafe. Despite these problems, ice became more and more popular in America and abroad. As such, Frederic Tudor died in 1864 as a wealthy man.

At the turn of the 20th century, iceboxes were commonplace. Ironically, America’s dependence on ice also created a dependency on electric refrigerators and freezers, and, ultimately, the ice empire of the time collapsed. 

That gives you a little something to chew on today.

Have a terrific Tuesday, and thanks for reading. 

Shane Goodman
Editor and Publisher
Times Vedette digital editions
shane@gctimesnews.com
641-755-2115

A few years ago, I decided to simplify my life by reducing the amount of keys I carry, mostly because of that mammoth key fob I need to start my truck. I now use a carabiner to carry just a few essential keys, and it works! Life is better. Simpler. I am no longer fumbling through a dozen or more keys to find the one or two I really need. Then I misplaced the carabiner and my essential keys — and I lost my mind. Maybe you can relate. But, as you might expect, I eventually found the carabiner and the keys. All was in balance again. Until now. 

It seems there was a reason I had all those keys — or at least some of them. I was recently searching for a key I only use a few times each year. It wasn’t one of the “essential” ones I put on the carabiner, but I wasn’t too concerned. I would just sort through the “non-essential” keys that I placed in a really good spot that I would certainly remember. You know where this is going. 

After searching numerous spots and testing literally dozens of keys, I was baffled and frustrated. The real question in this story is how in the world did I end up with 50-plus keys that I have no idea what they are for? Yes, we moved our business a few times, and I likely have some keys to prior buildings and offices. Yes, I changed the locks on our home a few times and probably have some old lock keys. And, yes, I have a multitude of paddle lock, post office box and even suitcase keys. But 50? Come on.

So in testing all these keys, I questioned whether I should just toss them all or continue to keep them… just in case. Ugh. 

I would like to think the digital world we live in would simplify matters with fingerprint or retina readers that would eliminate all these keys. But then I remember how frustrated I get with the dozens of usernames and passwords I can’t seem to remember — and that breadbox-size key fob to my truck.

Fortunately, I read somewhere that memory gets better with age. At least I think so. I can’t remember. 

Have a fantastic Friday, and thanks for reading. 

Shane Goodman
Editor and Publisher
Times Vedette digital editions
shane@gctimesnews.com
641-755-2115

How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Pop? The answer? Nobody cares. What we do care about is whether or not our Tootsie Roll Pop wrapper has a picture of a boy in a Native American costume shooting an arrow at a star so we can redeem it for a free sucker. Sound familiar?

The rumor that Tootsie Roll Pop wrappers with a Native American can be redeemed for free candy has apparently plagued the Tootsie Roll company for years. According to Tootsie Roll Industries, which introduced Tootsie Roll Pops in 1931, they never held any kind of promotion involving the collection or redemption of any of their wrappers.

The rumor may have started because of contests connected with the packaging of children’s products during the era when Tootsie Pops were first promoted. The various markings of each Tootsie Roll Pop wrapper may have also prompted tales about certain wrappers being “special.” We do remember Willy Wonka, after all. 

Tootsie Roll Industries continues to receive a steady stream of letters from consumers attempting to redeem their Native American wrappers, processing hundreds per week. In the early years, the company replied to each prize-seeking letter writer with regrets. In 1982, they created their “Legend of the Indian Wrapper” to accompany those letters “with the hope that children’s liking for a good story would help to assuage their disappointment.”

So how many of the wrappers actually have a picture of a boy in a Native American costume shooting an arrow at a star? I am personally consuming a bag of Tootsie Roll Pops to be sure, but various sources say the answer is somewhere in the neighborhood of 30%.

I recall eagerly taking these marked wrappers to a little corner market in my hometown as a child, and the owner would gladly give me a free Tootsie Roll Pop in return. According to Tootsie Roll Industries, some individual store managers took it upon themselves to redeem the wrappers, but the exchange was never sanctioned by the Tootsie Roll company itself.

Are you curious how the Tootsie Roll company is replying to requests today? I was, so in 2020, I mailed one in. Follow this link to see what the company’s reply. Bottom line, no free sucker. Maybe they need a few more letters. You can join me by sending your wrapper and request to: Tootsie Roll Industries, 7401 South Cicero Ave., Chicago, IL 60629.

Have a terrific Tuesday, and thanks for reading. 

Shane Goodman
Editor and Publisher
Times Vedette digital editions
shane@gctimesnews.com
641-755-2115

Sister Joy Marie taught my fellow elementary school classmates and me the words — and how to sing those words — to many patriotic songs. “America The Beautiful.” “My Country ‘Tis of Thee.” “The Star Spangled Banner.” The list goes on. We not only sang the songs, but we were taught the meanings. Most importantly, we were instructed to respect those meanings, those words and the American flag.

Admittedly, that was a different time. It was 1976, and most every American was celebrating our country’s bi-centennial by paying tribute to the historical events that led up to the creation of the United States of America. Even so, what we learned about our nation — and the need to respect it — stuck with me.

As an athlete, I continued to show that respect to the flag and to our fallen soldiers. Our national anthem would play at every wrestling meet, and I would get goosebumps each time I heard “our flag was still there.” I don’t know why. I just did. I still do.

Today, I fly the American flag in front of my home. Not because I belong to a certain political party (I don’t) or served in the military (I didn’t) or want to push a personal agenda (I won’t). It is because I am truly thankful for my rights.

Just a few weeks ago, Gary “Slick” Rees pulled up a chair next to me at lunch. He noticed we didn’t have a flag on the pole in front of our new office in Guthrie Center, and he asked if I wanted one. I told him I had planned to do that. He said, “I got it covered.” And he did. Within a few days, Old Glory was flying. Gary wouldn’t take a dime and didn’t want any recognition. He asked that I give credit to Ron Baier, who was a leader in so many flags being flown in Guthrie County. So, I absolutely credit Ron, and I owe my appreciation to Slick, too.

That flag is a reminder to me of freedom of speech, and freedom of the press, and the right to peaceably assemble, and to be able to petition our government. I cherish that I can openly practice my religion, and that others can, too. I value that I have the right to keep and bear arms, even though I choose not to. I revere the right to be secure against unreasonable searches and seizures. I hope I don’t ever have to justify these rights or the many others I am afforded as a United States citizen, but I rest peacefully knowing I can.

As a continual reminder of these rights, and many others, I continue to fly the Stars and Stripes, and I look forward to my next round of goosebumps. Thank you, Slick.

Have a fantastic Friday, and thanks for reading. 

Shane Goodman
Editor and Publisher
Times Vedette digital editions
shane@gctimesnews.com
641-755-2115

Doing the dishes was a nightly task in my childhood home and one that my siblings and I argued over each evening. Who would clear the table? Who would wash the dishes? Rinse them? Dry them? Put them away?

I was the youngest of four, so I likely was cut some slack. Still, I was eager to be like “the big kids” and help out. And my siblings were eager to have me help — until I dropped a plate or two, and Mom would not-so-nicely blame it on them.

Mom would often say she didn’t need one of those newfangled dishwashers. She had four of them, and we were better than any Maytag. We were faster. The dishes were cleaner. And we used less water and electricity.

Mom was the inspector. If any food residue was still on the dishes, they went back through the cycle — and none of us wanted to be blamed for that. So we scrubbed, and we rinsed, and we dried, and we put away. And we repeated the process as necessary.

Doing dishes with Dad was easier. We would wash the dishes and then set them on the counter on a drying rack. “We will let Jesus dry those,” he would say each time with a laugh. 

We learned not to search for utensils aggressively in the soapy water, as we could discover a sharp knife. We all learned that one the hard way. 

Looking back, I am glad we did the dishes by hand. We learned to actually talk to each other, not only sorting out tasks but actually having discussions. We learned how to work together quickly, efficiently and in an orderly manner. We would listen to the radio sometimes, but we would usually just talk. There was a lot of joking around, laughing and storytelling. It was mostly silly stuff, as I recall, but it was important then. 

Jolene and I had a similar process with our kids at home, filling the dishwasher after each meal. The dreaded task was clearing the dishwasher, especially when learning it was full of clean dishes when you were ready to load the dirty ones in. When all three of our kids were home, the dishwasher seemed to run daily. It was a different process for a different era, but it just wasn’t the same as leaning over the sink, shoulder to shoulder, trading out wet towels. I am reminded of this process during the holidays when we hand-wash the “fancy” dishes — and I actually look forward to it. 

Have a terrific Tuesday, and thanks for reading. 

Shane Goodman
Editor and Publisher
Times Vedette digital editions
shane@gctimesnews.com
641-755-2115