Where in the World is Randy's Riv? (Contest #1)

The first person who comes the closest to the exact location will be the winner of a free meal at McDonald's, Arby's, etc.

The Two Ernies (by Rich Holdaway)

I was thinking about Randy's mom and dad and thought you and the kids might like to know some of my memories about them from the 60's, so I wrote this for your blog.  

Maybe in high school where everything is acceptable and at the same time it is not, Randy may have been called “Ernie”, short for Ernest. In old English, Ernest means serious or well-meaning, but Randy may not have been that when he was called Ernie.  I’m remembering how he really didn’t like to be called “Ernie”.

The Ernies I have known are few. There was Ernie Whiting. You had to be careful around Ernie Whiting or something would break - like his leg, or arm. Ernie was a virtual walking stick of chalk, totally whited out. He lived up to his name - Whiting. The other Ernie I knew was a few years older than me. I worked with this guy. His real name was Arnold but he liked the name Ernie, which he pronounced in a way that it sounded like h-o-r-n-e-y ...horney! Who was this guy? He had the grin of a fitful Chinese soldier, teeth busting out over the lips and a complexion of a scalded crawdad! Ernie Arnold could be scary at times.

Gonzo would have been a better choice of a name for Randy (Ernest) - because - Gonzo is a variant of the Portuguese name Gonçalo meaning battle genius or war elf - (I’m just kidding about all of this course). Randy was a pussy cat - gentle, and he really cared about other people if you were “on his side”, and he had respect for his first given name - his Dad’s name. Serious when he needed to be serious and hey...well meaning?...  Can a 401 cu. in. Buick nailhead put out anything less than 300 hp.@4800 r.p.m.?

The other “Ernie” was his dad.

Randy could never say enough about his dad. Talk about a hero - that was Ernest senior!  As we walked the cobbled streets of Paris, Randy would tell me about what his dad said, what he did, how he did it, and it all gelled into an image of a person so powerfully devoted to his son that I thought the guy was a Saint. He seemed larger than life to me. Sometimes I would glance over my shoulder just to make sure that Randy’s dad wasn’t right behind us. I kind of hoped that he would be at times. I pictured a BIG man from Randy’s ranting about his dad. Randy said he was gentle to his mom, but I pictured a Gary Busey type bashing a few heads at an Octoberfest. Boy, was I surprised when I met Ernest Sr. - but then I was not. He took me in like an abduction. Any friend of Randy’s was a friend of the whole Sorenson clan and Randy had written to his family (Dad) and told him to give me the whole nine-yard treatment when I went to meet them.

I needed to make a good impression on Randy’s dad so I prepared--got a haircut, even clipped my nails. I was spic and span, tight shirt - even tighter pants (oh yeah, the 60’s permitted dress-up close to clowns get-up) - I was a walking stick of Aqua Velva! I wasn’t some pock-marked teen with zits enough to make Manual Norega shudder! I was (for the occasion) the prodigal son in spirit. I felt giddy all over, like a first date. Actually, I really didn’t know how to confront the man who had been built-up to be a Paul Bunion, a Goliath or combo of the two. I made it to Kearns - oh dang - all the houses looked the same! I decided to go for the one with the most Fords in the driveway.

I found the house. One of the Fords was a truck; another was a yellow Mercury.

They were all too nice to me. I didn’t even have the quoi faire to know how to politely leave their presence - “Now be careful...Are you sure you have enough fuel to make it back down the canyon to Price?...If you need anything, a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g, just let us know...Please come back and stay with us for a while if you can...Call us when you get back to your aunt’s house (in Holliday)”... and this went on and on. I felt like I had poked them all in the eye when I left, like I really did something bad for leaving - they were just being nice the only way they knew how...Wow.

Now, here is a family that has strong family ties. Ties that yet bind from beyond the grave. Randy was so devoted to his sister Dana. (I wonder why. I know why, of course).  And that devotion is instilled in Bonnie. I know how she is looking out for Dana. Dana one was of the last people that Randy mentioned the day before he died. What I understand is that a person goes to Paradise with the thoughts currently on his mind. To me that is a wonderful thought - a brother’s everlasting love and concern for his sister. And I’ll bet that Ernest Jr. has brought Ernest Sr. up to date as to the continuing welfare of Dana. Randy’s reunion with his dad was probably heard throughout the spirit world when they collided... Something had to “Blow-Up”. 

I’d love to hear about how Ernest Sr. was as a grandpa. Did you guys call him by a special name? What memories do you have of him? Maybe give me a link to follow to read your responses.  My e-mail is: rholdaway4@comcast.net. 

See ya - Uncle Rich 

A "Blow Up" Story from Randy's Childhood

This story was told to me by both Randy and Dana:

A KABOOM Prequel

Randy's creative genius for  "blowing things up" began as a child.  The explosive ingredients included a bunch of boards, a lot of dirt, and something to balance the boards on.  He would balance the board so one end was off the ground, and then he would put as much dirt as possible on the other end.  Envision a teeter totter which is quite low to the ground with a lot of dirt on one end.  Now imagine you are watching a five or six-year-old boy running with all of his might and then jumping on the elevated end as hard as he can, so dirt will spray in all directions. The dirtier he gets, the more successful the blast. After his first adventurous afternoon at doing this, he is covered with so much dirt that his mom won't let him come into his house.  She makes him take off his clothes on the back porch and go directly to the shower. When she asks him how he got so dirty, little Randy proudly exclaims, " I've been blastin' ! "  Since his family was living in Bingham at the time, he would hear all of the blasting being done at the nearby mine. He just wanted to recreate it. 

                               

(Forgive me, Tricia, for using the same picture you had on your blog, but can't you just see the mischief in his eyes?)

Thanks, Bonnie

Which William is the Conqueror?

I am a bit confused.

Can you tell me which one is which?

KABOOM-Chapter 1 (Compliments of Rich)

Aluminum oxide (NhO3) is a gritty dark powder that you wouldn’t want in your eye or on your tongue. Dump a small pile of it on your kitchen counter and it will just sit there, but...if there is a spark nearby that finds its way to the pile...goodbye kitchen counter - goodbye kitchen!  (Keep this in mind.)

Bonnie came up with a great suggestion - “Why don’t you write something about the origin of “Blow Up”...” (as was the vernacular frequently used by Sorens and myself when nothing else would seem to fit). “The kids would love to hear about why you guys always said that."

I reflected upon the bond I had with Randy. It was out of our bond of bizarre friendship that “Blow-Up” became so prevalent in my life. Starsky and Hutch, Bonnie and Clyde, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Thelma and Louise - all famous duos, and famous “Blow-Ups”. If something wasn’t being “Blown-Up", they weren’t famous.

I had to reach backwards, into the cobwebs of my brain, back 40 years to fetch even the dimmest memory of our well-used, favorite, tongue-in-cheek bit of verbatim and a story that Sorens told me while we were in Paris came to mind. It’s summer 1963 or 64. Sorens happened to be riding shotgun with a cousin of his by the name of Gary. Gary had available means it seems because he’s driving a new Corvette. (Picture a black 1964 C2 Corvette and you got the picture). Now...reflect on my description of aluminum oxide. Gary was to the duo as was aluminum oxide and Randy was the spark. This particular night the cousins were close to...well, remember what happens when a spark hits aluminum oxide - K-A-B-L-O-O-LY!!

It seems as though the Corvette was making tracks on a newly formed I-15 stretch somewhere south of Levan (Utah). It’s getting toward dusk and mid-route through a po-dunk, no-name farming town like a thousand others strew around Utah, Gary flips a you-ee and heads up an unpaved side street. He hauls the Corvette to a dusty stop and says, “Look!"

“What?” says Sorens.

“That outhouse,” says Gary.

“Yeah...so?

“Reach back there between the seats...in the bag," says Gary.

“What the ****, this looks like dynamite," says Randy.

“Get back in there a little farther, there’s some fuses and caps."

“Yeah," says Sorens...”I got ‘em. What the ****you got enough dynamite here to blow-up a mountain."

“Well...see that outhouse sittin’ all alone out there."

“Yeah. Looks like they recently demo’ed the old house and left the stinkin’ outhouse. I don’t blame them,... what a crappy job that woulda’ been. Phew!"

“Okay. You watch for anybody who seems to be watching, and I’ll sneak out there and drop a couple of sticks down the hole. And get that duct tape for me. I gotta wrap these 4 sticks up nice and tight."

“You’re kiddin’ me...right?' asked Randy.

Gary just looked at Sorens and made an evil smile. Then he held up the tightly wound bomb and whispered loudly, "K-a-b-o-o-m!"

When Gary got back, they lit the fuse - a slow burner type. “This’ll take about ten minutes," said Gary. ( Aluminum oxide has collided with the spark.) The stage is also set for the first recorded “Blow Up”.

Gary had already plotted-out their next move. “See that diner down the street. We can drive up nice and quiet like, walk in, and just act normal. No one will even know we’re in town -ha, ha."

Looking at the fizzing fuse on the ground in front of him Sorens nervously says, ”Lets get the **** outta here?"

Four minutes later (counting by a 20 minute fuse, the two strangers strolled into the smelly little diner and parked their butts on a couple of vacant stools.

After ten minutes Sorens starts to sweat, “When’s it gonna blow?"

“Hey, just calm down and give it a minute or...oh, oh ****. Don’t look now, but look who just walked in!" whispered Gary.

“Oh crap!" whispered Sorens back. “Not the Sheriff!"

“Just keep your head down. Maybe it’s time we...”

Then the windows rattled. NO - they dang near exploded. There was a flash of light down the street and when the windows stopped shaking, there was the fall-out. It sounded just like a hailstorm pounding the metal roof of the rickety old diner, but it was mid-July - clear skies!

The cousins didn’t see it, but sure heard the Sheriff as he lurched, coffee spewing, his paper landing square in the middle of his Steak and Eggs as he bounded out the door. He was the first one on the scene where a cloud of dust was slowly drifting into the neighbor's yard from exactly where the outhouse had stood minutes before.

A crowd was gathering. “Musta been all thet methanol what built-up over the years," one old-timer muttered. “Guess I better take care of thet ol’ John behind my house a’fore she blows." 

The sheriff, who, without caution was first to set foot upon the property was trying to scrape a brown gooey substance from his boot to his tire. No use. The tires were twice their normal size from rolling through the same brown sludge. A quick glance around revealed that the trees, the power lines, a couple of parked pick-ups, and the neighbor's swing set were also heavily laden.

Randy and Gary didn’t bother to drive over to the scene of the crime. They were smart, in fact. They stood their ground. They just glanced at each other in silence, but stomachs quivered.

The smell was horrific. “I think I’m gonna hurl..." coughed one of them.

The other just tried hard to keep his smile from splitting his face from ear to ear.   Oh, oh. This was just the beginning.

*******

Artistic license has permitted me to embellish the text as I have seen fit. Illuminating (love that word - illuminating -akin to what you see when something blows-up!) The text is a result of the action as remembered and stored in my memory.  And there’s much more.

As time has marched on, it has distilled the “Blow-Up” experiences/events in Randy’s and my lives to have had a more general connotation. For example: Randy would call me incessantly when I was shacked-up in the hospital during the past four years. Sometimes just before the phone would ring, I knew that he would be calling - and voila - ring, ring - sure ‘nuf it was Sorens. On the phone he would reiterate, “Holdaway - this is the ****s. We gotta break you outta there so we can go and 'Blow' something up."  Without fail every one of his calls included this invitation, which my wife Maureen explains as - “Blowing something up” is just having fun.

I’ll call this excerpt “Chapter One”. Give me a bit, and I’ll bring you more “Blown-Up” stories.

His friend always,

 Rich

Thanks to Camille, Nickie, Trish, Dee, Steve, Jen, and Rich

Thanks to all of you, for your kindness to me, for your loving memories of Randy, for keeping his spirit alive.

Happy Anniversary, Honey!

July 15, 2000

Our Wedding Day

Jordan River Temple

Happy Birthday, too, Sweetheart

I will love you forever

Rich Holdaway's Thoughts of Randy

Rich Holdaway sent me the most wonderful e-mail and I would like to share what he wrote:

Happy Day...

Sad Day.

A day for memories...

All day long.

Our friend...

Your soul mate

He created so many good times...

His laugh, his fun

His never failing gift of giving

He gave us love

We love you Sorens

Forever

I have a tear in my eye.  It is trying to follow tears already gone.

But I am not depressed only a bit lonesome, with so much to say, to ask, to do, without the one person--the ONLY person--who was there, always to fill...

Randy filled me with laughter, camaraderie, spontaneous stories and fantasy that always led to the same place--the kitchen, downstairs, or at parting in your driveway.  That place was where the twinkle in his eye got a little sharper, focused and full of mutual love, kind of past, present and future all rolled into one.  We knew where we had been and what had been done and said...what was shared and we were already looking for something new (or old) to "blow up." 

Today I'm going to find something to Blow-Up! A celebration for this special day in his memory.

Be cheerful, smile in the mirror... to yourself and Randy.  That's what he would hope for--a smile from you.

He must be close.  Feel his spirit.  Drive his car, sit in his favorite chair, enjoy some of his famous salsa.   Happy Anniversary.

Love,

Rich

Randy's Famous Ancestors

         I have been doing some genealogy on Randy's side of the family and I have found out some surprises.  William the Conqueror is pictured above. He was King of England from 1066 to 1087 A.D.  He is on the family tree of Barbara Mary Brown, Randy's mom.

               This is a statue of Matilda of Flanders, descendent of Alfred the Great. When William the Conqueror sent her a message asking for her hand in marriage, she refused saying that she was too high-born to be married to him. When this was repeated to William, he rode from Normandy to Bruges, found Matilda on her way to church, dragged her off her horse by her long braids, threw her down on the street in front of her flabbergasted attendents, and then rode off.  Matilda settled the matter by deciding to marry him. (I guess we can tell why he was called William the Conqueror.) Despite this rough beginning, they had a very successful marriage. She was England's shortest monarch.  Even though she was only 4 feet 2 inches tall, she had 11 children. Although she was short in stature, she was definitely quite a dynamo. She also supported William in his war efforts by giving him money.  William was a pretty tough dude for his height as well. He was only 5 feet 10 inches tall.  I had always imagined William the Conqueror to look more like a front lineman on a football team with touseled hair and a long bushy beard.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RANDY, WE ALL LOVE YOU NO MATTER WHERE YOU ARE OR WHAT YOU ARE DOING.  I hope you have fun talking to your famous ancestors.

                    

Randy's Riviera Restoration

Last October Randy decided to get his 1965 Buick Riviera repainted. He

 wanted to strip off the old paint in order to get rid of any rust that it had.

Here is a photo of the Riv at the end of February 2008

 (the last time Randy saw it).

Rear panel, devoid of paint.

Another view from the driver's side rear.

This is how the car looked the day of Randy's funeral.

Randy's 4 children and I rode in the funeral procession in the Riv.

Since Randy passed away before seeing its new paint job,

we were hoping that his spirit could at least see it finished.

Randy's 1965 Riviera Gran Sport was his pride and joy.

Gran Sport means that is has 2 four-barrel carburetors.

There were only 3,300 white Gran Sports made in 1965. 

It has always been in the family.  Randy's Uncle Milt Brown 

was the first owner and this car was made specifically for him.  

Randy was its second owner. 

We plan to always keep the Riv in the family. 

To My Light, My Love, My Best Friend

I have always loved seeing Randy's signature laugh--when he would throw his head back and exhibiting such utter delight as only he could do. 

To Randy---

Sensitive

Intelligent

Caring

Friend

You brighten my day

Bring laughter to my lips

Light to my soul.

You have accepted me

As I am

And I have become

A better me.

To walk with you

Is to walk 

In sunshine forever.

My days will never

Be the same

Because we met.

---Written by Bonnie

Progression of a Sunrise

       Reawakening

My feelings for you

Are as eternal

As my very soul.

I did not need 

To learn to love you.

The day we met 

I knew who you were.

I simply recognized you.

My love for you

Is only a reawakening---

A continuation of feelings

That have existed 

Before the world was.

    ---Written by Bonnie

During my first phone conversation with Randy, he told me, "Bonnie, I feel like a little bit of sunshine has come back into my life." I felt the same way.  It did not take me long to discover that Randy had every quality that I had always considered important.  He had a marvelous sense of humor, he was very intelligent, handsome, creative, artistic, hardworking, stable (he was employed at the same job that he hated for over 34 years--now that's stability), and he was musically inclined.  He could play the trombone, he had a beautiful bass voice, and he could play the guitar.  All of my life, I have gravitated towards guitar players.  At B.Y.U., I used to sing and perform with a guy named Arnold Logie, who played the guitar.  Then when I moved to Billings, Montana, I met another guitar player.  We performed for an interdenominational Christian group called FOCUS.  However, every guy I have ever met pales in comparison to my beloved Randy.  From the first time Randy called me, I felt like I could tell him anything.  I felt like I had known him forever. Being with him felt familiar and easy. My Reawakening poem explains how I have always felt about Randy.  

I will love you forever, Randy!