The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines gee whiz as: “designed to arouse wonder or excitement or to amplify the merits or significance of something especially by the use of clever or sensational language.”
The Free Dictionary says it may be a euphemism for “Jesus Christ.”
I have been thinking about Gee Whizzes that have occurred during my life, some of which I have written about before, but I am in process of rewriting many of them. I seem to have a plethora of Gee Whizzes. Do others have them also? I hope so.
Evelyn Colbert & Jeanne Barnett
(see also Collington >)
In 2012, my first duty here at Collington Life Care Community, as a new member of the Library Committee, I was to put prices on about 50 books that the committee wanted to sell at an upcoming bazaar. There were three of us: two classy ladies, Evelyn Colbert (now deceased) who was in charge, and Jeanne Barnett, and me. It took us about an hour for a job that I could have done in less than 10 minutes – at the most. Had we done it my way, I would have missed two unbelievable experiences.
Both Evelyn and Jeanne knew and loved books – real bibliophiles. While I like to read, any success that I had as a librarian, both at the Library of Congress and the National Agricultural Library, was chiefly as an administrator.
All at once, Evelyn turned to me and asked, in what seemed to be an accusatory tone, “what are you reading?” I answered “a wonderful, even if wordy, history of Burma by Thant Myint-U, the grandson of U Thant who was the 3rd Secretary General of the United Nations. Whereupon she said, “I taught him.” She had been one of his professors at the Johns Hopkins School of Advanced International Studies in Washington, DC. His book is River of Lost Footsteps. It is a must read for anyone interested in Burma (Myanmar).
I said that in it I had just finished reading about a friend of my wife’s and mine – Daw Mya Sein. Jeanne spoke up and said, “she was a friend of mine.” Jeanne’s husband had also taught at the Johns Hopkins School of Advanced International Studies. Daw Mya Sein, from Burma, was the mother of one of my Library of Congress employees, Helen Mya Thanda Poe, and an exceptional woman. She had a doctorate in history from Oxford and, among many things, represented Burma at the League of Nations on women’s rights.
Only in Collington can one find such wonderful experiences. Gee Whiz!
Nicolsons
(see also Collington >)
In 2012 my wife Pat & I were having dinner with Alice and Dan Nicolson.
Alice Nicolson grew up in Lebanon, where she was born to expatriate American parents in the American Hospital on the campus of the American University of Beirut, where her father was on the faculty. A master gardener, she was an outstanding chair of Collington’s Grounds’ Committee for many years and is still a valuable member of the Collington Community.
Dan, a botanist, was a Curator at the US National Herbarium of the Smithsonian Institution for 43 years. Don was developing dementia and has now died.
They had lived in Indonesia while he was gathering information for his dissertation at the Bogor Botanical Gardens, started many years earlier by the Dutch, which is a world class botanical garden located in Bogor, Indonesia, 30 miles south of Jakarta.
The Nicolsons had travelled to nearby Kuala Lumpur about the same time that I was there as a Peace Corps Volunteer (1963-65). I asked if they had known the Lord Medway who taught biology at the University of Malaya (now Malaysia). They knew him! They had eaten snake with him at Glutton Square in Singapore!
Sitting at that table that night, were probably the only three people in all the DC area who had ever heard of him!
The Earl of Cranbrook, in the County of Kent, is a title in the Peerage of the United Kingdom. The Lord Medway that the Nicolsons and I knew, is now the fifth Earl. Gee whiz!
Christmas 1963
(see also Peace Corps)
In December and January of 1963 there were many holidays in Malaysia. Malaysians celebrate them all. In addition to New Years, there are the Muslim holidays, the Hindu holidays and the Chinese holidays which are related to their unique Muslim and Lunar calendars and are moveable from year to year on our Julian calendar. While there are very few Christians in Malaysia, Christmas is also an official holiday.
Starting with Christmas of 1963, the stars and moon of the firmament happened to be in their proper juxtaposition, making it possible to celebrate several holidays over a period of about three weeks when we in the Peace Corps didn’t go to work.
Three weeks is a long time to do nothing so three friends, Jeanine Thoene, Marcia and John Hooper and I, decided to take a trip to Chiang Mai, Thailand. Providentially I had just received money from members of my family as Christmas gifts, making the trip possible for me. Even on a small budget it was possible to take the train north from Kuala Lumpur to Bangkok up the Kra peninsula (approximately 8 hours) and from there, change to the train for another 18 hours to Chiang Mai in Northwest Thailand.
Upon arrival at the Bangkok station on December 24th, we found the weather to be a bit cooler than we were used to. We would be traveling from about 3 degrees north of the equator to about 18 degrees north – still very much in the tropics. However, I decided to buy a cheap jacket. I paid about US$5 for it and, in looks, I got my money’s worth, but not a cent more.
The cheapest tickets that we could afford were third class tickets on an overnight local train that was to stop at every village between Bangkok and Chiang Mai.
Upon boarding our train car with what little baggage that we had, we found that the seats were wooden benches, each holding two. The major difference was that they didn’t all face forward. Every other one faced the rear. The four of us managed to get 2 pews facing each other.
The other passengers, all Thais, had a great time watching us trying to get all our 8 legs into one tiny space. It seemed that the whole car of people were able to tell/show us, in sign language, that we should alternate knees with the person across the narrow divide. I suppose that we were smart enough to figure this out on our own but letting them show us began a bond of friendship. They thought it hilarious since we were giants compared to other Thais. We had to sit up very straight to keep our alternating knees from hitting the facing seat. I fancy that I still have indentions in my kneecaps from that ride.
As the train stopped at every village, and there were many along the way, the passengers would open all the windows, from the top, so that they could buy things from the ubiquitous vendors – all sorts of fruits, fried bananas, satay, steamed coconut, etc. One of my favorites was what I call “chicken on the cross” which was parts of a chicken splayed on two sticks that were formed in the form of a cross and then barbequed – delicious. Our fellow passengers soon caught on to our wanting to try everything and soon they were buying things for us to try. Lots of good fun and great camaraderie – we spoke English and they spoke Thai, and everyone understood each other – in a rudimentary way, of course. But it didn’t make any difference.
As the sun went down and being accustomed to hot tropical weather, we got very cold. Even with my new jacket, we were soon covered up with newspapers, trying to sleep a little. Uncomfortable, cold, and tired from a night on the Malaysian train, we were sleeping fitfully and miserably. What little rest we were getting was constantly being interrupted by the frequent stops and the ubiquitous vendors.
It certainly did not feel like Christmas. Indeed, we had not even thought about the date and the child in the manger was the farthest thing from our minds, when one of our Thai passengers tapped me on the shoulder and in faltering English said “Melly Clistmas.”
Everyone in the car woke up and they provided a Christmas feast for the four “farangs” (foreigners).
Pineapples, bananas, mangosteens, rambutans, blimbings, watermelons, rice, chicken curry, goat curry, shrimp crackers, etc. It brought tears to us who were far from home and far from our families. Who would have thought that it would be the most magical Christmas of my life – in a Buddhist country with our Buddhist friends. Gee Whiz!
Bukit Nanas Convent School – Kuala Lumpur Malaysia
The school was for Catholic girls. It was on top of a hill once planted with pineapple and coffee. Bukit means hill and nanas means pineapple. I agreed to direct the school choir for 6 months while the British expatriate returned to the UK for home leave. I later learned that Dorothy Ho, later my wife, had attended here.
To get there I had to walk up a sizeable hill in the tropical sun with 92-degree temperature and 98% humidity. I always arrived soaked to the skin. One day a lady picked me up and drove me up the hill. Her name was Ruth Ho. I later learned that this was Ruth, Dorothy’s sister, who attended college with her in Ohio. No, I did not know Dorothy at this time.
Another coincidence was that one of my students was an artist by the name of Rosemary Chin. Rosemary once invited me to celebrate Chinese New Year with her family. I was unable to accept this invitation. The following Christmas, I received a Christmas card from Rosemary depicting a drawing she had done of a Malaysian Madonna and Child.
After Dorothy and I were married, she found this card in my belongings and asked me where I had gotten it. After I told her about it, she told me that Rosemary was her cousin. Had I gone to Rosemary’s family’s Chinese New Year party, I would have met all of Dorothy’s family!
I must digress a little. My first wife was a Chinese named Dorothy Ho. She was born in Kuala Lumpur, Malaya. All her education before the war was in Bukit Nanas Convent School run by the Sacré-Coeur nuns.
She was beautiful and smart. She spoke many languages: beautiful British English, three Chinese dialects, Malay, French and some Spanish, Portuguese and Italian.
I have written about her and her tragic time away from her family during World War II. She ended up in Bombay (Mumbai) and was educated by the Sacré-Coeur nuns there. She was unwilling to talk much about it, but it can be assumed that she did well because, the nuns, toward the end of the war, were able to get her a four-year scholarship, complete with room and board, and free transportation to a Catholic college in Ohio. She was there when the war ended, and she was able to reconnect with her family for the first time and hear about the terrible things that had happened to them. She had been the lucky one.
On a happier note, Dorothy’s father was able to pay her sister, Ruth (remember her?), to join her at the same college where they both graduated, after which Ruth returned to Malaya and became the chief nutrition officer for Malaya.
Dorothy, on full scholarships, earned two Master’s Degrees from the Catholic University of America. One was in English (1950) and the other was in Library Science (about 1952). She then got a job at the Library of Congress in the Music Cataloging Section where I met her.
After Peace Corps, and upon return to the States, I spend two years at Washington University in St. Louis before being hired, in 1967, by the Library of Congress as the Assistant Chief of the Descriptive Cataloging Division. Somehow, I remembered that a Malaysian was at the Library of Congress. After making some inquiries, found that there indeed was a Malaysian named Dorothy Ho at the Library – and that she worked for me! My whole life has been filled of incredible coincidences. This was another.
I met her and her sister Ruth who was in the States on a visit and found that Dorothy was being promoted to the head of the French Section in another division. This meant that soon she would not be working for me, making it possible for us to date.
She also had a photographic memory. I was 36 years old, and I had finally found someone that I wanted to marry. Since she was Catholic and we were to be married in the Church, I had to undergo an interview with the Priest, her friend, who had helped her with all her immigration issues. We took him to dinner, and I don’t recall any questions for which I didn’t have answers, such as belief in the Trinity, etc. After a whirlwind courtship we were married in December 1967.
The next year was a busy year. We were both adjusting to new jobs. I don’t recall any extraordinary thing happening in our happy marriage before she died from cancer fourteen months later. In December of 1968 we both caught the flu. I got well but Dorothy could not shake it. Her breast cancer had reoccurred, spread to the liver, went to the brain. She died two and a half months later. Gee Whiz!
Mildred (Andrews) Boggess
It was the summer of 1948 (I was 17) when I entered the University of Oklahoma (OU) and signed up for organ lessons.
At our first lesson, Miss Andrews looked me over and said, “you will never make a great organist because your feet are too big”. They are 13AAA. Also, she was soon to find that my great interest exceeded my talent. However, it was a wonderful summer creating wonderful sounds. I matured a lot that summer.
The last time I saw Miss Andrews was inexplicable and verged on being a miracle.
In 1965, having completed my Peace Corps assignment in Malaysia, I decided to spend a few days in Taiwan before returning home to the United States. As I was disembarking in the Taipei International Airport, she was standing in line for boarding another plane (for Japan?). We had no more than 3 minutes to talk.
I still don’t understand why the “powers that be” who arranged for us to meet, couldn’t have arranged for us to have a few more minutes together. Gee Whiz!
Hope Clement
I was in Kathmandu airport waiting for my flight to Pokhara which is a town at the foot of the Annapurna peaks. There were three planes in view. Since there were no announcements, I wasn’t sure how I was going to know which plane would be my plane, I could see my bag outside. I decided to watch to see where my baggage would go and follow it. As I was watching, someone said “hello Joe.” It was Hope Clement, a professional friend of mine from the National Library of Canada. Gee Whiz!
Sjafiroeddin
In 1964, when my Indonesian housemate in Kuala Lumpur told of the spirit tenikling. He was often called upon by Sjafi and other insurrectionists against Sukarno, in the jungles of Sumatra. He told of an instance where after repeated calls, the spirit entered a stick and was able to write in the sand the answer to questions. Sjafi, the only one with any education, asked for a solution to a mathematical equation. Tenikling knew the right answer.
Inexplicable! I really didn’t believe it, but it made a good story. Gee Whiz!
Walking on Hot Coals
Even my disbelief in the occult was not completely shaken when I saw people walk barefooted on hot coals in Malaysia and later in Java and Bali – with no burnt feet! Gee Whiz!
Lalita
Upon meeting Lalita she said “my name is Lalita – not Lolita!” This was on the first day of my Peace Corps assignment at the University of Malaya Library.
She was a beautiful Indian girl wearing a gorgeous sari and I was to be her boss at the University Library. (A recent picture found on the internet shows her to be beautiful still.) For the several months that I knew her, she never wore the same sari twice. As she walked, the end of her sari fluttered in her wake – like a light silk scarf blowing in a slight breeze. Like a butterfly with gossamer wings. A vision of loveliness.
My first day was memorable by two unexplained incidents. The first happened as she was showing me the circulation desk. As we passed the open paste pot, it turned over, spilling its contents over my only clean pair of pants – which I then wore stiffened for the next several days – until my air shipment of clothes arrived from the States. Was this perhaps the billowing sari? Or was it something else?
The other happened as we passed a pile of books on a desk. As we passed, the books fell all over the floor. Was this, perhaps, the billowing sari? Or was it something else?
Explainable? The staff knew and I was too polite to disagree.
She left the library several months later for a position reading children’s books on Radio Malaysia. Gee Whiz!
Thaipusam
Disquieting was seeing the Hindu festival of Thaipusam northeast of Ipoh in Malaysia. It was the annual homage to Lord God Subramanyam, the Indian god who rides the peacock. The devout followers prepare themselves with purification rites and meditation. On the holy day, those who will carry the kavadis (platforms) in the procession pass into a trance to the ringing of gongs and cymbals and the chanting of prayers. The tongue, cheeks and the skin of the chest and back are pierced by long sharp steel spindles, with no blood and no apparent pain. I remember that I almost fainted and sat under a tree for a while until I told myself to get up and watch because I knew that I would never again have the opportunity. It was clear that some had enough faith. Were they better than I? Perhaps. I didn’t dwell very long on why and how. It was easier this way, particularly since I knew that I didn’t have enough faith in anything to ever be tempted to put myself to any such test. Ggee Whiz
Fortune Teller
I had an experience that shook me to the core – a fortune teller in Jaipur, India.
It was in December of 1970. Having finished my official visit at the Library of Congress Office in New Delhi, I visited Fatehpur Sikri and the Taj Mahal in Agra. On December 23rd I received a call from Quantas Airlines saying that my flight to Rome had been cancelled. My driver was willing to take me to Jaipur the next day. Jaipur, also known as the Pink City, is the capital of the state of Rajasthan. It is important to know that no one knew beforehand of my changed plan.
We arrived in Jaipur mid-morning on Christmas Eve. After finding a hotel for me, the driver left to find himself quarters saying that he would be back in 30 minutes to take me sightseeing. My hotel was beautifully situated in a padang (a large grassy field) with many frangipani trees in full bloom. It was a beautiful and quiet setting. Waiting on the lawn for the driver to return, I was approached by a Sikh, complete with the turban, beard, and all. He asked if I would like my fortune told. I told him that I couldn’t because I was going sightseeing. I thought that that was the end of that. I was too polite to tell him that I didn’t believe in fortune tellers.
It was a wonderful day and, upon return to the hotel, I decided to take a walk around the padang. The Sikh, who must have been the resident fortune teller, again approached me and asked me if he could tell my fortune. Since dinner wouldn’t be served for another hour, I thought “why not?” After we had negotiated a price, he asked me to come to his office. His office turned out to be a post at the edge of the lawn at the hotel entrance – complete with two chairs.
He handed me two dice that were threaded on a string. He asked me to rub them around and tell him what they added up to. I would give him the total. He would either tell me things or write them on a small piece of paper that he would tear from a bigger sheet. We did this before each pronouncement. Through the years I have lost some of these scraps; however, a few are shown below. He started out by telling me that my name was Joseph Harvey Howard and that I was a librarian (misspelled)
He told me my late wife’s name (misspelled) along with her birth and death date. She had died in 1969. Very few people knew Dorothy’s birth date, but he did. Wow! He told me her death date which he missed by one year. When I said no, he corrected himself to the correct date. This was the only mistake relating to the past that he made.
He told me that I would be married in 1971. He even wrote down for me the name of the one that I was going to marry. (Scrap lost) The scrap said “Noncie.” I had been dating a girl by the name of Nancy but as with most of his answers about the future, he did not get it right. I tried to use that scrap as bait but Nancy and I didn’t marry. It was not until 1980 that I remarried, and her name was Patricia.
Another example of his bad spelling, which can easily be forgiven, was when he wrote the name of my mother. (Scrap lost). He wrote “Lettitia.” One too many “t’s.” He got her dates right. He was also correct about dates for my father and 4 brothers and sisters. When he came to my brother Bill, he said that I had a brother with the same name as my father – both were named William Lester – one senior and one junior.
None of the predictions for the future turned out to be accurate. However, one was interesting. He predicted that I would inherit $30,000 dollars in June. I didn’t know anybody with $30,000 who would leave me anything. But – on the last day of July, I received a letter from a lawyer in Lawton, Oklahoma enclosing a check for about $300. My late Grandmother’s (Mama Howard) property in Pecos, Texas had been sold and the proceeds were being divided among her many grandchildren.
Did the prediction come true with the loss of two zeros or was it just a coincidence? I choose to believe the latter – I think.
I have lost a lot of sleep over this. Upon my return to the States, I read every book that I could read about extrasensory perception (ESP) which further confused me. The only thing I know is that he must have been reading my mind. I finally got back to normal by taking the coward’s way out – I refused to think about it, and I refused to question it.
In summary, I’m afraid to say “I don’t believe.” I can say for sure, “I don’t disbelieve.” Gee Whiz!
Rangoon
(see also Travel – Rangoon)
In 1971, on my first trip to Rangoon, I consciously chose to stay in the Strand Hotel – a once grand Victorian-era hotel. It was equally as grand and as beautiful as the Raffles Hotel in Singapore and the Erewan and Oriental hotels in Bangkok. Great names frequented them, Lord Mountbatten, Somerset Maugham and Rudyard Kipling, among others.
Walking into the lobby, the first thing that caught my eye was an elegant glassed-in lost and found cabinet. It was filled with things that must have been there for years – one lace glove, several lorgnettes, several monocles, and other Victorian-era treasures left behind by colonial sahibs. At check-in, I picked up my very large key as well as my mail and headed over the marble floors to the elevator (lift). Oops, a sign said it was “under repair” and politely directed me to the stairs, which proved to be very elegant and made of teak.
My room had seen better days but was clean and enormous – big enough for a dance and the highly polished teak floor would have been perfect for dancing. One little problem, no water except between six and eight a.m. at which toilets were flushable. OK, I can work around that.
I had an hour or so before dinner and started reading my mail.
One letter started out “Hello Baby.” Wow! My wife had died two years earlier and even she had never called me “Baby.” I looked quickly at the front of the envelope. It was addressed to Dr. Joseph H. Howard. I am Joseph H. Howard, but I’m no Doctor. The stamp was missing and, wow! double wow!, the letter had been there since August 16, 1969, two years earlier! The Doctor was due to arrive August 12 and indeed he did. He left on the 13th, 3 days before the letter had arrived at the Strand Hotel.
I was, and still am, flabbergasted! Where else in the world could this have happened? Gee Whiz!