Another Monday, another stop at the light at the intersection of El Segundo and Aviation, nexus of the aerospace industry in Los Angeles. There we were again, Steve Douglas, Ward Cleaver and, yep Ozzie Nelson and me, all of us on our way to power the engines of democracy. Well, Ozzie was on his way to the golf course, but he contributes in his own way.
I waved to Steve, who, as always, looked the epitome of the serious aeronautical engineer in his ’61 Biscayne. “How’re the boys, Steve?”
“All three down with swine flu. Bub’s fit to be tied!”
“Oh, sorry to hear that. Well, at least it keeps them out of trouble.”
Steve shook his head with that familiar world-weary worried look he always has. I don’t think he had much confidence that Mike, Robbie and Chip would stay out of trouble, even down with the flu. Certainly things would be better over at the Cleaver household, so I turned and waved at Ward. “How’re June and the boys, Ward?”
“All down with swine flu. That nice Eddie Haskell has volunteered to look after them today. He’s such a credit to his parents!”
I tried not to grimace. “Great, Ward. Hope they survi… I mean get better.”
Funny about that Ward. Seems smart enough: always so serious, but he can’t see through that Haskell kid’s act. Who knows what murdering hell Wally and the Beav are being exposed to back on that shady suburban street?
Well, Ozzie’s Chrysler was two lanes over, so I didn’t find out if they had the flu at the Nelson household, but at least he was on his way to play golf or have lunch or whatever it is he does all day.
I resolved to stay in my office with the door closed, in case anyone had the flu at my office. Someone’s got to keep the fires burning.