"Poolside Thoughts"...

Sitting at a restaurant overlooking the hotel pool, I noticed a middle aged woman well passed her "body building years" seated in the shade of umbrellaed table watching her ten or twelve year old son, I assume, splashing alone in the pool. Thoughts raced in my head, concocting scenarios of a lone mother and child.

Where was the father? MIA from a foreign conflict? A deadbeat dad running from his own realities? A marriage gone horribly wrong? A woman hoping to save her marriage with a pregnancy, or, simply, a working weekend where the father was upstairs catching up on his paperwork?

It took me back to the crazy days of my advertising career, when we would skip town and visit anywhere, for any reason, just to get away. For me, it was to get away from all nighters, deadlines, and wrestling with my own demons in addition to being a good husband and father. I am sure my wife had her many reasons for a getaway trip.

Like most kids do when there's a chance of a party in a pool, our son's first thought, besides where the next baseball game would be, was where's the pool. Many times, he spend a good portion of his pool time alone splashing around and begging me, or his mother, to return to the water to frolic. The few times we would return home to join my brothers and sisters at a local hotel, Brian was in heaven jumping off the high dive attempting to catch a nerf ball thrown to him as he leaped off the diving board into the water.

He would play this and other games of skill, with my family, in the water for hours.

Brian was an only child. I never felt bad about that, having been the eldest son with five other siblings. With my own business, usually working at home, I had the unique opportunity, unlike many fathers, of spending many hours enjoying his company. It wasn't until one day well into his adolescence, he told me how lonely he was as a child.

It never occurred to me.

Having lost our son to a mental illness, I see things that remind me the bittersweetness of life. Like the mind of an artist, who never stops observing, I am constantly being thrown into an emotional abyss by the everyday scenes that remind me of our lives together. It has been two years, now, and I am slowly learning to cope with it.

My thoughts meander and, as I finish my breakfast, I return back to earth.  It was then, that I noticed the mother, once seated with her coffee, wrapped a towel around her waist, and walked towards the pool to be the little boy's only playmate.

Going for a ride on the woman's back, splashing around and giggling, it all seemed enough for him... for now!

Copyright 2015/Ben Bensen III

"Wouldn't It Be Nice?... It Is!"

From the stump of an old oak tree...

I found this a few weeks ago in the town square in Zachary, LA by artist, Burt Fleming. Apparently, the citizens funded the project to honor all veterans. The eagle is carved out of the trunk of a large oak tree. I decided to wait for the appropriate time to post it.

I think today is an appropriate time... Happy Independence Day! — at Zachary Historic Village.

Copyright 2015/Ben Bensen III

"Happy Fourth of July... Now, Pull Out Your Flag!"

A drawing entitled, "Blue Macaw, by artist Sam D, graces the restroom wall
at Birdman Cafe in St. Francisville, LA.

Was up till four drawing frames and spent an hour doing one from my sketch instead of the director's stick interpretation of the human form. I woke up late and stumbled to the car to head to Birdman, for some coffee and granola cookie. When I got there, Brittany, one of the waitresses, was dressed in an American flag shawl, and red, white and blue tennis shoes.

She said, " You wanna pay for this, now... or later?" 

When I said now, she said, " Pull a flag!" 

I said, "What?" to which she replied, "Pull out your flag!"

I thought for a moment, like most guys would, that she was flirting with me until she nodded at a rice filled bowl of American flags.

"If you pull a flag out from the bowl, you may get a discount on your purchase," she yawned.

"Can I Iose?" I'm not really up to losing at anything, right now," I yawned back!

"Ben, she said, just pull a flag, you can't lose!"

As I did, she said, " You pulled a winner... three dollars off on any purchase!"

"Happy Fourth of July, Ben," she said, as I put my change back into my wallet and a couple of bucks in the tip jar.

"Happy Fourth of July, Little Miss America!" I said...

"Happy Fourth of July!"

Copyright 2015/ Ben Bensen III

"An Unbelievable Father's Day Story"...

My good friend is gone...

I don't know where to, or how to, start, except to say we will soon lose a dear friend ***and fellow ACCD alumni. Marty Rosenthal is in a hospice with family at his side, and I am told his time is near...

No, I really don't know where to start. I first met Martin in a Jack Leynnwood class at Art Center College of Design in SoCal. He loved drawing cars and took every chance he had to get Jack to fix his illustrations. To be honest, I really didn't think Martin was Art Center material. I wasn't the only artist to feel that way and felt the school was lowering its standards to except someone like Marty.

Kinda snotty, I know, and not really like me.

But, on a personal level, one just couldn't help but love Marty. He was curious about everything unlike many of us, who were on a one track road to illustrative "hell"! Martin D. Rosenthal just had an infectious way about himself that you just couldn't deny. I guess finding cancer in your body at an early age will do that to a person. Living and loving each damn day on this wonderful earth like it was your last. 

I try my best to remember that, though I usually fail, miserably!

Because of the recurring cancerous situation, he didn't complete his degree the time frame I did, and I lost track of his life and career until he, one day, drove by my house in South Pasadena, in his cherry black Camaro, I believe, just beaming from ear to ear. He was also smiling because he was gonna get married and that he got hired at an aerospace company in Long Beach and was quite happy striving to be the artist he felt he could be. We met a year or so later at the Salt Shaker, with his new wife and two twin baby girls.

Smiles all around and no cancer in sight!

But, living life in the "long run" ain't always so stable, or pretty. A few years later, he, and others from the art group, were let go at the aerospace plant, and his wife left him and the twins. If he told me about how it all came crashing down, I listened with one ear. All I know is Marty parented those two girls all through their childhood and they grew up to be something any father would be proud of. He took odd jobs where ever he could, went to night school, and finally settled on a substitute teacher job, so he could be with his girls and take care of them.

Both of the twins excelled in school and got scholarships to attend college. 

I lost touch with him through most of the late nineties and all through our move back to the bayou. But, I did visit his apartment when the twins were still living with him to let him know that our family was leaving for Louisiana. He told me he was thinking about moving to Phoenix, where his brother lived. The apartment was small, I believe, and, at that time, the bunk bed was in the living room, but everyone seemed healthy and happy and enthusiastic about the future.

We went to a local restaurant to catch up with each other's lives and then he showed my some of his nudes from a life drawing class that he had been taking, over the years, at Long Beach State, I think. I found them to be really well done. I told him that I was proud of his passion to be an artist against all the roadblocks, good and bad, that life put before him.

Seems at least once a year, since Therese, Brian and I moved to the bayou state, he'd call to check in on us. Some time in that decade, he told me the cancer had returned but that it was not going to be a problem. His girls were now on their own and he was moving to Arizona. Finding out that the illness had returned and that, to my knowledge, he was pretty much alone, fighting that battle, my wife and I would call in to check his progress. 

He seemed to have licked it again.

When Facebook came along sometime in 2009, Marty was one of my first friends. It was great to be able to keep in touch with all my SoCal friends and especially, Martin. It seemed like he had a good four or five years before the cancer was back, though, at first, Martin didn't think it was serious enough to mention in our posts.

Apparently, it was.

After a year long battle in and out of hospitals, clinics, and home, my friend is, we all are afraid, is giving up the struggle. God, I feel so bad for him. When I hear people say that things happen for a reason, the insane "linebacker" in me comes out. All that Buddha, karma, goes around, comes around simplicity, really fries my ass.There's no sense or justice here. 

And, to even suggest such a thing is the ultimate insult to a guy like Marty.

I really love you man, and I will always revere you as a great person and a great friend... Damn!

*** Marty passed away with family members at 3 am Father's Day morning!

Copyright 2015/ Ben Bensen III

"I Guess You Can Take The Sofa From The Man, But..."

On the roster for over fifty years...

I am still working, as a storyboard artist, on a feature film project in St. Francisville, Louisiana. At

times, it can get pretty intense even though the deadlines are pretty much self determining between me, the cinematographer and the director. Thankfully, there's no drop dead deadlines, like there are in the advertising world, but until just yesterday, I didn't have any time to just sit and enjoy a ball game.

But, Vin, did it to me again. I guess you can take the sofa from the man, but not the man from the sofa. The airing of the Dodger vs Cardinal game was a victim of a rain delayed game that came before it. So, it wasn't until just before 11 pm when the Dodger game came on. I put down the sketch pad and pencil determined to sit on the couch to watch what was left of the Dodger game.

With "Vin on the Box" I never made it through the next inning. Just like being at home, I passed out till 2am to the sound of static on the TV. "Go Dodgerzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!

Must have rolled over on the remote...

Copyright 2015/ Ben Bensen III

"Well, You Drive Yo'self Safe, Now!"

A McDonald's sketch...

Nursing a second cup at McDonald's while finishing one more thumbnail sketch, I've noticed this elderly gentlemen with soft green, but distant eyes that light up every time someone enters the restaurant. He seems to know all the locals that frequent the place and loves greeting them as he sits next to the door with a "MacWhatever" and a coffee, which he pays for himself. He, somehow, finds his way here arriving around 7am in the morning wearing a flannelette shirt, a brown baseball cap and a big smile. From the sound of his warbled greetings, he probably wears false teeth and forgets or refuses to wear the bottom set.

I've been here just three or four times when I'm awake, but many local restaurants here in St. Francisville aren't yet open. In spite of many coffee kudos I receive from friends, McDonald's version is serviceable. 

It's funny how small towns, like my hometown, Folsom, St. Francisville and many others have embraced, as one patron called Mr. Jeremy, "the poor souls". Everyone here, including the staff, seem to watch over him and make sure he is cared for. 

Having cared for my aged mother for so many years, I find this phenomenon, intriguing. Assuming he now lives alone, Mickey D's seems his second home where everyone can sit at "his" table. 

I also noticed that the men's restroom is on the other side of the refreshments bar, which is the reason, Mr. Jeremy, sits where he does... next to the women's restroom.

"You be from Baton Rouge?" "Where you be headed off to, in such a hurry?"
"Well, you drive yo'self safe, now... Have a blessed day!"

"Thank you, sir... I certainly, plan to!"

Copyright 2015/ Ben Bensen III

"No Way, You Must Be Putting Me On"...

Man, you must be putting me on...

God said to Abraham, "Kill me a son" 

Abe said, "Man, you must be puttin' me on" 

God said, "No", and Abe say, "What?" 

God say, "You can do what you want, Abe, but now,

The next time you see me comin', you better run" 

Well, Abe said, "Where d'you want this killin' done?" 

God said, "Out on Highway 61" 

( Bob Dylan )

After ten hours of work, at 7:30 pm, I drove north, up and down Highway 61, from St. Francisville to just south of Natchez, MS, to find me a decent place to eat. Most of the places in town, except the fast food joints, had already closed or, were closing. After thirty minutes of driving, I saw one on the other side of the highway, turned around and drove a half mile back south to what looked like a nice place to eat.

I parked my car.

I got out of the car and looked into the window to see if they were still opened only to find three or four couples having dinner. But when I went to the restaurant door, the sign said, "Closed on Monday and Tuesday." Before giving up on having any dinner, I walked up close to the window and, in a strange sort of sign language, asked the waitress if they were open. 

She pointed to the door and as I, puzzled, opened it, she asked me if I needed any help.

"Yes," I said. "I noticed on the door that y'all are closed on Monday and Tuesday and wondered if the restaurant was still serving dinner!"

"It says on the door, y'all are closed on Monday and Tuesday," I said. "I am wondering if this is a private party tonight," 

She politely replied, "No, this isn't a private party, but you're welcome to join us.
We are closed on Monday and Tuesday, but... 

"Today's Wednesday!"

"He found a promoter who nearly fell off the floor, 

He said, "I never engaged in this kind of thing before. 

But yes, I believe it can be very easily done,

We'll just put some bleachers out in the sun ...

And have it out on, Highway 61"

( Bob Dylan )

Copyright 2015/ Ben Bensen III