Where were they then?
16 September 1968: American League President Joe Cronin fired umpires Al Salerno and Bill Valentine for trying to start an umpires’ union. Also, the Detroit Tigers whupped the Yankees 9 to 1 at Tiger Stadium. The Beatles, or at least Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr, were over at Abbey Road recording “I Will.” The Amtrac Platoon in Vietnam completed Operation “Lancaster II” and began Operation “Scotland Trousdale North.” Orlando Bosch fired a bazooka on a Polish ship in Miami, and is also connected with a bomb blast on the Satrustegui in Puerto Rico; Miami later proclaimed an Orlando Bosch Day. Richard Nixon said “Sock it to me!” on Laugh-In, thereby securing his victory over Hubert Humphrey. Over on CBS, the last episode of The Andy Griffith Show was airing. And the British Royal Mail eliminated the separate rate category for inland postcards, creating a two-tiered system of first- and second-class mail. Confusion reigned, briefly.
Also, I was born. (Thanks, Mom! —I’d link to you, too, Dad, but you don’t have a web presence, and let’s face it: Mom did most of the heavy lifting.)
—16 September is also the birthdate of General Motors, Ed Begley, Jr., and England’s Henry V.
Commenting is closed for this article.
Hey, happy birthday! Nixon never really knew what hit him.
Now, if only I could say that I've met Henry V.
Happy birthday Kip! Couldn't have happened to a better guy.
Pretty much happens to every guy, last I checked.
Happy 36, Old Bean!
Birthdays are good. Make sure you get cake. And try not to whistle the Andy Griffith theme all day.
in the immortal words of owl:
HIPY PAPY BTHUTHDTH THUTHDA BTHUTHDY
and many happy returns of the day.
Ah, yes, that one time every year when I remember that you are indeed older than me despite the persistent memory that somehow that wasn't the case all those other years. Know what I'm talking about?
Cheers, mate.
I hoist a frosty beverage in your general direction!
Dangit, I wrote "Happy Birthday, Kip!" in there and Movable Type stripped it out without warning or explanation.
Anyway, HAPPY FREAKING BIRTHDAY, YOU.
Happy birthday you freaking Kip!
Chaahhhpie birsday, amerikin boye.
Hey, old man! You're still alive! Good job! May your next 36 years improve upon the first. After that, take a vacation.
Well. How about that. One of my very favroite weblogs is authored by the son of... one of my very favorite photographers. One of the *very* few whose work I've paid for. I had no idea... Happy birthday, Kip. And keep up the great work, Tina!
Happy mcBIRTHDAY, KIPP-O-RAMA!
Oh, hey, thanks, everybody. I would have said something sooner, but I got this strange message from Jenn saying "meet me at the corner of Northwest Davis and Broadway at sixish," and then my boss stuck her head around the door and said, "You have tomorrow off, happy birthday, get out of here," and a smarter person might have put two and two together, but I didn't, and so I ended up in a bed and breakfast out in the Gorge with a spouse whose face just wouldn't lose that delightful canary-gobbling grin. —We drove up to the very top of a slanted table of land on the Washington side, crossed the Bridge of the Gods three times, doubtless confusing the toll-takers, and saw a 12-foot-long sturgeon. Also, I got an iPod.
Not bad; not bad.