Three-Over-Two and Other Short Stories

By Paul R. Yarnold, Ph.D.

This collection of true autobiographical stories covers a kaleidoscope of subjects: escapades experienced in childhood and in adulthood; lessons learned in sports, celebrations, accidents, interpersonal relationships, parties, professional activities, and travel; antics of domestic and wild animals; health experiences and tips for activities on land, on water, and in the air; unforgettable surprises; and fishing experiences involving a cornucopia of species and a plethora of environments.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul R. Yarnold, Ph.D.
• Release date: Jul 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201457334

Paul R. Yarnold, Ph.D.

Paul R. Yarnold, Ph.D. was the first-born American in a family formed by circumstance due to relocations motivated by WWII. His father developed math used by anti-missile guidance systems, so the family lived in many states, coast-to-coast-to-coast. Paul was admitted to college at the age of twelve and began taking courses a week after his thirteenth birthday. During this time, he became a national-class speaker (National Forensic League) and chess player (USCF). He played baseball in clubs and college, then became a national-class ten-pin bowler. Paul became the youngest-ever Research Full Professor of Medicine, and of Emergency Medicine, at Northwestern University Medical School. Simultaneously he was Adjunct Full Professor of Academic Psychology (specializing in Behavioral Medicine, Game Theory, and Statistics) at the University of Illinois at Chicago. Paul formed a classical rock and classic blues band (he played the bass) and became a national class amateur high-power rocketeer. After thirty years, he left Chicago to live by the big-game fishing wharf in Point Loma, San Diego. Paul became a sponsored “stand-up” tuna angler, a mannequin model for Guess, and created a statistics consulting company. He discovered quantum mechanics for non-Hilbert data (the most accurate statistical analysis paradigm ever created) and founded the Optimal Data Analysis eJournal, the most widely-read scientific journal in history, now read by scientists in 192 countries. Then Paul returned to Chicago and worked remotely as an Adjunct Full Professor of Pharmacy at the University of South Carolina for five years. Presently he serves as a statistical/methodological consultant working with seminal scientists on leading medical frontiers, continues conducting theoretical statistics research, and writes short stories on a wealth of topics.

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Contents

Beginnings

Heaven on Earth

Dad was an instructor in Mathematical Statistics at the University of Chicago: Kruskal and Wallis were his advisors. Mom was a PhD candidate in the Department of Psychology at the University of Chicago: she worked with Bettelheim.

Always impatient—even before birth, I was born a month prematurely  at the University of Chicago Hospital. In the process my umbilical cord became wrapped around my neck, and the delivery physician told my mother that it was either I, or she, who would survive. Mom chose me.  I forgave the doctor decades ago.

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Mom, Dad, and I lived in a three-story apartment building with Mom’s relatives in Chicago (an orphan, Dad lived alone and supported himself before he was a teenager). When Mom and Dad went to the University in the morning, they would drop me off to stay with my Grandparents.  If Dad was present, I spoke English. Otherwise, I spoke Polish (Mom’s family was taken by KGB from Poland to a Siberian gulag in the first week of WWII, and her family walked 4,000 miles to India to regain their freedom).

When I arrived in the morning Gramma would fix me toasted Baltic rye bread with spun honey and a glass of warm milk (one may recall how God the Father spoke of the land of milk and honey, and Jesus spoke of our daily bread). I called Gramma mała stara kobieta (little old woman). A giant of a man, Grampa would sit at the table with me and have a cup of coffee. I called him duża stara kobieta (big old woman)—my Polish and my English were both works in progress.

When we finished breakfast Grampa would don his tool belt, ready to commence working on the building which was in dire straits: that was what refugees could afford. Simultaneously, I’d don my toolbelt—with the same tools that Grampa had but made of kid-sized plastic, and we would leave to repair some aspect of the structure. I was in front of and beneath him all the time: whatever Grampa did, I did. After a morning of hard work, I’d take a nap with my favorite animal wolfie. After my nap and lunch, Grampa and I would resume our work.

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In the afternoon Mom’s younger sister, my aunt Irena—whom we called Irka, would return from the University of Illinois at Navy Pier where she studied immunology, and take me to the park to play.

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Soon after we came back home, Uncle Peter, a mechanical engineer, would return from work. The family would inspect Peter to ensure he did NOT have a present for me—our house was inundated with his gifts, and he was forbidden to make matters worse. The search always failed:  I received a gift every day. Irka would do her best to beat Peter with her hands, books, a broom, or whatever was handy. Peter always laughed (he reminded me of Santa Claus), as did everyone else except Irka. Mom and Dad returned soon later, and we all shared dinner together.

Nothing lasts forever. Dad couldn’t support the family (i.e., me) on a University salary as an Instructor. In those days, unlike today, University faculty didn’t make much money. Dad took a civilian job in the military industrial complex, designing anti-ballistic missile guidance systems. He had wanted to be a mathematical statistician and teacher. I ruined that for him—I owe him everything! When Mom told me that we would be moving to another state (New Jersey), I didn’t take the news very well. 

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It was the McCarthy era and American leadership was fearful of Russia. There was a witch-hunt for communist sympathiz­ers. People speaking with Polish refugees had an FBI profile—in case they were conspirators. My only friends were my family. I wondered what my life would be like, spent alone.

When we arrived in Jersey, I soon made my first-ever friend and new adventures began to unfold.

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Things would become worse...

Big Fish

I often recall my earliest memory from six decades ago—the first episode in my life about which I have vivid recall of my intellectual and emotional responses. Prior to this event I never heard of nor saw any media reports about fishing. We had no television. I didn’t know anything about nets. In the absence of knowledge, exploration and discovery were my driving forces.

I was five years old. Dad, Mom, my little sister Suzy, and I had recently relocated from Chicago to New Jersey.

Mom often took Suzy and me across the street into a forested area in which there was a gently babbling creek, two to three feet in width. The bottom of the creek was sandy, mostly brown with streaks of white and yellow, and there were many small dark rocks and pebbles—most the size of a marble or smaller. In fair weather the water flowed slowly but steadily. Usually, the creek was a few inches deep, except for one deeper hole (I later learned that it held about a foot of water) located where the creek changed direction.

I checked the deep hole every time we visited the creek—I thought it was amazing! At least a half-dozen little fish (1/2 to 3/4 long, thin, silver/translucent) continuously zoomed in (from the creek) and out (into the creek) of the hole. This intrigued me. I wondered what else these fish do: where they go, where they come from; if, how, and when they sleep; what they eat; why they look identical; how big they get; and so forth.

However, what captured and commanded my imagination was a lone two-inch-long big fish that stayed in the deepest part of an underwater cavern dug by the current into the side of the creek bed. This fish didn’t roam, so I reasoned that it lived in the deep hole. Very interesting...

Not mentioning this to Mom or Dad, I decided I must catch the big fish. In my mind there was no asking why I had to do this—only what  (catch the fish, though I had no idea what to do subsequently), how   (I must devise a method), and when (as soon as possible). This was the very first mission of my life: perhaps why it is my earliest memory.

I decided to do this alone because I desired maximum stealth: I’d learned through repeated observation and interaction that fish see everything going on around them.

I reasoned that a direct assault—using a small drinking glass to pin the big fish between the back of the glass and the back of the cavern—was too risky because my arms weren’t long enough, and I was afraid of slipping face-first into the hole and drowning. So, I had to devise another way to catch the big fish in the deep pool.

I imagined I needed to lure the big fish out of its cave using food. I recalled that birds in our yard eat breadcrumbs, so maybe the big fish will come out of the hole to get a breadcrumb. But how can one snag a big fish with a breadcrumb?

I remembered how many times I stuck myself while playing with one of my sister’s safety pins. I imagined that I could put a breadcrumb on the point of the pin, and then when the big fish comes to eat the breadcrumb, the pin will snag the fish! But how to get the pin down to the fish, and how to pull the pin up once the fish is snagged?

It occurred to me that I could use the thread which my Mom uses to sew clothing for my sister and me! But, I wondered, how to control the thread and drop the breadcrumb-baited pin in front of the big fish? I then realized that I could tie the thread to a fallen tree limb and have excellent control of the thread and pin!

I executed my plan. I got a small piece of white bread from the bread box. I got a safety pin from my sister’s bedroom. There were plenty of fallen tree branches at the forest. All I needed was thread, and my Mom kept that on her sewing desk.

I asked if I could have some thread. Mom asked why, so I had to tell her my plan. Mom agreed so long as I took my sister with me, and Suzy wanted to go! Ach! This may ruin the experience, I argued. Susy will disturb the big fish and foil my hunt! She will ruin my concentration because I will have to watch her, not the big fish!

Mom wouldn’t change her mind, so off my sister and I went to the fishing grounds. On the way out of the front door to the woods Mom told me to be sure not to snag Suzy in her head. I thought that idea was ridiculous.

We carefully got to the spot. There is the big fish. I decide I need to swing (i.e., cast off) my thread and pin, to make sure it goes out far enough. I reasoned that although I could extend the stick and lower the pin—I was afraid of getting too close to the edge, falling in, and drowning. (In retrospect, the idea of a longer stick evaded me—I must have been overly gung-ho.)

I cast off—not?!

I cast off again—stuck!?

I turn around and Suzy is just finishing sucking in a sufficiently large volume of breath to enable her to produce the flesh-melting scream which little ones emit when they become upset. She was holding the pin—stuck right in the back of her head!

As soon as I pulled out the pin, Suzy began ripping towards home but stopped dead in her tracks after stepping on a nail protruding from a piece of wood. I pulled her foot off of the nail, carried her and my fishing equipment to the house, rang the doorbell and ran away as rapidly as possible—thinking "now I’ll never catch that big fish!"

I have no further memory of this incident, which I have never forgotten—my earliest memory.

SPOILER BAIT: Forthcoming Stories

Did you ever hear of the cliché, history repeats itself? Flash forward four decades to my initial cardiac arrest. Before losing consciousness on the operating table, my second-to-last thought was: "I never caught a big fish. My last thought was: I won't be able to raise my child! When I awoke after surgery, my first thought was: I’m alive—I will raise my daughter! My second thought was I’m going to catch a big fish."

Flash forward another decade and I was at the peak of my game, with numerous big fish notches of many species on my fishing rods. I was on a trip to some of the best fishing water within a thousand nautical miles of San Diego. Taro was deck boss, now he is a famous and beloved Captain in the San Diego Fishing Fleet. We were in a school of young yellowfin tuna, and the anglers were happily getting after them. I enjoyed watching the bros fish and the mates prevent chaos and offering a hand when the opportunity arose. One of the bros shouted out: Hey Planet, why aren’t you fishing? Taro immediately replied: "Plan-it only fishes for big fish!"

Have you caught your big fish yet?

Recognizing Gifts

Two dear friends asked me if I recalled when others first began to recognize gifts which I was given. I’d never considered this question but was pleasantly surprised to immediately recall two such incidences. While writing this story, I recalled additional related events which occurred later in life.

As a general response to this question, when I was young, I devoured life, eagerly chasing seemingly wholesome and interesting opportunities which came into my sights. I didn’t think about "me, I thought about it"—in the sense of seeking to achieve mastery.

FIRST TIME

The first event occurred when I was six years old, a bit after I’d graduated from first grade. I believe this is my second-earliest memory.

We lived in Sierra Vista, Arizona. It was Sunday morning. Having finished dressing for church, I walked from my bedroom into the living room. Mom and Mrs. Caldwell were seated on the couch, and Dad and Mr. Caldwell were seated in armchairs—they worked together developing anti-missile missile guidance systems. Dad and the ladies were engaged in conversation, while Mr. Caldwell was reading the newspaper comics.

I said good morning to the ladies and Dad. Then I said: Good morning, Mr. Caldwell. I didn’t realize that adults still read comics! Then I walked into the kitchen to fix myself breakfast—something men didn’t often do for themselves, in those days.

Decades later Mom told me Mrs. Caldwell told her then: that boy is going to grow into something.

SECOND TIME

The second event occurred in Mrs. Duncan’s 3rd-grade class. She had just explained an extremely simple, straightforward, interesting little assignment, which the class was to begin after she answered any questions concerning the task.

A student raised a hand, and when called upon asked Mrs. Duncan about something which, given the context of the task, was perfectly obvious in my mind. Mrs. Duncan thoroughly answered the question—I admired her patience.

No sooner did she finish answering the question then another student raised a hand, was called upon, and asked an essentially parallel question. Mrs. Duncan was kind, gave a brief response, and asked if anyone had a different question.

A third student raised a hand, was called, and asked a nauseatingly oblique question which varied only by degree—not by direction. Unconsciously I dropped my forehead onto the top of my desk, unintentionally creating a loud BANG noise—it was simply a frustration reflex and it startled everyone in the classroom.

Mrs. Duncan asked me if something was wrong. I sat up in my chair, extended my arms horizontally and responded: "Talk, talk, talk—when do we get to work?"

A few days later, Mom told me that, in the grocery market, Mrs. Duncan told her that I was an unusual kid. I don’t know what unusual entails, but nevertheless—I realized that I’d made an impression.

THIRD TIME

Early in my junior year I was among the top echelon of players in California competitive High School chess, first board on my school team. This was the era when Bobby Fisher made chess the focus of the world.

My school’s team attended the first Orange County chess tournament   of the school year. In the first round I played the black pieces against  the first board of another high school. Feeling audacious I opened with  a completely unorthodox impromptu defense presenting a mesmerizing display of the power of connected knights. By this I mean just the two knights prancing around the board—without moving a single pawn. I’d never seen, considered, or tried this defense, before or after this game, until now. My unimaginable tactic induced my opponent to panic, and   I won a