How I Met Your Mother -- Part 1 (Re-posted with updated pic by request)

Hi, kids.

You have yet to ask about how your mother and I met. This is probably because you are of an age in which you think your mother and I are relatives. That we have always been together, and therefore destined, or forced through some bizarre ritual, to marry (which fits since Charlie and Finn often argue over who will marry Mommy and who will marry Tt).

But kids, this won't always be the case. Sometime, in the not too distant future, possibly as you face your own burgeoning adolescence, you will begin to wonder. You will wonder things like, "What makes me special?" "Where do babies come from?" "Why does the Incredible Hulk's shirt always rip to shreds, but his pants stay on?" or "Why doesn't Star stop playing so coy and just make a move on Nina already, I'm mean he sleeps over like every night, but he's totally stuck in the 'friend zone' now, right Dad?" Yes. Yes he is.

So, in honor of our 10th wedding anniversary. I decided to prepare for that one special night, some time during the winter of 2022, maybe. Maybe the electricity will have gone out. Maybe we'll be camping under the stars. Maybe we'll be holed up in a small cabinet trying to avoid the inevitable and systematic government extermination of all public school teachers. But, whatever the circumstances, kids, one of you, or all of you, in that perfect falsetto harmonizing your mother and I have been training you to perfect, will turn to me and ask , "Dad, how did you meet Mommy?" I shall draw long and slow from my corn-cob pipe, tug thoughtfully at my Rasputin beard, press my finger firmly into my neck goiter and regale you with the following tale:

The first time I laid eyes on your mother was in the Evergreen Hall lounge on the Southern side of Rowan's campus. I had been running, which even in those days was more commonly a function of being late or being chased, than of exercise. I was ten or so minutes late for my first Peer Referral and Orientation Staff (PROS, as it was called) meeting of the year. You see kids, in those bygone days, public education was well-funded, and there existed a thriving, hearty middle class able to send its off-spring off to moderately priced, state colleges. Rowan held an over-night orientation to acclimate freshmen to the campus.

They played games, ate, registered for classes, all under the watchful eye of the campus community. The liasions of this foray into the college experience were the PROS, advertised as a group of diverse, academically smart, extracurricularly involved young people, who, were, for the most part, also mostly the same, Greek-letter wearing, college partiers. Most of them, like your mother, were also very easy on the eyes. Yes kids, that was no accident. "Welcome to Rowan, here's some eye candy...oh, and don't forget to pay your housing deposit."

Oh, and kids, they also occasionally hired funny chubby guys. Accounting for me...and most of the people on staff I hung around with. Ok. All the people.

One of the many quirky traditions of that group was that returning "PROS" got to sit on couches outlying the lounge, while the "rookies," or new staff members, sat on the floor. Though I was only a sophomore, I had "made PROS" my freshmen year, and so, stepping through a valley of fifty or so "rookies," took a couch seat next to my buddy Pat MacCauley.

"Fire at the Haunted Castle" originally published 2005, Haunted Attractions Magazine (Reposted by Request)

I am posting this article because the original presence on the web has been removed or archived by the magazine. Thanks to the good people at http://www.darkinthepark.com/ for saving this digital copy. I don't know who deserves credit for the photo, but I am pretty sure it is the photo that accompanied my article in the magazine.

Fire at the Haunted Castle

Joe Costal

Kathy Ziprik had only been out of college for a few years. Attaining a master's degree in public relations from Rowan University, she was hired right into middle management at Six Flags Great Adventure (GA), a 1,700-acre theme park in Jackson, New Jersey. In 1984, "PR," as a business concept, was in its infancy. Many park employees had little idea what her title, assistant public relations director, actually meant. Few knew her job description. But Ziprick hit the ground running as a young professional at the park. She trained employees on communication, preached information management and "chain of command." She even wrote an emergency management plan. A document that instructed all employees -- the suits down to the ticket-takers -- how to handle communicating with the public in the case of an emergency. On May 11, 1984, at 6:41p.m., that document was sitting on a secretary's desk, waiting to be typed, copied, collated. This task would wait until Monday morning. No one could have predicted how badly it wold be needed that Friday evening.

Ziprick had just gotten home from work. She had barely removed her shoes when the phone rang. On the other end was the park’s on-duty security officer. She was glad he called. He was following the chain of command. "There's a small fire at the Haunted Castle attraction," he said. "No big deal, though." He told Ziprick that everything was under control, but she put her shoes back on, anyway. Her boss was away, so she wanted to make doubly sure everything would be all right. Ziprick never liked the Haunted Castle; frankly it gave her the creeps. Five minutes later, the phone rang again, this time it was a different park security officer. His question would ring in Kathy’s ears for the rest of her life. “There’s a fire at the Haunted Castle. Where can the ABC News helicopter land?”