The Man in Me

“There's kind of a Zen aspect to bowling. The pins are either staying up or down before you even throw your arm back. It's kind of a mind-set. You want to be in this perfect mind-set before you release the ball.” Jeff Bridges

Most Jeff Bridges lines as The Dude in the cult film “The Big Lebowski” (1998) are scatological.  Oft-repeated witticisms by fans of The Dude include “Hey, I’m housebroken” and (when the Nihilists invade his bathroom with a trained ferret) “Hey, nice marmot!”  My favorite: “I was one of the original authors of the Port Huron Declaration.  Not the compromised second draft.”  What immediately hooked me upon watcing “The Big Lebowski” was Bob Dylan singing “The Man in Me” during the opening credits (son Dave sings it even better than Dylan).  When Lebowski claims that what makes a man is being prepared to do the right thing whatever the cost, The Dude replies, “Sure, that, and a pair of testicles.”

At Hobart Lanes my Electrical Engineers bowled against 2 R’s and 2 L’s.  During warmup I said to William Pfeiffer, “None of your names start with either R or L.  What’s the deal?”  You’ll see,” he replied. Two were lefties and the other two right-handed. Teammate Bob “Robbie” Robinson said, “Hey, you made the front page of the newspaper” and related that he was 6 at the time of Pearl Harbor and understood it was important from his parents’ reaction. For two and a half games I struggled until Frank Shufran told me I wasn’t following through.  I promptly rolled five straight strikes to finish with a 210, my best game in two years.  Demonstrative Judy Sheriff, whose middle game was even more horrendous than mine, rebounded with a 190, exclaiming “yahoo” and copying Frank Vitalone’s Italian salute when she picked up a ten-pin by gripping the biceps of her right arm and raising her fist. 

On a TV screen above us was a golf tournament featuring sexy Paulina Gretzky, daughter of the hockey great Wayne Gretzky and girlfriend of Dustin Johnson.  A guy on the alley next to us said he’d watch more golf if she were competing.  At home over the phone we wished Jim Migoski “Happy Birthday.”  Thirty years ago I started bowling because of him.   

At Hobart Lanes my Electrical Engineers bowled against 2 R’s and 2 L’s.  During warmup I said to William Pfeiffer, “None of your names start with either R or L.  What’s the deal?”  You’ll see,” he replied. Two were lefties and the other two right-handed. Teammate Bob “Robbie” Robinson said, “Hey, you made the front page of the newspaper” and related that he was 6 at the time of Pearl Harbor and understood it was important from his parents’ reaction. For two and a half games I struggled until Frank Shufran told me I wasn’t following through.  I promptly rolled five straight strikes to finish with a 210, my best game in two years.  Demonstrative Judy Sheriff, whose middle game was even more horrendous than mine, rebounded with a 190, exclaiming “yahoo” and copying Frank Vitalone’s Italian salute when she picked up a ten-pin by gripping the biceps of her right arm and raising her fist.  At home over the phone we wished Jim Migoski “Happy Birthday.”  Thirty years ago I started bowling because of him.   

Due to bowling, I skipped IUN’s Holiday Reception since teammate Dick Maloney is on the DL after a hand operation.  Pianist Billy Foster and accordionist Eve Bottando were providing entertainment, and I’m sorry to have missed emeritus faculty regulars Fred Chary and Rick Hug. Saturday I’ll miss a Lady Redhawks basketball game because of bridge club.  Sunday I’ll be at Memorial Opera House for “Meet Me in St. Louis” and miss a puppet show and radio play at Gardner Center.  Monday I have to attend a condo board meeting while the Gary Symphony Orchestra is performing at the Gary Genesis Convention Center.

With the temp in the low 20s and worse weather predicted on the horizon, I wore a hoodie for the first time ever. Alissa gave me a green Michigan State hoodie a couple years ago, but it seemed a little warm for indoors.  My work space behind the Archives, being next to a north window, gets cold, however, and my hats weren’t doing the job outside.  It’ not unusual for me not to wear new clothes right away, but I should have tried wearing it sooner. Now I’ll probably be virtually living in it.

Ray Smock emailed, “I got a nice surprise in the mail today. Glad I was on your short list [to get a copy of “In God We Trust”]! I sat down and started reading it again and I started laughing out loud again at Jean Shepherd's great stories and his wonderful writing. It's an American classic and so are you, my friend. Our hearty best wishes to you and Toni and your entire family.”  On Facebook Smock posted:

  Soon I will be back to full speed on politics, not that it has ever been out of my mind. But I did feel the real need to get away from it for a while by watching old Westerns, engaging in my photography hobby, and I even cleaned up the storage area in our basement. Anything but watch news of another Trump appointment. Sunrises and sunsets remind me of things more eternal and I look for these golden hours to reflect on things. I took this image at sunset last night. I sat on a lovely hill for almost an hour waiting for the low light and watching the clouds go from white to red. Good for the soul.

 West Virginia before the snow came, photo by Ray Smock' below, Jim Spicer, Packer fan

This from Jim Spicer:

            A 65-year old woman had a heart attack and was taken to the hospital. While on the operating table she had a near death experience. Seeing God she asked, “Is my time up?”

God said, “No, you have another 33 years, 2 months and 8 days to live.”

Upon recovery, the woman decided to stay in the hospital and have a face-lift, liposuction, breast implants and a tummy tuck. She even had someone come in and change her hair color and brighten her teeth! Since she had so much more time to live, she figured she might as well make the most of it. After her last operation, she was released from the hospital. While crossing the street on her way home, she was killed by an ambulance. Arriving in front of God, she demanded, “I thought you said I had another 33 years? Why didn't you pull me out of the path of the ambulance?”

God replied: “I didn't recognize you!”

I received an email from Melinda Oswalt Ramsden, who recently learned that she is the granddaughter of Paulino Monterrubio, whom I interviewed and wrote about in “City of the Century.”  Melinda thinks Paulino’s son was a nightclub singer.  Her mother was an Estonian immigrant whose family fled the country rather than live under Soviet domination.  Melinda subsequently was adopted and raised by a loving couple in Illinois.  She wrote:

In the years before I found information on my birth father’s family, I had hoped he was still in Chicago.  I threw myself into Mexican history via books, television series, and as much as I could find via the Internet.  I learned how many Mexican families came North to work in steel mills and/or in the meat packing industry.  And it was because of your book that I could understand why one of the birth certificates for one of the family members indicated that Paulino Senior was working in a pool room, and how they had lived in Joliet (where my father, Paulino, was born).  Never did I take so much interest in history until I realized how much of it was in the making in the lives of both of my family members.

I emailed back, “Thank you for sharing such an inspiring story.  In the Roy Dominguez book “Valor” I talk about how memorable my interview with your grandfather was.  It’s been over 40 years since I interviewed him, but I still remember it vividly.”  Here’s what’s I wrote in the Afterword to “Valor.”

  John Bodnar’s epic “The Transplanted: A History of Immigrants in Urban America” (1987) developed the paradigm of immigrants and their offspring as active agents rather than as mere victims.  I had a similar epiphany after interviewing Gary steelworker Paulino Monterrubio.  All I initially wanted to question him about were the ways he was discriminated against, which he was, and that’s certainly part of the story.  But he wanted to tell me about being a neighborhood warden during World War II, and he was eager to show me his citizenship papers, union cards, and pictures of his family.  Thankfully, I was a good listener, the first prerequisite for an oral historian. Paulino put up with the discrimination, but the reality of his life – the way he wanted to be remembered – was not just as somebody who was kicked around but as a man who had this, did that, and left a mark through his relatives and his kids.

Astronaut John Glenn, a marine fighter pilot during World War II and Korea (baseball great Ted Willaims was his wingman) and the first American to orbit Earth (in 1962), is dead at age 95. Although I was not all that caught up in America’s space program during the 1960s, I was deeply impressed by Glenn’s entire career, including four terms in the Senate. In 1998 at age 77 Glenn boarded a space shuttle and went back into space. From all indications he didn’t let being an American hero go to his head.  Ray Smock, who knew him from when he was House historian, wrote these words:

  One time I was waiting on the Senate side to take the subway to the Capitol. Senator Glenn was nearby talking to two other senators. A woman, with three young kids in tow along with her husband, came up to me and said, “Excuse me, could you tell me who that person over there is (pointing to Glenn), he looks like someone I should know.” I replied, “Yes ma’am, that’s John Glenn.” She beamed with surprise and a sense of wonderment that she had laid eyes on him. She gathered up her family and went over to the senator and introduced herself and her family. Senator Glenn was gracious as he so often was in such cases. He shook everyone’s hand, he engaged them in conversation, and out came the camera and he posed for a picture with the family. I’ll bet that picture still hangs in a prominent place in their home.

Ray and Phyllis Smock, Mike Gilette, John and Annie Glenn, Mary Jane Veno, Pat and Dick Baker (2007)

I picked up gummy bears (for Dave) and macadamia nuts (for Toni) at the Albanese Confectionery outlet on Route 30 for Christmas presents. The nuts are a tradition as a way of recalling our living in Hawaii the first 18 months of our marriage.  Scott Albanese started the company in 1983, and the gummies, which come in 16 flavors and in the form of worms, bears, and soldiers, are shipped all over the world. The Albanese factory produces 50,000 gummies a day.