“I'm looking at myself, reflections of my mind,
It's just the kind of day to leave myself behind.”
Moody Blues
Slept late (for me – 7:30) Wednesday because of bowling and heard ten 1967 songs at ten a.m. on 97.1 FM, including “Tuesday Afternoon” by the Moody Blues, one of my favorite bands. Eckankar “soul travelers” also love the Moodies. It was a better choice, I thought than their more famous hit of that year “Nights in White Satin.” Also heard two other psychedelic favorites, “Whiter Shade of Pale” by Procol Harum and Jefferson Airplane’s “White Rabbit,” which contains the line, belted out by Gracie Slick, “Feed your head.” Had I stayed in the car longer, might have heard something from “Sergeant Pepper.” After consuming two Taco Supremes for lunch, attended “The Hereafter,” directed by Clint Eastwood and starring Matt Damon as someone with psychic powers and French beauty Cecile De France, who plays a journalist who during a near-death experience has visions suggestive of an afterlife. As much as I respect Eastwood for his past work, most recently “Gran Torino,” and for tackling the subject of religion, the movie was pure mumbo jumbo. The Matt Damon character communicates intimately with dead loved ones after simply holding supplicant’s hands for a few seconds. The only suspense was how completely Cecile would disrobe (answer: down to bra and panties). Don’t give much thought to the hereafter, suspecting, as Cecile’s lover put it, that the lights simply go out, the plug is pulled. It would be great to be able to soul travel through time and space, but I'd settle for our spirit becoming part of the cosmos. Never bought the Lutheran belief that only believers in Jesus Christ reach heaven or that faith was more important than good works. If I needed a church, I’d select the Unitarians, who are tolerant and nondoctrinaire.
The Post-Trib ran excerpts from an oral history of baseball that focused on one of my favorite players, Dick Allen, who played for the Phillies both in the Sixties and the late Seventies. He had an MVP season with the White Sox in 1972, and Bill Melton recalled that he almost never took batting practice. It messed up his timing, he said, to swing at balls going only 60 miles per hour. One day, the right-handed Allen took batting practice left-handed, and Melton was astounded when he hit numerous balls out of the park. I was sitting in rightfield at the old White Sox park when Allen hit a line drive home run that was still rising when it landed near me.
Biding time till bowling, ate yogurt in the car and read about Jimmy Carter’s boycott of the Olympics (motivated by political considerations and a desire, in the wake of the Iranian hostage crisis, not to look weak, the action ultimately backfired and weakened American prestige). I rolled a respectable 502 despite a paucity of strikes. Engineers won one of the three games. In game one of the World Series, San Francisco, conquerors of the Phillies, routed Nolan Ryan’s Texas Rangers. Heard “Laredo” by Band of Horses and “Depression” by the Dead Horses, whose frontman, Ryan Bingham wrote “The Weary Kind,” which Jeff Bridges sang in “Crazy Heart.”
At Purdue North Central for the Hispanic Communities in Northwest Indiana panel. Organizer Kenny Kincaid was delighted that about 50 people were in attendance, about half of whom were not in his class. A student of mine from the early Seventies introduced herself beforehand and even had a friend take a photo of the two of us. She said her son Bryan Blaschke took my class as well. Bryan wrote an article that’s in my Nineties Steel Shavings (“Shards and Midden Heaps,” volume31) about Charles R. Paine, a 1991 Merrillville High School graduate who spent three months in jail on a false drug charge. His roommate got caught with marijuana and then claimed it was his. Eventually the authorities dropped the charges against Pierce. Also in attendance were Terry and Kim Hunt, old friends who took numerous courses of mine before moving to Westville and transferring to Purdue. Player/coach for the Glen Park Eagles, Terry recruited Dave, Paul Mathews, and me to be on the softball team. I promised to send them our new address and phone number and that we’d have lunch before Christmas. Terry suggested Olga’s in downtown Westville. Didn’t even know Westville had a downtown.
First on the program went very well, I essentially summarized what I had written in the forward to “Maria’s Journey,” adding that Maria actually made three journeys to America, when 11 to join her brother, when 19 to join her husband, and when 32, pregnant and with 8 kids. The first two times she lived in boxcars in a railroad workers’ camp. My talk was essentially a 15-minute introduction of Ray and Trish Arredondo, who decided to take my advice and read an excerpt from “Maria’s Journey” after saying a few words about how they came to write the book. They chose excerpts from “Don’t Look Back – The Homecoming,” the chapter dealing with her third border crossing. Also on the program was Puerto-Rican-American Monica Cavinder, program director for El Puente, a Hispanic Community Center in La Porte that provides counseling services ranging from Food Stamp application assistance to free health screenings. The final speaker, Chancellor Jose Guadalupe “Lupe” Valtierra of IVY Tech, gave a very inspirational talk about the value of education and importance of role models, referring several times to “Maria’s Journey,” emphasizing the importance of family history and calling on several students to explain why they were in school. The discussion afterwards went on for a half-hour, focusing both on history and current events. Delicious cookies were on hand; when Kenny said they’d go to waste if we didn’t take them, I wrapped up a half-dozen. I mentioned to Chancellor Valtierra how disappointed I was that the Academic Corridor plan that would have rehabilitated the area along Thirty-Fifth Avenue between his school and mine seemed to be moribund. He replied that at the GRIP conference yesterday at the Gary Genesis Center the plan was discussed in positive terms. At lunch in the university cafeteria, I had a burger and big salad before driving to Dr. Quackerbush’s office. Good news: my PSA, potassium, and cholesterol readings were all down from six months before.
Angie and the kids came over for Toni’s homemade chicken soup (the cookies from the panel discussion were a hit for dessert). While James finished homework Rebecca decorated Katie’s dolls in Halloween outfits. In the basement with a quart of Miller I proofread a draft of an article Chris Young is submitting to an online journal called “Federal History” entitled “Proclamations and Founding father Presidents, 1789-1825.” The most famous was George Washington’s proclamation of Neutrality” when France and Great Britain were at war, but others had to do with pardons (including Jean Lafitte and pirates who helped defend New Orleans during the war of 1812), trade, and establishing the holiday of Thanksgiving.
Killing four or five flies a day by the Martha’s Cage window where my computer is located has been pretty disgusting. I’ve been using an IU directory and need to bring in a swatter. Heard from eighth grade pal Paul Turk who is doing a study of the Gary Airport for the Federal Aviation Administration and had questions about the nearby area steel mills. His daughter KT will be starting college in two years so isn’t planning to retire any time soon.
Ron Cohen came in for Chancellor Lowe’s Installation ceremony, lured to the event in part because of the promise of good food afterwards. The caterer is the same guy who recently closed Miller Bakery Café. He asked me to proofread, an essay entitled, “Country Music, Southern Music, and Alan Lomax.” It’s very thoroughly researched but contains too many overlong quotes. I also recommended a more descriptive and catchy title. Stopping at the History office, I ran into colleagues carrying academic robes for the Chancellor’s Installation. Gianluca Di Muzio quipped that someone asked if it was his Halloween costume. Jerry Pierce joked that a flask could fit under it. I’ve never felt particularly comfortable in a cap and gown and missed more IU Northwest graduations than I attended – or I’d go in civilian clothes and then congratulate students I knew afterwards. Chris Young, having read my suggestions for his paper, said, “You’re a genius.” Wish it were so, but I do have a talent for editing. Walking back to the library, I ran into Chancellor Lowe, who was carrying his cap and gown, and noted that it was a big day for him and the campus. Many guests were on campus for the occasion, and as Chuck Gallmeier told a Post-Trib reporter, Lowe seems the right man for the job. At the reception afterwards were free beer and wine and a room full of desserts. The History department is meeting with Chancellor Lowe next Friday, and I plan to suggest that he pick out a book about Irish History (his field) and we could all read it over the holidays and then come together to discuss it in January.
A producer for a Discovery Channel series entitled “Abandoned Planet” wants to interview me about the history of locations that, in his words, “have fallen on hard times or have become abandoned altogether.” I wrote back: “I would be happy to say a few words about three vanished or vanishing Gary sites that once were vital to the city’s social life: Froebel School, City Methodist Church’s Seaman Hall, and Memorial Auditorium. I can be at IU Northwest’s Calumet Regional Archives November 8 or 9 and either be interviewed there or at the various sites.”
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Strolling Down Memory Lane
“Come, let's stroll
Stroll across the floor . . .
Well, rock my soul
How I love to stroll”
The Diamonds
Toni got reunion photos developed, including a group photo of all classmates in attendance, a shot of me with Jay Bumm, Chris Koch, and Pete Drake, one of Wendy with me and Suzi Hummel’s husband, and three taken when I was dancing the stroll with Janet Garman, Phil Arnold, Barbara Ricketts, the Stroups, and Mary Dinkins Lewis and her husband. I mailed the dance photos to Barbara and Janet, writing on the back, “Strolling Down Memory Lane.” My two favorite Stroll songs are “C.C. Rider” by Chuck Willis and “Walking to New Orleans” by Fats Domino. Chuck had a double-sided hit of “What Am I Living For” and “Hang Up My Rock and Roll Shoes.” I had at least a dozen of Fats Domino’s 45s, including rarities found at the Montgomery Mart (long gone, Terry Jenkins informed me). Fred Scott, the reunion deejay, played “Blueberry Hill” but not “My Blue Heaven.” Whenever it came on at sock hops, I’d get Judy Jenkins to dance with me.
Nancy Schrope is making a photo compilation CD, Connie Heard Damon reported, adding: “ I'm still on Cloud 9. It was all just too wonderful for words!! Several weeks ago I thought the 50th would be our last reunion, but this one was so good that we're already thinking of a picnic in 2 years, and then our 55th to follow.” I sent Connie nostalgic musings from my blog and she replied: “This is WONDERFUL!! I'm in tears...partly because you did such a great job, and partly because I have such happy memories of the whole weekend. I still can't believe how special it was. Thanks for sharing this.” Judy Jenkins emailed: “Both Lee Lee and Wendy sent me a few pictures which were wonderful to see. They said it was a fabulous reunion and a great turnout. I spoke to Wendy today and her crown was stolen en route home. She was very upset, but I'm glad she had the opportunity to wear it at the reunion. Lee Lee and I talked for at least an hour and she pointed out who everyone was in the class photo and gave me lots of details. Not quite like being there, but still fun. Obviously a great success!” Sent a request for photos to Lee Lee and back came jpegs of a dozen, including a great one of Sissy Schade with Eddie Piszek. At breakfast Sissy mentioned seeing an ailing Louise Jester the night before and recalled comforting her on the Fort Washington school playground after boys had made fun of her, claiming she had “cooties” (imaginary bugs). I hope I never did anything directly to hurt her feelings. Eddie almost skipped the reunion because he’d been feeling disoriented lately but was in good form. We joked about the trouble we caused Ron Hawthorn’s father (Mr. Haw-thee-Haw, we called him) when we were on his Babe Ruth League team.
Dave and Angie had a good time at Marianne Brush’s Halloween, which we missed due to the reunion. Marianne and Lorraine Todd-Shearer recently went past our place on a hike, and on Facebook Lorraine quipped: “How did you ever keep from going over that cliff?” Actually I had a couple close calls when putting down gravel and cinder blocks in a continuing effort to fight erosion. Checking other friends on FACEBOOK, I noticed one of them listed was an attractive African American named Brown SugarBaby. I have no idea who she is although she identified herself as an Indiana University Northwest student. She notes: “I went through a MASSIVE friend deleting; if you survived, you’re special to me.” How we became friends is beyond me, and I haven’t yet learned how to de-friend folks.
The goal of tomorrow’s Gary summit, according to The Times, is to revitalize Northwest Indiana’s urban core. Called GRIP (The Gary and Region Investment Project), the initiative, according to newspaper publisher Bill Masterson, is to “build bridges across municipal borders, between the public and private sectors, with the state and federal governments and even our counterparts in metropolitan Chicago.” While Mayor Rudy Clay seems on board with the idea, generally when outsiders talk regional cooperation, what they really seek is control of Gary assets such as the airport and bus service. Minority Studies professor Earl Jones, for one, is skeptical, noting that this “will probably be the first time when Gary's future is determined by 1) external political entities (NIRPC, Chicago Metro Planning, the RDA), 2) gvt departments (U.S. HUD), and 3) the private sector (The Times, Quality of Life Council).”
Choice sent me a review copy of “Dropping the Torch: Jimmy Carter, The Olympic Boycott, and the Cold War” by Nicholas E. Sarantakes. I always thought it was folly for the United States to boycott the 1980 Moscow Olympics. President Carter claimed it was in retaliation for the Russian invasion of Afghanistan, but all it did was reignite the Cold War and ruin many athletes’ dreams. For one thing it denied the men’s basketball team a chance to revenge the 1972 controversial defeat in the enemy’s capitol. In turn Russia and its allies to boycott the Los Angeles games in 1984. Ironically, the Soviet Union was worried about Muslim extremists just as we presently are. Some of the same people who foiled the Russians are now fighting what they consider to be the American invaders.
Ray and Trish Arredondo sent me a copy from the Midwest Book Review that calls “Maria’s Journey” “a fascinating read and a must for anyone looking for a story of American immigration.” Right on! Revised slightly my Forward to “Maria’s Journey” for my speech Thursday at Purdue North Central Hispanic Heritage Month panel, adding this concluding paragraph: One final note: Maria Perez Arredondo actually made three journeys to America. Her first took place in 1918 at age 11 with her mother to join her brother Francisco, who worked for a railroad company. They lived in a boxcar. The second took place in 1926 when the 19 year-old had a three year-old daughter and was joining husband Miguel. Once again they lived in a boxcar before eventually making their way to the Chicago area. Similarly, when U.S. Steel recruited Puerto Rican laborers after World War II, the first to arrive were housed in old Pullman cars. Maria’s third journey was the most arduous and took place in 1939 at age 32 after her mother had been deported and she accompanied her back to Mexico. Pregnant and with eight children in tow, she was stopped at the border because she did not have the necessary papers with her, but finally a sympathetic guard let them pass when he realized that the young kids spoke fluent English and must have been American-born, as they claimed. At present some Republican leaders want to amend the constitution to deny citizenship to children born here. As historian John Bodnar notes in the introduction to “Maria’s Journey,” Fierce debates among Americans have once again marked the issue of immigration, and xenophobes have called for mass deportations. But that’s another story.
The political news continues bleak, but at least there is hope in West Virginia in the race for Robert Byrd’s old Senate seat that Governor Joe Manchin will defeat Republican businessman John Raese. Recently revealed: the agency behind a GOP ad sought “hicky-looking” actors wearing flannel shirts and John Deere caps to portray supposedly angry West Virginians. Raese has been lumping together Manchin and the President, but during a debate Manchin said that he hated to inform his opponent but Mr. Obama’s name will not be on the ballot.
Time had a cover story on Alzheimer’s, a disease that has affected millions, from President Ronald Reagan on down. Thirty years ago I was an oral history consultant for a project designed to support caregivers to Alzheimer’s patients. Bailly Alliance mainstay Ed Osann and former Post-Trib managing editor Terry O’Rourke were just two of many Region Alzheimer’s victims. Mary Ann Becklenberg, who has Early-Stage Alzheimer’s, wrote that she’d hang up the phone and not recall the party on the other end of the line. She’d return from a trip and forget her husband had been with her. Mary Ann’s advice to others afflicted: be gentle with yourself, keep humor in your life, and lower your expectations. In other words, don’t feel that you are inadequate and falling apart. Easy to say.
Got a message from the Sand Creek condo board president that I will be on the ballot for board secretary unopposed. I’ll have to tell neighbor Tom Coulter that he’ll be needed as Court One director.
Stroll across the floor . . .
Well, rock my soul
How I love to stroll”
The Diamonds
Toni got reunion photos developed, including a group photo of all classmates in attendance, a shot of me with Jay Bumm, Chris Koch, and Pete Drake, one of Wendy with me and Suzi Hummel’s husband, and three taken when I was dancing the stroll with Janet Garman, Phil Arnold, Barbara Ricketts, the Stroups, and Mary Dinkins Lewis and her husband. I mailed the dance photos to Barbara and Janet, writing on the back, “Strolling Down Memory Lane.” My two favorite Stroll songs are “C.C. Rider” by Chuck Willis and “Walking to New Orleans” by Fats Domino. Chuck had a double-sided hit of “What Am I Living For” and “Hang Up My Rock and Roll Shoes.” I had at least a dozen of Fats Domino’s 45s, including rarities found at the Montgomery Mart (long gone, Terry Jenkins informed me). Fred Scott, the reunion deejay, played “Blueberry Hill” but not “My Blue Heaven.” Whenever it came on at sock hops, I’d get Judy Jenkins to dance with me.
Nancy Schrope is making a photo compilation CD, Connie Heard Damon reported, adding: “ I'm still on Cloud 9. It was all just too wonderful for words!! Several weeks ago I thought the 50th would be our last reunion, but this one was so good that we're already thinking of a picnic in 2 years, and then our 55th to follow.” I sent Connie nostalgic musings from my blog and she replied: “This is WONDERFUL!! I'm in tears...partly because you did such a great job, and partly because I have such happy memories of the whole weekend. I still can't believe how special it was. Thanks for sharing this.” Judy Jenkins emailed: “Both Lee Lee and Wendy sent me a few pictures which were wonderful to see. They said it was a fabulous reunion and a great turnout. I spoke to Wendy today and her crown was stolen en route home. She was very upset, but I'm glad she had the opportunity to wear it at the reunion. Lee Lee and I talked for at least an hour and she pointed out who everyone was in the class photo and gave me lots of details. Not quite like being there, but still fun. Obviously a great success!” Sent a request for photos to Lee Lee and back came jpegs of a dozen, including a great one of Sissy Schade with Eddie Piszek. At breakfast Sissy mentioned seeing an ailing Louise Jester the night before and recalled comforting her on the Fort Washington school playground after boys had made fun of her, claiming she had “cooties” (imaginary bugs). I hope I never did anything directly to hurt her feelings. Eddie almost skipped the reunion because he’d been feeling disoriented lately but was in good form. We joked about the trouble we caused Ron Hawthorn’s father (Mr. Haw-thee-Haw, we called him) when we were on his Babe Ruth League team.
Dave and Angie had a good time at Marianne Brush’s Halloween, which we missed due to the reunion. Marianne and Lorraine Todd-Shearer recently went past our place on a hike, and on Facebook Lorraine quipped: “How did you ever keep from going over that cliff?” Actually I had a couple close calls when putting down gravel and cinder blocks in a continuing effort to fight erosion. Checking other friends on FACEBOOK, I noticed one of them listed was an attractive African American named Brown SugarBaby. I have no idea who she is although she identified herself as an Indiana University Northwest student. She notes: “I went through a MASSIVE friend deleting; if you survived, you’re special to me.” How we became friends is beyond me, and I haven’t yet learned how to de-friend folks.
The goal of tomorrow’s Gary summit, according to The Times, is to revitalize Northwest Indiana’s urban core. Called GRIP (The Gary and Region Investment Project), the initiative, according to newspaper publisher Bill Masterson, is to “build bridges across municipal borders, between the public and private sectors, with the state and federal governments and even our counterparts in metropolitan Chicago.” While Mayor Rudy Clay seems on board with the idea, generally when outsiders talk regional cooperation, what they really seek is control of Gary assets such as the airport and bus service. Minority Studies professor Earl Jones, for one, is skeptical, noting that this “will probably be the first time when Gary's future is determined by 1) external political entities (NIRPC, Chicago Metro Planning, the RDA), 2) gvt departments (U.S. HUD), and 3) the private sector (The Times, Quality of Life Council).”
Choice sent me a review copy of “Dropping the Torch: Jimmy Carter, The Olympic Boycott, and the Cold War” by Nicholas E. Sarantakes. I always thought it was folly for the United States to boycott the 1980 Moscow Olympics. President Carter claimed it was in retaliation for the Russian invasion of Afghanistan, but all it did was reignite the Cold War and ruin many athletes’ dreams. For one thing it denied the men’s basketball team a chance to revenge the 1972 controversial defeat in the enemy’s capitol. In turn Russia and its allies to boycott the Los Angeles games in 1984. Ironically, the Soviet Union was worried about Muslim extremists just as we presently are. Some of the same people who foiled the Russians are now fighting what they consider to be the American invaders.
Ray and Trish Arredondo sent me a copy from the Midwest Book Review that calls “Maria’s Journey” “a fascinating read and a must for anyone looking for a story of American immigration.” Right on! Revised slightly my Forward to “Maria’s Journey” for my speech Thursday at Purdue North Central Hispanic Heritage Month panel, adding this concluding paragraph: One final note: Maria Perez Arredondo actually made three journeys to America. Her first took place in 1918 at age 11 with her mother to join her brother Francisco, who worked for a railroad company. They lived in a boxcar. The second took place in 1926 when the 19 year-old had a three year-old daughter and was joining husband Miguel. Once again they lived in a boxcar before eventually making their way to the Chicago area. Similarly, when U.S. Steel recruited Puerto Rican laborers after World War II, the first to arrive were housed in old Pullman cars. Maria’s third journey was the most arduous and took place in 1939 at age 32 after her mother had been deported and she accompanied her back to Mexico. Pregnant and with eight children in tow, she was stopped at the border because she did not have the necessary papers with her, but finally a sympathetic guard let them pass when he realized that the young kids spoke fluent English and must have been American-born, as they claimed. At present some Republican leaders want to amend the constitution to deny citizenship to children born here. As historian John Bodnar notes in the introduction to “Maria’s Journey,” Fierce debates among Americans have once again marked the issue of immigration, and xenophobes have called for mass deportations. But that’s another story.
The political news continues bleak, but at least there is hope in West Virginia in the race for Robert Byrd’s old Senate seat that Governor Joe Manchin will defeat Republican businessman John Raese. Recently revealed: the agency behind a GOP ad sought “hicky-looking” actors wearing flannel shirts and John Deere caps to portray supposedly angry West Virginians. Raese has been lumping together Manchin and the President, but during a debate Manchin said that he hated to inform his opponent but Mr. Obama’s name will not be on the ballot.
Time had a cover story on Alzheimer’s, a disease that has affected millions, from President Ronald Reagan on down. Thirty years ago I was an oral history consultant for a project designed to support caregivers to Alzheimer’s patients. Bailly Alliance mainstay Ed Osann and former Post-Trib managing editor Terry O’Rourke were just two of many Region Alzheimer’s victims. Mary Ann Becklenberg, who has Early-Stage Alzheimer’s, wrote that she’d hang up the phone and not recall the party on the other end of the line. She’d return from a trip and forget her husband had been with her. Mary Ann’s advice to others afflicted: be gentle with yourself, keep humor in your life, and lower your expectations. In other words, don’t feel that you are inadequate and falling apart. Easy to say.
Got a message from the Sand Creek condo board president that I will be on the ballot for board secretary unopposed. I’ll have to tell neighbor Tom Coulter that he’ll be needed as Court One director.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Fiftieth reunion
“It started in Bristol at a dee jay hop
They hollered and whistled
Never wanted to stop
We pony and twisted
And we rocked with Daddy G
The kids in Bristol are sharp as a pistol
When they do the Bristol Stomp”
Dovells
Toni and I drove east for Upper Dublin’s Class of 1960 fiftieth reunion, stopping for two nights at Jim and Kate Migoski’s in McMurray, PA, then staying two nights at the Hilton Garden Inn in Fort Washington (three blocks from the house where I grew up), and finally being Terry and Gayle Jenkins’s overnight guests on Mountaintop Road in New Hope, just a virtual stone’s throw from the Delaware River boundary with New Jersey. Both our hosts had cold Yuengling beer (Pennsylvania’s oldest brewer) on hand and watched exciting Phillies playoff games with me (alas, San Francisco won the NL championship series in six games). The Migoski dog Hastings liked to jump up next to me on the couch and cuddle until he got too warm, while the Jenkins cat Nelly was more circumspect but after a few hours joined us while we had snacks.
Going up to our room at the Hilton we ran into Phil Arnold, who brought some CDs of Fifties music in case the deejay needed them. Around noon finding the Map Quest directions ambiguous, I made a test run to the Flourtown Country Club Driving down Bethlehem Pike, I noticed that the field where I played baseball was now a swamp. There was no trace of the miniature golf course, but the state park at Whitemarsh, where George Washington’s hearty army of 12,000 camped for six weeks in the fall of 1777 before moving to Valley Forge for the winter, looked the same. When I was a Cub Scout, that was the final destination for the Memorial Day parade. Reunion organizers Janet Stuart Garman and Connie Heard Damon were at the hall, putting the finishing touch on the display items, including photos of deceased classmates. They gave me hugs and said that people were still working on local “undecideds” like athletic star Percy Herder to persuade them to attend. Percy did come. When we were teammates in seventh grade on Mr. Bekmezian’s Hundred-pound football team, one time in punt formation I hiked the ball to him rather than the punter (my eyesight was bad). He skillfully booted it away as if that had been the plan all along.
Among the first to arrive at the afternoon reception were Larry Bothe and wife Pat, who live in John Mellancamp’s hometown of Seymour, Indiana. He flies planes and she is a history buff, so we Hoosiers found things to talk about. Before long the bar area was abuzz with laughter. While most of us looked our age, everyone looked great. Lee Lee Minehart revealed that she joined the Peace Corps after college (ultimately serving in Afghanistan) because otherwise her parents would have expected her to live at home. Her dad was State Treasurer of Pennsylvania, and at Toni and my wedding in January of 1965 when the band played “Hello Dolly” he came dancing by singing “Hello Lyndon” - LBJ’s 1964 campaign theme song. Lee Lee’s husband Bob emigrated to the U.S. with his family from Ireland. He’s written a memoir about his experiences, including being ridiculed when he went to a school in Detroit dressed in clothes that his classmates found to be weird. Nancy “Sissy” Schade came even though two classes behind us. Her beloved late sister Molly had many memorable parties at Schady Acres, and Sissy was part of our gang. I took her to the movies once on a double date. Sissy spotted Jimmy Coombs and showed him a scar from the time she was on his shoulders and they jousted with Molly and Penny Roberts on bikes. Sissy fell and broke her arm. Jimmy’s wife passed away a few years ago, and he was with a very attractive and personable woman who resides a few houses away from where Vince Curll used to live. For a science project Vince and I boiled a dead cat and assembled its bones. Old girlfriend Mary Delp Harwood, sporting a hairdo that made her grey hair lustrous, came with hubby Russ, who inquired about our move from the National Lakeshore. Wendy Henry Wellin, attending her first reunion, also looked marvelous with neatly coiffed blond hair. Bob Elliott, the class cut-up turned school principal in Hawaii, quickly reverted to form and was telling stories that left people in stitches. While a student at the U. of Hawaii he rented an apartment on Poki Street across from where we lived two years later. Nancy Schrope mentioned being scared when Jarrettown School closed and her class, including Connie Heard and Wayne Wylie, transferred to Fort Washington School in third grade. I felt a similar sensation when my parents moved to Michigan for a year right before I started eighth grade. Both Wayne and Phil Arnold, who hitched a ride with us to the Flourtown Country Club, inquired about Pam Tucker. Haven’t heard from her in months, I replied.
At the entrance was a limo that looked like the world’s longest racing car. It was the brainchild of Bruce Allen, who owns a Chevrolet car dealership and brought promotional hats for everyone, as he had done ten years ago. Among his houseguests chauffeured to the event were Joe and Barbara Ricketts, Flossie Worster, and Ray and Jane Bates. Bruce also had the limo driver pick up Bettie Erhardt Gabrick and Joan Eitelgeorge Zaremba. Some folks, such as Eddie Piszek and John Jacobson, were immediately recognizable, while for others (i.e., David Castle, Dick Trow) one was grateful for nametags. Grade school buddies Chris Koch and Jay Bumm were attending their first reunion and looked tanned and trim. When I asked Toni to take a photo of the three of us, Jay got Pete Drake to join us and suddenly a half-dozen classmates were snapping away. Next to me at dinner was Alice “Ockie” Ottinger Corman, whose blond hair was in stark contrast to her dark sultry look in high school. I hadn’t seen her since we both took a commuter train to Philadelphia in the summer of 1962. She recalled that my parents had put up Japanese lanterns for a party at my house. Her dad was chief of police and once interrupted Toni and me parking in a long driveway leading to the Van Sant farm. Chief Ottinger once picked her up at school and then set off in chase of someone speeding. She was so mortified she ducked down below the window. I reminded Pete Drake of the time we were at a drive-in restaurant in Abington and a cop accused him of having bumped into a vehicle. We were dumbfounded because nothing of the sort had happened. Pete replied that the cop had it in for him and later took him to jail, claiming (falsely) that there was a warrant out for him. Pete’s mother raised hell and put something in the paper about it.
Reunion booklets put together by Nancy Schrope contained information about classmates, including “Bucket Lists” (from the 2007 movie starring Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson) of things people hoped to do before they “kicked the bucket.” My entry was: “Visit Greek Isles and write a biography of Richard G. Hatcher, America’s first black mayor.” I interviewed Hatcher extensively a few years ago for another project. Chris Koch wrote: “Play golf at the world’s top ten golf courses.” Hence the vice tan, I figured. Lee Lee Minehart wants to go on an archeological dig (“anywhere,” she exclaimed). Gaard Murphy Logan, who expressed no interest in attending the reunion but wanted a full report upon my return, submitted, “Hike the Cotswolds and Amalfi Coast and bicycle though Provence. In short, spend the rest of my life traveling (if only I were rich)!” Bob Reller, currently in Israel, noted: “I seek to discern the will of my Lord for the balance of my life here on earth, to go where He tells me to go and do that which he tells me to do.” Heavy!
I never had a chance to give my prepared remarks about “Our Time in History” – with examples (JFK candidacy, sit-ins, U-2 Incident, triumph of Rock ‘n’ Roll) of how our senior year was a period of transition between the placid Eisenhower years and the dawn of the tumultuous Sixties. If time permitted, I was prepared to work in references to seeing “Ben-Hur” at the 309 Drive-In, Richie Ashburn being traded to the Cubs, Elvis getting out of the army, and Bob entering the University of Minnesota but spending most of his time at coffeehouses and reading Beat writers. During dessert Janet raffled off several dozen prizes, asking each winner to say a few words; but by the time my name was called (I got a candle) the crowd was restless and Janet warned, “No more than two words.” By then I had pared down my remarks to about two minutes, but no matter.
Classmate Freddie Scott ably handled deejay duties with a plentiful supply of Oldies. Still I should have brought my Time/Life CD of 1958 hits that includes “Johnny B. Goode,” “Breathless,” “Book of Love,” “Chantilly Lace,” and “Summertime Blues.” I fast-danced with two favorite partners from past reunions, Bettie Erhardt (still hot to trot) and Mary Dinkins (married to a minister but not inhibited). I told Mary, probably not for the first time, about Latin teacher Mrs. LeVan whacking me with a ruler when I had turned around in my seat to joke with her. I danced with Suzi Hummel, aging beautifully with her blond-white hair in a type of pony tail. She inquired about her old next-door neighbor Chuck Bahmueller, whose mother read stories to her when she was a child. Filled Marianne Tambourino in on Bob Reller’s trip to the Holy Land. After I fast danced with Ockie to “Bristol Stomp” (Bristol is a town in Bucks County not far from Fort Washington), Jimmy Coombs gave us the thumbs up. Soon afterwards Jay Bumm slow-danced with her, evoking memories of their teenage romance. Alice looked radiant. In eleventh grade I took her to a dance after several of us decided everyone should invite someone other than his girlfriend. Doubling with us were Dave Seibold and his date. When I walked Alice to her door afterwards and was about to kiss her, I noticed that Seibold had followed us, hoping for a smooch, too. I went to ask Mary Delp to dance, but Skip Pollard’s garrulous wife said, “You can’t have her.” They were neighbors in Napiersville before the Pollards moved to The Villages in Florida. Still, spouses should know their place at events like these (just kidding). Barbara Bitting and I started a stroll line with Janet Stuart and Donald Stroup and soon others joined us. During the class picture spouses snapped away as Wendy’s homecoming queen tiara got passed around, eventually, I hope, finding its way to Suzi Hummel. Connie called for a moment of silence for those whom we’d lost. I thought of vivacious Molly and nonconformist Charles Thomas, whose hospice caregiver attended five years ago after Charley had passed away in order to meet his friends.
Saturday at eight a.m. we had breakfast with five of Toni’s relatives, my goddaughter Cristin, her brother Chad, Toni’s nephew Kyle, girlfriend Laura and dad Bob DeLeon. We saw Kyle and Laura a few weeks ago and Bob and Chad last year at Jackie’s high school graduation party, but it had seen years since I saw Cristin. She showed off her engagement ring and had photos of her fiancé Tom and sister Alanna’s son. As they were leaving, classmates were gathering for the buffet. I had a final chat with Wendy, Sissy, and others. Lots of kisses, hugs, and vows to stay in touch. So successful was the weekend that there was talk of a picnic in a couple years and definitely another dinner dance five years hence.
Saturday afternoon Terry and Gayle took us for Philly cheese steaks and showed us their shop, the Paper Chase. It was a much bigger operation that I had thought and in a great location, so it was full of customers. I bought a Phillies 2011 calendar and fancy bridge tally (at the employees discount price). One display had tiny packages of material that transformed into quite sizeable socks, shirts, and shorts. A half-dozen 12-13 year-old girls hovered around the display and may have stuffed a few items into their pockets. Terry gave them the eye but did not accuse them of shoplifting. In his shoes I might have confronted them. He told me that theft does occur and squeeze profits but is pretty hard to prevent. Terry used to fly a small plane and once took me on a jaunt over our old stomping grounds and as far as Easton, where I was born. We got to talking about NASCAR. He flew to a couple races with an acquaintance who was a devoted fan. At one they ran into Richard Petty, “The King.” Another time Terry parked near Dale Earnhardt’s black private airplane. His companion ended up talking to Earnhardt and getting a private tour of the plane. It was the thrill of his life.
Gayle made delicious chicken sandwiches for our 11-hour ride home, accomplished in one day. We listened to Ann Tyler’s novel Noah’s Compass on CDs (at the end Toni said, “Nothing happened”). It’s true. Liam, the 60 year-old protagonist, lost his job when a school downsized. Passive and self-effacing, he wakes up in a hospital after someone breaks into his apartment and beats him up. Most of the “action” entails his examination of his two failed marriages and shortcomings as a father. As usual, Tyler creates memorable women characters, including Bootsie Twill, the home invader’s mother, who absurdly hopes Liam will be a character witness at her son’s upcoming trial. When Liam demurs, she says, “Oh, why are you so judgmental?” and offers to introduce him to the son so he can see “what a nice kid he is. Just a kid! Real shy and clumsy, always nicks himself shaving.”
Got home in time for most of the Packers-Vikings game, which I had on mute while I opened a quart of Miller High Life, got mellow, and listened to a tape of an old Clash concert on WXRT. Filled Gaard in on the reunion. A couple times after mentioning someone, I added, “Do you remember him?” She finally said, “I remember everyone in our class.” She was watching the Hugh Grant flick “Love Naturally” but gladly paused it for the rehash. I recall having trouble catching all the English humor references the first time I saw it (what in the world is Banoffee Pie, I wondered) but got the drift when Martin freeman’s character said, “I might get a shag at last” and the woman he was with replied, “Naughty.”
They hollered and whistled
Never wanted to stop
We pony and twisted
And we rocked with Daddy G
The kids in Bristol are sharp as a pistol
When they do the Bristol Stomp”
Dovells
Toni and I drove east for Upper Dublin’s Class of 1960 fiftieth reunion, stopping for two nights at Jim and Kate Migoski’s in McMurray, PA, then staying two nights at the Hilton Garden Inn in Fort Washington (three blocks from the house where I grew up), and finally being Terry and Gayle Jenkins’s overnight guests on Mountaintop Road in New Hope, just a virtual stone’s throw from the Delaware River boundary with New Jersey. Both our hosts had cold Yuengling beer (Pennsylvania’s oldest brewer) on hand and watched exciting Phillies playoff games with me (alas, San Francisco won the NL championship series in six games). The Migoski dog Hastings liked to jump up next to me on the couch and cuddle until he got too warm, while the Jenkins cat Nelly was more circumspect but after a few hours joined us while we had snacks.
Going up to our room at the Hilton we ran into Phil Arnold, who brought some CDs of Fifties music in case the deejay needed them. Around noon finding the Map Quest directions ambiguous, I made a test run to the Flourtown Country Club Driving down Bethlehem Pike, I noticed that the field where I played baseball was now a swamp. There was no trace of the miniature golf course, but the state park at Whitemarsh, where George Washington’s hearty army of 12,000 camped for six weeks in the fall of 1777 before moving to Valley Forge for the winter, looked the same. When I was a Cub Scout, that was the final destination for the Memorial Day parade. Reunion organizers Janet Stuart Garman and Connie Heard Damon were at the hall, putting the finishing touch on the display items, including photos of deceased classmates. They gave me hugs and said that people were still working on local “undecideds” like athletic star Percy Herder to persuade them to attend. Percy did come. When we were teammates in seventh grade on Mr. Bekmezian’s Hundred-pound football team, one time in punt formation I hiked the ball to him rather than the punter (my eyesight was bad). He skillfully booted it away as if that had been the plan all along.
Among the first to arrive at the afternoon reception were Larry Bothe and wife Pat, who live in John Mellancamp’s hometown of Seymour, Indiana. He flies planes and she is a history buff, so we Hoosiers found things to talk about. Before long the bar area was abuzz with laughter. While most of us looked our age, everyone looked great. Lee Lee Minehart revealed that she joined the Peace Corps after college (ultimately serving in Afghanistan) because otherwise her parents would have expected her to live at home. Her dad was State Treasurer of Pennsylvania, and at Toni and my wedding in January of 1965 when the band played “Hello Dolly” he came dancing by singing “Hello Lyndon” - LBJ’s 1964 campaign theme song. Lee Lee’s husband Bob emigrated to the U.S. with his family from Ireland. He’s written a memoir about his experiences, including being ridiculed when he went to a school in Detroit dressed in clothes that his classmates found to be weird. Nancy “Sissy” Schade came even though two classes behind us. Her beloved late sister Molly had many memorable parties at Schady Acres, and Sissy was part of our gang. I took her to the movies once on a double date. Sissy spotted Jimmy Coombs and showed him a scar from the time she was on his shoulders and they jousted with Molly and Penny Roberts on bikes. Sissy fell and broke her arm. Jimmy’s wife passed away a few years ago, and he was with a very attractive and personable woman who resides a few houses away from where Vince Curll used to live. For a science project Vince and I boiled a dead cat and assembled its bones. Old girlfriend Mary Delp Harwood, sporting a hairdo that made her grey hair lustrous, came with hubby Russ, who inquired about our move from the National Lakeshore. Wendy Henry Wellin, attending her first reunion, also looked marvelous with neatly coiffed blond hair. Bob Elliott, the class cut-up turned school principal in Hawaii, quickly reverted to form and was telling stories that left people in stitches. While a student at the U. of Hawaii he rented an apartment on Poki Street across from where we lived two years later. Nancy Schrope mentioned being scared when Jarrettown School closed and her class, including Connie Heard and Wayne Wylie, transferred to Fort Washington School in third grade. I felt a similar sensation when my parents moved to Michigan for a year right before I started eighth grade. Both Wayne and Phil Arnold, who hitched a ride with us to the Flourtown Country Club, inquired about Pam Tucker. Haven’t heard from her in months, I replied.
At the entrance was a limo that looked like the world’s longest racing car. It was the brainchild of Bruce Allen, who owns a Chevrolet car dealership and brought promotional hats for everyone, as he had done ten years ago. Among his houseguests chauffeured to the event were Joe and Barbara Ricketts, Flossie Worster, and Ray and Jane Bates. Bruce also had the limo driver pick up Bettie Erhardt Gabrick and Joan Eitelgeorge Zaremba. Some folks, such as Eddie Piszek and John Jacobson, were immediately recognizable, while for others (i.e., David Castle, Dick Trow) one was grateful for nametags. Grade school buddies Chris Koch and Jay Bumm were attending their first reunion and looked tanned and trim. When I asked Toni to take a photo of the three of us, Jay got Pete Drake to join us and suddenly a half-dozen classmates were snapping away. Next to me at dinner was Alice “Ockie” Ottinger Corman, whose blond hair was in stark contrast to her dark sultry look in high school. I hadn’t seen her since we both took a commuter train to Philadelphia in the summer of 1962. She recalled that my parents had put up Japanese lanterns for a party at my house. Her dad was chief of police and once interrupted Toni and me parking in a long driveway leading to the Van Sant farm. Chief Ottinger once picked her up at school and then set off in chase of someone speeding. She was so mortified she ducked down below the window. I reminded Pete Drake of the time we were at a drive-in restaurant in Abington and a cop accused him of having bumped into a vehicle. We were dumbfounded because nothing of the sort had happened. Pete replied that the cop had it in for him and later took him to jail, claiming (falsely) that there was a warrant out for him. Pete’s mother raised hell and put something in the paper about it.
Reunion booklets put together by Nancy Schrope contained information about classmates, including “Bucket Lists” (from the 2007 movie starring Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson) of things people hoped to do before they “kicked the bucket.” My entry was: “Visit Greek Isles and write a biography of Richard G. Hatcher, America’s first black mayor.” I interviewed Hatcher extensively a few years ago for another project. Chris Koch wrote: “Play golf at the world’s top ten golf courses.” Hence the vice tan, I figured. Lee Lee Minehart wants to go on an archeological dig (“anywhere,” she exclaimed). Gaard Murphy Logan, who expressed no interest in attending the reunion but wanted a full report upon my return, submitted, “Hike the Cotswolds and Amalfi Coast and bicycle though Provence. In short, spend the rest of my life traveling (if only I were rich)!” Bob Reller, currently in Israel, noted: “I seek to discern the will of my Lord for the balance of my life here on earth, to go where He tells me to go and do that which he tells me to do.” Heavy!
I never had a chance to give my prepared remarks about “Our Time in History” – with examples (JFK candidacy, sit-ins, U-2 Incident, triumph of Rock ‘n’ Roll) of how our senior year was a period of transition between the placid Eisenhower years and the dawn of the tumultuous Sixties. If time permitted, I was prepared to work in references to seeing “Ben-Hur” at the 309 Drive-In, Richie Ashburn being traded to the Cubs, Elvis getting out of the army, and Bob entering the University of Minnesota but spending most of his time at coffeehouses and reading Beat writers. During dessert Janet raffled off several dozen prizes, asking each winner to say a few words; but by the time my name was called (I got a candle) the crowd was restless and Janet warned, “No more than two words.” By then I had pared down my remarks to about two minutes, but no matter.
Classmate Freddie Scott ably handled deejay duties with a plentiful supply of Oldies. Still I should have brought my Time/Life CD of 1958 hits that includes “Johnny B. Goode,” “Breathless,” “Book of Love,” “Chantilly Lace,” and “Summertime Blues.” I fast-danced with two favorite partners from past reunions, Bettie Erhardt (still hot to trot) and Mary Dinkins (married to a minister but not inhibited). I told Mary, probably not for the first time, about Latin teacher Mrs. LeVan whacking me with a ruler when I had turned around in my seat to joke with her. I danced with Suzi Hummel, aging beautifully with her blond-white hair in a type of pony tail. She inquired about her old next-door neighbor Chuck Bahmueller, whose mother read stories to her when she was a child. Filled Marianne Tambourino in on Bob Reller’s trip to the Holy Land. After I fast danced with Ockie to “Bristol Stomp” (Bristol is a town in Bucks County not far from Fort Washington), Jimmy Coombs gave us the thumbs up. Soon afterwards Jay Bumm slow-danced with her, evoking memories of their teenage romance. Alice looked radiant. In eleventh grade I took her to a dance after several of us decided everyone should invite someone other than his girlfriend. Doubling with us were Dave Seibold and his date. When I walked Alice to her door afterwards and was about to kiss her, I noticed that Seibold had followed us, hoping for a smooch, too. I went to ask Mary Delp to dance, but Skip Pollard’s garrulous wife said, “You can’t have her.” They were neighbors in Napiersville before the Pollards moved to The Villages in Florida. Still, spouses should know their place at events like these (just kidding). Barbara Bitting and I started a stroll line with Janet Stuart and Donald Stroup and soon others joined us. During the class picture spouses snapped away as Wendy’s homecoming queen tiara got passed around, eventually, I hope, finding its way to Suzi Hummel. Connie called for a moment of silence for those whom we’d lost. I thought of vivacious Molly and nonconformist Charles Thomas, whose hospice caregiver attended five years ago after Charley had passed away in order to meet his friends.
Saturday at eight a.m. we had breakfast with five of Toni’s relatives, my goddaughter Cristin, her brother Chad, Toni’s nephew Kyle, girlfriend Laura and dad Bob DeLeon. We saw Kyle and Laura a few weeks ago and Bob and Chad last year at Jackie’s high school graduation party, but it had seen years since I saw Cristin. She showed off her engagement ring and had photos of her fiancé Tom and sister Alanna’s son. As they were leaving, classmates were gathering for the buffet. I had a final chat with Wendy, Sissy, and others. Lots of kisses, hugs, and vows to stay in touch. So successful was the weekend that there was talk of a picnic in a couple years and definitely another dinner dance five years hence.
Saturday afternoon Terry and Gayle took us for Philly cheese steaks and showed us their shop, the Paper Chase. It was a much bigger operation that I had thought and in a great location, so it was full of customers. I bought a Phillies 2011 calendar and fancy bridge tally (at the employees discount price). One display had tiny packages of material that transformed into quite sizeable socks, shirts, and shorts. A half-dozen 12-13 year-old girls hovered around the display and may have stuffed a few items into their pockets. Terry gave them the eye but did not accuse them of shoplifting. In his shoes I might have confronted them. He told me that theft does occur and squeeze profits but is pretty hard to prevent. Terry used to fly a small plane and once took me on a jaunt over our old stomping grounds and as far as Easton, where I was born. We got to talking about NASCAR. He flew to a couple races with an acquaintance who was a devoted fan. At one they ran into Richard Petty, “The King.” Another time Terry parked near Dale Earnhardt’s black private airplane. His companion ended up talking to Earnhardt and getting a private tour of the plane. It was the thrill of his life.
Gayle made delicious chicken sandwiches for our 11-hour ride home, accomplished in one day. We listened to Ann Tyler’s novel Noah’s Compass on CDs (at the end Toni said, “Nothing happened”). It’s true. Liam, the 60 year-old protagonist, lost his job when a school downsized. Passive and self-effacing, he wakes up in a hospital after someone breaks into his apartment and beats him up. Most of the “action” entails his examination of his two failed marriages and shortcomings as a father. As usual, Tyler creates memorable women characters, including Bootsie Twill, the home invader’s mother, who absurdly hopes Liam will be a character witness at her son’s upcoming trial. When Liam demurs, she says, “Oh, why are you so judgmental?” and offers to introduce him to the son so he can see “what a nice kid he is. Just a kid! Real shy and clumsy, always nicks himself shaving.”
Got home in time for most of the Packers-Vikings game, which I had on mute while I opened a quart of Miller High Life, got mellow, and listened to a tape of an old Clash concert on WXRT. Filled Gaard in on the reunion. A couple times after mentioning someone, I added, “Do you remember him?” She finally said, “I remember everyone in our class.” She was watching the Hugh Grant flick “Love Naturally” but gladly paused it for the rehash. I recall having trouble catching all the English humor references the first time I saw it (what in the world is Banoffee Pie, I wondered) but got the drift when Martin freeman’s character said, “I might get a shag at last” and the woman he was with replied, “Naughty.”
Monday, October 18, 2010
Vietnam Bogeyman
“The Vietnam Bogeyman is in my head
He’ll probably be there until I’m dead.”
Jay Keck
Spoke to Nicole Anslover’s Diplomatic History class about Vietnam and gave them all copies of “Brothers in Arms.” Told them that when the semester started, I had recommended that she invite Jim Tolhuizen but that it’s too late for that now. Mentioned his experiences as a “ground pounder” and pointed out highlights of interviews with Gary Wilk, Raoul Contreras, and Omar Farag before turning to my pictorial history as a way of discussing American policies. It still boggles the mind how stupid our government was to oppose Ho Chi Minh after he had been our ally against the GJapanese during World War II. After giving student a summary of events between 1945 and 1967 I showed them a ten-minute clip from “Dear America: Letters from Vietnam” about Khe Sanh and the Tet Offensive. One of the letters used in the film referred to the enemy as “gooks.” I told the class that none of the Vietnam vets who took my class ever expressed resentment over my antiwar activities (in fact the whole point of the peace movement was to bring the troops home). The closest thing to a confrontation was one a vet brought his kid to class and then made a reference to “gooks.” I asked him not to use that word again, and he didn’t. During the late Sixties Toni received a call from her best friend in high school, who had returned from a tour of duty as a nurse in Vietnam. She, too, used the word “gooks” in reference to Viet Cong troops who had wounded soldiers she was called on to treat. Toni raised an objection to the word, and the phone went dead. Toni has tried to reconnect with her but never heard from her again. One student’s dad mentioned that her dad died from cancer as a result of Agent Orange. After a few questions, I read Jay Keck’s “The Vietnam Bogeyman” poem, whose final lines go, “The Vietnam Bogeyman is alive and well/ He followed me home, from a place called Hell.”
I will miss the annual condo owners meeting but have notified all interested parties that I’d serve as secretary of the board. Both Sue Harrison and Tom Coulter offered to be my replacement as Court One director, and Sue subsequently expressed relief that Tom had volunteered and agreed he’d do a good job. The grass seed in back of our unit has germinated and is coming in as hoped. The two trees out front may not make it, however, due to having been planted in too shallow a hole.
Typical weekend of chores, bridge, and football watching. The Phillies pulled even in the National League championship series thanks to a sterling pitching performance by Roy Oswalt in game two and four RBIs from Jimmy Rollins. My Fantasy team lost in part because wide receiver DeSean Jackson got knocked out the game on a cheap hit in the first half after he had scored two TDs against Atlanta.
The super rich are trying to steal the upcoming election, taking advantage of a Supreme Court ruling that allows unlimited spending by interest groups. The Republican strategy is to ridicule and demonize House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, perhaps because a liberal woman from San Francisco is even an easier target than an African-American president with a Muslim name. Illinois Congressman Dan Seals, for example, is identified in an attack ad as someone who almost always voted the same way as Pelosi. The democrats are trying to portray the Republicans as extremists. While most independents probably wouldn’t vote for such people for president, they may think they are “sending a message” by voting for them for Congress. Let’s hope not.
He’ll probably be there until I’m dead.”
Jay Keck
Spoke to Nicole Anslover’s Diplomatic History class about Vietnam and gave them all copies of “Brothers in Arms.” Told them that when the semester started, I had recommended that she invite Jim Tolhuizen but that it’s too late for that now. Mentioned his experiences as a “ground pounder” and pointed out highlights of interviews with Gary Wilk, Raoul Contreras, and Omar Farag before turning to my pictorial history as a way of discussing American policies. It still boggles the mind how stupid our government was to oppose Ho Chi Minh after he had been our ally against the GJapanese during World War II. After giving student a summary of events between 1945 and 1967 I showed them a ten-minute clip from “Dear America: Letters from Vietnam” about Khe Sanh and the Tet Offensive. One of the letters used in the film referred to the enemy as “gooks.” I told the class that none of the Vietnam vets who took my class ever expressed resentment over my antiwar activities (in fact the whole point of the peace movement was to bring the troops home). The closest thing to a confrontation was one a vet brought his kid to class and then made a reference to “gooks.” I asked him not to use that word again, and he didn’t. During the late Sixties Toni received a call from her best friend in high school, who had returned from a tour of duty as a nurse in Vietnam. She, too, used the word “gooks” in reference to Viet Cong troops who had wounded soldiers she was called on to treat. Toni raised an objection to the word, and the phone went dead. Toni has tried to reconnect with her but never heard from her again. One student’s dad mentioned that her dad died from cancer as a result of Agent Orange. After a few questions, I read Jay Keck’s “The Vietnam Bogeyman” poem, whose final lines go, “The Vietnam Bogeyman is alive and well/ He followed me home, from a place called Hell.”
I will miss the annual condo owners meeting but have notified all interested parties that I’d serve as secretary of the board. Both Sue Harrison and Tom Coulter offered to be my replacement as Court One director, and Sue subsequently expressed relief that Tom had volunteered and agreed he’d do a good job. The grass seed in back of our unit has germinated and is coming in as hoped. The two trees out front may not make it, however, due to having been planted in too shallow a hole.
Typical weekend of chores, bridge, and football watching. The Phillies pulled even in the National League championship series thanks to a sterling pitching performance by Roy Oswalt in game two and four RBIs from Jimmy Rollins. My Fantasy team lost in part because wide receiver DeSean Jackson got knocked out the game on a cheap hit in the first half after he had scored two TDs against Atlanta.
The super rich are trying to steal the upcoming election, taking advantage of a Supreme Court ruling that allows unlimited spending by interest groups. The Republican strategy is to ridicule and demonize House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, perhaps because a liberal woman from San Francisco is even an easier target than an African-American president with a Muslim name. Illinois Congressman Dan Seals, for example, is identified in an attack ad as someone who almost always voted the same way as Pelosi. The democrats are trying to portray the Republicans as extremists. While most independents probably wouldn’t vote for such people for president, they may think they are “sending a message” by voting for them for Congress. Let’s hope not.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Heartache and Pain
“I gotta take a little time
A little time to think things over
I better read between the lines
In case I need it when I'm older”
Opening lines of Foreigner’s “I Want To Know What Love Is.”
A sports jock on WSCR (The Score), referring to WDRV (The Drive), claimed he’d never listen to a station that played Foreigner. True, many of their songs were shallow and repetitive (i.e., “Head Games,” “Hot Blooded,” “Cold As Ice”), but who can resist singing along to Lou Gramm while in the car? I love their rendition of the 1984 power ballad “I Want To Know What Love Is,” recorded with backing vocals by a gospel choir. The song plays in the background during a chilling scene in one of my favorite “Miami Vice” episodes called “Rites of Passage.” The Pam Grier character is making love to Detective Rico Tubbs while her sister, entrapped in a prostitution ring headed by John Torturro as David Traynor, is being murdered with a syringe. How versatile Torturro is. I love him as the nerdy Paulie in “Jungle Fever.”
San Antonio Spurs Coach and Region native Gregg Popovich will be on hand for the Thanksgiving weekend Lakeshore Classic at the Genesis Center. Born in East Chicago and a Merrillville High School grad, he and Chamber of Commerce director Chuck Hughes, coordinator of the event, played together on a championship AAU basketball team. Hughes told Post-Trib correspondent Tommy Williams of running into Popovich 15 years ago and being asked if they were still “hooping” at 39th and Broadway on the old Glen Park school playground. It was a place kids like Popovich from could test their talents in pickup games against Gary’s best black players. With “twin towers” David Robinson and Tim Duncan leading the way, “Pop” has accumulated four championship rings. Only Phil Jackson (11), Red Auerbach (9), Pat Riley (5), and John Kundla (5) of the old Minneapolis Lakers have more.
In the news: All 33 Chilean miners reached the surface after being trapped underground for 69 days. Wearing special Oakley sunglasses until they got used to the light, they embraced loved ones, sang, prayed, led the crowd in cheers. President Sabastian Pinera pronounced them to be heroes and gushed that the rescue was one of his small country’s proudest moments. Darcy Wade exclaimed on Facebook: “Yeah!!!!!!!! People working together and helping their fellow mankind – now there’s an idea.” They’ve been invited to visit several countries and a possible reality show is in the works. Their lives will never be the same, for better or worse. One guy’s mistress showed up, so angering his wife she refused to be in attendance.
Police commander Rolando Flores was zealously investigating the murder of American David Hartley, attacked while jet skiing on the Mexican side of Lake Falcon. Drug cartel members murdered him and delivered his head in a suitcase to the Mexican military.
During a debate between Delaware Senate candidates Christine O’Donnell and Chris Coons the daffy Republican “wingnut” (as Chris Matthews on MSNBC likes to call Tea Partiers like her) drew a blank when asked about recent Supreme Court decisions. Her mentor Sarah Palin fanned on a similar question during the 2008 Presidential campaign. One of O’Donnell’s commercials starts out, “I am not a witch.” She probably has no clue that it reminds older voters of Nixon’s “I am not a crook” speech.
The Post-Trib and The Times have on-line obituary Guest Books where people can offer their condolences to family members. John Bianchi wrote to the Pontney family: “I am very sorry for your loss, my prayers and thoughts are with you all. I worked with Rich at Inland, he always raised my spirits.” Returned to Burns Funeral Home for the second time this month. Rich fell and hit his head four months ago and died as a result of complications. I expressed my condolences to wife Audrey, son Rick, and daughters Megan and Shannon, looking radiant despite her grief. Rich was so full of life, the heartache and pain must be almost unbearable. Shannon was like him in so many ways.
Toni and I saw the Second City traveling troupe at Chesterton High School with the Wades. In the crowd was Education professor Paul Blohm. Beforehand loud music impeded conversation, but I did enjoy hearing MGMT’s “Electric Glide.” Brady and his attractive girlfriend preferred sitting with their friends. We were in the first row but weren’t pulled up onto the stage or asked questions by a faux fortuneteller, as several people nearby were. In one short piece two parents were called to talk with their son’s school counselor. “Is the problem ADHD, ADD, ASD,” they ask. “No, it’s DUMB,” the counselor replied. The five young comedians were excellent. I don’t usually like improvisation all that much, but they did a hilarious, impromptu “Lewis and Clark in Mexico” skit featuring Sacajawea and her sister Wacojawea. Whenever the narrator stopped the action Lewis, Clark, and the two Indian maidens had to break out in song starting with the previous line.
Got a Facebook message to the effect that former student Samuel A. Love and high school classmate Wendy “Snowhite” Wellin had changed photos. For a minute I thought that it meant they had “exchanged” photos and gotten to know each other through me. Strange as that seems, I guess such a thing is possible. Also on the Wall: Sam turned his profile picture pink to support breast cancer detection. Miranda posted a photo of her in a high school band uniform and also noted, “Finally beat my time for cross country.” Dean posted a great photo of Toni, Joanell, and me by the front door of our condo. A friend mistook me for Dean commented on how good he and Joanell. I kidded him about it, saying she must have thought he shaved off his beard and grew his hair long. Sent Joanell my “Retirement Journal” after she mentioned enjoying my 2000 “Survival Journal.”
A little time to think things over
I better read between the lines
In case I need it when I'm older”
Opening lines of Foreigner’s “I Want To Know What Love Is.”
A sports jock on WSCR (The Score), referring to WDRV (The Drive), claimed he’d never listen to a station that played Foreigner. True, many of their songs were shallow and repetitive (i.e., “Head Games,” “Hot Blooded,” “Cold As Ice”), but who can resist singing along to Lou Gramm while in the car? I love their rendition of the 1984 power ballad “I Want To Know What Love Is,” recorded with backing vocals by a gospel choir. The song plays in the background during a chilling scene in one of my favorite “Miami Vice” episodes called “Rites of Passage.” The Pam Grier character is making love to Detective Rico Tubbs while her sister, entrapped in a prostitution ring headed by John Torturro as David Traynor, is being murdered with a syringe. How versatile Torturro is. I love him as the nerdy Paulie in “Jungle Fever.”
San Antonio Spurs Coach and Region native Gregg Popovich will be on hand for the Thanksgiving weekend Lakeshore Classic at the Genesis Center. Born in East Chicago and a Merrillville High School grad, he and Chamber of Commerce director Chuck Hughes, coordinator of the event, played together on a championship AAU basketball team. Hughes told Post-Trib correspondent Tommy Williams of running into Popovich 15 years ago and being asked if they were still “hooping” at 39th and Broadway on the old Glen Park school playground. It was a place kids like Popovich from could test their talents in pickup games against Gary’s best black players. With “twin towers” David Robinson and Tim Duncan leading the way, “Pop” has accumulated four championship rings. Only Phil Jackson (11), Red Auerbach (9), Pat Riley (5), and John Kundla (5) of the old Minneapolis Lakers have more.
In the news: All 33 Chilean miners reached the surface after being trapped underground for 69 days. Wearing special Oakley sunglasses until they got used to the light, they embraced loved ones, sang, prayed, led the crowd in cheers. President Sabastian Pinera pronounced them to be heroes and gushed that the rescue was one of his small country’s proudest moments. Darcy Wade exclaimed on Facebook: “Yeah!!!!!!!! People working together and helping their fellow mankind – now there’s an idea.” They’ve been invited to visit several countries and a possible reality show is in the works. Their lives will never be the same, for better or worse. One guy’s mistress showed up, so angering his wife she refused to be in attendance.
Police commander Rolando Flores was zealously investigating the murder of American David Hartley, attacked while jet skiing on the Mexican side of Lake Falcon. Drug cartel members murdered him and delivered his head in a suitcase to the Mexican military.
During a debate between Delaware Senate candidates Christine O’Donnell and Chris Coons the daffy Republican “wingnut” (as Chris Matthews on MSNBC likes to call Tea Partiers like her) drew a blank when asked about recent Supreme Court decisions. Her mentor Sarah Palin fanned on a similar question during the 2008 Presidential campaign. One of O’Donnell’s commercials starts out, “I am not a witch.” She probably has no clue that it reminds older voters of Nixon’s “I am not a crook” speech.
The Post-Trib and The Times have on-line obituary Guest Books where people can offer their condolences to family members. John Bianchi wrote to the Pontney family: “I am very sorry for your loss, my prayers and thoughts are with you all. I worked with Rich at Inland, he always raised my spirits.” Returned to Burns Funeral Home for the second time this month. Rich fell and hit his head four months ago and died as a result of complications. I expressed my condolences to wife Audrey, son Rick, and daughters Megan and Shannon, looking radiant despite her grief. Rich was so full of life, the heartache and pain must be almost unbearable. Shannon was like him in so many ways.
Toni and I saw the Second City traveling troupe at Chesterton High School with the Wades. In the crowd was Education professor Paul Blohm. Beforehand loud music impeded conversation, but I did enjoy hearing MGMT’s “Electric Glide.” Brady and his attractive girlfriend preferred sitting with their friends. We were in the first row but weren’t pulled up onto the stage or asked questions by a faux fortuneteller, as several people nearby were. In one short piece two parents were called to talk with their son’s school counselor. “Is the problem ADHD, ADD, ASD,” they ask. “No, it’s DUMB,” the counselor replied. The five young comedians were excellent. I don’t usually like improvisation all that much, but they did a hilarious, impromptu “Lewis and Clark in Mexico” skit featuring Sacajawea and her sister Wacojawea. Whenever the narrator stopped the action Lewis, Clark, and the two Indian maidens had to break out in song starting with the previous line.
Got a Facebook message to the effect that former student Samuel A. Love and high school classmate Wendy “Snowhite” Wellin had changed photos. For a minute I thought that it meant they had “exchanged” photos and gotten to know each other through me. Strange as that seems, I guess such a thing is possible. Also on the Wall: Sam turned his profile picture pink to support breast cancer detection. Miranda posted a photo of her in a high school band uniform and also noted, “Finally beat my time for cross country.” Dean posted a great photo of Toni, Joanell, and me by the front door of our condo. A friend mistook me for Dean commented on how good he and Joanell. I kidded him about it, saying she must have thought he shaved off his beard and grew his hair long. Sent Joanell my “Retirement Journal” after she mentioned enjoying my 2000 “Survival Journal.”
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Under Pressure
“It's the terror of knowing
What this world is about
Watching some good friends
Screaming 'Let me out'”
Queen
The highlight of the movie “It’s Kind of a Funny Story” was when the psych ward physical therapist broke out musical instruments. Because Craig didn’t have one, he was persuaded to take the microphone and sing. Suddenly the scene turned surrealistic, and inmates are transformed into elaborately costumed band members performing Queen’s “Under Pressure,” which begins: “Mm ba ba de/ Um bum ba de/ Um bu bu bum da de/ Pressure pushing down on me.” “Under Pressure” is a phrase used in football, and analysts even keep statistics on how many times a quarterback was sacked and how often he was under pressure.
Fasted 12 hours and felt slightly under pressure on the way to get blood work done. The woman who checked me in was daughter-in-law Delia’s Aunt Elba. Small world. Last time a nurse struggled to find an adequate vein, but no problem on this occasion. Had an egg McMuffin afterwards and two cups of coffee. Can’t figure why customers buy a large coffee when one can get free refills with a small container.
During the 1840s John Coffee Hays, according to historian S.C. Gwinne, transformed the Texas Rangers into a brutally effective deterrent force by learning tactics from enemy Comanches as well as friendly Apaches and using Colt six-shooters effectively on horseback (the first military force ever to do so). During the Mexican War the Rangers routed much larger forces and often lived off the land, raping and pillaging.
At lunch someone asked what the “F and S” on my purple bowling shirt stood for. It was the name of our sponsor, a construction company that Kevin Horn worked for in the 1990s. Jean Poulard is traveling to his home village in France to celebrate the release of his memoir. Siblings ranging in age from 80 to 89 will attend, the 71 year-old Political Scientist told me.
Aviva Duggin, daughter of former IUN Economics professor Leslie Singer, requested copies of anything we had at the Archives by or about her father. I mailed her “Educating the Region: A History of Indiana University Northwest” (Steel Shavings, volume 35) which has several dozen references to Les, a larger-than-life character who arrived when the university was in downtown Gary and taught well into his mid-70s. During the Sixties Leslie wrote and directed a one-act play that included bathroom scenes. Behind stalls the audience could see bare legs and hear sounds of flushing. During rehearsal Singer fell off the stage and broke his pelvis, resulting in his being hospitalized the night the play was performed.
Former student Gayle Simpson is coming to the Archives. She is a librarian at Ivy Tech in Michigan City and is working toward her Master’s degree in Library Science. Twelve years ago she was part of my “Cedar Lake Gang” that conducted oral histories for volume 27. In the editor’s note I described her as soft-spoken and gifted at putting subjects at ease. We were a close-knit group and I still recall them all vividly. Baby-faced Daniel Avitia went on to become a state policeman. Would love to hear from him or the outgoing Jacki Snow. I dedicated the Cedar Lake issue to town historian Beatrice Horner, who provided much of the documentation for the pre-World War II period.
Shannon Pontney’s dad Richard died at age 57. Shannon’s friend Angie called to tell me from the university. Rich was a friendly, unpretentious bear of a guy, an art school grad turned steelworker. Shannon shared his zest for life and brought him to several Voodoo Chili shows and Pat Conley’s Air Show parties near the lake. Toni and I had dinner with him and wife Audrey before a Star Plaza Oldies show that featured Dion. The Post-Trib obit described Richard as “a Notre Dame and White Sox fan” who “enjoyed golf, was a practical joker and had a great love for animals.” What a blow. Wish I’d known him better.
Dr. O removed the nine stitches behind my right ear. My pressure reading was 127 over 75, the lowest in memory. Usually, feeling under pressure at the doctor’s office, the readings are abnormally high compared to at home. I wasn’t anticipating the nurse taking it, so I didn’t have time to tense up.
On their way back west after spending two days in the genealogy room of the Allen County Library in Fort Wayne, Indiana, old friends Dean and Joanell Bottorff stopped in to see our condo and have lunch. Dean’s paternal grandmother died mysteriously nearly a century ago, and his maternal grandfather deserted his children after his wife died shortly after childbirth. Dean’s two year-old mother was taken in by a Swedish family who raised her as basically a domestic servant. His father was forced to quit school at age 11 to work on the farm, hated it, joined the army six years later, and became a cook and ultimately a chef. Dean and Joanell were our next-door neighbors when we first moved to Maple Place. His kids Richard and Ann, who came every summer, were approximately our kids’ age. We taught them the game of Murder. Participants crawled around with the lights out until the person who drew the murder card committed the crime. The victim screamed, and the detective would turn on the lights three seconds later and commence interrogations. Only the murderer could lie.
After Dean and Joanell moved to rural Valparaiso (where they raised goats), we often made homemade pizza, using sausage made of goat meat. After Dean quit his job at the Post-Trib to become editor of a computer magazine in Honk Kong, I stayed with them for three weeks in 1994 while lecturing at Chinese University. When they moved to Rapid City, we visited them with Alissa and the Migoskis. Bored with retirement after six months, they bought a lodging house in the Black Hills and have operated it ever since.
Ron Cohen emailed me a 15-minute BBC program on the travail of Gary, Indiana. Local photographer David Tribby took the TV crew to Seaman Hall, the Palace Theater, and other ruins. The director used Archives footage of the 1956 Golden Jubilee parade and has promised to send Steve a copy of the program. Mayor Rudy Clay mentioned that Gary residents helped Obama carry Indiana, but it remains to be seen whether he is truly committed to helping this ailing city whose once thriving downtown now resembles a ghost town. For all the ranting Glenn Beck and his ilk do about the President, he is not as much of a liberal activist as the country needs. Unfortunately, our political system, in the hands of corporate capitalists, appears irredeemable. By a 5-4 vote the Supreme Court recently threw out legislation that regulated corporate campaign contributions, opening the door for “ a new stampede of special interest money in our politics,” according to Obama.
What this world is about
Watching some good friends
Screaming 'Let me out'”
Queen
The highlight of the movie “It’s Kind of a Funny Story” was when the psych ward physical therapist broke out musical instruments. Because Craig didn’t have one, he was persuaded to take the microphone and sing. Suddenly the scene turned surrealistic, and inmates are transformed into elaborately costumed band members performing Queen’s “Under Pressure,” which begins: “Mm ba ba de/ Um bum ba de/ Um bu bu bum da de/ Pressure pushing down on me.” “Under Pressure” is a phrase used in football, and analysts even keep statistics on how many times a quarterback was sacked and how often he was under pressure.
Fasted 12 hours and felt slightly under pressure on the way to get blood work done. The woman who checked me in was daughter-in-law Delia’s Aunt Elba. Small world. Last time a nurse struggled to find an adequate vein, but no problem on this occasion. Had an egg McMuffin afterwards and two cups of coffee. Can’t figure why customers buy a large coffee when one can get free refills with a small container.
During the 1840s John Coffee Hays, according to historian S.C. Gwinne, transformed the Texas Rangers into a brutally effective deterrent force by learning tactics from enemy Comanches as well as friendly Apaches and using Colt six-shooters effectively on horseback (the first military force ever to do so). During the Mexican War the Rangers routed much larger forces and often lived off the land, raping and pillaging.
At lunch someone asked what the “F and S” on my purple bowling shirt stood for. It was the name of our sponsor, a construction company that Kevin Horn worked for in the 1990s. Jean Poulard is traveling to his home village in France to celebrate the release of his memoir. Siblings ranging in age from 80 to 89 will attend, the 71 year-old Political Scientist told me.
Aviva Duggin, daughter of former IUN Economics professor Leslie Singer, requested copies of anything we had at the Archives by or about her father. I mailed her “Educating the Region: A History of Indiana University Northwest” (Steel Shavings, volume 35) which has several dozen references to Les, a larger-than-life character who arrived when the university was in downtown Gary and taught well into his mid-70s. During the Sixties Leslie wrote and directed a one-act play that included bathroom scenes. Behind stalls the audience could see bare legs and hear sounds of flushing. During rehearsal Singer fell off the stage and broke his pelvis, resulting in his being hospitalized the night the play was performed.
Former student Gayle Simpson is coming to the Archives. She is a librarian at Ivy Tech in Michigan City and is working toward her Master’s degree in Library Science. Twelve years ago she was part of my “Cedar Lake Gang” that conducted oral histories for volume 27. In the editor’s note I described her as soft-spoken and gifted at putting subjects at ease. We were a close-knit group and I still recall them all vividly. Baby-faced Daniel Avitia went on to become a state policeman. Would love to hear from him or the outgoing Jacki Snow. I dedicated the Cedar Lake issue to town historian Beatrice Horner, who provided much of the documentation for the pre-World War II period.
Shannon Pontney’s dad Richard died at age 57. Shannon’s friend Angie called to tell me from the university. Rich was a friendly, unpretentious bear of a guy, an art school grad turned steelworker. Shannon shared his zest for life and brought him to several Voodoo Chili shows and Pat Conley’s Air Show parties near the lake. Toni and I had dinner with him and wife Audrey before a Star Plaza Oldies show that featured Dion. The Post-Trib obit described Richard as “a Notre Dame and White Sox fan” who “enjoyed golf, was a practical joker and had a great love for animals.” What a blow. Wish I’d known him better.
Dr. O removed the nine stitches behind my right ear. My pressure reading was 127 over 75, the lowest in memory. Usually, feeling under pressure at the doctor’s office, the readings are abnormally high compared to at home. I wasn’t anticipating the nurse taking it, so I didn’t have time to tense up.
On their way back west after spending two days in the genealogy room of the Allen County Library in Fort Wayne, Indiana, old friends Dean and Joanell Bottorff stopped in to see our condo and have lunch. Dean’s paternal grandmother died mysteriously nearly a century ago, and his maternal grandfather deserted his children after his wife died shortly after childbirth. Dean’s two year-old mother was taken in by a Swedish family who raised her as basically a domestic servant. His father was forced to quit school at age 11 to work on the farm, hated it, joined the army six years later, and became a cook and ultimately a chef. Dean and Joanell were our next-door neighbors when we first moved to Maple Place. His kids Richard and Ann, who came every summer, were approximately our kids’ age. We taught them the game of Murder. Participants crawled around with the lights out until the person who drew the murder card committed the crime. The victim screamed, and the detective would turn on the lights three seconds later and commence interrogations. Only the murderer could lie.
After Dean and Joanell moved to rural Valparaiso (where they raised goats), we often made homemade pizza, using sausage made of goat meat. After Dean quit his job at the Post-Trib to become editor of a computer magazine in Honk Kong, I stayed with them for three weeks in 1994 while lecturing at Chinese University. When they moved to Rapid City, we visited them with Alissa and the Migoskis. Bored with retirement after six months, they bought a lodging house in the Black Hills and have operated it ever since.
Ron Cohen emailed me a 15-minute BBC program on the travail of Gary, Indiana. Local photographer David Tribby took the TV crew to Seaman Hall, the Palace Theater, and other ruins. The director used Archives footage of the 1956 Golden Jubilee parade and has promised to send Steve a copy of the program. Mayor Rudy Clay mentioned that Gary residents helped Obama carry Indiana, but it remains to be seen whether he is truly committed to helping this ailing city whose once thriving downtown now resembles a ghost town. For all the ranting Glenn Beck and his ilk do about the President, he is not as much of a liberal activist as the country needs. Unfortunately, our political system, in the hands of corporate capitalists, appears irredeemable. By a 5-4 vote the Supreme Court recently threw out legislation that regulated corporate campaign contributions, opening the door for “ a new stampede of special interest money in our politics,” according to Obama.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Strange Days Indeed
“Nobody Told Me
There’d Be Days like These
Strange Days, Indeed.”
John Lennon
On what would have been John Lennon’s seventieth birthday Toni and I went to County Line Apple Orchard (along with half the people in Lake County, it seemed) to hear the Crawpuppies play Beatles songs on a warm, beautiful autumn afternoon. Crawpuppies frontman Chad Clifford was a student of mine in the Eighties and at that time wrote about his band Digital Hair, which once opened at Valparaiso University for the Romantics (I was there and published his article in Steel Shavings). I have seen the Crawpuppies several times in recent years at such places as IU Northwest, Marquette Park bathhouse, Mark-O’s, and elsewhere. His wife had a class with me a few years ago. The band learned a couple new John Lennon songs for the occasion. Chad’s pre-school age son joined him on stage to join in on “Hey Jude.” One old geezer about my age wore a Lennon t-shirt that said “Evolution.” His woman companion’s t-shirt had Lennon’s image and “Working Class Hero,” incidentally my favorite Lennon song. Crawpuppies drummer Mike Curtis and bass player Chris Karp are part of Drena’s house band. Dave has played with them and respects them highly as musicians. We had to park in a far-away annex lot, and seven tractor-pulled wagons took people to the orchards, corn maze, and various parking areas. Thousands of fans gathered at Strawberry Fields in NYC’s Central Park to remember him and sing songs such as “Imagine” and “Mind Games.”
Magill’s asked me to review S. C. Gwynne’s “Empire of the Summer Moon: Quannah Parker and the Rise and fall of the Comanches, the Most Powerful Indian Tribe in American History.” Chief Quannah’s mother Cynthia Ann (White Squaw) was kidnapped at age nine in a raid against the Parker compound, built dangerously close to hostile territory in west Texas. The attack left many family members dead. It took place on May 19, 1836, less than a month after the Battle of San Jacinto drove Santa Anna’s Mexican forces and left the territory bereft of protection. Assimilated into a tribal band, Cynthia married Comanche leader Peta Nocona and gave birth to three children. When she was “rescued” during the 1860 Battle of Pease River 24 years later, she was disconsolate over the butchery Texas Rangers inflicted on loved ones, refused to speak English, and tried repeatedly to escape her captors. As Gwynne makes clear, both sides committed atrocities during a 30-year war whose length far out-stretches the wars with the Cheyenne and Lakota tribes. It may have lasted even longer had contagious diseases such as cholera not ravaged many Comanche tribes.
Won St Petersburg, and Dave prevailed in the three others, upsetting Ton in Stone Age by a single point. Amun Re ended in a three-way dead heat, with Dave having an extra slice of a pyramid for the tie-breaker. On the way home T. Wade stopped at J and J Pizza in Portage for chicken wings for Darcy. Although Tom called ahead, the wait lasted 15 minutes. No biggie though. It was a glorious day, and I stretched my legs.
Bears, Redskins and Eagles all won, as did my Fantasy team (Jimbo Jammers) against Phil on the strength of a huge day for Baltimore’s Ray Rice. Phillies closed out the Reds thanks to a complete game shutout by 2008 World Series MVP Cole Hamels. Philadelphia players wore number 36 on their uniform sleeves to honor Hall of Fame pitcher Robin Roberts, who died in May. He was my favorite Philly growing up, a true competitor who got clutch hits and even stole bases if that’s what it took to win. In 1950 he started three of the Whiz Kids’ last five games, including a final day ten-inning, 4-1 win against the Dodgers against Don Newcombe (thanks to a three-run Dick Sisler HR) to get his team into the World Series for the first time in 35 years. The Yankees, alas, swept them. In game two Roberts and New York’s Allie Reynolds were locked in a 1-1 duel until Joe Dimaggio went yard against the Phillies’ ace. This year Jamie Moyer surpassed his record of most home runs yoielded.
Watched two outrageous episodes of “Curb Your Enthusiasm” from season five. In one Larry invites a registered sex offender who recently moved into his neighborhood to a family seder. In the other Richard Lewis’ nurse steal a cell phone and a baseball autographed by Mickey Mantle in her huge vagina.
Victoria Woefle, an old friend of colleague Rhiman Rotz, asked for information about his death, wondering if he were a victim of 9/11. Actually he died of cancer on September 23, 2001. An adviser to a campus Muslim student group, he told friends shortly before he died of his fear that the students might suffer in the aftermath of the tragedy. I emailed Victoria that we miss Rhiman greatly and that there is a pine tree on campus in his honor. For a couple years we put Christmas ornaments on it in December, and I played some of his favorite doo wop songs. A Day of the Dead display in the lobby features photographs of Rhiman, Larry Kaufman, Terry Lukas, Robin Hass Birky, Martin Becerra, Gary Martin, Bill May, and others.
Ron Cohen told me about a positive review in the September 2010 issue of the Journal of American History (JAH) of Carson Cunningham’s new book “American Hoops: U.S. Men’s Olympic basketball from Berlin to Beijing.” At the 1936 Berlin Olympics, infamous for Adolf Hitler’s alleged snub of Jesse Owens, the final game was played outdoors in the mud, with the Americans defeating a Canadian team 19 to 8. Thirty-six years later the U.S. lost its first Olympic game ever in that same city just days after eleven Israelis were murdered by Arab terrorists. The Americans were playing without star Bill Walton, who had bad knees and refused to try out. Coach Hank Iba stubbornly insisted that if he wanted to play, he’d have to “go through the process like everybody else.” The Russians led the entire game until Doug Collins sank two free throws with seconds left (either one or three, depending on when the Russians called time out). On their second chance to in-bound the ball Aleksandr Belov made a miracle shot. Believing erroneously that they were cheated, the Americans refused their silver medals. They felt they had let the country down and rationalized that they had been Cold War victims. Losing again in 1988 led to NBA players forming the Dream Team that triumphed in Barcelona; similarly losing in Athens in 2004 led to the Redeem Team coached by Mike Krzyzewski attracting such stars as Kobe Bryant, LeBron James, Chris Bosh, and Dwayne Wade.
Former Purdue star Carson Cunningham taught a couple summers for us. Ron suggested we bring him to campus to talk about the book. He is a lecturer at DePaul and also coaches the Andrean High School basketball team. He grew up in Ogden Dunes and often joined pickup games against much older kids, including son Dave, who came to admire his grit and talent.
Also reviewed in the September 2010 issue of the JAH is William O’Neill popular history of the 1990s called “A Bubble in Time: America during the Interwar Years, 1989-2001.” O’Neill rails against what he calls “Tabloid Nation” for creating “media firestorms” that focused on celebrities rather than issues and that sensationalized events such as the O.J. Simpson trial and the Monica Lewinsky sex scandal. Lamenting a “decade of lost chances,” he blames both Republicans and Democrats for their inability to work together to reform health care or overhaul the military. Reviewer Gil troy found the book disappointing in its shallowness and sloppiness with facts. He also takes O’Neill to task for saying that in 1991 during the first Gulf War Dick Cheney “had not yet lost his mind” – a cheap shot maybe but valid nonetheless.
I was the only one attending the Portage 16 matinee showing of “It’s Kind of a Funny Story” featuring Zach Galifianakis (so funny in “The Hangover”) as psych ward patient Bobby who takes Craig, a 16 year-old depressed kid under his wing. Based on a novel by Ned Vizzini, I found the flick very touching. A teen love story develops, but we don’t learn much about Noelle in terms of why she has cut marks on her face and wrists (in the novel it is revealed that she was a victim of sexual abuse). Her musical tastes were similar to mine: Radiohead, Pixies, Vampire Weekend. The troubled characters in the ward, including Egyptian roommate Muqtada, are believable and reminiscent of the supporting cast in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.” Viola Davis, nominated for an Oscar for her role as a pragmatic mother in “Doubt”), is splendid as Craig’s psychiatrist. Craig’s father put pressure on him to do well academically, but in the end he decides to transfer to an art school.
Waiting for Monday night football to start (there was a delay caused by lightning), I talked with brother-in-law Sonny, who was visiting son Joe’s family in Jersey, about the Phils and Eagles. Tina and Jackie were watching “Dancing with the Stars,” but I got Jackie to come to the phone during a commercial. She is rooting for Audrina Partridge, who was in the MTV Reality shoe “The Hills” but also likes The Situation. Quarterback Kurt Warner may be in trouble, and Bristol Palin ‘s routines get more R rated each week.
I prepared something short to say at my fiftieth reunion about what happened in the world during our senior year between September 1959 and June of 1960. The main events are John F. Kennedy winning Democratic primaries in New Hampshire, Wisconsin and West Virginia to launch his presidential candidacy, the Greensboro, North Carolina, sit-in becoming the opening salvo in the Sixties Civil Rights movement, and Fidel Castro’s coming to power and the U-2 Incident heightening Cold War tensions. “Ben-Hur” with Charlton Heston was the big movie hit of the year, and in pop music news Elvis returned from his army stint in Germany and ruled the charts for a month in the spring with “Stuck On You.” Earlier Bobby Darin hit number one as well with “Mack the Knife,” a song about a murderer (despite its upbeat tempo) written in 1929 for the German play “The Threepenny Opera” and recorded in the mid-Fifties by Louis Armstrong. The Phillies lost 90 games in 1959 and over the winter traded centerfielder Richie Ashburn to the Chicago Cubs.
There’d Be Days like These
Strange Days, Indeed.”
John Lennon
On what would have been John Lennon’s seventieth birthday Toni and I went to County Line Apple Orchard (along with half the people in Lake County, it seemed) to hear the Crawpuppies play Beatles songs on a warm, beautiful autumn afternoon. Crawpuppies frontman Chad Clifford was a student of mine in the Eighties and at that time wrote about his band Digital Hair, which once opened at Valparaiso University for the Romantics (I was there and published his article in Steel Shavings). I have seen the Crawpuppies several times in recent years at such places as IU Northwest, Marquette Park bathhouse, Mark-O’s, and elsewhere. His wife had a class with me a few years ago. The band learned a couple new John Lennon songs for the occasion. Chad’s pre-school age son joined him on stage to join in on “Hey Jude.” One old geezer about my age wore a Lennon t-shirt that said “Evolution.” His woman companion’s t-shirt had Lennon’s image and “Working Class Hero,” incidentally my favorite Lennon song. Crawpuppies drummer Mike Curtis and bass player Chris Karp are part of Drena’s house band. Dave has played with them and respects them highly as musicians. We had to park in a far-away annex lot, and seven tractor-pulled wagons took people to the orchards, corn maze, and various parking areas. Thousands of fans gathered at Strawberry Fields in NYC’s Central Park to remember him and sing songs such as “Imagine” and “Mind Games.”
Magill’s asked me to review S. C. Gwynne’s “Empire of the Summer Moon: Quannah Parker and the Rise and fall of the Comanches, the Most Powerful Indian Tribe in American History.” Chief Quannah’s mother Cynthia Ann (White Squaw) was kidnapped at age nine in a raid against the Parker compound, built dangerously close to hostile territory in west Texas. The attack left many family members dead. It took place on May 19, 1836, less than a month after the Battle of San Jacinto drove Santa Anna’s Mexican forces and left the territory bereft of protection. Assimilated into a tribal band, Cynthia married Comanche leader Peta Nocona and gave birth to three children. When she was “rescued” during the 1860 Battle of Pease River 24 years later, she was disconsolate over the butchery Texas Rangers inflicted on loved ones, refused to speak English, and tried repeatedly to escape her captors. As Gwynne makes clear, both sides committed atrocities during a 30-year war whose length far out-stretches the wars with the Cheyenne and Lakota tribes. It may have lasted even longer had contagious diseases such as cholera not ravaged many Comanche tribes.
Won St Petersburg, and Dave prevailed in the three others, upsetting Ton in Stone Age by a single point. Amun Re ended in a three-way dead heat, with Dave having an extra slice of a pyramid for the tie-breaker. On the way home T. Wade stopped at J and J Pizza in Portage for chicken wings for Darcy. Although Tom called ahead, the wait lasted 15 minutes. No biggie though. It was a glorious day, and I stretched my legs.
Bears, Redskins and Eagles all won, as did my Fantasy team (Jimbo Jammers) against Phil on the strength of a huge day for Baltimore’s Ray Rice. Phillies closed out the Reds thanks to a complete game shutout by 2008 World Series MVP Cole Hamels. Philadelphia players wore number 36 on their uniform sleeves to honor Hall of Fame pitcher Robin Roberts, who died in May. He was my favorite Philly growing up, a true competitor who got clutch hits and even stole bases if that’s what it took to win. In 1950 he started three of the Whiz Kids’ last five games, including a final day ten-inning, 4-1 win against the Dodgers against Don Newcombe (thanks to a three-run Dick Sisler HR) to get his team into the World Series for the first time in 35 years. The Yankees, alas, swept them. In game two Roberts and New York’s Allie Reynolds were locked in a 1-1 duel until Joe Dimaggio went yard against the Phillies’ ace. This year Jamie Moyer surpassed his record of most home runs yoielded.
Watched two outrageous episodes of “Curb Your Enthusiasm” from season five. In one Larry invites a registered sex offender who recently moved into his neighborhood to a family seder. In the other Richard Lewis’ nurse steal a cell phone and a baseball autographed by Mickey Mantle in her huge vagina.
Victoria Woefle, an old friend of colleague Rhiman Rotz, asked for information about his death, wondering if he were a victim of 9/11. Actually he died of cancer on September 23, 2001. An adviser to a campus Muslim student group, he told friends shortly before he died of his fear that the students might suffer in the aftermath of the tragedy. I emailed Victoria that we miss Rhiman greatly and that there is a pine tree on campus in his honor. For a couple years we put Christmas ornaments on it in December, and I played some of his favorite doo wop songs. A Day of the Dead display in the lobby features photographs of Rhiman, Larry Kaufman, Terry Lukas, Robin Hass Birky, Martin Becerra, Gary Martin, Bill May, and others.
Ron Cohen told me about a positive review in the September 2010 issue of the Journal of American History (JAH) of Carson Cunningham’s new book “American Hoops: U.S. Men’s Olympic basketball from Berlin to Beijing.” At the 1936 Berlin Olympics, infamous for Adolf Hitler’s alleged snub of Jesse Owens, the final game was played outdoors in the mud, with the Americans defeating a Canadian team 19 to 8. Thirty-six years later the U.S. lost its first Olympic game ever in that same city just days after eleven Israelis were murdered by Arab terrorists. The Americans were playing without star Bill Walton, who had bad knees and refused to try out. Coach Hank Iba stubbornly insisted that if he wanted to play, he’d have to “go through the process like everybody else.” The Russians led the entire game until Doug Collins sank two free throws with seconds left (either one or three, depending on when the Russians called time out). On their second chance to in-bound the ball Aleksandr Belov made a miracle shot. Believing erroneously that they were cheated, the Americans refused their silver medals. They felt they had let the country down and rationalized that they had been Cold War victims. Losing again in 1988 led to NBA players forming the Dream Team that triumphed in Barcelona; similarly losing in Athens in 2004 led to the Redeem Team coached by Mike Krzyzewski attracting such stars as Kobe Bryant, LeBron James, Chris Bosh, and Dwayne Wade.
Former Purdue star Carson Cunningham taught a couple summers for us. Ron suggested we bring him to campus to talk about the book. He is a lecturer at DePaul and also coaches the Andrean High School basketball team. He grew up in Ogden Dunes and often joined pickup games against much older kids, including son Dave, who came to admire his grit and talent.
Also reviewed in the September 2010 issue of the JAH is William O’Neill popular history of the 1990s called “A Bubble in Time: America during the Interwar Years, 1989-2001.” O’Neill rails against what he calls “Tabloid Nation” for creating “media firestorms” that focused on celebrities rather than issues and that sensationalized events such as the O.J. Simpson trial and the Monica Lewinsky sex scandal. Lamenting a “decade of lost chances,” he blames both Republicans and Democrats for their inability to work together to reform health care or overhaul the military. Reviewer Gil troy found the book disappointing in its shallowness and sloppiness with facts. He also takes O’Neill to task for saying that in 1991 during the first Gulf War Dick Cheney “had not yet lost his mind” – a cheap shot maybe but valid nonetheless.
I was the only one attending the Portage 16 matinee showing of “It’s Kind of a Funny Story” featuring Zach Galifianakis (so funny in “The Hangover”) as psych ward patient Bobby who takes Craig, a 16 year-old depressed kid under his wing. Based on a novel by Ned Vizzini, I found the flick very touching. A teen love story develops, but we don’t learn much about Noelle in terms of why she has cut marks on her face and wrists (in the novel it is revealed that she was a victim of sexual abuse). Her musical tastes were similar to mine: Radiohead, Pixies, Vampire Weekend. The troubled characters in the ward, including Egyptian roommate Muqtada, are believable and reminiscent of the supporting cast in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.” Viola Davis, nominated for an Oscar for her role as a pragmatic mother in “Doubt”), is splendid as Craig’s psychiatrist. Craig’s father put pressure on him to do well academically, but in the end he decides to transfer to an art school.
Waiting for Monday night football to start (there was a delay caused by lightning), I talked with brother-in-law Sonny, who was visiting son Joe’s family in Jersey, about the Phils and Eagles. Tina and Jackie were watching “Dancing with the Stars,” but I got Jackie to come to the phone during a commercial. She is rooting for Audrina Partridge, who was in the MTV Reality shoe “The Hills” but also likes The Situation. Quarterback Kurt Warner may be in trouble, and Bristol Palin ‘s routines get more R rated each week.
I prepared something short to say at my fiftieth reunion about what happened in the world during our senior year between September 1959 and June of 1960. The main events are John F. Kennedy winning Democratic primaries in New Hampshire, Wisconsin and West Virginia to launch his presidential candidacy, the Greensboro, North Carolina, sit-in becoming the opening salvo in the Sixties Civil Rights movement, and Fidel Castro’s coming to power and the U-2 Incident heightening Cold War tensions. “Ben-Hur” with Charlton Heston was the big movie hit of the year, and in pop music news Elvis returned from his army stint in Germany and ruled the charts for a month in the spring with “Stuck On You.” Earlier Bobby Darin hit number one as well with “Mack the Knife,” a song about a murderer (despite its upbeat tempo) written in 1929 for the German play “The Threepenny Opera” and recorded in the mid-Fifties by Louis Armstrong. The Phillies lost 90 games in 1959 and over the winter traded centerfielder Richie Ashburn to the Chicago Cubs.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Gay Suicides
“Know when you see him,
Nothing can free him.
Step aside, open wide,
It’s the loner.”
Neil Young, 1969
In conjunction with Rainbow Connectionz (formerly the Gay-Straight Student Alliance) Anne Balay put together a program dealing with the apparent epidemic of gay teens taking their own lives, often the result of bullying, the recent involving Rutgers student Tyler Clementi. Women’s Studies faculty Ana Osann and Lori Montalbano were on hand to lend their support. Co-chair Ricardo Robles compared being involved with Rainbow Connectionsz to getting a second family. Looking sexy with spiked red hair and pink shirt, tie and black slacks, Anne emphasized that suicide victims usually feel alone and without a place to turn to for help and that IU Northwest provides a welcoming atmosphere and fun environment for GLBT students. She also mentioned that there are gay-friendly bars and churches in Northwest Indiana as well as a thriving subculture in nearby Chicago. After reading a statement affirming IU’s nondiscrimination policy, Chancellor Lowe said that his brother, who was gay, committed suicide when he was 28 years old. The audience were stunned, and tears flowed freely. English department lecturer Ausra Buzenas, who I’d have guessed was a young man with long hair until she spoke, talked about being stopped entering women’s public bathrooms. She’ll be teaching a course on gender roles in the spring, and I mentioned my “Ides of March 2011” project and hoped she might have her students keep journals. People wrote messages on multicolored ribbons that were tied together. Mine, referring to Doc Lukas, read: “Terry, I miss you. Love, Jimbo.” On Facebook Anne wrote: “I feel so proud of the students, of the university, of the Chancellor. I feel glad to be queer, and I love my IUN family.”
As Toni predicted, Chris LaPorte won the Grand Rapids ArtPrize contest for his drawing of American cavalry officers, circa 1921. Wander Martich’s huge coin entitled “Helping Mom One Penny at a Time,” finished sixth. Traded emails with condo neighbor Desiree Kaminski (who wants to do paint trimming and needs the brand and shade of white), Linda Oblack of IU Press (who apologized for the delay on Sheriff Dominguez’s autobiography), and Ron Cohen (who wrote “Good Blog” and lamented Miller Bakery Café’s closing). Ron’s wife Nancy has a new grandson named Rocco.
Dr. Leonard Ostrowski decided the sutures behind my ear should stay in five more days so my doctor’s visit was a waste except for picking up prescription refills and a note for blood work. Drove to Maple Place for more smooth lake rocks. We put in a mum plant but still have a bare space. Had planned to talk with Joe Van Dyk at the Archives about his urban planning project but he called in sick at the last minute.
The featured speaker at IU Northwest’s annual Convocation (held in the recently named Bruce Bergland Auditoriam) was historian Ken Bain, author of “What the best College Teachers Do.” Introducing him was Cynthia O’Dell. Chancellor Lowe and Vice Chancellor Malik also said a few words. Bain’s main point was that making comparisons between past and current sevents leads to productive discussion that enhances the learning process. As an example, he mentioned how what happened in New Orleans in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina could be brought into a discussion of reconstruction. Afterwards I consumed eggs rolls and chicken tenders from the sumptuous buffet, as well as veggies and fruit. Talked to Chris Young about Jim Tolhuizen, to whom the program was dedicated, and introduced myself a second-year Sociology professor, Kevin McElmurry.
Passed over “It’s Kind of a Funny Story,” about a depressed teenager in a psychiatric ward and on Roger Ebert’s four star recommendation saw “Secretariat,” starring one of my favorite actress, 45 year-old Diane Lane, radiant in “Under the Tuscan Sun” and incredibly lusty as a desperate housewife in “Unfaithful.” Diane played owner Penny Chenery, who succeeded against all odds in a male-dominated sport. John Malkovich was super as trainer Lucien Laurin. Sired by Bold Ruler, the 1973 triple crown winner lived to the ripe old age of 19 and sired 600 foals in retirement.
The Drive’s Friday “Ten at Ten” focused on 1969 and started out with Neil Young’s “The Loner” followed by Led Zeppelin’s “Dazed and Confused” and Elvis Presley’s “Suspicious Minds,” for my money the King’s best effort ever. Creedence Clearwater Revival was the band of the year, and 1969 was also the year of Woodstock and Altamont. My favorite song, however, was Thunderclap Newman’s “Something in the Air.” Man, did I ever wear out the album “Hollywood Dream.”
Nothing can free him.
Step aside, open wide,
It’s the loner.”
Neil Young, 1969
In conjunction with Rainbow Connectionz (formerly the Gay-Straight Student Alliance) Anne Balay put together a program dealing with the apparent epidemic of gay teens taking their own lives, often the result of bullying, the recent involving Rutgers student Tyler Clementi. Women’s Studies faculty Ana Osann and Lori Montalbano were on hand to lend their support. Co-chair Ricardo Robles compared being involved with Rainbow Connectionsz to getting a second family. Looking sexy with spiked red hair and pink shirt, tie and black slacks, Anne emphasized that suicide victims usually feel alone and without a place to turn to for help and that IU Northwest provides a welcoming atmosphere and fun environment for GLBT students. She also mentioned that there are gay-friendly bars and churches in Northwest Indiana as well as a thriving subculture in nearby Chicago. After reading a statement affirming IU’s nondiscrimination policy, Chancellor Lowe said that his brother, who was gay, committed suicide when he was 28 years old. The audience were stunned, and tears flowed freely. English department lecturer Ausra Buzenas, who I’d have guessed was a young man with long hair until she spoke, talked about being stopped entering women’s public bathrooms. She’ll be teaching a course on gender roles in the spring, and I mentioned my “Ides of March 2011” project and hoped she might have her students keep journals. People wrote messages on multicolored ribbons that were tied together. Mine, referring to Doc Lukas, read: “Terry, I miss you. Love, Jimbo.” On Facebook Anne wrote: “I feel so proud of the students, of the university, of the Chancellor. I feel glad to be queer, and I love my IUN family.”
As Toni predicted, Chris LaPorte won the Grand Rapids ArtPrize contest for his drawing of American cavalry officers, circa 1921. Wander Martich’s huge coin entitled “Helping Mom One Penny at a Time,” finished sixth. Traded emails with condo neighbor Desiree Kaminski (who wants to do paint trimming and needs the brand and shade of white), Linda Oblack of IU Press (who apologized for the delay on Sheriff Dominguez’s autobiography), and Ron Cohen (who wrote “Good Blog” and lamented Miller Bakery Café’s closing). Ron’s wife Nancy has a new grandson named Rocco.
Dr. Leonard Ostrowski decided the sutures behind my ear should stay in five more days so my doctor’s visit was a waste except for picking up prescription refills and a note for blood work. Drove to Maple Place for more smooth lake rocks. We put in a mum plant but still have a bare space. Had planned to talk with Joe Van Dyk at the Archives about his urban planning project but he called in sick at the last minute.
The featured speaker at IU Northwest’s annual Convocation (held in the recently named Bruce Bergland Auditoriam) was historian Ken Bain, author of “What the best College Teachers Do.” Introducing him was Cynthia O’Dell. Chancellor Lowe and Vice Chancellor Malik also said a few words. Bain’s main point was that making comparisons between past and current sevents leads to productive discussion that enhances the learning process. As an example, he mentioned how what happened in New Orleans in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina could be brought into a discussion of reconstruction. Afterwards I consumed eggs rolls and chicken tenders from the sumptuous buffet, as well as veggies and fruit. Talked to Chris Young about Jim Tolhuizen, to whom the program was dedicated, and introduced myself a second-year Sociology professor, Kevin McElmurry.
Passed over “It’s Kind of a Funny Story,” about a depressed teenager in a psychiatric ward and on Roger Ebert’s four star recommendation saw “Secretariat,” starring one of my favorite actress, 45 year-old Diane Lane, radiant in “Under the Tuscan Sun” and incredibly lusty as a desperate housewife in “Unfaithful.” Diane played owner Penny Chenery, who succeeded against all odds in a male-dominated sport. John Malkovich was super as trainer Lucien Laurin. Sired by Bold Ruler, the 1973 triple crown winner lived to the ripe old age of 19 and sired 600 foals in retirement.
The Drive’s Friday “Ten at Ten” focused on 1969 and started out with Neil Young’s “The Loner” followed by Led Zeppelin’s “Dazed and Confused” and Elvis Presley’s “Suspicious Minds,” for my money the King’s best effort ever. Creedence Clearwater Revival was the band of the year, and 1969 was also the year of Woodstock and Altamont. My favorite song, however, was Thunderclap Newman’s “Something in the Air.” Man, did I ever wear out the album “Hollywood Dream.”
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Grief Counselor
“I'm alive but I'm sinking in
If there's anyone at home at your place
Why don't you invite me in.”
Counting Crows, “Rain King”
Several quotes from old friend and former student David Malham, a grief counselor for MADD (Mothers Against Drunk Driving), appeared in a Times story about 21 year-old Dean Tillema, who in May was driving while intoxicated and involved in a crash that killed two of his teenage passengers. Scheduled to stand trial in three weeks, he posted a video on YouTube supposedly intended to curb others from driving drunk. David opined that the video is a self-serving plea for sympathy and would have more credibility had it been released after the trial. A victim’s mother called it “disgusting and disrespectful.” Among the numerous comments on the Times’ Online Discussion section was this indictment from calo482: “I live in the community where this tragedy occurred and I couldn't have said it any better than the grief counselor! He hit the nail right on the head! Dean made ANOTHER bad choice. He should stand up, take responsibility for his actions and accept his punishment like a man! Thanks to Mr. Malham for taking a stand on this issue. Most in our community find this pathetic ploy by the Tillema family sickening and very distasteful.” Malham visited the Archives last week and dined at Lucretia’s with Toni while I was at bowling. David not only deals with victims of drunk driving accidents but all kinds of disasters and even aftermaths of corporate downsizing.
I talked sports with Terry Jenkins and discussed plans for reunion weekend. He was a class behind me but might come to Saturday breakfast and then tour old Fort Washington haunts like we’ve done in the past. Toni and I also intend to visit his and Gayle shop, have steak sandwiches with them, and stay overnight at their house. I’m still working on his sister Judy to attend, but she probably will be in Maine trying to close a deal on selling her summer place there. Called Phil Arnold to see if he will be bringing tapes of Fifties music with him. Counting Crows “Rain King” came on the radio, so I turned up the volume and sang along.
Toni and I spent Tuesday looking for China closets, finally ordering one from The Room Place. Had a beef sub at Jimmy John’s, whose rolls are superior to Subway but their radio commercial is the pits – the premise is that they deliver so fast someone whose house is on fire calls several times and then asks the guys to help him out it out. Going into the new purchase are plates from great-great-great Uncle Jimmy Buchanan’s administration. Watered the transplanted hostas and ground cover, then watched a “Curb Your Enthusiasm” episode from season five. Larry accuses a nursing home bingo caller of cheating and causes a Japanese guy to attempt suicide after questioning how his father could have been a kamikaze pilot in WW II yet still be alive. Hilarious. Toni made a great rib dinner and then I struggled to stay up for “Dancing with the Stars.” Korean-American comedian and advocate for GLBT rights Margaret Cho got the axe (no surprise), and Michael Bolton proved he couldn’t sing any better than he danced.
Ogden Dunes Historical Society archivist Richard Meister thanked me for putting on an “effective interactive program” and giving away copies of “Age of Anxiety.” He added: “It reflects the wonderful work with and your mentoring of students. Saving the history of the people of Northwest Indiana is a great legacy that you are leaving for future generations. You have to be very proud of your students and your legacy.” Dick hopes to visit the Archives in the near future and passed on his phone number and address. Hope to see him when the Diana of the Dunes author speaks next month.
The Miller Bakery Café closed suddenly after 21 years of offering fine dining to patrons who came from far and wide, although not enough of them lately, I guess. Owner Gary Sanders was the original chef and bought it a couple years later from Dann and Robin Niven, according to the Post-Trib. Sanders also owns Bartlett’s in Beverly Shores and his wife owns Bistro 157 in Valparaiso. We’ve eaten at both places with the Hagelbergs. Councilwoman Marilyn Krusas told the paper, “It’s a tremendous loss to Lake Street.” If anything, that’s an understatement. Everyone we took there was impressed; I especially liked their rack of lamb, crab cakes, and desserts. The building is a local landmark. Before it was an eatery, Miller Bakery sold bread and pastries going back to before World War II.
Chris Sheid’s Marketing office put out a moving tribute to Jim Tolhuizen that states: “Dr. Tolhuizen was a Vietnam War veteran who served overseas in 1969-70. He recounted his wartime experiences for IU Northwest Professor Emeritus of History James Lane's 2008 periodical ‘Steel Shavings: Brothers in Arms,’ and he also discussed his war experiences periodically with Lane's history students. ‘I guess most guys in my unit had a difficult time figuring me out, especially the younger ones,’ Tolhuizen wrote in the ‘Steel Shavings’ essay ‘His Face.’ ‘I was a little older, I had a college degree, I was an actor and singer, and I had even, at times, voiced my opposition to the war.’ Tolhuizen came home from Vietnam in 1970 after suffering a serious leg injury, which he also recounted in his ‘Steel Shavings’ commentary. ‘After I got out of the hospital and returned home, nobody spoke about the war, which probably made a lot of sense because people tend not to talk about things that are conflict-producing,’ Tolhuizen remarked.”
Nicole Anslover invited me to talk about Vietnam on October 18 in her Diplomatic History course. I had told her to have Jim Tolhuizen speak, but, of course, it’s too late for that. I’ll give the students copies of “Brothers in Arms” and perhaps read “His Face,” Jim’s account of the death of comrade in arms Paul Step. Jim was in a bunker when he heard a “woosh” sound signaled rocket fire coming their way. He wrote, “The blast literally picked me up off the ground and slammed me into the wall of the bunker, and through the ear-splitting sound of the explosion, we all heard a single scream from Paul outside.” After pulling Paul’s broken body inside, the only way everyone could fit was for the others to sit on him. Jim wrote: “We sat on him for our own safety and for the protection of the bunker while his blood ran into the ground and his life ebbed away.” What a waste because of the timidity of our leaders, fearful of the political consequences of acknowledging that the situation was hopeless.
Anne Balay is organizing a campus event about gay suicides in the aftermath of Rutgers student Tyler Clementi jumping off the George Washington Bridge after roommate Dharun Ravi streamed a video of him and another man and then circulated it on Twitter along with this message: “Roommate asked for the room till midnight. I went into molly's room and turned on my webcam. I saw him making out with a dude. Yay.” Ravi and Molly Wei are in a heap of legal trouble for their cruelty.
At a luncheon for emeritus faculty Fred Chary passed around information about his forthcoming history of Bulgaria. Several people expressed alarm that two students were struck by cars recently crossing Broadway on their way from parking lots to their classrooms. George Bodmer was badly hurt last winter, but it is a state road and efforts to get a stop light installed have failed. Ruth Needleman attended her first such luncheon since retiring although she is teaching Labor Studies courses at Calumet College. Chancellor Lowe answered questions for nearly an hour. By the end I was trying to stifle yawns. Ken Stabler, looking tanned and fit, mentioned being friends with condo neighbors Mary and Craig Henderson.
The Nation magazine’s cover story, entitled “The Fifty Most Influential Progressives of the twentieth Century,” excluded elected public officials (although Earl Warren made it); but the list, headed by Socialist Eugene Victor Debs, was impressive indeed. I had heard of all but two – Mattachine Society founder harry Hay and Friends of the Earth founder David Brower. I was surprised to find Jackie Robinson and Muhammad Ali on it. The other athlete listed was Billie Jean King. The final person on the list – composed chronologically, was filmmaker and author Michael Moore. It was great to see folk singer Pete Seeger’s smiling face grace the cover.
At Burns Funeral Home offered condolences to Jim Tolhuizen’s family. His brother thanked me for what I wrote in my blog – they must have Googled his name and found it that way. Jim’s son Hank seemed to be taking it especially hard. There was a large IU Northwest contingent on hand, including retirees (Mary Bertolucci and Peter Kesheimer) and lunch crowd regulars (among them Chuck Gallmeier, Bill Dorin, Alan Barr, and Jean Poulard). A card with Jim’s picture on the front had this quote from Robert M. Pirsig’s “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry into Values” on the back: “You look at where you’re going and where you are and it never makes sense, but then you look back at where you’ve been and a pattern seems to emerge.” Upon leaving I noticed a Pets Remembered sign indicating a crematory and cemetery.
Arrived at Cressmoor Lanes and watched the end of Ray Halladay’s no-hitter against the Reds. The final out was a little nubber in front of the plate that catcher Carlos Ruiz pounced on and threw to first while on his knees. The hug he gave the man fans call “Doctober” was reminiscent of Yogi Berra’s 1956 embrace of Don Larson, whose perfect games was the only previous no-hitter in postseason play. Go Phillies! We were a man short since Dick’s wife was in a car accident and like last week won the second game (I had a seven-ten split in the tenth frame or would have had a 200). Our opponents included personable Mike Burns (evidently no relation to the funeral home family) and James Cyprian (nephew to a once powerful steelworkers union official), whose ball broke to the right like a lefthander’s.
If there's anyone at home at your place
Why don't you invite me in.”
Counting Crows, “Rain King”
Several quotes from old friend and former student David Malham, a grief counselor for MADD (Mothers Against Drunk Driving), appeared in a Times story about 21 year-old Dean Tillema, who in May was driving while intoxicated and involved in a crash that killed two of his teenage passengers. Scheduled to stand trial in three weeks, he posted a video on YouTube supposedly intended to curb others from driving drunk. David opined that the video is a self-serving plea for sympathy and would have more credibility had it been released after the trial. A victim’s mother called it “disgusting and disrespectful.” Among the numerous comments on the Times’ Online Discussion section was this indictment from calo482: “I live in the community where this tragedy occurred and I couldn't have said it any better than the grief counselor! He hit the nail right on the head! Dean made ANOTHER bad choice. He should stand up, take responsibility for his actions and accept his punishment like a man! Thanks to Mr. Malham for taking a stand on this issue. Most in our community find this pathetic ploy by the Tillema family sickening and very distasteful.” Malham visited the Archives last week and dined at Lucretia’s with Toni while I was at bowling. David not only deals with victims of drunk driving accidents but all kinds of disasters and even aftermaths of corporate downsizing.
I talked sports with Terry Jenkins and discussed plans for reunion weekend. He was a class behind me but might come to Saturday breakfast and then tour old Fort Washington haunts like we’ve done in the past. Toni and I also intend to visit his and Gayle shop, have steak sandwiches with them, and stay overnight at their house. I’m still working on his sister Judy to attend, but she probably will be in Maine trying to close a deal on selling her summer place there. Called Phil Arnold to see if he will be bringing tapes of Fifties music with him. Counting Crows “Rain King” came on the radio, so I turned up the volume and sang along.
Toni and I spent Tuesday looking for China closets, finally ordering one from The Room Place. Had a beef sub at Jimmy John’s, whose rolls are superior to Subway but their radio commercial is the pits – the premise is that they deliver so fast someone whose house is on fire calls several times and then asks the guys to help him out it out. Going into the new purchase are plates from great-great-great Uncle Jimmy Buchanan’s administration. Watered the transplanted hostas and ground cover, then watched a “Curb Your Enthusiasm” episode from season five. Larry accuses a nursing home bingo caller of cheating and causes a Japanese guy to attempt suicide after questioning how his father could have been a kamikaze pilot in WW II yet still be alive. Hilarious. Toni made a great rib dinner and then I struggled to stay up for “Dancing with the Stars.” Korean-American comedian and advocate for GLBT rights Margaret Cho got the axe (no surprise), and Michael Bolton proved he couldn’t sing any better than he danced.
Ogden Dunes Historical Society archivist Richard Meister thanked me for putting on an “effective interactive program” and giving away copies of “Age of Anxiety.” He added: “It reflects the wonderful work with and your mentoring of students. Saving the history of the people of Northwest Indiana is a great legacy that you are leaving for future generations. You have to be very proud of your students and your legacy.” Dick hopes to visit the Archives in the near future and passed on his phone number and address. Hope to see him when the Diana of the Dunes author speaks next month.
The Miller Bakery Café closed suddenly after 21 years of offering fine dining to patrons who came from far and wide, although not enough of them lately, I guess. Owner Gary Sanders was the original chef and bought it a couple years later from Dann and Robin Niven, according to the Post-Trib. Sanders also owns Bartlett’s in Beverly Shores and his wife owns Bistro 157 in Valparaiso. We’ve eaten at both places with the Hagelbergs. Councilwoman Marilyn Krusas told the paper, “It’s a tremendous loss to Lake Street.” If anything, that’s an understatement. Everyone we took there was impressed; I especially liked their rack of lamb, crab cakes, and desserts. The building is a local landmark. Before it was an eatery, Miller Bakery sold bread and pastries going back to before World War II.
Chris Sheid’s Marketing office put out a moving tribute to Jim Tolhuizen that states: “Dr. Tolhuizen was a Vietnam War veteran who served overseas in 1969-70. He recounted his wartime experiences for IU Northwest Professor Emeritus of History James Lane's 2008 periodical ‘Steel Shavings: Brothers in Arms,’ and he also discussed his war experiences periodically with Lane's history students. ‘I guess most guys in my unit had a difficult time figuring me out, especially the younger ones,’ Tolhuizen wrote in the ‘Steel Shavings’ essay ‘His Face.’ ‘I was a little older, I had a college degree, I was an actor and singer, and I had even, at times, voiced my opposition to the war.’ Tolhuizen came home from Vietnam in 1970 after suffering a serious leg injury, which he also recounted in his ‘Steel Shavings’ commentary. ‘After I got out of the hospital and returned home, nobody spoke about the war, which probably made a lot of sense because people tend not to talk about things that are conflict-producing,’ Tolhuizen remarked.”
Nicole Anslover invited me to talk about Vietnam on October 18 in her Diplomatic History course. I had told her to have Jim Tolhuizen speak, but, of course, it’s too late for that. I’ll give the students copies of “Brothers in Arms” and perhaps read “His Face,” Jim’s account of the death of comrade in arms Paul Step. Jim was in a bunker when he heard a “woosh” sound signaled rocket fire coming their way. He wrote, “The blast literally picked me up off the ground and slammed me into the wall of the bunker, and through the ear-splitting sound of the explosion, we all heard a single scream from Paul outside.” After pulling Paul’s broken body inside, the only way everyone could fit was for the others to sit on him. Jim wrote: “We sat on him for our own safety and for the protection of the bunker while his blood ran into the ground and his life ebbed away.” What a waste because of the timidity of our leaders, fearful of the political consequences of acknowledging that the situation was hopeless.
Anne Balay is organizing a campus event about gay suicides in the aftermath of Rutgers student Tyler Clementi jumping off the George Washington Bridge after roommate Dharun Ravi streamed a video of him and another man and then circulated it on Twitter along with this message: “Roommate asked for the room till midnight. I went into molly's room and turned on my webcam. I saw him making out with a dude. Yay.” Ravi and Molly Wei are in a heap of legal trouble for their cruelty.
At a luncheon for emeritus faculty Fred Chary passed around information about his forthcoming history of Bulgaria. Several people expressed alarm that two students were struck by cars recently crossing Broadway on their way from parking lots to their classrooms. George Bodmer was badly hurt last winter, but it is a state road and efforts to get a stop light installed have failed. Ruth Needleman attended her first such luncheon since retiring although she is teaching Labor Studies courses at Calumet College. Chancellor Lowe answered questions for nearly an hour. By the end I was trying to stifle yawns. Ken Stabler, looking tanned and fit, mentioned being friends with condo neighbors Mary and Craig Henderson.
The Nation magazine’s cover story, entitled “The Fifty Most Influential Progressives of the twentieth Century,” excluded elected public officials (although Earl Warren made it); but the list, headed by Socialist Eugene Victor Debs, was impressive indeed. I had heard of all but two – Mattachine Society founder harry Hay and Friends of the Earth founder David Brower. I was surprised to find Jackie Robinson and Muhammad Ali on it. The other athlete listed was Billie Jean King. The final person on the list – composed chronologically, was filmmaker and author Michael Moore. It was great to see folk singer Pete Seeger’s smiling face grace the cover.
At Burns Funeral Home offered condolences to Jim Tolhuizen’s family. His brother thanked me for what I wrote in my blog – they must have Googled his name and found it that way. Jim’s son Hank seemed to be taking it especially hard. There was a large IU Northwest contingent on hand, including retirees (Mary Bertolucci and Peter Kesheimer) and lunch crowd regulars (among them Chuck Gallmeier, Bill Dorin, Alan Barr, and Jean Poulard). A card with Jim’s picture on the front had this quote from Robert M. Pirsig’s “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry into Values” on the back: “You look at where you’re going and where you are and it never makes sense, but then you look back at where you’ve been and a pattern seems to emerge.” Upon leaving I noticed a Pets Remembered sign indicating a crematory and cemetery.
Arrived at Cressmoor Lanes and watched the end of Ray Halladay’s no-hitter against the Reds. The final out was a little nubber in front of the plate that catcher Carlos Ruiz pounced on and threw to first while on his knees. The hug he gave the man fans call “Doctober” was reminiscent of Yogi Berra’s 1956 embrace of Don Larson, whose perfect games was the only previous no-hitter in postseason play. Go Phillies! We were a man short since Dick’s wife was in a car accident and like last week won the second game (I had a seven-ten split in the tenth frame or would have had a 200). Our opponents included personable Mike Burns (evidently no relation to the funeral home family) and James Cyprian (nephew to a once powerful steelworkers union official), whose ball broke to the right like a lefthander’s.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Jim Tolhuizen
“Now the sun’s gone to hell
And the moon’s riding high
Let me bid you farewell
Every man has to die
But it’s written in the starlight
And every line on your palm
We’re fools to make war
On our brothers in arms.”
Dire Straits
Chuck Gallmeier called with the sad news that friend and valued colleague Jim Tolhuizen passed away. Twenty years ago, he and I were having lunch in the Indiana University Northwest cafeteria when he started asking me about the Vietnam War course I was teaching. During the ensuing conversation he mentioned some of his experiences as, in his words, a “ground pounder” serving with the First Cavalry Division in Vietnam’s Central Highlands. I listened with fascination and inquired whether he often discussed these things with others. “This is the first time I have ever talked about it,” he replied. After thinking it over, Jim agreed to share his experiences with my students. They were riveted. Henceforth every time I taught the course, he’d agree to make a guest appearance. It was always the highlight of the class. When I’d thank him, he’d say, “I enjoyed it. It’s good therapy.”
Jim always began his remarks with the caveat that every Vietnam veteran’s experiences were unique to the time (for him, 1969-1970) and place (the so-called Parrot’s Beak) he served and that one shouldn’t make generalizations about others’ tours of duty based on what he went through. The mission of Tolhuizen’s unit was to interdict supplies entering South Vietnam from the Ho Cho Minh Trail. That meant being “in the field” on patrol for 24 days straight and then pulling “green line” duty guarding the firebase for eight days. He described the 70 or 80 pounds of gear he had to “hump,” and the arduous task of setting up camp each night after hacking through three-tier jungle all day. His unit being called on to implement President Richard M’ Nixon’s so-called Cambodian incursion, Jim was seriously wounded by an unseen enemy’s round from an AK-47 shattered his thigh. He spent more than a year in army hospitals with other war victims (we were not sick, he emphasized, just grievously wounded). He always answered student questions but did not offer political analysis other than to state the obvious, that by 1969 hardly anyone was for the war or believed it was winnable. Embittered by the needless sacrifices he and his comrades went through, he admitted to the class, “I tell people now not to hold grudges, but it took me awhile to learn that lesson myself.”
Once a student asked Jim if any of his buddies had died in combat. After a moment’s hesitation, he revealed that his best friend Paul was fatally injured by rocket fire during an attack on their fire support base. An hour before, he and Paul were on top of a bunker listening to an audio cassette of the Beatles’ “Abbey Road” that Paul had purchased during R and R in Bangkok, singing along to the words: “Little darling, it’s been a long cold lonely winter/ Little darling, it seems like years since it’s been here/ Here comes the sun, here comes the sun/ And I say, it’s all right.” After Paul’s death, Jim was careful to avoid becoming too emotionally attached to anyone. Jim walked with a limp, the scar tissue a constant reminder of war’s personal toll. In recent months he’d ask friends sitting across from him at lunch to hold the table down when he was ready to leave so he could get himself up. A charter member of the Northwest Indiana Symphony Chorus, he sometimes needed a shoulder to lean on in order to negotiate the stage. He loved stock car races and helped found I U Northwest’s Communication Department. J.T., as I called him, will be sorely missed.
Bob Kostanczuk had a nice review of “Maria’s Journey in the Post-Trib. He wrote in part: “At 18, Maria Arredondo was a Mexican immigrant and mother living in a Texas boxcar while her husband worked for the railroad. It was the 1920s. A clothesline was stretched between the boxcar and a straggly tree. "In summer's heat the clothes first hung in the dry dusty wind were dry and ready to bring in before the last of the load was pinned at the end of the clothesline," purrs a passage from "Maria's Journey," a new book about a matriarch's resilience in the face of challenges in her adopted country. Industrialized East Chicago would become home for Maria -- the mother of 10 from the state of Guanajuato in Mexico. She was steered into an arranged marriage at the age of 14. Readers are drawn into a gritty immigrant saga that streams through the rise of steel worker unionization and the evolution of the Arredondos into a well known political family in Northwest Indiana.”
Last Thursday we traveled to Grand Rapids, MI, to see granddaughter Alissa participate in a so-called “Style Battle.” She was the photographer on one of nine teams sponsored by area boutiques (in her case Lamb). Team members included a hair stylist, makeup artist, and five models. In the course of five hours Five of Alissa’s photos of the made-up models would be submitted and shown on a huge screen, and the audience was asked to vote for the three top teams. Lamb should have won, but the winner, Gina’s, had a larger contingent of voters. Still it was fun to watch (kind of like a Sixties Happening), and although exhausting for Alissa, a good experience.
The downtown Holiday Inn was across the street from the impressive Gerald R. Ford presidential Museum, which I visited. Loved the replicas of the oval office and cabinet room. Ford’s biological father was evidently an ogre whom his mother divorced when he was a baby, and his stepfather owned a paint store in Grand Rapids. A special exhibit entitled “School House to White House: The Education of the Presidents” contained photos and home movies of presidents going back to Herbert Hoover. In a taped interview from “60 Minutes” First Lady Betty Ford candidly endorsed the Equal Rights Amendment and a woman’s right to choose whether or not to have an abortion. She got her husband to appoint a woman to his cabinet and hoped he’d appoint one to the Supreme Court. On the wall were photos of dozens of white men who served on Ford’s team, no African Americans, and a lone woman, Secretary of Housing and Urban development Carla Anderson Hills.
Outside the museum were entries in the open air Art Prize contest going on all over the city. Other venues included Flanagan’s Irish Pub, the Department of Corrections, and a refurbished warehouse nicknamed The B.O.B. (for Big Old Building). Top prize is $250,000 and more than 1,700 people entered pieces. One finalist was a gigantic replica of a Lincoln coin consisting of thousands of pennies. Artist Wander Martich is a 34 year-old woman originally from the Dominican Republic. I only saw a tiny fraction of the entries but hope she wins.
Arriving at Phil and Delia’s, I got out to move a garbage container and tripped over the open top lying on the ground, somehow opening a gash behind my ear that took nine stitches to close. Phil and Toni took me to an Urgent care facility, and the doctor joked about my wearing an Indiana University t-shirt since IU was playing Michigan later that day (IU lost 42-35, unable to stop the Wolverines’ running game).
Missed seeing Miranda run cross country or play in her high school marching band, but Alissa had two indoor soccer games and Anthony an outdoor game Friday. Both Tori and Anthony had games again on Saturday, a morning so cold that I wore my winter jacket and was still shivering. Thanks in part to Phil’s good coaching moves, Tori’s team prevailed, 2-0, against an opponent that had beaten them handily two weeks before. In the next contest Anthony scored a sweet goal by positioning himself perfectly for a rebound shot.
Went one for four in Sunday gaming, winning Amun Re by a single point, then barely losing Acquire. My Fantasy team took a blow when the Eagles’ Michael Vick got injured and his sub didn’t throw to my speedy wide receivers Jeremy Maclin and De Sean Jackson. The Giants humiliated the Bears, sacking Cutler a record nine times in the first half and limiting their offense to a putrid 100 yards.
CNN fired Rick Sanchez after he called Comedy Central’s Jon Stewart prejudiced and scoffed at the intimation that the Jewish Stewart was a member of a minority group. The Cuban American Sanchez sneered, “Yeah, very powerless people. Please, are you kidding me? Everyone who runs CNN is a lot like Stewart. And a lot of people who run all the other networks are a lot like Stewart.” Sanchez picked the wrong minority group to insult, that’s for sure.
Actor Tony Curtis died at age 85. He once said, “I wouldn’t be caught dead marrying a woman old enough to be my wife.” Today that sounds unbearably chauvinistic. I will say that his daughter Jamie Lee is a middle-age fox. Curtis was part of a movie generation that over-acted. Like with Jimmy Stewart, John Wayne, Kathryn Hepburn, Humphrey Bogart, and others, you always knew it was Curtis on the screen rather than becoming lost in his character. He’s best known for roles in “The Defiant Ones” and “Some Like It Hot.”
Rolling Stone magazine has Obama on the cover and a Matt Taibbi article about the Tea Party movement. Their College Radio chart had Arcade Fire’s “The Suburbs” listed at number one. Their movie reviewer called “Social Network” – about the Harvard student who started Facebook - the movie of the year so far. I tend to agree, and Justin Timberlake almost stole the show as Sean Parker, the co-founder of Napster. Jesse Eisenberg succeeds in playing Mark Zuckerberg as a real jerk who basically stole the idea for Facebook and double-crossed his original partner.
George Bodmer sent me photos he took while walking around the Rogers park neighborhood in Chicago of sidewalk imprints mentioning the construction companies that laid the concrete. He wondered if I knew of any studies of “such ephemera.” Maurice Yancy, an Archives intern, said that he thinks a study of Bricks was done in Hobart, which once was known for its brickyards.
And the moon’s riding high
Let me bid you farewell
Every man has to die
But it’s written in the starlight
And every line on your palm
We’re fools to make war
On our brothers in arms.”
Dire Straits
Chuck Gallmeier called with the sad news that friend and valued colleague Jim Tolhuizen passed away. Twenty years ago, he and I were having lunch in the Indiana University Northwest cafeteria when he started asking me about the Vietnam War course I was teaching. During the ensuing conversation he mentioned some of his experiences as, in his words, a “ground pounder” serving with the First Cavalry Division in Vietnam’s Central Highlands. I listened with fascination and inquired whether he often discussed these things with others. “This is the first time I have ever talked about it,” he replied. After thinking it over, Jim agreed to share his experiences with my students. They were riveted. Henceforth every time I taught the course, he’d agree to make a guest appearance. It was always the highlight of the class. When I’d thank him, he’d say, “I enjoyed it. It’s good therapy.”
Jim always began his remarks with the caveat that every Vietnam veteran’s experiences were unique to the time (for him, 1969-1970) and place (the so-called Parrot’s Beak) he served and that one shouldn’t make generalizations about others’ tours of duty based on what he went through. The mission of Tolhuizen’s unit was to interdict supplies entering South Vietnam from the Ho Cho Minh Trail. That meant being “in the field” on patrol for 24 days straight and then pulling “green line” duty guarding the firebase for eight days. He described the 70 or 80 pounds of gear he had to “hump,” and the arduous task of setting up camp each night after hacking through three-tier jungle all day. His unit being called on to implement President Richard M’ Nixon’s so-called Cambodian incursion, Jim was seriously wounded by an unseen enemy’s round from an AK-47 shattered his thigh. He spent more than a year in army hospitals with other war victims (we were not sick, he emphasized, just grievously wounded). He always answered student questions but did not offer political analysis other than to state the obvious, that by 1969 hardly anyone was for the war or believed it was winnable. Embittered by the needless sacrifices he and his comrades went through, he admitted to the class, “I tell people now not to hold grudges, but it took me awhile to learn that lesson myself.”
Once a student asked Jim if any of his buddies had died in combat. After a moment’s hesitation, he revealed that his best friend Paul was fatally injured by rocket fire during an attack on their fire support base. An hour before, he and Paul were on top of a bunker listening to an audio cassette of the Beatles’ “Abbey Road” that Paul had purchased during R and R in Bangkok, singing along to the words: “Little darling, it’s been a long cold lonely winter/ Little darling, it seems like years since it’s been here/ Here comes the sun, here comes the sun/ And I say, it’s all right.” After Paul’s death, Jim was careful to avoid becoming too emotionally attached to anyone. Jim walked with a limp, the scar tissue a constant reminder of war’s personal toll. In recent months he’d ask friends sitting across from him at lunch to hold the table down when he was ready to leave so he could get himself up. A charter member of the Northwest Indiana Symphony Chorus, he sometimes needed a shoulder to lean on in order to negotiate the stage. He loved stock car races and helped found I U Northwest’s Communication Department. J.T., as I called him, will be sorely missed.
Bob Kostanczuk had a nice review of “Maria’s Journey in the Post-Trib. He wrote in part: “At 18, Maria Arredondo was a Mexican immigrant and mother living in a Texas boxcar while her husband worked for the railroad. It was the 1920s. A clothesline was stretched between the boxcar and a straggly tree. "In summer's heat the clothes first hung in the dry dusty wind were dry and ready to bring in before the last of the load was pinned at the end of the clothesline," purrs a passage from "Maria's Journey," a new book about a matriarch's resilience in the face of challenges in her adopted country. Industrialized East Chicago would become home for Maria -- the mother of 10 from the state of Guanajuato in Mexico. She was steered into an arranged marriage at the age of 14. Readers are drawn into a gritty immigrant saga that streams through the rise of steel worker unionization and the evolution of the Arredondos into a well known political family in Northwest Indiana.”
Last Thursday we traveled to Grand Rapids, MI, to see granddaughter Alissa participate in a so-called “Style Battle.” She was the photographer on one of nine teams sponsored by area boutiques (in her case Lamb). Team members included a hair stylist, makeup artist, and five models. In the course of five hours Five of Alissa’s photos of the made-up models would be submitted and shown on a huge screen, and the audience was asked to vote for the three top teams. Lamb should have won, but the winner, Gina’s, had a larger contingent of voters. Still it was fun to watch (kind of like a Sixties Happening), and although exhausting for Alissa, a good experience.
The downtown Holiday Inn was across the street from the impressive Gerald R. Ford presidential Museum, which I visited. Loved the replicas of the oval office and cabinet room. Ford’s biological father was evidently an ogre whom his mother divorced when he was a baby, and his stepfather owned a paint store in Grand Rapids. A special exhibit entitled “School House to White House: The Education of the Presidents” contained photos and home movies of presidents going back to Herbert Hoover. In a taped interview from “60 Minutes” First Lady Betty Ford candidly endorsed the Equal Rights Amendment and a woman’s right to choose whether or not to have an abortion. She got her husband to appoint a woman to his cabinet and hoped he’d appoint one to the Supreme Court. On the wall were photos of dozens of white men who served on Ford’s team, no African Americans, and a lone woman, Secretary of Housing and Urban development Carla Anderson Hills.
Outside the museum were entries in the open air Art Prize contest going on all over the city. Other venues included Flanagan’s Irish Pub, the Department of Corrections, and a refurbished warehouse nicknamed The B.O.B. (for Big Old Building). Top prize is $250,000 and more than 1,700 people entered pieces. One finalist was a gigantic replica of a Lincoln coin consisting of thousands of pennies. Artist Wander Martich is a 34 year-old woman originally from the Dominican Republic. I only saw a tiny fraction of the entries but hope she wins.
Arriving at Phil and Delia’s, I got out to move a garbage container and tripped over the open top lying on the ground, somehow opening a gash behind my ear that took nine stitches to close. Phil and Toni took me to an Urgent care facility, and the doctor joked about my wearing an Indiana University t-shirt since IU was playing Michigan later that day (IU lost 42-35, unable to stop the Wolverines’ running game).
Missed seeing Miranda run cross country or play in her high school marching band, but Alissa had two indoor soccer games and Anthony an outdoor game Friday. Both Tori and Anthony had games again on Saturday, a morning so cold that I wore my winter jacket and was still shivering. Thanks in part to Phil’s good coaching moves, Tori’s team prevailed, 2-0, against an opponent that had beaten them handily two weeks before. In the next contest Anthony scored a sweet goal by positioning himself perfectly for a rebound shot.
Went one for four in Sunday gaming, winning Amun Re by a single point, then barely losing Acquire. My Fantasy team took a blow when the Eagles’ Michael Vick got injured and his sub didn’t throw to my speedy wide receivers Jeremy Maclin and De Sean Jackson. The Giants humiliated the Bears, sacking Cutler a record nine times in the first half and limiting their offense to a putrid 100 yards.
CNN fired Rick Sanchez after he called Comedy Central’s Jon Stewart prejudiced and scoffed at the intimation that the Jewish Stewart was a member of a minority group. The Cuban American Sanchez sneered, “Yeah, very powerless people. Please, are you kidding me? Everyone who runs CNN is a lot like Stewart. And a lot of people who run all the other networks are a lot like Stewart.” Sanchez picked the wrong minority group to insult, that’s for sure.
Actor Tony Curtis died at age 85. He once said, “I wouldn’t be caught dead marrying a woman old enough to be my wife.” Today that sounds unbearably chauvinistic. I will say that his daughter Jamie Lee is a middle-age fox. Curtis was part of a movie generation that over-acted. Like with Jimmy Stewart, John Wayne, Kathryn Hepburn, Humphrey Bogart, and others, you always knew it was Curtis on the screen rather than becoming lost in his character. He’s best known for roles in “The Defiant Ones” and “Some Like It Hot.”
Rolling Stone magazine has Obama on the cover and a Matt Taibbi article about the Tea Party movement. Their College Radio chart had Arcade Fire’s “The Suburbs” listed at number one. Their movie reviewer called “Social Network” – about the Harvard student who started Facebook - the movie of the year so far. I tend to agree, and Justin Timberlake almost stole the show as Sean Parker, the co-founder of Napster. Jesse Eisenberg succeeds in playing Mark Zuckerberg as a real jerk who basically stole the idea for Facebook and double-crossed his original partner.
George Bodmer sent me photos he took while walking around the Rogers park neighborhood in Chicago of sidewalk imprints mentioning the construction companies that laid the concrete. He wondered if I knew of any studies of “such ephemera.” Maurice Yancy, an Archives intern, said that he thinks a study of Bricks was done in Hobart, which once was known for its brickyards.
Jim Tolhuizen
Chuck Gallmeier called with the sad news that friend and valued colleague Jim Tolhuizen passed away. Twenty years ago, he and I were having lunch in the Indiana University Northwest cafeteria when he started asking me about the Vietnam War course I was teaching. During the ensuing conversation he mentioned some of his experiences as, in his words, a “ground pounder” serving with the First Cavalry Division in Vietnam’s Central Highlands. I listened with fascination and inquired whether he often discussed these things with others. “This is the first time I have ever talked about it,” he replied. After thinking it over, Jim agreed to share his experiences with my students. They were riveted. Henceforth every time I taught the course, he’d agree to make a guest appearance. It was always the highlight of the class. When I’d thank him, he’d say, “I enjoyed it. It’s good therapy.”
Jim always began his remarks with the caveat that every Vietnam veteran’s experiences were unique to the time (for him, 1969-1970) and place (the so-called Parrot’s Beak) he served and that one shouldn’t make generalizations about others’ tours of duty based on what he went through. The mission of Tolhuizen’s unit was to interdict supplies entering South Vietnam from the Ho Cho Minh Trail. That meant being “in the field” on patrol for 24 days straight and then pulling “green line” duty guarding the firebase for eight days. He described the 70 or 80 pounds of gear he had to “hump,” and the arduous task of setting up camp each night after hacking through three-tier jungle all day. His unit being called on to implement President Richard M’ Nixon’s so-called Cambodian incursion, Jim was seriously wounded by an unseen enemy’s round from an AK-47 shattered his thigh. He spent more than a year in army hospitals with other war victims (we were not sick, he emphasized, just grievously wounded). He always answered student questions but did not offer political analysis other than to state the obvious, that by 1969 hardly anyone was for the war or believed it was winnable. Embittered by the needless sacrifices he and his comrades went through, he admitted to the class, “I tell people now not to hold grudges, but it took me awhile to learn that lesson myself.”
Once a student asked Jim if any of his buddies had died in combat. After a moment’s hesitation, he revealed that his best friend Paul was fatally injured by rocket fire during an attack on their fire support base. An hour before, he and Paul were on top of a bunker listening to an audio cassette of the Beatles’ “Abbey Road” that Paul had purchased during R and R in Bangkok, singing along to the words: “Little darling, it’s been a long cold lonely winter/ Little darling, it seems like years since it’s been here/ Here comes the sun, here comes the sun/ And I say, it’s all right.” After Paul’s death, Jim was careful to avoid becoming too emotionally attached to anyone. Jim walked with a limp, the scar tissue a constant reminder of war’s personal toll. In recent months he’d ask friends sitting across from him at lunch to hold the table down when he was ready to leave so he could get himself up. A charter member of the Northwest Indiana Symphony Chorus, he sometimes needed a shoulder to lean on in order to negotiate the stage. He loved stock car races and helped found I U Northwest’s Communication Department. J.T., as I called him, will be sorely missed.
Bob Kostanczuk had a nice review of “Maria’s Journey in the Post-Trib. He wrote in part: “At 18, Maria Arredondo was a Mexican immigrant and mother living in a Texas boxcar while her husband worked for the railroad. It was the 1920s. A clothesline was stretched between the boxcar and a straggly tree. "In summer's heat the clothes first hung in the dry dusty wind were dry and ready to bring in before the last of the load was pinned at the end of the clothesline," purrs a passage from "Maria's Journey," a new book about a matriarch's resilience in the face of challenges in her adopted country. Industrialized East Chicago would become home for Maria -- the mother of 10 from the state of Guanajuato in Mexico. She was steered into an arranged marriage at the age of 14. Readers are drawn into a gritty immigrant saga that streams through the rise of steel worker unionization and the evolution of the Arredondos into a well known political family in Northwest Indiana.”
Last Thursday we traveled to Grand Rapids, MI, to see granddaughter Alissa participate in a so-called “Style Battle.” She was the photographer on one of nine teams sponsored by area boutiques (in her case Lamb). Team members included a hair stylist, makeup artist, and five models. In the course of five hours Five of Alissa’s photos of the made-up models would be submitted and shown on a huge screen, and the audience was asked to vote for the three top teams. Lamb should have won, but the winner, Gina’s, had a larger contingent of voters. Still it was fun to watch (kind of like a Sixties Happening), and although exhausting for Alissa, a good experience.
The downtown Holiday Inn was across the street from the impressive Gerald R. Ford presidential Museum, which I visited. Loved the replicas of the oval office and cabinet room. Ford’s biological father was evidently an ogre whom his mother divorced when he was a baby, and his stepfather owned a paint store in Grand Rapids. A special exhibit entitled “School House to White House: The Education of the Presidents” contained photos and home movies of presidents going back to Herbert Hoover. In a taped interview from “60 Minutes” First Lady Betty Ford candidly endorsed the Equal Rights Amendment and a woman’s right to choose whether or not to have an abortion. She got her husband to appoint a woman to his cabinet and hoped he’d appoint one to the Supreme Court. On the wall were photos of dozens of white men who served on Ford’s team, no African Americans, and a lone woman, Secretary of Housing and Urban development Carla Anderson Hills.
Outside the museum were entries in the open air Art Prize contest going on all over the city. Other venues included Flanagan’s Irish Pub, the Department of Corrections, and a refurbished warehouse nicknamed The B.O.B. (for Big Old Building). Top prize is $250,000 and more than 1,700 people entered pieces. One finalist was a gigantic replica of a Lincoln coin consisting of thousands of pennies. Artist Wander Martich is a 34 year-old woman originally from the Dominican Republic. I only saw a tiny fraction of the entries but hope she wins.
Arriving at Phil and Delia’s, I got out to move a garbage container and tripped over the open top lying on the ground, somehow opening a gash behind my ear that took nine stitches to close. Phil and Toni took me to an Urgent care facility, and the doctor joked about my wearing an Indiana University t-shirt since IU was playing Michigan later that day (IU lost 42-35, unable to stop the Wolverines’ running game).
Missed seeing Miranda run cross country or play in her high school marching band, but Alissa had two indoor soccer games and Anthony an outdoor game Friday. Both Tori and Anthony had games again on Saturday, a morning so cold that I wore my winter jacket and was still shivering. Thanks in part to Phil’s good coaching moves, Tori’s team prevailed, 2-0, against an opponent that had beaten them handily two weeks before. In the next contest Anthony scored a sweet goal by positioning himself perfectly for a rebound shot.
Went one for four in Sunday gaming, winning Amun Re by a single point, then barely losing Acquire. My Fantasy team took a blow when the Eagles’ Michael Vick got injured and his sub didn’t throw to my speedy wide receivers Jeremy Maclin and De Sean Jackson. The Giants humiliated the Bears, sacking Cutler a record nine times in the first half and limiting their offense to a putrid 100 yards.
CNN fired Rick Sanchez after he called Comedy Central’s Jon Stewart prejudiced and scoffed at the intimation that the Jewish Stewart was a member of a minority group. The Cuban American Sanchez sneered, “Yeah, very powerless people. Please, are you kidding me? Everyone who runs CNN is a lot like Stewart. And a lot of people who run all the other networks are a lot like Stewart.” Sanchez picked the wrong minority group to insult, that’s for sure.
Actor Tony Curtis died at age 85. He once said, “I wouldn’t be caught dead marrying a woman old enough to be my wife.” Today that sounds unbearably chauvinistic. I will say that his daughter Jamie Lee is a middle-age fox. Curtis was part of a movie generation that over-acted. Like with Jimmy Stewart, John Wayne, Kathryn Hepburn, Humphrey Bogart, and others, you always knew it was Curtis on the screen rather than becoming lost in his character. He’s best known for roles in “The Defiant Ones” and “Some Like It Hot.”
Rolling Stone magazine has Obama on the cover and a Matt Taibbi article about the Tea Party movement. Their College Radio chart had Arcade Fire’s “The Suburbs” listed at number one. Their movie reviewer called “Social Network” – about the Harvard student who started Facebook - the movie of the year so far. I tend to agree, and Justin Timberlake almost stole the show as Sean Parker, the co-founder of Napster. Jesse Eisenberg succeeds in playing Mark Zuckerberg as a real jerk who basically stole the idea for Facebook and double-crossed his original partner.
Jim always began his remarks with the caveat that every Vietnam veteran’s experiences were unique to the time (for him, 1969-1970) and place (the so-called Parrot’s Beak) he served and that one shouldn’t make generalizations about others’ tours of duty based on what he went through. The mission of Tolhuizen’s unit was to interdict supplies entering South Vietnam from the Ho Cho Minh Trail. That meant being “in the field” on patrol for 24 days straight and then pulling “green line” duty guarding the firebase for eight days. He described the 70 or 80 pounds of gear he had to “hump,” and the arduous task of setting up camp each night after hacking through three-tier jungle all day. His unit being called on to implement President Richard M’ Nixon’s so-called Cambodian incursion, Jim was seriously wounded by an unseen enemy’s round from an AK-47 shattered his thigh. He spent more than a year in army hospitals with other war victims (we were not sick, he emphasized, just grievously wounded). He always answered student questions but did not offer political analysis other than to state the obvious, that by 1969 hardly anyone was for the war or believed it was winnable. Embittered by the needless sacrifices he and his comrades went through, he admitted to the class, “I tell people now not to hold grudges, but it took me awhile to learn that lesson myself.”
Once a student asked Jim if any of his buddies had died in combat. After a moment’s hesitation, he revealed that his best friend Paul was fatally injured by rocket fire during an attack on their fire support base. An hour before, he and Paul were on top of a bunker listening to an audio cassette of the Beatles’ “Abbey Road” that Paul had purchased during R and R in Bangkok, singing along to the words: “Little darling, it’s been a long cold lonely winter/ Little darling, it seems like years since it’s been here/ Here comes the sun, here comes the sun/ And I say, it’s all right.” After Paul’s death, Jim was careful to avoid becoming too emotionally attached to anyone. Jim walked with a limp, the scar tissue a constant reminder of war’s personal toll. In recent months he’d ask friends sitting across from him at lunch to hold the table down when he was ready to leave so he could get himself up. A charter member of the Northwest Indiana Symphony Chorus, he sometimes needed a shoulder to lean on in order to negotiate the stage. He loved stock car races and helped found I U Northwest’s Communication Department. J.T., as I called him, will be sorely missed.
Bob Kostanczuk had a nice review of “Maria’s Journey in the Post-Trib. He wrote in part: “At 18, Maria Arredondo was a Mexican immigrant and mother living in a Texas boxcar while her husband worked for the railroad. It was the 1920s. A clothesline was stretched between the boxcar and a straggly tree. "In summer's heat the clothes first hung in the dry dusty wind were dry and ready to bring in before the last of the load was pinned at the end of the clothesline," purrs a passage from "Maria's Journey," a new book about a matriarch's resilience in the face of challenges in her adopted country. Industrialized East Chicago would become home for Maria -- the mother of 10 from the state of Guanajuato in Mexico. She was steered into an arranged marriage at the age of 14. Readers are drawn into a gritty immigrant saga that streams through the rise of steel worker unionization and the evolution of the Arredondos into a well known political family in Northwest Indiana.”
Last Thursday we traveled to Grand Rapids, MI, to see granddaughter Alissa participate in a so-called “Style Battle.” She was the photographer on one of nine teams sponsored by area boutiques (in her case Lamb). Team members included a hair stylist, makeup artist, and five models. In the course of five hours Five of Alissa’s photos of the made-up models would be submitted and shown on a huge screen, and the audience was asked to vote for the three top teams. Lamb should have won, but the winner, Gina’s, had a larger contingent of voters. Still it was fun to watch (kind of like a Sixties Happening), and although exhausting for Alissa, a good experience.
The downtown Holiday Inn was across the street from the impressive Gerald R. Ford presidential Museum, which I visited. Loved the replicas of the oval office and cabinet room. Ford’s biological father was evidently an ogre whom his mother divorced when he was a baby, and his stepfather owned a paint store in Grand Rapids. A special exhibit entitled “School House to White House: The Education of the Presidents” contained photos and home movies of presidents going back to Herbert Hoover. In a taped interview from “60 Minutes” First Lady Betty Ford candidly endorsed the Equal Rights Amendment and a woman’s right to choose whether or not to have an abortion. She got her husband to appoint a woman to his cabinet and hoped he’d appoint one to the Supreme Court. On the wall were photos of dozens of white men who served on Ford’s team, no African Americans, and a lone woman, Secretary of Housing and Urban development Carla Anderson Hills.
Outside the museum were entries in the open air Art Prize contest going on all over the city. Other venues included Flanagan’s Irish Pub, the Department of Corrections, and a refurbished warehouse nicknamed The B.O.B. (for Big Old Building). Top prize is $250,000 and more than 1,700 people entered pieces. One finalist was a gigantic replica of a Lincoln coin consisting of thousands of pennies. Artist Wander Martich is a 34 year-old woman originally from the Dominican Republic. I only saw a tiny fraction of the entries but hope she wins.
Arriving at Phil and Delia’s, I got out to move a garbage container and tripped over the open top lying on the ground, somehow opening a gash behind my ear that took nine stitches to close. Phil and Toni took me to an Urgent care facility, and the doctor joked about my wearing an Indiana University t-shirt since IU was playing Michigan later that day (IU lost 42-35, unable to stop the Wolverines’ running game).
Missed seeing Miranda run cross country or play in her high school marching band, but Alissa had two indoor soccer games and Anthony an outdoor game Friday. Both Tori and Anthony had games again on Saturday, a morning so cold that I wore my winter jacket and was still shivering. Thanks in part to Phil’s good coaching moves, Tori’s team prevailed, 2-0, against an opponent that had beaten them handily two weeks before. In the next contest Anthony scored a sweet goal by positioning himself perfectly for a rebound shot.
Went one for four in Sunday gaming, winning Amun Re by a single point, then barely losing Acquire. My Fantasy team took a blow when the Eagles’ Michael Vick got injured and his sub didn’t throw to my speedy wide receivers Jeremy Maclin and De Sean Jackson. The Giants humiliated the Bears, sacking Cutler a record nine times in the first half and limiting their offense to a putrid 100 yards.
CNN fired Rick Sanchez after he called Comedy Central’s Jon Stewart prejudiced and scoffed at the intimation that the Jewish Stewart was a member of a minority group. The Cuban American Sanchez sneered, “Yeah, very powerless people. Please, are you kidding me? Everyone who runs CNN is a lot like Stewart. And a lot of people who run all the other networks are a lot like Stewart.” Sanchez picked the wrong minority group to insult, that’s for sure.
Actor Tony Curtis died at age 85. He once said, “I wouldn’t be caught dead marrying a woman old enough to be my wife.” Today that sounds unbearably chauvinistic. I will say that his daughter Jamie Lee is a middle-age fox. Curtis was part of a movie generation that over-acted. Like with Jimmy Stewart, John Wayne, Kathryn Hepburn, Humphrey Bogart, and others, you always knew it was Curtis on the screen rather than becoming lost in his character. He’s best known for roles in “The Defiant Ones” and “Some Like It Hot.”
Rolling Stone magazine has Obama on the cover and a Matt Taibbi article about the Tea Party movement. Their College Radio chart had Arcade Fire’s “The Suburbs” listed at number one. Their movie reviewer called “Social Network” – about the Harvard student who started Facebook - the movie of the year so far. I tend to agree, and Justin Timberlake almost stole the show as Sean Parker, the co-founder of Napster. Jesse Eisenberg succeeds in playing Mark Zuckerberg as a real jerk who basically stole the idea for Facebook and double-crossed his original partner.
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