Hold On

“Bless my heart and bless my mind.

Igot so much to do, I ain’t got much time.”

    Alabama Shakes, “Hold On”

Last Thursday Mark Hoyert told me that Larry Klemz, my longtime Shavings publisher at Home Mountain Printing, passed away a couple months ago.  What a super guy he was.  I plan to dedicate volume 43 to his memory.  We first met in 1992 when Home Mountain published my Sixties issue (volume 21).  Since then his company has moved not once but twice to bigger facilities.  The last issue he quoted me a great price that enabled me to have all the photos in color.  He had gotten very ill after his wife died but seemed very happy last time I ran into him at Chesterton’s European Market.

I had lunch with Beth LaDuke at Tommy B’s, more upscale than its former incarnation, Country Lounge.  One of several new friends I met in Anne Balay’s summer class, she is burning a couple CDs for me, and I gave her a copy of “Boys and Girls” by Alabama Shakes, which features the hit “Hold On.”  The food was great but the service slow due to a couple holiday banquets in progress.  I told Beth about bringing students to Country Lounge at the end of the semester and about its “Hunky Hollow” heritage.

I put several jpegs on a travel drive for Toni, including a clever one from nephew Kyle proposing to Palma.  Returning “Fairyland” to Chesterton library, I spotted “Fifty Shades of Grey” in a display of New York Times bestsellers.  My mother’s book club read it, so with misgivings I checked it out.  What rubbish!  Absolute filth.  I couldn’t wait to exchange it for a biography of Norman Mailer, subtitled “A Double Life.” 

Jerry Davich’s Friday column, “IUN prof claims discrimination because she’s gay,” quoted Anne Balay extensively from her appearance on Lakeshore radio, as well as his guests last week, Amanda Board and Kait Sowards.  Anne mentioned that an Allied Health instructor lowered a students’ grade because she looked too butch and “would never be hired looking that way.” “It’s OK to say that to a student, but not where it affects a student’s grade,” Anne argued and concluded: “I believe my case was obvious.  I was as good as, or better than, men who got tenure with no trouble.  I hope IUN sees that my denial was unfair and grants me a promotion and tenure.  If not, I will sue in civil court.”

Toni and I did a second big Christmas food shopping at Jewel, where I ran into retired Chemistry prof Alan Lindmark, who still comes to IUN on Mondays and lives only a few miles from us.  I watched the final episodes of “The Sopranos” and was pleasantly surprised by the ending, which inferred Tony might be in big trouble but didn’t negate the possibility that he’d prevail, like in so many other close calls.  With the family together at an old-fashioned diner, Tony selects “Don’t Stop Believing” to play on the juke box.  Earlier Tony had told his shrink, Dr. Melfi, “There’s two endings for a guy like me.  Dead or in the can.  Big percent of the time.”  How nice writer David Chase spared us either one of those denouements.

Saturday before dinner and bridge with the Hagelbergs I read a large chunk of J. Michael Lennon’s Norman Mailer tome.  In addition to having a compulsive need to screw every attractive woman he met, Mailer was a heavy dope smoker (sometimes referring to himself as General Marijuana) who believed it necessary in order to reach his creative muse.  After receiving acclaim for the WW II novel “The Naked and the Dead,” Mailer’s literary career was in decline until he joined the 1967 antiwar March on the Pentagon and wrote “Armies of the Night.”  I loved his ventures into New Journalism, especially his coverage of the 1968 Democratic and Republican conventions.

Ruminating about the probability of Richard Milhous Nixon’s victory in 1968 in “Miami and the Siege of Chicago,” Mailer wrote: “It was possible, even likely, even necessary, that the Wasp must enter the center of history again. They had been a damned minority for too long, a huge indigestible boulder in the voluminous ruminating government gut of every cow-like Democratic administration, an insane Republican minority with vast powers of negation and control, a minority who ran the economy, and half the finances of the world, and all too much of the internal affairs of four or five continents, and the Pentagon, and the technology of the land, and most of the secret police, and nearly every policeman in every small town, and yet finally they did not run the land, they did not comprehend it, the country was loose from them, ahead of them, the life style of the country kept denying their effort, the lives of the best Americans kept accelerating out of their reach. They were the most powerful force in America, and yet they were a psychic island. If they did not find a bridge, they could only grow more insane each year, like a rich nobleman in an empty castle chasing elves and ogres with his stick. They had every power but the one they needed -- which was to attach their philosophy to history: the druggist and the president of the steel corporation must finally learn if they were pushing on the same wheel.”

Jack Gruenenfelder died, daughter Grace, a Buddhist, informed me when I called to see how he was doing.  When he had an office next to mine, he’d often write short parables dealing with some philosophical subject and then have our secretary type them up.  I’d love to get ahold of them and see if they are worth publishing.  He taught well into his seventies and, so far as I know, never tried to get stuff published.

Sunday I returned season one tapes of “Mad Men” to Marci Gaughan and picked up season two.  I had figured that Draper’s secretary Betty was pregnant by Pete Campbell but was still surprised when she had the baby right after finally realizing it herself.  After both Detroit and Green Bay lost afternoon games, I was hoping the Bears would defeat the Eagles and clinch the NFC North, but it was not to be.  I did, however, defeat Dave in the Fantasy finals, thanks to Peyton Manning throwing four TD passes, the Bengals defense getting me 21 points, and DeMarco Murray scoring twice for Dallas.  LeSean McCoy got Dave 27 points, but the Seahawks defense and their quarterback, Russell Wilson, let him down.

Campus was pretty deserted Monday.  I learned that longtime custodian Alex Mitic died just a year short of retiring.  His boss in Physical Plant, Roger Thomas, said that what he did best was shampoo carpets, adding: “You could ask him to clean any carpet on the campus and he would gladly accept.  He was a team player.”  Alex worked in Tamarack before it closed and more recently was on the library night shift.  He’d sometimes be leaving the third floor as I came to work and in a mellifluous voice would exclaim, “Hello, Professor Lane.”

John Laue saw on my blog mention of a Gary Roosevelt track star named James Lane and said he ran against him 50 years ago.  John, a Portage grad, will be back from Califonia next year to attend his fiftieth high school reunion.

Not only does a for-profit management company, Edison Learning, run the old Gary Roosevelt, taking money away from public schools, it complains if school city doesn’t take care of snow removal or fix a defective heating system.

At Tommy B’s again with Beth, I ran into Chuck Gallmeier and CIS profs Bill Dorin and Jie Wang.  Beth had a funny story about being in Rally’s drive-through line when a panhandler tried to sell her a VHS tape marked “Audrey’s Thirteenth Birthday Party.”  The manager came out and scowled at him until he left, then said to Beth, “Put on your seat belt.”  The take-out window is up so high, perhaps to discourage robbers, that Beth couldn’t have reached it while wearing a seat belt.  Beth’s mom, a former hippie, spotted Gallmeier at an Honors Tea and asked her daughter who that hot guy was.  Chuck included a moving note on his Christmas card about being close friends even if we occasionally differ.

Jerry Davich printed an email from self-described evangelical Christian Jeff Eenigenburg calling GLBT’s “petulant crybabies.”  Fortunately most of Jerry’s readers disagreed with him. Here’s Brady Wade’s take on the subject.

Persistence

“Continuous, unflagging effort, persistence, and determination will win.  Let not the man [or woman] be discouraged who has these.”  James Whitcomb Riley

 James Whitcomb Riley stamp, issued 1940

On the Editor’s Page of Traces Ray Boomhower discusses 1968 Presidential candidate Eugene McCarthy’s unsuccessful effort to bond with Hoosiers during the Democratic primary season.  In fact, he disparaged one of Indiana’s most iconic figures, poet James Whitcomb Riley, a good friend of socialist Eugene V. Debs and most famous for children’s poems such as “Little Orphan Annie.”  Eugene McCarthy was a cold fish who team-taught an American Studies course I took at the University of Maryland.  I was excited at the prospect, but he was uncomfortable interacting with my generation and a snob.  I’ve heard that when McCarthy volunteers canvassed the Calumet Region, some voters confused him with anti-Communist demagogue Joseph McCarthy.  If people seemed to like Joe McCarthy, the volunteers allegedly were told, then don’t set them straight.

The lead Traces article by Roger Mitchell about Hoosier poet Jean Garrigue strangely contains none of her compositions.  Here’s lines from one I like, entitled “Some Nonsense for the Cats and Wolves”:

“My cat peed in the coalbin, why?

The coal will smell of whitefish when it lights

And mildest milk and small long bones

Will snatch a smoke to saunter through the skies.”

My favorite Hoosier poet is Regionite James Hazard, whose “A Girl from Connecticut Visited Whiting, Indiana,” appears in his collection “New Year’s Eve in Whiting, Indiana.”  Here’s the first and last verses.

“Appalled, she saw the whole bristling horizon across the marshes

smoking, flaming with oil refineries.  I said, “That’s Whiting.”

Later, safe in Evanston, she said, “People are so ugly

there.  She meant how they look, so many arms and legs given

away for factory wages, and lumpy Slovak faces that don’t

hide a thing shift-work has pulled on them.

Years later, when we hated each other, she said

there was something always frightening in me, something

ugly, not lovely, not nice.  She went back east.  I stayed

out here with the Slovaks to read their faces, to reach

for the tender ghost that fluttered like a pulse in love

inside the empty workshirt sleeve.”

A nice lady at Marshalls Time Shop in Chesterton put a new battery in my watch for next to nothing.  On the wall was a framed article about a man who had been a longtime jeweler in Whiting.  I bet he was the proprietor’s father or grandfather.  In addition to the plentiful mill jobs, Region cities once featured hundreds of small shops that provided opportunities for skilled craftsmen.

Patricia Adler, a popular professor at the University of Colorado, Boulder, is leaving her tenured position after being ordered to cease giving her lecture on prostitution in a Sexual Deviance class that typically contains 500 students.  In the past a teaching assistant played a sex industry worker and answered questions about risks, types of services, costs, and whatever else students wanted to know.  Adler received a standing ovation when she announced her decision.  A petition drive will hopefully pressure the administration into retracting its order.

Ryan Shelton, above, walked through the cafeteria while I was having lunch with Beth LaDuke, and I told him how much I enjoyed Monday’s Post-Trib article entitled, “Women’s Basketball: Ryan Shelton has built IUN program from ground up.”  He said he had hoped it would have been more about his former players, but he credited Erica Barron and Sharon Houston for the program’s success.  Seven years ago, only six players were on the team, and Ryan was ready to cancel the season when Erica talked him out of it.  The Lady Redhawks went 0-24, including a 100-point blowout, but, meanwhile, Ryan recruited players, including future NAIA All-American Sharon Houston, and won 17 games the following season.  Houston, now playing professionally in Turkey, said of Shelton: “From the very first day I met him I knew that he had a heart of gold.  He was so nice and passionate about what he was trying to do for the women’s program at IUN.”

Before Anne Balay took off for Europe, I suggested that she have students prepare papers for a spring A and S conference session entitled, “The Two Houses: Critiques of “The House on Mango Street” by Sandra Cisneros and “The House You Pass on the Way” by Jacqueline Woodson.  Both are coming-of-age Young Adult novels about young teenagers searching for identity.   One is a sensitive evocation of a black girl’s first (same-sex) crush, the other a gritty tale of a Latina who is sexually assaulted and determined to escape a hostile environment.  The latter the entire campus community has been encouraged to read.  The one teacher who assigned Woodson’s novel was criticized for doing so and denied tenure.

I wish a Latina would write a compelling memoir about growing up in the Region.  In my Nineties Shavings I published Sandra Avila’s account of being an eighth grader at Hammond Eggers whose best friend was Amelia.   She wrote: “Our houses smelled like tortillas, our parents spoke little English, and they were both very strict.  We were not even allowed to look at a guy.”  Even so, they secretly began dating Daniel and Phil.  Amelia continued: “One time I turned off all the (telephone) ringers in my house and my dad thought there was something wrong so he called the phone company.  Another time I was at Amelia’s house when Phil came over on his scooter and her mom came out.  To avoid getting in trouble we told her he was the paperboy.  On Valentine’s Day Daniel bought me a dozen roses and some balloons.  I had to pop all the balloons and squeeze the flowers in my backpack to avoid getting in trouble.  Daniel was my first love and Phil Amelia’s first love.”

Alissa emailed me about an oral history collection at Grand Valley State about a Young Lords chapter active in the late 1960s in Chicago’s Lincoln Park neighborhood.  Founder Jose “Cha-Cha” Jimenez now works in Michigan as a gang and youth counselor and must have a connection to GVSU.  My first published book, “The Enduring Ghetto,” co-edited with David Goldfield, contained an article by José Yglésias entitled “Right On with the Young Lords.”  In an introduction we wrote that it “describes the work of a revolutionary street organization in turning the destructive forces of the ghetto to constructive purposes.  In battling apathy, hostility, ridicule, and an inert New York bureaucracy, the Young Lords used tactics ranging from blustering publicity gimmicks and rhetorical education campaigns to practical lobbying techniques and breakfast programs for the young.”

Jonathyne Briggs, out east doing research, posted a photo, entitled “Hello, Mother ship.”  He’s in front of his publisher’s building.  Miranda posted a hilarious Christmas photo on Facebook, eliciting a comment from Tony Panepinto, who pitched on Phil and Dave’s Little League team.  We attended his wedding but haven’t heard from him in 20 years.  His dad Vince, a building trades union leader, was an unforgettable character.  Tony and I are now Facebook friends.  Nephew Bob wrote: “Facebook is a funny thing.  I avoided it for years thinking it was lame, but as I began using it to promote a brand, I became more involved with it.  The truth is I like it.  Connecting with people, many of whom I wasn’t all that close with, has been a real treat.”

 above, Michigan Lanes; below, John Panepinto

This year’s South Shore honorees are actress Betsy Palmer, an East Chicago native best known for her role of evil Mrs. Voorhees in the “Friday the 13th” movies.  Earlier she was a regular on NBC’s “Today” and the CBS game show “I’ve Got a Secret.”  The other honoree, La Porte native Edward A. Rumley (1882-1964), created the Rumley OIL Pull Tractor, founded the Interlaken School that emphasized learning-through-doing, and was publisher and editor of the New York Evening Mail a century ago.  He was a terrible businessman, however, and all his ventures ultimately failed.

For several years now, on orders from the administration, the library staff obtained store-bought food for their holiday celebration and stayed in the building rather than go to a restaurant.  Veterans joked about the time two people got so rowdy at Red Lobster that they were asked to leave, and when they put up a fuss, Merrillville cops were called to the scene.

I ate so much at the library holiday lunch that I only needed yogurt and an apple before bowling.  Since the library closed at 5, I went to the second floor of Hawthorn, picked up some papers at the History department office, and ate by the vending machines.  Beth LaDuke was getting off work then and joined me.   The Engineers won all three games against a team called Town Drunks.  I was disappointed their team captain, Joe Piunti, sat  out, but two of his sons bowled, as did affable Chris Lugo.  I bowled above average, Mel and Robbie were steady all evening, and John and Dick each had one good game when we needed them to come through.  A big hug from Shannon McCann made the night complete.