Hey you, don’t help them bury the light
Don’t give in without a fight
“Hey you,” Pink Floyd, from “The Wall”
"The Wall" album cover
The protagonist in “The Wall,” Pink Floyd’s 1979 double album rock opera, is a jaded rock star whose father perished in World War II. He was reared by an overprotective mother, tormented by abusive teachers, and betrayed by an unfaithful wife. These metaphorical “Bricks in the Wall” made him depressed and, pumped up by hallucinatory drugs, he performs on stage in the manner of a fascist dictator. Side 1 ends with “Mother” (one of my favorites), side 2 with “Goodbye Cruel World,” side 3 with “Comfortably Numb,” and side 4 with “Outside the Wall.” The final couplet of “Hey You,” which opens side 3, offers a slither of hopefulness:
Hey you, don’t tell me there’s no hope at all
Together we stand, divided we fall
Given the many contributions of Mexican-Americans who grew up in the Indiana Harbor section of East Chicago, nicknamed the “Twin City” (at one time a vast railroad yard and industrial canal separated the immigrant neighborhood from the more affluent western section), it is maddening that Trump has demonized Mexican immigrants and turned the issue of welcoming newcomers into a political football. He has categorized Region native Judge Gonzalo Curiel as a Mexican and a hater who should have recused himself from a case involving bogus Trump University because of the then-candidate’s vow to build a border wall. How much poorer culturally the Region would be without its legacy of ethnic diversity.
2016 E'Twain Moore basketball camp at East Chicago Central
A column by veteran NWI Timessports reporter Al Hamnik featured NBA star E’Twuan Moore in advance of a summer basketball camp in his hometown of East Chicago. In 2007 Moore led East Chicago Central to a state championship in a 87-83 victory over North Central, whose leading scorer Eric Gordon now plays for the Houston Rockets. Moore tallied 28 points; as Coach Pete Trgovich exclaimed, “Big players set up in big games; that’s what he did.” Moore bemoaned the recent death of 11 year-old David Anderson, struck by a stray bullet while in a park where he frequently shot hoops. Moore said: “I remember seeing him walking the halls, on the court with instructors, joking around. It was pretty tragic what happened to him.” Moore grew up in a third floor apartment on Guthrie Street in a rough neighborhood where, as Hamnik wrote, “gangs, drugs, sirens and gunshots were a common occurrence.” Parents Ezell and Edna Moore insisted that he and his two siblings be home before dark and get good grades. All three became college grads, E’Twaun from Purdue on a basketball scholarship. He was drafted by the Boston Celtics, played with the Chicago Bulls, and in 2016 signed a four-year contract with the New Orleans Pelicans for $34 million. On his biceps are tattoos reading “Ezell” and “Edna” honoring his parents’ sacrifices.
On the tennis courts of Moore’s alma mater I witnessed the Lady Cardinals’ Sectional victory, 5-0, against Hammond Noll. The Dave Lane-coached league champs finished the regular season with a record of 10-2. After Areli Enriquez won at number 1 singles, 6-0, 6-0, I moved closer to a doubles contest. Down 5-1 in the first set, Cresencia Alvarez and Abigail Pozo won 6 games straight and then prevailed in set 2, again by a score of 7-5. They were aggressive at the net and virtually never double-faulted, in contrast to their opponents. Dave introduced me to players afterwards, as well as talented athletic director Monica Maxwell, a 1995 Central grad who led Louisiana Tech to 2 Final Four appearances and starred in the WNBA with the Indiana Fever, leading the Eastern Conference in 2000 with 62 three-pointers.
above, Monica Maxwell; below, East Chicago Central student Carolina Delgado with Mr. Lane and Mr. Trey at Teacher Appreciation Night
William Drummond, Jimbo, Bob and Sheryl Burrell
At the Archives I interviewed 90-year-old William Drummond, who hired in at Youngstown Sheet and Tube Company (now Arcelor Mittal and before that LTV), located in East Chicago’s Indiana Harbor district, during the late 1940s. Assigned to a labor gang, he boarded with relatives in North Hammond until he could afford to bring up his wife and kids from downstate Illinois. William received union support when a plant superintendent unjustly sought to punish him. William bowled with his dad as a kid at a four-lane alley and joined a coke plant team in a league composed entirely of Youngstown employees. He finally gave up bowling last year due to bad eyesight and periodic dizziness but sometimes accompanies daughter Sheryl Burrell to Hobart Lanes when she competes as a member of Fab Four in my seniors league. Husband Bob, a U.S. Steel retiree came with them and found reading material in the Archives to keep him busy. William’s great-grandson is an IUN student.
Dr. Hunter S. Thompson and Tom Wolfe
Tom Wolfe, author of “The Right Stuff” (1979) and “Bonfire of the Vanities” (1987) expired at age 88. I’ve long admired has hyperbolic prose that made no pretense of objectivity. Like other exponents of the so-called New Journalism, such as Norman Mailer, Truman Capote, and Hunter S. Thompson, Wolfe employed elements commonly associated with fiction to explore personal foibles and idiosyncrasies. In a Sixties class I used Wolfe’s “Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test,” about Ken Kesey and his hippie band of Merry Pranksters traveling the country on a 1939 school bus dubbed Furthur. Omar Farag made a presentation on Wolfe’s 1965 book of colorful essays, “The Kandy-Kolored Tangerine-Flake Streamline Baby” that contained chapters on customized cars, auto racing, and deejay Murray the K, who billed himself as the “Fifth Beatle.” Wolfe coined the phrases “Radical Chic” for Manhattan socialites who hosted fundraisers for Black Panthers and “Me Decade” for the 1970s. The difference between the Beatles and the Rolling Stones, he bantered, was that one wanted to hold your hand while the other wanted to burn down your town.
Cedar Lake Museum, once Lassen Resorts
At a workshop next week sponsored by the Cedar Lake Historical Society, I’ll note that I first heard about the “Lake of the Red Cedars,” as the Potawatomi named it, from self-styled “Region Rat” Jean Shepherd’s fishing tale “Hairy Gertz and the 47 Crappies.” Shepherd recalled being in a rowboat knee-deep in beer cans with his Old Man and seven others:
It is 2.A.M. The temperature is 175, with humidity to match. And the smell of decayed toads, the dumps at the far end of the lake, and an occasional whiff of Standard Oil, whose refinery is a couple miles away, is enough to put hair on the back of a mud turtle. Seventeen thousand guys clumped together in the middle, wishing for the known 64 crappies in the lake.
The surface is one flat sheet of used oil laying in the darkness, with the sounds of the Roller Rink floating out over it, mingling with the angry drone of the mosquitoes and muffled swearing from the other boats. A fistfight breaks out at the Dance Hall (Midway Ballroom). The sound of sirens can be heard in the Indiana blackness. It gets louder and then fades away. Tiny orange lights bob over the dance floor.
Ray Smock, who introduced me to Jean Shepherd and grew up in Harvey, Illinois, called Cedar Lake in the 1950s a blue collar mecca where he spent many idyllic summer days. One time he decided to swim to the other side for bragging rights. Part way across, he got tangled up in thick weeds and before he could struggle free, a half-dozen leeches were attached to his body. He recalled:
When I finally got to the other side, the first thing I did was to scratch off those damn bloodsuckers. I had to walk back to the other side of the lake. That was the hard part. I had no shoes on and it took me a lot longer than I had planned. This was the beginning and end of my long-distance swimming career.
I’ll also read this paragraph from the 1990 novel Blossom by Andrew Vachss
The Chevy blended into the terrain, at home on the back roads. I followed Rebecca’s directions to Cedar Lake. Found Lake Shore Drive. A resort area, mostly summer cottages. I stopped at a bench set into a wooden railing across from a funeral home. Smoked a cigarette and waited. The sigb said Scenic Overlook. Told me the lake was 809 acres. Three miles long, a mile and a half wide. Twin flagpoles on either side of the bench. Electricity meter on a pole. I stood at the railing. Somebody had carved Steve & Monica inside a clumsy heart. I traced it with my fingers. Three bikers went by on chopped hogs, no helmets.
below, "Far From the Maddening Crowd" by Tom Brand
Driving to the Gardner Center for an exhibit featuring the work of Michigan City artists Tom Brand and Carole Stodder, I found Lake Street to be a mess and the lane adjacent to my destination blocked off by big equipment. Persevering, I enjoyed the abstract pieces. Some of Stodder’s images reminded me of jigsaw puzzle pieces, and Brand’s suggested multiple possibilities of meaning. Spotting artist and VU curator Gregg Hertzlieb, I had him explain to me how Stoddard achieved her surface texture. Tom Brand’s bio indicated that he had once been a printer and in the 1960s had produced the original Hairy Who comic books by the Chicago Imagists. He was surprised when I told him I’d seen the documentary about them at a Munster Art in Focus event.
from a 1968 Hairy Who comic book
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