“You can tell my feet to hit the floor
Or you can tell my lips to tell my fingertips
They won't be reaching out for you no more
But don't tell my heart, my achy breaky heart.”
Billy Ray Cyrus
Toni and I took grandkids James and Rebecca out to dinner up the street at the Sunrise Restaurant (the fried clams were delicious) and then to Valparaiso High School for a performance of “The Somewhat True Story of Robin Hood.” The tagline: what would happen if Monty Python and Mel Brooks collaborated to tell the story of the hero of Sherwood Forest? The director knew Rebecca, having played Miss Flanagan in “Annie.” The kids had seen the play the night before, so they were prepped to laugh at all the funny lines. At their insistence we sat in the front row. A high school girl next to me did not seem self-conscious at being near an old geezer. I was impressed with the young people both in the audience and on the stage. I especially liked the actor who played evil Prince John, a tall, thin olive-skinned guy in a wig who resembled a young Ozzie Osborne. There were frequent modern references, including a Dungeon of Demise scene where Robin is tortured by being forced to listen to Miley Cyrus songs all night. There’s even a reference to her old man’s syrupy hit “Achy Breaky Heart.” James loves Miley’s Hannah Montana TV show and enjoyed the music, seemingly unaware or unconcerned that the references were a put-down. A couple years ago, “Vanity Fair” published controversial photos by Annie Leibowitz of Miley, including one of her with bare midriff lying on daddy’s stomach. Since then the 18 year-old (as of tomorrow, the thirty-seventh anniversary of JFK’s death) has been in a coming-of-age movie, “The Last Song,” and scored a hit with “Party in the U.S.A.” whose lyrics include, “Noddin’ my head like yeah/ Moving my hips like yeah.”
With Dave free Friday evening, we got two gaming sessions in over the weekend. I won a single game, a come-from-behind victory in Acquire thanks to securing (in a brilliant maneuver when Tom was talking concession to Dave) the most shares of Continental, the largest company. Tom Wade introduced a dice game called Roll Through the Ages that involves acquiring cities and monuments and avoiding disasters. It plays in about a half hour and will threaten to replace Stone Age (which Dave is tiring of) in our heavy rotation.
I got Toni to watch the “Car Pool Lane” episode of “Curb Your Enthusiasm” where Larry picks up a hooker in order to make a Dodgers game. He tries to sit next to Marty Funkhouser, played by Bob Einstein, who years ago as Super Dave Osborne frequently appeared on David Letterman. Supposedly a stuntman on the order of Evel Knievel, the stunts would inevitably misfire, leaving him grievously injured but still with a lightly pained but deadpan expression (still a trademark of his as Funkhouser). Earlier, Larry purchased marijuana for his father who has glaucoma from Jorge Garcia, the overweight survivor on “Lost.” When Marty’s car won’t start after the game, Larry gives him a ride to the airport and asks him to hold his jacket (containing the reefer) while he goes to the bathroom. He comes out to discover Marty being busted.
Janet Edwards talked to the Ogden Dunes Historical Society about Alice Mabel Gray, dubbed Diana of the Dunes by the press. Earlier in the week Edwards, who lives in St. Louis, addressed the Duneland Historical Society in Chesterton. In July Chesterton hosted a Diana of the Dunes Festival. A recluse from Chicago, Alice lived in a shack near Lake Michigan and myths grew up about a beautiful young maiden skinny-dipping at dusk on summer evenings. I wrote about her in my Gary book, and for my Tales of Lake Michigan issue artist Dale Fleming did a sketch to go along with a story about sightings of a ghostly woman running along the beach naked before disappearing into the lake. Well-educated, Alice quit her job in Chicago with the Astro-Physical Journal because she was frustrated at the lack of opportunities for advancement by educated women. Her favorite saying was Lord George Gordon Byron’s “In solitude we are least alone.”
Tina Horn needed help for a paper on women in World War II. I suggested she focus on “Region Rosies” and gave her “Gary’s First Hundred Years” and lent her my World War II Shavings issue (volume 21), officially out of print. Tina’s Purdue North Central instructor, Alex Kendall, was a visiting professor at IUN a few years ago and evidently spoke highly of me. Coincidentally a former student of mine in Steve McShane’s History of Indiana class is doing a paper on Willa Brown, a trained pilot from Chicago who recruited Gary residents to become Tuskegee Airmen during WW II. A statue honoring those pilots at the Marquette Park Aquatorium is next to one of Octave Chanute, whose glider experiments nearby paved the way for the Wright brothers’ flights.
LeeLee sent a newsy email about old classmates. Dave Seibold wrote her frequently while at Bordentown Military Academy (mainly lamenting the lack of contact with females), and she gave the letters to him at the reunion. Nancy “Sissy” Schade loved seeing old flame Jay Bumm. LeeLee concluded: “Thinking what might have been so many years ago, I doubt she was the only one reliving those carefree days.” LeeLee suggested that I send the tiara mystery to several other classmates, but I want to go slow to make sure Wendy doesn’t think we are mocking her, which we certainly are not. Here’s my latest paragraph: “Captain Cardinal could think of several possible scenarios to explain the missing tiara, all of which seemed highly unlikely. First, in her excitement at mingling with old classmates, Wendy might have misplaced it. Second, a stranger stole it, thinking it was valuable. Third, a classmate might have pilfered it, but in that event, who? There had been no African Americans on the Homecoming Court, which had caused disgruntlement at the time. Might Mary or Myrna have succumbed to an old wound stemming from that slight? Many Italian-Americans had thought Judy G. deserved the crown. Judy did not attend the reunion, but two of her best friends, Marianne and Betty, did. So did the younger sister of Molly, beautiful, immensely popular, and 50 years ago the odds on favorite, who had passed away six years ago. Might Sissy have acted on an uncontrollable impulse? Suzi, the only other finalist at the reunion, did not attend the morning breakfast and in any event seemed not the envious type. Male suspects? Jimmy and Ray had been best friends with Vince, whom Wendy dated in high school. Did either have some old bone to pick, perhaps feeling that she had come between Vince and them? Buck and Pat had been outrageous practical jokers in high school. Could they have pulled one final prank for old times sake? Might John J., the last person in the vicinity of Wendy before she left the Hilton Gardens, have harbored a grudge over the fact that nobody from his Fort Washington neighborhood had been nominated for Homecoming Queen? The Captain made a mental note to bring up these names at his upcoming meeting with Wendy and see if she had any other leads. Maybe her husband had taken it from her bag, intending to add precious gems and surprise her with it at a later time. No, he would have fessed up to that by now. One thing bothered him: why Wendy was going through the time, trouble, and money (he did not come free) to solve this mystery.”
Traded emails with Paul Kern due to the death of Bill Neil, who hired both of us. He recently read Bill’s memoir about his WWII service and exchanged letters with him about it. Paul bragged about recently making a hole in one during a golf tournament. I replied: “I recall how excited my dad was when he got one. A few years ago my brother discovered the scorecard in a desk of my father’s that he inherited.”
Bob and Karen Reller sent a newsletter about their eight-week “pilgrimage” to Israel along with a Thanksgiving card that wished their friends not only a happy Thanksgiving but also a “joyous holiday season” (a neat idea that gets rid of the need for Christmas cards). On the cover are photos of their grandchildren, Quinn (a girl) and brew (a boy). They arranged their Mideast trip so they would be in the Holy Land during the seven-day feast of Sukkot, during which time people take their meals in structures covered with tree branches in commemoration of the 40 years Israelites wandered in the dessert after their exodus from Egypt. They spent two weeks in Jerusalem with friends and another two at Beth El kibbutz, founded almost a half-century ago by German and Canadian Christians, as part of a “Hands to the Land” leadership program. I called them up and filled Rel in on reunion highlights.
Showing posts with label Jacob Bumm. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jacob Bumm. Show all posts
Monday, November 22, 2010
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.”
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Ides of September
Talked to Steve McShane about his students keeping journals. He thought the assignment would work better in the spring, so perhaps I’ll reprise what I did in 2003 and put together an issue entitled “Ides of March.” Dr. R.J. Bills phoned from Madison, Mississippi, requesting my latest Shavings. The former Gary resident received past issues from his daughter and read about volume 40 (the “Retirement Journal”) in the September 2010 issue of Indiana Magazine of History.
Professor Kenneth Kincaid is using “Forging a Community” in his course on Hispanics in America at Purdue North Central and wants me to speak on campus on October 28 as part of Hispanic Heritage Month. I suggested doing it with the Arredondos, and they liked the idea. So did Kenny, as he calls himself. The other main speaker, Valparaiso law professor Bernard Trujillo, will talk about immigration policy. I had suggested Sheriff Dominguez, but Kenny had already lined the person up. A Latin Americanist by training, Kenny seems enthusiastic about learning about Latinos in Northwest Indiana in general and “Maria’s Journey” in particular.
Toni found half-century old reel-to-reel tapes from our families when we lived in Hawaii (long distance telephone calls from Honolulu in 1965 were prohibitively expensive and reserved for only the most dire or special occasions) and from Bucknell fraternity brother Dick Jeary of a band called The Naturals. The threesome, playing at a Sigma Phi Epsilon Homecoming party, substituted suggestive lyrics to songs such as “Peanut Butter” and “Stick with Me Baby.” The threesome had that Everly brothers harmony sound and hailed from Dick’s hometown of Rochester, New York, I believe. Tome is checking to see if our old Panasonic model in the Archives takes an attachment that would convert them to regular audiotapes.
Helped Angie unload items from the old house. Back home, when I buzzed open the garage door, a chipmunk trapped inside scurried into a rolled up rug. Thought I had gotten rid of him but later spotted him scampering back into the rug. I lifted one side near the door, and out he went. Toni fears he’s looking for a place to spend the winter. He is cute.
On “Curb Your Enthusiasm” after seeing Larry sing “Sewanee River” at a karaoke bar, Mel Brooks impulsively offers him the starring role of Max Bialystock in “The Producers.” Larry subsequently manages to piss off a pregnant lesbian (suggesting the names Wang and Tang, a disabled man in a wheelchair (in a parking lot altercation), his agent’s wife (disparaging the shirts she designed), a doctor’s office receptionist (balking at signing in), a doctor (using his telephone while waiting for him to show up in the examination room), and Ben Stiller (refusing to shake his hand after Ben sneezed into it). The funniest gags, in fact, involved snot and drool. On YouTube were more than a dozen “Curb” bits, most showing run-ins Larry had with women or authority figures.
Bowled poorly and pulled a shoulder muscle midway through the third game. Gutted out a 178, and we had a chance to win after Melvie struck out in the tenth, but their clean-up guy doubled and Frank left a ten pin on a perfect hit or we’d have won. The original name for our team, dating back to 1950, was Test Engineers. Bill Batalis was a charter member and became captain in 1952. Bob Sheid noticed the back of my old Eagles softball shirt read “Doc” above the number 55 (my age in 1997, my final season) and asked why. Coach Terry Hunt, a student of mine, called me by my professional title, while a few others called me “Doctor J,” like with the incomparable Julius Erving. Most just called me Jimbo.
IU Northwest Chancellor William Lowe spent a good hour at the Archives with Steve, Librarian Tim Sutherland, Ron Cohen (my off-again, on-again co-director), and me. I think he was impressed with our show-and-tell performance. Maybe when he meets with the History department in a couple weeks or at the upcoming emeritus lunch I’ll urge him to persuade former Mayor Hatcher to do a course on Black Mayors with enough resources to bring some of them to campus. Discussing the origin of the word Hoosier, someone mentioned that during a bar fight during the pioneer era, someone shouted out, “Whose ear?”
Connie Heard Damon sent me a list of classmates planning to attend the reunion, including childhood friends Jay Bumm and Chris Koch, whom I haven’t seen since. “Jaybo” played drums at numerous parties and had an ancient “beater” car, while Chris was starting quarterback in tenth grade (Bobby Fad took over the job the following year) and was always good for laughs while driving around. To get to his house I’d walk across Fort Washington Avenue, pass through the Roberts front and back yard, go through a patch of woods next to the Bobby Gertsnecker’s, cross Summit Avenue, and I’d be there. Down the street was Joe Pollard’s house, while Jay lived a half-block away in the other direction. Connie’s list also included “Not heard from” (i.e., Rick Hoopes and Freddie Fluck), “Not coming” (including Gaard, Rel, and good friend Vince Curll), and “Maybe” (among them Suzi Hummel and Skip Pollard).
Connie told me that Eddie Piszek hasn’t been feeling well and gave me his cell phone so I gave him a call. We reminisced about playing Babe Ruth League ball on a team that Ronnie Hawthorne’s dad coached (Mr. Haw-thee-haw we called him). Eddie’s father started Mrs. Paul’s, lived on an estate, and had a chauffeur who took us to various functions before we could drive. Eddie said, “Remember how you, me, and Lee Shriner (a name I hadn’t thought of in 50 years) used to fight over Judy Jenkins?” I passed that line on to Judy, and she replied, “It’s nice to hear I had men fighting over me.” I responded: “Well, you had boys fighting over you, at any rate (the men came later).”
Voted by email to approve having the condo association pay handyman Jason a thousand dollars to fix woodpecker holes and rotting boards at numerous condo units. The landscapers who were supposed to install a window well still haven’t shown up.
The annual picnic took place in the Savannah Center gym. Years ago, it was an outdoor picnic, at places like Woodland Park and Hidden Lake with beer on hand as well as spouses and children. One year it took place at a water park. The food was great (hot roast beef sandwiches with all the trimmings plus vegetarian lasagna), and we didn’t have to wait until after openings remarks to be served like when Bergland was around. Chancellor Lowe introduced me to his attractive wife Pamela, and I suggested that after he gets settled he might consider putting together a readings seminar on Irish History (his field) open to both faculty and students. He chuckled but then said that every History curriculum should include Irish History. With Bruce gone, more faculty attended than in recent years, but many just ate and ran – some perhaps with one o’clock classes. Not much was going on other than calling out winning raffle numbers (prizes were tote bags filled with IU paraphernalia), but that might have been just as well because in past years loud music made conversation difficult. Chris Young and Jonathan Briggs introduced themselves to the Chancellor and invited him to lunch next Tuesday for guest speaker Paul Finkelman, who later in the day will be lecturing on “Fugitive Slaves and Undocumented Aliens: Is the Arizona Immigration Law a Replay of the Fugitive Slave Act of 1850?”
Professor Kenneth Kincaid is using “Forging a Community” in his course on Hispanics in America at Purdue North Central and wants me to speak on campus on October 28 as part of Hispanic Heritage Month. I suggested doing it with the Arredondos, and they liked the idea. So did Kenny, as he calls himself. The other main speaker, Valparaiso law professor Bernard Trujillo, will talk about immigration policy. I had suggested Sheriff Dominguez, but Kenny had already lined the person up. A Latin Americanist by training, Kenny seems enthusiastic about learning about Latinos in Northwest Indiana in general and “Maria’s Journey” in particular.
Toni found half-century old reel-to-reel tapes from our families when we lived in Hawaii (long distance telephone calls from Honolulu in 1965 were prohibitively expensive and reserved for only the most dire or special occasions) and from Bucknell fraternity brother Dick Jeary of a band called The Naturals. The threesome, playing at a Sigma Phi Epsilon Homecoming party, substituted suggestive lyrics to songs such as “Peanut Butter” and “Stick with Me Baby.” The threesome had that Everly brothers harmony sound and hailed from Dick’s hometown of Rochester, New York, I believe. Tome is checking to see if our old Panasonic model in the Archives takes an attachment that would convert them to regular audiotapes.
Helped Angie unload items from the old house. Back home, when I buzzed open the garage door, a chipmunk trapped inside scurried into a rolled up rug. Thought I had gotten rid of him but later spotted him scampering back into the rug. I lifted one side near the door, and out he went. Toni fears he’s looking for a place to spend the winter. He is cute.
On “Curb Your Enthusiasm” after seeing Larry sing “Sewanee River” at a karaoke bar, Mel Brooks impulsively offers him the starring role of Max Bialystock in “The Producers.” Larry subsequently manages to piss off a pregnant lesbian (suggesting the names Wang and Tang, a disabled man in a wheelchair (in a parking lot altercation), his agent’s wife (disparaging the shirts she designed), a doctor’s office receptionist (balking at signing in), a doctor (using his telephone while waiting for him to show up in the examination room), and Ben Stiller (refusing to shake his hand after Ben sneezed into it). The funniest gags, in fact, involved snot and drool. On YouTube were more than a dozen “Curb” bits, most showing run-ins Larry had with women or authority figures.
Bowled poorly and pulled a shoulder muscle midway through the third game. Gutted out a 178, and we had a chance to win after Melvie struck out in the tenth, but their clean-up guy doubled and Frank left a ten pin on a perfect hit or we’d have won. The original name for our team, dating back to 1950, was Test Engineers. Bill Batalis was a charter member and became captain in 1952. Bob Sheid noticed the back of my old Eagles softball shirt read “Doc” above the number 55 (my age in 1997, my final season) and asked why. Coach Terry Hunt, a student of mine, called me by my professional title, while a few others called me “Doctor J,” like with the incomparable Julius Erving. Most just called me Jimbo.
IU Northwest Chancellor William Lowe spent a good hour at the Archives with Steve, Librarian Tim Sutherland, Ron Cohen (my off-again, on-again co-director), and me. I think he was impressed with our show-and-tell performance. Maybe when he meets with the History department in a couple weeks or at the upcoming emeritus lunch I’ll urge him to persuade former Mayor Hatcher to do a course on Black Mayors with enough resources to bring some of them to campus. Discussing the origin of the word Hoosier, someone mentioned that during a bar fight during the pioneer era, someone shouted out, “Whose ear?”
Connie Heard Damon sent me a list of classmates planning to attend the reunion, including childhood friends Jay Bumm and Chris Koch, whom I haven’t seen since. “Jaybo” played drums at numerous parties and had an ancient “beater” car, while Chris was starting quarterback in tenth grade (Bobby Fad took over the job the following year) and was always good for laughs while driving around. To get to his house I’d walk across Fort Washington Avenue, pass through the Roberts front and back yard, go through a patch of woods next to the Bobby Gertsnecker’s, cross Summit Avenue, and I’d be there. Down the street was Joe Pollard’s house, while Jay lived a half-block away in the other direction. Connie’s list also included “Not heard from” (i.e., Rick Hoopes and Freddie Fluck), “Not coming” (including Gaard, Rel, and good friend Vince Curll), and “Maybe” (among them Suzi Hummel and Skip Pollard).
Connie told me that Eddie Piszek hasn’t been feeling well and gave me his cell phone so I gave him a call. We reminisced about playing Babe Ruth League ball on a team that Ronnie Hawthorne’s dad coached (Mr. Haw-thee-haw we called him). Eddie’s father started Mrs. Paul’s, lived on an estate, and had a chauffeur who took us to various functions before we could drive. Eddie said, “Remember how you, me, and Lee Shriner (a name I hadn’t thought of in 50 years) used to fight over Judy Jenkins?” I passed that line on to Judy, and she replied, “It’s nice to hear I had men fighting over me.” I responded: “Well, you had boys fighting over you, at any rate (the men came later).”
Voted by email to approve having the condo association pay handyman Jason a thousand dollars to fix woodpecker holes and rotting boards at numerous condo units. The landscapers who were supposed to install a window well still haven’t shown up.
The annual picnic took place in the Savannah Center gym. Years ago, it was an outdoor picnic, at places like Woodland Park and Hidden Lake with beer on hand as well as spouses and children. One year it took place at a water park. The food was great (hot roast beef sandwiches with all the trimmings plus vegetarian lasagna), and we didn’t have to wait until after openings remarks to be served like when Bergland was around. Chancellor Lowe introduced me to his attractive wife Pamela, and I suggested that after he gets settled he might consider putting together a readings seminar on Irish History (his field) open to both faculty and students. He chuckled but then said that every History curriculum should include Irish History. With Bruce gone, more faculty attended than in recent years, but many just ate and ran – some perhaps with one o’clock classes. Not much was going on other than calling out winning raffle numbers (prizes were tote bags filled with IU paraphernalia), but that might have been just as well because in past years loud music made conversation difficult. Chris Young and Jonathan Briggs introduced themselves to the Chancellor and invited him to lunch next Tuesday for guest speaker Paul Finkelman, who later in the day will be lecturing on “Fugitive Slaves and Undocumented Aliens: Is the Arizona Immigration Law a Replay of the Fugitive Slave Act of 1850?”
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)