Roundabout

 "I’ll be the roundabout

The words will make you go out ‘n’ out”

 YES from 1971 “Fragile” album

A British progressive rock group known to be a drug band, members of YES, including frontman Jon Anderson, may well have been high on LSD when recording “Roundabout,” whose lyrics make no sense unless high.  I wasn’t much into progressive rock bands other than Steely Dan until Terry Jenkins turned me on to YES.  At a fantastic Holiday Star concert YES played for almost three hours without a break except for individual musicians exiting the stage during drum, guitar and keyboard solos.  They kicked ass on “Roundabout.”  Both George Sladic and Fred McColly recalled memorable YES concerts they attended, Freddy at Hawthorne Raceway with Peter Frampton and Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Roundabouts are proliferating in Valparaiso and other region suburbs.  When first introduced the Post-Tribune’s Quickly column was filled with criticisms.  Once experienced a few times, however, I found they are easy to maneuver and highly efficient. East Coast roundabouts, called traffic circles, have been around for at least three generations. On the way to the Jersey shore vacationers encountered at least a half-dozen.  When Toni and I visited New Zealand 30 years ago, we drove on counter-clockwise roundabouts, as New Zealanders, like Brits, drive on the left (in common parlance, “wrong”) side of the road.

In “A Fist Full of Fig Newtons” Region Rat Jean Shepherd wrote about first encountering a New Jersey roundabout:

    After a lifetime of driving in other parts of the country with conventional staid overpasses, viaducts, crossroads, stop-lights, etc., etc., suddenly I found myself going round and round, surrounded by hordes of blue-haired ladies piloting violet-colored Gremlins.  In and out they wove.  I passed my turnoff four times before I got control of my mind and was hurled out of the traffic circle by centrifugal force, back in the direction I had come.  Good grief!

Liz Wuerffel, who ran for Valpo city council, noted that so many people complained about roundabouts that she probably would have won the election had she gone on record against them.

George Van Til, surprised to read of my long softball career, wrote that he played for a team in the Bethlehem Steel Chesterton league and that teammates often gathered afterwards in a Chesterton watering hole across from the gazebo.  He was so impressed that when on the Highland Town Board, he pressed for the park department to construct one on land that came under its control when Main School was torn down.  The gazebo has been a popular success, site of concerts, weddings, and theatrical productions such as “Music Man” starring longtime clerk/treasurer Michael Griffin, an IUN grad.  I told George that son Dave was in a production of “Music through the Ages.”  One performance was curtailed shortly after one of Dave’s solos by a severe thunder and lightning storm. On Facebook yesterday Dave performed Simon and Garfunkel’s “Me and Julio Down by the School Yard” and “The Boxer.”

I got a call from Gary native Jim Muldoon (Lew Wallace, Class of 1956), like me a Maryland grad and CEO of METCOR.  A subscriber, he praised my latest Steel Shavings and mentioned how his school raised $2,000 in a single day selling peanuts in a campaign to fight polio, a postwar scourge.  We reminisced about the day we spend together at the Archives and touring Gary, and he invited Toni and me to his estate on Maryland’s Eastern Shore.

Philip Potempa’s Post-Tribune column dealt with the history of Valparaiso, mentioning a virtual audio tour Porter County Museum director Kevin Pazour put together from a 1987 architectural guide developed by members of VU’s Art department. Sites include the courthouse, jail, opera house, two banks, and Lowenstine’s Department Store, in existence between 1916 and 1988, which included a vacuum tube system. Since World War II Valpo’s downtown flourished for 30 years, then suffered downturns during the 1980s and twenty years later followed by resurgences, primarily due to restaurants.  In addition to Lowenstine’s, Potempa lamented other retail casualties such as Linkimer’s Shoes, shuttered in 1994 after 45 years, David’s Men’s haberdashery, closed in 2014 after three decades, and Piper’s Children’s Boutique, which recently went out of business after 37 years.

An obit for Fae Elaine Wewe, 92, who lived in Gary’s Miller Beach neighborhood most her life, noted her culinary skills and that she donated baked goods and homemade jellies and jams to Lutheran church fundraisers.  She and husband Dick, a steelworker, adopted daughter Jeanette in 1959. Fae Wewe’s obit concluded: “Though she grew up in a time that relegated women and others to second-class status, Fae understood that all people deserved equal treatment, no matter their gender, race, ethnicity or ability. Those values formed the core of her life. Though she lacked much formal education, she taught her daughter to read before she started kindergarten.” Jeanette McVicker is presently a professor of English and Women’s Studies at SUNY Fredonia and an expert on Virginia Woolf. 

The Old Man

“The old man had his high point every Wednesday at George’s Bowling Alley, where he once bowled a historic game in which he got three consecutive strikes.” Jean Shepherd, “In God We Trust: All Others Pay Cash”

Jean Shepherd

The old man of Jean Shepherd’s best sellers was a cranky but somewhat endearing middle-aged curmudgeon, while his real father felt trapped in a drudge existence and deserted the family when Shep’s younger brother turned 18. From such experiences came the bard’s sardonic humor, what he labeled not nostalgia but anti-nostalgia.  In 1995, thanks largely to IUN archivist Steve McShane’s efforts, Shepherd received an IU honorary degree at age 74.  At a banquet beforehand, Shep had unsuspecting invitees rolling in the aisles as he described returning to the Region from Korea and taking an aptitude test at IU’s East Chicago extension center. Prior to his enrolling for classes, administrators revealed that the tests indicated that he should go into dentistry.  With a twinkle in his eye, Shep concluded his 20-minute bit by saying, “I walked out of that building and never looked back.”  What a tribute to a Region university, making it the butt of a brilliant comedy bit.  It was his way of acknowledging how honored he was to be receiving an honorary doctorate.  Four years later, Shep was dead, estranged from all blood relatives, unable to excise ghosts from the past or forgive old hurts.

In “A Fistful of Fig Newtons,” a unique blend of fiction and memoir, Jean Shepherd writes from the point of view of an urban sophisticate born in Northwest Indiana.  From a high-rise apartment, Shepherd wrote, he ripped the cover off New York magazine and “with smooth, adept, practiced skill quickly folded the cover into a paper airplane, an art not used in many years, perfected grade after grade at the Warren G. Harding School.”  He described the Midwestern public university he attended on the G.I. Bill as the result of a “charitable outpouring of public monies which has led to the psychic downfall of multitudes of erstwhile worthy garage mechanics and plumbers helpers.” Shepherd wrote of returning to Hammond and passing by his old high school:

       It was all there, even the weedy athletic field with its paint-peeling goal posts where I had once played the role of an intrepid defensive lineman and I had irrevocably shattered the ligaments of my left knee, which now began to throb sympathetically as we passed the old battlefield. Ghostly voices of my teachers of that golden time moaned in my subconscious: Miss Bryfogel, her high, thin bleat intoning facts about Bull Run and Appomattox, Miss McCullough’s birdlike chip squeaking something about gerunds or whatever they were, old red-faced Huffine, our coach, barking, “I don’t want to kick no asses but . . .”

        The long winters I had spent in this red brick mausoleum, its echoing halls, clanging lockers, its aromatic gym and cafeteria, scented forever with the aroma of salmon loaf and canned peas.  The roar of thousands of students surging up and down the stairways.

In my 1990s Steel Shavings, “Shards and Midden Heaps” (volume 31, 2001) I eulogize Jean Shepherd and reflect on in my 50s celebrating a twentieth-fifth wedding anniversary with my first grandchild (Alissa) and seeing sons Phil and Dave graduate from IU, commence productive careers as TV producer/director and teacher, and marry (in Dave’s case during the Blizzard of ’98).  I bragged about softball and bowling feats and winning tennis trophies in father-son and Senior tournaments. I still had a full had of hair, but it was turned grey.  Twenty years ago, a vicious home invader kept calling me an old man.  Now at age 78 I feel my age in my right knee, rotator cup, left ankle and need for frequent bathroom trips and nine hours of sleep.  Homebound during the pandemic, my main exercise comes from getting the mail and picking dandelions from the front garden in 10-minute intervals, stopping when the knee starts aching.

In this time of social distancing, when millions of young people are missing out on commencement ceremonies, Jean Shepherd wrote this account of graduating from Warren G. Harding School in Hammond:

      The despised glee club sang the Warren G. Harding fight song, accompanied by Miss Bundy, her crinkly straw-colored hair bobbing up and down, her huge bottom enveloping the piano stool. Then an undertaker and Chevrolet dealer delivered a mind-numbing oration on how his generation was passing the torch of civilization from its faltering hands into our youthful energetic and idealistic hands.

       But I got my diploma.  Clasping the sacred scroll there on the stage I felt myself growing wise and dignified, a person of substance, well equipped to carry torches, best foes, to identify the parts of speech, including gerunds, to draw from memory the sinister confluence of the Tigris and the Euphrates.  And that Bolivia exports tin.

      At last we were free.  Warren G. Harding and its warm embrace, its easy ways, stood forever behind us.  On the way home the old man, his clean shirt cracklng with starch, said: “Whaddaya say we celebrate by pickin’ up some ice cream at the Igloo.  Ecstatic, I sat in the back seat of the Olds with my kid brother, clutching the precious document on which my name had been misspelled, in Old English lettering.

Casey King passed his IU Northwest senior review with flying colors, exhibiting drawing having to do with a long abandoned Miller drive-in, the Frank-N-Stein.  I’m pretty certain I’d convinced him to attend his commencement ceremony that won’t happen due to the pandemic.

The coronavirus outbreak is wreaking havoc at Westville prison, as well as Porter County jail and other area correctional facilities.  The Chesterton Tribune published the transcript of a phone call from a Westville inmate provided by Indiana Prison Advocates.  It stated:

      The inmates here, including myself, man, are very sick.  A lot of people have tried to get medical attention but are refused.  Things are getting worse, there was a riot.  If my 56-year-old roommate doesn’t get medical attention, then he’s probably not going to live.  Staff are coming in sick and inmates have been asked to keep an eye on these guys the minute they quit breathing to let somebody know. I don’t know how to describe the misery that has taken place here.  People are moaning in pain and some are hoping to die to relieve the suffering.  Commissary’s been taken away.  Governor Holcomb claims there’s a strike team here at Westville, but I haven’t seen anyone offering to help anyone do anything.

State of Disunion

    “I rise today with no small measure of regret, regret because of the state of disunion, regret because of the disrepair and destructiveness of our politics, regret because of the indecency of our discourse.” Senator Jeff Flake (2013-2019), Republican critic of Trump

When I heard that Trump had given the Presidential Medal of Freedom to racist demagogue Rush Limbaugh during the State of the Union presentation, I was glad I’d been playing bridge at the time because I might have done damage to the TV.  Here’s Ray Smock’s take on the fiasco, titled "State of Disunion":

    Last night’s State of the Union address will go down in history as a formalized campaign rally, complete with wild cheers, applause, and chants of “Four More Years“ from the Republicans in the chamber and with silence punctuated by occasional jeers from the Democrats. It had all the elements of President Trump’s demagogic style. It was designed not for the brain, or even the heart, it was a punch in the gut to the president’s political enemies and a prelude to the coming campaign. As such, it will take its place in the annals of such addresses, as a sign of our divided times.

    Rush Limbaugh is the single most controversial broadcaster in the nation, and ranks with past spewers of hatred, conspiracy, and distrust of government, with the first radio demagogue, Father Charles Coughlin, the “Radio Priest” of the 1930s. Coughlin’s broadcasts reached 30 million listeners and featured economic and political attacks on Franklin Roosevelt's administration and the dangers of Jewish bankers. Coughlin was finally kicked off the radio in 1939 for his anti-Semitism and for espousing support for fascists like Hitler and Mussolini.

    To give this high honor to such a polarizing figure as Rush Limbaugh, a man who has been Trump’s mouthpiece in attacking his chief political rival, and to do it before a large television audience in the chamber of the House of Representatives was a sickening display of the Trump notion that if he does it, it’s OK, because he’s the president. Nobody else matters.  At the end of the speech, Speaker Nancy Pelosi made a clear show to her party and the nation that she wanted no part of the lies in the speech, or Trump’s use of the People’s House for his re-election campaign. She deliberately, and with emphasis, showed her disgust for the whole performance by tearing up copies of the president’s speech. The president did not see this at the time. His back was turned as he was leaving the podium. Earlier, the president refused to shake the Speaker's hand, when she offered it.

April Lidinsky posted this reaction: “Weep for our democracy in the hands of such craven people.  And VOTE.”  Alan Gardner emailed Smock: “Thank you for the review with an historical perspective that magnifies his shameless, sociopathic behavior. He sullies everything he touches, physically and verbally; and he leaves a proverbial slime trail behind him where ever he walks.”  

 House Speaker Nancy Pelosi tears up State-of-the-Union speech

The following day, George Romney broke with fellow Republicans and voted to convict Trump of abuse of power.  As he himself predicted, the White House propaganda machine is leveling all sorts of insults against him.  Typical is Michael Kelleher’s asinine remark: "RINO scumbag.”  On the other hand, Jim Daubenheyer emailed: “Romney just became my second favorite Republican ever!”  I’m assuming the other was Abraham Lincoln.  Some pundits are calling the 2020 contest the most important since 1860, when Lincoln’s election precipitated Southern states seceding from the Union followed by the Civil War.  I’d compare the situation to 1932 although, unlike FDR’s landslide victory, I’m less confident in the result.  Many people I talk to are beginning to believe that only billionaire Mike Bloomberg can defeat Trump. A few timid Republicans expressed the hope that Trump would think twice before abusing his power again.  He answered by purging those brave enough to testify about his wrong-doing.  Unlike Bill Clinton, he is incapable of acting apologetic.

As always, I enjoyed partnering with Dottie Hart at bridge.  A half-century ago she lived in Gary’s Aetna neighborhood, and her four children attended Wirt High School.  Her house had been boarded up for some time, and, sadly, Wirt now sits vacant.  Several people I knew bought starter homes in Aetna when first finding work in Gary, including Post-Tribune managing editor Terry O’Rourke and Kate and Jim Migoski (a U.S. Steel computer specialist who got me to join the Electrical Engineers bowling team).  I had a 486 series bowling against Pin Short. Two frames in a row I left the 6-10 “baby” split.  After I picked it up the first time, daughter-in-law Delia’s uncles, Larry Ramirez and Eddie Lopez, clapped. Before trying for it again, I turned to them and said, “This will show if last frame was luck or not.”  After I again picked it up, their entire team cheered.  On the adjacent lane, friendly Judy Sheriff, who must be close to 90 and struggles to break 100, came over to tell me a pants cuff was inside my sock and noticed a scratch on my cheek.  “I scratched myself in my sleep; I do it every couple months, not sure why,” I told her.  “Nightmares?” she speculated.  More likely, just an itch.

Eddie Lopez, Larry Ramirez, Angel Menendez, Phil Vera at Hobart Lanes

In “When We Get to Surf City” Bob Greene mentions that the band members backing up Jan and Dean on the Oldies circuit frequently quote lines from the 1996 Tom Hanks movie “That Thing You Do,” about the Wonders, a group from Erie, Pennsylvania, playing in a 1964 Rock and Roll “Galaxy of Stars” caravan.  These include Faye lamenting “I have wasted thousands and thousands of kisses on you,” Dell saying, “Ain’t no way to keep a band together.  Bands come and go.  You got to keep on playing, no matter with who,” and Guy explaining, “It would be ungentlemanly for me to elaborate.”   When the band was performing at the Erie Seafood Festival, shortly before the set began, Greene used this line from “That Thing You Do”: “How did we get here?”  He was not being sarcastic despite the smell of dead fish and vomit wafting toward the stage.  To him it was “one more wondrous summer night.”

below Howard "Hopalong" Cassidy

Before a Jan and Dean concert taking place in Columbus, Ohio, following a minor league baseball game. Greene spotted a first base coach for the hometown Clippers, a New York Yankees affiliate, with No.40 on the back of his uniform – the same number 1955 Heisman Trophy winner Howard “Hopalong” Cassidy wore when he played for Ohio State.  Lo and behold, the coach turned out to be Cassidy himself, whom I had rooted for when he played running back for the Detroit Lions and, briefly, the Philadelphia Eagles.  A longtime friend of Yankees owner George Steinbrenner, Cassidy passed away last September at age 85.  

 

Greg Hildebrand 

Toni and I traveled to South Bend, where Mayor Pete Buttigieg, currently a Democratic Presidential frontrunner, first made a name for himself, for our annual meeting with a TIAA adviser.  Thanks to IUN’s retirement plan that first kicked in for me 50 years ago, we are wealthier now than ever before.  Lake effect snow was coming down hard when we left Chesterton, but before long the sun came out, a rare sight this past week. On wealth management adviser Greg Hildebrand’s shelf were four different colored Legos on top of one another, perhaps a gift from one of his children.

In Jean Shepherd’s “A Fistful of Fig Newtons” I was pleased to find a third chapter dealing with when the author was a kid growing up in the Region, in addition to those on the Great Ice Cream War and Camp Nobba-Wa-Wa-Nockee.  Shepherd described tactics employed by kids sitting near the back of the classroom whose last names appeared near the end of the alphabet to avoid being called on by teachers at Hammond’s Warren G. Harding School. One kid slumped down in his desk, while the author was expert at keeping another kid between him and the teacher’s line of vision.  “I blessed the beehive hairdo when it became popular,” Shepherd wrote, and added:

    Fat Helen Weathers could sweat at will, surrounding herself with a faint haze cloud so that Miss shields could never quite see her in focus, believing that Helen was just a thumb-smudge on her glasses.  Perlmutter had a thin pale beaky face that you could not remember even while you were looking at him.  No teacher ever remembered his name or whether he was even there.  He’d sit for hours without moving a muscle, as anonymous as a pale hat rack.  

    Zyncmeister, a strict Catholic, sat so far behind even us that he spent his entire school career jammed up against the cabinet in the rear of the room where worn erasers, pickled biology specimens, and moldering lunches were stored.  His defense was religion; divine intervention.  The click of his beads as they were counted kept up a steady castanet beat during Miss Shields’s distant cluckings.  It seemed to work.

In Jean Shepherd’s “A Fistful of Fig Newtons” I was pleased to find a third chapter dealing with when the author was a kid growing up in the Region, in addition to those on the Great Ice Cream War and Camp Nobba-Wa-Wa-Nockee.  Shepherd described tactics kids sitting near the back of the classroom whose last names appeared near the end of the alphabet employed to avoid being called on by teachers at Hammond’s Warren G. Harding School. One kid slumped down in his desk, while the author was expert at keeping another kid between him and the teacher’s line of vision.

After eight years the Indiana State Board of Education, which took over Gary Roosevelt High School in 2012, terminated its contract with EdisonLearning.  In an editorial titled “State owes Roosevelt a future,”The Gary Crusader wrote that the for-profit education management company based in Fort Lauderdale earned over $31 million “while Roosevelt would remain with under-achieving students, a crumbling, neglected building, and now an uncertain future,” as a state-controlled management team has recommended that the 89-year-old structure be permanently closed.  Classes have been held elsewhere for over a year.  The Crusader concluded: “We hope the state will eat some humble pie before giving its final decision.  The state owes Roosevelt a future that it promised but failed to deliver.”

I watched IUN’s Lady Redhawks bow to an 18-3 St. Xavier Crusader’s team that was undefeated in conference play.  Several of their players, including Maddie Welter (no.3), were deadly 3-point shooters able to get off their shot lightning fast. Six-foot, four-inch Redhawk Breanna Boles (no. 32) dominated inside whenever teammates got her the ball down low but seemed to prefer tossing up 3-pointers, especially after her first one went in.  I noticed former stars Nicki Monahan and Grayce Roach were now assistants to Coach Ryan Shelton.

Saturday Evening Club met at Valpo Velvet ice cream shoppe, founded in 1947 and a veritable living museum with photos lining the walls and many flavors in large tubs behind the counter. Scott Brown, whose son Mike and daughter-in-law Catherine (above) own the factory and store, spoke on the world’s super rich, who control governments, are modern-day Robber Barons, and have taken to buying up luxury properties in places such as London, New York City, and Florida, and converted them into condominium suites that often remain vacant most of the year.  President Terry Brendel signed me up to speak next September on the topic “Novelists as Social Historians.”

Shep

 “The reality of what we are is often times found in the small snips, way down at the bottom of things.” Jean Shepherd

A decade ago I reviewed Marc Fisher’s “Something in the Air: Radio, Rock, and the Revolution that Shaped a Generation” for Magill’s Literary Annual.  It contains a chapter on Calumet Region humorist Jean Shepherd:  I noted:

 While pop music dominated the AM dial [in the 1950s] an eccentric genius named Jean Shepherd invented what came to be known as talk radio.  Twice fired for persistently digressing from the music, he migrated to WOR in New York, where he held forth nightly for four and a half hours.  Intermittently spinning jazz records between acerbic monologues, Shepherd’s tales of festering youth had universal appeal, as did his irreverence toward sponsors and management functionaries.  His eventual successor, Long John Nebel, attracted night owls interested in UFOs, health nostrums, and conspiracy theories of all kinds. 

 During the 1960s FM came into its own. The Federal Communication Commission forced stations to stop simucasting AM shows, and automobile manufacturers wired their vehicles for FM.  Carrying on Shepherd’s legacy in Los Angeles was John Leonard with Nightsounds,while New Yorker Bob Fass hosted Radio Unamenableon WBAI.

On the radio Shepherd’s avowed objective was to stimulate trains of thought, and his improvisational style was similar to the jazz music he loved.  

 Bill Clinton and Dale Bumpers in 1999

New York Review of Books contributor Sean Wilentz’s article “Presumed Guilty” on Ken Starr’s “Contempt: A Memoir of the Clinton Investigation” argues that the hatred and distrust of Bill and Hillary by Starr and his staff (including zealous reactionary Brett Kavanaugh) turned “a faltering right-wing political vendetta against a Democratic president into a constitutional crisis over consensual private behavior.”  According to former Arkansas governor and senator Dale Bumpers, “Javert’s pursuit of Jean Valjean in Les Miserables paled in comparison”to Starr’s pursuit of the Clintons.  An incredulous Wilentz points out the irony of Starr being worried about what he termed “the inherent danger of prosecutorial overreach”in the Mueller probe.  “Presumed Guilty” cites several egregious actions by persecutor Starr, in addition to the browbeating of Monica Lewinsky:

 Susan McDougal, the ex-wife of the eccentric progenitor of the Whitewater project, Jim McGougal, refused to testify before the grand jury, fearing that saying anything other than what she believed the independent counsel’s office wanted would lead to her indictment for perjury.  She wound up serving 18 months in prison for civil contempt of court, eight of them in solitary confinement.  Then, upon her release, Starr had her indicted on criminal charges of contempt (which ended in a hung jury) and obstruction of justice (which ended in an acquittal). Julie Hiatt Steele contradicted claims by her friend Kathleen Willey concerning an alleged inappropriate advance by the president. Starr accused her of obstruction of justice and making false statements, which led to a mistrial, whereupon the matter was dropped – but only after Steele had been harassed over the adoption of a Romanian child.

Reading Kurt Vonnegut’s “Cat’s Cradle” for an Advanced English paper, grandson James is fascinated by the narrator’s espousal of a fictitious religion called Bokononism.  It reminded me of existentialism, which James learned about in a recent unit.  “Cat’s Cradle” opens with this advice supposedly found in the Books of Bokonon, many of which were written in the form of calypsos: “Live by the forma (harmless untruths) that make you brave and kind and healthy and happy.”  

 Pony Express monument in St. Joseph's, MO

Jim DeFelice’s “West Like Lightning: The Brief, Legendary Ride of the Pony Express” contains fascinating tales about the 1,900-mile mail delivery system from St. Joseph, Missouri to Sacramento, California that, to my surprise, was short-lived and was a financial failure.  DeFelice wrote: 

 Daring young men with colorful names like “Bronco Charlie” and “Sawed-Off Jim” galloped over a vast and unforgiving landscape, etching an irresistible tale that passed into myth almost instantly. Equally an improbable success and a business disaster, the Pony Express came and went in just 18 months but not before uniting and captivating a nation on the brink of being torn apart [by the Civil War].

DeFelice recounts exploits by the likes of Jim Bridger, Jack Slade, “Wild Bill” Hickok, and William “Buffalo Bill” Cody but then admits that many may have been pure fabrications.  The two men most responsible for spreading myths regarding the Pony Express were author Edward Zane Carroll Judson, who assumed the pseudonym Ned Buntline, and William Cody, whose Wild West shows usually began with a dramatization on the Pony Express riders.

Dave’s family brought over Chinese food and a key lime pie for my 77th birthday. Dave burned me a Kurt Vile compilation CD and on a card called me his role model.  Nice. We played the dice game Qwixx and Love Letter, which involved cards with various powers and worth that I was just starting to comprehend when Becca won.  I watched the Oscars intermittently and enjoyed the opening Queen medley with Adam Lambert and original band members, Spike Lee’s speech after winning for best adapted screenplay (for BlacKkKlansman) and Lady Gaga’s incandescent performance with Bradley Cooper singing “Shallow” from “A Star Is Born.” Gaga has previously sung memorable duets at awards shows with Elton John, Tony Bennett, and Metalilca – a true superstar.

Anti-Trump Republican columnist Max Boot laments the decline of college History courses and the public’s ignorance of America’s past.  Boot mocked the slogan “Make America Great Again,” as if there were some mythical “Golden Age.” Citing nearly forgotten events, he mentioned the Triangle Shirtwaist Fire, the Red Scare, and the Balangiga Massacre.  The latter had me stumped until I associated it with an American atrocity carried out in 1901 on the Philippine island of Samar in retaliation for 48 U.S. soldiers slain by villagers supporting nationalist Emiliano Aguinaldo.  In retaliation General Jacob “The Monster” Smith ordered entire towns put to the torch, every Filipino over the age of ten killed, and, most damaging, the population starved into submission.  Up to 50,000 civilians perished.  Smith was subsequently court-martialed, found guilty, and forced into retirement but otherwise not punished. 

Riley Kuzos as Pink Diamond; NWI Times photo by John Luke

Northwest Indiana Comic-Con took place over the weekend in Schererville, featuring cosplay contests and all sorts of displays and items for sale.  One of Steve McShane’s former students was a big fan and wrote  about attending a Comic-Con in Chicago. I included her journal in my forthcoming Steel Shavings (volume 48).

 Julius "Lil Jay" James

In the Post-Trib was one article stating that Gary’s crime rate was down by almost 67% and another reporting on the death of 25 year-old Julius “Lil Jay” James IV, gunned down on the 2300 block of Clark Road shortly after noon.  James was the great-grandson of civil rights leader Reverend Julius James and nephew of IUN’s police chief.  Reverend James, a personal friend of martin Luther King, led the 1964-65 “Gary Freedom Movement” that pressured City Council into passing the civil rights ordinance that established a Human relations Commission with subpoena power to investigate housing discrimination and other forms of segregation.

Film documentarian Nick Mantis spoke to appreciative seniors at a Munster Center Art in Focus presentation.  For the past seven years the Hammond native has been gathering material on Jean Shepherd and had many interesting anecdotes and clips to share, including a brief snippet from an interview with me.  I learned that Shep’s childhood home on Cleveland Street in north Hammond is still standing and that his father (the “Old Man”) deserted the family as soon as younger brother Randy turned 18.  Though a jazz buff, Shepherd hung out with the Beatles in England before they took America by storm and befriended many New York City literary figures and folk singers. His friend Shel Silverstein wrote “A Boy Named Sue,” recorded by Johnny Cash, after hearing Shep complain about being stuck with a girl’s name.  

Mantis spoke with one of Shep’s close friends from their early days in New York City who recalled that he enjoyed starting arguments with fellow patrons in diners of coffeehouses.  Verbal jousting was one of Shep’s specialties.  After publication of “Land of the Millrats,” folklorist Richard Dorson invited Shepherd to be featured speaker at a conference in Bloomington.  Deliberately needling  his host, Shep claimed that Gary was not really part of “Da Region,” only Hammond, East Chicago, and Whiting. Over drinks, Shep complained that his books were listed on the New York Timesbest-seller list under non-fiction rather than fiction.  During sessions, he’d be smirking and passing notes containing sarcastic or off-color comments.  Saturday evening he took the stage and put on a hilarious two-hour performance that pre-teens Phil and Dave still remember.

Shep’s cantankerousness alienated both business associates and admirers, including Jerry Seinfeld, who admitted: “He really formed my entire comedic sensibility.  I learned how to do comedy from Jean Shepherd.”  Although Shep narrated “A Christmas Story” (1983), he was ultimately banned from the set because of his incessant carping. The TV series “Wonder Years” was inspired by “A Christmas Story” and Steven Spielberg invited Shepherd to provide input to the creators. He was so ornery and obstreperous the meeting abruptly ended within minutes.  He hated syrupy nostalgia and termed his literary output anti-nostalgia.  Mantis showed a clip where Shep answered a question about whether he had fond memories of growing up in Hammond by asking if one is nostalgic about a cold sore.  Shep died virtually friendless in 1999 at age 78, soon after his fourth wife passed away, having disowned his two children. 

During Q and A I mentioned Indiana University awarding Shep an honorary degree in 1995 and at a luncheon on my campus beforehand having everyone rolling in the aisles recounting how, after getting discharged from the army, he went to take classes at IU’s East Chicago extension and was made to take an aptitude test.  Two days later a guidance counselor told him that results indicated he should become a dentist.  Shep’s concluding remark: “I walked out of that building and never looked back.”  I’m certain Shepherd was truly touched to receive the honorary degree and making fun at the university in a 20-minute bit was the Hoosier humorist’s way of showing appreciation.

When I’d arrived, every seat appeared to have been taken.  I grabbed a chair from up front and plunked it down next to two ladies.  One recognized me from previous talks but the other asked how I’d learned about the Art in Focus  series. When a snippet from Mantis’ interview with me appeared on the screen, I nudged her.  Afterwards, Nick thanked me for coming and I said hi to bridge acquaintances Mary Kocevar and Marcia Carson.

Distinguished Alumni

“The reality of what we are is often times found in the small snips, way down at the bottom of things.” Jean Shepherd

folklorist Richard M. Dorson

I interviewed former student Vickie Voller on videotape for IU’s Bicentennial Project and to go with the paper Airel Otero wrote about her in the Archives’ bridge collection.  In the late 1960s, after earning a degree from the University of North Dakota, she moved to the area with her husband, who was hired by Inland Steel.  For six years she taught art in Gary elementary schools and in 1976 received an M.S. degree in Education from IUN.  Vickie took a summer course with folklorist Richard Dorson, visiting from Bloomington to engage in research on steelworkers that became the basis for his book “Land of the Millrats.” Vickie had a memorable Sociology course with Bob Lovely and worked for Frank Parrish in Continuing Studies, which led to her assuming positions similar to his at other regional campuses.  In the summer of 1977 both Vickie and I, along with Toni and the kids, attended a weekend urban folklore conference at IU at which Jean Shepherd was the featured speaker.  Over drinks, Shepherd groused that the New York Times listed “In God We Trust: All Others Pay Cash” on the bestseller list under nonfiction.  A newspaper correspondent for many years, Vickie reported on Shepherd’s two-and-a-half-hour, one-man show, the highlight of the IU conference. She wrote:

  Shepherd held the audience spellbound while everyone thought, “He’s talking about me.  I knew a kid named Schwartz, my teacher talked like that and had a blue Brillo pad for hair, and we used to have a white linoleum table with chips in our kitchen.”  He described the region: “The flickering of steel mills on the shore of Lake Michigan, drifting clouds of kerosene, a haze of blast furnace dust.  It never got dark in the region – just darker.”  Shepherd claimed he “got my first full lung of air when I left the region at 19 and joined the army” and indicated there were worse places to live: “Whiting makes Hammond look like Palm Beach.”  Shepherd credits the region for teaching him the ethic of life: “I move through the world like a fish moving through a river of inner tubes.  But I have no nostalgia for the region.  Does one have nostalgia for cold sores?”

above, Jean Shepherd; below, Vickie Voller in 2006

Voller served as president of IUN’s Alumni Association board and on its Gala planning committee.  In 2006 Chancellor Bruce Bergland presented her with the Alumni Association President’s Award.  Near the end of the interview I got Vickie to talk about playing bridge and pressed her for details about an advice column she wrote for the Post-Tribune, “Ask Ollie,” written from the point of view of a Shih Tzu dog.  She presently is board president of the Humane Society of Northwest Indiana, and she’s scheduled to do “Ask Ollie” spots on PBS to raise awareness of Humane Society programs and needs.  

 Wayne Carpenter and Kylie Duhamell

Bridge players at Woodland Park; from left, Steve Watson, Laverne Niksch, Lou Nimnicht, Wayne Carpenter

IUN student Kylie Duhamell began corresponding with Wayne Carpenter on September 17, 2017, asking him to participate in her bridge project.  Later that day, he replied: “Hi, Kylie, nice to hear from you.  I am open to anything to help you.  I am the bridge director/manager at the Beach Bridge Club which meets every Tuesday at Woodland Park in Portage from 11 a.m. to 3:30. What would you like me to do?”  Kylie made arrangements to meet Wayne at Woodland Park and asked whether she could take photos during the game.  Wayne replied: “Hi Kylie, yes you can take pictures and it will be great to meet you.  I get to the park building by 10 a.m. because I set up the game area, make coffee etc.  We usually play upstairs.  About what time do you think you will get there so I can look out for you? Do you know where Woodland Park is?” Kylie had class until noon and had never been to Woodland Park, but after getting lost a little bit on the way, she arrived at Woodland Park.  Below are Kylie’s journal entries of that day and subsequent interaction with Wayne Carpenter

September 26: I went inside the main building and asked the lady at the front desk where the bridge game was taking place.  She told me right upstairs. There I met Wayne and observed some hands being played. We moved from table to table and I got to see them up close. Wayne kept reminding me that even though the game is competitive, it is still for fun. Wayne is a ruby life master, having accumulated over 1,500 master points. He gave me a couple different slips to help understand the game and a traveling score sheet to record how one did on each hand. Wayne also gave me a ACBL standard yellow card. I had a lot of fun watching these games. Each partner seemed to know how the other played.  Wayne said that his uncle introduced him to bridge and that he has been partners with his cousin Laverne Niksch for over 50 years. As I left, I realized that I did not get any pictures. That was okay because I was planning on going again.  Later that day, Wayne sent me an article titled “Bridge - Not Chess - Is the Ultimate War Game.”  It made the point that during the war soldiers played bridge to pass the time. 

September 27: I emailed Wayne and asked him how his game went in Gary. He replied, “Two bad days in a row!!  Oh well, that's bridge. Some days other people just plain do better.” 

October 10: I observed the game at Woodland Park again. Lots of players remembered me and said Hi! Afterwards, I got to interview Wayne about his life. He was born and raised in Hobart and, as he said, “Once a Brickie, always a Brickie!”  Wayne was the youngest in a family of 5. After graduating from IUN, he worked at U.S. Steel for 37 years as a supervisor. Wayne moved to Chesterton about 26 years ago shortly after marrying wife Janet.  After he retired in 2003, they adopted a daughter Maya from Guatemala.  He said, “This was the best thing Jan and I have ever done. We are so blessed to have Maya in our lives.”  Wayne also told me about a scene in the 1979 James Bond spy thriller “Moonraker” starring Roger Moore where Bond tricked Hugo Drax by setting the cards up a certain way. Wayne tried the same thing on his uncle, who fell for it.  When Wayne confessed what he did, the uncle told him that it was still good card playing!  Wayne sent me home with an article about actor Omar Sharif, once ranked among the 50 best players in the world. Omar says in this article, “The real question is why I spend so much time making movies when I could be playing bridge.”

October 12: Wayne met me at IUN and brought cards with him. He gave me different bidding scenarios between partners. It was a little difficult playing hands because we didn’t have the opponents, but we made it work, and it was fun! He left me with a sheet to guide me when I play. I couldn’t thank Wayne enough!  He did a great job helping me understand the game and even gave me a set of my very own bridge cards.  I not only learned useful bridge techniques, I also found out interesting things about a Region native.

In response to my inquiry, Wayne Carpenter emailed me that he earned a BA in Speech and Theater while working full-time at US Steel and, in his words, remembers fondly the nine years it took me to graduate.  He wrote: “Robert Foor was the head of the department at that time and very helpful to me.  If you ever had the pleasure of hearing him read Shakespeare, you would never forget him.”

 above, 1953 IU grad Robert Foor at age 89 (2012); below, Lonnie Cotner

At Hobart Lanes, the Portage Four swept the Electrical Engineers despite all four of us bowling above average (in my case a 461 series).  In game one opponent Lonnie Cotner rolled a 226, a full 85 pins over his average, and quipped, “Eventually the real Lonnie will show up.”  He did inevitably tail off but still finished with a series in the upper 500s.  His teammate Lorenzo Rodriguez, who throws both arms in the air in disgust whenever he leaves a ten-pin, only made the gesture a couple times, as he got more than his normal share of strikes.  My only double came in the final frame of the afternoon when the outcome was no longer in doubt.

My Steel Shavings publisher, The Papers, is ready to go to press with volume 47 just a week after receiving the finished product.  On the cover: distinguished IU alumnus and longtime IUN adjunct professor Richard Gordon Hatcher, five-term mayor and a Gary legend.  The background color will be navy blue, similar to the 2003 issue on the Postwar years in the Region, 1945-1953.  On the cover of volume 34, was Red Scare victim Katherine Hyndman, incarcerated in Crown Point for a year after protesting American entry into the Korean War.  Many former students contributed, including Kevin Clutter, Lorie Kovach, and Samuel A. Love.  I dedicated the volume to “Old Lefties” who kept the faith during a time of repression, including Jim Balanoff, Lydia Grady, Art Daronatsy, Ruth Norrick, Claude Lightfoot, Thelma Marshall, Cash Malis, and Joe Gyurko.  I concluded: “Class-conscious activists for civil rights, trade unionism, and peace, they realized the need for a fundamental reordering of wealth and power if the nation were to remain true to its historic ideals.”

At an IU Bicentennial brainstorming meeting with representatives from Bloomington, it was decided to do features on the Calumet Regional Archives and faculty efforts to preserve the dunes.  On hand were candy bars adorned with the IU Bicentennial logo.

As Trump approved the release of a biased Republican-majority House committee report by Devin Nunes over the objections of FBI director Christopher Wray and the Justice Department that makes use of classified materials out of context in order to impugn the integrity of the FBI, former director James Comey released this caustic statement: “All should appreciate the FBI speaking up.  I wish more of our leaders would.  But take heart: American history shows that, in the long run, weasels and liars never hold the field, so long as good people stand up.  Not a lot of schools or streets named for Joe McCarthy.”

 Ray Smock in 2012 celebrating Groundhog Day

Ray Smock wrote:

      The much anticipated and ballyhooed release of the Nunes defense of Donald Trump can be summed up in one word: Innuendo. If you were teaching a class in innuendo, this would be the introductory course. It is totally lacking in substance or legal standing. The clear purpose is to smear everyone who gathered information, directly or indirectly, that relates to the Russian probe. It is designed to smear the FBI for bias. It blames Hillary Clinton for funding the so-called “Steele Dossier” that has been eating at Donald Trump since reports of its existence were leaked in late October 2016.  It was that dossier, a series of memos that tied Trump and his campaign to Russian activities that first brought to public attention the possible collusion of the Trump campaign with Russian agents.

      Nothing is revealed that suggests the FISA process was abused. This is a smear job with no content that would hold up in any court of law, or even in the court of public opinion. I expect if the Democratic members of the House Intelligence Committee are allowed to release their report, we will see a larger context that will put the Nunes memo in even worse light. 

      Shame on Chairman Devin Nunes for acting with such partisanship about a matter that is of deep national concern. And shame on Speaker Paul Ryan for letting this go as far as it has. Devin Nunes should be removed immediately from his role as chairman of the House Intelligence Committee. This committee has every right to conduct oversight of the FBI, the Department of Justice, and all our intelligence gathering agencies, but this oversight should always be conducted to keep America safe, to be a watchdog of abuses in the intelligence community, and to investigate for the purpose of drafting laws that guard against abuse. This memo shows no abuse of power in the FBI, only the suggestion of it for partisan gain.

      What Chairman Nunes has done is to ham-handedly try to protect President Trump during a vital, ongoing investigation. In doing so he comes very close to violating the rule of law and engaging in possible obstruction of justice. He clearly has violated all the regular procedures of his own committee. Since Devin Nunes was part of the Trump transition team, maybe he too has something to hide. But this is just innuendo on my part.

On a lighter note, this from Jim Spicer:

    A guy is 86 years old and loves to fish.
 He was sitting in his boat when he heard a voice say, “Pick me up.”
    He looked around and couldn't see any one. He thought he was dreaming when he heard the voice say again, “Pick me up.” He looked in the water and there, floating on the top was a frog.
    The man said, “Are you talking to me?”
    The frog said, “Yes, I'm talking to you. Pick me up. Then, kiss me and I'll turn into the most beautiful woman you have ever seen. I'll make sure that all your friends are envious and jealous because you will have me as your bride.”
    The man looked at the frog, reached over, picked it up carefully, and placed it in his front breast pocket. Then the frog said, "What, are you nuts? Didn't you hear what I said? I said kiss me and I will be your beautiful bride."  He opened his pocket, looked at the frog and said, “Nah, at my age I'd rather have a talking frog.”