Forgiveness

“While wallowing in my own self-pity, I suddenly pictured somebody with a whole lot more problems . . . . Paula Cooper.” Bill Pelke

 Bill Pelke and Paula Cooper

An address by Calumet Region native Bill Pelke, entitled “The Answer Is Love and Compassion for all of Humanity” and about his personal healing from a family tragedy, will kick off SPEA’s Public Affairs Month at IU Northwest. The founder of Journey of Hope . . . from Violence to Healing, Pelke spoke to a group of IUN students at my behest about ten years ago and was incredibly moving discussing a life-changing event.  In 1985 four young teenage girls went to the Glen Park home of Bill’s 78 year-old grandmother Ruth Pelke on the pretext of seeking Bible lessons.  Once inside, one of them struck her on the head with a vase. Then, they stabbed her over 30 times with a 12-inch butcher knife and left her dead on the floor, taking ten dollars and the keys to her car, which they ditched when it ran out of gas.  The following day, Bill’s father discovered the body lying in a pool of blood with the knife still in her.  Soon apprehended, the girls were found guilty and 15 year-old Paula Cooper, the supposed ringleader, sentenced to death by electrocution.    

A few months after listening again to the grisly details of how her beloved grandmother died at the sentencing hearing, Bill Pelke, a crane operator at Bethlehem Steel, broke down in tears and a vision came to him of his grandmother’s image with tears streaming down her face.  Bill next experienced a sudden epiphany.  As Pelke later wrote, “I knew those tears of Nana were tears of love and compassion for Paula and her family. And I knew Nana wouldn’t have wanted Paula to be put to death even though Paula had killed her.”  From that moment on, despite opposition from his own family, Bill Pelke dedicated his life to saving Paula’s and, beyond that, waging a worldwide campaign against capital punishment.  

 Paula in prison kitchen; Bill in Brussels

A petition to have Paula Cooper’s sentence reduced garnered over 2 million signatures, and Pope John Paul II made a personal appeal to Governor Robert Orr, who in 1987 signed legislation raising the minimum age for capital punishment from ten to 16 years.  It did not apply ex post facto to Paula, but in 1989 the Indiana Supreme Court reduced Cooper’s sentence to life imprisonment.  While incarcerated, Cooper met Bill Pelke, who forgave her, and the two stayed in touch.  Becoming a model prisoner, Paula was released in 2013 after serving a little over 26 years. She appeared to be adjusting to her new life but in May of 2015 committed suicide. She had recently broken up with a man and perhaps didn’t trust her instincts or was overcome with guilt or remorse.  The news devastated Pelke but did not derail him from continuing his work on behalf of death row inmates. Just last October Pelke represented Journey of Hope in a campaign against the death penalty in Uganda.

Concerned about not seeing any publicity for Bill Pelke’s April 1 appearance, I broached the subject with Dean Pat Bankston, and he promised to look into the matter.  I notified columnist Jerry Davich and will contact reporter Carole Carlson.  I am tempted to ask Karl Besel, who arranged the event, if he needs someone to introduce Pelke.  Reverend Dwight Gardner, a longtime Gary resident who once worked at IUN, would be perfect. His sermons at Trinity Baptist Church on Virginia Street often stress forgiveness as central to Christianity.

I consider myself a forgiving person but am still ambivalent about the three home invaders who terrorized Dave, Angie, and me 19 years ago.  Had they been apprehended and imprisoned, I believe I could have found it in my heart to forgive them. That is certainly true of two young sidekicks who seemed under the control of the ringleader, who called himself Don Corleone.  That bastard deserved to serve hard time.  He was needlessly sadistic, threatening violence, kicking me in the back hard enough to collapse a lung, and whacking Dave over the head, causing a concussion.  Had any of them touched Angie, pregnant at the time, we’d have fought them and probably be dead now. 

below, Midge and Vic Lane in Easton, PA on Lafayette campus across from their home

Spotting William K. Klingaman’s “The Darkest Year: The American Home Front, 1941-1942” in the Chesterton library New Books display, it once again hit me that Midge and Vic were expecting their first child, me, at the time of Pearl Harbor. As Marquis Childs observed in “I Write from Washington” (1942), the country was slipping “down the shelf of time into another era in the soft days of 1941, but we had little or no awareness of it.”  Had I not come along, Vic probably would have gone off to war, and our lives might have turned out drastically different.  As it was, he received a deferment due to being a chemist engaged in important home front work and was on the way to providing a comfortable middle-class lifestyle for his family.  Vic was conflicted about not serving, given the adventures and accolades veterans experienced. Not that it mattered to me or my buddies.  Though we sometimes played war games, we never bothered to ask veterans about their war stories. Nor did they seem eager to offer any.

 Detroit police keep eye on white protestors and arrest black protestors at Sojourner Truth housing project

From Klingaman’s book I learned that FM radio stations came into being in 1941, and a limited number of televisions were sold in New York City and a few other markets. RCA advertised a phonograph containing a “Magic Brain” capable of playing both sides of a record without flipping it over.  The 1942 confrontations over blacks moving into Detroit’s Sojourner Truth Housing Project highlighted white resistance to integration.  With African Americans streaming into the Motor City, there was a desperate housing shortage, which the Sojourner Truth facility was intended to ameliorate.  Over the objections of black community leaders, it was built adjacent to an all-white ethnic neighborhood.  As six black families prepared to move in, protestors burned a 20-foot cross and rallied to prevent them. During subsequent stand-offs some 40 people were injured and over 200 arrested.  Eventually a heavy police presence restored order, but federal officials postponed indefinitely occupancy by blacks.  Detroit’s police commissioner lamely stated, “There is no use moving these people in if you need an army to protect them.”  “These people” in many cases had sons in the military and were supporting the war effort.  All they wanted was a decent place to raise their families.  

Sam Chase senior yearbook picture

Pat Chase recently donated family documents to IUN’s Calumet Regional Archives. Included are photographs of his grandfather, who worked at American Bridge, and his father’s memoir, “The Life of Samuel Moore Chase.”  In 2004 94 year-old Sam Chase heard former President Bill Clinton on TV discussing his autobiography, and he decided to do the same. Chase sent a copy to Clinton and received an autographed letter of thanks.  He grew up in the Ambridge neighborhood on the west side in Gary Land Company housing built for American Bridge Company employees.  Chase wrote: 

 We had sand dunes and woods a block from our home.  One day I came home with a beautiful yellow flower for my mother.  It was a cactus!  She spent an hour picking the “prickles” out of my fingers with tweezers! I remember a great toboggan slide at the American bridge Company that had been built for us to use in the winter. My first experience with campaign politics was when R.O. Johnson was running for mayor.  He promised us a new playground if elected; needless to say, he got elected and we never got the playground.

 My mom was great but could be stern. When Paul Cavanaugh and I were 4, we opened the window of my bedroom, climbed out, and got on the porch above. Mom came to the window and said, “Are you having fun, boys?  Better come in now.” When we got in, she gave me a good spanking, the only one that I remember.  Mom played the piano and we’d sing and she’d accompany me on the clarinet. She’d put on plays for us.  She was a great actress.  Every Thursday, Mom would bake bread for the week.  She always made me cinnamon and sugar rolls from her dough.  She was a good mother.

At age 14 Chase saw a sign advertising plane rides for three dollars and took a 15-minute ride.  He recalled: “The pilot sat in the front and I in the back.  When we banked to come in for the landing, I felt safe because I could hold on to the wing above me – what a thrill.”  

Chase was senior class president at Gary Emerson in 1927 when a majority students boycotted classes in reaction to 18 African Americans being transferred to their school.  At a mass meeting Chase voiced opposition to the strike, arguing that ample channels of communication existed for the arbitration of student grievances. Chase recalled “making a speech, sitting on the goal post at the football field; they threw stones at me - I wasn’t very popular.” He was shouted down, and a cry went up for new elections.  The school board caved to the strikers’ demands, and the boycott ended after five days in time for the football season.

Here are happier senior year memories recounted by Sam Chase:

 I started in the band playing drums and switched to clarinet.  We went by train to the state band contest in Indianapolis and won first place.  We had a chartered train with night coaches.  On the Circle in Indianapolis we found a novelty shop and bought all sorts of goodies, such a itching powder and sneezing powder.  We put the sneezing powder in the fans on the coach and the itching powder in Bobby Bucksbaumm’s bunk bed.  That same year, we went to the national contest and were part of a thousand piece band directed by John Philip Sousa in Grant Park in Chicago.  We stayed 3 days and 2 nights on Navy Pier.  We slept on army cots – fun!

 I organized a 15-piece dance band to compete in the annual “Spice and Variety” program.  We won!  Then the Palace Theatre asked us to take the place of Vaudeville for a week.  We did and put some of the other “Spice and Variety” acts in the show – fun!  I was also in a musical trio.  Harrison Ryan played banjo and Louis Snyder and I clarinets.  Our biggest gig was playing Saturday mornings on WLS radio station. We’d take the South Shore line each week for several months.

 One Friday I got caught smoking at an off-campus hang-out.  Principal E.A. Spaulding kicked me out of school.  As it was a weekend, I didn’t tell my parents.  Calling my dad at the office Monday morning when they wouldn’t let me back in school, he said, “You got yourself in this mess, get yourself out.” I did.

 I worked three summers in Hall’s Drug Store.  Clarence Hall, the owner, loved to go to the horse races in Chicago and would leave me in charge.  One day, he told me to change the window display while he was gone.  I did.  When he came back, he was mad. I soon found out why.  I had put milk of magnesia and toilet paper in the same display.

 On graduation day Dad took me to lunch at the Gary Hotel and gave me a beautiful Waltham watch as a gift.  After lunch we offered me a cigarette.  He had never let on that he knew I smoked.  We smoked together for the first time -gee, today I’m a man.

Chase worked at Hall’s that summer and in the fall went to college at IU in Bloomington. With the Great Depression in full force he dropped out after two years and spent the next decade playing in various bands before getting married and settling down to raise a family.

After I posted information on Bill Pelke’s upcoming talk, Patty Butler Jones, who like Bill lives in Anchorage, wrote: “I went to IUN from 1981-1983 and lived at 43rd and Jefferson [in Ruth Pelke’s neighborhood] while I was studying there before transferring to IU South Bend. Wonderful of you to tell your story to the students and faculty in Gary.”  Regarding Paula Cooper taking her own life, Helen Pajama wrote: “Sometimes it’s difficult for prisoners to forgive themselves.  Most are not the same person they were when they went in.  It is a real test for victim survivors to choose forgiveness over rage, or self-pity, while others in society want to kill the offenders. Thanks, Bill, for your voice.”  

Mastery

“The happiness of a man in this life does not consist in the absence but in the mastery of his passions.” Alfred Lord Tennyson

Tom Hallum achieved the rank of Diamond Life Master, having accumulated 500 points over a 40-year competitive bridge career. Longtime partner Joe Chin presented him with two cakes.  In Barbara Walczak’s NewsletterClaire Murvihill declared:“As well as being an awesome player, he is an excellent and enthusiastic teacher. He’d come over to my house and, in exchange for pizza, share his expertise with a bunch of us lower on the ladder. I still find myself repeating some of his axioms, including, ‘Clubs usually take care of themselves.’”  Lynne Kostopoulos noted: “He was so supportive and eager to help me improve my game when we played.  As an opponent, he is always so gracious and pleasant.  He will give advice or an opinion when asked but, otherwise not.” Steve Watson said: “Tom is a fierce competitor who truly enjoys the analytic part of the game.  His deep penetrating analysis extends all the way from the bidding, or lack thereof, of his opponents, to card reading and play, to opponent tendencies, and even to opponent gestures, mannerisms, and past history at the table.”

Tom Rea and I each earned .28 of a masterpoint for registering a 56.25 percent in the Chesterton game.  I hadn’t been partners with Tom before and wish I had two hands over, one where I was too timid in the bidding and the other when I attempted an unnecessary finesse.  Otherwise, we did fine and enjoyed each other’s company.  Tom is a former air force officer, and we discussed the recent Chicago Air Show, in which planes took off from Gary airport.  Jim Carson said he once lay down on an incline near 80/94 and watched jets zoom right over his head.  Director Alan Yngve congratulated Terry Bauer for earning an amazing 24 gold points at a regional tournament in St. Louis.  Partnering with Bill Birk, they finished first in three events, second in a fourth and sixth (of 60 teams) in the “Gold Rush.” Terry reported that his two young grandsons like Hong Kong’s international school. One’s teacher is from Australia, the other’s from Maine.

In Bridge Bulletin Billy Miller lamented that a woman in the early stages of Alzheimer’s whose love of bridge kept her mind and spirit strong couldn’t play on certain days because she had too many masterpoints. “The minute she stopped playing bridge,”Miller asserted, “it was like the light switch in her life was turned off.”  Such red tape has not prevented my former partner Dee Van Bebber from playing in local games even though I’m pretty certain she has earned hundreds of points over the years. Miller concluded: “We need to be more inclusive in times of need.”  I told Dee’s present partner, Dee Browne (Chuck Tomes, who usually brings both, calls them “Dee squared”) that a famous historian shares her name but without the “e,” Dee Brown, author of “Bury My Head at Wounded Knee: An Indian History of the American West” (1970).

Novelist Richard Russo masterfully brings even minor characters to life, witness 70-year-old semi-retired English professor Tom Newhouse in “Horseman.”  Reduced to a single class, his James Joyce seminar, the widower was known for bonhomie and largess with seniors of drinking age. He enters the Hub Pub, a campus hangout wearing a tweed hat over wild white hair and orders two pitchers of beer, one for students engaged in a drinking game and the other which he brings to a booth containing junior faculty Janet Moore and Tony Hope, chagrined that he is joining them.  Squeezing in close to Janet, he says, “You know what I like about you, Moore?”  Tony guesses what she is thinking, her tits, but Newhouse confides, “You’re a good dancer.”  “But you’ve never seen me dance,” she replies. 

Newhouse had recently been forced to attend a sensitivity seminar after an accusation of “inappropriate touching.” Janet, recipient of a bear hug, thinks of him as “the local Mr. Chips, a man who had all he could do not to let alcohol and loneliness undermine his legacy.”  Janet ultimately recognizes an innate generosity, invites him to Thanksgiving dinner, and confesses that she once was a good dancer and celebrated passing prelims by getting on the bar of a biker joint and belting out “Somebody to Love” by Jefferson Airplane.  Russo wrote:

  “That must have been something,”he said.  “I wish that I’d been there.”

  “Yeah, well, you missed it,” she told him.

  “Hey,” he said, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Just because I wasn’t there doesn’t mean I can’t remember it.”

Russo’s “Mr. Chips” reference is to James Hilton’s 1934 novella “Goodbye, Mr. Chips,” about beloved teacher Mr. Chipping, based on the author's personal experiences at a British boarding school.  The story has been adapted in films, musicals, and radio and television series.  Peter O’Toole played Mr. Chips both in a 1969 movie and on stage.

from Horace Mann 1970 yearbook; above Thespian Club members (Bernie Konrady front, middle); below, senior varsity swimmers Randy Weiss, Jeff Landsman, Len Predawn, Rich Flora, Bernie Konrad

I interviewed Bernie Konrady at the Archives, and then, having bonded, we continued our conversation at Ivy’s Bohemia House in Chesterton.  Born in 1952, Bernie grew up on Gary’s northside and attended Holy Angels through eighth grade. An older sister of Valpo mayor Jon Costas was his first crush. On Horace Mann’s varsity swim team for four years, he graduated in 1970 when, fleetingly, the school was fully integrated.  Proud to have grown up in the “Steel City,” Bernie said he wouldn’t trade those days for anything.  Those were halcyon times indeed in the city’s evolution; too bad they didn’t last.  Whites began moving away.  While Bernie was at the University of Northern Colorado on a swim scholarship, the neighborhood became rough.  Somebody shot their dog.  A rock crashed through a window - the final straws for the elder Konradys.

Sixty-five years earlier, Bernie’s grandfather Andrew Konrady came to pioneer Gary to work in the mill    and shared a bed in a Slovak boarding house run by a woman whose daughter Julia he married.  Andrew and John started Konrady Brothers Coal Company with funds provided by Julia’s mother. Julia kept the books.  Bernie credited his family legacy, beginning with his great-grandmother, for entrepreneurial skills that served him well in life.  During the late 1980s, Bernie started Konrady Plastics on Arthur Street in Gary with wife Sue keeping the books and acting as office manager. When he sought to expand the business on property in Portage Mayor Sammi Maletta told city officials that he’d known Konrady since he was a kid and vouched for him. Daughter Leah Konrady is CEO of One Region, Bernie invited Toni and me to the organization’s annual luncheon.

One Region CEO Leah Konrady

Konrady was particularly proud of the role his father Bernard Konrady played while a state senator in the early development of IUN’s med school. Responding to my inquiry, Health and Human Services dean Pat Bankson wrote:

  [Philip] Bainbridge and [Bernard] Konrady were trying to establish a med school in NW Indiana. The state responded by establishing a statewide multi-campus system in 1972. Legislators established the Lake County Medical Center Development Agency whose board levied a tax on hotel/motel rooms to support the new branch campus as well as nursing programs at Purdue Cal and Allied Health programs at IUN.  The legislation was changed more than a decade ago to direct the tax to support tourism, with a capped amount going to all the programs it had supported before, long after Konrady and Bainbridge had passed on.  I met Bernie but not Phil when I came to campus in 1978. The program up to 2013 was a two-year program, not premed, just the preclinical years, so students would go to indy after us for their last two years.  Under my leadership we added years 3 and 4 of med school. So yes, they helped establish a well-functioning and stellar med school branch.  The tax still exists and supports ours and other health related programs in NW Indiana. We owe the legislators a debt of gratitude for their foresight and making our campus a jewel in the crown of the IUSM system.

Trump said on Fox and Friends,“If I was impeached, the markets would crash and everyone would be poor.” Ray Smock sneered, “He must think the entire economy revolves around him. And how does he explain the amount of poverty in America even with a thriving stock market?” Scott Walsh piped in: “Trump knows nothing about history, but apparently he thinks of himself as a latter-day Louis the 14th. 'I am the state.'”

The “Final Jeopardy” category being “U.S. Historic Sites,” contestants were asked to identify one dedicated in 1864 whose motto is “Our Most Sacred Shrine.” Answer: Arlington National Cemetery. None knew it.  Guesses included Gettysburg Cemetery, the Lincoln Memorial, and the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.  Sad.  I frequently visited those hallowed grounds while working summers at Boys Village of Maryland during the late 1960s, the reason, I assume, to impress the incarcerated teens.

For a class assignment street-smart Aaron Wiley, an aspiring teacher, wrote about his family background, present situation, hopes for the future, and an unforgettable character, “Old Man Johnson”:

  At one time I wanted to be a police officer - something many children aspire to. I do not like school, never did and still do not. Putting my brain into overdrive is taxing and tiresome.  What keeps me going is the payoff.   I attended Ball State for a few semesters but after switching majors a few times realized I was costing my mom too much money so last summer I decided to attend IUN.  I’m an Education major because helping children is something I am passionate about.  I’m from the inner city of Chicago and know how children can easily be influenced. I want to reach them before they are sucked into a lifestyle of making quick money through selling drugs or robbing people.  My mother, Yolanda, a Chicagoan, was an Illinois hearing officer until she retired in 2005 as a result of her father passing, which really took a toll on her.  Certain songs would remind her of him and she’d start crying.  My father, Joseph, is from Gary. He worked for the Post-Tribuneand now is a landscaper, cutting  grass in the summer and plowing  snow in the winter.  My dad has ulcers in his legs, which hampers his ability to walk.  A stroke has affected his brain. He has a hard time gathering his thoughts.   My mom is the middle child. She had a younger sister who passed away at a young age and an older sister Jay.  My dad, on the other hand, has nine sisters and a twin brother, all with children. His family is so big I do not know all the names. I am closer to my mom's side. I am also a middle child, sandwiched between younger brother Brandon and Terrance, who has a different father, is 14 years older than me, and lives in California. Brandon is a hospital cook and lives in Indianapolis.  

  My uncle passed away last year after a four-year battle with cancer.  He was a constant presence in my life, taking care of my brother and me while my mom worked.  He took and picked us up from school, and planned excursions, letting us experience Chicago from many different points of view. My uncle fought through his health problems as best he could and put on a brave face to the world. Although he never complained, it was obvious that he was slowly withering away. It got to the point where he was hospitalized.  Over the summer I  had bought tickets for us to see the Bulls play the Celtics. In the hospital he insisted that he’d still be able to go.  When it became necessary to insert a ventilator tube down his throat, my uncle demanded that it be removed.  After consulting his brothers and sisters, my mom, who had power of attorney, granted his wish. He stayed alive only for a few hours.  Near the end he gave me a fist bump.  I wept, knowing what it meant. 

  I began substitute teaching at the Lighthouse Academy in Highland.  My first-graders were getting out of their seats, asking me all types of questions, messing with one another, and challenging my authority. The teacher’s assistants helped in a major way because I literally had no control over the students.  At the end of the day, I sat in my car for ten minutes contemplating if I really wanted to be a teacher.

  I attended the Saint Patrick’s Day parade in Chicago, first time that I can recall. People were wearing all types of green clothing.  I arrived about an hour early and noticed many college students in the crowd.  When the parade started, before long, I was paying more attention to them acting wild than the boring parade I could’ve seen on TV.  Some were climbing trees while others threw plastic water bottles at them.  The experience reminded me of a basketball game, better in person than on TV.         

    Former postal worker Mr. Johnson is like the great-grandfather I never had. I can count on him to make me laugh and raise my spirits. A former army staff sergeant originally from Alabama, he relocated to Chicago because his sister was there.  He married three times but has no children. My grandma lives in his building, and they developed a friendship.  A few years ago, Mr. Johnson fell and she took him to the hospital before rehabbing in a nursing home. He  hated it there, so my grandma brought him home.  His legs and arms were stiff and he became wheelchair-bound.  I became one of his caregivers.  He could still move his legs but he did not possess the strength to walk. He could write and eat but his fingers were permanently in one position due to arthritis.  In a way, “Old Man Johnson” was like an adult baby; he could do some things for himself but needed somebody to wash him, brush his teeth, fix his food, and other things. He was cognitively sharp and used to doing things on a schedule (army background). During the week he went to a daycare center for adults. I had to get up at 4:30 a.m. to get him ready.   We often talked sports. He loved boxing, football (especially the Packers), and baseball. Although basketball was not his favorite sport he did have a favorite player, Magic Johnson. He knew my love for basketball and being inquisitive, would have me break down what was going on. To sum up, Mr. Johnson has had a profound impact on my life.  I admire his easy-going manner and positive outlook.  Though 94 years old, his memory is sharp, and I love hearing stories from his childhood. 

above, Celia Sanchez; below Ryan Henry

Celia Sanchez’s 2017 journal highlights include getting a tattoo on her left bicep based on an album cover by The Used from Chicago master artist Ryan Henry:

  January 9:At 4:30 a.m. I got a wakeup call from my boyfriend since work begins at 6. I am a Human Resources team member at Target in Highland. On weekends I help my dad at at Swap O Rama Flea Market, but this weekend will be going to Nashville to see Avenged Sevenfold, one of my favorite bands – a Christmas present from my boyfriend. 

  January 10:At work, I finished my portion of the front end of the store – beauty and electronics - and helped a coworker with the rest of the sales floor by 9:30.  I took a different route to IUN due to power cables on the highway. The side streets got me to campus almost as quickly. 

  January 11:My A&P (Anatomy and Physiology) lab instructor is my friend’s mother. I work with both of her daughters at the Highland Target. All three are very nice.  After class I rushed home to pack for Nashville and picked up snacks for the 7-hour drive. I went to bed a little after midnight. 

  January 12:My boyfriend did all the driving to Nashville while I studied and caught up on much-needed sleep. Snow came down hard. Right outside of Nashville; there was a bad accident, closing the expressway and causing an hour delay.  Candlewood Suites was very nice and about a 10-minute drive from downtown. At Bridgestone Stadium we saw amazing performances by Avenged Sevenfold, Breaking Benjamin, and Bullet for my Valentine. 

  January 13:  We slept in most of the day.  We have pretty crazy schedules so sleep is precious to us. We even cancelled plans to go bar-hopping that night. 

  January 14:  Since we had a room with a kitchen, we bought breakfast food and snacks for late-night cravings.

  January 15:We were out on the road by 9 a.m. Once again, it was snowing, even heavier as we neared home. We stopped at a sit-down restaurant and I got home around 8 p.m. surprised to see that my family was having a movie night so I joined them. 

  January 16:  After work I rushed home to change my insulin pump, and then set off for IUN. I finally looked at my phone 15 minutes away from campus and discovered class was cancelled. 

  January 19:Finally, at last, TGIF (Thank God, Its Friday)! It’s also pay day, and I’m off work.  My big plan was to go to Chicago for a tattoo appointment! This will be my third and I’m extremely excited, but a bit nervous. Ryan, my tattoo artist, has done excellent art work before on my foot/ankle/leg, so I was looking forward to seeing what he has in store for me! He presented me what he drew up and I absolutely loved it! It never seeks to amaze me with how he puts his own twist on ideas I give him. My tattoo is inspired by an album cover design by my all-time favorite band, The Used. A red heart is hanging by a noose from a dead tree branch, with the words In Love and Death. This will be my first color tattoo. 

  January 20:  It was very hard and bothersome to sleep because the tattoo was on my inner left bicep. As much as I wanted to roll around and wrap my arms around my blanket, I couldn’t. It’s an open wound and I am a Type 1 diabetic susceptible to infection! I was diagnosed April 13, 2017, two months before my 17^thbirthday! I arrived at the emergency room with a blood sugar of 740, a number that can be deadly. The doctors told me if I’d waited another day, I would have been dead or in a coma! I do what I need to do every day to keep myself healthy and alive!

  January 21:Sunday fun day at Swap O Rama! I am a vendor with my father and brother. We started almost 6 years ago. There’s good and bad days. We sell tire shine and car air fresheners. This Sunday was slow. 

  January 22:  My blood sugar is pretty high. I swear its becoming harder and harder to wake up mornings. I need to get to bed sooner, but I don’t get home until around 8 and have to eat dinner.

  January 26:My tattoo is healing nicely. I’ve gotten so may compliments on it. I spent the evening with my boyfriend. It’s hard for us to find time to see each other, especially when he works nights. 

   January 28:You may wonder why a Radiological major is taking a history class. Well, it is an elective. I am the only Radiological major in the class. 

  January 30:  I hate changing my insulin pump at work. 

  February 1:By the time I came into work, the schedule was done. All I had to do was go over Rule Violations and distribute hours between work centers and team members. I left work at noon in order to get to my lab in time. Like every Thursday, I’m eating lunch outside the classroom. I barely have time some days. My lab instructor is aware of my diabetic condition and tells me to come in when I’m ready.

  February 2:I needed to be in Chicago by 8 a.m. for a doctor’s appointment. My boyfriend came with me after a long overnight shift. I usually go by myself, but it is nice that he made the effort. I was so nervous waiting for my results. The doctor said the readings were nearly perfect and I was her prized patient. I always do what she asks, unlike many diabetics.  Then it was on to my second appointment. The ladies at the front desk were mean and very short with me. A nurse asked me to explain why I was coming in and then cut me off to say that’s something I should be telling the doctor. Finally, the doctor, who seemed in a rush, checked some vitals, asked a few questions, and basically cleared me in a matter of 10 minutes. I think I’ll transfer to the University of Chicago Hospital, where I have amazing doctors who treat their patients with care and kindness. There has not been a single visit where I felt uncomfortable, even with a new doctor.

  February 5:  I was stressing all day and trying to study in between breaks at work for my first A & P exam. I’ve had test anxiety before but not this intense. Even after it was over, my chest felt really heavy and it was hard to breathe and swallow. I still had my statistics class, and then it took an hour to get home because of all the snow. I almost crashed exiting the expressway. 

  February 6:My boyfriend took my car in for new wipers and a wash. Then we went out for my lunch break. That was the highlight of my day. It was nice to see him so early in the week. 

  February 9:My boyfriend and I slept for a bit with our puppy and then went out for lunch. Back home, I focused on cleaning and reorganizing my room, usually neglected throughout the week. It doesn’t get trashed, but things need to be put in their place.

February 14:For Valentine’s Day we had reservations in downtown Chicago at Steak 48. The New York Strip is AMAZING! After that lovely dinner, we spent the night in the city and had a wonderful breakfast. 

  March 14: With Spring Break at hand  I left for Miami with my boyfriend!  I seriously need this. This will be our second trip together, and unlike Nashville, we are taking a plane. 

  March 15: We visited Bayside Market Place, a big outdoor mall. We got food and drinks and sat on the pier. People on boats were partying, and a band was performing. I suddenly spotted Ruben from back home! We said, “hi” and marveled at running into each other. We then spent the day shopping.  We also had to go visit Target, because we both work there so why not!

 March 16:It was a great day but the water was freezing. We only dipped our feet it. It was more relaxing to just lay out on the beach. We walked through a block featuring foods from around the world.  Music was playing, lights were over the trees above us, and there was a huge chandelier at the end of the block. Which I still wonder how that got that to hang up above the trees. 

  March 17:Happy St. Patrick’s Day!  We explored around our hotel and went to a different outside mall, a bit smaller but with the same types of shops.  Happy hour started at 4, an hour earlier than back home.  There were a bunch of street performers that got everyone involved in a funny skit that about all races getting along. 

  March 18:Back home in time for sister Rose’s seventeenth birthday party.  We arrived bearing gifts so everyone was happy. I slept soundly.

Celia Sanchez with Daniel Nelson

Sparky

“Far and wide as the eye can wander,

Heath and bog are everywhere,

Not a bird sings out to cheer us,

Oaks are standing, gaunt and bare.”

    “Peat Bog Soldiers,” Johann Esser and Wolfgang Langhoff

 Lane and Cohen

Thanks to a chapter by Ron Cohen from a forthcoming book on folk music during the 1930s, I became familiar with the antiwar anthem “Peat Bog Soldiers.”  Written in 1933 by prisoners in Börgenmoor, a Nazi camp holding a thousand Socialist and Communist internees, the song became popular during the Spanish Civil War.  Cohen also wrote about Aunt Molly Jackson, a Harlan County, Kentucky, midwife who sang about the desperate living conditions of coal mining families and later in “My Disgusted Blues” about poverty in New York City.  Then there was blind Emma Dusenbury, recorded by John Lomax, who lived in a log cabin in Arkansas and knew by heart hundreds of old Anglo-American ballads.  One called “Abraham’s Proclamation” ridiculed Lincoln’s freeing of slaves during the Civil War.

above, Aunt Molly Jackson; below, Emma Dusenbury, right

Ron Cohen gave himself the nickname “Sparky” when he hosted a folk music show at the Gary Career Center’s radio station.  Although he sometimes drives me crazy (Steve McShane looks upon us as like an old married couple), he’s been a faithful friend for 44 years since we started as young History professors at IUN on the very same day. An inveterate gossip, he’ll throw out an obscure name, pause, and ask, “You know who I’m talking about?”  However I answer, I’m in for a long story.  He also keeps me informed about mutual friends and acquaintances, such as folklore legend Izzy Young, historians Ray Mohl and Roberta Wollons, and former IUN athletic director Linda Anderson, as well as leftwing activists Jack Weinberg and Ruth Needleman.  Ron still attends scholarly conferences and chats with my fellow Marylanders David Goldfield and Donald Ritchie.

above, Izzy Young; below, Steve McShane

Ron and I both began researching Gary’s history soon after we arrived at IUN, in his case the school system under progressive educator William A. Wirt.  We did a pictorial history of Gary together, and he came up with the idea for the two accomplishments I’m most proud of academically, the Calumet Regional Archives and Steel Shavings magazine.  He is an enthusiastic reader and occasional fact checker of my blog.  With the exception of Stever, he is the one colleague who was 100 percent behind me in my support of Anne Balay’s case for tenure and promotion.  Ron continues to light fires under me, prodding me in my research and passing on reading material he’s done with, including Rick Perlstein’s “The Invisible Bridge: The Fall of Nixon and the Rise of Reagan.”

“The Invisible Bridge” opens in January 1973, with POWs from North Vietnam’s “Hanoi Hilton” returning in what president Nixon hoped would be a moment of national unity if orchestrated properly.  On the other hand, treating the POWS, most of whom were pilots, as national heroes didn’t sit well with common soldiers often shunned upon their return from war or the families of the 55,000 casualties whose remains came back in body bags, sometimes containing drugs others were smuggling into the U.S.

Great efforts went into covering up the friction among the prisoners or between reunited husbands and wives, many who had gotten on with their lives in the many years since losing their husbands.  At Balboa Naval Hospital, one wife later recalled, “it was like the Spanish Inquisition.  Everyone asked how the wives had behaved.  I could hear beatings in some rooms.  A lot of women had been swinging.”  Alice Cronin explained that the social landscape had undergone a sea change between 1968 and 1973: “Mike married a very traditional wife.  Now my ideas and values have changed.  Cronin expressed the hope that Mike could accept the “shifting sexual mores, the whole thing about relationships not necessarily being wrong outside of marriage.  I know myself really well sexually, and he’s missed out on a good deal of that.”

Some POWs went with the flow of the times.  After his feminist wife divorced him, Galand Kramer invited his new girlfriend, Playboy centerfold Miki Garcia to a White House dinner party.  He first saw the body of Miss January 1973 among the stacks of magazine medical officers from Clark Air Base in the Philippines had left on the plane back to the United States.  Perlstein described the photo that caught Kramer’s attention, displaying “a diaphanously backlit halo of hair, glistening lips, extravagant eyelashes, and green glass beads playing peekaboo with [Garcia’s] ample left breast – and also a patch of pubic hair, an innovation Playboy had introduced one year earlier to compete with raunchier upstart Penthouse, to the delight of the surprised POWs.”

Arriving at Sparky’s house in Miller despite construction along County Line Road and Oak Avenue, we gossiped about the reaction to Mark Hoyer’s clever Faculty Org introduction of new Arts and Sciences faculty and the airing of Frederic Cousseau and Blandine Huk’s “My Name Is Gary” excerpt.   I admired the side yard that is Nancy’s pride and joy and picked up the liberal publications New York Review of Books and The Nation, as well as a copy of Rock Music Studies.  Ron is on the journal’s editorial board (listed next to the musician Marshall Crenshaw).  After writing two books on Gary schools, Ron gravitated into studying postwar leftwing politics and the history of American folk music, leading to books on Woody Guthrie, Pete Seeger, and other members of the Almanac Singers.

In the October 2014 issue of Rock Music Studies are articles on the Beatles, album covers, Joy Division, Pussy Riot, and Southern Rock, but I preferred the book reviews.  One publication examining the lyrics of Don McLean’s “American Pie” asserts that “The Levee” was the nickname for a popular bar in McLean’s hometown of New Rochelle, New York.  The neighboring town was Rye; hence the line, “them old boys were drinking whiskey in Rye,” which many mistake for, “them good old boys were drinking whiskey and rye.”  Speculation continues about who were the “Father, Son, and Holy Ghost” who “caught the last train for the coast, the day the music died.”  While I continue to think the reference is to Buddy Holly, Big Bopper, and Ritchie Valens, Ray Shuck, believing “American Pie” is a tribute to folk music, speculates that the trio were Ramblin’ Jack Elliott, Pete Seeger, and Woody Guthrie - quite a stretch, to say the least.

above, Nancy Mangini; below, Pat Bankston

I chatted in IUN’s Little Redhawk Café with Pat Bankston about death and old age.  He was mourning the passing of Anatomy and Cell Biology professor Nancy Mangini; I described Happy Hour at Mirage Inn, my mother’s assisted living residence, and that a 101 year-old lady goes unassisted (except for a walker) to an Indiana casino every Friday.   Chuck Gallmeier and Tanice Foltz dropped by.  Tanice gave me a big hug, and I expressed delight at a chance to hug a good friend before turning and embracing Chuck.  Tanice is a good sport and laughed.

Fred McColly, checking out the IUN community garden, gave me two bell peppers and a half-dozen green beans.  Referring to a recent blog reference of mine, Fred informed me that President U,S. Grant nominated New York Senator Roscoe Conkling to be on the Supreme Court as a way to get the Stalwart leader out of his hair, but Conkling refused to accept the position and remained in the Senate.

I considered seeing “The Equalizer” because it stars Denzel Washington (with a shaved head) but heard it was very bloody.  I settled for “This Is Where I Leave You,” which deserved its bad reviews (given the lame poop and boob and boner jokes). I enjoyed Jason Bateman, Tina Fey, and especially Adam Driver from “Girls” as the wild kid brother. “Hanoi Jane” Fonda plays a narcissistic Jewish mother as broad comedy; Meryl Streep would have been a much better choice to personify a character type that deserves a certain respect.  The only two sympathetic characters, brain damaged old flames who never left home, had minor, undeveloped roles.  The best scene was a smoke-out with the three brothers after Jason finds two joints in his dead father’s coat.  The old man had intimacy problems; rather than hug or kiss his sons, the closest he’d come was touching foreheads.  At the end Jason touches foreheads with Adam, causing the younger brother to ask whether he was being ironic or sincere.

At Camelot Lanes to watch James bowl, Wednesday night rival Anthony Forbes asked if I’d be a sub in a Friday league.  I demurred, saying it took my hamstrings and knee at least a week to recover from a three-game series.  Dave left early to play a round of golf with Phil, down from Michigan.  That evening Dave’s family dropped in for games.  James won the dice game Perudo the first time he ever played.  Checking in on Sparky Cohen, I called while he was visiting with John Laue, a former Edgewater neighbor back for the weekend from California because of his fiftieth (Portage) high school reunion.  I suggested he write about it and send me a full report.