Flamingo Pizza

Got an email from old student Rick Dawson, who enjoyed “cherry picking” my journal. I recall when my sons player soccer, cherry picker was pejorative for one who didn’t play defense and instead hung out near the opponent’s goal hoping to get an easy score. It is also a type of aerial work platform attached to a crane and often shaped like a basket that was originally designed and still used in fruit orchards. Parenthetically, as an adjective “cherry” can mean inexperienced (i.e., a virgin) or like new (a cherry car being one in mint condition). Rick saw that I had done a Shavings issue about Vietnam vets from the Calumet Region (“Brothers in Arms”) and revealed that he had served in the First Infantry in Vietnam but does not like to read novels or see movies about the war. He mentioned that while staying with Geoff Ryan in Miller he ate at Flamingo’s three times and especially enjoyed the fried perch sandwich. “I would have eaten there four times,” he added, “but they would not allow my eight year-old granddaughter to come in.” I emailed back: “Great to hear from you. Please email me in advance before your next foray (a favorite Jean Shepherd word) into the Region. Back in the 1970s I spent many happy hours attending Geoff Ryan’s deck jams – they were both loud and mellow. I lost touch with him – that’s the way life is - until I phoned him to get your address. Flamingo’s is a great success story, and the management does numerous special things, such as outside barbecues, that have cemented patron loyalty. Their pot roast dinner special on Thursdays for $8.95 is enough for two with meat left over. Glad you are glancing through the journal.” Flamingo’s started as a pizza joint with a smoky bar on the east side but has expanded considerably and even has a wing, I believe, where kids can be seated.

I emailed Aaron Pigors and Tome Trajkovski thanking them for all their camera work at the FACET retreat. Offered to send Gerald Powers a copy of my retirement journal (Shavings, volume 40) since he mentioned during his “Uncle Edgar” talk how liberating it was to write in the first person in a scholarly setting. I thanked FACET staff members Kim and Ali for their help and resisted the temptation to say something about the silver streak in Ali’s hair that I found very attractive or Kim’s lactating breasts (she had a nursing baby with her, and when Tome went to pin a microphone on her, she joked, “I’m lactating”). At lunch I told Bill Dorin and Jim Tolhuizen that I had gotten to know Psychology professor Karl Nelson at the retreat. He had a big booming, infectious laugh. He’s friends with Jerry Pierce, who teaches medieval history and writes about historical films such as “The 300” and Oliver Stone’s “Alexander.” I saw both of them. Joining us at our lunch table was geologist Kristin Huysken, who plays in a bluegrass group and was on her way to a student field trip to the Paul Douglas Center at the Indiana dunes in Gary.

After torrential rain and tornado warnings greeted us in French Lick, these past three days the temperature has been in the nineties. At IU Northwest coeds have stripped down considerably – plenty of bare midriffs and décolleté. That hardly ever distracted me in class although this one student had a tattoo positioned right above her ass and would wear short shorts that revealed some of it. My interest in it was more curiosity than prurience, and I wondered whether she got it at Roy Boy’s, nearby Glen Park’s oldest business establishment, that Cher and Greg Allman once frequented.

I had mentioned to Suzanne that going to French Lick with Phil evoked memories of when we went to Rio de Janeiro together 12 years ago. She asked what Rio had been like and I responded: “The beaches are fantastic and there is a rain forest within the city limits. I’d go back in a minute although some neighborhoods are unsafe and to be avoided by Americans. We were there at the time of the World Cup in soccer and a young historian attending the International Oral History Association conference invited us to a party that coincided with a game the Brazilian team was playing. There was dancing in the street and wild jubilation whenever their compadres scored. The American Embassy hosted a party for conference attendees where dancing and other festivities went on late into the night. At the Universidade do Brasil were life size busts of retired distinguished faculty. The only evidence of my 38-year tenure at IU Northwest is a framed collage.” Other Rio highlights included a steakhouse buffet where waiters brought a dozen cuts of meat to our table and a stage show where beautiful women wearing erotic – make that exotic - carnival outfits danced and posed with us.

French Lick

Last Thursday I talked to about 60 members of the Duneland Historical Society in Chesterton about Steel Shavings magazine, in particular the “Age of Anxiety” issue covering the years 1945-1953. Actually I got them to do much of the talking. I enlisted 16 volunteers for the purpose of reading excerpts from student interviews plus ones I did. It went great; everyone was loud enough and emoted. Readers got a free copy of volume 34 for being participants. Some passages got lots of laughs, and others were quite moving. The first few described the elation and celebratory mood when WW II ended, but most dealt with “the uncertainty of everyday life,” a phrase I used to describe the 1980s as well. I ended with someone reading political prisoner Katherine Hyndman’s reaction to an obit for Willa Mae, a cellmate of hers who became a prostitute to support her family and took dope because, in Katherine words, it “made it easier for her to live the life thrust upon her.” It is so touching I could not read it in class without tearing up. When Katherine was first in Crown Point jail, Willa Mae protected her against someone who called her a communist rat. In a moving letter to a comrade Katherine wondered if anyone besides herself wept for her, then added: “How many more Willa Maes are there in this rich country? Who cares about them? To the solid law-abiding citizens it was just one more sinner put into the earth, six feet down. Dear Willa Mae, I wish you could somehow know that I will never forget you. Rest in peace, dear child, you knew so little of it in life.” I took a half-dozen books with me to Chesterton Library Center and could have easily sold at least a dozen more. One participant noticed an article about her uncle Harold Petit, who delivered milk door to door when he moved back to Crown Point from California in 1951. Son Jack was wrote about him for my class.

Phil had arrived from Michigan by the time I got home, and the next day father and son traveled to French Lick Resort and Casino for the FACET retreat. The initials stand for Faculty Colloquium on Excellence in Teaching. Director David Malik, who got me to start an oral history project for the organization in return for buying me a new 27-inch, state-of-the-art MAC computer, paid for our room and my meals. On Saturday I interviewed 18 people in the Fairbanks Room (Hoosier Charles Fairbanks was Teddy Roosevelt’s vice prersident) with the help of Instructional Media technicians Tome Trajkovski and Aaron Pigors. Psychologist Bernard Carducci, whose specialty is working with shy people, had given the keynote address the evening before, dressed to the nines. He made several references to an author that sounded like quarterback Carson Palmer. It turned out the name was Parker Palmer, who has written a book called “The Courage to Teach.” Carducci showed up for the interview in shorts and a t-shirt and was just charming, the kind of guy you could spend hours with. We bonded. The day before he had on this classy pair of shoes. I told him I had been impressed, and he smiled and admitted that he had seen them at a used clothes store and had been delighted to find that they fit. Phil, a two-time Michigan EMMY winner for documentaries, attended five sessions and got some great footage of people doing interactive things. Since FACET is an organization that honors excellent teachers, session leaders pushed participants to get out of their comfort zone and try new things by seeing themselves in the eyes of students. One called “Art in the Dark” had professors doing various things as alternatives to simply sitting in a dark room listening to the instructor drone on and on about famous works of art, as happened in most art history classes.

It was my first visit to French Lick. I was supposed to go there for a conference on boxer Joe Louis and had written a piece on Louis’s Gary connections, but the entire conference was cancelled at the last minute. We stayed at a magnificent hotel that was originally built in 1901, when people believed the nearby mineral springs had curative powers. “Lick” means stream or creek, and two centuries ago the salt licks in the area were “harvested” because it was so valued as a meat preservative. One of the first salt companies was founded either by a Frenchman or a person named French. Hoosier basketball legend Larry Byrd was from French Lick, a name that sounds like a deviant oral sex act. FACET participants got tickets with their meal vouchers promising five dollars credit and a “Free Spin” at the casino. The big wheel listed various prizes, and I won a t-shirt. Phil spun and won 50 dollars cash! We both played a poker slot machine. I quickly lost my five dollars, but Phil ended up winning $5.45. At a computer-controlled roulette wheel people made bets on a computer screen in front of them. Minimum bet was two dollars a spin, but you could break it up into 25-cent increments. Phil won 20 dollars, using a strategy of using half his bet on red or black and the rest either on individual numbers or four corners. Phil also found time to swim and take a shuttle to a sister hotel in nearby West Baden that once had the largest dome in the world.

The final FACET plenary session featured Gerald Powers talking about what he referred to as “turn around mentors.” He related that when he was in second grade he hated school. An embarrassingly poor reader, he’d get rapped on the hand by a nun (Gerald labeled her Sister Euthanasia) because he couldn’t spell even the simplest words. He had an Uncle Edgar who turned his life around by various ingenious methods of positive re-enforcement. We broke up into small groups to talk about other people’s “Uncle Edgars” and I found myself, much to my delight, at Powers’ table. He’s a sentimental guy from Pennsylvania coal country (Pottsville), and said he left out several anecdotes about Uncle Edgar because he knew he’d break down. He had published a chapter about Uncle Edgar in a social work textbook and used this quotation from Confucius: “Our greatest glory is not in never falling but in rising each time we fall.” I mentioned how important historian William Harbaugh was in getting me to learn rather than just memorize for grades. Entering his class on diplomatic history at Bucknell, I was a Republican bent on becoming a lawyer. Thanks to him, I acquired a passion for history and a compassion for have-nots. I talked about hitchhiking to Lewisburg, PA, before quitting law school to seek his advice about becoming a historian and how 20 years later I heard him speak at a history conference and he had the same fire in the belly. We had a drink together, and I started sending him my latest Steel Shavings magazine, which he always read and commented on until one year a note came from his wife, saying that “Bill would have loved the issue but, alas, he passed away recently.” A woman at our table talked about coming from Greece as a child and how a teacher had been her turn-around mentor. Close to tears, she said she wished she knew how to get in touch with her to thank her.

The French Lick Resort buffet meals were tremendous. More than once I feasted on salad, cole slaw, mashed potatoes and gravy, rare roast beef au jus, and an ice cream sundae for dessert. At the final Sunday lunch, Chuck Gallmeier steered us to a table where, lo and behold, there to my direct right was Gerald Powers. I mentioned that I had been interviewing Sheriff Roy Dominguez and that he had an “Uncle Edgar.” When his family moved to Gary from Texas, he didn’t know English as well as some students and was pretty shy until a caring teacher put him on the safety patrol and encouraged him to go out for basketball. Powers said he recalled the badge he wore on safety patrol and how proud he was when he was promoted to lieutenant. Also at the table was outgoing FACET director David Malik, who told everyone about the computer he bought for me, which was better than his, and chuckled when I told him that one person I interviewed described his leadership style as akin to throwing a pebble into a pond and watching the waves expand outward. Charming yet dogged, he knows how to get his way when he wants something done.

Phil and I had plenty of time to talk on the way home with CDs by MGMT and Abba playing in the background. Home in time to catch the end of the Blackhawks hockey game, completing a sweep of the San José Sharks. When Chicago scored their final goal, over the public address system came the opening instrumental part from the Fratellis’ song “Chelsea Dagger.” As the two teams shook hands, the crowd sang a fight song that began, “Here come the Hawks, the mighty Blackhawks.” The Flyers are leading their series with Montreal 3-1, and it would be unbelievable if they could make it into the Stanley Cup finals. They last won it all in 1975, and Chicago hasn’t won since 1961. Bobby Hull and Stan Mikita were smiling down from their box when the clinching empty net goal went in with less than a minute left. An email greeted me this morning from childhood friend Terry Jenkins, starting out, “Go Flyers.” I also received an email from Suzanne, who has become fascinated with the ideas of mathematician John F. Nash, portrayed by Russell Crowe in the 2001 movie “A Beautiful Mind.” A genius but a paranoid schizophrenic suffering from delusions at various times in his life, he pioneered in the field of game theory and is most famous for something called the Nash Equilibrium.

In the news: the BP oil spill is worse than anyone thought and reaching land, threatening wildlife and the livelihood of tens of thousands. The federal government is in a Catch-22 situation, frustrated at the failure of BP’s attempts to stop the oil flow but without the expertise to take over operations. Obviously, it is the government’s fault for not having forced the offshore drillers to have fail safe plans, but it’s the Bush administration that deserves most of the blame for being in bed with the corporations. In fact, both Bush and Cheney have backgrounds in the oil business.

Dissatisfied with the movie “Robin Hood,” I moved over to an adjoining theater and caught “Letters to Juliet” – schmaltzy but worth seeing. Vanessa Redgrave is great as a woman who sought out an old boyfriend a half-century after their romance. In real life she’s married to Franco Nero, who played her long-lost lover. Riding in to her life on horseback at his wine vineyard, he later toasted her by saying something to the effect that he started that day as an old man and turned into a teenager. Redgrave is very subtle in having her character seem old and vulnerable one moment and vibrant and strong the next. There’s a very tender scene where she’s brushing the hair of the younger woman who’s helping her find her lover to show her appreciation and affection.

Wacky Mode

Found an article about novelist Padgett Powell in a three-week old issue of the New York Times Sunday magazine that I had brought home so Toni could do the crossword puzzle. Powell wrote a critically acclaimed novel in 1984 called “Edisto” and then not much since then except a few short stories. In one called “Mrs. Hollinsworth’s Men” he writes” “Her husband is indistinct.” What a sad thing to say about anyone. I have many character flaws but am not indistinct. Of someone else Powell said, “I think he’s dead but still talking.” Equally sad. How many people do we know who fit that description.

Powell just published a novel called “The Interrogative Mood” that mainly consists of one person asking a second person a series of questions about love and loneliness. Author Dan Halpern mentions that Powell studied under Donald Barthelme, who asked creative writing students: “We have wacky mode. What must wacky mode do?” The rest of the class sat silent, stumped, but Powell answered, “Break their hearts?” I think that means, “Really get through to someone emotionally.” I guess that is a worthy goal for a novelist, or, for that matter, me as editor of Steel Shavings magazine.

Also in NYT magazine: an essay about a guy’s 63 year-old mother going out on an Internet date and wondering how soon to accept a kiss, etc., etc. Someone my age must really be lonely or horny to subject oneself to that.

Met with English professor Anne Balay and one of her students about a project we are going to do together involving the interviewing of gay and lesbian steelworkers. Anne had to go through numerous hoops to win the approval of the campus Human Subjects Committee, but things are a go. All we need now are subjects to interview. Anne wants me to start the ball rolling by interviewing a gay guy who is willing. I’m not supposed to know his name and he will contact me. Anne and I got a demonstration from Tome Trajkovski in Information Technology on various digital recorder models and how to use them. My huge old-fashioned reel-to-reel tape recorder is on its last legs – it’s time to join the twentieth-first century.

One of the questions Anne submitted for approval by Human Subjects was, “Are you a gold card?” I asked her what that meant and it’s slang for “never have had sex with someone of the opposite sex.” Though a lesbian, she has two teenage daughters so obviously isn’t a “gold card” herself. In my retirement journal I wrote about attending an Arts and Sciences Research Conference session where Anne spoke on fantasy fiction “Tough Girls and commented: “With her manly shirt and tie, she looked fetching and sexy in a butch sort of way. The English Department website lists her fields as Women’s, children’s and queer literature. She worked five years at the “Foreign Car Hospital” and proudly wears her mechanic’s shirt around campus. Hope to get to know her better.” Last week I gave her volume 40 with some trepidation and was pleased that she was fine with my description of her. Since I wrote that, she has let her hair go from red to its natural grey and looks twice as cool as before.

In my “Retirement Journal” I quote historian Walter LaFeber, who wrote me that he “assumed that I’d discovered that I didn’t have as much free time in retirement as expected.” In his case he attributed it to the “Warren Harding syndrome of not knowing how to say no.” Perhaps that’s why I have a half dozen projects going simultaneously, including not only the gay and lesbian steelworkers project but editing a book about an Hispanic matriarch called “Maria’s Journey,” helping Sheriff Roy Dominguez write his autobiography, an oral history of IU’s FACET program (honoring teaching excellence), writing books reviews for Magill’s Literary Annual, and helping Modern Languages professor Eva Mendieta publish work she has done on the history of Mexican-American mutual aid societies in Northwest Indiana. I was not ready for retirement, and as my friend Paul Kern put it, calling my musings a retirement journal is a misnomer since I’m not really retired.