“True love
Is not the kind of thing
You should turn down.”
Avett Brothers, “January Wedding”
Toni, Alissa, Josh, and I flew to California Thursday for Jim Satkoski’s wedding. A limo took us to O’Hare and we flew nonstop to LAX via Virgin America Airlines, which provided plenty of seat space and individual TV sets. Alissa’s mom Beth met us with an SUV and drove the 180 miles to Avila Beach on California’s central coast. Beth had reserved us rooms at The Inn, a rustic place right by the Pacific Ocean where the sound of waves reached our room.
The rehearsal was at an apple orchard in a very nice setting. The bride’s parents were of German ancestry and very pleasant. One of Erika’s friends, who had vegan tattooed on her arm, obtained a certificate online that allows her to marry people, and she was nervous, as this was her first ceremony. Alissa was asked to recite a poem by e.e. cummings. At a chapel in San Luis Obispo Jimmy’s mother Donna read kind of a combination prayer and toast and then Jimmy introduced everyone. When he came to me, he mentioned that I had been his Little League coach and that our families were intertwined in many ways, including Phil and Dave being close friends. Then we went to a jazz club for dinner, a vegetarian buffet that was quite delicious followed by a performance by a trio doing what was billed as gypsy jazz. The five of us had a nightcap back at the Inn on an outdoor deck.
San Luis Obispo (Spanish for St. Louis the Bishop) was founded as a Catholic mission in 1772 and now is a college town (home of Cal Poly). The whole area is beautiful with rolling hills and wineries aplenty. We had breakfast at the Custom House, which has a history dating back a century although in 1998 the discovery of oil seepage forced the entire main street to be closed down for four years. Unocal agreed to settle for $30 million to rebuild the downtown and replace the oil-damaged sand. The wedding proceeded without a hitch. Old family friend Tom Horvath – in from New York with his wife and two kids - was best man. It was also great seeing Erick Orr and his family (Margaret and the twins). He’d been in the band LINT with Dave in high school and had come back, to NW Indiana for a reunion concert last year. Jimmy’s birth mother, who he first met about ten years ago, was on hand and got along real well with his parents Donna and Bob. During the dinner and reception afterwards background music included “January Wedding” by the Avett brothers. We topped off the night at a nightclub located at the Madonna Inn, a kitschy landmark hotel. A big band played swing music and the dance floor was filled. Maid of Honor Julie got several of us to jitterbug with her, including the bride’s 73 year-old father. The men’s room was reputed to be one of the top ten in the world and featured a urinal with an activated waterfall. There are several YouTube videos online for those who are curious.
Sunday was traveling day, but beforehand I watched a ceremony dedicating the Martin Luther King Memorial in Washington, D.C. Aretha Franklin and Stevie Wonder sang, and president Obama gave a stirring speech that provided historic perspective and mentioned the ongoing anti-Wall Street protests and said that MLK would have approved. On the plane I watched the Bears beat up on Donovan McNabb and the hapless Vikings. When Devon Hester ran back a punt for a TD several passengers cheered. Home by midnight, thanks to limo driver Dave. A good trip. It was great seeing Jimmy so happy, being with cool people, and discovering a part of the country I’d never been to before.
Now that Herman Cain has shot up to the top of the Republican Presidential hopefuls, he is getting lots of media scrutiny. It is interesting that Newsweek has “Yes We Cain” on the cover and Time’s latest cover story is “The New Silent Majority” by Joe Klein. Asked about something outrageous that he’d said on the stump, he claimed it was a joke. According to Ray Smock, his sugar daddies are the Koch brothers, the same rightwing billionaires that financed the campaign of the antiunion governor of Wisconsin. As Ray points out, Cain is the darling of evangelicals, who during the nineteenth century, in his words, abandoned blacks once slavery was ended, just like today’s evangelicals abandon children once they are out of the womb.
When we left for California, the weather was still balmy, like it had been for the first two weeks in October. We came back to autumn. When I rebooted my computer, Entourage was missing, but Velate Sullivan came over and found the application. Indiana Magazine of History sent me a book to review, “Thyra J. Edwards: Black Activist in the Global Freedom Struggle.” Thyra lived in Gary for 12 years and was the sister of Saintly Thelma Marshall, who was a social worker and head of the local antiwar group Women’s International league for Peace and Freedom, as well as the mother of actor William Marshall.
At lunch I mentioned that Gloria Steinem talked at a conference marking the twentieth anniversary of the Anita Hill testimony at the Clarence Thomas confirmation hearings and mentioned that a high percentage of veterans suffering from PTSD were sexually harassed or assaulted. Psychology professor Kurt Nelson, who has done research at VA hospitals, agreed.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Monday, October 10, 2011
Handle with Care
“Reputations changeable
Situations tolerable.”
“George Harrison, “Handle with Care”
The George Clooney movie “Ides of March” held my interest despite a rather weak plot line. Philip Seymour Hoffman and Paul Giamatti are fantastic as rival campaign managers, and Marisa Tomei shines as a nosey reporter. More memorable was a three-hour documentary directed by martin Scorsese of Beatle George Harrison entitled “Living in the Material World.” Harrison had a spiritual side and a carnal side and could be both caring and ruthless. I loved the part where the Traveling Wilburys, including Roy Orbison, are rehearsing. George got the title to my favorite song, “Handle with Care” from a box that was in the room. George’s wife describes the home invasion and attempted assassination in horrifying detail.
Beatle Paul McCartney, three months younger than I, got married for the third time to a 51 year-old socialite, Nancy Shevell, who reputedly is as rich as he is. Maybe richer, considering his last wife took him pretty good to the cleaners.
Time magazine stopped the presses to put Steve Jobs, who died of cancer, on the cover. Nice touch for a man who ranks with Henry Ford and Thomas Edison as one of the great innovators of all time. On a lesser note Oakland Raiders owner Al Davis kicked the bucket. Though he was one of the most hated men in the sport, you would never know it from the tributes he is getting.
At some Values Conference put together by evangelicals, a minister who introduced Texas governor Perry referred to Mormonism, Romney’s religion, as a cult. Even though fewer than a third of all Americans support the Tea Party, Republican candidates dare not even hint at being anything but orthodox when it comes to so-called family values. In an email to Ray Smock I made reference to Hank Williams, Jr., leaving Monday Night Football after comparing Obama’s golf outing with John Boehner to Hitler playing golf with Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. I wrote: “The last Saturday Night Live had a couple funny skits, especially one about Hank Williams, Jr., refusing to apologize for comparing Obama to Hitler and the other about Chris Christie explaining why he isn’t running. The show has been pretty bad since Tiny Fey stopped doing Palin and Obama got in – it’s hard to mock the Prez and even though the guy who does him has the mannerisms down, most skits just fell flat. Governor Mitt Romney seems more and more like what Eisenhower was to the Republican Party on the 1950s – the Eastern establishment candidate trying to keep the crazies from taking over the Grand Old Party. It is amazing how much the yokels hate him even though Mr. Sincerity has SLICK written all over him.”
I picked up a biography of Clarence Darrow at the Chesterton library subtitled “Attorney for the Damned.” Author John A Farrell wrote the 2002 biography “Tip O’Neill and the American Century” that I reviewed for Magill’s Literary Annual. One of Darrow’s first unpopular cases was trying to save the life of crazed assassin Patrick Prendergast, who killed Chicago mayor Carter Harrison in 1893. It was the last time one of his clients was executed. In a chapter called “Free Love” Farrell writes that Darrow was a rake but not a heel. Like Bill Clinton, he took interest in and respected those he seduced and didn’t lead them on. Many were young Hull House workers who were not lesbians like Lady Jane.
It was a bad sports weekend with the Phillies knocked out of the playoffs, IU bowing to Illinois and the Eagles’s so-called “Dream Team” falling to 1 and 4. Tiger Woods finished thirtieth in a golf tournament, and a fan got arrested for throwing a hot dog at him.
By happy coincidence most Court One condo residents were outside when I took out the garage container and recycle bins. The couple in Unit 411 normally walks two dogs but only had one with them. The other evidently splits time with a former spouse. One person suggested we have a group yard sale. I’ll find out at the next board meeting if we can.
Shannon Pontney called for our address because she’s getting married in December. She appreciated my mention in v.41 of her and her dad, Rich, who died unexpectedly after a fall. I haven’t met the fiancé; her old boyfriend, Maury, I kept calling Rory until it got to be a standing joke. She said she’d understand if I didn’t come all the way to Fort Wayne for the wedding, and I told her I’d come even if it were in California (where, in fact, we’re headed next weekend for Jimmy Satkoski’s nuptials.
Budd Ballou dropped by the Archives and, having read volume 41 over the weekend, asked how I knew his friend, attorney Clyde Compton. I drew a blank for a moment and then recalled how he attended my talk to the Ogden Dunes Historical Society and noticed I had dedicated my Postwar issue to Art Daronatsy and other “Old Lefties.” He was a big admirer and friend of Art.
Sent this email to Chris Young: “I had a chance to read “Gentle Power of Opinion: The Federalist Campaign against the Massachusetts Constitutional Society” over the weekend and found it, as expected, very insightful and well-written. O thought the sub-headings were very useful in introducing the various sections. How about that eerie picture of Jedidiah Morse – what type of reproduction is that, an artist’s rendering, perhaps? He looks like a truly scary individual.”
Situations tolerable.”
“George Harrison, “Handle with Care”
The George Clooney movie “Ides of March” held my interest despite a rather weak plot line. Philip Seymour Hoffman and Paul Giamatti are fantastic as rival campaign managers, and Marisa Tomei shines as a nosey reporter. More memorable was a three-hour documentary directed by martin Scorsese of Beatle George Harrison entitled “Living in the Material World.” Harrison had a spiritual side and a carnal side and could be both caring and ruthless. I loved the part where the Traveling Wilburys, including Roy Orbison, are rehearsing. George got the title to my favorite song, “Handle with Care” from a box that was in the room. George’s wife describes the home invasion and attempted assassination in horrifying detail.
Beatle Paul McCartney, three months younger than I, got married for the third time to a 51 year-old socialite, Nancy Shevell, who reputedly is as rich as he is. Maybe richer, considering his last wife took him pretty good to the cleaners.
Time magazine stopped the presses to put Steve Jobs, who died of cancer, on the cover. Nice touch for a man who ranks with Henry Ford and Thomas Edison as one of the great innovators of all time. On a lesser note Oakland Raiders owner Al Davis kicked the bucket. Though he was one of the most hated men in the sport, you would never know it from the tributes he is getting.
At some Values Conference put together by evangelicals, a minister who introduced Texas governor Perry referred to Mormonism, Romney’s religion, as a cult. Even though fewer than a third of all Americans support the Tea Party, Republican candidates dare not even hint at being anything but orthodox when it comes to so-called family values. In an email to Ray Smock I made reference to Hank Williams, Jr., leaving Monday Night Football after comparing Obama’s golf outing with John Boehner to Hitler playing golf with Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. I wrote: “The last Saturday Night Live had a couple funny skits, especially one about Hank Williams, Jr., refusing to apologize for comparing Obama to Hitler and the other about Chris Christie explaining why he isn’t running. The show has been pretty bad since Tiny Fey stopped doing Palin and Obama got in – it’s hard to mock the Prez and even though the guy who does him has the mannerisms down, most skits just fell flat. Governor Mitt Romney seems more and more like what Eisenhower was to the Republican Party on the 1950s – the Eastern establishment candidate trying to keep the crazies from taking over the Grand Old Party. It is amazing how much the yokels hate him even though Mr. Sincerity has SLICK written all over him.”
I picked up a biography of Clarence Darrow at the Chesterton library subtitled “Attorney for the Damned.” Author John A Farrell wrote the 2002 biography “Tip O’Neill and the American Century” that I reviewed for Magill’s Literary Annual. One of Darrow’s first unpopular cases was trying to save the life of crazed assassin Patrick Prendergast, who killed Chicago mayor Carter Harrison in 1893. It was the last time one of his clients was executed. In a chapter called “Free Love” Farrell writes that Darrow was a rake but not a heel. Like Bill Clinton, he took interest in and respected those he seduced and didn’t lead them on. Many were young Hull House workers who were not lesbians like Lady Jane.
It was a bad sports weekend with the Phillies knocked out of the playoffs, IU bowing to Illinois and the Eagles’s so-called “Dream Team” falling to 1 and 4. Tiger Woods finished thirtieth in a golf tournament, and a fan got arrested for throwing a hot dog at him.
By happy coincidence most Court One condo residents were outside when I took out the garage container and recycle bins. The couple in Unit 411 normally walks two dogs but only had one with them. The other evidently splits time with a former spouse. One person suggested we have a group yard sale. I’ll find out at the next board meeting if we can.
Shannon Pontney called for our address because she’s getting married in December. She appreciated my mention in v.41 of her and her dad, Rich, who died unexpectedly after a fall. I haven’t met the fiancé; her old boyfriend, Maury, I kept calling Rory until it got to be a standing joke. She said she’d understand if I didn’t come all the way to Fort Wayne for the wedding, and I told her I’d come even if it were in California (where, in fact, we’re headed next weekend for Jimmy Satkoski’s nuptials.
Budd Ballou dropped by the Archives and, having read volume 41 over the weekend, asked how I knew his friend, attorney Clyde Compton. I drew a blank for a moment and then recalled how he attended my talk to the Ogden Dunes Historical Society and noticed I had dedicated my Postwar issue to Art Daronatsy and other “Old Lefties.” He was a big admirer and friend of Art.
Sent this email to Chris Young: “I had a chance to read “Gentle Power of Opinion: The Federalist Campaign against the Massachusetts Constitutional Society” over the weekend and found it, as expected, very insightful and well-written. O thought the sub-headings were very useful in introducing the various sections. How about that eerie picture of Jedidiah Morse – what type of reproduction is that, an artist’s rendering, perhaps? He looks like a truly scary individual.”
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Mind Space
“You gotta stay
In your mind.”
D J Luna, “Mindspace”
On October 3 Ann Fritz of IUN’s Gallery for Contemporary Art hosted a reception for six excellent Chicago artists, including Louise LeBourgeois, who does lush landscapes of areas near Lake Michigan as well as the lake itself. One of just waves and sky was my favorite. The show was entitled “Hand Space/Mind Space,” and the artists were on hand talking informally about their pieces. Louise mentioned liking to swim in Lake Michigan and once feared that she had gone out too far when it suddenly got foggy and she could feel rip tides. She teaches at Columbia College, where several of my students have gone. Her business card is a small square replicas of one of her paintings with the info on how to contact her on the back.
Steve McShane introduced me to Budd Ballou, a local historian and Geography teacher, who was in the Archives researching old school buildings that existed in south Lake County over a century ago. He was fascinated with my Shavings issue on Cedar Lake and familiar with the writings of historian Beatrice Horner, who is featured on the cover. A former wrestling coach, he mentioned knowing Bob Petyko, whose controversial remarks are a highlight of the issue, and coaching his son. Petyko came of age during the Sixties, when his hometown, nicknamed Cedar Tucky was a rendezvous spot for motorcycle gangs.
It’s nail-biting time in the Phillies-Cardinals series. Albert Pujols has been fantastic, stealing third base in one game, getting four hits in another, and last night throwing Chase Utley out at third when he tried to take an extra base on a hit-and-run groundout. Hopefully “Doc” Holladay can win the decisive game on Friday.
Searching for information about the parents of Gary-born Nobel Prize winner (in Economics) Joseph Stiglitz, I found a 2005 obit on his mother Charlotte that claimed she taught at Purdue Cal until she retired at age 80 in 1995. I called fellow historian Lance Trusty, but he hadn’t heard of her. Odd! She could have been a part-timer or maybe the obit had the facts wrong. I have emailed Stiglitz at two sites, but return messages indicate he doesn’t answer most queries. The Wall of Legends committee is honoring him and another Gary-born Nobel winner, Paul Samuelson, in December along with five Medal of Honor winners and the Jacksons. I did find some info on Stiglitz’s parent in Michael Hirsh’s Capital Offense: How Washington’s Wise Men Turned America Over to Wall Street. His father Nate was an insurance salesman.
The Chesterton Tribune article by Kevin Nevers finally came out, entitled “IUN Historian listens to the region’s voices.” As I emailed him, it was worth the wait and as good as anything written about what I’ve been trying to do with Steel Shavings. He mentions that I’m a bowler, sports fan, fantasy footballer, WXRT listener, recent resident of Chesterton, and proud Hoosier. I had asked him to emphasize the student “Ides of March” journals and he quotes from four of them, as well as this Editor’s Note excerpt: “Working mothers struggled with homework, jobs, and family duties, including caring for elderly parents and grandparents. Almost everyone complained of rising gas prices and food costs and worried about the earthquake, tsunami and nuclear meltdown in Japan and the military operations against Libyan leader Muammar Gadhafi. Primarily Education majors, they had strong opinions about the union rallies in Indianapolis and Madison, Wisconsin, to protect teachers.”
Electrical Engineers won 5 of 7 points thanks to our new guy Duke. I had pathetically few strikes but did win two of the quarter-pots. I called Bill, our captain, with the good news. He can’t drive after dark and misses coming to the alley – maybe in the spring, he said. Stayed up to see heavy metal band Mastodon do “Curl of the Burl” on Letterman. It starts out. “I killed a man ‘cause he killed my goat.” The title means something like “It’s just the way of the world.”
In your mind.”
D J Luna, “Mindspace”
On October 3 Ann Fritz of IUN’s Gallery for Contemporary Art hosted a reception for six excellent Chicago artists, including Louise LeBourgeois, who does lush landscapes of areas near Lake Michigan as well as the lake itself. One of just waves and sky was my favorite. The show was entitled “Hand Space/Mind Space,” and the artists were on hand talking informally about their pieces. Louise mentioned liking to swim in Lake Michigan and once feared that she had gone out too far when it suddenly got foggy and she could feel rip tides. She teaches at Columbia College, where several of my students have gone. Her business card is a small square replicas of one of her paintings with the info on how to contact her on the back.
Steve McShane introduced me to Budd Ballou, a local historian and Geography teacher, who was in the Archives researching old school buildings that existed in south Lake County over a century ago. He was fascinated with my Shavings issue on Cedar Lake and familiar with the writings of historian Beatrice Horner, who is featured on the cover. A former wrestling coach, he mentioned knowing Bob Petyko, whose controversial remarks are a highlight of the issue, and coaching his son. Petyko came of age during the Sixties, when his hometown, nicknamed Cedar Tucky was a rendezvous spot for motorcycle gangs.
It’s nail-biting time in the Phillies-Cardinals series. Albert Pujols has been fantastic, stealing third base in one game, getting four hits in another, and last night throwing Chase Utley out at third when he tried to take an extra base on a hit-and-run groundout. Hopefully “Doc” Holladay can win the decisive game on Friday.
Searching for information about the parents of Gary-born Nobel Prize winner (in Economics) Joseph Stiglitz, I found a 2005 obit on his mother Charlotte that claimed she taught at Purdue Cal until she retired at age 80 in 1995. I called fellow historian Lance Trusty, but he hadn’t heard of her. Odd! She could have been a part-timer or maybe the obit had the facts wrong. I have emailed Stiglitz at two sites, but return messages indicate he doesn’t answer most queries. The Wall of Legends committee is honoring him and another Gary-born Nobel winner, Paul Samuelson, in December along with five Medal of Honor winners and the Jacksons. I did find some info on Stiglitz’s parent in Michael Hirsh’s Capital Offense: How Washington’s Wise Men Turned America Over to Wall Street. His father Nate was an insurance salesman.
The Chesterton Tribune article by Kevin Nevers finally came out, entitled “IUN Historian listens to the region’s voices.” As I emailed him, it was worth the wait and as good as anything written about what I’ve been trying to do with Steel Shavings. He mentions that I’m a bowler, sports fan, fantasy footballer, WXRT listener, recent resident of Chesterton, and proud Hoosier. I had asked him to emphasize the student “Ides of March” journals and he quotes from four of them, as well as this Editor’s Note excerpt: “Working mothers struggled with homework, jobs, and family duties, including caring for elderly parents and grandparents. Almost everyone complained of rising gas prices and food costs and worried about the earthquake, tsunami and nuclear meltdown in Japan and the military operations against Libyan leader Muammar Gadhafi. Primarily Education majors, they had strong opinions about the union rallies in Indianapolis and Madison, Wisconsin, to protect teachers.”
Electrical Engineers won 5 of 7 points thanks to our new guy Duke. I had pathetically few strikes but did win two of the quarter-pots. I called Bill, our captain, with the good news. He can’t drive after dark and misses coming to the alley – maybe in the spring, he said. Stayed up to see heavy metal band Mastodon do “Curl of the Burl” on Letterman. It starts out. “I killed a man ‘cause he killed my goat.” The title means something like “It’s just the way of the world.”
Friday, September 30, 2011
Talk On Indolence
“Now I've grown too aware of my mortality
To let go and forget about dying
Long enough to drop the hammer down
And let the indolence go wild and flying through.”
Avett Brothers
Last night I went to an Avett Brothers concert at the Star Plaza. Beforehand, I met Robert Blaszkiewicz at the Old Chicago Pizza and Pasta place next door. Robert first turned me on to the Avett Brothers by including “Talk On Indolence” on the Christmas CD of his 20 favorite songs of 2010. While I was at the bar, a guy interjected, “Mr. Lane?” It turned out to be Jeff Kessner, who played soccer with Phil more than 25 years ago and attended parties at our house on Maple Place.
The warm-up group was the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, old Hippie Seventies Bluegrass Rockers most famous for the song “Mr. Bojangles.” They joked about being on a tour bus with Willie nelson and visiting John Mellencamp’s hometown of Seymour, Indiana, in connection with Farm Aid. The lead singer reminded me of the ageless Jackson Browne. Their violin player was outasight, as was the drummer/harmonica player, and the band got a standing ovation after their hour set.
In the lobby during intermission was former student and head of security Stevie Kokos, a Shavings subscriber, who like many folks was more familiar with the Nitty gritty Dirt Band than the main act. Softball battery mate and concert producer Omar Farag, whom I’d called to plug the show, greeted me heartily accompanied by Miller Beach mainstay Joe Petras, who 40 years ago first turned me on to the importance of Gary’s history. I told Robert and Jeff that Omar had put on a festival during the early Nineties at the lake County Fairgrounds featuring Poi Dog Pondering, the Jayhawks, and WILCO. Amazed, both of them said that they had gone and it was one of the best concerts ever.
The Avett Brothers, who are playing to a sold out Aragon Ballroom audience tonight, were fantastic, often bouncing up and down like yo-yos while singing and playing guitar and banjo. They did “Head Full of Doubt/ Road Full of Promise” about halfway through the show with Scott Avett on keyboards, bringing down the house, and mixed in numerous melodious a capello numbers, including “Murder in the City,” before ending with “Talk On Indolence.” I was in the seventh row, but nearly everyone was standing so about halfway through I went near the back and found a seat with an excellent view. Robert and his friends had front row balcony seats, and I was tempted to join them.
A storm was brewing on the way home, the wind knocking my Corolla around on 80/94. Back home while having a Leinie nightcap, our lights flickered several times. Had we been at the old homestead on Maple Place, we’d still be without power, I’m sure. Put on Robert’s “Top 20 2010” CD, which starts out with “A More Perfect Union” by Titus Andronicus.” In a recent NY Times Sunday magazine article about school experiences Titus guitarist Amy Klein about an eight year-old overcoming stage fright: “I volunteer as a guitar teacher and a band coach at the Willie Mae Rock Camp for Girls. It’s totally punk. Many of the girls have no prior musical experience — and that’s the point: We present them with a challenge and encourage them to grow. I was coaching a band of 8-year-olds. On the day of the concert, the lead singer was suddenly overcome by stage fright. “I don’t want to do this anymore,” she whispered. I told her that she would be amazing and that her bandmates needed her right now. About a minute before the performance, I finally asked, “What would make you feel safe right now?” She responded, “If you held my hand.” I stood in the wings with my arm outstretched, the singer holding on. When it was time for the chorus, she chimed in, at first shyly, then louder. By the end of the chorus, she had let go of my hand. She ran out to the center of the stage, and an enormous cheer swept through the crowd. Hundreds of hands clapped to the beat. Fists were raised. Eyes teared up. A huge smile broke out on the singer’s face. She had grasped what it is to feel powerful.”
Today I checked out “55/55,” a so-called comedy about Adam (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) a young cancer victim. Seth Rogen played the guy’s buddy and Anna Kendrick his therapist. Trying to get his buddy and himself laid, he suggests that the two pick-ups go back Adam’s apartment and smoke some medical marijuana. “Game on,” one of them replies. When he first saw her, his reaction was something like, “Is this a Joke? Am I your first client?” Actually he was her third, and she was really fetching. In one scene she gives him a ride home, but her car is so full of fast food wrappings and other junk he makes her stop the car by a dumpster and starts throwing things away. At one point she stops him, saying, “That’s my dinner.” Anjelica Huston is great as Adam’s mom.
To let go and forget about dying
Long enough to drop the hammer down
And let the indolence go wild and flying through.”
Avett Brothers
Last night I went to an Avett Brothers concert at the Star Plaza. Beforehand, I met Robert Blaszkiewicz at the Old Chicago Pizza and Pasta place next door. Robert first turned me on to the Avett Brothers by including “Talk On Indolence” on the Christmas CD of his 20 favorite songs of 2010. While I was at the bar, a guy interjected, “Mr. Lane?” It turned out to be Jeff Kessner, who played soccer with Phil more than 25 years ago and attended parties at our house on Maple Place.
The warm-up group was the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, old Hippie Seventies Bluegrass Rockers most famous for the song “Mr. Bojangles.” They joked about being on a tour bus with Willie nelson and visiting John Mellencamp’s hometown of Seymour, Indiana, in connection with Farm Aid. The lead singer reminded me of the ageless Jackson Browne. Their violin player was outasight, as was the drummer/harmonica player, and the band got a standing ovation after their hour set.
In the lobby during intermission was former student and head of security Stevie Kokos, a Shavings subscriber, who like many folks was more familiar with the Nitty gritty Dirt Band than the main act. Softball battery mate and concert producer Omar Farag, whom I’d called to plug the show, greeted me heartily accompanied by Miller Beach mainstay Joe Petras, who 40 years ago first turned me on to the importance of Gary’s history. I told Robert and Jeff that Omar had put on a festival during the early Nineties at the lake County Fairgrounds featuring Poi Dog Pondering, the Jayhawks, and WILCO. Amazed, both of them said that they had gone and it was one of the best concerts ever.
The Avett Brothers, who are playing to a sold out Aragon Ballroom audience tonight, were fantastic, often bouncing up and down like yo-yos while singing and playing guitar and banjo. They did “Head Full of Doubt/ Road Full of Promise” about halfway through the show with Scott Avett on keyboards, bringing down the house, and mixed in numerous melodious a capello numbers, including “Murder in the City,” before ending with “Talk On Indolence.” I was in the seventh row, but nearly everyone was standing so about halfway through I went near the back and found a seat with an excellent view. Robert and his friends had front row balcony seats, and I was tempted to join them.
A storm was brewing on the way home, the wind knocking my Corolla around on 80/94. Back home while having a Leinie nightcap, our lights flickered several times. Had we been at the old homestead on Maple Place, we’d still be without power, I’m sure. Put on Robert’s “Top 20 2010” CD, which starts out with “A More Perfect Union” by Titus Andronicus.” In a recent NY Times Sunday magazine article about school experiences Titus guitarist Amy Klein about an eight year-old overcoming stage fright: “I volunteer as a guitar teacher and a band coach at the Willie Mae Rock Camp for Girls. It’s totally punk. Many of the girls have no prior musical experience — and that’s the point: We present them with a challenge and encourage them to grow. I was coaching a band of 8-year-olds. On the day of the concert, the lead singer was suddenly overcome by stage fright. “I don’t want to do this anymore,” she whispered. I told her that she would be amazing and that her bandmates needed her right now. About a minute before the performance, I finally asked, “What would make you feel safe right now?” She responded, “If you held my hand.” I stood in the wings with my arm outstretched, the singer holding on. When it was time for the chorus, she chimed in, at first shyly, then louder. By the end of the chorus, she had let go of my hand. She ran out to the center of the stage, and an enormous cheer swept through the crowd. Hundreds of hands clapped to the beat. Fists were raised. Eyes teared up. A huge smile broke out on the singer’s face. She had grasped what it is to feel powerful.”
Today I checked out “55/55,” a so-called comedy about Adam (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) a young cancer victim. Seth Rogen played the guy’s buddy and Anna Kendrick his therapist. Trying to get his buddy and himself laid, he suggests that the two pick-ups go back Adam’s apartment and smoke some medical marijuana. “Game on,” one of them replies. When he first saw her, his reaction was something like, “Is this a Joke? Am I your first client?” Actually he was her third, and she was really fetching. In one scene she gives him a ride home, but her car is so full of fast food wrappings and other junk he makes her stop the car by a dumpster and starts throwing things away. At one point she stops him, saying, “That’s my dinner.” Anjelica Huston is great as Adam’s mom.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Gary's Next Mayor
I interviewed Karen Freeman Wilson, Gary’s next mayor, at her law office downtown across from The SteelYard, where the minor league baseball team, The Railcats, play their home games. We talked mainly about her parents for my book “On Their Shoulders.” She’s a Gary native who went to Harvard after graduating from Roosevelt High School. Then I attended her Press Conference at IUN where she introduced members of her “New Day Task Force.” There was a big crowd, including Chancellor Lowe and legislator Charlie Brown.
Steve Walsh had me on his noon Lakeshore radio program, along with Times reporter Bill Dolan and Cal Bellamy, a former bank executive and President of something called the Shared Ethics Commission. The occasion: the recent indictment of former Lake County Clerk Thomas Philpott, who evidently paid himself $25,000 in incentive money without getting approval from the Lake County Council. I mentioned how the two former Gary mayors who went to jail were popular and effective, only they made enemies in high corporate places. Lake County graft is small potatoes compared to the millions Governor Daniels’ law firm has made and the tens of millions Dick Cheney raked in as he went from the Pentagon to Haliburton to the Vice Presidency. In his new book “Keeping the Republic: Saving America By Trusting Americans” Mitch Daniels trashes Northwest Indiana, calling it corrupt and union-driven. Labor organizations, of course, were responsible for moving steelworkers into the middle class and the main protector against worker exploitation. He has been bent on destroying public schools just as he wrecked the state welfare system by privatizing it. He also sold away the Toll Road so he could claim he balanced the budget. What a slug. Mitch is a pawn of big business, whose lobbyists have corrupted the system much worse than former Gary City Clerk Katie Hall making her staff sell candy or former East Chicago Mayor Pabey having city employees make improvements on a house.
One more “High School Confidential” paragraph: After Wendy got off the phone, Jimmy opened his yearbook to see what he recalled about classmates. Often it was embarrassing stuff, like so-and-so farted in class, or this guy had such a small dick he was ashamed to shower in gym class. One guy was a total klutz in every sport but tumbling, for which his roly-poly body was perfect. If they got talking about classmates at Wendy’s, Jimmy hoped he could censor himself against making any cruel remarks. What a wide variety of characters in the Class of 1960, and how few had aspirations to attend college. On the first senior page under Clyde Alexander was the caption “a future auto mechanic” and under Mildred Armstrong “wants to be a receptionist.” Bruce Allen’s ambition was “to buy a Ferrari” and Joanne Arnold hoped to be a nurse.
Love the new Jayhawks album. On WXRT I heard a cut off it, “She Walks In So Many Ways.” Also am enjoying my new Avett Brothers album. I’ll be sitting in Row F tomorrow. Good single tickets are always available.
I sucked at bowling but did pick up a 8-7-10 split.
Steve Walsh had me on his noon Lakeshore radio program, along with Times reporter Bill Dolan and Cal Bellamy, a former bank executive and President of something called the Shared Ethics Commission. The occasion: the recent indictment of former Lake County Clerk Thomas Philpott, who evidently paid himself $25,000 in incentive money without getting approval from the Lake County Council. I mentioned how the two former Gary mayors who went to jail were popular and effective, only they made enemies in high corporate places. Lake County graft is small potatoes compared to the millions Governor Daniels’ law firm has made and the tens of millions Dick Cheney raked in as he went from the Pentagon to Haliburton to the Vice Presidency. In his new book “Keeping the Republic: Saving America By Trusting Americans” Mitch Daniels trashes Northwest Indiana, calling it corrupt and union-driven. Labor organizations, of course, were responsible for moving steelworkers into the middle class and the main protector against worker exploitation. He has been bent on destroying public schools just as he wrecked the state welfare system by privatizing it. He also sold away the Toll Road so he could claim he balanced the budget. What a slug. Mitch is a pawn of big business, whose lobbyists have corrupted the system much worse than former Gary City Clerk Katie Hall making her staff sell candy or former East Chicago Mayor Pabey having city employees make improvements on a house.
One more “High School Confidential” paragraph: After Wendy got off the phone, Jimmy opened his yearbook to see what he recalled about classmates. Often it was embarrassing stuff, like so-and-so farted in class, or this guy had such a small dick he was ashamed to shower in gym class. One guy was a total klutz in every sport but tumbling, for which his roly-poly body was perfect. If they got talking about classmates at Wendy’s, Jimmy hoped he could censor himself against making any cruel remarks. What a wide variety of characters in the Class of 1960, and how few had aspirations to attend college. On the first senior page under Clyde Alexander was the caption “a future auto mechanic” and under Mildred Armstrong “wants to be a receptionist.” Bruce Allen’s ambition was “to buy a Ferrari” and Joanne Arnold hoped to be a nurse.
Love the new Jayhawks album. On WXRT I heard a cut off it, “She Walks In So Many Ways.” Also am enjoying my new Avett Brothers album. I’ll be sitting in Row F tomorrow. Good single tickets are always available.
I sucked at bowling but did pick up a 8-7-10 split.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Family Matters
Last Thursday I watched the East Chicago Cardinals tennis team, coached by my son Dave, defeat Lake Station 4-1. He’s back teaching three weeks after he was struck by a car, injuring his leg. His number one singles player Armando Nunez, played great, and his number two player has improved greatly and gutted out a three-set match. He lost his third singles player, Amaad, when the car also rammed him, breaking his kneecap and leg.
Friday we took a two-hour road trip to Grand Rapids, Michigan, to see Miranda, named to her high school’s Homecoming court, participate in an afternoon parade and then a halftime ceremony at the football game. Miranda looked radiant in her orange formal dress. Saturday we watched Tori score a goal in soccer and then took her, Phil, Anthony, and two of the kids’ friends out to a favorite diner. Delia was doing Miranda’s hair for the dance that night, so we took home a burger for Miranda.
Sunday I went one for three gaming with Dave and Tom, then after a Fun Day at James and Becca’s school Toni and I went to Anne Balay’s for dinner. We met four interesting characters from Chicago. Later I discovered that I had lost my Fantasy match with Anthony despite being one of the week’s top scorers. Not only is my top draft choice, Jamaal Charles, out for the season, but a Johnny Knox TD punt return was called back and the vaunted Jets defense only got me one point (all I needed was 10 points – should have played the Lions D; I’d have won in a breeze). In the Saints-Oilers game four times in the Red Zone Houston couldn’t get the ball to Andre Johnson and settled for field goals by Anthony’s guy. Then twice the Saints went for two-point conversions instead of letting my kicker gety an extra point. With ten seconds left and the Saints up by seven my guy kicked a field goal only Houston was off sides and the Saints coach took the three points off the board and instead had Drew Brees go back in and take a knee. What friggin’ luck.
Monday my computer wouldn’t open because I had not re-registered it. Lena at IUN’s HELP desk walked me through the procedure.
In the mail: a check from the Lowell Public Library for Shavings, volume 41, plus a letter from Terry Helton. He mentioned a book by Richard Laskowski called “Region Rat” that deals with Gary and the surrounding environs. Laskowski also put together a two=minute YouTube segment that looks like the pilot for a larger project.
I picked up a ticket for Thursday’s Avett Brothers concert. The opening act is the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, whose big hit was “Mr. Bojangles.” Best Buy had a 2007 Avett Brothers CD called “Emotionalism,” and then it was on to see “Moneyball,” a tour de force for Brad Pitt, who also produced it. It deals with Oakland A’s general manager Billy Beane, who used computer-generated statistical info to put together a ball team that won a hundred games, including a record 20 in a row. Jonah Hill is great as his assistant, and Philip Seymour Hoffman (for my money, the best actor in the business) was perfect as curmudgeon manage Art Howe.
In my “On Their Shoulders” book will be a chapter on Leo and Minna, the parents TVA administrator David Lilienthal, who grew up in Valparaiso and Michigan City. Lilienthal kept a journal starting at age 17 on the advice of a young lawyer from Gary. We have six volumes of his published writings from it in the Archives. I have an interview with incoming Gary mayor Karen Freeman-Wilson on Wednesday. Chris Young thanked me for the close reading of his article on commemorative statues and passed along the info that Robert Paine, who did the Haym Solomon sculpture, was from Valpo.
Here’s the latest installment of the clandestine memoir about high school days: “Wendy most wanted to see Anthony Stuempfig, who arrived in eleventh grade looking for all the world like he belonged at Penn Charter, Germantown Academy, or some other private school. He wasn’t particularly handsome but oozed sophistication. Molly could have dated any boy in school, not to mention collegians, but chose to make him her steady, giving him instant credibility with classmates. In homeroom, curious as to the basis of his charm, Wendy couldn’t penetrate his air of mystery. During graduation ceremonies the school superintendent read out full names, to frequent guffaws at such middle names as Milton, Ebeneezer, and Buchanan. Anthony had two of them, Alex and Penn. Could he have been a descendent of William Penn, the founder of Pennsylvania colony? It was not out of the question, giving his signs of breeding. Years later, Wendy discovered an Anthony A.P. Stuempfig antique store in Center City Philadelphia. When she paid a visit, dressed to the nines, he waited on her, impeccable in a dark suit and pink shirt and tie. They looked one another in the eye for a few moments and in unison said, “I remember you.” She purchased a rare Victorian-era doll and asked him to explain its history at lunch. At the Bellini Grill they talked about old times, mostly about Molly, who had married an All-American type two classes ahead of them. Anthony traveled all over the world in connection with his business. They discovered that both evidently had both been in Florence, Italy, on the same date and even visited the same shops. He was a lifelong bachelor, explaining, “I never met anyone who compared favorably with Molly.” He made no attempt to flirt or follow up on their outing. Afterwards, Wendy couldn’t help wondering if he were gay. Perhaps part of his charm with Molly was that he wasn’t trying to paw her or get into her pants like so many others she had dated. Or maybe it simply was a case of others not measuring up against her.
“Wendy asked Jimmy’s advice on get together activities. She could imagine a long weekend of partying with Fifties music and movies such as “Rebel Without a Cause,” “Gidget,” “Rock Around the Clock,” and “King Creole” playing. She knew a promoter of Oldies concerts; maybe she could get Dion or Little Anthony and the Imperials to perform live. Her grandkids warmed to the idea, imagining hula hoop contests and dress-up contests and trivia games. Jimmy suggested flying down hoagies and steak sandwiches from Philadelphia. Better yet, Wendy replied, she could hire the owner of Geno’s in South Philly to come and make them on the spot. Those attending could plan a subsequent reunion – maybe a 50s cruise or maybe something that would take place on the same date as Sissy’s Class of 1958 fiftieth reunion. Around the pool and hot tub area they could open their yearbook and take turns recalling everything they remembered about teachers and classmates. At the 2005 reunion, which Wendy didn’t attend, Jimmy gave a short talk on memorable teachers, including exotic Rene Polsky, old maid Miss Le Van, lantern jawed coach Mr. Gilronan, dirty old H.M. Jones, gap-toothed Mr. Gebauer, and principal Norman ‘Sneaky Pete’ Jones.”
Friday we took a two-hour road trip to Grand Rapids, Michigan, to see Miranda, named to her high school’s Homecoming court, participate in an afternoon parade and then a halftime ceremony at the football game. Miranda looked radiant in her orange formal dress. Saturday we watched Tori score a goal in soccer and then took her, Phil, Anthony, and two of the kids’ friends out to a favorite diner. Delia was doing Miranda’s hair for the dance that night, so we took home a burger for Miranda.
Sunday I went one for three gaming with Dave and Tom, then after a Fun Day at James and Becca’s school Toni and I went to Anne Balay’s for dinner. We met four interesting characters from Chicago. Later I discovered that I had lost my Fantasy match with Anthony despite being one of the week’s top scorers. Not only is my top draft choice, Jamaal Charles, out for the season, but a Johnny Knox TD punt return was called back and the vaunted Jets defense only got me one point (all I needed was 10 points – should have played the Lions D; I’d have won in a breeze). In the Saints-Oilers game four times in the Red Zone Houston couldn’t get the ball to Andre Johnson and settled for field goals by Anthony’s guy. Then twice the Saints went for two-point conversions instead of letting my kicker gety an extra point. With ten seconds left and the Saints up by seven my guy kicked a field goal only Houston was off sides and the Saints coach took the three points off the board and instead had Drew Brees go back in and take a knee. What friggin’ luck.
Monday my computer wouldn’t open because I had not re-registered it. Lena at IUN’s HELP desk walked me through the procedure.
In the mail: a check from the Lowell Public Library for Shavings, volume 41, plus a letter from Terry Helton. He mentioned a book by Richard Laskowski called “Region Rat” that deals with Gary and the surrounding environs. Laskowski also put together a two=minute YouTube segment that looks like the pilot for a larger project.
I picked up a ticket for Thursday’s Avett Brothers concert. The opening act is the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, whose big hit was “Mr. Bojangles.” Best Buy had a 2007 Avett Brothers CD called “Emotionalism,” and then it was on to see “Moneyball,” a tour de force for Brad Pitt, who also produced it. It deals with Oakland A’s general manager Billy Beane, who used computer-generated statistical info to put together a ball team that won a hundred games, including a record 20 in a row. Jonah Hill is great as his assistant, and Philip Seymour Hoffman (for my money, the best actor in the business) was perfect as curmudgeon manage Art Howe.
In my “On Their Shoulders” book will be a chapter on Leo and Minna, the parents TVA administrator David Lilienthal, who grew up in Valparaiso and Michigan City. Lilienthal kept a journal starting at age 17 on the advice of a young lawyer from Gary. We have six volumes of his published writings from it in the Archives. I have an interview with incoming Gary mayor Karen Freeman-Wilson on Wednesday. Chris Young thanked me for the close reading of his article on commemorative statues and passed along the info that Robert Paine, who did the Haym Solomon sculpture, was from Valpo.
Here’s the latest installment of the clandestine memoir about high school days: “Wendy most wanted to see Anthony Stuempfig, who arrived in eleventh grade looking for all the world like he belonged at Penn Charter, Germantown Academy, or some other private school. He wasn’t particularly handsome but oozed sophistication. Molly could have dated any boy in school, not to mention collegians, but chose to make him her steady, giving him instant credibility with classmates. In homeroom, curious as to the basis of his charm, Wendy couldn’t penetrate his air of mystery. During graduation ceremonies the school superintendent read out full names, to frequent guffaws at such middle names as Milton, Ebeneezer, and Buchanan. Anthony had two of them, Alex and Penn. Could he have been a descendent of William Penn, the founder of Pennsylvania colony? It was not out of the question, giving his signs of breeding. Years later, Wendy discovered an Anthony A.P. Stuempfig antique store in Center City Philadelphia. When she paid a visit, dressed to the nines, he waited on her, impeccable in a dark suit and pink shirt and tie. They looked one another in the eye for a few moments and in unison said, “I remember you.” She purchased a rare Victorian-era doll and asked him to explain its history at lunch. At the Bellini Grill they talked about old times, mostly about Molly, who had married an All-American type two classes ahead of them. Anthony traveled all over the world in connection with his business. They discovered that both evidently had both been in Florence, Italy, on the same date and even visited the same shops. He was a lifelong bachelor, explaining, “I never met anyone who compared favorably with Molly.” He made no attempt to flirt or follow up on their outing. Afterwards, Wendy couldn’t help wondering if he were gay. Perhaps part of his charm with Molly was that he wasn’t trying to paw her or get into her pants like so many others she had dated. Or maybe it simply was a case of others not measuring up against her.
“Wendy asked Jimmy’s advice on get together activities. She could imagine a long weekend of partying with Fifties music and movies such as “Rebel Without a Cause,” “Gidget,” “Rock Around the Clock,” and “King Creole” playing. She knew a promoter of Oldies concerts; maybe she could get Dion or Little Anthony and the Imperials to perform live. Her grandkids warmed to the idea, imagining hula hoop contests and dress-up contests and trivia games. Jimmy suggested flying down hoagies and steak sandwiches from Philadelphia. Better yet, Wendy replied, she could hire the owner of Geno’s in South Philly to come and make them on the spot. Those attending could plan a subsequent reunion – maybe a 50s cruise or maybe something that would take place on the same date as Sissy’s Class of 1958 fiftieth reunion. Around the pool and hot tub area they could open their yearbook and take turns recalling everything they remembered about teachers and classmates. At the 2005 reunion, which Wendy didn’t attend, Jimmy gave a short talk on memorable teachers, including exotic Rene Polsky, old maid Miss Le Van, lantern jawed coach Mr. Gilronan, dirty old H.M. Jones, gap-toothed Mr. Gebauer, and principal Norman ‘Sneaky Pete’ Jones.”
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Raffle Winner
Yesterday I had a nice chat with Chris Young about his excellent article comparing the efforts in Chicago to have statues honoring American Revolution heroes Haym Solomon and Nathan Hale. Interestingly, during the late nineteenth century statues went up for Civil War heroes, but then in the twentieth century the interest was in Founding Fathers. I discovered that there is at least one Haym Solomon Memorial Park in Pennsylvania and a statue dedicated to him in Los Angeles. There are several Hale statues in Connecticut as well as one in New York City.
At my suggestion Eva Mendieta, who is working on an article about a Mexican-American Benevolent Society, interviewed Oscar Sanchez (Roy Dominguez’s former chief aide) who was active in its successor, the Union Benefica Mexicana (UBM), and a past president. Oscar brought an old-timer with him, Daniel Lopez, who was very helpful. He was more comfortable speaking in Spanish, which Eva, a native of Spain, handled with ease.
Troy Davis was executed in Georgia even though seven of nine witnesses recanted and someone else confessed to the murder. What barbarism. Recently when someone during the Republican debate brought up all the people executed in Texas, the Tea Party crowd applauded, just as they did when it was mentioned that someone died due to lack of health insurance. This, rather than being a beacon for freedom, is the reality of American Exceptionalism.
At lunch with Alan Lindmark and Karl Nelson I mentioned a TV show dealing with people who hoard things until there’s virtually no room left in their house. Karl, a Psychology professor, said that it is an obsessive-compulsive disorder and that there are varying degrees and that it is similar to people taking in dozens of stray animals.
TerryAnn Defenser in University Relations informed me that I was a raffle winner at last Friday’s Back-to-School celebration. They called my name after I left. I received a tote bag containing stuff similar to what we handed out at the County Fair but also a White Sox flag and a clapper for use, I guess, at Redhawks basketball games.
At the library courtyard the Business Division distributed free hot dogs, chips, cookies, and pop – an annual tradition. Seeing former Vice Chancellor Marilyn Vasquez hard at work reminded me of when Vice Chancellor Marion Mochon had her assistant, history colleague John Haller, flipping burgers at a Faculty-Staff picnic at Wicker Park, looking for all the world like he’d rather be anywhere but there.
I made contact with Karen Freeman-Wilson, Gary’s next mayor, about interviewing her for my book “On Their Shoulders.” She was born in Gary, so I hope to learn about her parents’ influence on her. Talking to Mike Cherich about politics past and present, he said Karen was a good person who should bring solid leadership qualities to City Hall when she takes office in January. He is good friends with tamburitza maker Milan Opacich, and mentioned that whenever his Serbian mother needed a favor from the Eastern European politicians who were in power 60 years ago she would take them some of her homemade strudel.
LeeLee Minehart keeps encouraging me to add to the “tiara” story, and I keep pushing the envelope, so to speak. Here’s the latest: “As LeeLee, Sissy, and Susan touched bases to plan their trip, they discussed Wendy’s edict about no spouses and realized that they had a revolt of sorts on their hands. Their husbands had decided that they’d fly into Atlanta with them and have fun on their own. On their agenda were a ball game and Road Atlanta, a 2.5-mile oval where they’d race against one other in SuperKarts on an indoor track designed by Mario Andretti. They were planning a canoe trip down the Chattahoochee River and a concert at Centennial Olympic Park. There was talk of a visit to the Blue Flame Lounge, where one of their friends had been for a bachelor party. If you bought one of the waitresses a drink, she’d do a pole dance for you. A stripper evidently treated the groom-to-be to a lap dance, at the end of which with the quick flick of the wrist she somehow managed to remove the guy’s jockey shorts. Unbelievable. The guy still hasn’t lived it down. At least he had the sense not to enter the Blue Flame’s inner sanctum, where more than one bachelor party got out of hand and doomed the groom’s marriage.
As the big event neared, Wendy asked everyone to name the one person still alive not at the reunion that they most regretted not seeing. Without hesitation LeeLee answered “Ricky H.” As she recalled, “We were super friends in seventh and eighth grades. Then Pam T won him over, and I just had to get over it. Ah, young innocent love . . . and we move on.” LeeLee still had in her possession a crushed flower inside an invitation from a dance they attended together as well as a sterling silver charm bracelet Ricky gave her with a heart; one side says Ricky and the other says LeeLee. Looking back, she wondered whether his mother had helped him pick it out. She was quite beautiful, a romantic, and someone girls could talk to in confidence. Ricky’s father was a six-footer, so being tall and handsome was in his genes.
“Jimmy pondered answering Vince, Wendy’s high school sweetheart and first husband, who for 40 years has rebuffed all efforts to get him back to reunions. He was one of a kind and seemed to seek out other unique characters to befriend rather than being interested in fitting in with the “in” crowd. Jimmy felt honored to be his friend. For a tenth grade project they boiled a dead cat and reconstructed its skeleton only to be edged out at the science fair by Ray B, who had 21 specimens of fertilized chicken eggs, opened each day of the incubation period. During an overnight Vince introduced Jimmy to Jean Shepherd’s all-night radio show that they were able to pick up from New York. Shepherd spun tales of growing up in Northwest Indiana; Jimmy never imagined that he’d end up living there. Vince also had a deck of X-rated playing cards that educated Jimmy to the concept of oral sex as well as three-way combinations. Vince enjoyed visiting Charley Thomas, a self-professed atheist and nonconformist who lived on a small farm and had a cynical view of the world. One time Charley took Vince and Jimmy to see his sheep and quipped, “You can learn a lot about sex from them.” Charley often threatened to write a “Peyton Place” type expose of his class. “Too bad the title ‘High School Confidential’ has already been used,” he said, referring to a 1958 movie. What a shame he never followed through. Or perhaps there’s an unpublished manuscript somewhere among his remains. The old curmudgeon never came to a reunion, but in 2005, shortly after his death, a woman who worked at a hospice where he spent his final days showed up. She thought him to be a warm, wonderful person and wanted to meet some of his old friends. Truth be told, loner that he’d been, he hadn’t had more than a handful. Jimmy gave her directions so she could go past the homestead where he grew up.
“Rel put down Paula T, his old girlfriend Marianne’s cousin, as exotic and mysterious as Marianne was down-to-earth and outgoing. While Marianne had fair complexion, there was no mistaking Paula’s Italian ancestry. Once in Mrs. Vandling’s English class for a Word Power assignment Rel had to use the words “laconic” and “loquacious” in a sentence. He was tempted to use the two cousins as examples of each. While Rel was pondering his decision, his wife, who was very religious, got wind of the husbands’ tentative plans to go to Atlanta. Maybe I’ll join them, she teased. “I don’t think you’d approve of the Blue Flame Lounge,” he said. “It sounds like a perfect place to proselytize, she replied.”
At my suggestion Eva Mendieta, who is working on an article about a Mexican-American Benevolent Society, interviewed Oscar Sanchez (Roy Dominguez’s former chief aide) who was active in its successor, the Union Benefica Mexicana (UBM), and a past president. Oscar brought an old-timer with him, Daniel Lopez, who was very helpful. He was more comfortable speaking in Spanish, which Eva, a native of Spain, handled with ease.
Troy Davis was executed in Georgia even though seven of nine witnesses recanted and someone else confessed to the murder. What barbarism. Recently when someone during the Republican debate brought up all the people executed in Texas, the Tea Party crowd applauded, just as they did when it was mentioned that someone died due to lack of health insurance. This, rather than being a beacon for freedom, is the reality of American Exceptionalism.
At lunch with Alan Lindmark and Karl Nelson I mentioned a TV show dealing with people who hoard things until there’s virtually no room left in their house. Karl, a Psychology professor, said that it is an obsessive-compulsive disorder and that there are varying degrees and that it is similar to people taking in dozens of stray animals.
TerryAnn Defenser in University Relations informed me that I was a raffle winner at last Friday’s Back-to-School celebration. They called my name after I left. I received a tote bag containing stuff similar to what we handed out at the County Fair but also a White Sox flag and a clapper for use, I guess, at Redhawks basketball games.
At the library courtyard the Business Division distributed free hot dogs, chips, cookies, and pop – an annual tradition. Seeing former Vice Chancellor Marilyn Vasquez hard at work reminded me of when Vice Chancellor Marion Mochon had her assistant, history colleague John Haller, flipping burgers at a Faculty-Staff picnic at Wicker Park, looking for all the world like he’d rather be anywhere but there.
I made contact with Karen Freeman-Wilson, Gary’s next mayor, about interviewing her for my book “On Their Shoulders.” She was born in Gary, so I hope to learn about her parents’ influence on her. Talking to Mike Cherich about politics past and present, he said Karen was a good person who should bring solid leadership qualities to City Hall when she takes office in January. He is good friends with tamburitza maker Milan Opacich, and mentioned that whenever his Serbian mother needed a favor from the Eastern European politicians who were in power 60 years ago she would take them some of her homemade strudel.
LeeLee Minehart keeps encouraging me to add to the “tiara” story, and I keep pushing the envelope, so to speak. Here’s the latest: “As LeeLee, Sissy, and Susan touched bases to plan their trip, they discussed Wendy’s edict about no spouses and realized that they had a revolt of sorts on their hands. Their husbands had decided that they’d fly into Atlanta with them and have fun on their own. On their agenda were a ball game and Road Atlanta, a 2.5-mile oval where they’d race against one other in SuperKarts on an indoor track designed by Mario Andretti. They were planning a canoe trip down the Chattahoochee River and a concert at Centennial Olympic Park. There was talk of a visit to the Blue Flame Lounge, where one of their friends had been for a bachelor party. If you bought one of the waitresses a drink, she’d do a pole dance for you. A stripper evidently treated the groom-to-be to a lap dance, at the end of which with the quick flick of the wrist she somehow managed to remove the guy’s jockey shorts. Unbelievable. The guy still hasn’t lived it down. At least he had the sense not to enter the Blue Flame’s inner sanctum, where more than one bachelor party got out of hand and doomed the groom’s marriage.
As the big event neared, Wendy asked everyone to name the one person still alive not at the reunion that they most regretted not seeing. Without hesitation LeeLee answered “Ricky H.” As she recalled, “We were super friends in seventh and eighth grades. Then Pam T won him over, and I just had to get over it. Ah, young innocent love . . . and we move on.” LeeLee still had in her possession a crushed flower inside an invitation from a dance they attended together as well as a sterling silver charm bracelet Ricky gave her with a heart; one side says Ricky and the other says LeeLee. Looking back, she wondered whether his mother had helped him pick it out. She was quite beautiful, a romantic, and someone girls could talk to in confidence. Ricky’s father was a six-footer, so being tall and handsome was in his genes.
“Jimmy pondered answering Vince, Wendy’s high school sweetheart and first husband, who for 40 years has rebuffed all efforts to get him back to reunions. He was one of a kind and seemed to seek out other unique characters to befriend rather than being interested in fitting in with the “in” crowd. Jimmy felt honored to be his friend. For a tenth grade project they boiled a dead cat and reconstructed its skeleton only to be edged out at the science fair by Ray B, who had 21 specimens of fertilized chicken eggs, opened each day of the incubation period. During an overnight Vince introduced Jimmy to Jean Shepherd’s all-night radio show that they were able to pick up from New York. Shepherd spun tales of growing up in Northwest Indiana; Jimmy never imagined that he’d end up living there. Vince also had a deck of X-rated playing cards that educated Jimmy to the concept of oral sex as well as three-way combinations. Vince enjoyed visiting Charley Thomas, a self-professed atheist and nonconformist who lived on a small farm and had a cynical view of the world. One time Charley took Vince and Jimmy to see his sheep and quipped, “You can learn a lot about sex from them.” Charley often threatened to write a “Peyton Place” type expose of his class. “Too bad the title ‘High School Confidential’ has already been used,” he said, referring to a 1958 movie. What a shame he never followed through. Or perhaps there’s an unpublished manuscript somewhere among his remains. The old curmudgeon never came to a reunion, but in 2005, shortly after his death, a woman who worked at a hospice where he spent his final days showed up. She thought him to be a warm, wonderful person and wanted to meet some of his old friends. Truth be told, loner that he’d been, he hadn’t had more than a handful. Jimmy gave her directions so she could go past the homestead where he grew up.
“Rel put down Paula T, his old girlfriend Marianne’s cousin, as exotic and mysterious as Marianne was down-to-earth and outgoing. While Marianne had fair complexion, there was no mistaking Paula’s Italian ancestry. Once in Mrs. Vandling’s English class for a Word Power assignment Rel had to use the words “laconic” and “loquacious” in a sentence. He was tempted to use the two cousins as examples of each. While Rel was pondering his decision, his wife, who was very religious, got wind of the husbands’ tentative plans to go to Atlanta. Maybe I’ll join them, she teased. “I don’t think you’d approve of the Blue Flame Lounge,” he said. “It sounds like a perfect place to proselytize, she replied.”
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