It's hard to believe, but my First-Born, Jennifer Lynn is 32 today. Wait a minute! What's going on here? It feels like I just left The Expecting Fathers' Waiting Room at North Side Hospital in Youngstown. A glorious day that started out with not a cloud in the sky. I sat on the ledge of a huge window on the third floor watching the 1st shift trickle into work. It was starting to sink in that I'm now a father. Would I remember my vow as a rebellious teenager to never raise my child like my parents did? My turn now, to mold this kid into every thing I wanted her to be. As all of us parents know, easier said than done.
I was a young father. At 22, I was very energetic and excited about our first child on the way. My wife and I went to weekly Lamaze classes as I prepared to be the coach when my wife went into labor. I'll never forget, "Three Hees and a Hoo", one of the breathing techniques that we practiced religiously. My wife was in labor for 22 hours and was on the verge of needing a C-Section. After a dose of Pitosin, things happened quick. My beautiful daughter was born! 8 pounds, 9 ounces, full head of dark hair. Hell, the kid looked ready for first grade!
The television mega-hit, "Roots" was on the weeks leading up to her birth. I couldn't resist when the nurse handed me Jenny in the Delivery room. I kissed her on the forehead and lifted her skyward saying,"I Name you Kunta Kinta!", mimicking the scene in Roots when the lead character was born. I got a good laugh from The Delivery Team and a scornful look from my wife.
One of the first things I did when we brought Jenny home from the hospital was to go to a Nursery and buy a tree for her. A 5-foot beautiful Mountain Ash was planted in the back yard right next to where the Swing Set would go. At the base of the tree, I put in a small cement plaque with her name and date of birth on it. In later years, she made sure she told everyone that it was HER tree. The tree would also become first base for kick ball games.
When Jennifer turned two, I became a full-time Fireman. Working 24 hours on, 48 hours off, gave me a lot of time with my daughter in her formative years that most dads didn't have. I was able to attend a lot of pre-school field trips and events. I especially remember the trip to the Christmas Tree Farm. Being the only dad there, I was elected to cut the tree down the class selected. I think I still have bits of Pine Tar on my hands and arms, not to mention soaked pants from having to crawl under the tree. I can't imagine how many scores of pumpkins I carried back to the bus from The farm field Halloween trip.
Most Saturday mornings while my daughter was of pre-school age, It was "Mommy Time". My wife had the morning to herself to do whatever she wanted to do. Shop, visit friends or relatives, or just sleep. In nice weather, Jenny and I took off on my ten-speed bike with her strapped to the child carrier on the back. Our first destination was Casey's Restaurant in Poland for breakfast. All the folks there fussed over this adorable little girl and Jenny reciprocated with laughs and giggles. I do remember bringing home a free kitten from a house along our bike trail. The poor little thing scratched me from head to toe by the time I got it home.
One of our favorite things to do when Jennifer was about three was playing, "The Price Is Right!", her favorite show. Jenny would go to the top of the carpeted steps and wait for me to yell from the living room, Jenny Benny Rupe, C'mon Down!" she'd slide on her butt down the steps and ran across the floor into my arms, where I would lift her high in the air and say, "You are the next contestant on The Price Is Right!" She would always squeal in laughter. To this day, I Still call her Jenny Benny. She may be a mother herself, but she'll ALWAYS be my Little Girl.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
How Ya Gonna Keep 'Em Down On The Farm?
Growing up in suburban Youngstown, Ohio, I didn't really learn too much about nature and the Great Outdoors other than my hiking in Yellow Creek Park out to Hamilton Lake. Sure, I did a lot of fishing in my youth and some hunting, but nothing prepared for for the rural life that awaited me in the late 80's, when I moved to North Central Ohio. Podunk wasn't a good enough name for this place. I think their were more dirt and gravel roads than motorized vehicles.
Other than The Canfield Fair, The Mahoning County's agricultural fair, I had never even seen any farm animals, up close and personal. outside of a vegetable garden in the back yard, I didn't know squat about crops and the effort it took to plant, fertilize, nurture, and harvest bountiful acres of corn, soybeans, wheat, and alfalfa. The only Alfalfa I knew was on the Little Rascals.
For about a year, I rented a small house that overlooked a five acre pond, set in the middle of a huge farm of several hundred acres. To me, it was an ideal setting. Previous to this place, I could always hear my neighbors flush their toilets. Ahhhhh, the peace and quiet! I had moved there in late Winter, little did I know what would befall me when the growing season commenced. I was surrounded on three sides by crop fields and by mid-March, the tractors were roaring by the house pretty much 24/7 until the fields were tilled and the crops planted. This usually took until late May.
About 5 feet from my bedroom window was a four foot high pasture fence. I never paid much attention to it or the large pasture that led to a barn about 300 yards away. One morning, I was blasted out of bed by the loudest MOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! I had ever heard in my life. Yeah, that's right, a cow was straining hard against the fence to reach my window to let me know it was time to get my City Ass out of bed! At first, all I could do was run around in circles in my bedroom. After the cobwebs cleared out of my brain, I finally realized what the hell was going on and had a good laugh. I proceeded to have a talk with the farmer who owned the pasture and he agreed not to let the cows into that pasture so early in the morning. Maybe my telling him I was from Youngstown and I'd hate to put a contract out on his cow had something to do with it.
Near the end of Summer, I noticed the same cow laying down in the grass about 10 feet from the fence. Gee, I thought, there sure are a lot of flies on that poor cow. I walked up to the fence and realized the cow was dead. I called the farmer up to give him the bad news and he asked me to jump over the fence and physically check to make sure the cow wasn't breathing. Apparently, he didn't trust this City Slicker. I obliged him and high jumped over the fence, only to land in a large cow pie that was plopped down right in my landing zone. This of course, made me lose my balance and I promptly fell on to my back, in you guessed it, MORE cow pies! Naturally, I had just got off work and still had my dress clothes on. There was even cow poop on my tie! I dutifully went over to the cow to make sure it was not breathing. I lifted it's front leg and was able to turn the cow over like I was using a long-handled jack. Yep, it was dead all right.
Don't get me wrong, the place did have it's charms. It was built in the 1840's and I actually saw the property deed that was written on sheep skin and signed my President James K. Polk. The support beams were cut with an axe and the floors were made of Ironwood, which can't be found today. I learned all about Ironwood after ruining two Circular Saw blades by cutting out a small section of damaged floor. The best part of the property was the pond. Heavily stocked with Pan Fish and Small and large-mouth Bass. There was nothing like coming home after a long, hard day, cracking open an iced-cold beer and "Dippin' a Line" for an hour or so. You were almost guaranteed to catch something, even though I never kept what I caught. It never failed to wind me down after a stressful day.
.
Other than The Canfield Fair, The Mahoning County's agricultural fair, I had never even seen any farm animals, up close and personal. outside of a vegetable garden in the back yard, I didn't know squat about crops and the effort it took to plant, fertilize, nurture, and harvest bountiful acres of corn, soybeans, wheat, and alfalfa. The only Alfalfa I knew was on the Little Rascals.
For about a year, I rented a small house that overlooked a five acre pond, set in the middle of a huge farm of several hundred acres. To me, it was an ideal setting. Previous to this place, I could always hear my neighbors flush their toilets. Ahhhhh, the peace and quiet! I had moved there in late Winter, little did I know what would befall me when the growing season commenced. I was surrounded on three sides by crop fields and by mid-March, the tractors were roaring by the house pretty much 24/7 until the fields were tilled and the crops planted. This usually took until late May.
About 5 feet from my bedroom window was a four foot high pasture fence. I never paid much attention to it or the large pasture that led to a barn about 300 yards away. One morning, I was blasted out of bed by the loudest MOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! I had ever heard in my life. Yeah, that's right, a cow was straining hard against the fence to reach my window to let me know it was time to get my City Ass out of bed! At first, all I could do was run around in circles in my bedroom. After the cobwebs cleared out of my brain, I finally realized what the hell was going on and had a good laugh. I proceeded to have a talk with the farmer who owned the pasture and he agreed not to let the cows into that pasture so early in the morning. Maybe my telling him I was from Youngstown and I'd hate to put a contract out on his cow had something to do with it.
Near the end of Summer, I noticed the same cow laying down in the grass about 10 feet from the fence. Gee, I thought, there sure are a lot of flies on that poor cow. I walked up to the fence and realized the cow was dead. I called the farmer up to give him the bad news and he asked me to jump over the fence and physically check to make sure the cow wasn't breathing. Apparently, he didn't trust this City Slicker. I obliged him and high jumped over the fence, only to land in a large cow pie that was plopped down right in my landing zone. This of course, made me lose my balance and I promptly fell on to my back, in you guessed it, MORE cow pies! Naturally, I had just got off work and still had my dress clothes on. There was even cow poop on my tie! I dutifully went over to the cow to make sure it was not breathing. I lifted it's front leg and was able to turn the cow over like I was using a long-handled jack. Yep, it was dead all right.
Don't get me wrong, the place did have it's charms. It was built in the 1840's and I actually saw the property deed that was written on sheep skin and signed my President James K. Polk. The support beams were cut with an axe and the floors were made of Ironwood, which can't be found today. I learned all about Ironwood after ruining two Circular Saw blades by cutting out a small section of damaged floor. The best part of the property was the pond. Heavily stocked with Pan Fish and Small and large-mouth Bass. There was nothing like coming home after a long, hard day, cracking open an iced-cold beer and "Dippin' a Line" for an hour or so. You were almost guaranteed to catch something, even though I never kept what I caught. It never failed to wind me down after a stressful day.
.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
So, How's The Weather There?
Anyone who hails from Northeast Ohio knows the type of weather that is typical and unique to the area. We know that Oklahoma gets rain sweepin' down the plain. We get Gully Washers whippin' across the Mahoning Valley. Other locations get the publicity, like Tornado Alley. Sure, they get a lot of tornadoes in the Summer. Northeast Ohio gets severe weather year round.
Some of my earliest childhood memories are of playing in snow taller than I was. We didn't have to pile up snow to make a structure to play in. All we had to do was start tunneling. Our yard looked like giant hamsters had taken it over with tunnels in the snow going in every direction. There was a good chance that a snowman that was built in December would still be there in March. Kids were booted out of their homes to go play, when the parents had had enough of restless behavior. You quickly learned how to dress warm and stay warm for several hours in below freezing temperatures.
The boys in my neighborhood played football a lot in this weather. How fun it was to be tackled hard and never getting hurt in a foot of fluffy snow. No one could get up much speed while running. It was a game in slow motion. the only downsides were the football itself which would turn into a frozen rock and feel like it when you landed on it and when you would get your coat and shirt pulled up while being tackled and get snow in places where it definitely didn't belong.
You know it gets cold when the HIGH temperature for the day was MINUS 22 degrees f. We had a cold snap like that in the late 70's. Schools were closed for several days and the only happy people were the Tow Truck Drivers and the gas and electric companies. The poor guys that were on the water company repair crew were kept busy by a large number of waterline breaks. I was a Fireman at the time and we had to drag our fire hose back to the station behind the truck. It was too frozen to roll up. Now that's cold!
Spring rains often came in torrents. It wasn't uncommon for it to rain for a solid week. The ground would become totally saturated and sewers and creeks overflowed into many an unfortunate homeowners' basement. Construction methods weren't what they are today. You considered yourself lucky if your basement was completely dry. Little League games were played much later into the Summer than planned. So many Spring games and practices had to be cancelled, that it extended the season.
The first paddling I received in grade school was because of the heavy rains that flooded our school yard. During recess, I ventured off the blacktop into the forbidden section of yard that had a good foot of water in it with three other boys. Naturally, we all got soaked to the bone. Our teacher took us to the Principal's Office for three swats each (on a wet butt, to boot), then off to the Nurse's Office to disrobe and sit under a blanket while our clothes dried on a radiator.
The Summer brought many severe thunderstorms to our area. Fourth of July weekend of 1969 sticks in the minds of many locals. A brutal storm that rolled across the Mid-West, slammed particularly hard in Ohio with several inches of rain, hail, and 70 M.P.H. winds. The storm hit our area shortly after the dinner hour. My sister, brother-in-law, eight month old niece, and myself, being fourteen at the time, found ourselves in a pop-up camping trailer at Berlin Reservoir. The warning systems weren't in place like they are today and we had no clue a storm of this magnitude was upon us. We heard the forecast for rain, but what else was new?
At the height of this powerful storm, the trailer began rocking like a see-saw. It would literally touch the ground on each side, front to back, with us huddled in the middle. We unzipped a door flap to look out, only to see a large tent with a family in it, begin rolling across the campground. My brother-in-law and I ran out and laid on top of the tent until the worst of the storm had passed. I had no idea that rain could sting so bad on bare skin! Fortunately, everyone escaped with no injuries. Every town in the area was devastated with downed power lines and trees that blocked many streets.
In 1980, an F5 tornado, the most powerful, left a path of destruction of over fifty miles long. It was over a mile wide at times and never left the ground as it scoured everything in it's path from Warren, Ohio to Beaver falls, Pennsylvania. The only thing I can relate the images of the aftermath to were of pictures I have seen of Hiroshima after the atomic bomb was dropped. I saw first-hand what the power of Mother Nature can do. Steel corrugated building panels wrapped around the top of 100 foot tall Oak trees and semi trucks rolled into a corner of a huge trucking yard like bowling pins are just a couple of the scenes I observed. To this day, that tornado ranks as the most destructive in terms of it's length, width, and total property damage in U.S. history.
Some of my earliest childhood memories are of playing in snow taller than I was. We didn't have to pile up snow to make a structure to play in. All we had to do was start tunneling. Our yard looked like giant hamsters had taken it over with tunnels in the snow going in every direction. There was a good chance that a snowman that was built in December would still be there in March. Kids were booted out of their homes to go play, when the parents had had enough of restless behavior. You quickly learned how to dress warm and stay warm for several hours in below freezing temperatures.
The boys in my neighborhood played football a lot in this weather. How fun it was to be tackled hard and never getting hurt in a foot of fluffy snow. No one could get up much speed while running. It was a game in slow motion. the only downsides were the football itself which would turn into a frozen rock and feel like it when you landed on it and when you would get your coat and shirt pulled up while being tackled and get snow in places where it definitely didn't belong.
You know it gets cold when the HIGH temperature for the day was MINUS 22 degrees f. We had a cold snap like that in the late 70's. Schools were closed for several days and the only happy people were the Tow Truck Drivers and the gas and electric companies. The poor guys that were on the water company repair crew were kept busy by a large number of waterline breaks. I was a Fireman at the time and we had to drag our fire hose back to the station behind the truck. It was too frozen to roll up. Now that's cold!
Spring rains often came in torrents. It wasn't uncommon for it to rain for a solid week. The ground would become totally saturated and sewers and creeks overflowed into many an unfortunate homeowners' basement. Construction methods weren't what they are today. You considered yourself lucky if your basement was completely dry. Little League games were played much later into the Summer than planned. So many Spring games and practices had to be cancelled, that it extended the season.
The first paddling I received in grade school was because of the heavy rains that flooded our school yard. During recess, I ventured off the blacktop into the forbidden section of yard that had a good foot of water in it with three other boys. Naturally, we all got soaked to the bone. Our teacher took us to the Principal's Office for three swats each (on a wet butt, to boot), then off to the Nurse's Office to disrobe and sit under a blanket while our clothes dried on a radiator.
The Summer brought many severe thunderstorms to our area. Fourth of July weekend of 1969 sticks in the minds of many locals. A brutal storm that rolled across the Mid-West, slammed particularly hard in Ohio with several inches of rain, hail, and 70 M.P.H. winds. The storm hit our area shortly after the dinner hour. My sister, brother-in-law, eight month old niece, and myself, being fourteen at the time, found ourselves in a pop-up camping trailer at Berlin Reservoir. The warning systems weren't in place like they are today and we had no clue a storm of this magnitude was upon us. We heard the forecast for rain, but what else was new?
At the height of this powerful storm, the trailer began rocking like a see-saw. It would literally touch the ground on each side, front to back, with us huddled in the middle. We unzipped a door flap to look out, only to see a large tent with a family in it, begin rolling across the campground. My brother-in-law and I ran out and laid on top of the tent until the worst of the storm had passed. I had no idea that rain could sting so bad on bare skin! Fortunately, everyone escaped with no injuries. Every town in the area was devastated with downed power lines and trees that blocked many streets.
In 1980, an F5 tornado, the most powerful, left a path of destruction of over fifty miles long. It was over a mile wide at times and never left the ground as it scoured everything in it's path from Warren, Ohio to Beaver falls, Pennsylvania. The only thing I can relate the images of the aftermath to were of pictures I have seen of Hiroshima after the atomic bomb was dropped. I saw first-hand what the power of Mother Nature can do. Steel corrugated building panels wrapped around the top of 100 foot tall Oak trees and semi trucks rolled into a corner of a huge trucking yard like bowling pins are just a couple of the scenes I observed. To this day, that tornado ranks as the most destructive in terms of it's length, width, and total property damage in U.S. history.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Tin Soldiers And Nixon Coming
Forty years ago, on May 4th, 1970, The Anti-War Movement against The Vietnam War came to a peak with the shooting of four students at Kent State University. America was forever changed that day. Anyone who remembers one of the blackest marks against our freedom has an opinion about who was right or wrong and who was to blame for the shootings.
I was fifteen years old when the shootings occurred at KSU. Kent was only an hour's drive from my home in Struthers, Ohio. One of the four students that was shot that day was a girl from Boardman, a suburb next to us in the Youngstown area, so it really hit home literally to anyone from our geographic location. I recall following the news intently on the television that day as grainy videos were shown of the mayhem that resulted from The National Guard firing upon students as they marched towards the Administration Building up The Blanket Hill Area of campus. I will never forget the photograph of a girl kneeling over a slain student and the horrified look on her face as she screamed for help.
Governor James Rhodes was vilified by the students for allowing the National Guardsmen to carry live ammunition and fire on the students if threatened. The Guard always claimed that the students fired upon them first. Even after years of scrutiny and debate, No one can definitively say exactly what happened. A lot depends on what side of the issue they were on. America became very divided over the Kent State Shootings and did hasten the politicians to taking great strides to end American involvement in Vietnam.
Because of my involvement and leadership in DECA, The Distributive Education Clubs Of America, I was offered a "Full ride" scholarship to Kent State. KSU was the only university that offered a Major in Distributive Education in Ohio. I declined the offer directly because of what happened there and the student unrest. I didn't want to be any part of it. At least, that's what my 18 year old mind was telling me. Three years had past and the U.S. involvement in Vietnam was winding down and The Draft had ended. I suppose I used it as a convenient excuse to stay close to home.
Ironically, my Senior year, we had a student teacher in Distributive Education that came from Kent State. He had the unique prospective on that fateful day on May 4th, 1970, to be a student AND a National Guard Soldier. Talk about conflicted. He told my class, no matter what, he knew he would not fire his rifle that day. If commanded to do so, he said he would have fired over every one's head. He took us for a tour of The KSU Campus and showed us Blanket Hill and a abstract sculpture that had two bullet holes in it. If you looked through the holes and lined them both up in your field of sight, you can see that it was in direct line with a fire escape on a student dormitory building. This supposedly supports the allegations from the Guard that the students fired upon them. Again, I don't think we will ever know the whole truth.
In the Summer of 1973, I had just graduated from high school and attended my first major rock concert at Cleveland Municipal stadium, called "The World Series Of Rock". Among the performers that evening was Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young. They played their recently released anthem of the Anti-War Movement, "Ohio", a moving song about The KSU Shootings. Over 100,000 kids sang the song along with them while holding up their Bic Lighters. Chills ran down my spine and as I looked around, there were not many dry eyes to be seen. That was my first experience of the power that music can have on our lives.
In a perverse way, I suppose I'm glad I lived through those days. I learned a lot about how powerful a movement of people can be when supporting an issue. Our forefathers fought for our independence much the same way. America's heroes were those that stuck their necks out for all of us. This includes our soldiers and the protesters that believe the course our country is headed is in the wrong direction. That's freedom, like it or not. We all need to defend it to our last breath.
I was fifteen years old when the shootings occurred at KSU. Kent was only an hour's drive from my home in Struthers, Ohio. One of the four students that was shot that day was a girl from Boardman, a suburb next to us in the Youngstown area, so it really hit home literally to anyone from our geographic location. I recall following the news intently on the television that day as grainy videos were shown of the mayhem that resulted from The National Guard firing upon students as they marched towards the Administration Building up The Blanket Hill Area of campus. I will never forget the photograph of a girl kneeling over a slain student and the horrified look on her face as she screamed for help.
Governor James Rhodes was vilified by the students for allowing the National Guardsmen to carry live ammunition and fire on the students if threatened. The Guard always claimed that the students fired upon them first. Even after years of scrutiny and debate, No one can definitively say exactly what happened. A lot depends on what side of the issue they were on. America became very divided over the Kent State Shootings and did hasten the politicians to taking great strides to end American involvement in Vietnam.
Because of my involvement and leadership in DECA, The Distributive Education Clubs Of America, I was offered a "Full ride" scholarship to Kent State. KSU was the only university that offered a Major in Distributive Education in Ohio. I declined the offer directly because of what happened there and the student unrest. I didn't want to be any part of it. At least, that's what my 18 year old mind was telling me. Three years had past and the U.S. involvement in Vietnam was winding down and The Draft had ended. I suppose I used it as a convenient excuse to stay close to home.
Ironically, my Senior year, we had a student teacher in Distributive Education that came from Kent State. He had the unique prospective on that fateful day on May 4th, 1970, to be a student AND a National Guard Soldier. Talk about conflicted. He told my class, no matter what, he knew he would not fire his rifle that day. If commanded to do so, he said he would have fired over every one's head. He took us for a tour of The KSU Campus and showed us Blanket Hill and a abstract sculpture that had two bullet holes in it. If you looked through the holes and lined them both up in your field of sight, you can see that it was in direct line with a fire escape on a student dormitory building. This supposedly supports the allegations from the Guard that the students fired upon them. Again, I don't think we will ever know the whole truth.
In the Summer of 1973, I had just graduated from high school and attended my first major rock concert at Cleveland Municipal stadium, called "The World Series Of Rock". Among the performers that evening was Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young. They played their recently released anthem of the Anti-War Movement, "Ohio", a moving song about The KSU Shootings. Over 100,000 kids sang the song along with them while holding up their Bic Lighters. Chills ran down my spine and as I looked around, there were not many dry eyes to be seen. That was my first experience of the power that music can have on our lives.
In a perverse way, I suppose I'm glad I lived through those days. I learned a lot about how powerful a movement of people can be when supporting an issue. Our forefathers fought for our independence much the same way. America's heroes were those that stuck their necks out for all of us. This includes our soldiers and the protesters that believe the course our country is headed is in the wrong direction. That's freedom, like it or not. We all need to defend it to our last breath.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Oh, Danny Boy, I Miss You So
I guess I met my buddy Danny on the blacktop basketball courts of St. Nicholas Church in Struthers. We were in junior high in the late 60's. He went to a St. Nick's School and I was across the street at Fifth Street Elementary. He obviously, was Catholic and I was raised a Baptist. He had strong Irish roots, I had a Heinz 57 variety heritage of English, French, and German. By high school years, my older sisters had "left the Nest" and I was the only child at home. Danny's family consisted of six kids. Four boys and two girls. Despite all this, Danny and I became very good friends and shared many an adventure together.
To me, Danny's house was a place of fascination. It was like Grand Central Station at all hours of the day and night, especially in the summer time with everyone out of school. Dan's father was disabled and confined to a wheelchair. He was a very pleasant guy who was always happy to see you and was a permanent fixture at the kitchen table. You never knocked on Danny's door. You just walked right into the kitchen and his dad was there to greet you.
Dan had two older siblings, a brother four years older and a sister two years older. All of Dan's friends thought his sister was Hot. A brunette version of Susan Dey or Peggy Lipton from The Mod Squad. She was very friendly with us which of course, drove all the hormones just wild in all us teenage boys. Her group of girlfriends were just as pretty and we just loved them all coming by to see her. None of our group of boys was bold enough to ask an older girl out, but we certainly discussed the possibilities.
As our group of six or seven got our driver's licenses, the fun really began. Of course, wheels meant freedom and we practically lived in our cars from the time we were sixteen until we settled down after high school. Cruising the local fast food restaurants is a rite of passage for all American teenagers, isn't it? Dan and I spent a lot of hours in a car going to all the Hot Spots in the Youngstown area. I remember every one's fascination with seeing the Market Street Robot, as it was called. From Youngstown State University on Wick Avenue, if you looked south towards downtown, the street lights on the Market Street Bridge looked like the outline of a body and the head of the robot was the huge lighted Amoco Gasoline sign. Anyone new to cruising with us was asked if they ever saw the robot. If they answered no, we felt obligated to show it to them.
We befriended some girls from rival Cardinal Mooney High School. A group of about a dozen of us "hung out" together for the better part of two years. Many late Summer nights were spent at The Penn-Ohio Truck Stop enjoying mass quantities of French Fries and Root Beer. I do believe Danny hooked up with one of the red-headed sisters that frequented our group. I was never that lucky. We spent many evenings at The Sky High Drive-In Theatre watching the latest horror movie. Several of us would often hide in the trunk to sneak in if we were broke. We took the girls to Locust Grove Lake, a swimming hole in New Springfield. We had a lot of fun there, especially going down their huge slide. You were guaranteed a "Wedgie" each trip down the slide.
Growing up in The Youngstown Area, fights were common and you never knew when a confrontation would take place. Dan and I should have known when we accompanied our buddy, Greg to a function at New Springfield Local High School. Greg was dating a Cheer Leader from there and the local boys didn't like the idea of anyone cutting in on their turf. Once outside, someone started a fight with Greg and then all Hell broke loose! Three of us against probably twenty of them. Fists were flying and we each managed to handle anyone that came at us. None of us had a scratch! We were lucky to escape unscathed. Legends were born that night. For months afterwards, kids from both schools talked about the Big Fight where some Struthers boys put a whippin' on those Farm Boys from New Springfield. Needless to say, we never went back for an encore performance.
During our high school days, Dan and I worked in landscaping, preparing new yards for seeding or for sod. Often very long hours of back breaking work. We had blisters on top of blisters. We would ride in the back of a dump truck to a sod farm and fill it up with rolls of sod that weighed 70-80 pounds, ride to the job site and unload all of it into place in the yard. A large yard would take two sun up to sun down days to finish and we looked like Coal miners by the time we got done. The black silt filled every nook and cranny on your body. Danny began doing a lot of work in concrete construction and excavation, learning a lot along the way.
Not long after graduation in 1973, Danny headed to California to work in construction. He did really well for himself and started his own company. We talked on the phone pretty often and as many times as I told him I would come out to visit sometime, something always seemed to get in the way. He came back to Ohio several times for weddings, funerals, and reunions. It always felt great to reconnect and I miss our friendship. We all have had friends in our lives that have had that special bond. Danny was one of those guys. Always somebody I could count on.
To me, Danny's house was a place of fascination. It was like Grand Central Station at all hours of the day and night, especially in the summer time with everyone out of school. Dan's father was disabled and confined to a wheelchair. He was a very pleasant guy who was always happy to see you and was a permanent fixture at the kitchen table. You never knocked on Danny's door. You just walked right into the kitchen and his dad was there to greet you.
Dan had two older siblings, a brother four years older and a sister two years older. All of Dan's friends thought his sister was Hot. A brunette version of Susan Dey or Peggy Lipton from The Mod Squad. She was very friendly with us which of course, drove all the hormones just wild in all us teenage boys. Her group of girlfriends were just as pretty and we just loved them all coming by to see her. None of our group of boys was bold enough to ask an older girl out, but we certainly discussed the possibilities.
As our group of six or seven got our driver's licenses, the fun really began. Of course, wheels meant freedom and we practically lived in our cars from the time we were sixteen until we settled down after high school. Cruising the local fast food restaurants is a rite of passage for all American teenagers, isn't it? Dan and I spent a lot of hours in a car going to all the Hot Spots in the Youngstown area. I remember every one's fascination with seeing the Market Street Robot, as it was called. From Youngstown State University on Wick Avenue, if you looked south towards downtown, the street lights on the Market Street Bridge looked like the outline of a body and the head of the robot was the huge lighted Amoco Gasoline sign. Anyone new to cruising with us was asked if they ever saw the robot. If they answered no, we felt obligated to show it to them.
We befriended some girls from rival Cardinal Mooney High School. A group of about a dozen of us "hung out" together for the better part of two years. Many late Summer nights were spent at The Penn-Ohio Truck Stop enjoying mass quantities of French Fries and Root Beer. I do believe Danny hooked up with one of the red-headed sisters that frequented our group. I was never that lucky. We spent many evenings at The Sky High Drive-In Theatre watching the latest horror movie. Several of us would often hide in the trunk to sneak in if we were broke. We took the girls to Locust Grove Lake, a swimming hole in New Springfield. We had a lot of fun there, especially going down their huge slide. You were guaranteed a "Wedgie" each trip down the slide.
Growing up in The Youngstown Area, fights were common and you never knew when a confrontation would take place. Dan and I should have known when we accompanied our buddy, Greg to a function at New Springfield Local High School. Greg was dating a Cheer Leader from there and the local boys didn't like the idea of anyone cutting in on their turf. Once outside, someone started a fight with Greg and then all Hell broke loose! Three of us against probably twenty of them. Fists were flying and we each managed to handle anyone that came at us. None of us had a scratch! We were lucky to escape unscathed. Legends were born that night. For months afterwards, kids from both schools talked about the Big Fight where some Struthers boys put a whippin' on those Farm Boys from New Springfield. Needless to say, we never went back for an encore performance.
During our high school days, Dan and I worked in landscaping, preparing new yards for seeding or for sod. Often very long hours of back breaking work. We had blisters on top of blisters. We would ride in the back of a dump truck to a sod farm and fill it up with rolls of sod that weighed 70-80 pounds, ride to the job site and unload all of it into place in the yard. A large yard would take two sun up to sun down days to finish and we looked like Coal miners by the time we got done. The black silt filled every nook and cranny on your body. Danny began doing a lot of work in concrete construction and excavation, learning a lot along the way.
Not long after graduation in 1973, Danny headed to California to work in construction. He did really well for himself and started his own company. We talked on the phone pretty often and as many times as I told him I would come out to visit sometime, something always seemed to get in the way. He came back to Ohio several times for weddings, funerals, and reunions. It always felt great to reconnect and I miss our friendship. We all have had friends in our lives that have had that special bond. Danny was one of those guys. Always somebody I could count on.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Want To Buy Some Swamp Land?
The Summer of '66 found me on vacation with my parents to Florida. I don't remember why my sisters didn't go that year, but the back seat was occupied by Me, Myself, and I. Boring. Mile after mile, not much was said to me, except Mom's never-ending spiel on points of interest from the AAA Trip-Ticket Map. Gheesh! Summer vacations were suppose to be fun, not educational!
Finally, we arrived in Florida and set up our tent trailer at a campsite on the banks of the famous Swanee River. (I still hear Wayne Newton singing that song in my head.) One thing I clearly remember was the humidity. A swimming towel I hung up that evening to dry was even wetter the following morning. I can't imagine how folks dried their clothes before dryers were invented. Clotheslines were of little use. Talk about Jungle Rot, now I know what G.I.'s had to deal with in damp conditions.
We visited Silver Springs, the h0me of the Glass-Bottomed Boats. The tour of the river was amazing to a Ohio boy that had never seen a clear body of water. Through the boat's floor, you could easily see sixty feet down. There were Catfish six feet long and scores of other colorful species. A recent episode of "I Spy" was filmed there and props of a ancient ruins were left behind for tourist to "ohhh" and "Awww" over. Some Tarzan movies were also filmed partly at this location and monkeys hung down from branches looking for handouts from the boat operators. My parents bought an end table made of abalone shells encased in acrylic. It sure didn't go with our decor, but my dad loved it. It sat next to his recliner until the day he died.
One afternoon a man approached our campsite, dressed in a suit and tie, looking totally out of place. He asked my parents if they would like to go on a one hour plane ride, have a full course lunch and tour a resort development. Their only obligation was to listen to a one hour sales presentation on possibly buying some land to build a vacation home on someday. My father readily agreed and the man said a bus would pick us up in the morning to take us to the airport.
The man left and Mom looked at Pop like he was out of his mind. He eased her mind by telling her, "Don't worry. Buying property is the last thing I'm thinking of. I figured we would get to go on a free plane ride, have a nice lunch, and enjoy the afternoon, free of charge." Yeah, right...
We hopped on the bus for the short trip to the airport and boarded a beat-up silver Turbo-Prop plane to Lake Wales, Florida. This was my first plane trip, so my nose was glued to the window.
We arrived at the resort called River Ranch. The adults were ushered into a large conference hall and the kids were led away like Lemmings to a play area, stables, and marina. Everything was free of charge and I had a blast doing everything they had to offer.
My last activity was taking out a small motorboat with an outboard motor. The man at the marina asked if I knew how to operate the boat. I assured him my family had a boat and I drove it all the time. What he didn't know was I did it from my father's lap. I was only eleven, but he let me take the boat out on my own on Lake Wales. I lost track of time, zipping up and down the lake. What fun! When I did finally show up at the marina, several adults were standing there waiting on me. I was holding up the bus that was returning us to the airport. I thought I was in big trouble, but my parents said they were just glad I was back safe and sound.
My folks did buy property at River Ranch. Not one lot, but two. Two and a half acres. The sales people convinced them that property values would soar with Disney World being built soon, just a stone's throw up the road. This was a Ground Floor Opportunity according to them and streets and utilities would be put in soon to start housing. A "Convenient Payment Plan" enticed my parents and made it affordable to middle-class people like my mom and dad.
They began making plans to build a retirement home there. Months turned into years and no development was ever done at River Ranch. Finally, the property developers were nailed for committing fraud. It was learned that no one could build on this property because it was part of a Federal Flood Plain and no permanent structures could be built there. My parents along with thousands of others were Hood-Winked, Swindled, and just plain Ripped-Off. They were literally sold Swamp Land in Florida!
Many years later, as part of a Class-Action Suit, my parents were offered another piece of property in Cape Coral. They didn't bother following up on it and my dad thought it was just another swindle. After the time limit expired on this land swap, "60 Minutes" ran a story on "The Great American Land swindle", detailing what happened to these hapless victims. They said that at least a lot of the people got a fair deal by being able to trade their property for one in Cape Coral. My dad heard that and you could have knocked him over with a feather!
Long after I was married and had children of my own, my father told me that the property in Florida was intended as an investment for my college education. He was sorry I had to struggle on my own to pay for college. Property deed in hand, I went to River Ranch to see what was there in the 90's and to try and sell it. The land could be sold to campers or fisherman to use and have access to the local river. The past property taxes that were due was worth more than the value of the property itself. So much for trying to unload a White Elephant.
Finally, we arrived in Florida and set up our tent trailer at a campsite on the banks of the famous Swanee River. (I still hear Wayne Newton singing that song in my head.) One thing I clearly remember was the humidity. A swimming towel I hung up that evening to dry was even wetter the following morning. I can't imagine how folks dried their clothes before dryers were invented. Clotheslines were of little use. Talk about Jungle Rot, now I know what G.I.'s had to deal with in damp conditions.
We visited Silver Springs, the h0me of the Glass-Bottomed Boats. The tour of the river was amazing to a Ohio boy that had never seen a clear body of water. Through the boat's floor, you could easily see sixty feet down. There were Catfish six feet long and scores of other colorful species. A recent episode of "I Spy" was filmed there and props of a ancient ruins were left behind for tourist to "ohhh" and "Awww" over. Some Tarzan movies were also filmed partly at this location and monkeys hung down from branches looking for handouts from the boat operators. My parents bought an end table made of abalone shells encased in acrylic. It sure didn't go with our decor, but my dad loved it. It sat next to his recliner until the day he died.
One afternoon a man approached our campsite, dressed in a suit and tie, looking totally out of place. He asked my parents if they would like to go on a one hour plane ride, have a full course lunch and tour a resort development. Their only obligation was to listen to a one hour sales presentation on possibly buying some land to build a vacation home on someday. My father readily agreed and the man said a bus would pick us up in the morning to take us to the airport.
The man left and Mom looked at Pop like he was out of his mind. He eased her mind by telling her, "Don't worry. Buying property is the last thing I'm thinking of. I figured we would get to go on a free plane ride, have a nice lunch, and enjoy the afternoon, free of charge." Yeah, right...
We hopped on the bus for the short trip to the airport and boarded a beat-up silver Turbo-Prop plane to Lake Wales, Florida. This was my first plane trip, so my nose was glued to the window.
We arrived at the resort called River Ranch. The adults were ushered into a large conference hall and the kids were led away like Lemmings to a play area, stables, and marina. Everything was free of charge and I had a blast doing everything they had to offer.
My last activity was taking out a small motorboat with an outboard motor. The man at the marina asked if I knew how to operate the boat. I assured him my family had a boat and I drove it all the time. What he didn't know was I did it from my father's lap. I was only eleven, but he let me take the boat out on my own on Lake Wales. I lost track of time, zipping up and down the lake. What fun! When I did finally show up at the marina, several adults were standing there waiting on me. I was holding up the bus that was returning us to the airport. I thought I was in big trouble, but my parents said they were just glad I was back safe and sound.
My folks did buy property at River Ranch. Not one lot, but two. Two and a half acres. The sales people convinced them that property values would soar with Disney World being built soon, just a stone's throw up the road. This was a Ground Floor Opportunity according to them and streets and utilities would be put in soon to start housing. A "Convenient Payment Plan" enticed my parents and made it affordable to middle-class people like my mom and dad.
They began making plans to build a retirement home there. Months turned into years and no development was ever done at River Ranch. Finally, the property developers were nailed for committing fraud. It was learned that no one could build on this property because it was part of a Federal Flood Plain and no permanent structures could be built there. My parents along with thousands of others were Hood-Winked, Swindled, and just plain Ripped-Off. They were literally sold Swamp Land in Florida!
Many years later, as part of a Class-Action Suit, my parents were offered another piece of property in Cape Coral. They didn't bother following up on it and my dad thought it was just another swindle. After the time limit expired on this land swap, "60 Minutes" ran a story on "The Great American Land swindle", detailing what happened to these hapless victims. They said that at least a lot of the people got a fair deal by being able to trade their property for one in Cape Coral. My dad heard that and you could have knocked him over with a feather!
Long after I was married and had children of my own, my father told me that the property in Florida was intended as an investment for my college education. He was sorry I had to struggle on my own to pay for college. Property deed in hand, I went to River Ranch to see what was there in the 90's and to try and sell it. The land could be sold to campers or fisherman to use and have access to the local river. The past property taxes that were due was worth more than the value of the property itself. So much for trying to unload a White Elephant.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
A Great Way To Spend A Summer Weekend
I was very fortunate that my family went on a vacation every year during my adolescence. My parents, two older sisters, and I packed up our big ol' Chrysler and Tent trailer and hit the open road. We saw most of "The Lower 48" and had some memories I'll never forget and cherish forever.
Now what's a family to do the rest of the Summer, after vacation is over? Why, buy a boat,too! My father found a good deal on a sixteen foot Ski Boat and decided we could all enjoy camping and boating weekends at Berlin Reservoir, a huge lake just south of Youngstown, Ohio. I don't know where my dad got all this money to buy all these extras to daily living. His adage was, "Live today, pay for it tomorrow." He was right. We had a ball! Every weekend from Memorial Day to Labor Day, we usually could be found at the Berlin Campground.
My oldest sister was recently married and my new brother-in-law would haul the trailer out to the campground on Friday night and Dad and I would follow behind pulling the boat. We would set up camp and launch the boat into the water. We took the boat about two hundred yards down the lake and beached it in front of our camp sight. We were all set for the weekend. Dad always had to work Friday night, so he would leave for work straight from the reservoir and return Saturday afternoon after a few hours of sleep.
Friends and other family members would trickle out to our campsite during the day on Saturday or even Sunday. It was understood to bring your own food and refreshments. Let the party begin! We skied and boated from sun up to sun down. I especially liked to water ski first thing in the morning when the lake surface was like glass. I tried to Barefoot Ski several times, but the boat just wasn't fast enough. By the time I was fourteen, I could slalom ski, (one ski), and actually touch my shoulder to the water as I cut back and forth across the wake of the boat.
We even talked my mom into trying to get on our hard plastic sled that we pulled behind the boat. Let's not say my mom was fat, we'll just say she was fluffy. we went into very shallow water and even with the help of my brother-in-law and me, we couldn't get mom on top of the sled to go for a ride. We all laughed so hard we cried. What a sight to see my mother flop from one side of the sled to the other! We all gave her an "A" for effort. What a good sport.
I had an uncle who thought he was a Hot Shot on Water Skis. He would play around with jumping real high over the wake and even skiing backwards. His Hot Dog antics finally caught up to him one day. His plan was to let go of the ski rope and glide quickly into shore and jump out of his skis as he hit land. However, his speed was way to fast and he hit the shoreline at probably twenty miles per hour. He was vaulted head over heels several times and separated his shoulder. We teased him about that stunt for years.
I was never bored when we went to the lake. Over the years, I made many friends there, who's families also camped there every weekend. Many late nights were spent in front of a campfire roasting marshmallows or making smores. My favorite campfire treat was dripping juice from hot bacon fat on to fresh Italian bread that was covered with onions. Talk about an instant coronary! Ahh, anything in moderation is OK, right? It wasn't uncommon for some of us kids to fall asleep in front of the fire while telling ghost stories.
All good things have to come to an end and our days at Berlin Reservoir slowly dwindled to rare occasions. My sisters were both now married and had little children and my high school activities and work cut in to my time to camp or ski. Mom and Dad weren't getting any younger either, so they decided to sell the camping trailer and boat. We all felt bad about it, but understood. We all resolved to do the same thing with our kids when they got older. Truth was, it never happened, for a variety of reasons. At least we all have the memories of some great times.
Now what's a family to do the rest of the Summer, after vacation is over? Why, buy a boat,too! My father found a good deal on a sixteen foot Ski Boat and decided we could all enjoy camping and boating weekends at Berlin Reservoir, a huge lake just south of Youngstown, Ohio. I don't know where my dad got all this money to buy all these extras to daily living. His adage was, "Live today, pay for it tomorrow." He was right. We had a ball! Every weekend from Memorial Day to Labor Day, we usually could be found at the Berlin Campground.
My oldest sister was recently married and my new brother-in-law would haul the trailer out to the campground on Friday night and Dad and I would follow behind pulling the boat. We would set up camp and launch the boat into the water. We took the boat about two hundred yards down the lake and beached it in front of our camp sight. We were all set for the weekend. Dad always had to work Friday night, so he would leave for work straight from the reservoir and return Saturday afternoon after a few hours of sleep.
Friends and other family members would trickle out to our campsite during the day on Saturday or even Sunday. It was understood to bring your own food and refreshments. Let the party begin! We skied and boated from sun up to sun down. I especially liked to water ski first thing in the morning when the lake surface was like glass. I tried to Barefoot Ski several times, but the boat just wasn't fast enough. By the time I was fourteen, I could slalom ski, (one ski), and actually touch my shoulder to the water as I cut back and forth across the wake of the boat.
We even talked my mom into trying to get on our hard plastic sled that we pulled behind the boat. Let's not say my mom was fat, we'll just say she was fluffy. we went into very shallow water and even with the help of my brother-in-law and me, we couldn't get mom on top of the sled to go for a ride. We all laughed so hard we cried. What a sight to see my mother flop from one side of the sled to the other! We all gave her an "A" for effort. What a good sport.
I had an uncle who thought he was a Hot Shot on Water Skis. He would play around with jumping real high over the wake and even skiing backwards. His Hot Dog antics finally caught up to him one day. His plan was to let go of the ski rope and glide quickly into shore and jump out of his skis as he hit land. However, his speed was way to fast and he hit the shoreline at probably twenty miles per hour. He was vaulted head over heels several times and separated his shoulder. We teased him about that stunt for years.
I was never bored when we went to the lake. Over the years, I made many friends there, who's families also camped there every weekend. Many late nights were spent in front of a campfire roasting marshmallows or making smores. My favorite campfire treat was dripping juice from hot bacon fat on to fresh Italian bread that was covered with onions. Talk about an instant coronary! Ahh, anything in moderation is OK, right? It wasn't uncommon for some of us kids to fall asleep in front of the fire while telling ghost stories.
All good things have to come to an end and our days at Berlin Reservoir slowly dwindled to rare occasions. My sisters were both now married and had little children and my high school activities and work cut in to my time to camp or ski. Mom and Dad weren't getting any younger either, so they decided to sell the camping trailer and boat. We all felt bad about it, but understood. We all resolved to do the same thing with our kids when they got older. Truth was, it never happened, for a variety of reasons. At least we all have the memories of some great times.
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