I recently lost my Cousin Rick to a debilitating tumor that took away so much of who he was and what he was. Why my heartache is still fresh, I thought I'd reminisce about my times with him. Knowing this humble man was the pleasure of all who crossed paths with Rick. I don't think I was the only one who left his presence feeling special. He was always genuinely happy to see you.
Rick was six years older than me. He had two older brothers and one younger brother that was my age. They grew up in The Kirkmere Section of Youngstown, Ohio, about twenty minutes from our house in Struthers. Fortunately for me, our Dads were very close brothers and saw each other pretty frequently. usually at their house. That was sheer Heaven for me! Growing up with two older sisters was a drag compared to hanging out with four boys!
At least once every Summer, while growing up, I spent at least a month at my Cousins' house. My Cousin Ron and I were the same age and spent the Summer days getting into all kinds of mischief in the area. Because of the age difference, the older brothers weren't around much. When they were, some good-natured teasing ensued towards me with Rick usually being the ring leader. It actually made me feel special as a little guy, someone paying attention to me.
Rick would let me help him on his paper route and my reward would be a Popsicle at the corner grocery store. He bought a Lambretta Motor Scooter when he was sixteen and took me for rides around the block almost every time I asked. We all know how persistent a ten year old can be when they want something. Rick never told me to, "Take a Hike!" or "Get Lost!", as a teenager might be prone to do. He always had patience with me and he never had a mean streak towards anyone, even as a adolescent.
The late 60's found Rick in the Army in Viet Nam. God had more good things in store for him to do and brought home home safely. The only time I remember Rick being angry or upset was at a family gathering after his homecoming. Uncle Bob, Rick's Dad, told Rick he didn't fight in a REAL WAR like he did in World War II. That was enough to set Rick off in a tirade, rightly so, and telling his Father," Funny, they used REAL bullets!" I never forgot their argument and it spelled it out to me as a teenager how both side felt about the war. It was so unfair to the Vets.
Life and the years rolled by. All of us cousins moved on, had families, and many moved away from the Youngstown Area, including me. Cousin Rick stayed in Y-Town and found his true Calling as a teacher in the city schools. He became a very talented self-taught carpenter and used those skills in the Summer and weekends to supplement the family income. Many additions and decks in the area have his mark on them. He was the first to show up at my Father's house to build a first floor bathroom when my Dad became disabled.
Rick had married his beautiful blond high school Sweetheart. They raised three extremely attractive and talented children. Family members jokingly called them The Keatons, based on the 80's Sitcom, Family Ties, of an over-achieving funny family. Rick doted over his kids, as well he should have. He was the type of Father every man wishes he could have been.
I suppose I looked upon Cousin Rick as the big brother I never had. My experiences with older siblings and even some cousins for that matter, paled to how Rick always treated me and even stuck up for me, on occasion. I guess the best thing I can do to honor his memory is to be kinder and gentler to everyone I encounter.
Rick regularly read The Bible and practiced what it preached. He was never one to instill religious values upon anyone. However, he taught Bible Classes and counseled many young people on the difference between right and wrong. What a wonderful World we would have if we could all conduct our lives like Rick lead his life: Energetic, Loving, Honest, and Dedicated to Helping Others.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Card Games For Fun And Profit
With all the craze these days towards Texas Hold 'Em Poker, myself included, It got me thinking about when and where I started playing cards for money. Besides the occasional game my Dad would have with my uncles of Penny-Ante Poker at the dining room table, I guess it started at Tippecanoe Country Club in The Youngstown Area.
Not that I was the Son of The Privileged, playing in a back room there against other Ne'er-do-wells, playing for the keys to Father's Jaguar. I was a Caddy playing Tong on a Picnic Table in the Caddy Yard. I often made more money playing cards than I did caddying on any given day.
Tong was a fairly simple game that had the objective of having the highest or lowest point total or both. Having both meant you needed a lot of Aces to beat everyone else. I started Caddying at the minimum age of twelve. Most boys had hours to kill while waiting to be selected to haul some one's bag. I began studying other boys playing Tong and learned strategies. No one seemed to mind if you looked over there shoulder. On a slow day, somebody started a game. I took a gulp and said,"I'm In!".
Over the weeks of that Summer and the Summers until I was Sixteen, Tong put as much money in my pocket as Caddying. My Folks never wondered I guess why I would come home with a pocketful of change. They must have figured the Golfers paid me in coins, the Cheap S.O.B.'s!
Poker started in my early teen years in the basements of a couple of buddies' houses. we either played on a rickety Card Table at one's or on a felt Pool Table at another's. Stakes were nickels, dimes, and quarters. The big winner on any given night might have won twenty bucks. Still, not bad for a teenager in the 70's. On the weekends, we had Poker Tournaments with maybe ten guys playing. We would sometimes raise the stakes to a Quarter and fifty cents. We thought we were Big Time! Playing all night wasn't uncommon and we'd go to The Truck Stop in North Lima for Breakfast.
My gang of high school buddies continued playing Poker after graduating, until one-by-one, we all got married. Nobody could afford to lose twenty bucks at Cards when we had house payments and a Wife to answer to when we got home. After most of us had kids, we began getting together again to play Tripoly or Shanghai Rummy. No money involved or Baby Sitters. Everyone brought their kids and they crashed on the Living Room floor until it was time to go home. Cheap entertainment for young families on a budget.
Not that I was the Son of The Privileged, playing in a back room there against other Ne'er-do-wells, playing for the keys to Father's Jaguar. I was a Caddy playing Tong on a Picnic Table in the Caddy Yard. I often made more money playing cards than I did caddying on any given day.
Tong was a fairly simple game that had the objective of having the highest or lowest point total or both. Having both meant you needed a lot of Aces to beat everyone else. I started Caddying at the minimum age of twelve. Most boys had hours to kill while waiting to be selected to haul some one's bag. I began studying other boys playing Tong and learned strategies. No one seemed to mind if you looked over there shoulder. On a slow day, somebody started a game. I took a gulp and said,"I'm In!".
Over the weeks of that Summer and the Summers until I was Sixteen, Tong put as much money in my pocket as Caddying. My Folks never wondered I guess why I would come home with a pocketful of change. They must have figured the Golfers paid me in coins, the Cheap S.O.B.'s!
Poker started in my early teen years in the basements of a couple of buddies' houses. we either played on a rickety Card Table at one's or on a felt Pool Table at another's. Stakes were nickels, dimes, and quarters. The big winner on any given night might have won twenty bucks. Still, not bad for a teenager in the 70's. On the weekends, we had Poker Tournaments with maybe ten guys playing. We would sometimes raise the stakes to a Quarter and fifty cents. We thought we were Big Time! Playing all night wasn't uncommon and we'd go to The Truck Stop in North Lima for Breakfast.
My gang of high school buddies continued playing Poker after graduating, until one-by-one, we all got married. Nobody could afford to lose twenty bucks at Cards when we had house payments and a Wife to answer to when we got home. After most of us had kids, we began getting together again to play Tripoly or Shanghai Rummy. No money involved or Baby Sitters. Everyone brought their kids and they crashed on the Living Room floor until it was time to go home. Cheap entertainment for young families on a budget.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
I'm From Y-Town, What About It?
It seems like Ancient History to me now, having moved from the Youngstown area over twenty years ago. Aggression was as much a part of daily life as breathing for most red-blooded males growing up in the gritty Steel Mill Towns along the Mahoning River.
Maybe it was because Youngstown was such a melting pot of different ethnic persuasions. At the turn of the twentieth century, immigrants came by the droves to work in the Steel Mills. They usually settled in all ready established neighborhoods of the same culture. Youngstown still sports many clubs and organizations dedicated to a particular country. Contrary to Rodney King of the L.A. Riots fame, we CANNOT all get along!
I don't think a week went by all through my school years in the 60's and 70's that there wasn't a fight after school. In elementary grades, these fights usually consisted of nothing more than a wrestling match. Punches weren't usually exchanged. It sort of reminded me of young Lion Cubs fighting for their position of rank within the Pride. Somebody would holler, 'I give!", after being put in a painful hold and that would be the end of it. Not saying that the same participants would engage in another fight a week later.
My personal experience resulted in my share of fisticuffs. I know I fought the same kid in grade school at least five times! My Dad's Old School Philosophy was the classic," Don't ever start a fight, but don't ever walk away from one." I abided by that rule and still got into a lot of scrapes. I wonder if you would forever be branded a Coward if you walked away from a fight? I developed a reputation as a "Bad Ass" by my Junior High Years. This inspired a lot of guys to want to fight me. Kind of a King-Of-The-Hill mentality. No one ever got seriously hurt and usually the worst outcome was a bloody nose or a black eye.
I was fortunate not to ever lose a fight and really get my butt kicked. Maybe I should have endured a whippin', it would have taught me humility at a younger age. The only fight I remember not finishing was when two brothers "jumped into" a fight I was in and kicked me in the throat. They continued to kick me when I was down and the guy I was fighting stopped them, knowing it violated the unwritten rules of a "clean" fight. I never forgot that and all through my "Greaser Days" I looked for the opportunity to even the score. Thankfully, those days past and I learned how much better it was to forgive my enemies.
How far I've evolved in the last quarter of a century! I frequently tell people how different it is living in semi-rural Ohio verses Y-Town, as I call the area. My analogy is two guys walking down the street towards each other and make eye contact as they get close. Where I live now, they would exchange pleasantries and say,"How Ya Doing!". In Y-Town IF they made eye contact, one guy would say," Wadda YOU lookin' At?". The other guy would say, "Nothin' much, wanna do somethin' about it?" That pretty much describes the mentality I grew up in. It takes years of maturity to understand that not everything should be settled by the sword.
What I deemed harmless in my youth would now get you killed. Even the greasiest of the Greasers would not carry a weapon in my heyday. Today, kids shoot each other over trivial matters with no guilt or remorse. It scares me to death for my children's and grandchilren's sake. That Old School saying that was meant to defend your honor, needs to be replaced with,"Feet, Don't Fail Me Now!
Maybe it was because Youngstown was such a melting pot of different ethnic persuasions. At the turn of the twentieth century, immigrants came by the droves to work in the Steel Mills. They usually settled in all ready established neighborhoods of the same culture. Youngstown still sports many clubs and organizations dedicated to a particular country. Contrary to Rodney King of the L.A. Riots fame, we CANNOT all get along!
I don't think a week went by all through my school years in the 60's and 70's that there wasn't a fight after school. In elementary grades, these fights usually consisted of nothing more than a wrestling match. Punches weren't usually exchanged. It sort of reminded me of young Lion Cubs fighting for their position of rank within the Pride. Somebody would holler, 'I give!", after being put in a painful hold and that would be the end of it. Not saying that the same participants would engage in another fight a week later.
My personal experience resulted in my share of fisticuffs. I know I fought the same kid in grade school at least five times! My Dad's Old School Philosophy was the classic," Don't ever start a fight, but don't ever walk away from one." I abided by that rule and still got into a lot of scrapes. I wonder if you would forever be branded a Coward if you walked away from a fight? I developed a reputation as a "Bad Ass" by my Junior High Years. This inspired a lot of guys to want to fight me. Kind of a King-Of-The-Hill mentality. No one ever got seriously hurt and usually the worst outcome was a bloody nose or a black eye.
I was fortunate not to ever lose a fight and really get my butt kicked. Maybe I should have endured a whippin', it would have taught me humility at a younger age. The only fight I remember not finishing was when two brothers "jumped into" a fight I was in and kicked me in the throat. They continued to kick me when I was down and the guy I was fighting stopped them, knowing it violated the unwritten rules of a "clean" fight. I never forgot that and all through my "Greaser Days" I looked for the opportunity to even the score. Thankfully, those days past and I learned how much better it was to forgive my enemies.
How far I've evolved in the last quarter of a century! I frequently tell people how different it is living in semi-rural Ohio verses Y-Town, as I call the area. My analogy is two guys walking down the street towards each other and make eye contact as they get close. Where I live now, they would exchange pleasantries and say,"How Ya Doing!". In Y-Town IF they made eye contact, one guy would say," Wadda YOU lookin' At?". The other guy would say, "Nothin' much, wanna do somethin' about it?" That pretty much describes the mentality I grew up in. It takes years of maturity to understand that not everything should be settled by the sword.
What I deemed harmless in my youth would now get you killed. Even the greasiest of the Greasers would not carry a weapon in my heyday. Today, kids shoot each other over trivial matters with no guilt or remorse. It scares me to death for my children's and grandchilren's sake. That Old School saying that was meant to defend your honor, needs to be replaced with,"Feet, Don't Fail Me Now!
Monday, October 19, 2009
Yellow Creek Park: A Hidden Gem
Struthers, Ohio contains a Gem that most people outside of Struthers aren't even aware exists, unless they're History Buffs of Ohio and the region. It's Yellow Creek Park. Yellow Creek run from Hamilton Lake to The Mahoning River within the Struthers city limits. Total length is only about two miles and some parts are less than a city block wide.
The First Blast Furnace, West of The Allegheny Mountains, The Hopewell Furnace, was started along the banks of Yellow Creek. Enough of my history lesson. we'll leave that for the experts. I'm going to relate some of my experiences of Yellow Creek, growing up near there in the 60's and 70's. I spent many hours there and "communed with nature" on a regular basis with a lot of my buddies.
In the Winter, Ice Skating was a frequent activity, weather permitting. The creek was enlarged to about the size of a football field and had a small Spillway about four feet high. This was at the playground and pavilion area near downtown. Burn Barrels provided some heat once we became sufficiently frozen and I recall the steam rolling off my soaked pants if I got to close to the fire. We played Crack The whip and did our own version of Barrel Jumping, often using kids in place of barrels.
Steep hills led down to Yellow Creek Park which sat in a valley. We would take buckets of water and pour them out on a selected path that went down to the skating area. In a matter of hours, we would have a "Suicide Hill" that the crazier members of our group would attempt to skate down. I don't remember anyone making it all the way down, but I do recall several bump and bruises and broken arms. For more adventure, some of us would skate on the creek all the way out to Hamilton Lake. Occasionally, somebody would break through thin ice and plunge into the water. The water wasn't deep enough for you to drown in, but a cold dip sent you running for the comforts of a Burn Barrel to warm up and dry off. You didn't dare go home all wet, knowing that your folks would bar you from Ice Skating again.
After Winter released it's grip on Northern Ohio, exploring the rest of the park was in order. We caught Crayfish by the bucketful and often got a nasty pinch from them if we didn't avoid their surprisingly strong claws. a prank we pulled on each other was to sneak up behind someone and let the Crayfish grab them on the Butt or the Earlobe. Yikes! Of course, you'd let the Crayfish go and watch your Buddy scamper about trying to shake it off of him. Great Fun at their expense!
Africa Rock was another landmark in the park. Shaped like, you guessed it, Africa, this huge, flat rock was at the bottom of a cliff face on the Nebo side of the park. Nebo was the east side of Struthers. A few boys with far more guts than brains, jumped off of this cliff while holding an umbrella! I witnessed one of these idiots attempting this stunt and he made it to about ten feet from the ground before the umbrella collapsed! He escaped with a few bruises and "The Big Stones" Award from us!
Off of Wetmore Drive on The Upper Trail was a Waterfall. The water came out of the middle of a small rock formation about eight feet higher than the trail. The flow was about that of a garden hose, but on a hot Summer day, we welcomed a drink and the cold water bath we would splash on ourselves. We never did determined if the water came from a natural spring or was run-off from somewhere else. I guess we chose not to think about it.
The Ecology Class at the high school labeled all the Flora and Fauna in the park in the 70's. They marked a trail going all the way to where The Hopewell Furnace stood. nothing much remains there now, vandalism and the erosion of time taking their toll.
Eventually, Yellow Creek Park became part of The Mill Creek Park System of Mahoning County. Struthers could no longer afford to maintain the park and this was a good alternative to preserve what little nature there was locally. The closing of the Steel Mills had a direct impact on everything in The Youngstown area. So much we took for granted in our youth, we realize now was a privilege we had of a bustling economy at the time.
The First Blast Furnace, West of The Allegheny Mountains, The Hopewell Furnace, was started along the banks of Yellow Creek. Enough of my history lesson. we'll leave that for the experts. I'm going to relate some of my experiences of Yellow Creek, growing up near there in the 60's and 70's. I spent many hours there and "communed with nature" on a regular basis with a lot of my buddies.
In the Winter, Ice Skating was a frequent activity, weather permitting. The creek was enlarged to about the size of a football field and had a small Spillway about four feet high. This was at the playground and pavilion area near downtown. Burn Barrels provided some heat once we became sufficiently frozen and I recall the steam rolling off my soaked pants if I got to close to the fire. We played Crack The whip and did our own version of Barrel Jumping, often using kids in place of barrels.
Steep hills led down to Yellow Creek Park which sat in a valley. We would take buckets of water and pour them out on a selected path that went down to the skating area. In a matter of hours, we would have a "Suicide Hill" that the crazier members of our group would attempt to skate down. I don't remember anyone making it all the way down, but I do recall several bump and bruises and broken arms. For more adventure, some of us would skate on the creek all the way out to Hamilton Lake. Occasionally, somebody would break through thin ice and plunge into the water. The water wasn't deep enough for you to drown in, but a cold dip sent you running for the comforts of a Burn Barrel to warm up and dry off. You didn't dare go home all wet, knowing that your folks would bar you from Ice Skating again.
After Winter released it's grip on Northern Ohio, exploring the rest of the park was in order. We caught Crayfish by the bucketful and often got a nasty pinch from them if we didn't avoid their surprisingly strong claws. a prank we pulled on each other was to sneak up behind someone and let the Crayfish grab them on the Butt or the Earlobe. Yikes! Of course, you'd let the Crayfish go and watch your Buddy scamper about trying to shake it off of him. Great Fun at their expense!
Africa Rock was another landmark in the park. Shaped like, you guessed it, Africa, this huge, flat rock was at the bottom of a cliff face on the Nebo side of the park. Nebo was the east side of Struthers. A few boys with far more guts than brains, jumped off of this cliff while holding an umbrella! I witnessed one of these idiots attempting this stunt and he made it to about ten feet from the ground before the umbrella collapsed! He escaped with a few bruises and "The Big Stones" Award from us!
Off of Wetmore Drive on The Upper Trail was a Waterfall. The water came out of the middle of a small rock formation about eight feet higher than the trail. The flow was about that of a garden hose, but on a hot Summer day, we welcomed a drink and the cold water bath we would splash on ourselves. We never did determined if the water came from a natural spring or was run-off from somewhere else. I guess we chose not to think about it.
The Ecology Class at the high school labeled all the Flora and Fauna in the park in the 70's. They marked a trail going all the way to where The Hopewell Furnace stood. nothing much remains there now, vandalism and the erosion of time taking their toll.
Eventually, Yellow Creek Park became part of The Mill Creek Park System of Mahoning County. Struthers could no longer afford to maintain the park and this was a good alternative to preserve what little nature there was locally. The closing of the Steel Mills had a direct impact on everything in The Youngstown area. So much we took for granted in our youth, we realize now was a privilege we had of a bustling economy at the time.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Scouting For Delinquents
I was developing quite the reputation in grade school as a boy who needed direction, a Trouble Maker, a Hellion, a Delinquent, and other adjectives the teachers could think of calling me. My parents were becoming pretty exasperated with me, as well. My energy and stubborn nature usually exceeded their will and it was time for action to straighten out this Wild Child from The Sixties!
My Dad told me he was going to sign me up for The Boy Scouts. He said they had a fine program for developing boys into young men. He assured me it would provide structure and expose me to a huge array of Character-Building activities. Naw, he said NONE of that! He said," You'll go and it will straighten your ass out!" Like it or not, I was now a card-carrying member of Troop 86.
It took me about three months of weekly meetings to actually begin to like scouting. What my hardened Steel Town Mentality believed was it was for Dorks and Nerds. Ok, There were some of those, but you ignore them and they go away. I kind of looked at scouting like a version of The Little Rascal's "He-Man Woman Haters Club". I could play as rough as I wanted to and didn't have to worry about getting a lecture for upsetting Suzie.
Beside a few knots that I learned that I used on my headboard in my adult life, I did learn the basics in a lot of life skills. The highlight of the scouting year was going away to camp. There you really learned things,like SURVIVAL! You must know, outside of sleeping in a Tent Trailer on family vacations, this City Kid really had no exposure to true wilderness and animals that COULD EAT YOU!
On a Friday night, in the Dead of Winter, our troop headed out for Kane, Pennsylvania, in the western part of the state. We packed several pick-ups and trailers with enough gear and supplies to outfit a small army for a year. From The Youngstown Area, I guess it was about a three hour drive. To this twelve year old, I thought I was traveling back to the time of Daniel Boone. No electricity or running water, a Pot-Bellied Stove for heat, and the highest mountains I had ever seen. The Hunting Cabins we stayed in had snow blowing through the clapboard. Dehydrated Plastic Bags of Whatever, was our only food that we boiled in pots on the stove.
Several scouts were actually sleeping outside in Pup Tents to earn their "Polar Bear" Merit Badge, nude in their Sleeping Bags! No thanks! My testicles were all ready clanging together like Brass Bells and I was suffering from a severe case of "The Turtle Syndrome", That's where your Winky retreats backwards. think of it as a reverse erection. I have NEVER been that cold, before or since!
As we were packing up to leave late Sunday afternoon. I actually saw a White-Tailed Deer for the first time. It bounded up a hill in a clearing about 100 yards away. I thought it was so majestic! I can still recall that mental image of that Big Buck with a huge rack of antlers. Just like the silhouette on the Deer Crossing Sign! I told you I was a City Kid. Until that weekend, my extent of seeing wildlife was Squirrels, Rabbits, Raccoons, and an occasional possum.
Scouting in my area became a victim of Modern Times. Due to lack of interest, our troop had to disband. No adult leader could be found and our group of about 30 boys was down to six. I obtained the rank of Star Scout and was working towards the ultimate Eagle Scout Award when the troop folded. My Mom said she'd rather see me as an Eagle Scout than President of The United States. I was sorry to disappoint her. Any Boy Scout Troop out there want to adopt me and help me get my Eagle Award?
My Dad told me he was going to sign me up for The Boy Scouts. He said they had a fine program for developing boys into young men. He assured me it would provide structure and expose me to a huge array of Character-Building activities. Naw, he said NONE of that! He said," You'll go and it will straighten your ass out!" Like it or not, I was now a card-carrying member of Troop 86.
It took me about three months of weekly meetings to actually begin to like scouting. What my hardened Steel Town Mentality believed was it was for Dorks and Nerds. Ok, There were some of those, but you ignore them and they go away. I kind of looked at scouting like a version of The Little Rascal's "He-Man Woman Haters Club". I could play as rough as I wanted to and didn't have to worry about getting a lecture for upsetting Suzie.
Beside a few knots that I learned that I used on my headboard in my adult life, I did learn the basics in a lot of life skills. The highlight of the scouting year was going away to camp. There you really learned things,like SURVIVAL! You must know, outside of sleeping in a Tent Trailer on family vacations, this City Kid really had no exposure to true wilderness and animals that COULD EAT YOU!
On a Friday night, in the Dead of Winter, our troop headed out for Kane, Pennsylvania, in the western part of the state. We packed several pick-ups and trailers with enough gear and supplies to outfit a small army for a year. From The Youngstown Area, I guess it was about a three hour drive. To this twelve year old, I thought I was traveling back to the time of Daniel Boone. No electricity or running water, a Pot-Bellied Stove for heat, and the highest mountains I had ever seen. The Hunting Cabins we stayed in had snow blowing through the clapboard. Dehydrated Plastic Bags of Whatever, was our only food that we boiled in pots on the stove.
Several scouts were actually sleeping outside in Pup Tents to earn their "Polar Bear" Merit Badge, nude in their Sleeping Bags! No thanks! My testicles were all ready clanging together like Brass Bells and I was suffering from a severe case of "The Turtle Syndrome", That's where your Winky retreats backwards. think of it as a reverse erection. I have NEVER been that cold, before or since!
As we were packing up to leave late Sunday afternoon. I actually saw a White-Tailed Deer for the first time. It bounded up a hill in a clearing about 100 yards away. I thought it was so majestic! I can still recall that mental image of that Big Buck with a huge rack of antlers. Just like the silhouette on the Deer Crossing Sign! I told you I was a City Kid. Until that weekend, my extent of seeing wildlife was Squirrels, Rabbits, Raccoons, and an occasional possum.
Scouting in my area became a victim of Modern Times. Due to lack of interest, our troop had to disband. No adult leader could be found and our group of about 30 boys was down to six. I obtained the rank of Star Scout and was working towards the ultimate Eagle Scout Award when the troop folded. My Mom said she'd rather see me as an Eagle Scout than President of The United States. I was sorry to disappoint her. Any Boy Scout Troop out there want to adopt me and help me get my Eagle Award?
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Hail Team! Hail Yes!
Not only was I born and raised in "The Cradle of The Steel Industry", The Youngstown Area was known as a Hotbed for High School Football. I was fortunate enough to attend school in the late 60's and early 70's at Struthers High School. At that time, they were a State Powerhouse in Football. At one point, they had won 22 consectutive games in a row. It was Standing Room Only at their games.
I don't think I ever missed attending a game from first grade until I graduated. I guess it was in your blood. Most students did attend the games and cheer on our beloved Wildcats. Many Art Classes in grade schools were spent decorating windows and rooms with things made in the school colors of red and black. "Spirit Ribbons" were sold each week for girls to wear with a catchy slogan printed on them directed at our foe that week. Phrases like,"Ground The Eagles" or "Spear The Spartans" were proudly displayed.
Because an injury prohibited me from playing, I became an avid follower and unofficial leader of our cheering section at games and assemblies. I guess I inherited the job from another older classman, who also was a injured former football player. Maybe I got the job because I had the loudest mouth. In any event, we kept things lively at all events we attended.
During Struthers' Glory Days on the Gridiron, it wasn't unusual for several buses of students to travel to away games. The team's followers sometimes had more fans at an away game than the home team! Friday Night Fever at it's best! Struthers would often have huge Bonfire Rallies at the high school. The Stars of the team would speak over a Bullhorn and an effigy of the opposing Quarterback would be burned at the stake.
A famous cheer we often screamed at assemblies, went something like this: I would yell,"Hail Team!", the crowd would respond the same,"Hail Team!". I'd shout, "Hail Cats!", getting the reply,"Hail Cats!". I'd bellow,"Hail Falcons!", the students would hysterically shout,"HELL NO!". Our Principal, affectionately known as "Howdy" to everyone, would grab the microphone every time and admonish us with, "Ok, people, saying Hail is one thing, saying that other word in not! Understand?" Of course, we would totally ignore him and do it again the following week. You could just see the red move up his neck and the veins pop out!
Struthers and most public schools' athletic programs went downhill after the Steel Mills closed in the early 80's. Many folks pulled up stakes and literally moved to greener pastures. Along with the population, the tax base left with them. One of the first cuts to the education systems were their athletic programs. My kids attended Struthers schools and only have heard tales of what The Steel Valley was REALLY like. Football was The Heartbeat of all of it.
I don't think I ever missed attending a game from first grade until I graduated. I guess it was in your blood. Most students did attend the games and cheer on our beloved Wildcats. Many Art Classes in grade schools were spent decorating windows and rooms with things made in the school colors of red and black. "Spirit Ribbons" were sold each week for girls to wear with a catchy slogan printed on them directed at our foe that week. Phrases like,"Ground The Eagles" or "Spear The Spartans" were proudly displayed.
Because an injury prohibited me from playing, I became an avid follower and unofficial leader of our cheering section at games and assemblies. I guess I inherited the job from another older classman, who also was a injured former football player. Maybe I got the job because I had the loudest mouth. In any event, we kept things lively at all events we attended.
During Struthers' Glory Days on the Gridiron, it wasn't unusual for several buses of students to travel to away games. The team's followers sometimes had more fans at an away game than the home team! Friday Night Fever at it's best! Struthers would often have huge Bonfire Rallies at the high school. The Stars of the team would speak over a Bullhorn and an effigy of the opposing Quarterback would be burned at the stake.
A famous cheer we often screamed at assemblies, went something like this: I would yell,"Hail Team!", the crowd would respond the same,"Hail Team!". I'd shout, "Hail Cats!", getting the reply,"Hail Cats!". I'd bellow,"Hail Falcons!", the students would hysterically shout,"HELL NO!". Our Principal, affectionately known as "Howdy" to everyone, would grab the microphone every time and admonish us with, "Ok, people, saying Hail is one thing, saying that other word in not! Understand?" Of course, we would totally ignore him and do it again the following week. You could just see the red move up his neck and the veins pop out!
Struthers and most public schools' athletic programs went downhill after the Steel Mills closed in the early 80's. Many folks pulled up stakes and literally moved to greener pastures. Along with the population, the tax base left with them. One of the first cuts to the education systems were their athletic programs. My kids attended Struthers schools and only have heard tales of what The Steel Valley was REALLY like. Football was The Heartbeat of all of it.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Sales and Stanley And The Three Stooges
I certainly missed my Calling, Ive been told many times. From the age of a First Grader, I've had a knack for sales. I was the one who finally sold that refrigerator to the Eskimo. I guess I could always dazzle people with my brilliance, if I couldn't baffle them with my bullshit. I have a natural gift of Gab and enjoy talking to people. Maybe I would have been better suited to being a politician, come to think of it.
Most schools in The Youngstown Area had fund-raising events to help make ends meet in a depressed economy. Seeds were the first thing I remember selling. A nickel a pack for some, a dime for the rest. I know every flower bed and vegetable garden in my neighborhood were planted with seeds I had sold them. To heck with the homework, I had seeds to sell! I remember selling the most in my class, but forget what I got for a grand prize. It was probably more seeds or a garden trowel! I found packs of seeds years later in drawers all over my parent's house.
The dreaded Magazine Drive became an annual event in my elementary school. Again, I was first to hit every house on my street. A lot of kids were mad at their parents when they found out I had sold them subscriptions all ready before they even mentioned it. I pleaded with friends, family, and neighbors that I only need to sell three more magazines to get that Mother-Of-Pearl Pocket Knife I had my heart set on. I did indeed get that knife. In fact, several of them. I gave one to my Dad that he carried the rest of his life. Can you imagine that in schools today? Pocket Knives in these day of Zero Tolerance?
I won a beautiful German Cuckoo Clock for selling the most Rohrer's Chocolate in The Cub Scouts. My folks proudly displayed the clock in their living room and even into my adult years, told guests how I won it. I never became an Eagle Scout, but how I could sell candy! I even got a personalized tour of the Candy Factory, which was in Struthers. Woo Hoo! The entire "Factory" was about the size of a two-car garage.
The Pinnacle of my selling career was selling used comic books on the curb in front of my house. It ranked right up there with hawking Kool-aid or Lemonade to passer-bys. I think my total sales was about two bucks. My Mother sent a letter to WKBN-TV about my enterprise. I was selected as "The Junior News Reporter of The Week". I appeared for an live interview on "Stanley and The Three Stooges", a local kid's program with a guy in clown make-up, kind of a knock-off of The Legendary Barney Bean. Thanks to my Mom, every relative and person in Struthers saw that interview, my Fifteen Minutes of Fame. As a Guest on the show, I did get a six-pack of Seven-Up and a toy rocket that I almost put my eye out with, but that's another story.
Most schools in The Youngstown Area had fund-raising events to help make ends meet in a depressed economy. Seeds were the first thing I remember selling. A nickel a pack for some, a dime for the rest. I know every flower bed and vegetable garden in my neighborhood were planted with seeds I had sold them. To heck with the homework, I had seeds to sell! I remember selling the most in my class, but forget what I got for a grand prize. It was probably more seeds or a garden trowel! I found packs of seeds years later in drawers all over my parent's house.
The dreaded Magazine Drive became an annual event in my elementary school. Again, I was first to hit every house on my street. A lot of kids were mad at their parents when they found out I had sold them subscriptions all ready before they even mentioned it. I pleaded with friends, family, and neighbors that I only need to sell three more magazines to get that Mother-Of-Pearl Pocket Knife I had my heart set on. I did indeed get that knife. In fact, several of them. I gave one to my Dad that he carried the rest of his life. Can you imagine that in schools today? Pocket Knives in these day of Zero Tolerance?
I won a beautiful German Cuckoo Clock for selling the most Rohrer's Chocolate in The Cub Scouts. My folks proudly displayed the clock in their living room and even into my adult years, told guests how I won it. I never became an Eagle Scout, but how I could sell candy! I even got a personalized tour of the Candy Factory, which was in Struthers. Woo Hoo! The entire "Factory" was about the size of a two-car garage.
The Pinnacle of my selling career was selling used comic books on the curb in front of my house. It ranked right up there with hawking Kool-aid or Lemonade to passer-bys. I think my total sales was about two bucks. My Mother sent a letter to WKBN-TV about my enterprise. I was selected as "The Junior News Reporter of The Week". I appeared for an live interview on "Stanley and The Three Stooges", a local kid's program with a guy in clown make-up, kind of a knock-off of The Legendary Barney Bean. Thanks to my Mom, every relative and person in Struthers saw that interview, my Fifteen Minutes of Fame. As a Guest on the show, I did get a six-pack of Seven-Up and a toy rocket that I almost put my eye out with, but that's another story.
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