My Dad grew up in the inner-city of Youngstown, Ohio. The youngest of five brothers, he didn't have much time for outside activities or sports. Dad's father died when he was three, so any time outside of school was dedicated to supporting the family. He was a standout in Basketball. I found that out by accident when going through his jewelry box one day and finding a Bronze Basketball charm he was awarded as League MVP. Dad was never one to brag about his exploits.
I gave a little background to this story to explain why my father didn't have much influence into my endeavors in sports and the great outdoors. He never had much experience himself, let alone teach me the proper ways to do things. Enter my Uncle Jack. Jack was my Mom's youngest brother, by a lot of years and only twelve or so years older than me. I can't confirm it, but I do believe Jack was born with a fishing pole in his hand.
Jack grew up in Struthers, practically a stone's throw away from Lake Hamilton. Jack became an accomplished Fisherman and Hunter very early in life and spent every extra minute he had perfecting his craft. I was the first nephew Jack had, so by the time I was old enough to walk and feed myself, I became one of Jack's Fishin' Buddies.
Jack would frequently have me stay overnight at my grandparent's house on Omar Street. We spent hours hunting Night Crawlers by flashlight and he would wake me up before the crack of dawn to go fishing. Jack would often have to wake up Slim, the care-taker of the lake if he needed to rent a row boat or buy some bait. We would usually be the first ones on the lake for the day. I still remember the fog-shrouded water that was as smooth as glass and the sounds of the oars rhythmically plunging softly into the water for another stroke.
After Jack got his Driver's License, we often went to The Mahoning Valley Sportmen's Club at Crystal Lake. This small lake was stocked with tons of fish and I have fond memories of getting into Blue Gill Catchin' Contests with Jack off a small porch of a cabin that overhung the water. Jack let me win, of course, and I beamed with pride. As a young boy, Jack had me use a Bamboo Pole with about 10 feet of line and a round Bobber. Much to his surprise, I caught a huge Rainbow Trout with that Bamboo pole that Jack and his friend thought was a club record. I never enjoyed a fish dinner as much as that one. Jack was an expert at filleting and preparing fish, too.
On another occasion, I was fishing with Jack and his buddy, when I accidentally bumped a Fishing Pole and Reel that sat on the rail of the boat. Over the side and into 60 feet of water went a brand-new Garcia Rod and Reel! Jack could see the fear in my eyes and just told me to be more careful. A hard thing for fidgety five-year-old to do. Jack mentally marked the spot and he and his buddy Scuba-Dived for the fishing gear, retrieving it the next day.
As I got older and Hunting Season rolled around, Jack would pick me up to go hunting. He frequently took me to a Trap Shooting Range to hone my skills with a Shotgun. Carefully standing behind me, he'd coach me in the finer points of shooting. Slowly squeeze the trigger and line up your sights on the target. I had several perfect scores, thanks to Uncle Jack's guidance. What a thrill for a twelve year old!
Jack bought his first motorcycle when I was about fourteen. A Honda 750, that I spent many a Sunday riding on the back of, all over Ohio and Western Pennsylvania.
Again, there was Jack at the crack of dawn, tooting his horn in the driveway to wake me up to head out on another adventure. Riding in the early Spring in Ohio on a Motorcycle isn't the warmest. I recalling my hands aching from the cold and Jack stopping at a General Store ninety five miles from nowhere to buy me some gloves.
On another excursion, we stopped at Back Woods Bar far from home to warm up and catch a bite to eat. We played pool with a few locals for a pitcher of Beer to the winners. Naturally, Jack being good at everything, easily won. I drank my first Beer that day(and then some!), and only Jack and I ever knew. I figure the Statute of Limitations is up on that caper. I think Jack kept me at his house for several hours before taking me home.
About the time I graduated from high School, Jack moved to Georgia. I felt like Little Jackie Paper of Puff, The Magic Dragon fame, when the dragon left and Jackie lost his playmate. I was on my own, so to speak. Things would never be the same again. The guy that showed me so much and was my mentor, now had a wife and children of his own. I found out that it wasn't as bad as I thought it might be. I now knew enough to function by myself and even show others.
Admittedly, Jack gave me opportunities I never would have had and he taught me many skills I would use all my life. I got the Motorcycle Bug from him and have traveled most of the country on one, just about every year since. I've even taken my Grandchildren fishing, which any Grandfather would cherish those memories. Thanks, Jack for showing me the ropes. I treasure those days.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
When A Young Man's Fancy Isn't So Fancy
Another Valentine's Day has come and gone. I began thinking of my earliest forays into romance, all were met with limited success. Apparently, I watched way too many exploits of the love-lorn Alfalfa on The Little Rascals always pursuing Darla and considering himself a Ladie's Man.
Love has gotten me in trouble since the first grade. I was called into the Principal's Office for the first time for kissing girls at recess. After a stern lecture, the Principal sent me back to class with my promise not to do that again.
Valentine's Day in grade school was a great time to exchange cards with class mates to show them how much or how little you cared about them. Those fifty cards you bought for ninety nine cents were all you had to express your emotions. Of course, you would save the best ones for that particular someone who made your heart flutter. The cards with pictures of Skunks or farm animals were reserved for your buddies or the Nerd that's constantly picking his nose in class.
Each class spent Art Period for weeks, decorating shoe boxes or oatmeal containers with red construction paper and white hearts and lace. All the completed mailboxes were placed on the window sills that ran the length of the room. At the appointed time, each kid would pain-stakingly place a card in each box. So no one would be slighted, the rules were that each child must get a valentine card from each class mate. A party was held in the afternoon to open your cards and consume mass quantities of cookies, candy hearts, and heart-shaped cinnamon Red Hots. Much of the time was spent going around the room thanking one another for the cards or shaking your fist at someone for getting a not-so-nice one. The ultimate was getting a mushy card from that certain someone that made your heart go pitter-patter.
Relationships in grade school changed like the wind. No sooner would a boy write some girl's initials on his notebook, then she'd change her mind and like someone else. By the end of the school year, my notebook had every square inch scribbled out of some body's initials. Sitting with someone at a football or basketball game constituted a relationship. Walking home with them meant things were getting serious.
My first "Real" date was in fifth grade. We walked to the Struthers Bowladrome and bowled a few games. After my date soundly beat me in every game, we walked to the Isaly's dairy Store for Sundaes. After one bite, my date decided she wasn't hungry and didn't want it. I thought to myself how many yards I had to mow and driveways I had to shovel to raise money for this date. This couldn't be the girl for me if she wasted a perfectly good sundae without any thought to who was paying for this anyhow. I immediately walked her home and that was the end of that relationship. The nerve!
In seventh grade, I was one of three boys that were always invited to parties with girls in my class. Usually, eight to ten girls and the three of us boys. Not bad odds. We wound up playing Spin-The-Bottle in the dimly lit basements. After several rounds, it always seemed to break off into couples with each boy getting into a serious make-out session with a selected girl. It wasn't exactly the "Days of Wine and Roses", but I wasn't complaining.
I don't know why the mind-set developed in my class, but dating outside of our class was taboo. Everyone had nothing good to say about under-class men, over-class men, or people from other schools. I broke that mold in high school after figuring out it was a conspiracy by the girls to keep all the boys to themselves. I exhausted all the possibilities in my class anyhow. By now, a lot of the girls in my class were more like sisters.
I could go on and on about dates I had in high school. Maybe I'll write about some of them at some point. I just can't go into great detail. You know, hormones start to run amok in teen-age boys. The best piece of dating advice I ever got was from my Mom who told me that,"Gentlemen Never Tell Their Secrets." I always honored those words. Even all the locker room banter where boys often boasted about their latest conquests, found me strangely silent. I wasn't one to kiss and tell. It served me well. I always had a date lined up for the weekend.
Love has gotten me in trouble since the first grade. I was called into the Principal's Office for the first time for kissing girls at recess. After a stern lecture, the Principal sent me back to class with my promise not to do that again.
Valentine's Day in grade school was a great time to exchange cards with class mates to show them how much or how little you cared about them. Those fifty cards you bought for ninety nine cents were all you had to express your emotions. Of course, you would save the best ones for that particular someone who made your heart flutter. The cards with pictures of Skunks or farm animals were reserved for your buddies or the Nerd that's constantly picking his nose in class.
Each class spent Art Period for weeks, decorating shoe boxes or oatmeal containers with red construction paper and white hearts and lace. All the completed mailboxes were placed on the window sills that ran the length of the room. At the appointed time, each kid would pain-stakingly place a card in each box. So no one would be slighted, the rules were that each child must get a valentine card from each class mate. A party was held in the afternoon to open your cards and consume mass quantities of cookies, candy hearts, and heart-shaped cinnamon Red Hots. Much of the time was spent going around the room thanking one another for the cards or shaking your fist at someone for getting a not-so-nice one. The ultimate was getting a mushy card from that certain someone that made your heart go pitter-patter.
Relationships in grade school changed like the wind. No sooner would a boy write some girl's initials on his notebook, then she'd change her mind and like someone else. By the end of the school year, my notebook had every square inch scribbled out of some body's initials. Sitting with someone at a football or basketball game constituted a relationship. Walking home with them meant things were getting serious.
My first "Real" date was in fifth grade. We walked to the Struthers Bowladrome and bowled a few games. After my date soundly beat me in every game, we walked to the Isaly's dairy Store for Sundaes. After one bite, my date decided she wasn't hungry and didn't want it. I thought to myself how many yards I had to mow and driveways I had to shovel to raise money for this date. This couldn't be the girl for me if she wasted a perfectly good sundae without any thought to who was paying for this anyhow. I immediately walked her home and that was the end of that relationship. The nerve!
In seventh grade, I was one of three boys that were always invited to parties with girls in my class. Usually, eight to ten girls and the three of us boys. Not bad odds. We wound up playing Spin-The-Bottle in the dimly lit basements. After several rounds, it always seemed to break off into couples with each boy getting into a serious make-out session with a selected girl. It wasn't exactly the "Days of Wine and Roses", but I wasn't complaining.
I don't know why the mind-set developed in my class, but dating outside of our class was taboo. Everyone had nothing good to say about under-class men, over-class men, or people from other schools. I broke that mold in high school after figuring out it was a conspiracy by the girls to keep all the boys to themselves. I exhausted all the possibilities in my class anyhow. By now, a lot of the girls in my class were more like sisters.
I could go on and on about dates I had in high school. Maybe I'll write about some of them at some point. I just can't go into great detail. You know, hormones start to run amok in teen-age boys. The best piece of dating advice I ever got was from my Mom who told me that,"Gentlemen Never Tell Their Secrets." I always honored those words. Even all the locker room banter where boys often boasted about their latest conquests, found me strangely silent. I wasn't one to kiss and tell. It served me well. I always had a date lined up for the weekend.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
They'll Think That You Can Fly!
I was ten years old when I saw the made-for-TV movie, "Billie" starring Patty Duke. A goofy little predictable flick about a high school girl who wanted to join the boy's track team because of her amazing speed. She attributed her fast running to "Having The Beat", timing her strides to a fast Rock Music song she played in her head. Remember, this was way before I-Pods or even personal cassette recorders.
For some unexplained reason, this movie stuck in my head for a long time. To the city park or several friend's houses, it was several blocks. I often ran to where I was going. This is before we called leisurely running, Jogging. I thought of a tune in my head as I began to trot along. The beat would pick up and so would my pace. I was thoroughly convinced that this method made me extremely fast. Concentrating on the melody of the song made me less focused on my running and it DID actually seem to work.
I kept this little "secret" to myself, figuring it gave me an edge over any of my buddies in a race. Ten year olds frequently challenge each other to all sorts of physical skill competitions. Kind of like young Tiger cubs testing each other before going out on their own. Don't mess with me, Boys, I got The Beat! Never mind that my friends were always slower than me, before I had my new-found Super Powers, I now had great confidence that nobody could out race me.
About this time, the advertising assaults began for Red Ball Jets and PF Flyer Tennis Shoes. The media blitz touted these shoes with jingles that extolled the virtues of owning a pair that would "Make you run so fast, they'll thing that you can fly!" Needing new tennis shoes, I remarkably down-played the hype for these shoes until my dad suggested a pair in the shoe store. "Well, if you think they're a good shoe, I'll try a pair.", I said, as I held my breath. Dad must have been subjected to the Subliminal Advertising and agreed to buy them for me. Who could beat me now with my new Red Ball Jets? I felt invincible!
You would think these shoes were rocket-powered the way I began streaking through the neighborhood. I'm sure they didn't add one mile-per-hour to my speed. It was all a mind-over-matter situation in my head. As always, a dose of reality is necessary to bring someone back to earth. My dose was received one afternoon at the high school track. The track team was practicing after school and I began trotting around the track. Every time I caught up with someone running slowly, I'd run beside them for a few seconds, look over at them, then take off in a sprint. Obviously, these varsity team runners weren't accepting the challenge of this "Speed Racer" in his Red Ball Jets.
Finally, a guy realized what I was trying to do and began matching me, stride for stride. "C'mon, Rocket Man, stay up with me!", the kid said, " You can run faster than that!". He literally began to run backwards and began patting me hard on top of the head, while imploring me to run faster. I couldn't keep the pace and began to fade way back in the pack of runners who had now caught up to us to witness this spectacle. I felt humiliated. My fantasy of being The World's Fastest Runner was over. I had visions of being Bob Hayes, who just won the Gold Medal in the '64 Olympic Games in the 100 meter Dash and was billed as " The World's Fastest Human".
I lost my fascination with running after that episode at the track. All though I did my share of laps while conditioning for other sports, I never ran competitively. There were several boys that were faster than me during my school years, with or without Red Ball Jets. Regardless of my footwear or the tune I was playing in my head, some of these guys just whizzed right past me. Hmmmm, I wonder if I can get a refund on those Red Ball Jets? "...they'll think that you can fly!" Yeah, right.
For some unexplained reason, this movie stuck in my head for a long time. To the city park or several friend's houses, it was several blocks. I often ran to where I was going. This is before we called leisurely running, Jogging. I thought of a tune in my head as I began to trot along. The beat would pick up and so would my pace. I was thoroughly convinced that this method made me extremely fast. Concentrating on the melody of the song made me less focused on my running and it DID actually seem to work.
I kept this little "secret" to myself, figuring it gave me an edge over any of my buddies in a race. Ten year olds frequently challenge each other to all sorts of physical skill competitions. Kind of like young Tiger cubs testing each other before going out on their own. Don't mess with me, Boys, I got The Beat! Never mind that my friends were always slower than me, before I had my new-found Super Powers, I now had great confidence that nobody could out race me.
About this time, the advertising assaults began for Red Ball Jets and PF Flyer Tennis Shoes. The media blitz touted these shoes with jingles that extolled the virtues of owning a pair that would "Make you run so fast, they'll thing that you can fly!" Needing new tennis shoes, I remarkably down-played the hype for these shoes until my dad suggested a pair in the shoe store. "Well, if you think they're a good shoe, I'll try a pair.", I said, as I held my breath. Dad must have been subjected to the Subliminal Advertising and agreed to buy them for me. Who could beat me now with my new Red Ball Jets? I felt invincible!
You would think these shoes were rocket-powered the way I began streaking through the neighborhood. I'm sure they didn't add one mile-per-hour to my speed. It was all a mind-over-matter situation in my head. As always, a dose of reality is necessary to bring someone back to earth. My dose was received one afternoon at the high school track. The track team was practicing after school and I began trotting around the track. Every time I caught up with someone running slowly, I'd run beside them for a few seconds, look over at them, then take off in a sprint. Obviously, these varsity team runners weren't accepting the challenge of this "Speed Racer" in his Red Ball Jets.
Finally, a guy realized what I was trying to do and began matching me, stride for stride. "C'mon, Rocket Man, stay up with me!", the kid said, " You can run faster than that!". He literally began to run backwards and began patting me hard on top of the head, while imploring me to run faster. I couldn't keep the pace and began to fade way back in the pack of runners who had now caught up to us to witness this spectacle. I felt humiliated. My fantasy of being The World's Fastest Runner was over. I had visions of being Bob Hayes, who just won the Gold Medal in the '64 Olympic Games in the 100 meter Dash and was billed as " The World's Fastest Human".
I lost my fascination with running after that episode at the track. All though I did my share of laps while conditioning for other sports, I never ran competitively. There were several boys that were faster than me during my school years, with or without Red Ball Jets. Regardless of my footwear or the tune I was playing in my head, some of these guys just whizzed right past me. Hmmmm, I wonder if I can get a refund on those Red Ball Jets? "...they'll think that you can fly!" Yeah, right.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
I Did Have A Basketball Jones
Athletics have always been a big part of my life. Growing up in Struthers, Ohio, a suburb of Youngstown, sports became an outlet for many and brought the community together. Football is king in the area. Stadiums are packed every Friday night to watch some very talented athletes apply their skills. Basketball became very big in my home town starting in the 60's, thanks to an undefeated high school team of the 1960-'61 season.
After that season, it seemed every kid had a hoop nailed up on their garage. I was no exception. Most days after school, if it wasn't football season or too snowy, I could be found out in the driveway practicing my basketball shooting prowess. I would pick out a spot on the driveway, usually an oil spot made from one of my dad's "Beater" work cars, and shoot baskets from there until I made ten in a row. I'd then move a few feet going in a semi-circle from one side of the court to the other. Make ten shots, move, make ten shots, move until I had completed the entire perimeter around the hoop. Sometimes this routine would take me fifteen minutes, some days hours, but I seldom quit until I completed the drill.
Public outdoor courts were few and far between in Struthers until St.Nicholas Church put up about ten hoops in their parking lot for use by the neighborhood kids. Six hoops were the standard ten feet high and were laid out so that three full court games could go on at the same time. Four hoops were at eight feet for smaller kids to practice on. St. Nick's became a Mecca for area Basketball Players. After school and on weekends, the courts were packed with boys of all ages trying to become the next "Doctor J" or Jerry West of NBA fame. I became a "Gym Rat" and was there most days, always available for a pick-up game.
My grade school had a team that played the other six elementary schools in town. I was fortunate enough to make the team but didn't play much. Boys in eighth grade usually started the games and a lowly sixth-grader like me only got in if the game was a "Blowout". In other words, I rode the bench unless we were killing the other team. Our "Gym" if that's what you could call it, was only forty feet square. Not even half of regulation size. We didn't care, we played like it was Madison Square Garden.
I tried out for our Freshman team in high school. I impressed our coach with my ball handling skills and shooting long-range jump shots. I guess those hours in my driveway were starting to pay off. a week before the season was to start, I got in a heated argument with our coach over some trivial matter I can't even recall. I quit the team. Being the "Hard Head" I was in school, I wasn't going to back down from this Squirrelly Math Teacher who called himself a Coach. Too bad my ego got in my way, I might have had a good career playing high school Basketball.
I played Intramural Basketball all through high school and led the league in scoring. I'd drop the news clippings from The Struthers News Journal on the Math Teacher's desk as I left his room, so he could see how well I was doing. It took me years to realize the only one I was punishing was myself. A clear case of cutting off my nose to spite my face. In all the sports I played all through my school years, that Math Teacher was the only coach I couldn't get along with, unfortunately. I needed a third party to teach me how to swallow my pride. I was selected as Student Athlete of The Year for my class in 1971. A very nice honor, but it didn't do a thing to reduce my over-inflated ego.
I continued playing Basketball at The YMCA after my high school days. It was fun playing pick-up games there against some very good area talent from all over Youngstown. Many of the guys I had a chance to play with and against, went on to successful college careers. I always thought to myself that maybe if I had my head on straight in my younger days, I too, might have got a scholarship. In any event, I truly enjoyed playing the game and it kept me in pretty good shape in my adult years.
Basketball had a resurgence in Struthers in the late 70's. The high school girl's team won the State Championship. The first state champions in any sport in Struthers history. Once again, Basketball hoops sprung up all around town as girls were now thinking they could be playing on a championship team someday, too.
About ten years ago, I was asked to coach a boy's team in Basketball for The YMCA. I had about twelve 10 and 11 year old boys to mentor in the basic skills of the game. It was a lot of fun teaching these kids and watching their faces light up when they mastered a skill I was attempting to teach them. I remembered all the boring practices I endured as a youth and I would frequently break things up at practice to let the boys have fun. After all, I wasn't coaching a Varsity Team and these kids just needed to enjoy the game and learn the basic skills. I kept thinking about that Math Teacher Coach in high school. Just learn to love the game and the rest will follow.
The comedy team of Cheech and Chong had a great routine on one of their albums of having a "Basketball Jones". A "Jones" being a irresistible urge for something or someone. I clearly had the "Jones" for Basketball in my younger days. I never passed up an opportunity to play a game. I STILL have that urge to dribble and shoot a three-pointer and hear that unmistakable "Swish" as the ball falls through the hoop. I still marvel at some of the players I've watched play the game over the years. Especially the ones that had more moves than a can of worms! Poetry in Motion!
After that season, it seemed every kid had a hoop nailed up on their garage. I was no exception. Most days after school, if it wasn't football season or too snowy, I could be found out in the driveway practicing my basketball shooting prowess. I would pick out a spot on the driveway, usually an oil spot made from one of my dad's "Beater" work cars, and shoot baskets from there until I made ten in a row. I'd then move a few feet going in a semi-circle from one side of the court to the other. Make ten shots, move, make ten shots, move until I had completed the entire perimeter around the hoop. Sometimes this routine would take me fifteen minutes, some days hours, but I seldom quit until I completed the drill.
Public outdoor courts were few and far between in Struthers until St.Nicholas Church put up about ten hoops in their parking lot for use by the neighborhood kids. Six hoops were the standard ten feet high and were laid out so that three full court games could go on at the same time. Four hoops were at eight feet for smaller kids to practice on. St. Nick's became a Mecca for area Basketball Players. After school and on weekends, the courts were packed with boys of all ages trying to become the next "Doctor J" or Jerry West of NBA fame. I became a "Gym Rat" and was there most days, always available for a pick-up game.
My grade school had a team that played the other six elementary schools in town. I was fortunate enough to make the team but didn't play much. Boys in eighth grade usually started the games and a lowly sixth-grader like me only got in if the game was a "Blowout". In other words, I rode the bench unless we were killing the other team. Our "Gym" if that's what you could call it, was only forty feet square. Not even half of regulation size. We didn't care, we played like it was Madison Square Garden.
I tried out for our Freshman team in high school. I impressed our coach with my ball handling skills and shooting long-range jump shots. I guess those hours in my driveway were starting to pay off. a week before the season was to start, I got in a heated argument with our coach over some trivial matter I can't even recall. I quit the team. Being the "Hard Head" I was in school, I wasn't going to back down from this Squirrelly Math Teacher who called himself a Coach. Too bad my ego got in my way, I might have had a good career playing high school Basketball.
I played Intramural Basketball all through high school and led the league in scoring. I'd drop the news clippings from The Struthers News Journal on the Math Teacher's desk as I left his room, so he could see how well I was doing. It took me years to realize the only one I was punishing was myself. A clear case of cutting off my nose to spite my face. In all the sports I played all through my school years, that Math Teacher was the only coach I couldn't get along with, unfortunately. I needed a third party to teach me how to swallow my pride. I was selected as Student Athlete of The Year for my class in 1971. A very nice honor, but it didn't do a thing to reduce my over-inflated ego.
I continued playing Basketball at The YMCA after my high school days. It was fun playing pick-up games there against some very good area talent from all over Youngstown. Many of the guys I had a chance to play with and against, went on to successful college careers. I always thought to myself that maybe if I had my head on straight in my younger days, I too, might have got a scholarship. In any event, I truly enjoyed playing the game and it kept me in pretty good shape in my adult years.
Basketball had a resurgence in Struthers in the late 70's. The high school girl's team won the State Championship. The first state champions in any sport in Struthers history. Once again, Basketball hoops sprung up all around town as girls were now thinking they could be playing on a championship team someday, too.
About ten years ago, I was asked to coach a boy's team in Basketball for The YMCA. I had about twelve 10 and 11 year old boys to mentor in the basic skills of the game. It was a lot of fun teaching these kids and watching their faces light up when they mastered a skill I was attempting to teach them. I remembered all the boring practices I endured as a youth and I would frequently break things up at practice to let the boys have fun. After all, I wasn't coaching a Varsity Team and these kids just needed to enjoy the game and learn the basic skills. I kept thinking about that Math Teacher Coach in high school. Just learn to love the game and the rest will follow.
The comedy team of Cheech and Chong had a great routine on one of their albums of having a "Basketball Jones". A "Jones" being a irresistible urge for something or someone. I clearly had the "Jones" for Basketball in my younger days. I never passed up an opportunity to play a game. I STILL have that urge to dribble and shoot a three-pointer and hear that unmistakable "Swish" as the ball falls through the hoop. I still marvel at some of the players I've watched play the game over the years. Especially the ones that had more moves than a can of worms! Poetry in Motion!
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Youngstown Makes My Mouth Water
I moved from the Youngstown, Ohio area in 1986 to Ashland, a couple of hours away. I visit frequently, now probably once a month, to see family and friends. While I'm there, I can't resist the urge to partake of some of the different foods that are available exclusively there or at least were when I was growing up.
Often noted, Youngstown was the melting pot of many ethnic persuasions, due to many Europeans immigrating there to work in the steel mills at the turn of the twentieth century. Almost every area had a specialty restaurant or store to supply the masses with their favorite food, reminding them of their homeland. It was understood by the local population of what side of town you were going to drive to for dinner depending on your palate that night.
Everyone has their favorite Comfort Food. I'll mention a few of mine and where to find it, if it's still available. I became partial to Italian food, which is the dominant heritage in Youngstown, hence the wide array of anything that came from Italy. Pizza parlors or restaurants that featured many Italian foods dominated the landscape of places to eat. My mouth waters just thinking about some of those dishes.
It's hard to declare my favorite pizza in the Youngstown area. It's like saying which one of your kids do you like best. Elmton Pizza on Fifth Street in Struthers stands as one of the best. Their huge, greasy slices are to die for, especially on Friday nights after a football game. It's a ritual for Wildcat Fans. Their meatball subs are spectacular, too. Wedgewood Pizza in Ausintown and Boardman probably serve more pizzas than the national chains in the area. Their deep-dish style is loaded with toppings and tons of mozzarella cheese that leaves a long string from your mouth to your plate. I usually pick one up on my way home from a visit. Wedgewood even ships their pizza anywhere in the country to those home-sick Youngstown folks that have a craving.
Petrillo Pizza that was on Powers Way in The Brownlee Woods Section of Youngstown, was famous for their "sheet" pizza. Four-inch squares of high-rise pizza that was plain on toppings, but loaded with flavor. Their sauce had a lot of garlic in it that stayed with you for hours. Our high school cafeteria offered Petrillo Pizza most Fridays and it always sold out. At twenty cents a slice, it was a cheap meal. I remember having a pizza eating contest with several other sixteen year old friends. I tied another guy for the win by eating fifteen pieces of pizza! Ah, the days when my metabolism could handle anything. Petrillo closed a few years ago. Wish I had known, I would have attended the Wake.
Another main-stay of Youngstown's foods was DiRusso's Italian Sausage. Starting out as a little Mom And Pop restaurant in Lowellville, many decades ago, it has evolved into a Major Brand. Be still my heart the first time I walked into a Sam's Club and found it available by the case in the Freezer Section! I've been a fan of DiRusso's since the sixties. They had opened a small restaurant in Canfield, but it has since closed. Until their national marketing in the last few years, the only place you could get an authentic sausage sandwich was at festivals or fairs where they had a trailer. Nothing beat a DiRusso's Sausage Sub made on a Hoagie loaded with grilled onions and peppers and topped with Marinara Sauce. Yum!
The Canfield Fair, the largest county fair in the country, is held every year for a week, ending on Labor Day. I've attended the fair most years since I've been a wee tot. Nothing temps your taste buds more than the area foods offered at The Canfield Fair. DiRusso's has several trailers there as well as Richardson's French Fries. Good "Fair fries" can't be matched. Long, golden-brown fries stuffed in a cardboard cup, covered with malt vinegar and salt with optional ketchup. Some wise entrepreneur bought the old malt machines from downtown Youngstown's Strouss's Department Store after it closed and had the original recipe for the frozen concoction. Any Baby Boomer from the area had to have one if they spotted their booth. I, of course, was one on them. Similar to a Wendy's Frosty, but ten times creamier and richer, Strouss's Malts were a must have if you were shopping downtown.
I would be remiss if I failed to mention Pirogi, available at many Catholic Churches in the area on Friday afternoons. The pronunciation varies as widely as the variety of filling they had available. Pa-row-gee was how I always said it. Close enough. They were thin dough squares folded over to about three inches square or in a half moon shape. Filled with potato, cheese, lectvar(prune), and/or onion. Boiled for several minutes and covered usually with a butter sauce. Once again, Yum!
One of the treats when I was on-duty at the North Side Fire Station in Struthers on Fridays was to drive the Fire Truck up to Holy Trinity Church. The sweet, old ladies making Perogi in the basement would fill my cooking pot to the rim at no charge. They loved their Firemen. We loved them back, especially on Fridays!
Often noted, Youngstown was the melting pot of many ethnic persuasions, due to many Europeans immigrating there to work in the steel mills at the turn of the twentieth century. Almost every area had a specialty restaurant or store to supply the masses with their favorite food, reminding them of their homeland. It was understood by the local population of what side of town you were going to drive to for dinner depending on your palate that night.
Everyone has their favorite Comfort Food. I'll mention a few of mine and where to find it, if it's still available. I became partial to Italian food, which is the dominant heritage in Youngstown, hence the wide array of anything that came from Italy. Pizza parlors or restaurants that featured many Italian foods dominated the landscape of places to eat. My mouth waters just thinking about some of those dishes.
It's hard to declare my favorite pizza in the Youngstown area. It's like saying which one of your kids do you like best. Elmton Pizza on Fifth Street in Struthers stands as one of the best. Their huge, greasy slices are to die for, especially on Friday nights after a football game. It's a ritual for Wildcat Fans. Their meatball subs are spectacular, too. Wedgewood Pizza in Ausintown and Boardman probably serve more pizzas than the national chains in the area. Their deep-dish style is loaded with toppings and tons of mozzarella cheese that leaves a long string from your mouth to your plate. I usually pick one up on my way home from a visit. Wedgewood even ships their pizza anywhere in the country to those home-sick Youngstown folks that have a craving.
Petrillo Pizza that was on Powers Way in The Brownlee Woods Section of Youngstown, was famous for their "sheet" pizza. Four-inch squares of high-rise pizza that was plain on toppings, but loaded with flavor. Their sauce had a lot of garlic in it that stayed with you for hours. Our high school cafeteria offered Petrillo Pizza most Fridays and it always sold out. At twenty cents a slice, it was a cheap meal. I remember having a pizza eating contest with several other sixteen year old friends. I tied another guy for the win by eating fifteen pieces of pizza! Ah, the days when my metabolism could handle anything. Petrillo closed a few years ago. Wish I had known, I would have attended the Wake.
Another main-stay of Youngstown's foods was DiRusso's Italian Sausage. Starting out as a little Mom And Pop restaurant in Lowellville, many decades ago, it has evolved into a Major Brand. Be still my heart the first time I walked into a Sam's Club and found it available by the case in the Freezer Section! I've been a fan of DiRusso's since the sixties. They had opened a small restaurant in Canfield, but it has since closed. Until their national marketing in the last few years, the only place you could get an authentic sausage sandwich was at festivals or fairs where they had a trailer. Nothing beat a DiRusso's Sausage Sub made on a Hoagie loaded with grilled onions and peppers and topped with Marinara Sauce. Yum!
The Canfield Fair, the largest county fair in the country, is held every year for a week, ending on Labor Day. I've attended the fair most years since I've been a wee tot. Nothing temps your taste buds more than the area foods offered at The Canfield Fair. DiRusso's has several trailers there as well as Richardson's French Fries. Good "Fair fries" can't be matched. Long, golden-brown fries stuffed in a cardboard cup, covered with malt vinegar and salt with optional ketchup. Some wise entrepreneur bought the old malt machines from downtown Youngstown's Strouss's Department Store after it closed and had the original recipe for the frozen concoction. Any Baby Boomer from the area had to have one if they spotted their booth. I, of course, was one on them. Similar to a Wendy's Frosty, but ten times creamier and richer, Strouss's Malts were a must have if you were shopping downtown.
I would be remiss if I failed to mention Pirogi, available at many Catholic Churches in the area on Friday afternoons. The pronunciation varies as widely as the variety of filling they had available. Pa-row-gee was how I always said it. Close enough. They were thin dough squares folded over to about three inches square or in a half moon shape. Filled with potato, cheese, lectvar(prune), and/or onion. Boiled for several minutes and covered usually with a butter sauce. Once again, Yum!
One of the treats when I was on-duty at the North Side Fire Station in Struthers on Fridays was to drive the Fire Truck up to Holy Trinity Church. The sweet, old ladies making Perogi in the basement would fill my cooking pot to the rim at no charge. They loved their Firemen. We loved them back, especially on Fridays!
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
We Thought We Looked Cool or Was It Hot?
Fads and fashions come and go. In the 60's and 70's in Ohio's Steel Mill Region, in and around Youngstown, kids tried to keep up with the national trends of what was "Hot" and what was "Cool". If there's a difference, I need somebody to explain it to me. Maybe I was being Hot, when I should have been Cool.
My earliest recollection of a "Must Have" item was the Nifty Notebook. It was a hard plastic notebook with a magnetic latch. The two spindles to load the paper on were at the top of the page, instead of the traditional three-ring binder. This appealed greatly to my left-handedness. No rings in the margin to get in my way. Sold! The marketers of this were geniuses. They also cornered the market on the special notebook paper required for the Nifty. Of course, it was about double the price of regular paper. After about three months of kids using these new notebooks, the teachers put a stop to it. Apparently, the odd size paper was too much for them to deal with when grading papers, so they boycotted it's use. If that was today, some left-handed kid would have sued them under the Americans With Disabilities Act.
The British Invasion of many Rock Bands, brought along many items intended to woo the masses. Many fashion apparel items were adopted by kids following the clothing designs of their favorite groups. The Beatles were copied by a lot of kids with their haircuts, Beatles Boots, Pea Coats, CPO Jackets, and Mandarin Shirts. The Rolling Stones Famous T-Shirt with the Tongue Sticking Out is still popular today. A couple of American groups that created a fashion craze was The Beach Boys with Bermuda Shorts and Paisley Shirts and The Monkees with their checkered black and white pants.
Around the time of the Woodstock Music Festival, anything with a Peace Sign on it was a big seller. I had Dog Tags with a Peace Sign on one and an American Flag on another. As a sixteen year old, I also had my head shaved for football. (We all did that in those days.) I walked into a restaurant bar looking for a friend. The Bar Tender insisted I sit down and have a free beer. He noticed my Dog Tags and my lack of hair and assumed I was home from Basic Training in the military. I didn't say a word, chugged down the beer and sat there looking straight ahead. He asked me who I was with. I figured he meant what high school I was playing football for. I said, "The Struthers Wildcats". "No, no," he said, "What branch of the service are you in?" I told him I was sixteen and still in high school. He grabbed my glass and told me to leave. Can you believe it? What Nerve! Hey, I wasn't going to pass up a free beer.
Some of the boys in my class started fashion trends on their own. One kid in my class had a black Beret he wore backwards. We asked where he got it at and Paris' Men's Shop sold out their supply in a week. Black Leather Jackets were popular in high school, especially if you were a hood. I never had one, that wasn't my style or in my parent's budget. Black sneakers with white trim were a hot commodity, only available at A&A Department Store in downtown Struthers at five bucks a pair. I think that's all I wore all through high school. White Levi's were popular locally, thanks to a popular radio commercial featuring a poor duck that lamented the fact that he couldn't wear White Levis and how lucky we were that we could.
My mom, always on the cutting-edge of the fashion world,(Tongue firmly planted in cheek), bought me a zippered sweater that was red on one side and black on the other. I felt like Ralphie in "A Christmas Story" that was forced to put on the Bunny Outfit the first time she made me wear it to school. The guys in my class all laughed at my sweater and asked if I was a Joker from a deck of cards. Needless to say, that was the last time I wore the sweater. I was no Fashion Setter, for sure.
I laugh when I think of some of the failed attempts of trendy fashions that were popular back in the day and how many I actually had. I actually wore Platform Shoes on my Wedding Day in 1976 and many men wore Leisure Suits to the reception. My Leisure Suit was Pea Green with a Nehru Collar. I must admit, it was much better than wearing a Tie. I wore a yellow crushed-velvet jacket to a Winter Formal in high School along with rented Patent- Leather Shoes. That went along with my Afro hair-style of my red hair. I looked a lot like Ronald McDonald, I was told. How Flattering! Thank God any pictures were burned a long time ago!
My earliest recollection of a "Must Have" item was the Nifty Notebook. It was a hard plastic notebook with a magnetic latch. The two spindles to load the paper on were at the top of the page, instead of the traditional three-ring binder. This appealed greatly to my left-handedness. No rings in the margin to get in my way. Sold! The marketers of this were geniuses. They also cornered the market on the special notebook paper required for the Nifty. Of course, it was about double the price of regular paper. After about three months of kids using these new notebooks, the teachers put a stop to it. Apparently, the odd size paper was too much for them to deal with when grading papers, so they boycotted it's use. If that was today, some left-handed kid would have sued them under the Americans With Disabilities Act.
The British Invasion of many Rock Bands, brought along many items intended to woo the masses. Many fashion apparel items were adopted by kids following the clothing designs of their favorite groups. The Beatles were copied by a lot of kids with their haircuts, Beatles Boots, Pea Coats, CPO Jackets, and Mandarin Shirts. The Rolling Stones Famous T-Shirt with the Tongue Sticking Out is still popular today. A couple of American groups that created a fashion craze was The Beach Boys with Bermuda Shorts and Paisley Shirts and The Monkees with their checkered black and white pants.
Around the time of the Woodstock Music Festival, anything with a Peace Sign on it was a big seller. I had Dog Tags with a Peace Sign on one and an American Flag on another. As a sixteen year old, I also had my head shaved for football. (We all did that in those days.) I walked into a restaurant bar looking for a friend. The Bar Tender insisted I sit down and have a free beer. He noticed my Dog Tags and my lack of hair and assumed I was home from Basic Training in the military. I didn't say a word, chugged down the beer and sat there looking straight ahead. He asked me who I was with. I figured he meant what high school I was playing football for. I said, "The Struthers Wildcats". "No, no," he said, "What branch of the service are you in?" I told him I was sixteen and still in high school. He grabbed my glass and told me to leave. Can you believe it? What Nerve! Hey, I wasn't going to pass up a free beer.
Some of the boys in my class started fashion trends on their own. One kid in my class had a black Beret he wore backwards. We asked where he got it at and Paris' Men's Shop sold out their supply in a week. Black Leather Jackets were popular in high school, especially if you were a hood. I never had one, that wasn't my style or in my parent's budget. Black sneakers with white trim were a hot commodity, only available at A&A Department Store in downtown Struthers at five bucks a pair. I think that's all I wore all through high school. White Levi's were popular locally, thanks to a popular radio commercial featuring a poor duck that lamented the fact that he couldn't wear White Levis and how lucky we were that we could.
My mom, always on the cutting-edge of the fashion world,(Tongue firmly planted in cheek), bought me a zippered sweater that was red on one side and black on the other. I felt like Ralphie in "A Christmas Story" that was forced to put on the Bunny Outfit the first time she made me wear it to school. The guys in my class all laughed at my sweater and asked if I was a Joker from a deck of cards. Needless to say, that was the last time I wore the sweater. I was no Fashion Setter, for sure.
I laugh when I think of some of the failed attempts of trendy fashions that were popular back in the day and how many I actually had. I actually wore Platform Shoes on my Wedding Day in 1976 and many men wore Leisure Suits to the reception. My Leisure Suit was Pea Green with a Nehru Collar. I must admit, it was much better than wearing a Tie. I wore a yellow crushed-velvet jacket to a Winter Formal in high School along with rented Patent- Leather Shoes. That went along with my Afro hair-style of my red hair. I looked a lot like Ronald McDonald, I was told. How Flattering! Thank God any pictures were burned a long time ago!
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Adventures On And Under The Water
My recent post had to do with foolish stunts I had done in my life. A loyal follower had related me to a cat with nine lives. That jogged my memory to think of other near death experiences I've had. I totally forgot about my adventures with water.
A favorite Winter past time for the gang I hung around with as a grade-schooler was to walk in Yellow Creek Park in Struthers, Ohio all the way out to Hamilton Lake. The creek itself was usually frozen and we would sometimes wear our Ice Skates and be able to skate most of the way to the lake. I had visions of Hans Christian Andersen and the story of The Silver Skates. Unfortunately, this was Ohio and not Holland. Winters weren't as cold or sustained and the freezing of the creek wasn't consistent. Run-off from salt-covered streets turned the ice into mush in some parts of Yellow Creek.
We had great fun in gliding over these weak spots and watching the ice crack beneath out feet. If you happened to break through the ice, it was usually very shallow and the worst that would happen was getting a wet foot. As luck would have it, I broke through the ice near a small dam and was in water over my head. I was close enough to the edge of the creek to reach it with a couple of dog paddles and grab some overhanging tree branches to pull myself out. I'm sure if a friend had attempted to help me, he would have encountered the same fate. I was of course, soaked to the bone and had to struggle to walk up a steep incline over a mile to get home. Thankfully no one was at home and I was able to slip into a hot shower and hide my wet clothes until they dried. I'm sure my days exploring the creek would have been over if my parents learned of my mishap.
In the Summer, my family often went to a relative's cottage in Sandusky, on Lake Erie. My cousin, a couple of years older than me, was my constant companion as we spent a good part of the day in the water. I was probably eight years old and could swim well enough in a pool, but I was no match for a rough Lake Erie. One lazy afternoon, we were on blow-up plastic rafts just sunning ourselves and riding the rolling waves. I was practically asleep when I slipped off the raft and found myself well beyond the pier that went about fifty yards out into the water. The raft had drifted too far away from me and I began to panic, knowing I couldn't swim that far to shore. I hollered to my cousin and he came to my aid and helped me towards shallow water. Clearly, he saved me from drowning. We never told anyone for fear of being banned from the water.
Rose Lake, a long-closed Swimming Hole off Kirk Road in Youngstown was the site of my next calamity. Another cousin and I with whom I spent weeks with every Summer, went to Rose Lake once or twice a week to swim. I marveled at the kids that could swim across the small lake and finally mustered up the courage to try it. Needless to say, I didn't make it. About three-fourths of the way, I became too tired to swim any further and became disoriented as I struggled with each stroke. A large metal pole that was used as a marker, vertically jutted out of the water in still deep water. I clung to the pole and began calling for help. The next thing I remembered was water pouring out of my mouth as a Life Guard did compressions on my back. Still groggy from my ordeal, the owner of the lake gave us a ride home and told my Aunt and Uncle what had happened. I can only remember them scolding my cousin for not keeping a better eye on me. The poor kid, I was the one who attempted the dumb stunt.
Several hours later, I was feeling better and was sitting on my cousin's front porch. A few of his friends came by and asked if I'd like to play a game called "Pass-Out". I asked how to play and they said stand up and they would show me. I was told to lean over and take ten very deep breathes, then stand up and hold that last breath as long as I could while another kid would Bear-Hug me from behind, making you pass out. I was gullible and went along with it, doing as I was instructed. I was squeezed and sure enough, I passed out cold. I can remember a sound while I was unconscious like a herd of Buffaloes running over the top of me. I slowly came to my senses to the sound of laughter from all the kids who witnessed the event. I later learned that this "Game" had deadly consequences. Apparently, several kids had died or suffered brain injuries from lack of oxygen or hitting their heads when they passed out. As if I didn't have enough To deal with that day.
I think God has spared me on all of these occasions so I could become the Poster Boy for all those things kids should never attempt. My ignorance got me in plenty of trouble. By sheer luck or the grace of God, I'm still here. My destiny is yet to be determined.
A favorite Winter past time for the gang I hung around with as a grade-schooler was to walk in Yellow Creek Park in Struthers, Ohio all the way out to Hamilton Lake. The creek itself was usually frozen and we would sometimes wear our Ice Skates and be able to skate most of the way to the lake. I had visions of Hans Christian Andersen and the story of The Silver Skates. Unfortunately, this was Ohio and not Holland. Winters weren't as cold or sustained and the freezing of the creek wasn't consistent. Run-off from salt-covered streets turned the ice into mush in some parts of Yellow Creek.
We had great fun in gliding over these weak spots and watching the ice crack beneath out feet. If you happened to break through the ice, it was usually very shallow and the worst that would happen was getting a wet foot. As luck would have it, I broke through the ice near a small dam and was in water over my head. I was close enough to the edge of the creek to reach it with a couple of dog paddles and grab some overhanging tree branches to pull myself out. I'm sure if a friend had attempted to help me, he would have encountered the same fate. I was of course, soaked to the bone and had to struggle to walk up a steep incline over a mile to get home. Thankfully no one was at home and I was able to slip into a hot shower and hide my wet clothes until they dried. I'm sure my days exploring the creek would have been over if my parents learned of my mishap.
In the Summer, my family often went to a relative's cottage in Sandusky, on Lake Erie. My cousin, a couple of years older than me, was my constant companion as we spent a good part of the day in the water. I was probably eight years old and could swim well enough in a pool, but I was no match for a rough Lake Erie. One lazy afternoon, we were on blow-up plastic rafts just sunning ourselves and riding the rolling waves. I was practically asleep when I slipped off the raft and found myself well beyond the pier that went about fifty yards out into the water. The raft had drifted too far away from me and I began to panic, knowing I couldn't swim that far to shore. I hollered to my cousin and he came to my aid and helped me towards shallow water. Clearly, he saved me from drowning. We never told anyone for fear of being banned from the water.
Rose Lake, a long-closed Swimming Hole off Kirk Road in Youngstown was the site of my next calamity. Another cousin and I with whom I spent weeks with every Summer, went to Rose Lake once or twice a week to swim. I marveled at the kids that could swim across the small lake and finally mustered up the courage to try it. Needless to say, I didn't make it. About three-fourths of the way, I became too tired to swim any further and became disoriented as I struggled with each stroke. A large metal pole that was used as a marker, vertically jutted out of the water in still deep water. I clung to the pole and began calling for help. The next thing I remembered was water pouring out of my mouth as a Life Guard did compressions on my back. Still groggy from my ordeal, the owner of the lake gave us a ride home and told my Aunt and Uncle what had happened. I can only remember them scolding my cousin for not keeping a better eye on me. The poor kid, I was the one who attempted the dumb stunt.
Several hours later, I was feeling better and was sitting on my cousin's front porch. A few of his friends came by and asked if I'd like to play a game called "Pass-Out". I asked how to play and they said stand up and they would show me. I was told to lean over and take ten very deep breathes, then stand up and hold that last breath as long as I could while another kid would Bear-Hug me from behind, making you pass out. I was gullible and went along with it, doing as I was instructed. I was squeezed and sure enough, I passed out cold. I can remember a sound while I was unconscious like a herd of Buffaloes running over the top of me. I slowly came to my senses to the sound of laughter from all the kids who witnessed the event. I later learned that this "Game" had deadly consequences. Apparently, several kids had died or suffered brain injuries from lack of oxygen or hitting their heads when they passed out. As if I didn't have enough To deal with that day.
I think God has spared me on all of these occasions so I could become the Poster Boy for all those things kids should never attempt. My ignorance got me in plenty of trouble. By sheer luck or the grace of God, I'm still here. My destiny is yet to be determined.
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