It Was a Blast

We're approaching the Fourth of July - Independence Day - when we look for our annual
fireworks celebrations. We had one not far from our condo a weekend ago and it was a pretty
good display considering that there were trees and the base chapel hiding a major part of the
low-level display. But what we could see was great. By the way, the display was a part of
what Oscoda calls its "Red, White, and Blue Festival" This weekend was the annual art show
on the beach and next weekend will feature the township fireworks display at the park in the
center of town. Later in the month are a couple of major canoe races and a Native American
Pow-wow. And I don't want to ignore the Yankee Air Force Museum fly-in and USO dance. Who says small towns don't have a bunch of celebrations during the summertime?

When I think of the Fourth of July I think back to the late 1930's (last century) when fireworks
were different and in most states were legal. In one place I remember tissue paper balloons
with candles floating up along the Hudson River. (I don't remember whether they set
any fires but balloons like that (containing incendiary bomblets) were sent up from submarines off the West Coast and came down in Washington and Oregon forests.

It may have been 1939 r 1940 that New York State outlawed most firework. However, I was not going to allow the State ban on fireworks to end my holiday celebration. I made my own.
I tried to buy gunpowder at the local hardware and they wouldn't sell it to a little kid. So I bought up box after box of the big wooden kitchen matches, cut off the heads and glued them together. Then these big bundles of match heads were put on small rafts, lit, and floated on the
stream behind the house. When the bundles of match heads flared up there was applause from family members sitting on the lawn looking over the pool behind the house. The State of New York was not going to do my celebration in.

Well, it wasn't the fourth of July but later in life I was involved in a church play and I was tasked
with creating a flash in a fireplace (A 'Devil and Daniel Webster' special effect). This time I used regular gunpowder and the first try did not create enough flash and smoke. So my second try I used a significantly larger amount of gunpowder (almost filled a pie pan) and this time the flash
was huge and the entire basement of the church was filled with smoke. It was gently suggested that I not involve myself with pyrotechnics again.

And I must sat that there are times that I find it hard tom get past the fireworks stands and displays even now. Guess you can take the fireworks away the old boy -- but it's hard to take the old boy away from the Fourth of July celebration. Know what I mean?

What's Going On?

In case anyone has tried (do people really do this?) to read a new "This 'n That" over the last two or three weeks and found it to be an exercise in futility think of the frustrated old man who has tried to get a particular one on line. In the first place, we have been very busy what with a granddaughter visiting along with two great grandchildren (ours, not hers - that would make Joyce and me really old). Any way, that gang made its way to Chicago yesterday while I was in the processes of having one of those wonderful procedures (colonoscopy) inflicted upon my poor old body. The doctor said the view was great and there were no concerns and when all was said and done, he said he didn't want to see me ever again for a colonoscopy. Is that because there is a cut-off point when one no longer needs to have them?

While Rebecca, Ella, and Maddie were here we had a real treat - a visit from one of our 1970's exchange students, Paul Ickx. He was from Belgium when he stayed with us in the early 1970's - he then became a doctor and has spent many years providing medical care in places like Haiti, Africa, but most of all, for years in Afghanistan. He today heads up a hospital in Kabul but in the eighties he worked with the Muhajadeen (hope the spelling is right but it probably isn't) where as a surgeon he worked under extremely primitive conditions. I wish I could find some of the old photos he sent where he was dressed in the native robes.

It was a wonderful reunion - and I will say that the last couple of days have been tough with
none of the family around.

One of my other problems has been that I wanted to write about a particular place and I can't get the picture I want to come up in the blog. I can find it in "my pictures" but it won't transfer.
Maybe it will another day.

Maybe that problem is part of my problem with Hotmail. All of sudden I have had significant problems getting on line with Hotmail. When I talked to my friendly computer guru he said it wasn't just a problem for me - it was a problem for others who use Hotmail for mail (not necessarily HOT mail - but any mail on Hotmail. So now I have taken on a new e-mail address with Yahoo which I was on years ago and Joyce has been on for quite a while without a problem.

Which all goes to say that it isn't that I haven't wanted to do a blog but rather a lot of distractions and obstacles have made the last two or three weeks a challenge. Frustrating to say the least.

Well, hopefully there's be another blog afore long. As the used to say on an old radio program back the thirties: "I hope, I hope, I hope...." Bye for now

WHAT GOES AROUND COMES AROUND

She hated every minute we rode in it. Not so much that it had some of the most futuristic styling of any car of the 40's-50's era. She says she hated it because it was black. and it had a weird pointy nose on it.

It was a 1950 Studebaker Commander that I bought a week before I met my beloved. And I loved it. It had a powerful six-cylinder engine, and it had a Borg-Warner overdrive that squeezed every mile possible out of a gallon of gas (Five gallons for a dollar at the time). It also had a hill-holder that prevented the car from rolling backward on a hill. We put a lot of miles on that old Studebaker and to; this day I still think it was one of the most stylish, best designed and best handling cars ever built.

But it was black.

It was the second Studebaker my family had. The first was a brand-new 1941 four-door Champion that my dad bought just before Pearl Harbor was attacked. It survived all my high school antics during the war and was replaced after the war. I hauled a lot of kids to dances and scrap paper for wartime scrap paper drives.

In the mid-fifties I was assigned overseas and I came home to find my '50 Commander replaced by a 1954 Oldsmobile Eighty-Eight. I have a hunch my beloved no sooner saw me depart Chanute AFB by C-119 that she was off to get rid of the Studebaker. After all, it was black.

Over the years we got a couple more Studebakers - 1958 and 1960 Lark wagons. At best, not very good cars - the '58 six cylinder Lark lacked much power - scary in fact. The 1960 Lark was an eight cylinder car which was okay - but finally started rusting out by 1963. And neither of them was black - the '58 was white and the '60 was green -- and they were too small for a family

of six. But they were not black -- and they were a lot more comfortable than a Dodge Coronet two-door which had to hold seven of us. But that's another story.

Well, we've gone through a lot of cars since. Most were good experiences and we especially enjoyed almost 25 years of Dodge minivans which we loved. And we're still with Dodge --

bought our latest a month or two before the big financial crash. This time it's a Dodge Caliber

and we love it. Only thing is - it has a lifetime warranty on the power train - but is that a lifetime of the car of lifetime of the company?

And by the way, it's black - and she likes it.

Like I said, "What goes around comes around."

Up in the air in Chicago

For years I had the thought that city living would be too fast for me. Age tends to slow one down, you know? But Chicago is different in our lives - I seem to go back to younger and more active years and we always have fun. For instance, last year's air show. It took me back to the days when I worked on airplanes and even now I still have a tendency to look up when an aircraft flies over.

Chicago has a fantastic air show and last summer's was even better because we could ride the elevator up to the 60th story of our daughter's condo building in downtown Chicago and watch the show from 600-700 feet up with no buildings - or just a few - blocking the view. The picture below shows more building than airplane but we got some spectacular views of the Blue Angels flying past TV antennas atop the Hancock Building. Spectacular!

The next day we went to the Navy Pier and watched the same show all over again - only this time it was from lake level. Only in a city like Chicago!

So, the blog this time is more pictures than words but a trip like this is wonderful and I could be converted into a Chicagoite without too much trouble. And a trip into Chicago is even better with the train ride to and from the City. Hope you enjoy the pictures!

Back to Britain

A few weeks ago I chatted about an unusual experience in a British hotel. This time I want to talk about a different British hotel experience - a bit more humorous that the other time.

The first hotel was in London - this time were had finished a busy day's sightseeing across central England's countryside visiting sites relating to the ministry of John and Charles Wesley who were central to the formation of the Methodist church.

I was overseeing a group of about fifty people - a congenial and enjoyable group. We pulled up to the hotel in Birmingham ready for a good meal and sound night's rest. After arranging for our passengers' accommodations, we accepted keys and went up to our room. We opened the door and - would you believe - there was no bed, and the room was set up for a meeting. That's right - no bed. Lots of chairs and tables but no bed. Was that anyway to treat the head of a large group of visitors?

Making our way back to the main desk we told the desk clerk there was no bed in the room. She said, "Just a moment, Sir.."and disappeared into the labyrinth of offices behind the desk and soon came back with a classic British management type. I mean, he could have come out of a British style magazine and the only things he lacked was an umbrella and bowler hat. Almost a dead ringer for the floor walker from the old PBS comedy, "Are You Being Served?"

With a melodious voice, he asked, "And what can we do for you, Sir?" I responded, "there's no bed in our assigned room and we would like a bed for the night." He stretched up to a haughty height and looked down at us and said, steely eyed: "Sir, that cannot be." I responded, "Maybe that cannot be, but Sir, there is NO bed in that room. Are we to sleep on meeting room tables with no pillows or blankets?" He sent one of henchmen (or henchwomen) to the room and they came back averting any eye contact with us and whispered to the manager, "Indeed they are right - there is no bed in the room!"

I'm not sure that the manager said anything but in no time we were surrounded by bellboys and were escorted to one of the loveliest rooms we ever had. It was complete with a view over a river - a park with classic British trout fishermen -- about as nice a room one could hope for. We stayed there several days and appreciated every moment of our stay.

When we checked out our friend, the manager, was at the desk and with erect British severity he looked down on us and asked, "I trust the accommodations met with your approval?" I couldn't think of anything fit to say except that the second room was a major improvement over our first one.

Memories of Marion

My memories of Marion, Indiana go back to the early to mid-1980's. I was serving a church in a transitional part of town and found it had a lot of traditions. One was to be deeply committed to working with the annual city-wide Easter Pageant. It was one of the most unique and spiritually moving experiences of my life.

We would begin preparing before the end of a year and the work would go on for for at least four months - sometimes more. Our church involvement centered on work around the stage and scenery for me (the stage manager was a member of our church) - and for the ladies it was either preparing or refurbishing costumes. But we were just a small part of it -- people from all over the city were involved in the overall presentation. Usually 800 or so (sometimes more) were in the choir and orchestra - well over a thousand were members of the cast - plus a significant number of others who were in the stage crew, makeup crew, ushers, and so on - more than 4,000 people at one point in its history.. The picture below will give you an idea. It involved whole families and sometimes roles were handed down from one family member to another as the years passed.
The Pageant began in 1938 and lasted fifty years. When it came time for the Easter Sunday morning production at 6 a.m. lines of people waiting to see the Pageant stretched for blocks before dawn. The music became a regular Easter program on Armed Forces Radio network and was heard around the world annually. It was an amazing event considering that the city of Marion has a population of less than 31,000 people. The lower of the two pictures shows the cast of the Pageant enacting a portion of the persecution of Jesus.

I was a "scenery mover" and "rope-puller" for scenic drops on the stage. My wife sang in the choir. Even though we who were mostly out of sight it was a most amazing spiritual experience for those in the production - even behind-the-scenes people. Surely one of the greatest in my personal memory. There was no admission charge that I recall - but the Pageant lived on free-will offerings and industrial and civic contributions.

This holy week I look back with profound memories of a very special Holy Week experience where denominational labels were set aside and folks were afforded of very special view of the Christian story of Easter.

Unfortunately, there have been no presentations of the Pageant for a few years. I understand that the city has fallen on hard times and hasn't been able to underwrite utility costs for the weeks of preparation before Easter, and because Marion has been a victim of industrial cut-backs (especially within the automotive industry) the funds have not been there. But the Pageant lasted over fifty years and one of my treasured memories is being able to the Holy Week story come alive in a most meaningful way. Perhaps in years to come the community will be able to renew this event but like so many things today, it will probably remain only a memory for those thousands who made it possible and who found great inspiration from a community that set aside labels and made Easter come alive.

I

The Knothole Gang

Well, it's baseball season -- at least for the grapefruit league. And baseball season means little kids who hang around the ballpark hoping for an over-the-fence ball (foul or otherwise).

And then there was the knothole gang - the kids who wanted to watch the game but there was a board fence around the field and the only way to see the game was through a knothole in the fence.

Then, again, there was the knothole gang out behind our two-room school. Only thing was, it didn't involve a baseball game - it involved a couple of outhouses.

At our school there were two large four-holers - one outhouse for boys; one for girls. I'm not sure why four-holers - we were not that community minded - but, hey, it gave one an option of which seat to use.

Anyway, sometime before MY time, some of the larger boys got a great idea. Both outhouses were surrounded by metal fences for privacy. That held true for the girls but the door of the boys outhouse faced the entry through the fence so privacy was not a factor for the boys. The older boys decided that they needed a view for themselves so they brought a pipe, or a broomstick to school (the teachers didn't know or looked the other way). It so happened that two sheets of metal met just opposite the door the the girls outhouse. So, the broomstick, or pipe was used as a pry bar and separated the fence metal just enough to create a gap (in wood it would have been a knothole). It was just big enough to see the girl's outhouse door (which wasn't always closed). Needless to say, it created quite a stir among the boys over the years. Especially when one of the girls neglected to close their outhouse door.

However, once in a while, though, one of the girls might hear some giggling on the boys side of the fence and, looking through the gap in the fence, would see an eye peering through the hole. There'd be a scream - "I see you over there." "I'll tell the teacher on you!" That would get the boys attention and they would bail out of the outhouse enclosure with innocent smirks on their faces.

Outhouses were commonplace in our town. There are a number of stories about different outhouse events but we'll leave some of the other outhouse stories for another time. a few are better than this one.

Meanwhile, the old school has been converted into a museum and civic center of sorts. I've been back there a few times over the years, but I can't remember ever seeing the outhouses after the school no longer was a center of learning. (In more ways than one). If they are still there, I wonder if the crack in the fence is still there. And I wonder if the view through the fence is any different.