A four month Marriage No-No

In the early 1950's General Dynamics produced the intercontinental bomber, the B-36.
It had six pusher-type propellers and four jet engines and was big - certainly in aircraft dimensions of the day. A lot of people have seen the movie "Strategic Air Command" starring James Stewart and June Allyson and the B-36 was one of the planes featured in the movie.


What a lot of people don't know is that General Dynamics also produced a cargo version of the B-36 and it was known as the C-99. Even by today's standards it was big - almost the same dimensions as a Boeing 747 in use on many airlines with intercontinental routes. In 1954 it was huge.


In 1954 the C-99 was flying cargo between several Air Force depots - Kelly Field, Texas; Spokane and Tacoma, Washington; and McClellan AFB, California, outside Sacramento. The XC-99 was big and heavy and was limited in the fields it could operate from. Because of this, relatively few people ever got to see this huge airplane in operation.


In 1954 Joyce and I were assigned to McClellan AFB on a temporary assignment. Housing was hard to come by for for TDY (temporary duty) personnel and we were fortunate to find an apartment made out of a retired railroad refrigerator car. Our bedroom window looked out at the end of a major runway and thus we heard (and could see) every aircraft landing or taking off. That included World War Two propeller-driven fighters, Military versions of the Lockheed Constellation, and -- the XC-99.


The B-36 and XC-99 both had unusual sounds - nothing sounded like them. One time I heard that special sound - a kind of a hmmm - hmmm --- hmmm or vroom-room-room grumble. It was early in the morning and I jumped out of bed. The sound got louder; then I decided this was a momentous sight and I called to Joyce, "Wake up - wake-up. Come to the window." Thinking there was a disaster, Joyce jumped out of bed and came to the window and asked, a little breathless,"What's going on?" I pointed out the window just as the XC-99 came into sight and said, : "Look, the XC-99!!!" Very quietly, and with deep emotion, she said, "You mean you woke me out of sound sleep to see an AIRPLANE?"


As indicated in the title of this blog, there are some things you wake a wife up for. A fire in the kitchen. A tornado coming across the field to your house. But never, never, wake a wife up to see an airplane pass by the back window. No matter how big. No matter how rare a bird.
Especially when you have only been married three or four months.


Today we live on a former Air Force base in which a major industrial portion of the facility has been converted to repair and maintain 747 cargo aircraft. They have a unique engine sound as well. And my love of airplanes has never waned. If we hear one of the 747's taking off I still run to a window or into the back yard to see it take off into the wild blue yonder. Only thing is, she does the same thing. Maybe time mellows a person - or maybe she has figured over these almost six generations that it's not worth fighting some things - it's easier to join in. Just so long as a husband does not run to the bed, shake her, wake her out of a sound sleep, and say, "Come to the window; you gotta see this."


Yes, dear, I've learned my lesson!

What Would Today's Teachers Do?

The picture goes a long way back - to when my brother and I went to a two-room school. As I looked at the picture I thought to myself: "With all the upsets in our 21st Century school system, how would our teachers in today's society handle what teachers in 1940 contended with.

I know that one of our daughters is a teacher and we are very proud of her. But she may be a bit concerned and maybe upset by what I am going to say in this blog.

If you look closely at the picture you will see two teachers - Mrs. Hall at the lower left and Mr.Crounce in the top row. Mrs. Hall taught grades one through four. Mr. Crounce, in a room next door, taught grades five through eight. And if you look closely, neither of them looked young - especially Mr. Crounce, who was well along in years, was an amazing person who taught all kinds of classes - reading, writing, 'rithmatic, geography, history, --- you name it - he taught it. Well, I need to back up a bit - he did not teach music - they had a traveling music teacher who came for an hour or so every week or so. And what I want to emphasize is that unless a student had a significant mental problem (and there were one or two that did) he or she eventually graduated from the two room school to the "big" high school seven miles away able to read, write, and handle a reasonable level of mathematics.

It could not have been an easy job working with four classes at the same time. The teacher would work for a while with one class then move back a row to the next class (a grade higher)

and then back a row to another class until he or she reached the eighth grade when they would go back to the fifth grade at the front of the classroom. It meant that teachers had to work with all levels - and it also meant that students had to spend a lot of time on their own. And when the year was done each class moved back a row and the eighth grade moved out the door.

I am very proud of the fact that I went to a two room school. I have great memories of Mr. Crounce and Mrs. Hall - and I credit a lot of my talents and abilities to the educational foundations they built in my life. I think to myself that a lot of the great people of the past 65 or 70 years - people who brought us into the electronic - atomic - scientific - intellectual world of today were people who might have come out of a one or two room school beginning.

The nearest thing I can see today is home teaching and at least two of our daughters did just that - and did it successfully. I think some Charter Schools deserve a lot credit as well.

I read recently that the city of Detroit will be closing over forty schools in June. To make matters worse, the knowledge level of students is often deplorable. Why? We've seen a change of educational priorities. Sometimes students who aren't able to read graduate from high school

perhaps because they have skills in sports. Sports and other peripheral activities often are given priority over basic educational subjects that are essential to being able to cope with the workplace. I have a problem with the priorities of education within the teaching profession. Granted, teachers deserve and need a fair and equitable support package. But in many cases teachers don't seem to exhibit the same outlook on teaching that Mr. Crounce and Mrs. Hall had - and I venture to say that they worked for peanuts because they truly loved working with young people - after all, this picture reflects the era of the Great Depression. Please notice that both of them are smiling. In short, I deeply appreciate the gifts and sacrifices my teachers made for me.

I don't want to blame school administrators and teachers for all the shortcomings of where we are today -- a lot of the fault lies with parents as well. And with distractions like television, video games, and entertainment as well. We didn't have those back in the 1930's and early '40's. All we had was personal social life and a different quality of life.

Guess I'll just close with a hat's off to those parents who home teach, and to those people who seem to have some old-fashioned priorities in life. Maybe I'll keep my prayers aimed at the hope that traditional values will be brought back because they are the basis of good ethical, moral values on which our country was built.

What's In a Name?

Have you ever traced your family history? I mean, gone back as far as you can to find out what your family roots are? I've never gotten deep in genealogy but I've always had an interest.

My grandfather on my Dad's side, in his later years, wrote a couple of family history books that were/are excellent sources of family history. For instance, for many years I did not realize that the battle of Guilford Courthouse in the Revolutionary War was fought on Mitchell land - one of my direct ancestors. There also was a story about a little girl that was captured by the Indians and was saved - another direct ancestor. One time, at a church meeting in Mattoon, Illinois I met an aunt (distant but direct just the same) that I never had heard of. And here in Oscoda a member of a local church came up to me one time and asked me if the Harry E. Mitchell who wrote genealogy books was a relative. I told him that Harry E. Mitchell was my grandfather and it turned out that the Oscoda man was another cousin.

Oh, another thing - my grandfather's book also revealed that there were a number of Presbyterian pastors in my family background. My father commented that in view of this, it didn't seem quite right that I was a METHODIST pastor. All I c an say is that God, in His wisdom, is in control and mayj not have read my grandfather's book.

A few years ago our youngest daughter, Lisa, started working on the family history of my wife's father. We drove into Canada, found a bunch of family graves and history and checked out family information. Later we traced a lot of family history and graves in Detroit and other parts of Michigan. By the time Lisa was done she had compiled a excellent family history that went back to when Joyce's ancestors had come to Canada from County Mayo in the 1800's.

On my mother's side, her family goes back to Lincolnshire in England (around Epworth where Methodist founder John Wesley grew up)( I hope I'm right there) and eventually became one of the original Pilgrims who settled in Plymouth, Massachusetts in 1620. You'll find the name of Isaac Allerton on the Mayflower Compact and my middle name is Allerton. One of my ancesters was involved in developing rubber products like boots or raincoats. Not tires. But the company was Goodyear India Rubber Company or was it Goodrich India Rubber Company? But I DO know that it was not a forerunner of one of today's tire companies. Or maybe it was.

It's interesting to go back in family history. I've never gotten deeply involved in genealogy but family history is interesting just the same.

Oh, about the picture. One of the neckties is the "Bruce" Tartan. I guess I was named after the

great king of Scotland. The other tie is the "Mitchell" tartan - my direct family clan. It is also related to the Innes clan, and the Galbreath clan (which is the one my Oscoda friend is descended from.

It's a small world and I thank a friend for setting me to reflecting on family ties. Maybe I ought to do this more often.

First TV in Town

"Come on up to my place and I'll show you my etchings." That's the invitation every girl feared way back when.


In the late 1930's the invitation might have been "Let's go over to watch Bea Mesick's front-load Bendix washing machine." That was the first washing machine with a window on the front where someone could watch unmentionables going around and round as they were laundered.


But then there was the mid to late 1940's - and I was guilty of another invitation. "If you come over to my house I'll show you my test pattern."


Up to 1947 home television sets were few and far between. Home entertainment was mostly games, reading, socializing, and listening to the radio. Radio was something you could become enveloped in; your imagination was filled with mental images of Tom Mix or Jack Armstrong as they tried to right all the wrongs of the world. I was desolate when the actor who played the Lone Ranger died in an automobile accident -- I was convinced that the Lone Ranger was dead and gone - and then I realized that someone else could play the role. Radio was a time and era when people found their imaginations being honed and mental visions became 'real'.


Early television left a lot to the imagination - for instance what was behind a tiny screen full if snow with a flickering images or a test pattern (see picture above) or people like Uncle Miltie (Milton Berle) who did a weekly variety show. If I was lucky (and I mean LUCKY) I could get one station and that was a snowy picture even with a high and complex antenna.


We had the first TV set in town - a seven-inch Teletone portable which was about the size of a medium-size suitcase. It weighed 30 or 40 pounds and cost around 150 dollars (nearly a thousand in today's dollars) and I was being paid 35 dollars a week. (everything came out of that - rent, food, taxes, entertainment, train fare home most every weekend -- AND -- the television payment).


My mother and dad inherited the TV set when I moved to a new job in a town that did not have TV reception. It was a momentous occasion when we invested in a 'fresnel' lens that boosted the picture size from 7 to 10 inches. Instead of watchingfrom 5feet away all the way up to 7 or 8 feet away which meant a larger crowd could come in and watch whatever was on (and that might be the afternoon test pattern).


Today we take television for granted. Where, with radio, everything was left to the imagination, television today leaves little to the imagination. Today we take for granted 150 or more channels
or more high definition crystal-clear channels via satellite or cable.


What a difference 60 years makes, and what an impact has been made on society by television. Love it or hate it - we can hardly live without it.

She's All Ears

The above picture is pretty old - it goes back to 1957, not long after the opening of Disneyland - the original Disneyland, well before Orlando fit into the picture. But some things never change - Mickey Mouse ears are still in vogue even fifty years (plus) later. And that is not to imply that any of our children are catching up with us age-wise. Fact is, I venture to say our eldest daughter Linda may have forgotten this picture was ever taken.


It's always fun to go back through old pictures because most of them tell a story beyond the basic theme. So it is with this picture. The focus is on the ears.


The picture was taken in early 1957 at a time when I was attending a school at Hughes Aircraft in Culver City, California. It is a reminder of a wonderful day with all the wonder of Disney and we all carried memories of it for a very long time.

Move, now, to November. School completed, we've returned to Rantoul, Illinois. Summer is gone and an early chill of winter has fallen on central Illinois. We're living in a 38 foot Elcar mobile home that we pulled to California and back and the one toilet has stopped working. Pull the handle and the residue in the toilet starts to go down the drain. Suddenly, like a geyser, it burps back, and almost as quickly, the toilet contents begin to go down the drain - very slowly. Pull the handle - the water starts to go but stand back - the geyser happens again and again. Obviously, there is a problem and with four of us in the trailer a backed up toilet will not do.

So, I turn off the water, disconnect supply tubing, remove the bolts from the floor, and the entire toilet ends up in the yard. Nothing is evident in the hole in the trailer floor - no blockage there. But when I checked out the toilet, voila! The problem is obvious - there is a Mickey Mouse hat in the toilet drain.

Needless to say, the Mickey Mouse hat and ears ended up in the trash. The picture remained - memories of a fun day remained with the faded picture. But the real memory was not so much of the day at Disney as it was of the Ears in the toilet. I venture to say Linda doesn't even remember that event (or THOSE EVENTS) but for some of us we are always reminded of a couple of special memories every time we see a Mickey Mouse hat. And we are reminded that with little kids, one never knows what will end up in the toilet.

Oh, there was another time - this time it was a little girl's toy teacup saucer that did the same thing - but it acted like a flapper valve. The bowl would start to flush - then, with a vengeance, it became a geyser - just for a moment or so - and then would drain as if nothing had happened.
The force of water, to begin with, rotated the saucer blocking the drain. Then, when the water pressure ended up, the saucer would rotate back to an open position. Removal of the saucer solved this problem as well.

Events like this make one wonder if maybe the old outhouse concept might have some value - one didn't have to depend upon the force of flushing water. But December in at outhuse leaves a lot to be desired. Especially when the snow is a foot and half deep between the house and the facility and the temperature is down around zero with a 20 mph wind blowing out of the north. Kids toys in the toilet become less stressful when you think about that.

Spring Has Sprung - Almost

My first radio job, at WBRK - Pittsfield, Massachusetts, was writing commercials. I applied at the station and the General Manager had some some strong reservations - pronounced DOUBTS - about my potential since I had never worked in a radio station other than as a CBS page years before. As a test he gave me five bits of information to use in a couple of commercials - he wanted a 30-second spot announcement, and another that would last one minute. And he gave me about five or ten minutes to do it. When I was done he looked at what I had done and said something like "not bad for a beginner" and he hired me on the spot.

One of the most memorable of my products over the next year was for a grocery store on the east side of town. It produced a catch phrase that lasted for years: Spring has sprung, the grass is riz; smart shoppers shop at Sias's.

Well, Spring hasn't really sprung in Michigan - there's a smattering of snow on the ground - but I thought I'd bring a little spring into our living room. I was shopping at the grocery store a couple of weeks ago and I noticed, in the produce department, some pots that contained spring bulbs. No plants - just a pot, some soil and little green thingies poking through the dirt. Well, those little thingies have grown like Topsy (so to speak) and the picture above is a result == daffodil's in Michigan in February and who knows what else? And in the background outside the window, a light coating of snow

This has been a really mild winter in Oscoda. Temperatures above normal - not much snow - so maybe there'll be an early spring. But then again, Michigan weather can be capricious. When we moved to Michigan on March 27th of 2003 our move-in day had temps in the 70s and no snow on the ground. But on April 1st (April Fools Day) we had close to a foot of snow - and I didn't even have a snow shovel.

So, I guess I'll have to come up with some other kind of a jingle - something that relates to a February Spring in Michigan. Like - Pots will come - and plants will grow -- In February == so what do you know! Or, The sun shines bright in Oscoda town -- but wait a while -- snow will come down -- In February - In Michigan. Just wait and see.

It's Olympic Time

Just another wild and crazy guy - dressed for the occasion.

It was February 1953 on the slopes of Colorado, and I was a bit leaner and a lot younger. It was fun times as several of us spent our weekends west of Denver as we escaped work at Lowry Air Force Base.

My skiing days began in the very late thirties and very early forties in New York. I had fourth-hand skiis and leather strap ski bindings that were not the greatest in the world. We skiied on a neighbors hill (had I done it behind our house I would have ended up in the creek) There were no tows or lifts and so for every one minute slide down the hill there was a 15 or twenty minute herring-bone climb up the hill.

A few years later (with a car available) I graduated to commercial slopes like Catamount, almost on the New York/Massachusetts state line and now there were rope tows and longer more challenging trails. I got infected with the ski bug in those days.

The real conversion came in Colorado. Rocky Mountain powder snow was wonderful and the slopes far more challenging. The mountains were higher and every weekend was filled with adventure.

I guess it's the same way nowadays -- ski all day and party all night. I remember snake dances down the main street of Idaho Springs, Colorado and celebrations atop Lookout Mountain, overlooking the city of Golden. As I said, it was a wonderful time for a young, wild and crazy guy.

My last real involvement with snow skiing was in Italy in November and December of 1955. I was assigned to the Italian Air Force at a base in the foothills of the Dolomites not far from Venice. In the process I gained some Italian ski troop friends who would take me to Cortina on weekends to prepare the slopes for the 1956 winter Olympic games. So, I can claim to have skiied Olympic trails but never got to see the actual Olympics because of a transfer to Holland a week or two before the competion began.

Today my competion Northland hickory skiis, my wonderful magnesium skiis, and my very early Head laminate skiis are long gone. What we have in the immediate area here are some of the best cross-country trails in Michigan; however, I don't have the stamina or the urge to ski anymore. If I lived in Colorado I'd have serious vertigo problems. Guess that's part of the aging process. Still, it's nice to dig out old pictures, and watch the Vancouver Winter games, and reflect on what it was like when I was young and carefree.