From little on, my parent’s children were taught to work. There wasn’t any formal employment application or anything like that, one day you simply became aware of using a dust cloth, scrubbing floors, vacuuming rugs, scrubbing pots and pans, washing dishes, cooking, baking, assisting with laundry, and sanitizing the porcelain lifesaver in the family’s comfort station. On other occasions, we were introduced to the cleansing power of vinegar on dirty window glass, detergents for basement concrete and Johnson’s Paste Wax for furniture. As part of our domestic apprenticeship, we became intimately acquainted with products such as Fels Naptha, Climalene, Kitchen Klenzer, Lysol, American Family Flakes, Duz, Rinso, Lava and Linco Bleach. Our family never owned a car, but if we had there would have been a bumper sticker reading: “SEARCH FOR DIRT!”
By age ten we were quite skilled in the use of dish rags, dish towels, irons, ironing boards, washing machines, vacuum cleaners, rakes, reel push lawn mowers, brooms, mops, garden hoses, shovels, buckets, and garbage pails. Before the age of reason, I was instructed in the fine art of chicken feather removal. Standing on a crate in front of a laundry tub filled with hot water, plucking feathers from the latest candidate for our dinner table, one acquires a lasting impression from the perfume of soaking wet chicken feathers. By the time I was in sixth grade my work ethic was well honed. It happened unexpectedly a couple of years earlier—I used the wrong word talking to Mom.
It was my ninth birthday, January 21, 1950. It was a cold Saturday morning and I was complaining there was nothing to do. After all, one’s birthday should be filled with fun activities. I was in the midst of my personal pity party as I walked into the kitchen where Mom was doing some chores. “What’s your problem?” She asked. Before I considered my answer I blurted out: “I’m bored! There’s nothing to do!” “Bored, are you?” Mom replied, “I have something for you to do.” “This floor needs a good scrubbing. Get the pail, scrub rags, scrub brush and the Fels Naptha. You won’t be bored scrubbing the floor.”
There I was, birthday boy, on my hands and knees removing scuff marks and soil from the well-worn kitchen linoleum. I knew that this was just phase one of a two-room scrub. After the kitchen, there was the dining room, and after the dining room the back stairs to the basement would be wiped down completing Mom’s housekeeping triple play. This was not work for pay—it was service for service. Household chores were rewarded with clean clothes, meals, and comfortable accommodations. There was one good thing about all this. I never used the word bored again! Foolishly though, during my freshman year in high school, I tested Mom’s authority again. Elbow deep in Climaline detergent as I wiped up the basement’s cement floor I complained about what I believed to be excessive chores: “Mom, haven’t you heard, Lincoln freed the slaves!” Her reply was quick and needle sharp: “Maybe so, but Lincoln doesn’t live in this house, keep working!”
In order to earn spending money I did odd jobs. In winter, there were snow covered neighborhood porches and walks to clear; in summer, an abundance of weeds to pull and lawns to cut. This was truly a minimum wage affair. My highest pay, twenty-five cents weekly, came from cutting Mrs. Harmon’s lawn on the corner of 118th and Cleveland . Included with mowing was trimming the edges, sweeping off both front and back porches, sidewalk and driveway.
Then, in the summer of 1952, opportunity knocked and the job of paper boy arrived. Route 6B, Cleveland Avenue , from 119th street to the railroad tracks was available weekday afternoons: The Chicago Daily News, The Chicago Herald American and The Hammond Times needed delivery. I would also be responsible for collecting bi-weekly payments from the customers. Following a brief interview with “Dutch” Serafin and Mr. Chrustowski at The Whiting News Company, I was given a shoulder-strap canvas sack to carry papers and route book containing the names of customers and the paper ordered. The job paid $5.90 a week.
My tenure as paper boy lasted only until school began. I decided to become an independent contractor. Instead of delivering newspapers, I collected old ones. Scrap paper was worth a penny a pound and I would go door-to-door throughout neighborhoods asking for old newspapers and magazines. All through the autumn, winter and following spring I collected papers and tied them in 25 pound bundles. The forty-three dollar check from Hammond ’s Lake Iron & Metals Company more than paid for my glove and shoes from Neal Price’s in time for Little League Baseball season. I also bought a new baseball bat from Whiting News. The rest I saved for ancillary expenses.
In addition to work ethic training I learned how to organize, manage, plan, and accomplish goals. At home, I regularly demonstrated previously learned scrubbing, laundry, and housekeeping skills; and continued to “Help Mom with the Dishes.” To this day, I believe I was the only Whiting Little Leaguer with dish pan hands.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Sunday, March 1, 2009
iPods, Cell Phones and Ear Buds
As humans, we crave contact. Since prehistoric time, our species has used drawings, sounds, and words to communicate. With each technological advance, we readily embrace and integrate the latest gadgets that puts us in touch. At times, such communication is one way—listening to recordings, watching television, viewing movies and videos. Interactive devices caught on immediately because humans love to exchange “in the moment” ideas, thoughts, and news.
As one who grew up in the 40’s and 50’s, communication consisted of books, radio, records, television and face-to-face contact. The telephone was always available, but its use was closely monitored by parents. Phone use by children and teenagers was restricted to “necessary” calls. Our primary means of interactive communication was our daily togetherness at school. We couldn’t wait to see, talk and listen to what friends and classmates had to say. Walking home from school, sharing hallways on the way to class, cheering at sporting events and informal street-corner seminars were all part of our communicative, socialization and personal development. Later, when separated by geographic distance, phone calls helped supplement our need for contact until our next visit. When telephone calls were not possible, we sent cards and actually wrote letters to loved ones and friends. That was so long ago. Today, immersed in technology, we use electronic gadgets and devices to communicate. In school, during passing periods, students fill hallways with their ears plugged with ear buds. Although walking side-by-side, they prefer to listen to other sounds rather than friendly voices. In self-imposed solitary confinement, students shun opportunities to socialize, trade comments, and share memory-making moments with classmates. Some are so offended and self-centered they engage in argumentative outbursts when told in classrooms to pay attention, turn off their electronic toys, and de-bud their ears.
Regardless of circumstance or distance, someone is always in contact with someone. Many are so addicted to self-importance they have a phone hanging on their ear! Others multi-task in a desperate attempt not to be alone with their own thoughts: whether driving, shopping or walking their phone is glued to their ear. Not too long ago at a wake service, someone’s cell phone provided a musical interlude in the midst of the memorial prayer service. Occasionally in church, one of the purses in the pew will signal an incoming call. These examples of one’s inconsiderate self- importance are mind boggling. I hope one day should they try to contact Heaven they’re not greeted with a ‘busy’ signal.
We have phones that record messages, take photos, and reduce one’s privacy to unsettling levels. Electronic data is permanent—cyber-space is unforgiving; its memory is fantastic!
It is understood that talking on the phone while driving is risky, nevertheless, there are folks who even text while they drive—periodically taking their eyes off the road to punch in their vitally important message. They jeopardize the safety of themselves and others in order to satisfy an egotistical mindset of self-importance. Truly, they are a legend in their own mind. Student’s texting in classrooms has become a major concern in schools throughout the land. Kids definitely learn by example.
Now that computers, cell phones, iPods, blackberries, iPhones, television, GPS and TiVO’s, are all integrated into unified communication devices, one wonders what will become of individuality. Texting, ‘sexting,’ electronic photos, and all kinds of savory and unsavory information now flood cyber-space. Non-erasable data is tsunami-like filling screens of My Space, Twitter, YouTube, Face book, cell phones, iPods, countless computer screens and chat-rooms. People so enamored with themselves share their most intimate thoughts and images in hopes of gaining notoriety, recognition, or fame; unaware of the repercussions and personal damage caused by such action.
Cell phones and other similar devices are wonderful but they do not come equipped with common sense. Overuse, misuse, and unnecessary use of these appliances require responsibility, courtesy, and intelligence. Unfortunately, ego usually trumps common sense.
But the social habit most disturbing is the use of ear buds. Connected to an iPod by wires and ear buds, kids walk around like marionettes attached with droopy strings. They are in the moment as they listen to whatever is being pumped from their iPod to their audio receptors. The unsettling thing is that kids often share ear buds with friends. Taking one of the buds from their ear and placing it in their friend’s ear so they can share the current selection; then, returning it to their ear. We were taught as kids not to share toothbrushes, combs, hairbrushes, cosmetics, and other personal items with anyone to prevent transfer of unwanted bacteria and germs. Today, the exchange of earwax particles, bacteria, sweat, and unknown microbes are part and parcel of the “I’m Cool Ear Bud Profit Sharing Plan.” Can an increase of ear infections be far behind? No pun intended but—“It’s a budding question.”
As one who grew up in the 40’s and 50’s, communication consisted of books, radio, records, television and face-to-face contact. The telephone was always available, but its use was closely monitored by parents. Phone use by children and teenagers was restricted to “necessary” calls. Our primary means of interactive communication was our daily togetherness at school. We couldn’t wait to see, talk and listen to what friends and classmates had to say. Walking home from school, sharing hallways on the way to class, cheering at sporting events and informal street-corner seminars were all part of our communicative, socialization and personal development. Later, when separated by geographic distance, phone calls helped supplement our need for contact until our next visit. When telephone calls were not possible, we sent cards and actually wrote letters to loved ones and friends. That was so long ago. Today, immersed in technology, we use electronic gadgets and devices to communicate. In school, during passing periods, students fill hallways with their ears plugged with ear buds. Although walking side-by-side, they prefer to listen to other sounds rather than friendly voices. In self-imposed solitary confinement, students shun opportunities to socialize, trade comments, and share memory-making moments with classmates. Some are so offended and self-centered they engage in argumentative outbursts when told in classrooms to pay attention, turn off their electronic toys, and de-bud their ears.
Regardless of circumstance or distance, someone is always in contact with someone. Many are so addicted to self-importance they have a phone hanging on their ear! Others multi-task in a desperate attempt not to be alone with their own thoughts: whether driving, shopping or walking their phone is glued to their ear. Not too long ago at a wake service, someone’s cell phone provided a musical interlude in the midst of the memorial prayer service. Occasionally in church, one of the purses in the pew will signal an incoming call. These examples of one’s inconsiderate self- importance are mind boggling. I hope one day should they try to contact Heaven they’re not greeted with a ‘busy’ signal.
We have phones that record messages, take photos, and reduce one’s privacy to unsettling levels. Electronic data is permanent—cyber-space is unforgiving; its memory is fantastic!
It is understood that talking on the phone while driving is risky, nevertheless, there are folks who even text while they drive—periodically taking their eyes off the road to punch in their vitally important message. They jeopardize the safety of themselves and others in order to satisfy an egotistical mindset of self-importance. Truly, they are a legend in their own mind. Student’s texting in classrooms has become a major concern in schools throughout the land. Kids definitely learn by example.
Now that computers, cell phones, iPods, blackberries, iPhones, television, GPS and TiVO’s, are all integrated into unified communication devices, one wonders what will become of individuality. Texting, ‘sexting,’ electronic photos, and all kinds of savory and unsavory information now flood cyber-space. Non-erasable data is tsunami-like filling screens of My Space, Twitter, YouTube, Face book, cell phones, iPods, countless computer screens and chat-rooms. People so enamored with themselves share their most intimate thoughts and images in hopes of gaining notoriety, recognition, or fame; unaware of the repercussions and personal damage caused by such action.
Cell phones and other similar devices are wonderful but they do not come equipped with common sense. Overuse, misuse, and unnecessary use of these appliances require responsibility, courtesy, and intelligence. Unfortunately, ego usually trumps common sense.
But the social habit most disturbing is the use of ear buds. Connected to an iPod by wires and ear buds, kids walk around like marionettes attached with droopy strings. They are in the moment as they listen to whatever is being pumped from their iPod to their audio receptors. The unsettling thing is that kids often share ear buds with friends. Taking one of the buds from their ear and placing it in their friend’s ear so they can share the current selection; then, returning it to their ear. We were taught as kids not to share toothbrushes, combs, hairbrushes, cosmetics, and other personal items with anyone to prevent transfer of unwanted bacteria and germs. Today, the exchange of earwax particles, bacteria, sweat, and unknown microbes are part and parcel of the “I’m Cool Ear Bud Profit Sharing Plan.” Can an increase of ear infections be far behind? No pun intended but—“It’s a budding question.”
Monday, February 9, 2009
Working in the Fields
With winter weather, early darkness, and cold frozen snow driven by rambunctious winds, it encourages those of us who are ancient to hunker down inside our home, snugly wrapped in down-filled comforters, close to heat registers sipping honey-laced tea. In the hours east of midnight, old black-and-white television movies serve as company for those who struggle with erratic sleep. On one such night, a movie strikes a chord and awakens thoughts and images that are interlaced over a lifetime.
We learn early, events go by at the speed of life and one does not recognize or is preoccupied with other priorities that detract from fully appreciating the lessons being learned. As each day unfolds there is an agenda to be followed and the ramifications of the tasks, labors, and interactions connected minute by minute go unnoticed. Awareness is usually self-directed toward objectives or goals in order to achieve desired outcomes. Regardless of age or station in life, each of us proceeds according to our means, capabilities, skills, and interest. Subconsciously, we put forth an allotment of energy, effort, importance, and time in order to satisfy our individual standards of excellence. Hectic daily chores, interruptions and random distractions are inevitable causing one to become sidetracked or lose focus requiring redirection as we toil in the fields.
How many activities and duties performed over a lifetime are viewed as insignificant, drab, unglamorous, and unimportant? Like a tenant farmer sowing his fields we follow patterns, routines, sameness—trudge along well-worn ruts as we live out the hours of each day. How long does it take before one realizes that every moment in life is ripe with opportunity, potential, adventure and the magic of human goodness? Once understood, these gifts have to be accepted and embraced. What does it take to change inconvenience to opportunity, disruption to welcome, uninteresting to joyful and work to love? At what point in one’s life does the transition take place changing shadow to sunshine, sorrow to gladness, oneness to unity, anger to forgiveness, selfishness to sharing and sadness to laughter? What does it take to transform meaningless to meaningful?
From our earliest years, we are encouraged to “count our blessings” be humbled by ordinary moments that become extraordinary memories. As we labor in the field we are taught to remove unwanted weeds in order to cultivate good growth. Over thousands of years, Biblical words and parables convey wisdom to insure a bountiful harvest. How many times in life have we witnessed a weed become a rose, an unwanted event become a valuable lesson, a painful experience leave us with renewed strength; and personal tragedy fill us with Faith? What is the magic and mystery of working in the fields, day after day struggling to meet obligations, duties, responsibilities and commitments? From what source is the spirit replenished when fatigue, despair, loneliness, and illness challenge one’s will to continue?
We find solace and take comfort in unexpected places that previously went unnoticed. Strangers thrown together in similar situations develop common bonds and help one another--some become friends: small acts of kindness—giving without hope of receiving; lending a helping hand in moments of need, listening to others who have no one else to talk to; sharing conversation with outsiders who seek reassurance and validation of personal worth. Like tending a garden, each snippet of human interaction nurtures the spirit and strengthens character. Throughout life we carefully tend the fields, hoping our efforts will bear the fulfillment of dreams and reward us with bounty promised ages ago. Like children we are filled with anticipation and excitement savoring the bountiful harvest from our endeavors. After many years, we learn that many weeds—unwanted initially-- are worthy of care because they, too, have importance to our lives. Their diversity awaits discovery by those who follow our labors. We also learn that growing among the weeds are elegant lilies of the field: jewels to tease sunshine from the sky above and within ourselves
The richness of one’s life is a mosaic of diversity: work, play, rest, prayer, and belief in all that is good. The wealth measured is one of purposeful actions, thoughtful considerations of others, moments of conveyed appreciation and kind words; and the abundance of bounty harvested from working in the fields.
We learn early, events go by at the speed of life and one does not recognize or is preoccupied with other priorities that detract from fully appreciating the lessons being learned. As each day unfolds there is an agenda to be followed and the ramifications of the tasks, labors, and interactions connected minute by minute go unnoticed. Awareness is usually self-directed toward objectives or goals in order to achieve desired outcomes. Regardless of age or station in life, each of us proceeds according to our means, capabilities, skills, and interest. Subconsciously, we put forth an allotment of energy, effort, importance, and time in order to satisfy our individual standards of excellence. Hectic daily chores, interruptions and random distractions are inevitable causing one to become sidetracked or lose focus requiring redirection as we toil in the fields.
How many activities and duties performed over a lifetime are viewed as insignificant, drab, unglamorous, and unimportant? Like a tenant farmer sowing his fields we follow patterns, routines, sameness—trudge along well-worn ruts as we live out the hours of each day. How long does it take before one realizes that every moment in life is ripe with opportunity, potential, adventure and the magic of human goodness? Once understood, these gifts have to be accepted and embraced. What does it take to change inconvenience to opportunity, disruption to welcome, uninteresting to joyful and work to love? At what point in one’s life does the transition take place changing shadow to sunshine, sorrow to gladness, oneness to unity, anger to forgiveness, selfishness to sharing and sadness to laughter? What does it take to transform meaningless to meaningful?
From our earliest years, we are encouraged to “count our blessings” be humbled by ordinary moments that become extraordinary memories. As we labor in the field we are taught to remove unwanted weeds in order to cultivate good growth. Over thousands of years, Biblical words and parables convey wisdom to insure a bountiful harvest. How many times in life have we witnessed a weed become a rose, an unwanted event become a valuable lesson, a painful experience leave us with renewed strength; and personal tragedy fill us with Faith? What is the magic and mystery of working in the fields, day after day struggling to meet obligations, duties, responsibilities and commitments? From what source is the spirit replenished when fatigue, despair, loneliness, and illness challenge one’s will to continue?
We find solace and take comfort in unexpected places that previously went unnoticed. Strangers thrown together in similar situations develop common bonds and help one another--some become friends: small acts of kindness—giving without hope of receiving; lending a helping hand in moments of need, listening to others who have no one else to talk to; sharing conversation with outsiders who seek reassurance and validation of personal worth. Like tending a garden, each snippet of human interaction nurtures the spirit and strengthens character. Throughout life we carefully tend the fields, hoping our efforts will bear the fulfillment of dreams and reward us with bounty promised ages ago. Like children we are filled with anticipation and excitement savoring the bountiful harvest from our endeavors. After many years, we learn that many weeds—unwanted initially-- are worthy of care because they, too, have importance to our lives. Their diversity awaits discovery by those who follow our labors. We also learn that growing among the weeds are elegant lilies of the field: jewels to tease sunshine from the sky above and within ourselves
The richness of one’s life is a mosaic of diversity: work, play, rest, prayer, and belief in all that is good. The wealth measured is one of purposeful actions, thoughtful considerations of others, moments of conveyed appreciation and kind words; and the abundance of bounty harvested from working in the fields.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Favorites
As life unfolds, an automatic compilation of people, places, and things that shape, effect and mark one’s journey are recorded into indelible memories. Each experience enriches and adds meaningful moments. As time moves along, one is consciously aware of the residue from these encounters and the degree they have added to the fabric of life. Some are welcome positive recollections, others initiate less favorable thoughts and awaken unwanted feelings that burden and detract enjoyment from one’s personal inventory of living.
As humans, we live on memories. It is our most treasured keepsake: for it is our memories that define, connect, and nourish us. We use these recollections to reinforce linkage to ourselves. They become a major portion of our identity, value and definition of our humanness. Our experiences bond us in friendship, solidify relationships and fuse the mosaic we display each and every day of our life, providing us with courage and confidence to trust, risk, and love.
From our earliest days through adulthood, we learn to depend on our experiences—they literally become matters of life and death. The people, places, things, and events we integrate within ourselves during our lifetime serve as our physical, social, and moral compass. Each item in our cognitive file carries useful information: guidance, safety, lessons, goodness, sorrow, success, failure, happiness, advice…the list is quite extensive. Each in their own way prepares us to confront challenges and changes presented daily in our lives.
As humans, we live on memories. It is our most treasured keepsake: for it is our memories that define, connect, and nourish us. We use these recollections to reinforce linkage to ourselves. They become a major portion of our identity, value and definition of our humanness. Our experiences bond us in friendship, solidify relationships and fuse the mosaic we display each and every day of our life, providing us with courage and confidence to trust, risk, and love.
From our earliest days through adulthood, we learn to depend on our experiences—they literally become matters of life and death. The people, places, things, and events we integrate within ourselves during our lifetime serve as our physical, social, and moral compass. Each item in our cognitive file carries useful information: guidance, safety, lessons, goodness, sorrow, success, failure, happiness, advice…the list is quite extensive. Each in their own way prepares us to confront challenges and changes presented daily in our lives.
One may wonder how places and things—inanimate objects—could have such effect on one’s life? They do because they serve as the arena and props for the interactions that occurred within their boundaries, and the happenings generated by people sharing that space at that time. As children we are acutely aware of surroundings, soaking up impressions of where, what, why, and how. Often, these childhood inputs of life stay dormant until appropriate processing organizes and catalogs them into usable, viable data. Some are so subtle they take years before the impact is fully savored and understood. Others are so overpowering we store them in places far within us until there is sufficient courage to confront, conquer, and understand their importance.
Early in life, the people, places and things we confront are not of choice. So much of one’s early impressions are due to the choices of others. As we mature, we learn about power, control, and choice. Most importantly, we learn about sovereignty—to be in command of ourselves and to understand the power of individuality. What follows is a small sample from the wonder years of this writer, from the neatest little home town ever—Whiting, Indiana!
In February of 1949, when I was 8 years-old, our family moved from grandma’s house on Oliver Street to Cleveland Avenue . Strategically located in the 1800 block, it was gateway to 119th Street ’s business district. Because our family never owned a car, the main mode of transportation was walking, and later, a Spartan accessorized bicycle. Both methods for getting from here to there turned out to be a Godsend.
It is difficult to name all the “favorite” places in my Industrial Mayberry, but the ones listed here have stood the test of time. Each time I go by one of these locations or recall events from my life, the “movie” that plays in my mind always touches my heart in magical wonderful ways. Granted, many of these places are coated with the idealism of youth, preserved in idyllic childhood and adolescent remembrances, and viewed as hallowed locations brimming with fond memories--so be it. This is my movie and watching it through ancient rose-colored glasses suits me just fine. Get the popcorn!
--Whiting High School This was my dream factory. Within the confines of this educational palace I met classmates who became lifelong friends; teachers who believed in me and changed my life, and where I learn the Power of Possibility.
--Whiting Public Library From first grade on, this wonderful castle-like structure became my Adventure Land . Within these walls the magic of words fired imagination and adventure, opened new horizons, and filled my mind with knowledge, understanding, diversity of thought and human expression.
--Whiting Community Center The Mecca of Industrial Mayberry: a place where kids were not only welcomed, but appreciated. Sport activities, recreation, field trips, social gatherings, theatrical plays, municipal exhibitions, corporate presentations, and a myriad of community functions, was headquartered in this marvelous architectural structure. I literally grew up in this building. As a teenager, I worked as pin boy in the bowling alley. The Community Center is a museum for the mind.
--Neal Price’s Firestone Store The variety of goods made music for the senses.
--Dave’s Drug Store What a menu: root beer floats, potato chips, and Dave’s wisdom.
--Whiting Park Truly a place for all seasons: baseball, ice skating, playground, picnics and the beach. The little stone houses always had their “Welcome Mats” out for visitors.
--Sacred Heart Church and School Lessons for Heaven and Earth. No Free Passes!
--Whiting Post Office 46394: Is there a better Zip Code for cards and letters?
--Nick’s Pool Room An adolescent male oasis featuring snooker, pinball, and verbal expression.
-- Hot Dog Louie’s Gourmet dining at its best! Germs never stood a chance!
--White Castle Hamburger Hall of Fame! Nourish your body; cleanse your pipes, and so much more! I just love ‘em!
--And……and…..
Monday, December 1, 2008
We Need Cheerleaders, Honesty, Integrity, Leadership and Common Sense
By now, we’ve all aware of the unsettling news about the economy. The stock market is unstable, companies are going bankrupt, financial institutions are struggling, the housing market is saturated with foreclosure and the average citizen is worried about their savings as investments dwindle in value. Daily, television screens are filled with images of politicians, corporate executives, economic advisors and media personalities posturing, lamenting, explaining, discussing and conveying to the American people how troubled, mismanaged and dire our economic institutions have become. They are expert at emphasizing the negative and “selling” financial fear.
Everyday citizens are filled with apprehension, anxiety and uncertainty as investment institutions collapse and their retirement funds, saving, and pension plans lose value. Like a roller coaster, markets plunge downward, yo-yoing back and forth between profit and loss, then, creep upward into positive territory. Parents saving for their child’s college education are worried when the time comes, funds will be insufficient to meet their intended needs. CEO’s describe their plight to Congress in hopes of a procuring a federal bailout. One gets the impression that our economy is hanging by a thread. Learned scholars use terms like recession, contraction, and volatile. A few media outlets show grainy black and white film clips of soup lines from the Great Depression. Images of despair, fearfulness and hopelessness now flood minds of Americans concerned about their future.
Loans are tough to come by, mortgages are scarce as the housing market faces millions of foreclosures and lenders deal with bankruptcies generated by homeowners unable to meet financial obligations. Retail stores forecast bleak shopping for the holiday season, as consumers “turtle up,” fearful of what the future holds. Automobile dealers are flooded with inventories of unsold vehicles sending ripple effects throughout the industry and economy. The bedrock of the American economy is the housing industry and automotive industry. The foundation of American society has always been the triad of Family, Church, and School. Today, our bedrock, the very foundation of our Country is being threatened, challenged and attacked.
Throughout the country, voices of disdain doom and gloom, and individuals—both within and outside—The United States strive to ridicule, demean, diminish and actively work to destroy our government, economy, society and sovereignty. Traditional values and individual rights are being threatened by secular activists working to eliminate Judeo-Christian values and implement their agenda. It is time for us to take action. It is a time for us to demand. It is also time for every American to invest. Now is the hour to demand of ourselves the investment of time, interest, energy and effort. We must hold accountable, all elected officials, corporate leaders, union officials, financial planners, and—ourselves. Let’s replace non-sense with common sense!
As a nation, we need to set an example of strength, confidence, courage, and belief in America for all to see. From border to border, shore to shore we must reinforce the qualities and values that are the bedrock of America . We need to vanquish fear and escalate Faith. As United States citizens, we need to fully exercise our duties and responsibilities. We need to stand tall up front not cowering in the shadows—we need to risk rather than withdraw. We must celebrate America ’s promise and belief in ourselves. We can do better---and, we must!
We need cheerleaders and leadership from podiums and pulpits, board rooms and classrooms, press boxes and soap boxes. We need celebrities and entertainers, athletes and movie stars, executives and officers, homebuilders and homeowners, corporations and associations, neighborhoods and brotherhoods, Unions and non-unions to promote honesty, integrity, decency and goodness. America needs to hear good news and reassurance from elected officials at all level of government: Federal, State and local. We have to set aside political bickering and cooperate for the good of America . We need to eliminate the negative and accentuate the positive. Our President, President-elect and members of Congress need to demonstrate leadership and reassure citizens at every opportunity that this Country, although battered and bruised economically, is fundamentally solid, strong, and secure.
Americans have always responded to challenges, adversities, threats, and harmful forces with resolve, courage, discipline and dedication. We face a difficult road ahead with many uncertainties; and we need to periodically hear voices of hope, inspiration, wisdom, prayerful words, and patriotic fervor to help restore confidence. We need to help one another—knowing that asking for help is not a sign of weakness; but a sign of strength. We are problem-solvers. Let solve the problems! And, along the way, prayerfully seek guidance until threats are vanquished, security reinforced, faith renewed, and the American spirit re-energized.
Soon it will be Christmas. And so I wish each of you: “Merry Christmas.” It’s been quite a year. God bless us all.
Everyday citizens are filled with apprehension, anxiety and uncertainty as investment institutions collapse and their retirement funds, saving, and pension plans lose value. Like a roller coaster, markets plunge downward, yo-yoing back and forth between profit and loss, then, creep upward into positive territory. Parents saving for their child’s college education are worried when the time comes, funds will be insufficient to meet their intended needs. CEO’s describe their plight to Congress in hopes of a procuring a federal bailout. One gets the impression that our economy is hanging by a thread. Learned scholars use terms like recession, contraction, and volatile. A few media outlets show grainy black and white film clips of soup lines from the Great Depression. Images of despair, fearfulness and hopelessness now flood minds of Americans concerned about their future.
Loans are tough to come by, mortgages are scarce as the housing market faces millions of foreclosures and lenders deal with bankruptcies generated by homeowners unable to meet financial obligations. Retail stores forecast bleak shopping for the holiday season, as consumers “turtle up,” fearful of what the future holds. Automobile dealers are flooded with inventories of unsold vehicles sending ripple effects throughout the industry and economy. The bedrock of the American economy is the housing industry and automotive industry. The foundation of American society has always been the triad of Family, Church, and School. Today, our bedrock, the very foundation of our Country is being threatened, challenged and attacked.
Throughout the country, voices of disdain doom and gloom, and individuals—both within and outside—The United States strive to ridicule, demean, diminish and actively work to destroy our government, economy, society and sovereignty. Traditional values and individual rights are being threatened by secular activists working to eliminate Judeo-Christian values and implement their agenda. It is time for us to take action. It is a time for us to demand. It is also time for every American to invest. Now is the hour to demand of ourselves the investment of time, interest, energy and effort. We must hold accountable, all elected officials, corporate leaders, union officials, financial planners, and—ourselves. Let’s replace non-sense with common sense!
As a nation, we need to set an example of strength, confidence, courage, and belief in America for all to see. From border to border, shore to shore we must reinforce the qualities and values that are the bedrock of America . We need to vanquish fear and escalate Faith. As United States citizens, we need to fully exercise our duties and responsibilities. We need to stand tall up front not cowering in the shadows—we need to risk rather than withdraw. We must celebrate America ’s promise and belief in ourselves. We can do better---and, we must!
We need cheerleaders and leadership from podiums and pulpits, board rooms and classrooms, press boxes and soap boxes. We need celebrities and entertainers, athletes and movie stars, executives and officers, homebuilders and homeowners, corporations and associations, neighborhoods and brotherhoods, Unions and non-unions to promote honesty, integrity, decency and goodness. America needs to hear good news and reassurance from elected officials at all level of government: Federal, State and local. We have to set aside political bickering and cooperate for the good of America . We need to eliminate the negative and accentuate the positive. Our President, President-elect and members of Congress need to demonstrate leadership and reassure citizens at every opportunity that this Country, although battered and bruised economically, is fundamentally solid, strong, and secure.
Americans have always responded to challenges, adversities, threats, and harmful forces with resolve, courage, discipline and dedication. We face a difficult road ahead with many uncertainties; and we need to periodically hear voices of hope, inspiration, wisdom, prayerful words, and patriotic fervor to help restore confidence. We need to help one another—knowing that asking for help is not a sign of weakness; but a sign of strength. We are problem-solvers. Let solve the problems! And, along the way, prayerfully seek guidance until threats are vanquished, security reinforced, faith renewed, and the American spirit re-energized.
Soon it will be Christmas. And so I wish each of you: “Merry Christmas.” It’s been quite a year. God bless us all.
You Can Go Home Again
The title of Thomas Wolfe’s 1940 novel, “You can’t go home again,” is the story of writer George Weber and his journey back to his home town. These words have become both poetic and prophetic to anyone who left home and returned a number of years later only to be affected by changes over the period of their absence. In late September, members of the Whiting High School Class of 1958 came home to celebrate their fiftieth anniversary of graduation. It was a weekend filled with remembrance, renewal, and melancholy reflection. Activities began on Friday with an informal get-together at this writer’s home and continued at the Whiting Elks Club to enjoy dinner and more conversation. Saturday evening, classmates enjoyed a banquet and culminated their celebration with a Sunday picnic at Whiting Park . Friends from the classes of 1956 and 1957 joined in the camaraderie and exchanged “war stories” embellished by half-a-century of memories with the “youngsters” from the Class of 1958.
A number of out-of-town classmates as well as those who live distant from the community took advantage of the delicious autumn weather to tour their home town. Many returned to neighborhoods where they lived as teenagers, visiting favorite places enjoyed as a youngster. I, too, travelled the community that shaped my life, remembering those who served as role models and helped me along the way. Although I’ve lived the majority of my life in the Whiting-Robertsdale area—only recently moving to Dyer--I like to visit the places where so many moments and so many memories are now part of my life. In 1949, when I was in third grade, our family moved from my grandmother’s house on Oliver Street to Cleveland Avenue . I lived in that house until I married in 1965. It was the house in which I grew up. One of the joys of youth was walking to school each day with neighborhood classmates and friends. Initially, we walked to Sacred Heart; then, as high school students, two additional blocks to Whiting High. After a half century, I still clearly recall many of those journeys as we laughed, talked and shared friendship that has bonded us together over a lifetime. Some days we used sidewalks, other days we’d cut through neighbor’s yards and travel alleys. Over the course of our four years at Whiting High, routes to and from school and home were modified to meet adolescent priorities; and the camaraderie, friendship and affection for one another increased.
Inside the covers of my WHS Reflectors from ‘54 to ‘58, yellowing pages reveal photographs of captured moments from times long ago. Travelling through town, photos of yesteryear are compared with current observations: past locations that once housed storefronts and familiar establishments are now absent or reflect change. Landmarks like the Community Center seems subdued and no longer pulse and throb with the vibrancy of energetic youngsters as it once did. To teens of the 50’s, the Center was our Mecca , ground zero for gathering, activities, and for some—employment. I can still detect the bowling alley’s aroma and the ambiance of the pits as I plied my pinsetter skills on alleys 3 and 4. Images of Hardy Keilman and Andy Yanas are still vivid in my mind. Most of the graffiti we wrote on the ceiling and walls has eroded, but the spirit of those days remains.
We used street corners along 119th for our informal seminars, drugstores to quench thirsts, Neal Prices to preview the latest 45 records and dream about items that filled his store’s shelves. We regularly feasted at Hot Dog Louie’s gulping down soft drinks and his famous chili. On subsequent visits, we savored Louie’s hamburgers and mustard-drenched hot dogs. Immunized from all known bacteria and viruses we’d cross the street and head for Nick’s. Snooker tables and pinball machines beckoned adolescent skill. It was a “Boys Only” establishment; a sanctuary where teenaged guys could smoke and carry-on without disdain. After more than fifty years the ambiance of this marvelous parlor of pool balls and pinball, neon, and green felt tables still generates pleasant memories of friendship, camaraderie, laughter, and good times.
A restaurant replaced Salmon’s barber shop where my “greaser” haircut was trimmed and made ready for the next application of Charles Antell’s Formula Number 9. Walgreen’s now occupies Ande’s Pizza original location. Sacred Heart School closed long ago, and so many mature trees on Oliver Street are gone. To this day, the White Castle stands sentry to the entrance of my Mayberry. Sautéed onions and the perfume of Slyders activate saliva glands; and I fight the urge to indulge a half-dozen tempting geometric belly bombers. Places of my youth: Whiting High School , The Public Library and Whiting Park still saturate my mind with cherished memories of childhood and adolescence adventures.
As I complete my tour, I say a few words of thanksgiving for the people, places, and once-upon-a-time moments that gave me opportunity to do better. Rarely has a finer gift been presented and appreciated. And, if I could talk to Thomas Wolfe I would tell him without reservation that you can come home again; especially if one is a member of the Class of ’58 and their home town is Whiting, Indiana.
A number of out-of-town classmates as well as those who live distant from the community took advantage of the delicious autumn weather to tour their home town. Many returned to neighborhoods where they lived as teenagers, visiting favorite places enjoyed as a youngster. I, too, travelled the community that shaped my life, remembering those who served as role models and helped me along the way. Although I’ve lived the majority of my life in the Whiting-Robertsdale area—only recently moving to Dyer--I like to visit the places where so many moments and so many memories are now part of my life. In 1949, when I was in third grade, our family moved from my grandmother’s house on Oliver Street to Cleveland Avenue . I lived in that house until I married in 1965. It was the house in which I grew up. One of the joys of youth was walking to school each day with neighborhood classmates and friends. Initially, we walked to Sacred Heart; then, as high school students, two additional blocks to Whiting High. After a half century, I still clearly recall many of those journeys as we laughed, talked and shared friendship that has bonded us together over a lifetime. Some days we used sidewalks, other days we’d cut through neighbor’s yards and travel alleys. Over the course of our four years at Whiting High, routes to and from school and home were modified to meet adolescent priorities; and the camaraderie, friendship and affection for one another increased.
Inside the covers of my WHS Reflectors from ‘54 to ‘58, yellowing pages reveal photographs of captured moments from times long ago. Travelling through town, photos of yesteryear are compared with current observations: past locations that once housed storefronts and familiar establishments are now absent or reflect change. Landmarks like the Community Center seems subdued and no longer pulse and throb with the vibrancy of energetic youngsters as it once did. To teens of the 50’s, the Center was our Mecca , ground zero for gathering, activities, and for some—employment. I can still detect the bowling alley’s aroma and the ambiance of the pits as I plied my pinsetter skills on alleys 3 and 4. Images of Hardy Keilman and Andy Yanas are still vivid in my mind. Most of the graffiti we wrote on the ceiling and walls has eroded, but the spirit of those days remains.
We used street corners along 119th for our informal seminars, drugstores to quench thirsts, Neal Prices to preview the latest 45 records and dream about items that filled his store’s shelves. We regularly feasted at Hot Dog Louie’s gulping down soft drinks and his famous chili. On subsequent visits, we savored Louie’s hamburgers and mustard-drenched hot dogs. Immunized from all known bacteria and viruses we’d cross the street and head for Nick’s. Snooker tables and pinball machines beckoned adolescent skill. It was a “Boys Only” establishment; a sanctuary where teenaged guys could smoke and carry-on without disdain. After more than fifty years the ambiance of this marvelous parlor of pool balls and pinball, neon, and green felt tables still generates pleasant memories of friendship, camaraderie, laughter, and good times.
A restaurant replaced Salmon’s barber shop where my “greaser” haircut was trimmed and made ready for the next application of Charles Antell’s Formula Number 9. Walgreen’s now occupies Ande’s Pizza original location. Sacred Heart School closed long ago, and so many mature trees on Oliver Street are gone. To this day, the White Castle stands sentry to the entrance of my Mayberry. Sautéed onions and the perfume of Slyders activate saliva glands; and I fight the urge to indulge a half-dozen tempting geometric belly bombers. Places of my youth: Whiting High School , The Public Library and Whiting Park still saturate my mind with cherished memories of childhood and adolescence adventures.
As I complete my tour, I say a few words of thanksgiving for the people, places, and once-upon-a-time moments that gave me opportunity to do better. Rarely has a finer gift been presented and appreciated. And, if I could talk to Thomas Wolfe I would tell him without reservation that you can come home again; especially if one is a member of the Class of ’58 and their home town is Whiting, Indiana.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
To Measure What We Have Lost
How do we measure what we’ve lost? Some losses are easy to document. There are a sundry of devices to indicate change, level, quantity, intensity or amount in both relative and precise degrees. Tangibles are readily measured: weight, temperature, consumption, calories, blood pressure, distance and time—a lengthy menu. But how are intangibles measured? Intangibles are the life-affecting elements that have no physical properties. How is the loss of a loved one measured, personal sadness, sorrow, joy, happiness?
What instruments are available to measure emotional devastation and damage that occurs within us? How do we measure the erosion of moral standards, of spiritual apathy? What marking system is there to note the quantity and quality of personal character: what level of trust, honor, respect and responsibility is present at any given time? If we are a “quart low” in trust, where do we go for needed replenishment? How do we know when our moral filter needs cleaning or replacement?
As a Nation, we’ve let so much slip away over the years we struggle to understand meaning, purpose and direction. Consider the civic carnage: loss of allegiance to democratic ideals, deterioration of work ethic, absence of attention to detail, flippant attitude toward commitment, disregard for the sacredness of life, and cavalier dedication to duty.
How to we measure the loss of missed opportunities to be kinder, more thoughtful, generous, understanding and charitable? How do we measure the degree of damage done to neglected and abused children? In the arena of political, social, religious and civic endeavors we tacitly accept, tolerate, and justify shoddy performance at all levels. If we could definitively measure these detrimental elements we could demand more accountability, and employ effective remedies. Loss seems so final. Gone. Never again. Remember as kids we used days as if there was an unlimited supply. We realize, as adults, that each day reduces the number by one. Now, we make a conscious effort to put every minute to good use and not waste precious moments. How do we measure the loss of childhood innocence and wonder? How is the erosion of imagination, inquisitiveness, and exploration measured? One needs to know the severity of loss in order to apply appropriate strategies
and remedies.
How do we measure the loss of security and safety at home, school, work and play? How do we measure the impact of violence in our daily lives? What magnitude of fear causes people to withdraw, retreat, and give up?
How do we measure the loss of faith in our politicians, clergy, government and ourselves? What scale of loss illustrates the damage of corruption? What definitive instrument is there to assess rampant greed, selfishness, immorality, and evil? What criterion is there that clearly shows the wear and tear on the human spirit?
Many go about their daily routine insulated from such concerns as if they do not exist. Others justify their ambivalence because such concerns do not apply or affect them. Humans readily learn selective blindness and selective deafness—doing so prevents the cognitive intrusion of uncomfortable circumstances, and keeps one’s conscious awareness tranquil and unruffled. But time is running out. The ideals and values that serve as the bedrock of The United States: government, schools, society and ourselves are being challenged and threatened. There is so much that needs to be done and the work must begin with each of us. Now is not the time to shrink from responsibility. Now is the time to become involved measuring what we’ve lost and begin remediating the deficits. To quote a famous line: “We have met the enemy, and he is us!”
What instruments are available to measure emotional devastation and damage that occurs within us? How do we measure the erosion of moral standards, of spiritual apathy? What marking system is there to note the quantity and quality of personal character: what level of trust, honor, respect and responsibility is present at any given time? If we are a “quart low” in trust, where do we go for needed replenishment? How do we know when our moral filter needs cleaning or replacement?
As a Nation, we’ve let so much slip away over the years we struggle to understand meaning, purpose and direction. Consider the civic carnage: loss of allegiance to democratic ideals, deterioration of work ethic, absence of attention to detail, flippant attitude toward commitment, disregard for the sacredness of life, and cavalier dedication to duty.
How to we measure the loss of missed opportunities to be kinder, more thoughtful, generous, understanding and charitable? How do we measure the degree of damage done to neglected and abused children? In the arena of political, social, religious and civic endeavors we tacitly accept, tolerate, and justify shoddy performance at all levels. If we could definitively measure these detrimental elements we could demand more accountability, and employ effective remedies. Loss seems so final. Gone. Never again. Remember as kids we used days as if there was an unlimited supply. We realize, as adults, that each day reduces the number by one. Now, we make a conscious effort to put every minute to good use and not waste precious moments. How do we measure the loss of childhood innocence and wonder? How is the erosion of imagination, inquisitiveness, and exploration measured? One needs to know the severity of loss in order to apply appropriate strategies
and remedies.
How do we measure the loss of security and safety at home, school, work and play? How do we measure the impact of violence in our daily lives? What magnitude of fear causes people to withdraw, retreat, and give up?
How do we measure the loss of faith in our politicians, clergy, government and ourselves? What scale of loss illustrates the damage of corruption? What definitive instrument is there to assess rampant greed, selfishness, immorality, and evil? What criterion is there that clearly shows the wear and tear on the human spirit?
Many go about their daily routine insulated from such concerns as if they do not exist. Others justify their ambivalence because such concerns do not apply or affect them. Humans readily learn selective blindness and selective deafness—doing so prevents the cognitive intrusion of uncomfortable circumstances, and keeps one’s conscious awareness tranquil and unruffled. But time is running out. The ideals and values that serve as the bedrock of The United States: government, schools, society and ourselves are being challenged and threatened. There is so much that needs to be done and the work must begin with each of us. Now is not the time to shrink from responsibility. Now is the time to become involved measuring what we’ve lost and begin remediating the deficits. To quote a famous line: “We have met the enemy, and he is us!”
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