The story you’re about to read is true. I warn you, however, that I make up some of my true stories and you’ll have to decide for yourself.
For many years, I taught Industrial Arts Metalworking. During the course of instruction, as technical processes and tools were introduced to the class, students would ask questions as to their origin and development. Finally, after listening to the same questions over and over again and, sensing a need to liven up drab, technical information with a little humor, I began fabricating creative responses to student questions. One such inquiry dealt with the source of steel wool: “Mr. Koch, where does steel wool come from?” It was time to tell the “…rest of the story.”
Once upon a time, many years ago, there was a special breed of sheep that lived in North Dakota. These hybrid sheep were raised for their unique type of wool. Genetically, because of a unique endocrine and metabolic system, their follicles had extremely high iron content enabling these sheep to produced steel wool. Because of their metallic hair, and subsequent heavy body weight, these sheep needed exceptional care and tending.
Ranchers involved in raising these animals were licensed under Federal Agriculture Law—#0000-000-00-0-1-2-3-4. They were mandated, by sworn oath, to protect the health and well being of these sheep from life-threatening hazards and injuries. In short, ovine managers pledged to keep these sheep out of the rain. Should these iron-saturated mutton munchers get wet—they would—in a short period of time, corrode out of existence.
Unfortunately, fate was not kind to these sheep. During the annual Steel Wool Growers Association (SWGA), meeting in Indianapolis, a time when watchful steel wool ranchers were away from their flocks and out of town, the unexpected happened. Severe thunderstorms deluged the North Dakota pastures where these sheep grazed.
Sadly, the majority of the steel wool-bearing sheep had been left out on the open range unprotected from the elements. As sheep after sheep became soaked by heavy rain, thousands of them succumbed to iron oxide corrosive syndrome. Aerial photographs, taken after the severe weather showed pathetic, reddish-brown blotches against the landscape’s green meadows: stark physical evidence of the now-terminally rusted herds.
These storms had a devastating corrosive effect on the steel wool industry. It was nearly rusted out! But as bad as things appeared, all was not lost. Luckily, several breeding pairs of steel wool sheep had survived. Fearing possible extinction, the Federal Government immediately placed these animals on its endangered species list and banned all scouring: then took deliberate measures to restore this vitally important breed of livestock.
Follow-up studies by the U. S. Department of Agriculture revealed the surviving sheep suffered from deep depression. (Under the circumstances, it was quite understandable) The symptoms included cloudy eyes, listlessness, and (forgive me), sheepishness. Even though massive doses of a high potency iron tonic were administered, the depression was so immobilizing surviving sheep didn’t even have enough strength to point North. Ranchers were being fleeced.
As last resort, sheep specialists from the United States and Mexico recommended a geographical change. They proposed rebuilding the herd by relocating them to a dry, rain-free environment. By moving the herd, veterinary-scientists hoped the sheep would overcome their mutton malaise, thrive, and produce enough steel wool to relieve a growing worldwide shortage. After scouring the map, such a location was found on the Northwestern peninsula of Mexico just south of the U.S. border.
Not only did the herd thrive and propagate; and, not only was the steel wool industry saved from economic ruin, but the sheep overcame their depression.
Once the sheep had rid themselves of the “mutton Malaise,” they became happy animals. The more time sheep spent in the hot, rain-free, dry climate of their new west coast homeland, the happier they became. Soon they were laughing: BA-HA, BA-HA, BA-HA. Hundreds of thousands of happy laughing sheep could be heard all across the land: BA-HA, BA-HA, BA-HA.
The nearby residents looked upon these gleeful sheep as a good luck sign. Somehow the citizens knew that better times were just around the corner. To recognize their impending good fortune, Hispanic city officials, decided to name the land after the laughing sheep. And so they did. That was a long time ago.
Even so, to this day, this land is still known by the name it was given because of the laughing sheep. I know you’ve heard of this place. It’s called: “Ba-Ja” California!
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Always a Warm Winter
With the season of winter well underway, one needs to fortify themselves from the onslaught of inclement weather in order to maintain desired levels of health, stamina and strength. Of constant concern is warding off winter chills. During the day, residents of northern latitudes supplement their raised thermostats with hot broth, hot tea and chocolate and steamy cups of coffee. These beverages are a nourishing and quick way to keep internal temperatures normal. As added precaution, vitamins and over-the-counter remedies are consumed to reduce sore throats, runny noses, sniffles and pesky coughs.
When venturing out of door, layers of warm clothing are foundation to down-filled jackets, car coats and parkas. Hats, scarves, mittens or gloves complete the ensemble for protection against blustery, uncomfortable conditions—the main objective is to maintain wellness and warmth. Everyone tries to keep their resistance to germs in tip-top shape. Long before winter’s arrival, pneumonia and flu shots are available for those susceptible to these maladies. Winter chills are not welcome.
Even so, regardless of the precautions and preventive measures, not everyone stays warm. We forget that generating warmth is a team effort involving mind, body and spirit. Although we keep our body well fed and wrapped in heat-retaining fabrics, we need a core supply of energy. Whether this is called attitude, outlook, or personal sunshine, the desired outcome is comfortable cozy warmth.
More important than heavy clothing, blankets or quilts, flannel or fleece is the inner warmth we create. So many people glide through the winter months with joyful exuberance, gleeful hearts and sparkling eyes; they seem not to notice the extended hours of darkness, cold frigid temperatures and limited sunshine. In spite of limited economic resources, fixed income or ailments, they glow with a tranquil and unflustered composure. What is the source of such satisfaction?
I suspect it is the understanding of the important things in one’s life. We are all on a similar journey. Although the roads travelled, and rest stops along the way are different, each of us decides what is important and what is not. As one accumulates years, our inventory of experience allows for the choice of treasure or trash. Which memories should be savored? What moments to remember should be treasured? Winters must be cold for people who do not have warm memories.
No article of clothing can warm a vacancy of the heart. No thermostat can fill the emptiness of the spirit with comforting warmth. No, entrée can relieve the pangs of loneliness. Only the inner source of one’s personal sunshine can fill, comfort and warm. So many times during life, one is challenged to draw strength from one’s faith, and beliefs. At times, faith and beliefs don’t seem all that important, but in difficult, stressful and troublesome times it is all we have to hold on to. Of all living things on the earth, only humans pray—or need to. And it is our prayerful words which fuels our inner sunshine providing warmth to the mind, comfort to the spirit and nourishment to the body. And, when this personal sunshine is willingly shared, darkness gives way to light, coldness no longer has dominion, and one enjoys always a warm winter. Those who keep in personal contact with family and friends, who make the effort to focus on doing for others, are healthier, happier, and more vibrant. Winter doldrums are inevitable, short days and long nights gnaw at one’s spirit. Cabin fever and Seasonal Depression Syndrome takes a toll on one’s energy and enthusiasm. But for those who understand the importance of tending and adapting to the seasonal changes within us, they are rewarded with an abundance of peaceful easy feelings, cherished memories, and, always--a warm winter.
When venturing out of door, layers of warm clothing are foundation to down-filled jackets, car coats and parkas. Hats, scarves, mittens or gloves complete the ensemble for protection against blustery, uncomfortable conditions—the main objective is to maintain wellness and warmth. Everyone tries to keep their resistance to germs in tip-top shape. Long before winter’s arrival, pneumonia and flu shots are available for those susceptible to these maladies. Winter chills are not welcome.
Even so, regardless of the precautions and preventive measures, not everyone stays warm. We forget that generating warmth is a team effort involving mind, body and spirit. Although we keep our body well fed and wrapped in heat-retaining fabrics, we need a core supply of energy. Whether this is called attitude, outlook, or personal sunshine, the desired outcome is comfortable cozy warmth.
More important than heavy clothing, blankets or quilts, flannel or fleece is the inner warmth we create. So many people glide through the winter months with joyful exuberance, gleeful hearts and sparkling eyes; they seem not to notice the extended hours of darkness, cold frigid temperatures and limited sunshine. In spite of limited economic resources, fixed income or ailments, they glow with a tranquil and unflustered composure. What is the source of such satisfaction?
I suspect it is the understanding of the important things in one’s life. We are all on a similar journey. Although the roads travelled, and rest stops along the way are different, each of us decides what is important and what is not. As one accumulates years, our inventory of experience allows for the choice of treasure or trash. Which memories should be savored? What moments to remember should be treasured? Winters must be cold for people who do not have warm memories.
No article of clothing can warm a vacancy of the heart. No thermostat can fill the emptiness of the spirit with comforting warmth. No, entrée can relieve the pangs of loneliness. Only the inner source of one’s personal sunshine can fill, comfort and warm. So many times during life, one is challenged to draw strength from one’s faith, and beliefs. At times, faith and beliefs don’t seem all that important, but in difficult, stressful and troublesome times it is all we have to hold on to. Of all living things on the earth, only humans pray—or need to. And it is our prayerful words which fuels our inner sunshine providing warmth to the mind, comfort to the spirit and nourishment to the body. And, when this personal sunshine is willingly shared, darkness gives way to light, coldness no longer has dominion, and one enjoys always a warm winter. Those who keep in personal contact with family and friends, who make the effort to focus on doing for others, are healthier, happier, and more vibrant. Winter doldrums are inevitable, short days and long nights gnaw at one’s spirit. Cabin fever and Seasonal Depression Syndrome takes a toll on one’s energy and enthusiasm. But for those who understand the importance of tending and adapting to the seasonal changes within us, they are rewarded with an abundance of peaceful easy feelings, cherished memories, and, always--a warm winter.
Season of Peace
With all the unrest and turmoil nationally and internationally, it may seem wrong to refer to this time as the “Season of Peace.” As the economy continues to struggle, demonstrators clog public thoroughfares, and elected officials fail in their responsibilities to serve their constituents, hollow words, weak leadership, and misapplication of power and authority enables corruption, greed, and reckless spending to erode the founding principles of America. Decisions which are counter-productive to business, economic growth and the well-being of United States citizens made with abandon in order to appease selfish agendas, narrow-minded visions of ideology and curry favor with special interests, give rise to frustration, mistrust and anger. In extreme cases, personal discouragement and anger crowd out feelings of goodness, appreciation, and peace.
Perhaps these were factors which led Sy Miller and Jill Jackson to write “Let There Be Peace on Earth.” Recorded by a number of celebrities and sung at countless worship services, the words set forth a challenge for each of us to choose peace over discontent. Many times during the year, news stories relate efforts worldwide in the search for peace. Video images of destruction, violence, chaos, and killings flood video screens. Peace seems so elusive—but why?
Of all the people one knows and comes in contact with: family, colleagues, co-workers, friends, acquaintances and strangers, we can only change one person for the better-- and that is ourselves. As much as we’d like to believe otherwise, we control only one person. Even though there are different genders, races, religions, creeds, cultures, ages, and stations of life, we are the same. Regardless of diversity everyone wants the same things. We want to be appreciated, valued and belong. We want to feel successful, important, necessary, honored and respected. We want someone to love—and if we’re very fortunate, have someone loves us in return. We want an abundance of blue skies, green lights, tranquil days and peaceful nights. We want our hearts filled with happiness and joy, our spirit to soar and burgeon with charity, kindness, goodness, thoughtfulness and faith. We want peace of mind, body and soul. We want a full measure of God’s blessings.
For a few brief shining hours each year, we set aside differences and thoughts turn kind. Throughout the world, people celebrate the one perfect birth of this earth and give serious consideration to peace on earth, good will toward men. Seasonal songs and hymns of Christmas fill airwaves, houses of worship, shopping malls, and all places where peace can find residence. Again and again, familiar melodies and lyrics announce the season of seasons, beckoning everyone to bestow peace on one another.
“Let there be peace on earth,
And let it begin with me.
Let there be peace on earth,
The peace that was meant to be.
With God as our father,
Brothers all are we.
Let me walk with my brother
In perfect harmony.”
Think about the magnitude of that challenge. Peace has to start with me! We have to decide that peace on earth begins within each of us. It is our responsibility how peaceful the earth will be. We have to decide that the blessings of Christmas: Faith, Hope and Charity are dispensed each and every day. We have to willingly share all that is good and decent, kind and pure of heart.
“Let peace begin with me,
Let this be the moment now.
With every step I take
Let this be my solemn vow.
To take each moment
And live each moment
With peace eternally
Let there be peace on earth
And let it begin with me.”
During the 1440 minutes of each day, goodness, kindness, caring, compassion, and concern for all who have touched our life must be willingly dispensed, shared and presented as a gift of peace.
Another Christmas provides each of us an opportunity to put into practice by prayerful thought, word and deed the true meaning of human kindness. This Holy day enables each of us to share blessings and gifts of the First Christmas with loved ones and strangers, adversaries and friends, rich and poor, servant and official. Most importantly, Christmas allows each of us to present one of humankind’s most sought after, treasured desires. Celebrate the season of peace: “Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me.”
Merry Christmas, everyone.
Perhaps these were factors which led Sy Miller and Jill Jackson to write “Let There Be Peace on Earth.” Recorded by a number of celebrities and sung at countless worship services, the words set forth a challenge for each of us to choose peace over discontent. Many times during the year, news stories relate efforts worldwide in the search for peace. Video images of destruction, violence, chaos, and killings flood video screens. Peace seems so elusive—but why?
Of all the people one knows and comes in contact with: family, colleagues, co-workers, friends, acquaintances and strangers, we can only change one person for the better-- and that is ourselves. As much as we’d like to believe otherwise, we control only one person. Even though there are different genders, races, religions, creeds, cultures, ages, and stations of life, we are the same. Regardless of diversity everyone wants the same things. We want to be appreciated, valued and belong. We want to feel successful, important, necessary, honored and respected. We want someone to love—and if we’re very fortunate, have someone loves us in return. We want an abundance of blue skies, green lights, tranquil days and peaceful nights. We want our hearts filled with happiness and joy, our spirit to soar and burgeon with charity, kindness, goodness, thoughtfulness and faith. We want peace of mind, body and soul. We want a full measure of God’s blessings.
For a few brief shining hours each year, we set aside differences and thoughts turn kind. Throughout the world, people celebrate the one perfect birth of this earth and give serious consideration to peace on earth, good will toward men. Seasonal songs and hymns of Christmas fill airwaves, houses of worship, shopping malls, and all places where peace can find residence. Again and again, familiar melodies and lyrics announce the season of seasons, beckoning everyone to bestow peace on one another.
“Let there be peace on earth,
And let it begin with me.
Let there be peace on earth,
The peace that was meant to be.
With God as our father,
Brothers all are we.
Let me walk with my brother
In perfect harmony.”
Think about the magnitude of that challenge. Peace has to start with me! We have to decide that peace on earth begins within each of us. It is our responsibility how peaceful the earth will be. We have to decide that the blessings of Christmas: Faith, Hope and Charity are dispensed each and every day. We have to willingly share all that is good and decent, kind and pure of heart.
“Let peace begin with me,
Let this be the moment now.
With every step I take
Let this be my solemn vow.
To take each moment
And live each moment
With peace eternally
Let there be peace on earth
And let it begin with me.”
During the 1440 minutes of each day, goodness, kindness, caring, compassion, and concern for all who have touched our life must be willingly dispensed, shared and presented as a gift of peace.
Another Christmas provides each of us an opportunity to put into practice by prayerful thought, word and deed the true meaning of human kindness. This Holy day enables each of us to share blessings and gifts of the First Christmas with loved ones and strangers, adversaries and friends, rich and poor, servant and official. Most importantly, Christmas allows each of us to present one of humankind’s most sought after, treasured desires. Celebrate the season of peace: “Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me.”
Merry Christmas, everyone.
Friday, November 4, 2011
November Thoughts
There are times, I wish the month of November was ten days long. With late autumn’s onset of darkness, changeable uncomfortable weather, and bleak sunless days, it would be better to shorten this month as incentive to encourage winter to get on with it. With that said, there is a stark beauty about November. Leafless deciduous trees, muted conifers and limited cloudless days have a calming effect on inhabitants who go about their daily rituals of tasks. Wildlife adds additional urgency to complete preparation for the harshness of winter that will challenge their safety, security and survival.
Once the time change takes place, dawn will announce the beginning of the day by pushing darkness to late afternoon. When winter firms its grasp on the calendar, daylight will be rationed with a stinginess that adversely affects all living things. On days when sunshine is in abundance and duels with cold frigid temperatures, inhabitants scurry about buoyed by the sun rays, taunted by aggressive wind to complete routine tasks and obligations before the curtain of night.
Nights in November encourage one to be warm, cozy, and secure in their home. With fireplace or furnace, hot cocoa or coffee, sweaters or soft-fleeced garments keeping the cold at bay we nest in a chair or couch, watch TV, visit the computer, curl up with a good book or cuddle with a special someone.
But there are also times when I want to lengthen November. The allotted thirty days serve as transition from autumn to winter. In ever enlarging increments, darkness overtakes daylight permitting moonlight and star shine extra minutes to fill the heavens like sparkling jewels. November is a time to reflect, review, and remind. This is a time of preparation, of thanksgiving for the bounty we share and to savor the seasons past. Wearing a jacket to stave off an early November’s chill, this geriatric unit occupies the glider on the deck and watches the trees dance and sway to November’s menu of breezes. Autumn leaves tenaciously hold to branches in defiance of accelerated winds, but eventually release their grip and take flight: blanketing the landscape, flakes of multicolored sunshine carpet lawns, decks, and search for gutters to clog.
In the early morning light, clouds take shape, shadows lighten and disappear, and resident geese begin their noisy social gathering for sustenance. Sipping on the day’s first cup of coffee, memories and remembrance gently visit the mind. Road traffic builds with commuters going to work and school buses following set routes pick-up students for school. Memories of four decades in classrooms are triggered by the sight of those rubber-tired cheese wagons with flashing strobe announcing their arrival. Remembering our children when they were school age, and the times we walked with them to school holding hands, shuffling through autumn leaves, and jabbing at winter’s snowflakes as we joyfully shared a journey to the schoolhouse door. How quickly the eyes fill with tears.
Now retired and released from structured obligations, memories of long-ago shift-work days when a young apprentice waited on the corner for public transportation headed for the steel mill. With a shopping bag of work clothes, brown bag lunch, and bus fare-- remembrance of sunlit, rainy, frozen and dark mornings bring melancholy feelings of less complicated times. It was a time of beginning—initial steps of the journey to grown-up. Day by day as life unfolded, apprehension lessened, uncertainty faded, confidence increased and future adventures were welcomed with passionate energy, enthusiasm and purpose: from classroom to factory, factory to campus, campus to classroom.
Thinking of years that have passed all too quickly, of goals accomplished and not reached, of dreams realized and not pursued, and all moments in between, brings mixed inner feelings. Most of all, there is personal thanksgiving and appreciation, knowing that items on this life’s resume are the result of hard work, dedication, faithfulness to trust, honor, respect and responsibility—and loving prayerful support far beyond the stars. November thoughts.
Once the time change takes place, dawn will announce the beginning of the day by pushing darkness to late afternoon. When winter firms its grasp on the calendar, daylight will be rationed with a stinginess that adversely affects all living things. On days when sunshine is in abundance and duels with cold frigid temperatures, inhabitants scurry about buoyed by the sun rays, taunted by aggressive wind to complete routine tasks and obligations before the curtain of night.
Nights in November encourage one to be warm, cozy, and secure in their home. With fireplace or furnace, hot cocoa or coffee, sweaters or soft-fleeced garments keeping the cold at bay we nest in a chair or couch, watch TV, visit the computer, curl up with a good book or cuddle with a special someone.
But there are also times when I want to lengthen November. The allotted thirty days serve as transition from autumn to winter. In ever enlarging increments, darkness overtakes daylight permitting moonlight and star shine extra minutes to fill the heavens like sparkling jewels. November is a time to reflect, review, and remind. This is a time of preparation, of thanksgiving for the bounty we share and to savor the seasons past. Wearing a jacket to stave off an early November’s chill, this geriatric unit occupies the glider on the deck and watches the trees dance and sway to November’s menu of breezes. Autumn leaves tenaciously hold to branches in defiance of accelerated winds, but eventually release their grip and take flight: blanketing the landscape, flakes of multicolored sunshine carpet lawns, decks, and search for gutters to clog.
In the early morning light, clouds take shape, shadows lighten and disappear, and resident geese begin their noisy social gathering for sustenance. Sipping on the day’s first cup of coffee, memories and remembrance gently visit the mind. Road traffic builds with commuters going to work and school buses following set routes pick-up students for school. Memories of four decades in classrooms are triggered by the sight of those rubber-tired cheese wagons with flashing strobe announcing their arrival. Remembering our children when they were school age, and the times we walked with them to school holding hands, shuffling through autumn leaves, and jabbing at winter’s snowflakes as we joyfully shared a journey to the schoolhouse door. How quickly the eyes fill with tears.
Now retired and released from structured obligations, memories of long-ago shift-work days when a young apprentice waited on the corner for public transportation headed for the steel mill. With a shopping bag of work clothes, brown bag lunch, and bus fare-- remembrance of sunlit, rainy, frozen and dark mornings bring melancholy feelings of less complicated times. It was a time of beginning—initial steps of the journey to grown-up. Day by day as life unfolded, apprehension lessened, uncertainty faded, confidence increased and future adventures were welcomed with passionate energy, enthusiasm and purpose: from classroom to factory, factory to campus, campus to classroom.
Thinking of years that have passed all too quickly, of goals accomplished and not reached, of dreams realized and not pursued, and all moments in between, brings mixed inner feelings. Most of all, there is personal thanksgiving and appreciation, knowing that items on this life’s resume are the result of hard work, dedication, faithfulness to trust, honor, respect and responsibility—and loving prayerful support far beyond the stars. November thoughts.
Sheet Metal Romance
Around this time of year back in the 1950’s and 1960’s automobile dealerships brimmed with anticipation and excitement as time neared to debut the newest models of automobiles. With considerable fanfare and drama, television, radio, and print media presented consumers with advertisements designed to bring customers into their respective showrooms. An all-American industry, automobile manufacturers included General Motors, Ford, Chrysler, American Motors and Studebaker-Packard. Since the end of World War II, Americans had escalated their fervor and demand for the latest automobile technology, design, and comfort. Competition among manufacturers was fierce; as innovations, accessories, equipment, engines and power trains and were irresistible brought together to entice buyers to open their wallets and welcome months of payments. By the mid 1950’s, automobiles were a status symbol and personal statement of means, identity, and image.
You already know this, but guys love cars! Early on, this sheet metal romance captivates their affection. Focusing on fender skirts, canted tail fins, gracefully formed hoods, trunk lids, and roof lines; guys are swept into dream land of piston-driven engines, stick shift transmissions, dual exhausts, hardtops, convertibles, sleek-looking interiors and push-button radios. For teenagers, talking about cars is one of three major conversational topics. In the fall off nineteen fifty-six, the 1957 models arrived in dealer’s showrooms. As a 15 year-old high school junior, whose family never owned a car, checking out new models was like visiting Fantasyland. Going to Ciesar’s Chrysler-Plymouth, Swarthout Chevrolet, Hansen Buick and France Ford was idyllic. The aroma of new car perfume filled the dealership. Reflected light from highly polished Blue Coral lacquer and enamel finishes dazzled the eyes. Glistening chrome buffed to its highest luster, and whitewall tires complimented hubcaps and wheel treatments. Running one’s hand over sculptured hoods and fenders of these automotive masterpieces gave one a sense of awe. Dashboards gauges, levers and controls for accessories, floor mats, and interior fabrics of cloth, vinyl and leather, took one’s breath away. Hood ornaments, vibrant colors and manufacturer logos completed the sheet metal symphony of senses. These machines were magnificent!
Maybe it was because adolescents are so impressionable, perhaps it was being close to an unattainable desire, but the automobiles of 1957 left an indelible impression. Without question, nineteen fifty-seven was a banner year for American automakers. Many became classics and are sought-after to this day. Remembering those times makes me smile. I still recall the majesty of those cars: some favorites.
Ford’s 1957 Thunderbird: $3408. Dual tops—standard convertible or removable glass-fiber with port window. Powered by a 285hp. V-8 with either an automatic or 3-speed manual transmission. Produced to rival General Motor’s Corvette. Sweet.
GM’s 1957 Pontiac Bonneville: the first Bonneville available only as a convertible with fuel injection. Introduced in January, 1957, this was the fastest Pontiac ever produced. The expensive sticker price of $5782 came with every available option except air conditioning and external continental kit. The 300+ horsepower fuel injected V8 engine had a top speed of 101.6 mph. Spectacular!
Chrysler’s 300C convertible: Equipped with a 375hp Hemi V8, dual quad carburetors, solid valve lifters and full race camshaft. In 1957, this was the fastest car in America. Priced at $4,055. Its chrome split egg crate grill dominated the frontal view. Stylish vestigial fins flowed into vertical taillights. Awesome!
Ford’s Mercury Turnpike Cruiser: 1957’s Car of The Year! Available in 2dr or 4drhardtops models, standard equipment: power everything. Under the hood, a 290hp V8 and Holley 4-barrel carburetor and Merc-O-Matic drive transmission. Its most striking feature was the electric powered vertical rear window. Sticker: $4103.
GM’s 1957 Super 88 two-door hardtop J-2 Oldsmobile: Three, 2-barrel carburetors fed the 300hp V8 engine. Available with brocade interior, this vehicle was elegance personified for $3200.
Chrysler’s Plymouth Fury: Available only in 2-door hardtop, off-white color with gold spear-shaped trim. Powered with a 290 horsepower, fuel-injected engine. Classy!
General Motor’s 1957 Chevrolet Bel-Air Hardtop: Perhaps the most recognizable classic car ever produced. This car defined the 1950’s more succinctly than any other automobile. Simply put: it was the best!
Over the years, there would be other sheet metal romances: 1960 ebony Oldsmobile 98 white-topped convertible, and a muscled ‘62 Oldsmobile Starfire coupe. But the cars of 1957 have a special place in my memory: youthful, less-complicated, friendship-filled enjoyable moments. Wasn’t that a time!
You already know this, but guys love cars! Early on, this sheet metal romance captivates their affection. Focusing on fender skirts, canted tail fins, gracefully formed hoods, trunk lids, and roof lines; guys are swept into dream land of piston-driven engines, stick shift transmissions, dual exhausts, hardtops, convertibles, sleek-looking interiors and push-button radios. For teenagers, talking about cars is one of three major conversational topics. In the fall off nineteen fifty-six, the 1957 models arrived in dealer’s showrooms. As a 15 year-old high school junior, whose family never owned a car, checking out new models was like visiting Fantasyland. Going to Ciesar’s Chrysler-Plymouth, Swarthout Chevrolet, Hansen Buick and France Ford was idyllic. The aroma of new car perfume filled the dealership. Reflected light from highly polished Blue Coral lacquer and enamel finishes dazzled the eyes. Glistening chrome buffed to its highest luster, and whitewall tires complimented hubcaps and wheel treatments. Running one’s hand over sculptured hoods and fenders of these automotive masterpieces gave one a sense of awe. Dashboards gauges, levers and controls for accessories, floor mats, and interior fabrics of cloth, vinyl and leather, took one’s breath away. Hood ornaments, vibrant colors and manufacturer logos completed the sheet metal symphony of senses. These machines were magnificent!
Maybe it was because adolescents are so impressionable, perhaps it was being close to an unattainable desire, but the automobiles of 1957 left an indelible impression. Without question, nineteen fifty-seven was a banner year for American automakers. Many became classics and are sought-after to this day. Remembering those times makes me smile. I still recall the majesty of those cars: some favorites.
Ford’s 1957 Thunderbird: $3408. Dual tops—standard convertible or removable glass-fiber with port window. Powered by a 285hp. V-8 with either an automatic or 3-speed manual transmission. Produced to rival General Motor’s Corvette. Sweet.
GM’s 1957 Pontiac Bonneville: the first Bonneville available only as a convertible with fuel injection. Introduced in January, 1957, this was the fastest Pontiac ever produced. The expensive sticker price of $5782 came with every available option except air conditioning and external continental kit. The 300+ horsepower fuel injected V8 engine had a top speed of 101.6 mph. Spectacular!
Chrysler’s 300C convertible: Equipped with a 375hp Hemi V8, dual quad carburetors, solid valve lifters and full race camshaft. In 1957, this was the fastest car in America. Priced at $4,055. Its chrome split egg crate grill dominated the frontal view. Stylish vestigial fins flowed into vertical taillights. Awesome!
Ford’s Mercury Turnpike Cruiser: 1957’s Car of The Year! Available in 2dr or 4drhardtops models, standard equipment: power everything. Under the hood, a 290hp V8 and Holley 4-barrel carburetor and Merc-O-Matic drive transmission. Its most striking feature was the electric powered vertical rear window. Sticker: $4103.
GM’s 1957 Super 88 two-door hardtop J-2 Oldsmobile: Three, 2-barrel carburetors fed the 300hp V8 engine. Available with brocade interior, this vehicle was elegance personified for $3200.
Chrysler’s Plymouth Fury: Available only in 2-door hardtop, off-white color with gold spear-shaped trim. Powered with a 290 horsepower, fuel-injected engine. Classy!
General Motor’s 1957 Chevrolet Bel-Air Hardtop: Perhaps the most recognizable classic car ever produced. This car defined the 1950’s more succinctly than any other automobile. Simply put: it was the best!
Over the years, there would be other sheet metal romances: 1960 ebony Oldsmobile 98 white-topped convertible, and a muscled ‘62 Oldsmobile Starfire coupe. But the cars of 1957 have a special place in my memory: youthful, less-complicated, friendship-filled enjoyable moments. Wasn’t that a time!
Beginnings!
Life is a series of beginnings and goodbyes; and no matter the number of our years, we never quite get used to it. This is the story of a beginning.
If I had a dime for every time I heard the retort: “Grow Up!” I would, today, have a tidy sum. From little on, whenever things went awry, or mistakes made, someone in authority would direct their focus to me and say: Grow up! As a parochial school kid in the forties and fifties, nuns were more than willing to dispense that phrase to anyone whose immaturity caused them consternation. During the greater portion of my grade school years, I could have been the poster child for immaturity with “Grow Up” tattooed on my forehead.
In high school, immaturity is magnified due to adolescence’s rapid infusion of cognitive and physical growth, developmental hormones, and social responsibilities. One enters secondary school as an “old child” and four years later leave as a “young adult.” Within those forty-eight months, a person is expected to acquire appropriate academic, social and personal skills prepared to enter and function in the world of grown-ups. That’s a formidable assignment for anyone; for me, it was an embarrassing struggle that challenged self-esteem, questioned self-worth, and tested personal discipline and resolve.
The full impact of inadequacy was evident a few days after graduation as I warily pondered my future. With high school over, one prominent question demanded my full attention: “What do I do now?” There were several choices: college, military service or employment. Due to low academic achievement and class rank, college was out of the question. Enlistment in the military required a level of confidence and maturity I did not have; so finding a job was my only viable selection. Job-hunting began in earnest on a hot, sunny day in June, 1958. I decided to apply at Inland Steel. I would become the first member of our family to choose steel mill over refinery: my grandfather, uncle, father, and two brothers had careers at Standard Oil, AMOCO, and BP over the years. I chose the machinist apprenticeship at Inland Steel.
One of the major limitations with telling one to “Grow UP!” is the lack of support information. No one ever told me how to grow up. Progress was hindered by confusion, awkwardness, anxiety, insecurity, ignorance, immaturity and fearfulness. Most prominent of those fears was rejection. I realized I was now on my own. No one ever told me how to apply for a job, get to Inland’s employment office in Indiana Harbor, what materials I needed, or what to say. Full of uncertainty, I mustered my courage and put “growing up” on the fast track.
A few minutes before 9:00 am, dressed in a long sleeved white shirt, tie and dark suit, I headed for Inland Steel—four miles away. From my home on Cleveland Avenue, I walked to Front Street and followed Dickey road to Union Carbide and Standard Oil, crossing 129th Street at Markstown. Heated by hurried walking and pre-summer sun, I continued past Youngstown Sheet and Tube, Company; over the Indiana Harbor ship canal, Inland’s Plant 3 Coke Plant to the corner of Dickey Road and Watling Street; turning the corner, I headed east. The American Foundry’s giant steam hammers shook the sidewalk’s pavement under my feet. Crossing the tracks, past a parking lot and Knight’s Bar, I arrived at Inland’s employment office. It was 10:15 as I took my place in line.
Because I was not eighteen, a Work Permit was required. I had to walk back to Whiting, procure the permit at the high school, and walk back to Inland. It was 1:45 in the afternoon when I re-joined the line of job-seeking applicants. By 3:30, I had filled out the application, briefly talked with a personnel representative, and told I would be notified if hired. Walking home during rush hour added to the day’s discomfort of missing lunch and perspiration-soaked clothing. The process of becoming a “Grown Up” left much to be desired.
I was hired in late July and began my apprenticeship August 11, 1958. Crossing the threshold to adulthood was difficult. Countless life-lessons, struggles, challenges and unanswered questions would be confronted. I would be tested in ways never envisioned. Childhood was over. Without rehearsal, adult responsibilities arrived and demanded attention and problem-solving at the speed of life. Growing up, one learns to draw upon experience, emotional strength, spiritual Faith, loved ones, and all avenues of information. Cut me some slack—the process continues.
If I had a dime for every time I heard the retort: “Grow Up!” I would, today, have a tidy sum. From little on, whenever things went awry, or mistakes made, someone in authority would direct their focus to me and say: Grow up! As a parochial school kid in the forties and fifties, nuns were more than willing to dispense that phrase to anyone whose immaturity caused them consternation. During the greater portion of my grade school years, I could have been the poster child for immaturity with “Grow Up” tattooed on my forehead.
In high school, immaturity is magnified due to adolescence’s rapid infusion of cognitive and physical growth, developmental hormones, and social responsibilities. One enters secondary school as an “old child” and four years later leave as a “young adult.” Within those forty-eight months, a person is expected to acquire appropriate academic, social and personal skills prepared to enter and function in the world of grown-ups. That’s a formidable assignment for anyone; for me, it was an embarrassing struggle that challenged self-esteem, questioned self-worth, and tested personal discipline and resolve.
The full impact of inadequacy was evident a few days after graduation as I warily pondered my future. With high school over, one prominent question demanded my full attention: “What do I do now?” There were several choices: college, military service or employment. Due to low academic achievement and class rank, college was out of the question. Enlistment in the military required a level of confidence and maturity I did not have; so finding a job was my only viable selection. Job-hunting began in earnest on a hot, sunny day in June, 1958. I decided to apply at Inland Steel. I would become the first member of our family to choose steel mill over refinery: my grandfather, uncle, father, and two brothers had careers at Standard Oil, AMOCO, and BP over the years. I chose the machinist apprenticeship at Inland Steel.
One of the major limitations with telling one to “Grow UP!” is the lack of support information. No one ever told me how to grow up. Progress was hindered by confusion, awkwardness, anxiety, insecurity, ignorance, immaturity and fearfulness. Most prominent of those fears was rejection. I realized I was now on my own. No one ever told me how to apply for a job, get to Inland’s employment office in Indiana Harbor, what materials I needed, or what to say. Full of uncertainty, I mustered my courage and put “growing up” on the fast track.
A few minutes before 9:00 am, dressed in a long sleeved white shirt, tie and dark suit, I headed for Inland Steel—four miles away. From my home on Cleveland Avenue, I walked to Front Street and followed Dickey road to Union Carbide and Standard Oil, crossing 129th Street at Markstown. Heated by hurried walking and pre-summer sun, I continued past Youngstown Sheet and Tube, Company; over the Indiana Harbor ship canal, Inland’s Plant 3 Coke Plant to the corner of Dickey Road and Watling Street; turning the corner, I headed east. The American Foundry’s giant steam hammers shook the sidewalk’s pavement under my feet. Crossing the tracks, past a parking lot and Knight’s Bar, I arrived at Inland’s employment office. It was 10:15 as I took my place in line.
Because I was not eighteen, a Work Permit was required. I had to walk back to Whiting, procure the permit at the high school, and walk back to Inland. It was 1:45 in the afternoon when I re-joined the line of job-seeking applicants. By 3:30, I had filled out the application, briefly talked with a personnel representative, and told I would be notified if hired. Walking home during rush hour added to the day’s discomfort of missing lunch and perspiration-soaked clothing. The process of becoming a “Grown Up” left much to be desired.
I was hired in late July and began my apprenticeship August 11, 1958. Crossing the threshold to adulthood was difficult. Countless life-lessons, struggles, challenges and unanswered questions would be confronted. I would be tested in ways never envisioned. Childhood was over. Without rehearsal, adult responsibilities arrived and demanded attention and problem-solving at the speed of life. Growing up, one learns to draw upon experience, emotional strength, spiritual Faith, loved ones, and all avenues of information. Cut me some slack—the process continues.
Container for Dreams
As soon as one reaches the age of awareness, dreams become part of life. Sparked by events and imagination, each of us begins a wish list. Special events during the year, birthdays and Christmas, increase the urgency, but usually, one’s dreams, wishes, hopes and wants are an outgrowth of personal and private experience. In ways not completely understood, we store our dreams in containers within ourselves. Early on, we guard these dreams in very private ways. We do not enjoy being teased or chided about our far-fetched, pie-in-the-sky desires that seem so impossible; so they are rarely shared. For the most part, we keep them to ourselves. As we gain self-confidence and self-assurance we begin to talk about hopes and dreams with trusted family members or friends. Guarded at first, we are cautious and sensitive when and where our innermost fantasies are given voice. During adolescence, this approach-avoidance conflict is tested with considerable anxiety, apprehension, and uncertainty. On occasion, trust is misplaced and we suffer embarrassment and personal distress when promises are broken, confidence violated, and our innermost feelings laid bare for all to know.
As we mature, we become more protective and wary to thrust ourselves into the limelight, reluctant to discuss dreams, hopes, wishes and wants. We subconsciously build protective walls around emotions and feelings, in order to prevent or reduce discomfort, pain, and negative reactions to our most sensitive thoughts; without encouragement and support, many dreams die.
Maturity also provides ability to reconsider early hopes and dreams. As a kid I dreamed of having a horse like Bobby Benson on Radio’s B Bar B Ranch. Another time, I thought it cool to have a cave like Batman. Thankfully, there are unseen monitors who prevent such dreams from becoming reality. As a youngster I wanted a bicycle—although promised, family financial problems prevented that dream from coming to fruition. To compensate, I scavenged alleys for bicycle components until I collected essential parts. I had to buy a seat and fenders, but my junkyard alley bike served me well for several years. A valuable lesson was learned: most of the time you have to make your own dreams come true.
Even so, there are numerous occasions when the dream maker takes control and guides events just enough to let dreams take hold, keep hope alive and grant wishes—unexpectedly and at opportune moments. The dream maker employs strangers, acquaintances, friends, family and a myriad of circumstance—some planned, some happenstance—in order to set in motion actions necessary for dream elements to blossom. The dream may involve relationships, employment, workplace, life lessons, vocation, recognition, success, or acquisition of personal property. Some call such opportune moments luck, good fortune, blessings, or fate. Most of us accept life’s benevolence without much reflective thought. But analysis would reveal one’s personal contributions of hard work, preparation; Faith, dedication, and resolve were in partnership with the dream maker. Without personal involvement, dreams wither. Dreams do not come true because they are supposed to; they bear fruit because of commitment, investment of time, energy and effort.
Over a lifetime, one accumulates dreams, hopes and wishes, which never come to be. Some are discarded as ill conceived, unrealistic, and impractical and are tossed away. Others have been set aside due to unforeseen circumstance: unplanned obligations, health issues, financial limitations or waiting for the “right” time. A number, on the verge of accomplishment, are consciously ended because the “price is too high.” These fill our container for dreams.
How many dreams have been set aside and left unrealized? How often have hopes been dashed, wishes silenced due to personal feelings of guilt, fear of criticism, ridicule and rejection because of what others may think? How many times has the dream maker been shunned because of timidity? How many opportunities were bypassed due to insufficient emotional strength? How many occasions have dreams, hopes and wishes not been voiced because of apprehension, suspicion, or doubt?
Now is the time to open the container for dreams—give them a fresh look and consider how richer life would be if these most personal desires came to be. Dreams, hopes and wishes do not have an expiration date. Like honey, they never spoil and are always ready to nourish the heart, energize the spirit and bring a special peace of mind. What treasures are in your container for dreams?
As we mature, we become more protective and wary to thrust ourselves into the limelight, reluctant to discuss dreams, hopes, wishes and wants. We subconsciously build protective walls around emotions and feelings, in order to prevent or reduce discomfort, pain, and negative reactions to our most sensitive thoughts; without encouragement and support, many dreams die.
Maturity also provides ability to reconsider early hopes and dreams. As a kid I dreamed of having a horse like Bobby Benson on Radio’s B Bar B Ranch. Another time, I thought it cool to have a cave like Batman. Thankfully, there are unseen monitors who prevent such dreams from becoming reality. As a youngster I wanted a bicycle—although promised, family financial problems prevented that dream from coming to fruition. To compensate, I scavenged alleys for bicycle components until I collected essential parts. I had to buy a seat and fenders, but my junkyard alley bike served me well for several years. A valuable lesson was learned: most of the time you have to make your own dreams come true.
Even so, there are numerous occasions when the dream maker takes control and guides events just enough to let dreams take hold, keep hope alive and grant wishes—unexpectedly and at opportune moments. The dream maker employs strangers, acquaintances, friends, family and a myriad of circumstance—some planned, some happenstance—in order to set in motion actions necessary for dream elements to blossom. The dream may involve relationships, employment, workplace, life lessons, vocation, recognition, success, or acquisition of personal property. Some call such opportune moments luck, good fortune, blessings, or fate. Most of us accept life’s benevolence without much reflective thought. But analysis would reveal one’s personal contributions of hard work, preparation; Faith, dedication, and resolve were in partnership with the dream maker. Without personal involvement, dreams wither. Dreams do not come true because they are supposed to; they bear fruit because of commitment, investment of time, energy and effort.
Over a lifetime, one accumulates dreams, hopes and wishes, which never come to be. Some are discarded as ill conceived, unrealistic, and impractical and are tossed away. Others have been set aside due to unforeseen circumstance: unplanned obligations, health issues, financial limitations or waiting for the “right” time. A number, on the verge of accomplishment, are consciously ended because the “price is too high.” These fill our container for dreams.
How many dreams have been set aside and left unrealized? How often have hopes been dashed, wishes silenced due to personal feelings of guilt, fear of criticism, ridicule and rejection because of what others may think? How many times has the dream maker been shunned because of timidity? How many opportunities were bypassed due to insufficient emotional strength? How many occasions have dreams, hopes and wishes not been voiced because of apprehension, suspicion, or doubt?
Now is the time to open the container for dreams—give them a fresh look and consider how richer life would be if these most personal desires came to be. Dreams, hopes and wishes do not have an expiration date. Like honey, they never spoil and are always ready to nourish the heart, energize the spirit and bring a special peace of mind. What treasures are in your container for dreams?
Obsolescence: Lifetime’s Badge of Honor
From early on, we are set upon to learn skills, perform tasks, pursue jobs and a sundry of ancillary applications which are designed increase the quality of life, accelerate economic worth, promote self reliance, refine personal independence, encourage the willing acceptance and adoption of emerging technology, solidify personal and social values to our lifestyle and add to the overall daily enjoyment of living.
The problem is that everything moves so fast, as one master’s new technology it is already obsolete and has to be set aside for emerging knowledge demanding attention.
I have a whole list of skills that most likely will not be called be called upon: ironing clothes. Before permanent press everything was ironed. By fourth grade, I was skilled at towels, bedclothes, shirts, jeans, and household linens. I also know how to sew and cook. But with today’s microwave and fast-fix methods, who needs to know how to make something from scratch. From entrees to baked goods, it is simply out of the box in the microwave and ZAP! Sewing skills are another matter. To this day I can reattach a button, mend a hem, or replace a few well-worn stitches.
Early on, I learned by trial and error how to repair a Bendix bicycle brake, repair punctured inner tubes and patch tires so my mobility would not be adversely limited. I was very good at shoveling coal into the bin, leveling it out, installing the next gate board and climbing out with a minimum of coal dust affixed to my clothes. I also knew how to remove clinkers from the family’s furnace on cold frozen winter mornings. I learned how to thread a movie projector—both silent and sound—and used that skill as a “chick magnet” in school. To be an “AV” kid was high celebrity! School was also where I learned to run a Ditto machine. Benefits? The perfume of the activating fluid was incentive enough to run “extra” copies for teachers.
Another skills was putting up and taking down storm and screen windows. Each sash was numbered and had to be matched in order for the unit to fit properly. Unfortunately, a side bar of that endeavor was washing windows. Ammonia, vinegar, and elbow grease galore—was a way to destroy an early fall Saturday morning.
As a student at Whiting High, I learned how to typewrite, take shorthand, and set type by hand in the print shop for the school’s newspaper: THE TATTLER. And, perhaps, the skill I was most proud and leaned the greatest lessons from—setting pins at the Whiting Community Center. Each of these manipulative and cognitive tasked served me well; each skill had ancillary branches that could be adapted, modified, used innovatively for a future task. The Machine Shop at Whiting High School was the place where I discovered metalworking skills, talents, and employment possibilities. Coupled with my college-prep courses, when I graduated from Whiting I had a solid foundation upon which future education would be grounded.
Not too long ago, I was musing about some to the “stuff” that has come and gone—technology, lifestyles, gadgets—that made growing up such a joy. In no particular order, here is a random list of good obsolescence—lifetime’s badges of honor:
Pay phone, rotary telephones and cozy phone booths; full service gas stations—the customer was treated with celebrity; telephone operators, party lines, push-button Trimline phones, TV roof antennas—the ultimate social status symbol of the fifties! Parochial grade school nuns dressed like nuns! Home delivery and repair services: milkman, bakery, farmer, TV repairman, and groceries. Milk that came in glass bottles, beer openers-- “church keys” for canned beer and pop; soda fountains where phosphates and sodas, and milk shakes reigned! The soundtrack of boyhood summers featured reel-to-reel lawnmowers as they went about trimming and cutting neighborhood lawns.
Music transformed almost daily: vacuum tubes to transistors, heavy, unwieldy portable battery packs to a single nine-volt battery. Shellac replaced vinyl for records and turntables modified speed from 78 to 45 rpm. When the long-playing album debuted a full fifteen minutes of music could be played on a single side at 33-1/3 rpm. There were music stores where we could audition the newest hits. Other hometown establishments had Jukeboxes that featured the most popular song of the moment, and stereo systems that encouraged higher amplification, range, quality of sound and quantity of speakers. Car radios boomed with Top 40 hits as street sleds visited their favorite Drive-In hangout to check out the competition’s wheels, menu, and all things adolescent. Drive-In Movies were the place to be seen. Today, almost extinct, how does one explain the summer’s delight of an outdoor movie under the stars with buddies, sweethearts, romantics and families all enjoying Hollywood’s latest film in the total independence of one’s automobile? I made specially fitted window screens in order to defeat pesky mosquitoes.
How quickly flash bulbs and movie cameras passed into time! Polaroid came, dazzled, and evolved into other more electronic devices. I miss the Shoreline Buses. White wall tires—once the rage are now nowhere to be found. Vinyl tops, black and white TV’s automobile hubcaps, spinners, and a whole catalog of gadgets for the car. I once installed a 45rpm record player so I could listen to my favorite 45 on demand. Wasn’t that ahead of its time!
From the sophisticated to the sublime—fine fountain pens, to pin ball machines, gadgets that filled and enrich youthful times. Today, everything is different. For instance: High school class rings were once purchased by the whole class. Each ring was the same color, design and material. We chose the ring to reflect our friendship, bond, allegiance and appreciation to our high school and classmates. Today, that’s obsolescence. For me: it is one of lifetime’s badges of honor.
The problem is that everything moves so fast, as one master’s new technology it is already obsolete and has to be set aside for emerging knowledge demanding attention.
I have a whole list of skills that most likely will not be called be called upon: ironing clothes. Before permanent press everything was ironed. By fourth grade, I was skilled at towels, bedclothes, shirts, jeans, and household linens. I also know how to sew and cook. But with today’s microwave and fast-fix methods, who needs to know how to make something from scratch. From entrees to baked goods, it is simply out of the box in the microwave and ZAP! Sewing skills are another matter. To this day I can reattach a button, mend a hem, or replace a few well-worn stitches.
Early on, I learned by trial and error how to repair a Bendix bicycle brake, repair punctured inner tubes and patch tires so my mobility would not be adversely limited. I was very good at shoveling coal into the bin, leveling it out, installing the next gate board and climbing out with a minimum of coal dust affixed to my clothes. I also knew how to remove clinkers from the family’s furnace on cold frozen winter mornings. I learned how to thread a movie projector—both silent and sound—and used that skill as a “chick magnet” in school. To be an “AV” kid was high celebrity! School was also where I learned to run a Ditto machine. Benefits? The perfume of the activating fluid was incentive enough to run “extra” copies for teachers.
Another skills was putting up and taking down storm and screen windows. Each sash was numbered and had to be matched in order for the unit to fit properly. Unfortunately, a side bar of that endeavor was washing windows. Ammonia, vinegar, and elbow grease galore—was a way to destroy an early fall Saturday morning.
As a student at Whiting High, I learned how to typewrite, take shorthand, and set type by hand in the print shop for the school’s newspaper: THE TATTLER. And, perhaps, the skill I was most proud and leaned the greatest lessons from—setting pins at the Whiting Community Center. Each of these manipulative and cognitive tasked served me well; each skill had ancillary branches that could be adapted, modified, used innovatively for a future task. The Machine Shop at Whiting High School was the place where I discovered metalworking skills, talents, and employment possibilities. Coupled with my college-prep courses, when I graduated from Whiting I had a solid foundation upon which future education would be grounded.
Not too long ago, I was musing about some to the “stuff” that has come and gone—technology, lifestyles, gadgets—that made growing up such a joy. In no particular order, here is a random list of good obsolescence—lifetime’s badges of honor:
Pay phone, rotary telephones and cozy phone booths; full service gas stations—the customer was treated with celebrity; telephone operators, party lines, push-button Trimline phones, TV roof antennas—the ultimate social status symbol of the fifties! Parochial grade school nuns dressed like nuns! Home delivery and repair services: milkman, bakery, farmer, TV repairman, and groceries. Milk that came in glass bottles, beer openers-- “church keys” for canned beer and pop; soda fountains where phosphates and sodas, and milk shakes reigned! The soundtrack of boyhood summers featured reel-to-reel lawnmowers as they went about trimming and cutting neighborhood lawns.
Music transformed almost daily: vacuum tubes to transistors, heavy, unwieldy portable battery packs to a single nine-volt battery. Shellac replaced vinyl for records and turntables modified speed from 78 to 45 rpm. When the long-playing album debuted a full fifteen minutes of music could be played on a single side at 33-1/3 rpm. There were music stores where we could audition the newest hits. Other hometown establishments had Jukeboxes that featured the most popular song of the moment, and stereo systems that encouraged higher amplification, range, quality of sound and quantity of speakers. Car radios boomed with Top 40 hits as street sleds visited their favorite Drive-In hangout to check out the competition’s wheels, menu, and all things adolescent. Drive-In Movies were the place to be seen. Today, almost extinct, how does one explain the summer’s delight of an outdoor movie under the stars with buddies, sweethearts, romantics and families all enjoying Hollywood’s latest film in the total independence of one’s automobile? I made specially fitted window screens in order to defeat pesky mosquitoes.
How quickly flash bulbs and movie cameras passed into time! Polaroid came, dazzled, and evolved into other more electronic devices. I miss the Shoreline Buses. White wall tires—once the rage are now nowhere to be found. Vinyl tops, black and white TV’s automobile hubcaps, spinners, and a whole catalog of gadgets for the car. I once installed a 45rpm record player so I could listen to my favorite 45 on demand. Wasn’t that ahead of its time!
From the sophisticated to the sublime—fine fountain pens, to pin ball machines, gadgets that filled and enrich youthful times. Today, everything is different. For instance: High school class rings were once purchased by the whole class. Each ring was the same color, design and material. We chose the ring to reflect our friendship, bond, allegiance and appreciation to our high school and classmates. Today, that’s obsolescence. For me: it is one of lifetime’s badges of honor.
May
If one personifies the various months of the year, May has to be the All-American Girl Idol for the remaining eleven with which compete. May is like an attractive young lady dressed for the prom. Like a debutante, May blossoms into the beauty that becomes summer. Amid warm spring rains and sun splashed days, May accepts extra April showers and apprentice sun beams preparing for June. In the early days of the month, May teases with a roller coaster of diverse weather. One day sun-drenched balmy days tantalize residents to display tank tops and shorts; the next day, chilled rain driven by rambunctious wind gusts convince inhabitants to reacquaint themselves with wool slacks and windbreaker jackets. Garden centers display trays of annuals and perennials in order to lure customers to purchase a flat or two for the yard. With lengthening daylight hours, birds begin their choral practice before the sun peeks above the horizon. As a treat, May arranges a few mornings to look like a down-filled, cozy comforter as fog blankets the landscape. Shortly after daylight, dawn takes control like a mom waking up her kids for school, tugs at the blanket of fog and uncovers the terrain so earth-dwellers can be on their way.
By the second week of May, the birds have the notes to their songs down pat; garden flowers face east for their morning shower of sunshine and display the richness of color, texture, size and shape. As if on cue, the season of spring presents all living things in perfect harmony enticing the birds and bees, animals and human beings of similar persuasion to celebrate new life and add to the bounty and diversity of life on Earth. Youngsters are filled with boundless energy. Adolescents start each day groggy from sleep but quickly react to hormones coursing through their body. Adults find renewed vigor to tackle household tasks and recreational activities after a full day’s work at the office or factory. And senior citizens, tempered by years of experience savor each minute with inward satisfaction of having accomplished so much during life’s journey. Drawing upon the wisdom of their years, they fully appreciate the gift of each day, and are comfortable and at peace with whom and what they are.
May is home base for Mother’s Day. A time to recognize, celebrate, and pamper the women who do so much for so many. Without question, mothers know how to deliver! . It’s the month when the status of motherhood accelerates the purchase of flowers, sweets and gifts from grateful spouses and children. May is permission month. Thirty-one days of “May, I?” People, plants, creatures and all things in nature voice a similar question: “May I prepare for summer?” “Yes, you May! The fifth month of the year gives official sanction and welcome to blue skies, warm temperatures, extended daylight and starry, moonlight nights. Single-handedly, May produces the symphony of sounds that perform throughout the daylight and nighttime hours. This annual springtime soundtrack makes music for both the ears and eyes, and sets the cadence for mind, body and spirit. In concert with these events, May arranges landscapes, terrain, and opportunity for all living things to accomplished assigned tasks, fulfill responsibilities and enjoy quiet moments of solitude or togetherness. May is the sweet elixir for the senses. Like exotic perfume, May exudes alluring scents that enrich the enjoyment of spring. Romantics of every age, stroll casually together holding hands and sharing moments to remember. May is joyful, carefree, raucous and rowdy. May is also reserved, somber, pensive and grateful. May is the month we remember those who serve in the military; and prayerfully give thanks to those who made the ultimate sacrifice for their Country. May is time for birthdays, anniversaries, and all celebrations in between. Taurus and Gemini guide those who read the heaven’s placement and pattern of stars.
For school kids, May is the last full month of classes before summer vacation. May is the month of proms and parties, picnics and yearbooks, locker clean out, and year-end exams. For parents, May is the quiet before households are filled with late-sleeping, vacation-minded youngsters. For cherished colleagues, May is another opportunity to share breakfast and fellowship. May mornings are delicious. Arranged like choice menu selections, the beginning hours of May days refresh, energize, soothe, coddle, and prepare all who tend the stewardship of our earthly home. May is simply the best! I love May.
By the second week of May, the birds have the notes to their songs down pat; garden flowers face east for their morning shower of sunshine and display the richness of color, texture, size and shape. As if on cue, the season of spring presents all living things in perfect harmony enticing the birds and bees, animals and human beings of similar persuasion to celebrate new life and add to the bounty and diversity of life on Earth. Youngsters are filled with boundless energy. Adolescents start each day groggy from sleep but quickly react to hormones coursing through their body. Adults find renewed vigor to tackle household tasks and recreational activities after a full day’s work at the office or factory. And senior citizens, tempered by years of experience savor each minute with inward satisfaction of having accomplished so much during life’s journey. Drawing upon the wisdom of their years, they fully appreciate the gift of each day, and are comfortable and at peace with whom and what they are.
May is home base for Mother’s Day. A time to recognize, celebrate, and pamper the women who do so much for so many. Without question, mothers know how to deliver! . It’s the month when the status of motherhood accelerates the purchase of flowers, sweets and gifts from grateful spouses and children. May is permission month. Thirty-one days of “May, I?” People, plants, creatures and all things in nature voice a similar question: “May I prepare for summer?” “Yes, you May! The fifth month of the year gives official sanction and welcome to blue skies, warm temperatures, extended daylight and starry, moonlight nights. Single-handedly, May produces the symphony of sounds that perform throughout the daylight and nighttime hours. This annual springtime soundtrack makes music for both the ears and eyes, and sets the cadence for mind, body and spirit. In concert with these events, May arranges landscapes, terrain, and opportunity for all living things to accomplished assigned tasks, fulfill responsibilities and enjoy quiet moments of solitude or togetherness. May is the sweet elixir for the senses. Like exotic perfume, May exudes alluring scents that enrich the enjoyment of spring. Romantics of every age, stroll casually together holding hands and sharing moments to remember. May is joyful, carefree, raucous and rowdy. May is also reserved, somber, pensive and grateful. May is the month we remember those who serve in the military; and prayerfully give thanks to those who made the ultimate sacrifice for their Country. May is time for birthdays, anniversaries, and all celebrations in between. Taurus and Gemini guide those who read the heaven’s placement and pattern of stars.
For school kids, May is the last full month of classes before summer vacation. May is the month of proms and parties, picnics and yearbooks, locker clean out, and year-end exams. For parents, May is the quiet before households are filled with late-sleeping, vacation-minded youngsters. For cherished colleagues, May is another opportunity to share breakfast and fellowship. May mornings are delicious. Arranged like choice menu selections, the beginning hours of May days refresh, energize, soothe, coddle, and prepare all who tend the stewardship of our earthly home. May is simply the best! I love May.
Hometown: Yesterday and Today
I’ve said many times, growing up in my “Industrial Mayberry” home town of Whiting, Indiana was the best thing that could happen to a kid. Coupled with the Robertsdale neighborhoods, it was a marvelous full-service community that allowed for youthful hopes, wishes and dreams to come true. Equipped with quality churches, public and parish schools, businesses, theaters, parks and social gathering places, townspeople thrived and families enjoyed amenities that enriched and enhanced each day. This is about those places of the heart.
As a school kid in the forties and fifties, I was amazed that a city the size and population of Whiting had such variety and diversity of establishments: Seven major supermarkets: A&P, National, Kroger, IGA, Park View, Jewel and Wieners. In addition, several dozen corner grocery stores served residents in both Whiting and Robertsdale. Various civic organizations and neighborhood taverns offered places to meet and enjoy libations. Banquet facilities provided venues for weddings, birthdays, and other celebrations. Long-time residents remember St. Mary’s Hall and Slovak Dome. Countless activities were held at the Panel Room, Rose Room, Knights of Columbus, Whiting Moose Lodge, Elk’s Lodge, Eagles, Sokol Club, V.F.W. and American Legion. The Community Center had facilities for a variety of social and athletic activities. Six Catholic Churches each had a parish school except Sts. Peter and Paul: Sacred Heart, Saint John the Baptist, Saint Adalberts, Immaculate Conception, and Saint Mary’s. Whiting also had various denominations of Protestant Churches: Lutheran, Methodist, Presbyterian and Baptist. There was also a Jewish Synagogue, The Masonic Temple and places of worship for ethnic nationalities. Each helped fill the spiritual needs of community residents. To serve families in time of bereavement, Whiting had five funeral homes: Owens, Baran, Schlater, Kosier, and Spanburg.
There were a number of banks and dry-cleaning/laundry businesses. Several jewelry stores, shoe repair, men’s and women’s clothiers, furniture and dime stores ,newspaper and stationery store, shoe stores, barber shops and beauty salons, restaurants, poultry and dairy stores, bowling alleys, diners , doctor’s and dentist offices, flower shops, drugstores, pharmacy’s, taverns, automobile dealers: Schlatter/France Ford, Hansen Buick, Ciesar’s Chrysler/Plymouth, Swarthout Chevrolet, and Lake County Motors. Two movie theaters: Hoosier and Capital. Standard Oil brand service stations dominated Indianapolis Boulevard and Calumet Avenue. Others like Sunoco, Sinclair and Shell made sure resident’s automobile fuel tanks were topped off. Lumber yards, general merchandise, utility company, insurance agencies, and a sundry of specialized entrepreneurs provided goods and services: everything from A to Z.
Municipal buildings placed throughout Whiting and Robertsdale like gems in a custom setting served community, consumers, residents, and visitors alike: The Whiting Fire Department, Police Department, The Whiting Community Center, Standard Hotel, Central States Bank , Whiting City Schools, Post Office, Whiting Park’s lakefront and beach, Standard Diamonds, Whiting’s Carnegie Library, City Hall, Robertsdale’s Forsythe Park and Bobby Beach. Safety and security were Hallmarks of Whiting-Robertsdale neighborhoods and families thrived in an environment knowing playgrounds, parks, neighborhoods, and recreation areas enhanced well-being. Complimenting these locations were numerous empty lots that served as playing fields, neighborhood gardens, and places where kids could dig up a supply of worms on their way to fish at Wolf Lake.
It is understandable why this Little City by The Lake engenders such heartfelt emotions and allegiance in residents. This mile and a half square municipality has it all. This Industrial “Mayberry” is the complete package. Its geography combines Currier & Ives with Norman Rockwell’s paintings into a living portrait. Throughout the community, residents and business people showcase municipal quality and character through well-kept neighborhoods and business district that reflects pride of stewardship. Whiting was (and still is) the Capital of the Calumet Region.
Today, Whiting is in the midst of a Renaissance. Thanks to the City’s elected officials, astute organization, effective management, financial intelligence, insightful planning and high standards of performance by those in position of responsibility, coupled with the support of residents, Whiting is moving forward. Along with Pierogi Fest, an internationally famous food extravaganza, new Infrastructure, architecturally sensitive renovation, environment friendly landscape, well-planned remodeling, and new construction reflect commitment to families, businesspeople, visitors, and community neighbors that the core values upon which Whiting was founded are being reaffirmed. Each generation captures and keeps personal memories of experiences derived from growing up and living in their Hometown. Those times fill countless pages of one’s life scrapbook with delicious images and recollections. I’ve always been grateful to the people who helped me along the way, for family and friends who shared these times, and, for the home town that made a positive, constructive difference in my life.
As a school kid in the forties and fifties, I was amazed that a city the size and population of Whiting had such variety and diversity of establishments: Seven major supermarkets: A&P, National, Kroger, IGA, Park View, Jewel and Wieners. In addition, several dozen corner grocery stores served residents in both Whiting and Robertsdale. Various civic organizations and neighborhood taverns offered places to meet and enjoy libations. Banquet facilities provided venues for weddings, birthdays, and other celebrations. Long-time residents remember St. Mary’s Hall and Slovak Dome. Countless activities were held at the Panel Room, Rose Room, Knights of Columbus, Whiting Moose Lodge, Elk’s Lodge, Eagles, Sokol Club, V.F.W. and American Legion. The Community Center had facilities for a variety of social and athletic activities. Six Catholic Churches each had a parish school except Sts. Peter and Paul: Sacred Heart, Saint John the Baptist, Saint Adalberts, Immaculate Conception, and Saint Mary’s. Whiting also had various denominations of Protestant Churches: Lutheran, Methodist, Presbyterian and Baptist. There was also a Jewish Synagogue, The Masonic Temple and places of worship for ethnic nationalities. Each helped fill the spiritual needs of community residents. To serve families in time of bereavement, Whiting had five funeral homes: Owens, Baran, Schlater, Kosier, and Spanburg.
There were a number of banks and dry-cleaning/laundry businesses. Several jewelry stores, shoe repair, men’s and women’s clothiers, furniture and dime stores ,newspaper and stationery store, shoe stores, barber shops and beauty salons, restaurants, poultry and dairy stores, bowling alleys, diners , doctor’s and dentist offices, flower shops, drugstores, pharmacy’s, taverns, automobile dealers: Schlatter/France Ford, Hansen Buick, Ciesar’s Chrysler/Plymouth, Swarthout Chevrolet, and Lake County Motors. Two movie theaters: Hoosier and Capital. Standard Oil brand service stations dominated Indianapolis Boulevard and Calumet Avenue. Others like Sunoco, Sinclair and Shell made sure resident’s automobile fuel tanks were topped off. Lumber yards, general merchandise, utility company, insurance agencies, and a sundry of specialized entrepreneurs provided goods and services: everything from A to Z.
Municipal buildings placed throughout Whiting and Robertsdale like gems in a custom setting served community, consumers, residents, and visitors alike: The Whiting Fire Department, Police Department, The Whiting Community Center, Standard Hotel, Central States Bank , Whiting City Schools, Post Office, Whiting Park’s lakefront and beach, Standard Diamonds, Whiting’s Carnegie Library, City Hall, Robertsdale’s Forsythe Park and Bobby Beach. Safety and security were Hallmarks of Whiting-Robertsdale neighborhoods and families thrived in an environment knowing playgrounds, parks, neighborhoods, and recreation areas enhanced well-being. Complimenting these locations were numerous empty lots that served as playing fields, neighborhood gardens, and places where kids could dig up a supply of worms on their way to fish at Wolf Lake.
It is understandable why this Little City by The Lake engenders such heartfelt emotions and allegiance in residents. This mile and a half square municipality has it all. This Industrial “Mayberry” is the complete package. Its geography combines Currier & Ives with Norman Rockwell’s paintings into a living portrait. Throughout the community, residents and business people showcase municipal quality and character through well-kept neighborhoods and business district that reflects pride of stewardship. Whiting was (and still is) the Capital of the Calumet Region.
Today, Whiting is in the midst of a Renaissance. Thanks to the City’s elected officials, astute organization, effective management, financial intelligence, insightful planning and high standards of performance by those in position of responsibility, coupled with the support of residents, Whiting is moving forward. Along with Pierogi Fest, an internationally famous food extravaganza, new Infrastructure, architecturally sensitive renovation, environment friendly landscape, well-planned remodeling, and new construction reflect commitment to families, businesspeople, visitors, and community neighbors that the core values upon which Whiting was founded are being reaffirmed. Each generation captures and keeps personal memories of experiences derived from growing up and living in their Hometown. Those times fill countless pages of one’s life scrapbook with delicious images and recollections. I’ve always been grateful to the people who helped me along the way, for family and friends who shared these times, and, for the home town that made a positive, constructive difference in my life.
At 70
When I was a kid, I often volunteered my age or grade in school. A particular age or grade was a badge of honor or position of celebrity. Grade school gave way to high school and each one of those four years increased prominence. Age became a marker along the way to measure independence and self-reliance. One learned early that a particular age signaled privilege: later bedtimes, watching particular television shows, or going to the movies at night. We became aware that as one accumulated years, gratuity increased on birthdays, holidays and special occasions. During adolescence, coins were replaced with denominations of folding money. As one's personal list of wants and needs increased, items were prioritized according to available funds and social pressure. Spending conflicted with saving: immediate versus deferred gratification.
Various milestones validated one's accomplishments or achievements: work permit, Social Security Card, driver's license, bank account, part-time job, tax return, and a sundry of associated responsibilities. Shopping for clothes transitioned from going with Mon to shopping with friends or by oneself. Decisions went from parental mandate to personal choice. Constant adult supervision eased into relaxed overseer and ebbed until individual sovereignty was bestowed.
Growing up, we knew that someone would always be there to set boundaries and borders; someone available to keep us safe, guide, counsel, advice and support. Mostly family at first, but with each orbit around the sun, others would assume roles to help with life's journey: teachers, clergy, classmates, peers, co-workers, friends, acquaintances and, occasionally strangers. Bits and pieces of human interaction, tidbits and parcels of wisdom about life-learned lessons were dispensed at random for acceptance or rejection.
We crossed thresholds, met challenges, succeeded, failed, stumbled, struggled, achieved, and continually added to the depth and expansion of our intelligence and intellect. Teen years gave way to "becoming legal," the magic age of twenty-one. Stark evidence for males included the Selective Service Draft Card, proof of auto insurance, and an Operator's License kept in one's wallet. Somehow we survived the hurdle of turning sixteen, arguing for grown-up privileges. By nineteen. there was a car to drive and pay for with your name on the title. With graduation came post-high school choices: military service, college, factory or office work; stay home or live on your own. Relationships began to solidify and lifelong friends and new acquaintances join your journey and share adventures. A number of childhood friends disconnect and move on with their life. Re-connection will be limited to reunions, correspondence and occasional random meeting here and there. Affairs of the heart capture and consume your emotions causing pronouns "I" "mine" "me" to be replaced with "us" "ours" and "we." At the speed of life, the twenties fly by. The thirties seem to rocket along and that once solitary traveler now has a family and responsibilities that grow exponentially.
In the midst of the "prime of life," hours and days are consumed with work, family, obligations, duties, commitments, and promises that must be kept. There is struggle to enjoy Heaven's sunshine, stars, moonlight and rainbows. Even though we are in the "driver's seat," many things are out of our hands. Countless hours are spent worrying about things we cannot control. The accompanying anxiety, stress and emotional turmoil take a toll on mind, body, and spirit. Health and well-being are added to primary concerns.
Unexpectedly, medical abbreviations, maladies and terms assume significance shortly after one turns forty. Blood Pressure, cholesterol, Lipid profile and all enzymes in between are now topics for discussion during scheduled health checkups. Favorite foods are diet restricted. Salt, sugar, carbohydrates and calories are viewed as adversaries. Fats and grams are closely scrutinized as precaution against obesity, and diabetes. Bifocals are recommended after an annual eye exam. We become aware of limitations and changes that affect one's lifestyle. During youthful years, the candle burns at both ends; after forty, night-lights illuminate the way.
At fifty we are accustomed to yearly diagnostic tests; while at home, we become more comfortable watching others do what we used to do. Couches, recliners, TV remotes, and an ample supply of comfort food become favorite companions. We enjoy more completely, simple pleasures heretofore discounted as unimportant or wimpy. At sixty, we gear down obligation and gear up relaxation. Occasional naps and early bedtime are welcomed like dear friends. When retirement is offered, it's accepted with a smile bright enough to ripen bananas. At seventy we're content with ourselves. Competition takes a back seat to enjoyment, reverie, remembrance, and a do-as-you-please mind set of easy peaceful feelings. Flexible scheduling is readily adopted. Every day is a welcomed gift. The challenge is to stay well and enjoy Heaven's blessing: so many moments, so many memories; treasure the moments, savor the memories. The adventure continues. The best is yet to come!
Various milestones validated one's accomplishments or achievements: work permit, Social Security Card, driver's license, bank account, part-time job, tax return, and a sundry of associated responsibilities. Shopping for clothes transitioned from going with Mon to shopping with friends or by oneself. Decisions went from parental mandate to personal choice. Constant adult supervision eased into relaxed overseer and ebbed until individual sovereignty was bestowed.
Growing up, we knew that someone would always be there to set boundaries and borders; someone available to keep us safe, guide, counsel, advice and support. Mostly family at first, but with each orbit around the sun, others would assume roles to help with life's journey: teachers, clergy, classmates, peers, co-workers, friends, acquaintances and, occasionally strangers. Bits and pieces of human interaction, tidbits and parcels of wisdom about life-learned lessons were dispensed at random for acceptance or rejection.
We crossed thresholds, met challenges, succeeded, failed, stumbled, struggled, achieved, and continually added to the depth and expansion of our intelligence and intellect. Teen years gave way to "becoming legal," the magic age of twenty-one. Stark evidence for males included the Selective Service Draft Card, proof of auto insurance, and an Operator's License kept in one's wallet. Somehow we survived the hurdle of turning sixteen, arguing for grown-up privileges. By nineteen. there was a car to drive and pay for with your name on the title. With graduation came post-high school choices: military service, college, factory or office work; stay home or live on your own. Relationships began to solidify and lifelong friends and new acquaintances join your journey and share adventures. A number of childhood friends disconnect and move on with their life. Re-connection will be limited to reunions, correspondence and occasional random meeting here and there. Affairs of the heart capture and consume your emotions causing pronouns "I" "mine" "me" to be replaced with "us" "ours" and "we." At the speed of life, the twenties fly by. The thirties seem to rocket along and that once solitary traveler now has a family and responsibilities that grow exponentially.
In the midst of the "prime of life," hours and days are consumed with work, family, obligations, duties, commitments, and promises that must be kept. There is struggle to enjoy Heaven's sunshine, stars, moonlight and rainbows. Even though we are in the "driver's seat," many things are out of our hands. Countless hours are spent worrying about things we cannot control. The accompanying anxiety, stress and emotional turmoil take a toll on mind, body, and spirit. Health and well-being are added to primary concerns.
Unexpectedly, medical abbreviations, maladies and terms assume significance shortly after one turns forty. Blood Pressure, cholesterol, Lipid profile and all enzymes in between are now topics for discussion during scheduled health checkups. Favorite foods are diet restricted. Salt, sugar, carbohydrates and calories are viewed as adversaries. Fats and grams are closely scrutinized as precaution against obesity, and diabetes. Bifocals are recommended after an annual eye exam. We become aware of limitations and changes that affect one's lifestyle. During youthful years, the candle burns at both ends; after forty, night-lights illuminate the way.
At fifty we are accustomed to yearly diagnostic tests; while at home, we become more comfortable watching others do what we used to do. Couches, recliners, TV remotes, and an ample supply of comfort food become favorite companions. We enjoy more completely, simple pleasures heretofore discounted as unimportant or wimpy. At sixty, we gear down obligation and gear up relaxation. Occasional naps and early bedtime are welcomed like dear friends. When retirement is offered, it's accepted with a smile bright enough to ripen bananas. At seventy we're content with ourselves. Competition takes a back seat to enjoyment, reverie, remembrance, and a do-as-you-please mind set of easy peaceful feelings. Flexible scheduling is readily adopted. Every day is a welcomed gift. The challenge is to stay well and enjoy Heaven's blessing: so many moments, so many memories; treasure the moments, savor the memories. The adventure continues. The best is yet to come!
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Going My Way
The image of the kindly parish priest was portrayed in the 1944 movie, Going My Way. In that film, Bing Crosby, plays Father Charles O’Malley, a young priest assigned to “help out” the aging pastor, Father Fitzgibbons, of St. Dominic’s. In the course of the story, Father O’Malley revitalizes the parish, and makes lasting impressions on the parish’s youth—particularly, the youngsters he recruits for the boy’s choir. It’s a warm sweet gentle story of human goodness. It is one of my favorite movies. Usually, films do not mirror real-life, but, this story does. Read on.
As young parochial students at Sacred Heart School in Whiting, Indiana during the late 40’s and early 50’s, we were taught by the Sister of Providence along with Diocesan priests—Monsignor George Moorman, and Father John Daniels. By the time we were in 5th grade, Monsignor Moorman had retired, and a new pastor, Father Herman J. Miller, led the parish. The new pastor put Father Daniels in charge of the altar boys.
For parochial school boys, becoming an altar boy was a prestigious honor. It announced to everyone that you had learned the Latin prayers and mastered the intricate duties associated with serving Holy Mass. Only after Sister’s countless drills, rehearsals, and examinations would one be sanctioned as an altar boy. Serving Mass was very serious business.
The fictional St. Dominic’s had Father O’Malley. At Sacred Heart, we had Father Daniels. Father “D” as he was called by the students became our mentor. He was always there to give us needed advice, guidance, and keep us on the right track. A few of us had developed a proclivity for mischief, and worked Father D overtime! Students liked Father Daniels and looked up to him. He was pleasant and fun to be around. He always made you feel better about yourself after talking with him.
Boys had to be in sixth grade in order to become a server. Usually, the “rookie” altar boys were assigned the Friday evening novena with Father D. Here we learned how to properly carry the crucifix and candles, serve benediction, and become familiar with the various aspect of being an altar boy. By seventh grade, we were serving at one of the two daily Masses—6:30 am or the 8:00 am all-school Mass. As a rule, Father Daniels had early Mass. I liked getting up early, so I volunteered or would trade with a buddy so I could serve 6:30 for Father D
I enjoyed serving for Father Daniels because, like the movie priest, he was understanding and patient. He didn’t get upset when my Latin was less than perfect or sanctuary bells rang at the wrong time. He’d put you at ease with kind words and a smile. When the liturgy was over, he always thanked us for serving. His words of appreciation always buoyed spirits and self confidence.
As an eight-grader, I again volunteered to serve early Mass. By now, we were seasoned veterans and selected to serve weddings, funerals, Holy Days and other special liturgical occasions—Lent’s Stations of the Cross and, especially Holy Week. Through it all, our respect and admiration for Father D. grew.
In Going My Way, Father O’Malley counsels his students and gives their life direction. So did Father D. A week before graduation from Sacred Heart, in June of 1954, he called our class together in church and talked to us about our Faith, our future, and life’s purpose: the sacredness of living; the challenges we would face in high school and choices as an adult. He reminded us to always do our best. Then, gave us his blessing and dismissed us in Latin: Ite, missa est—Go, you are sent forth.
Like the screen’s Father O’Malley, Father Daniels knew the importance of providing children with nurturing, guidance and love. He realized, too, that impressionable youngsters draw freely from examples presented to them by adults. Through his actions and words, Father D. enhanced and enriched countless lives and gave direction to our journey.
Today, Father Daniels, as a senior priest, is retired and in fragile health. I want him to know that after all these years, I still remember the lessons he taught. As a former student, I’d like to return his kindness. I know my Latin is a little rusty, so be generous with this aging altar boy, and permit him just the smidgen of a benediction: Dominus Vobiscum—Lord is with you. Beyond words, I am thankful to Father D. for Going My Way.
As young parochial students at Sacred Heart School in Whiting, Indiana during the late 40’s and early 50’s, we were taught by the Sister of Providence along with Diocesan priests—Monsignor George Moorman, and Father John Daniels. By the time we were in 5th grade, Monsignor Moorman had retired, and a new pastor, Father Herman J. Miller, led the parish. The new pastor put Father Daniels in charge of the altar boys.
For parochial school boys, becoming an altar boy was a prestigious honor. It announced to everyone that you had learned the Latin prayers and mastered the intricate duties associated with serving Holy Mass. Only after Sister’s countless drills, rehearsals, and examinations would one be sanctioned as an altar boy. Serving Mass was very serious business.
The fictional St. Dominic’s had Father O’Malley. At Sacred Heart, we had Father Daniels. Father “D” as he was called by the students became our mentor. He was always there to give us needed advice, guidance, and keep us on the right track. A few of us had developed a proclivity for mischief, and worked Father D overtime! Students liked Father Daniels and looked up to him. He was pleasant and fun to be around. He always made you feel better about yourself after talking with him.
Boys had to be in sixth grade in order to become a server. Usually, the “rookie” altar boys were assigned the Friday evening novena with Father D. Here we learned how to properly carry the crucifix and candles, serve benediction, and become familiar with the various aspect of being an altar boy. By seventh grade, we were serving at one of the two daily Masses—6:30 am or the 8:00 am all-school Mass. As a rule, Father Daniels had early Mass. I liked getting up early, so I volunteered or would trade with a buddy so I could serve 6:30 for Father D
I enjoyed serving for Father Daniels because, like the movie priest, he was understanding and patient. He didn’t get upset when my Latin was less than perfect or sanctuary bells rang at the wrong time. He’d put you at ease with kind words and a smile. When the liturgy was over, he always thanked us for serving. His words of appreciation always buoyed spirits and self confidence.
As an eight-grader, I again volunteered to serve early Mass. By now, we were seasoned veterans and selected to serve weddings, funerals, Holy Days and other special liturgical occasions—Lent’s Stations of the Cross and, especially Holy Week. Through it all, our respect and admiration for Father D. grew.
In Going My Way, Father O’Malley counsels his students and gives their life direction. So did Father D. A week before graduation from Sacred Heart, in June of 1954, he called our class together in church and talked to us about our Faith, our future, and life’s purpose: the sacredness of living; the challenges we would face in high school and choices as an adult. He reminded us to always do our best. Then, gave us his blessing and dismissed us in Latin: Ite, missa est—Go, you are sent forth.
Like the screen’s Father O’Malley, Father Daniels knew the importance of providing children with nurturing, guidance and love. He realized, too, that impressionable youngsters draw freely from examples presented to them by adults. Through his actions and words, Father D. enhanced and enriched countless lives and gave direction to our journey.
Today, Father Daniels, as a senior priest, is retired and in fragile health. I want him to know that after all these years, I still remember the lessons he taught. As a former student, I’d like to return his kindness. I know my Latin is a little rusty, so be generous with this aging altar boy, and permit him just the smidgen of a benediction: Dominus Vobiscum—Lord is with you. Beyond words, I am thankful to Father D. for Going My Way.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
ADDICTION OF AN ELECTRONIC KIND
At times, one is mystified how quickly humans develop addiction to things and adopt life style habits to accommodate their insatiable craving. Electronic addiction began with Bell’s telephone, crept in slowly with radio in the early twenties, expanded to television, accelerated in the seventies with the arrival of video games, and exploded when personal computers arrived on the scene. Today—with the combining of several communication technologies—society faces a full-fledged electronic dependence of gigantic proportion.
With the advent of cell phones, things began to change—rapidly. Where as before, callers had restricted mobility governed by the length of cord attached to hard-wired phones, cell phones gave unlimited mobility and availability to anyone with access to wireless technology.
As technology advanced, several electronic inter-relationships were created. Telephones, television, video games, computers, calculators and a sundry of gadgets formed the Internet’s mosaic of electrons and silicon circuits. Soon, a tsunami of microwave frequencies covered nearly every nook and cranny of planet Earth. Everyone, it seems wanted to peek through Microsoft’s Windows or take a healthy bite of the newest computerized Apple.
With the acceleration of technology, everyone could be in touch—anywhere, anytime. Using the appropriate device, one can watch movies, read books, check email, play games, plan schedules, list appointments, listen to music, talk, or text. Should one be so inclined, pictures and photographs can be transmitted instantaneously recording the present, moments before it becomes the past. As long as power is available, one has command of the information world at their fingertips: via desktop, laptop, brief case or shirt pocket.
But these advances come with a price. There is a type of electronic isolation that is unsettling: chips and circuitry erode personal face-to-face contact. In the years BC (Before Computers) individuals would actually visit with each other—in person. As wonderful as the telephone is, most conversations were prelude to an actual get together where one could experience and exchange human interaction through body language, eye contact, touch as well as words. One received a sense of connection by processing the emotional immediacy of transmitted signals to the senses.
Radio, unlike telephones or television, gives one the freedom to listen and do other things. Housewives in the 30’s and 40’s listened to radio programs while completing domestic chores. Old time radio was user-friendly, hands-free imagination. Household duties continued uninterrupted while listening to one’s favorite broadcast. As radios became more portable, listeners could enjoy programs wherever they chose. The distraction or loss of focus while listening to the radio was minimal. Television—not so much. Ears are far superior for multi-tasking than are eyes.
With television, further changes entered the American scene. Dinner hour now had an additional guest at the table, or, in front of TV trays. Family conversation was curtailed as watching took priority over talking. Television required a “captive” audience. It didn’t take long for television to separate family members requiring additional TV sets within the house. Competition between phone and screen vied for attention. Both appliances encourage a degree of solitary privacy. Multi-task activities are not compatible with TV viewing. Nevertheless, America eagerly embraces members of the electronic family and their offspring.
In contemporary society, it seems too many people believe they can multi-task using their eyes and still stay focused on primary activities. How many drivers talk on the phone while driving and get so involved in conversation they lose concentration and jeopardize others in traffic? Countless people, with thumbs flashing across keypads, text as they drive, walk, cross the street or try to do other things. Is it not possible to dine out without answering the cell phone? And why is there such a need to share one’s conversation with the entire restaurant? Is it too much of a mental task to turn off one’s cell phone during church service? Is one so consumed with their own self-importance that they need to be wired so strangers can see their electronic devices and secretly envy them? In funeral homes during wake services, cell phones signal one’s insensitivity. Videos flood the Internet with “electronic addicts” who walk into walls, fall into fountains, and damage vehicles, while texting. At sporting events, social gatherings, shopping malls, stores, classrooms, hallways, automobiles, and even public restrooms--addiction to texting is rampant. Can anyone be this important—or this lonely?
In order to curb addiction of an electronic kind, there is need for higher degrees of self- discipline, better decision-making, and a willingness to use these devices responsibly.
With the advent of cell phones, things began to change—rapidly. Where as before, callers had restricted mobility governed by the length of cord attached to hard-wired phones, cell phones gave unlimited mobility and availability to anyone with access to wireless technology.
As technology advanced, several electronic inter-relationships were created. Telephones, television, video games, computers, calculators and a sundry of gadgets formed the Internet’s mosaic of electrons and silicon circuits. Soon, a tsunami of microwave frequencies covered nearly every nook and cranny of planet Earth. Everyone, it seems wanted to peek through Microsoft’s Windows or take a healthy bite of the newest computerized Apple.
With the acceleration of technology, everyone could be in touch—anywhere, anytime. Using the appropriate device, one can watch movies, read books, check email, play games, plan schedules, list appointments, listen to music, talk, or text. Should one be so inclined, pictures and photographs can be transmitted instantaneously recording the present, moments before it becomes the past. As long as power is available, one has command of the information world at their fingertips: via desktop, laptop, brief case or shirt pocket.
But these advances come with a price. There is a type of electronic isolation that is unsettling: chips and circuitry erode personal face-to-face contact. In the years BC (Before Computers) individuals would actually visit with each other—in person. As wonderful as the telephone is, most conversations were prelude to an actual get together where one could experience and exchange human interaction through body language, eye contact, touch as well as words. One received a sense of connection by processing the emotional immediacy of transmitted signals to the senses.
Radio, unlike telephones or television, gives one the freedom to listen and do other things. Housewives in the 30’s and 40’s listened to radio programs while completing domestic chores. Old time radio was user-friendly, hands-free imagination. Household duties continued uninterrupted while listening to one’s favorite broadcast. As radios became more portable, listeners could enjoy programs wherever they chose. The distraction or loss of focus while listening to the radio was minimal. Television—not so much. Ears are far superior for multi-tasking than are eyes.
With television, further changes entered the American scene. Dinner hour now had an additional guest at the table, or, in front of TV trays. Family conversation was curtailed as watching took priority over talking. Television required a “captive” audience. It didn’t take long for television to separate family members requiring additional TV sets within the house. Competition between phone and screen vied for attention. Both appliances encourage a degree of solitary privacy. Multi-task activities are not compatible with TV viewing. Nevertheless, America eagerly embraces members of the electronic family and their offspring.
In contemporary society, it seems too many people believe they can multi-task using their eyes and still stay focused on primary activities. How many drivers talk on the phone while driving and get so involved in conversation they lose concentration and jeopardize others in traffic? Countless people, with thumbs flashing across keypads, text as they drive, walk, cross the street or try to do other things. Is it not possible to dine out without answering the cell phone? And why is there such a need to share one’s conversation with the entire restaurant? Is it too much of a mental task to turn off one’s cell phone during church service? Is one so consumed with their own self-importance that they need to be wired so strangers can see their electronic devices and secretly envy them? In funeral homes during wake services, cell phones signal one’s insensitivity. Videos flood the Internet with “electronic addicts” who walk into walls, fall into fountains, and damage vehicles, while texting. At sporting events, social gatherings, shopping malls, stores, classrooms, hallways, automobiles, and even public restrooms--addiction to texting is rampant. Can anyone be this important—or this lonely?
In order to curb addiction of an electronic kind, there is need for higher degrees of self- discipline, better decision-making, and a willingness to use these devices responsibly.
Friday, December 31, 2010
January
January believes it has squatter’s rights to the calendar because it is first in line. With a full month of thirty-one days, the first holiday of the year--New Year’s Day, and its menu of weather-related entrees, who can argue with such chronoscopic arrogance? Named after Janus, a Roman god of beginnings and endings, openings and closings; Janus is always portrayed as having two faces, one looking forward, one backward. January is his month because it is the time when the sun starts to return. He is the doorkeeper who watches over the entrance or beginning of the year.
Part of January’s prominence is due to the ritual of formulating one’s personal intentions and plans for the New Year. Amid celebrations with noise makers, confetti, and renditions of Auld Lang Syne at the stroke of midnight, people across the globe usher in the latest allotment of days by making resolutions, commitments, and hopeful toasts for laughter, love, good health and good fortune. Party hats and glasses filled with libation complete a resume worthy of January’s namesake. Such frenzy at the start of a New Year, looking both forward and backward is enough to give a Roman god whiplash.
But January is more than just a party and pretty faces. It is a time when winter displays its full strength and control on all living things. Freezing temperatures, icy roads, cold gloomy days, crystal clear dark nights and occasional visits of bright sunshine fill this initial cluster of days. January is both predictable and unpredictable. As the earth continues to orbit around the sun, daylight lengthens—first by a stingy few minutes, then, toward the end of the month, more generously. But January exacts a price for this additional sunlight by delivering only brightness while holding back on warmth. And just to remind us of its adventurous nature, January whips up on a moments notice, icy soufflés, snow drifts, and pellets of freezing rain that cover cars, coats and roadways with an abundance of freezy skid-stuff which challenge both ambulatory and driving skills. January’s precocious behavior keeps insurance agents and body shops well supplied with patrons who literally meet by accident. All these fender benders make Janus smile. Rumor has it that January invented wind chill. This is one month that is forever trying to stay young, with its thermometer readings usually in the teens or twenties. At times it regresses to single digits and below zero in an attempt to display total disregard for maturity. And, every now and then, just for laughs—a blizzard! If January wants a little more respect, it should change its ways by offering an annual Tax Freeze—and forget about the ice and snow. Being the time when we receive our W-2’s doesn’t do much either. But for those of us who celebrate their birthday in January—either Capricorn or Aquarius--we wholeheartedly appreciate the antics of this month. It is difficult to explain, but January makes us smile.
To inhabitants who live at forty-two degrees North Latitude, January is add-an-extra-blanket month, turn up the thermostat time, put on layers of flannel and get dressed before going to bed. Cuddling and snuggling is mandatory nightly behavior. January is a steaming hot cup of coffee before dawn, hot soup at lunch, and suppers served on heated plates. January is scurry from store to warm car, store to warm car, store to warm house. January is when shoppers use extra gas searching for parking spaces closer to the mall’s entrance. January is watching wildlife enjoy the bounty at feeders you keep filled. January is when school kids return to classrooms and moms regain the sanity of daily routine. January is when everyone considers heating their garages. January is the time when landscapers offer discounts for mower tune-ups and lawn care service. January is finding the courage to face both darkness and cold fetching the morning paper, setting out trash and letting Fido do his business. It’s also a time when residents battle nasty conditions taking down outdoor Christmas decorations. January is chapped lips, dry skin, red noses, watery eyes, cold feet and chilled bodies. January holds mystery why kids are impervious to frigid temperatures, revel in snow, enjoy sliding on ice, and rarely have their scarf tied or jacket fully zipped; while seasoned human units hunker down, stooped shouldered shivering to keep warm. January is a geriatric obstacle course. January is wool hats, mittens and boots. January teases and taunts one to move to lower latitudes.
By the end of the first thirty-one days, January is pretty much spent and willingly turns things over to February. As daylight increases, January’s envious look knows there will never be a draft to serve another monthly term. January is my favorite month—enjoy.
Part of January’s prominence is due to the ritual of formulating one’s personal intentions and plans for the New Year. Amid celebrations with noise makers, confetti, and renditions of Auld Lang Syne at the stroke of midnight, people across the globe usher in the latest allotment of days by making resolutions, commitments, and hopeful toasts for laughter, love, good health and good fortune. Party hats and glasses filled with libation complete a resume worthy of January’s namesake. Such frenzy at the start of a New Year, looking both forward and backward is enough to give a Roman god whiplash.
But January is more than just a party and pretty faces. It is a time when winter displays its full strength and control on all living things. Freezing temperatures, icy roads, cold gloomy days, crystal clear dark nights and occasional visits of bright sunshine fill this initial cluster of days. January is both predictable and unpredictable. As the earth continues to orbit around the sun, daylight lengthens—first by a stingy few minutes, then, toward the end of the month, more generously. But January exacts a price for this additional sunlight by delivering only brightness while holding back on warmth. And just to remind us of its adventurous nature, January whips up on a moments notice, icy soufflés, snow drifts, and pellets of freezing rain that cover cars, coats and roadways with an abundance of freezy skid-stuff which challenge both ambulatory and driving skills. January’s precocious behavior keeps insurance agents and body shops well supplied with patrons who literally meet by accident. All these fender benders make Janus smile. Rumor has it that January invented wind chill. This is one month that is forever trying to stay young, with its thermometer readings usually in the teens or twenties. At times it regresses to single digits and below zero in an attempt to display total disregard for maturity. And, every now and then, just for laughs—a blizzard! If January wants a little more respect, it should change its ways by offering an annual Tax Freeze—and forget about the ice and snow. Being the time when we receive our W-2’s doesn’t do much either. But for those of us who celebrate their birthday in January—either Capricorn or Aquarius--we wholeheartedly appreciate the antics of this month. It is difficult to explain, but January makes us smile.
To inhabitants who live at forty-two degrees North Latitude, January is add-an-extra-blanket month, turn up the thermostat time, put on layers of flannel and get dressed before going to bed. Cuddling and snuggling is mandatory nightly behavior. January is a steaming hot cup of coffee before dawn, hot soup at lunch, and suppers served on heated plates. January is scurry from store to warm car, store to warm car, store to warm house. January is when shoppers use extra gas searching for parking spaces closer to the mall’s entrance. January is watching wildlife enjoy the bounty at feeders you keep filled. January is when school kids return to classrooms and moms regain the sanity of daily routine. January is when everyone considers heating their garages. January is the time when landscapers offer discounts for mower tune-ups and lawn care service. January is finding the courage to face both darkness and cold fetching the morning paper, setting out trash and letting Fido do his business. It’s also a time when residents battle nasty conditions taking down outdoor Christmas decorations. January is chapped lips, dry skin, red noses, watery eyes, cold feet and chilled bodies. January holds mystery why kids are impervious to frigid temperatures, revel in snow, enjoy sliding on ice, and rarely have their scarf tied or jacket fully zipped; while seasoned human units hunker down, stooped shouldered shivering to keep warm. January is a geriatric obstacle course. January is wool hats, mittens and boots. January teases and taunts one to move to lower latitudes.
By the end of the first thirty-one days, January is pretty much spent and willingly turns things over to February. As daylight increases, January’s envious look knows there will never be a draft to serve another monthly term. January is my favorite month—enjoy.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
The Power of Words
As children, we learn our ABC’s and readily sing the alphabet song on cue. At such a young age we treat the learning of the alphabet as a novelty and do not realize the importance or power of the letters we voice. Later on, as we add the ability to read and write to our inventory of skills, we begin to understand the value and significance of our ability to convey and decode the symbols of our language. As our communication improves we realize several factors are interrelated and interconnected which add to the effectiveness of words: volume, body language, vocal expression, word choice, and emotional mindset. It does not take long for human beings to capture the essence of language and the meaning of spoken words. Using sight and sound we interpret, catalogue, react, and respond to information delivered to us. Language is essential to meet daily basic needs.
In school, we spend the first three years of school learning how to read; from fourth grade on, we use reading to learn. In the United State of America the language is English. No other language offers such a choice or range of vocabulary, meanings, interpretation, versatility, application, inventiveness, adaptation, and changeableness. English is truly a living language. Each year, new words are added to the lexicon. Familiar terms are given added definition; Parts of Speech are reassigned to meet public usage, as we continually remodel the forty-two sounds of our alphabet, making them suitable to meet contemporary need and modern living. When I was a kid the word “party” was a noun: “I’m going to a party.” Today, it has become a verb: “Let’s party!”
Years ago, having a mouse in your house was met with panic and baited traps. Today, most desktop computers come with a “mouse” and it is handled with care and given its own pad. The list of such modifications is mind-boggling.
How powerful are words? Next to heartbeats and breathing, words are what give human beings life. In 1957, as a junior at Whiting High School struggling with English, my teacher, Mr. Ulrich, gave me a packet of alphabet cards. “What this?” I asked, “I know the alphabet.” He then taught me the greatest lesson about English. “If you learn to select the right letters, for the right words, at the right time, the world is yours” In a very succinct manner, Mr. Ulrich explained the power of words. Thank what words can do: they can make one happy, sad, cry, smile, laugh, joyful, disappointed, excited, anxious, pleased, and proud. Words can convey appreciation, value, importance, success, failure, accomplishment, recognition, praise, emotion, regret, struggle, trust, honor, affection and respect.
How many times have feelings been hurt because of unkind words? How often have we felt embarrassed, ashamed, rejected or lonely because of hurtful language? Regardless whether such words are written or spoken, the impact is profound.
In contrast, recall the exhilarating feeling when one is the recipient of caring, loving words; recognition for accomplishment, achievement, special occasions or appreciation of friendship. Conveyed electronically or delivered by mail; on fancy stationery, notebook paper, or in person—the heart swell with delicious feelings of goodness, appreciation, thoughtfulness, and love.
Of all the powerful words there are special, vitally important words that define us. As humans we are flawed and prone to make mistakes: most of the time these mistakes are minor, insignificant in nature that does not affect daily life. These periodic miscues are part of growing up, learning experiences, and general interaction with environment and people. Occasionally, however, we commit mistakes that cause pain, suffering, anxiety, stress, and long-lasting consequence. Whether unintentional or on purpose, by commission or omission, we know there is never an excuse not to be kind. Even so, we sometimes say and do unkind things. Once offensive words are conveyed—they remain. You cannot put toothpaste back in the tube. What, then, does one do to heal the wound of unkindness?
We have to make choices in the way we use words? We can use them for criticism, contempt, defensiveness, selfishness and meanness. The tongue and pen can be used to praise or curse, hate or cherish, despise or admire. But if we believe that communication—the power of words—serves to strengthen relationships and provide ways to reshape all persons for the better, we must willingly bestow the gift of forgiveness—to others and ourselves. For with forgiveness, there is love; and love enables us to see with our heart. Such is the power of words.
In school, we spend the first three years of school learning how to read; from fourth grade on, we use reading to learn. In the United State of America the language is English. No other language offers such a choice or range of vocabulary, meanings, interpretation, versatility, application, inventiveness, adaptation, and changeableness. English is truly a living language. Each year, new words are added to the lexicon. Familiar terms are given added definition; Parts of Speech are reassigned to meet public usage, as we continually remodel the forty-two sounds of our alphabet, making them suitable to meet contemporary need and modern living. When I was a kid the word “party” was a noun: “I’m going to a party.” Today, it has become a verb: “Let’s party!”
Years ago, having a mouse in your house was met with panic and baited traps. Today, most desktop computers come with a “mouse” and it is handled with care and given its own pad. The list of such modifications is mind-boggling.
How powerful are words? Next to heartbeats and breathing, words are what give human beings life. In 1957, as a junior at Whiting High School struggling with English, my teacher, Mr. Ulrich, gave me a packet of alphabet cards. “What this?” I asked, “I know the alphabet.” He then taught me the greatest lesson about English. “If you learn to select the right letters, for the right words, at the right time, the world is yours” In a very succinct manner, Mr. Ulrich explained the power of words. Thank what words can do: they can make one happy, sad, cry, smile, laugh, joyful, disappointed, excited, anxious, pleased, and proud. Words can convey appreciation, value, importance, success, failure, accomplishment, recognition, praise, emotion, regret, struggle, trust, honor, affection and respect.
How many times have feelings been hurt because of unkind words? How often have we felt embarrassed, ashamed, rejected or lonely because of hurtful language? Regardless whether such words are written or spoken, the impact is profound.
In contrast, recall the exhilarating feeling when one is the recipient of caring, loving words; recognition for accomplishment, achievement, special occasions or appreciation of friendship. Conveyed electronically or delivered by mail; on fancy stationery, notebook paper, or in person—the heart swell with delicious feelings of goodness, appreciation, thoughtfulness, and love.
Of all the powerful words there are special, vitally important words that define us. As humans we are flawed and prone to make mistakes: most of the time these mistakes are minor, insignificant in nature that does not affect daily life. These periodic miscues are part of growing up, learning experiences, and general interaction with environment and people. Occasionally, however, we commit mistakes that cause pain, suffering, anxiety, stress, and long-lasting consequence. Whether unintentional or on purpose, by commission or omission, we know there is never an excuse not to be kind. Even so, we sometimes say and do unkind things. Once offensive words are conveyed—they remain. You cannot put toothpaste back in the tube. What, then, does one do to heal the wound of unkindness?
We have to make choices in the way we use words? We can use them for criticism, contempt, defensiveness, selfishness and meanness. The tongue and pen can be used to praise or curse, hate or cherish, despise or admire. But if we believe that communication—the power of words—serves to strengthen relationships and provide ways to reshape all persons for the better, we must willingly bestow the gift of forgiveness—to others and ourselves. For with forgiveness, there is love; and love enables us to see with our heart. Such is the power of words.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
October's Glory
You’d think that any month holding title to eighth place and then unceremoniously moved down to number ten would be resentful, not October. In spite of the calendar shenanigans of Julius and Augustus Caesar, October accepted its new position in the solar line up in tenth spot, and embellished its allotment of thirty days with exuberance and enthusiasm.
As a full-fledged member of autumn’s sweet-sad season, October brims with delicacies left over from summer’s frivolity as well as presenting its special menu of prepared entrees. Teasing everyone and everything with occasional flashbacks of sun-drenched beach parties, October delivers hours of abundant sunshine and bright blue sky that make music for senses. Elevated temperatures, give vegetation encouragement to feast on nutrients causing lawns to thrive and mowers to mulch. Resident wildlife scurries with added opportunity to prepare stores for upcoming adverse weather conditions; and people display their approval by filling mall parking places, athletic fields, and partaking in activities that commune with nature.
October is also in charge of changing seasonal scenery from full to partial sun, earlier sunsets, morning fog, cool evenings, and drenching inhabitants with light from a harvest moon. Nighttime is no longer filled with a symphony of sound. Dark hours are now more muted and subdued as nocturnal activity is redirected to more pressing tasks. Leaves begin their dance with the sun and wind. Simultaneously changing hue and tint, they twist and turn with every gust of wind displaying an artistry of movement that dazzles the eye and engender envy in those who view themselves as athletic.
When October’s wind imitates November, leaves are separated from their branches and sail about, floating, spinning, displaying their aerodynamics abilities as they land on neighboring turf. Millions upon millions of leaves find rest on mother earth as their function of purpose is complete. Soon landscapes are carpeted with autumn leaves from every variety of tree, bush and shrub, awaiting young-at-heart feet to shuffle through piles of dried deciduous cornflakes as they crunch their way to and from, school and play. Only oak trees stubbornly hold their leaves fast to the branches throughout autumn. In winter, the chocolate-colored vegetation from these acorn makers will afford stark contrast to snow-covered latticed branches of leaf-bare trees.
When October realized it was being reassigned placement on the monthly annual it decided to be a full-service participant. There is something for everyone: sight, sound, scent, and touch. October is a sensory extravaganza. Throughout October’s thirty-one days, the moon will take time to play peek-a-boo with precocious clouds, shining full strength, then, like a bashful child, provide frosty luminous moonlight when hiding behind clouds as they float by. Weather will cooperate by allowing convertibles to travel top-down celebrating good times. Sweethearts of all ages will join hands and hearts as they journey through days, forming bonds, sharing moments of melancholy remembrance of times gone by and favorite memories. Each of us in our own way finds time to acknowledge, treasure, and appreciate October’s moments to remember. Saturday afternoons in the fall are like precious jewels. Sundays have a tranquil, easy peaceful feeling as the season of autumn beckons for a slower pace than the preceding hectic summer. This time of year is when nature willingly accepts October’s recycling materials as flowers, garden remnants and trees return their bounty to mother earth. Fringe benefits include the perfume of burning autumn leaves, the scent of early morning dampness as blankets of fog become gossamer droplets of dew by the warmth of early morning sun. Crystal clear October nights is delicious and crispy like fresh potato chips. Bathed in moonlight under a sky quilted with stars, romantics share hopes and dreams and wonder at the majesty of the universe. The sight of ducks and geese winging southward toward warmer climes, quacking and honking their exuberance in appreciation for the summer just past is a signal that change is coming. Early on, these fair weather creatures decided that rock salt and snow shovels are not for them. Permanent wildlife residents search out nooks and crannies in which to hunker down during the frigid cold and snowy winter weather. Human residents begin their preparation for seasonal change, too. Lawn mowers are replaced by snow blowers, furnaces take over from air-conditioners, and staying indoors become more attractive that being out-of-doors. Sweaters, windbreakers, blankets and hot cocoa are now more prevalent than tank tops, sandals, and ice tea.
October is the time of harvest as the bounty of one’s labors is displayed for all to see and enjoy. The glory of October is that it provides the means for all of us to taste the sweetness of autumn. October can be an attitude or an age. It can be a time for renewal or reflection, continuation or beginning. The fall of the year can bring forth memories or adventurous moments. Such is the glory of October.
As a full-fledged member of autumn’s sweet-sad season, October brims with delicacies left over from summer’s frivolity as well as presenting its special menu of prepared entrees. Teasing everyone and everything with occasional flashbacks of sun-drenched beach parties, October delivers hours of abundant sunshine and bright blue sky that make music for senses. Elevated temperatures, give vegetation encouragement to feast on nutrients causing lawns to thrive and mowers to mulch. Resident wildlife scurries with added opportunity to prepare stores for upcoming adverse weather conditions; and people display their approval by filling mall parking places, athletic fields, and partaking in activities that commune with nature.
October is also in charge of changing seasonal scenery from full to partial sun, earlier sunsets, morning fog, cool evenings, and drenching inhabitants with light from a harvest moon. Nighttime is no longer filled with a symphony of sound. Dark hours are now more muted and subdued as nocturnal activity is redirected to more pressing tasks. Leaves begin their dance with the sun and wind. Simultaneously changing hue and tint, they twist and turn with every gust of wind displaying an artistry of movement that dazzles the eye and engender envy in those who view themselves as athletic.
When October’s wind imitates November, leaves are separated from their branches and sail about, floating, spinning, displaying their aerodynamics abilities as they land on neighboring turf. Millions upon millions of leaves find rest on mother earth as their function of purpose is complete. Soon landscapes are carpeted with autumn leaves from every variety of tree, bush and shrub, awaiting young-at-heart feet to shuffle through piles of dried deciduous cornflakes as they crunch their way to and from, school and play. Only oak trees stubbornly hold their leaves fast to the branches throughout autumn. In winter, the chocolate-colored vegetation from these acorn makers will afford stark contrast to snow-covered latticed branches of leaf-bare trees.
When October realized it was being reassigned placement on the monthly annual it decided to be a full-service participant. There is something for everyone: sight, sound, scent, and touch. October is a sensory extravaganza. Throughout October’s thirty-one days, the moon will take time to play peek-a-boo with precocious clouds, shining full strength, then, like a bashful child, provide frosty luminous moonlight when hiding behind clouds as they float by. Weather will cooperate by allowing convertibles to travel top-down celebrating good times. Sweethearts of all ages will join hands and hearts as they journey through days, forming bonds, sharing moments of melancholy remembrance of times gone by and favorite memories. Each of us in our own way finds time to acknowledge, treasure, and appreciate October’s moments to remember. Saturday afternoons in the fall are like precious jewels. Sundays have a tranquil, easy peaceful feeling as the season of autumn beckons for a slower pace than the preceding hectic summer. This time of year is when nature willingly accepts October’s recycling materials as flowers, garden remnants and trees return their bounty to mother earth. Fringe benefits include the perfume of burning autumn leaves, the scent of early morning dampness as blankets of fog become gossamer droplets of dew by the warmth of early morning sun. Crystal clear October nights is delicious and crispy like fresh potato chips. Bathed in moonlight under a sky quilted with stars, romantics share hopes and dreams and wonder at the majesty of the universe. The sight of ducks and geese winging southward toward warmer climes, quacking and honking their exuberance in appreciation for the summer just past is a signal that change is coming. Early on, these fair weather creatures decided that rock salt and snow shovels are not for them. Permanent wildlife residents search out nooks and crannies in which to hunker down during the frigid cold and snowy winter weather. Human residents begin their preparation for seasonal change, too. Lawn mowers are replaced by snow blowers, furnaces take over from air-conditioners, and staying indoors become more attractive that being out-of-doors. Sweaters, windbreakers, blankets and hot cocoa are now more prevalent than tank tops, sandals, and ice tea.
October is the time of harvest as the bounty of one’s labors is displayed for all to see and enjoy. The glory of October is that it provides the means for all of us to taste the sweetness of autumn. October can be an attitude or an age. It can be a time for renewal or reflection, continuation or beginning. The fall of the year can bring forth memories or adventurous moments. Such is the glory of October.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Paperboy
My first paying job was that of paperboy in 1952. Previous employment was self-motivated, scavenging discarded soda bottles for the two-cent deposit from neighborhood alleys, and winter snow shoveling. My intent was to find a job with consistent cash flow to meet growing economic and social needs. Jobs were limited for an eleven year-old sixth-grader: too young to set pins at the Whiting Community, and lawn care jobs were sporadic. Money was scarce; I was more broke than the Ten Commandments.
Gathering my courage, I went to the Paper Store and applied. Most everyone in Whiting referred to the Whiting News Company as “The Paper Store.” Initially I met with the owner, Mr. Chrustowski and he outlined the scope of the job. Shortly thereafter, I met Mr. Serafin—everyone called him “Dutch.” He was in charge of the paperboys. Somehow, my application was accepted and I was assigned afternoon delivery for my street, Cleveland Avenue --Route 6B. The job paid $5.90 per week. Job responsibilities included delivery of The Chicago Daily News, Chicago Herald-American, and Hammond Times. In addition, we collected weekly bills, kept track of customer accounts, and kept current, the stops and starts of paper delivery. Cleveland Avenue, because of its number of customers was one of Whiting’s highest paid paper routes. All told, I had 162 afternoon papers to deliver Monday through Saturday.
During orientation, Mr. Chrustowski and Dutch emphasized the necessity of being on time, putting the paper on the porch, stoop, or steps. If delivered during inclement weather, it was our responsibility to protect the paper from adverse weather. In those days, there were no plastic bags and most porches were not enclosed. Often, the paperboy would walk up on the porch and place it in a container by the front door, or in an area where the customer could readily retrieve it. We were cautioned not to toss the paper in bushes, flowerbeds, or on porch roofs. Complaints about poor delivery or misbehavior by unhappy subscribers would be grounds for dismissal. Each paperboy was provided a canvas pouch with a large shoulder strap in which to carry papers. Fully loaded with afternoon editions and slung over one shoulder, a paperboy tilted Earth-like, about 23-1/2 degrees off plumb as he walked his route. A few of the guys had bicycles and they would balance their bag load of papers over the front fender. In a single motion, while steering the bike with one hand, they would pull a paper from the sack and accurately toss it on the porch. Because I did not own a bicycle, my main method of transporting the afternoon news was my wooden Red Flyer Wagon. Filled to capacity, I would pull the Times, Daily News, and Herald-American door-to-door. Some were two-paper clients, however, the majority of residents subscribed to just one.
As part of our “training” we reported to the back entrance of Whiting News and went downstairs. A number of tables held stacks of newspapers. Around 1:30 in the afternoon, a truck would park in front of the paper store and unload the afternoon dailies, sliding them down a chute accessed from 119th Street. Bundle after bundle slid down to the waiting arms of employees who sorted, counted and stacked papers for the various routes. When each route was prepared and marked, the paperboy would check out their allotment and take them for delivery. One of the most important tasks for every paperboy was to learn how to fold, roll, and twist the paper so it could be tossed on porches without coming apart. Dutch demonstrated the “paper boy fold”, and the older guys working the chute supervised until we had it down pat. If a paperboy chose not to pick up his papers at the paper store, they would be delivered to his house later in the afternoon. I preferred the paper store pick up because I could have my route done much sooner: usually by 3:00 pm. If I waited for the papers to be delivered to my house, I wouldn’t finish until 4:30 or so.
One fringe benefit of being paperboy is getting to know all the residents on the block. It didn’t take long for customers to greet you as you delivered their paper. Such friendliness paid dividends when collecting the weekly bill; many included a tip to help defray the cost of living. Their hometown friendliness continued, as I became an adult.
My tenure as a paperboy was short lived. When school started in September, studies, basketball and home chores took precedent. Route 6B went to another paperboy. But in that brief time, I took initial steps of independence and learned employment lessons that served me well. As boyhood gives way to adolescence; and adolescence to adulthood, additional responsibilities, commitment and priorities command attention. One develops strategies and coping skills to meet a variety of challenges: academic, social, economic and personal. Being a paperboy taught me organization, time management, responsibility, and respect. That’s pretty good for a job that paid $5.90 a week. To the Chrustowski family and Dutch Serafin—Thanks!
Gathering my courage, I went to the Paper Store and applied. Most everyone in Whiting referred to the Whiting News Company as “The Paper Store.” Initially I met with the owner, Mr. Chrustowski and he outlined the scope of the job. Shortly thereafter, I met Mr. Serafin—everyone called him “Dutch.” He was in charge of the paperboys. Somehow, my application was accepted and I was assigned afternoon delivery for my street, Cleveland Avenue --Route 6B. The job paid $5.90 per week. Job responsibilities included delivery of The Chicago Daily News, Chicago Herald-American, and Hammond Times. In addition, we collected weekly bills, kept track of customer accounts, and kept current, the stops and starts of paper delivery. Cleveland Avenue, because of its number of customers was one of Whiting’s highest paid paper routes. All told, I had 162 afternoon papers to deliver Monday through Saturday.
During orientation, Mr. Chrustowski and Dutch emphasized the necessity of being on time, putting the paper on the porch, stoop, or steps. If delivered during inclement weather, it was our responsibility to protect the paper from adverse weather. In those days, there were no plastic bags and most porches were not enclosed. Often, the paperboy would walk up on the porch and place it in a container by the front door, or in an area where the customer could readily retrieve it. We were cautioned not to toss the paper in bushes, flowerbeds, or on porch roofs. Complaints about poor delivery or misbehavior by unhappy subscribers would be grounds for dismissal. Each paperboy was provided a canvas pouch with a large shoulder strap in which to carry papers. Fully loaded with afternoon editions and slung over one shoulder, a paperboy tilted Earth-like, about 23-1/2 degrees off plumb as he walked his route. A few of the guys had bicycles and they would balance their bag load of papers over the front fender. In a single motion, while steering the bike with one hand, they would pull a paper from the sack and accurately toss it on the porch. Because I did not own a bicycle, my main method of transporting the afternoon news was my wooden Red Flyer Wagon. Filled to capacity, I would pull the Times, Daily News, and Herald-American door-to-door. Some were two-paper clients, however, the majority of residents subscribed to just one.
As part of our “training” we reported to the back entrance of Whiting News and went downstairs. A number of tables held stacks of newspapers. Around 1:30 in the afternoon, a truck would park in front of the paper store and unload the afternoon dailies, sliding them down a chute accessed from 119th Street. Bundle after bundle slid down to the waiting arms of employees who sorted, counted and stacked papers for the various routes. When each route was prepared and marked, the paperboy would check out their allotment and take them for delivery. One of the most important tasks for every paperboy was to learn how to fold, roll, and twist the paper so it could be tossed on porches without coming apart. Dutch demonstrated the “paper boy fold”, and the older guys working the chute supervised until we had it down pat. If a paperboy chose not to pick up his papers at the paper store, they would be delivered to his house later in the afternoon. I preferred the paper store pick up because I could have my route done much sooner: usually by 3:00 pm. If I waited for the papers to be delivered to my house, I wouldn’t finish until 4:30 or so.
One fringe benefit of being paperboy is getting to know all the residents on the block. It didn’t take long for customers to greet you as you delivered their paper. Such friendliness paid dividends when collecting the weekly bill; many included a tip to help defray the cost of living. Their hometown friendliness continued, as I became an adult.
My tenure as a paperboy was short lived. When school started in September, studies, basketball and home chores took precedent. Route 6B went to another paperboy. But in that brief time, I took initial steps of independence and learned employment lessons that served me well. As boyhood gives way to adolescence; and adolescence to adulthood, additional responsibilities, commitment and priorities command attention. One develops strategies and coping skills to meet a variety of challenges: academic, social, economic and personal. Being a paperboy taught me organization, time management, responsibility, and respect. That’s pretty good for a job that paid $5.90 a week. To the Chrustowski family and Dutch Serafin—Thanks!
Sunday, June 6, 2010
The Process
Throughout our life, we are “in the process” of one thing or another. At times we are in the process of growing up—going from a child to adolescent, teenager to adult. Other times we are in the process of going to school, serving in the military, working at a job, or getting settled. As the years accumulate one notices that so many “in the process” experiences have defined our days and provided us with a reservoir of events from which we draw upon, reflect, and savor as benchmarks of life.
Not all “in the process” episodes are pleasant or enjoyable. Each one is uniquely memorable, but the price paid, and the cost incurred is, in many cases, prohibitive in endurance, energy-draining, effort-taxing and less than rewarding. We spend so much time trying to do things we think will please other people—family, friends, co-workers, colleagues and people we don’t even know. “What will the neighbors think?” Is a phrase heard many times during one’s lifetime. Often, we set aside personal wants and desires in order to do things so others will approve. Hopes and dreams are shunted in order to fulfill perceived obligations; or assumed because of guilt or outside pressure.
Each one of us can look back and recall decisions made during times of anxiety, stress and less than relaxed conditions and think about how those incidents have affected our life. We can also review occasions when choices were made that enriched and enhanced our days beyond all expectation. Such is the process of life.
During the year important “in process” occasions are noted, celebrated, and commemorated with a variety of emotion and feeling. Solemn, prayerful, joyful or jubilant we embellish these times with banquet and bounty. Together with others or alone in one’s private reverie, the emotions engendered by their remembrance comforts the heart, sustain the spirit, and nourish the soul. Recall when little moments in life unexpectedly snuck up on you and you knew immediately they would be remembered all your days: such is the Process of life. The process of love:
Chance to Opportunity
Opportunity to Turning Point
Strangers to Acquaintance,
Acquaintance to Friends,
Friends to Relationship.
Relationship to Date
Date to Going Steady,
Going steady to Engagement
Engagement to Promises
Promises to Love
Love to Marriage.
Marriage to Togetherness,
Togetherness to Oneness.
Oneness to Soul Mate
Soul mate to Everything!
Everything! to Commitment
Commitment to Wishes
Wishes to Hopes
Hopes to Dreams
Dreams to Reality
Reality to Obligation
Obligations to Priorities
Priorities to Value
Value to Time
Time to Importance
Importance to Together
Together to Divide
Divide to Promises
Promises to Priorities
Priorities to Things
Things to Importance
Importance to Excuse
Excuse to Reason
Reason to Why
Why to Whatever!
Whatever!
Whatever!!
Whatever!! to What?
What? to the Elephant in the Room
What Room?
The room.
House to Home
Home to Family
Family to Children
Children to Adults
Adults to Apartment
Apartment to House
House to House
Full to Empty
Empty to Together
Together to Alone
Alone to Unimportance
Unimportance to Loneliness
Loneliness to Regrets
Regrets to Memories
Memories to Life
Life to Goodbye
Goodbye to Ashes
Ashes to Forever
Now is the time to drink the wine!
Now is the time to taste the sweetness!
Now is the time to enjoy the pleasures.
Now is the time to treasure the moments
Save the memories for winter days
One only does what is important to one
One only values what is valuable to one
One always lives and shares with others
One always dies alone
So
Pour the wine
Taste the Sweetness from the Vineyard
Feel the warmth of ones you love.
Savor the Nectar of Marriage
Spouse, Children, Grandchildren
Enjoy the Perfume of Love
Recall the Spring
Remember the Summer
Treasure the Bounty of Autumn
Accept the Winter
Fill each Day with Laughter
Always
There is Love
Love
Not all “in the process” episodes are pleasant or enjoyable. Each one is uniquely memorable, but the price paid, and the cost incurred is, in many cases, prohibitive in endurance, energy-draining, effort-taxing and less than rewarding. We spend so much time trying to do things we think will please other people—family, friends, co-workers, colleagues and people we don’t even know. “What will the neighbors think?” Is a phrase heard many times during one’s lifetime. Often, we set aside personal wants and desires in order to do things so others will approve. Hopes and dreams are shunted in order to fulfill perceived obligations; or assumed because of guilt or outside pressure.
Each one of us can look back and recall decisions made during times of anxiety, stress and less than relaxed conditions and think about how those incidents have affected our life. We can also review occasions when choices were made that enriched and enhanced our days beyond all expectation. Such is the process of life.
During the year important “in process” occasions are noted, celebrated, and commemorated with a variety of emotion and feeling. Solemn, prayerful, joyful or jubilant we embellish these times with banquet and bounty. Together with others or alone in one’s private reverie, the emotions engendered by their remembrance comforts the heart, sustain the spirit, and nourish the soul. Recall when little moments in life unexpectedly snuck up on you and you knew immediately they would be remembered all your days: such is the Process of life. The process of love:
Chance to Opportunity
Opportunity to Turning Point
Strangers to Acquaintance,
Acquaintance to Friends,
Friends to Relationship.
Relationship to Date
Date to Going Steady,
Going steady to Engagement
Engagement to Promises
Promises to Love
Love to Marriage.
Marriage to Togetherness,
Togetherness to Oneness.
Oneness to Soul Mate
Soul mate to Everything!
Everything! to Commitment
Commitment to Wishes
Wishes to Hopes
Hopes to Dreams
Dreams to Reality
Reality to Obligation
Obligations to Priorities
Priorities to Value
Value to Time
Time to Importance
Importance to Together
Together to Divide
Divide to Promises
Promises to Priorities
Priorities to Things
Things to Importance
Importance to Excuse
Excuse to Reason
Reason to Why
Why to Whatever!
Whatever!
Whatever!!
Whatever!! to What?
What? to the Elephant in the Room
What Room?
The room.
House to Home
Home to Family
Family to Children
Children to Adults
Adults to Apartment
Apartment to House
House to House
Full to Empty
Empty to Together
Together to Alone
Alone to Unimportance
Unimportance to Loneliness
Loneliness to Regrets
Regrets to Memories
Memories to Life
Life to Goodbye
Goodbye to Ashes
Ashes to Forever
Now is the time to drink the wine!
Now is the time to taste the sweetness!
Now is the time to enjoy the pleasures.
Now is the time to treasure the moments
Save the memories for winter days
One only does what is important to one
One only values what is valuable to one
One always lives and shares with others
One always dies alone
So
Pour the wine
Taste the Sweetness from the Vineyard
Feel the warmth of ones you love.
Savor the Nectar of Marriage
Spouse, Children, Grandchildren
Enjoy the Perfume of Love
Recall the Spring
Remember the Summer
Treasure the Bounty of Autumn
Accept the Winter
Fill each Day with Laughter
Always
There is Love
Love
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Before the Chalk Dust Settles
At the close of this school year, I will retire and close out my teaching career. For the past twelve years, it has been my privilege and good fortune to teach Lake Central High School students both general education and those with Special Needs. With prior teaching experience in Illinois and southern Indiana, my tenure as a classroom teacher totals 43 years. Forty-three years? It seems like 43 minutes! Now, before the lights are turned off and the classroom door is closed for the last time I want to take a few moments and share some thoughts about teaching and the process of education.
We’ve all been around long enough to realize that life is a series of beginnings and goodbyes; and no matter the number of our years we never quite get used to it. Most of us enjoy beginnings; goodbyes are a different matter. Part of the parade of seasons is change and one has to deal with change and accompanying challenges as presented: but before the goodbye part, a return to the beginning. When I walked into a classroom for the first time as teacher in late August of 1967, I was unseasoned, minimally skilled, and uncertain as to my effectiveness. It did not take long to develop coping, methodology, and survival skills. After forty plus years in the “trenches” I am a fully seasoned, reality based, capable, effective, adaptable, tempered, well-educated, and confident pedagogical unit. Over the past four decades I’ve witnessed events, innovations, happenings, fads, policies, catch phrases, procedures and a sundry of educational instructional approaches allegedly designed to improve the process of education. Even so, I firmly believe that a good teacher is at the core of effective learning.
Over the years students have arrived in the classroom: prepared and unprepared, properly parented and woefully neglected, nurtured and un-nurtured, well-nourished and under-fed, behaved and mal-behaved, respectful and disrespectful, joyful and sad, happy and angry, eager and ambivalent, active and passive, energetic and tired, outgoing and shy, confident and timid. Many times I witnessed a weed become a rose when the spark of understanding took flame. Those moments are truly magic!
And there were times that challenged every ounce of my resolve, energy, and commitment in order to get through the day. Most of the 7200 plus school days have been flooded with sunshine. There were times, however, when shadows threatened the brightness and we drew upon Faith and prayerful intercession to help us through difficult times. To all my colleagues and co-worker who shared these moments and times—thank you for being there.
I have often been asked why I decided to become a teacher. It goes back to the words I wrote as a high school senior in 1958: “All I want is a chance to do better!” I promised that if such a chance were presented to me, I would do what I could to help others learn. All through my formative years, along with family, there were teachers, mentors, classmates and friends who helped me along the way. In summer school of 1948, Whiting Primary teacher, Miss Stewart accepted a struggling parochial second-grader and helped me control my stuttering so I could read aloud without embarrassment. As a teenager, the teachers at Whiting High School never gave up on me: Mr. Taylor, Mr. Ulrich, Mr. Faulkner, Mr. Burkholtz, Mr. Allen and Mr. McClure. Each one of these pedagogical apostles encouraged, guided and helped me to understand subject matter, teaching lessons of life, which have served me well. By their word, example and kindness they gave me confidence to risk unreachable dreams; and by doing so, gave me courage to achieve those dreams.
Classmates who became like family gave support and encouragement. Most of all they gave their friendship. At the forefront: The Class of 1958— Whiting High School ’s finest! Each time I enter a classroom I remember the goodness of all who have touched my life and provided me with the “chance to do better.”
We’ve all been around long enough to know that the journey should be as enjoyable as the destination. Each time I think about teaching, I recall the closing lines from my favorite poem by Robert Frost. He writes about a solitary traveler and how, along the way, pauses to watch woods fill with snow. The poem ends with words of
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