I’m in! Not settled yet, but I doubt if I ever will be, unless Tonya comes back down and hangs my pictures. She’s a whiz at that, as well as room arranging and decorating.
Last Saturday, John and Tonya, along with Jim and his helper Boyd, left the Indiana community Jean and I moved into the end of September 2007, with me and all my belongings. That is, THEY moved ME - into the Assisted Living facility we moved from before.
The roads were AWFUL. We traveled east on US 30 toward Fort Wayne, and the farther we went, the worse the road became. We kept going slower and slower.
Finally, at Warsaw (and Winona Lake), we stopped at a gas station to reconnoiter. John and Jim “reconnoitered”, that is. I was determined to NOT interject my comments or suggestions on the ride, highway, snow or other impediment. Before meeting with Jim, though, John said, “I think we’d better head south, out of this snow and bad roads.” I relented, and said, “So do I”.
After discussion, we headed east again on US 30. John was looking for a south-bound state/national road that seemed safe. Remembering that Jean and I had traveled on that road several times 40 or 50 years ago, I said, “Maybe Indiana 9 would be a good bet”. John said, “I was looking for 9. Do you think we’ve passed it yet?” “I don’t remember doing so”, I replied.
We kept going, passing several roads that didn’t seem promising, when suddenly, John’s GPS indicated Route 9 up ahead. “There it is!”
We headed south on 9, after alerting Jim that we would be turning. I remembered that it went through Columbia City, then on south to Huntington - where the Christian Huntington College is located.
As we headed south, the road DID improve - a little bit - but it was obviously the right choice.
John’s GPS kept trying to get us to go on to Fort Wayne and the original plotted course, so it kept saying, “Re-calculating“, then, “Turn left at the next intersection, then turn left”. John recognized what the GPS was doing, and just kept going south.
In the back seat, I got out MY GPS, and watched as we traveled. Suddenly, both of our units said, “Turn left (East) at the next intersection”.
John turned, and Jim followed. Shortly, Jim called and said he needed to work on his windshield wiper, so we stopped along the road. He got it fixed, and we headed east again.
The GPS kept guiding us, and FINALLY it gave up trying to get us back to Fort Wayne, and let us go east, and eventually southeast. We ended up on I 469, then on east to US 27 and 33. When I saw “33”, I smiled and said, “Praise the Lord”. I knew it took us into Ohio, and if we wanted, all the way to Columbus, or better, Bellefontaine. We were safe. I then turned off my GPS.
Before too long, we came to Decatur. Familiar territory to me, since Jean and I had joined my sister and brother-in-law there 50 years ago for a Street Fair. It was lunch time, so we stopped.
Following US 33 from there was a “piece of cake”, as we say. We were directed the way I would have gone, until we reached I 75. The GPS knew a better way from there. We got on it, traveling south to US 36 at Piqua, which made a lot of sense, and probably better than the way I would go.
Years ago, BG, (before GPS), I would have then taken US 36 east to Urbana, then south. Instead, GPS took us east to SR 235 south. OK. That’ll work. Then, instead of taking us south to SR 41 where I would go, it suggested going east on SR 55. “No way”, I thought. Since Jim has regularly lived in this area, he and I both thought going to 41 was the best.
John suggested that Jim follow 235 to 41, then east, and we would take the GPS route of SR 55, and see who arrived first. The 55 route took us to Storms Creek Road, then to US 68, then south to Springfield. Guess who was right - me, or the GPS. Take a guess. The GPS got us here 10 minutes before Jim did.
Now, to unload, unpack and re-locate.
My Apartment at the Grand Court is called a “Studio Apartment”, which means, basically, one room w/ bath, kitchenette, electric range and sink. Very adequate.
It took some doing, however, to properly place my stuff. We ended up storing a lot in the attic provided.
Where to put the bed? Crosswise in the room? Along the wall? Which side? What about the TV and Computer, both to be connected to a cable that came in at only one place in the room. I preferred to have the TV on one side of the room, and the Computer on the other. The Cable installation person, however, said the cable couldn’t go “across” the room.
So, they’re side by side, with the bed perpendicular to the length of the room. By now, it seems to work OK that way.
Here it is, 5 days after arriving, and I’ve STILL got a lot of stuff in boxes, some of it in the attic. Some of that I’ll need to get down eventually.
However, on the whole, I’m VERY comfortable and satisfied! If you’re reading this, you know I got the computer going. And, though I don’t watch much TV these days, it works also, with over 80 channels.
I feel very comfortable here - seems at home, actually - probably since Jean and I lived here 1 ½ years ago. I know many people, and many know me. The Staff is wonderful, and the residents are very cordial.
I’ve had one interesting development: the car I’m using broke down. Here’s the story:
Jim "gave me back" the car we gave to him when we moved in with John and Tonya, for my use here. It's a Ford Thunderbird, maybe 8 or 9 years old. (3/6/09 - I just discovered that it's a 1995 model - 14 years old!)
Yesterday, I had started the car twice already, but in the afternoon, when I tried to start it in the WalMart lot, the starter just wouldn't turn over. I called Jim, and he was in Cincinnati. We figured that there was probably a bad connection at the battery, so I got a screw driver from the trunk (no hammer was available), and tried to get it going.
Jim said WalMart could help. I went in there, and a mechanic came out with a "battery jumper", if that's what you call it. That didn't work either. He went back in and came back with a Pick Up and tried to jump start it. No deal. He concluded the problem was the starter.
I called Jim again, and we decided I had to be towed to a garage. Jim remembered an auto mechanic friend of his who had just opened up a new shop, and felt he would be cheaper than the car dealerships. He set it up with the mechanic, and I called the Towing Service. Jim was still in Cincinnati.
The Tow Truck came and hauled the car to this Mechanic friend of Jim. A cursory look indicated that the battery terminals were VERY corroded. This is probably the same battery Jean and I had when we bought the car 3 or 4 years ago. He wasn’t convinced that the starter was the problem. He said he would call me "tomorrow" to let me know what's what. We left the car with him, and I joined our granddaughter Jodi, and her son, Rylan, for a 4th birthday party for him at the Chuck E. Cheese pizza place.
At about 5PM, I realized that I not only left the car keys with the mechanic, but my house keys as well. I called him to arrange to pick them up. He said he was about to call me, to say that the BATTERY was indeed the problem, and that he could have it all fixed and put together by 6 PM. Praise the Lord.
We celebrated Rylan’s birthday, and at 5:40 I drove Jodi’s car to the Mechanic, paid him for the work on my car (with the cash gotten earlier at the Bank), and drove it back to the party. Later, Jodi’s dad drove her to her car, and I drove home.
In reflecting on this, some things stand out:
1. I had driven the car to WalMart the previous evening, uneventfully.
2. The car had started twice earlier yesterday.
3. Yesterday afternoon, I went in to WalMart to see about a Secretarial Chair to my Computer, but failed to find one, and went to the car to try to start it. Wouldn’t start.
4. Jim was in Cincinnati, so I was on my own - with the Lord, of course.
5. Earlier, I had gone to the Bank and withdrew $200, for any “unexpected” expenditures later in the day.
6. Jim’s insurance doesn’t cover Tow Trucks. (The cash was ESSENTIAL).
7. The Mechanic hadn’t “set up” to handle Credit Cards yet, so, the cash was ESSENTIAL.
8. If this had happened the previous night in the dark, it would have been devastating, including, no cash.
We read in the Bible of Jesus saying, “When I send forth my sheep, I go before them.” John 10:4. He “went before” me, yesterday afternoon, as well as the previous evening. I had no choice but to “follow”.
Praise the Lord.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Inherited Worry
Though my dad and mother were fine, dedicated Christians, they both had a tendency to worry. Mother worried about almost everything, but Dad’s worries centered mostly about his health. In fact, when Mother didn’t have anything to worry about, it seemed like that worried her.
Dad did have some physical problems that caused him to worry. One was a cancer on the right side of his chin. It became an awful looking thing, and appeared to spread. I don’t know what his Physician said about it, but some friends (I don’t remember who) suggested he go see an unusual doctor in Columbus. I don’t for sure remember his name, but I don’t think I would list it if I did.
He visited that “Doctor”, and he gave him a can of black “salve”, as I remember it. He told him to keep the sore covered with that. He did so, and after awhile, the sore seemed to change into a black like substance, and dried up and fell off. More kept coming and falling off. I don’t remember how long he did that, but he said sometimes it felt like it was “drawing” from clear down in his throat. After some months, the sore seemed healed, and except for a natural scar, there was no evidence of the “cancer”.
In addition, Dad had some internal organ problems, but none seemed life threatening. After all, he lived to age 92! When he worried, his bald head broke out in a sweat.
Mother was one of those who “religiously”, as we say, read the Reader’s Digest. When they sold their home, there were “Digests” in the attic dated from 1938. In one of them, Mother read that some person (I don’t remember who), had accumulated several million dollars. She looked up and said, “That’s what’s wrong with America. Too many millionaires!” I was sitting there in the living room and couldn’t let that pass, so I said, “What’s the matter with accumulating wealth?” Jean said, “Forget it, Dad”, talking to me. Mother worried about things like that.
Though I don’t remember knowing of “worrying” that my sister did, but I have worried. Mostly about MY health - like Dad.
I worry more after a test of some sort that COULD reveal a serious physical problem. I just KNOW the results will be “dire”. The strange thing is, after all these years of worrying about some serious illness, looking back, none of these worries came to pass. Oh, I’ve had physical problems: blood where there should be none; appendix removed; back surgery when I could not stand up straight; upset or nauseous stomach (an antacid generally helped that); and two days ago, a TB test that I was JUST SURE was positive. (It wasn’t)
I had the “TB Test”, called a “PPD”, whatever that means, because I‘m moving in two days back to the Assisted Living Facility Jean and I lived at before moving in with John and Tonya. They require several medical tests. Here’s that story:
Right after Jean’s Memorial Service in Springfield last October 26, both of my sisters-in-law (Ruth and Doris), said the same thing to me - independently:
“Well, Myron, what are you going to do now?”
I was somewhat taken aback by both of them, and I gave them the same answer, maybe 5 minutes apart:
“I don’t know. I don’t have any other plans that I know of. We have lived with John and Tonya for over a year, and I don’t know of any reason to change.”
I mentioned this to John, and wondered if I were being presumptuous in my answer. He said, unequivocably, that they had no plans for any changes. That was comforting, and exactly what I expected from him.
Over the following 3 ½ months, the subject would come up in my mind occasionally, but until maybe a month ago, I never gave it much thought.
I remembered that we came to John and Tonya’s because of Jean’s condition - Alzheimer’s and decreased physical ability. So far, I don’t have any of those conditions or symptoms. Was there no longer a need, then, for me to take up their time, expense and living space?
Some months ago, John was asked to take on a new responsibility as President and CEO of the joint ministry of theirs, and another one in California. As John and Tonya have done for over 4 years with their own ministry, they work right here out of their home. They have become increasingly busy in the time Jean and I have been here.
From the beginning, John had an office in one of their upstairs bedrooms, in addition to another office-setting in their den.
When the new position opened up for John, he then required another office. With no other space readily available, John took up space in THEIR upstairs bedroom. The VERY FIRST thought I had then was: “John should have my bedroom for his office.”
John, however, would not hear of it! “That’s not an option, Dad”!
Back again came the previous wonderment if it were now time for me to go back on my own, thank John and Tonya for their year and a half’s hospitality, and move back to Springfield.
I mentioned my thinking to John and Tonya. They listened very patiently to what I had to say, and seemed to somewhat understand where I was coming from. They assured me that that was not necessary, and that I may stay “for the duration”, as we say.
Where would I live if I moved to Ohio? The Grand Court, the Assisted Living facility where we were before coming here, was the obvious choice. It provides complete housing, food, utilities, laundry and housekeeping services.
I will miss the added benefit of the families of two of our grandchildren and their families. They have all “taken me in” as, of course, one of the family. I shall miss them tremendously! They hugged me and prayed for me tonight!
So, since I had applied to enter The Grand Court again, I had to have this TB test, along with other health reports from my doctor, in order to be re-accepted.
The test was applied at 11 AM on Tuesday, with the result available in 48+ hours. The Nurse just inserted a needle in my left lower fore arm, and injected a fluid. She said to come back at noon on Thursday for the results.
Fine.
During the day Wednesday, I noticed a “red spot” on my left lower fore arm, where she had "shot"me. I looked up Tuberculosis on WebMd on the Internet, and it mentioned this “PPD” test, and said a positive result would result in a “red spot” on my arm.
Worrier that I am, what do you suppose I thought? I was convinced I had, or once had, or was about to have, TB. If the Facility would not accept me, where would I go, since all my things are packed up at John and Tonya's?
Though I had some things to do Wednesday afternoon to prepare for my move on Saturday, my stomach began churning, and I skipped half of lunch, and ALL of dinner.
Wednesday night, I attended the Bible Class that I have been going to steadily since last July, and seemed to feel fine. They “laid hands on me and prayed for my future.”
I arrived home at about 8:30PM amid a heavy snow storm. I greeted John and Tonya, then went to bed. I slept fitfully, waking up several times. I went to the bathroom twice.
On Thursday mornings I’ve been going to Molly’s to help with “Home Schooling”. I read to the two oldest children, and “Play Barbies” with 4 year old Mary. This time, my stomach was uneasy, and I ate only one of my fried eggs for breakfast. I called Molly and told her that I didn’t feel “up” to coming over. She understood. We planned a get together tonight before I leave.
At 11:45 - actually while Tonya was preparing lunch - I excused myself and told them I was going to the Lab. “For tests, or results?”, Tonya said. “Well, I’m going for results, and it doesn’t look good.” I showed them the red spot on my arm. John said, “Dad, I think it’s unlikely that you have Tuberculosis.” I agreed with him.
I got to the Lab 4 minutes late, and as soon as the Nurse saw me, I lifted up my sweater so she could see my arm and said, “Did you ever see something like this?” She nonchalantly said, “Oh…you’re good to go. Come on in and sign some Medicare papers.” “You mean this is normal?” “Sure. If it was positive, the spot would be swollen and look bad.”
Did I praise the Lord? You bet! But, I was ashamed that I was worried.
We’ve always said that instead of worrying, we should pray. I do both! “Why not just trust the Lord, Mike?” Well, I do, but I’m worried that His Answer might not be what I want - like NOT moving in to The Grand Court. Juvenile, right?
When our “kids” were in primary and junior Sunday School classes, they sang, and we along with them:
“Why worry, when you can pray?
Trust Jesus, He knows the way.
“Don’t be a doubting Thomas.
Rest fully on His Promise.
“Don’t worry, worry, worry, worry,
When you can pray!”
Sure!
“But my God will supply all of your needs.” Phil. 4:19
Thank God!
Dad did have some physical problems that caused him to worry. One was a cancer on the right side of his chin. It became an awful looking thing, and appeared to spread. I don’t know what his Physician said about it, but some friends (I don’t remember who) suggested he go see an unusual doctor in Columbus. I don’t for sure remember his name, but I don’t think I would list it if I did.
He visited that “Doctor”, and he gave him a can of black “salve”, as I remember it. He told him to keep the sore covered with that. He did so, and after awhile, the sore seemed to change into a black like substance, and dried up and fell off. More kept coming and falling off. I don’t remember how long he did that, but he said sometimes it felt like it was “drawing” from clear down in his throat. After some months, the sore seemed healed, and except for a natural scar, there was no evidence of the “cancer”.
In addition, Dad had some internal organ problems, but none seemed life threatening. After all, he lived to age 92! When he worried, his bald head broke out in a sweat.
Mother was one of those who “religiously”, as we say, read the Reader’s Digest. When they sold their home, there were “Digests” in the attic dated from 1938. In one of them, Mother read that some person (I don’t remember who), had accumulated several million dollars. She looked up and said, “That’s what’s wrong with America. Too many millionaires!” I was sitting there in the living room and couldn’t let that pass, so I said, “What’s the matter with accumulating wealth?” Jean said, “Forget it, Dad”, talking to me. Mother worried about things like that.
Though I don’t remember knowing of “worrying” that my sister did, but I have worried. Mostly about MY health - like Dad.
I worry more after a test of some sort that COULD reveal a serious physical problem. I just KNOW the results will be “dire”. The strange thing is, after all these years of worrying about some serious illness, looking back, none of these worries came to pass. Oh, I’ve had physical problems: blood where there should be none; appendix removed; back surgery when I could not stand up straight; upset or nauseous stomach (an antacid generally helped that); and two days ago, a TB test that I was JUST SURE was positive. (It wasn’t)
I had the “TB Test”, called a “PPD”, whatever that means, because I‘m moving in two days back to the Assisted Living Facility Jean and I lived at before moving in with John and Tonya. They require several medical tests. Here’s that story:
Right after Jean’s Memorial Service in Springfield last October 26, both of my sisters-in-law (Ruth and Doris), said the same thing to me - independently:
“Well, Myron, what are you going to do now?”
I was somewhat taken aback by both of them, and I gave them the same answer, maybe 5 minutes apart:
“I don’t know. I don’t have any other plans that I know of. We have lived with John and Tonya for over a year, and I don’t know of any reason to change.”
I mentioned this to John, and wondered if I were being presumptuous in my answer. He said, unequivocably, that they had no plans for any changes. That was comforting, and exactly what I expected from him.
Over the following 3 ½ months, the subject would come up in my mind occasionally, but until maybe a month ago, I never gave it much thought.
I remembered that we came to John and Tonya’s because of Jean’s condition - Alzheimer’s and decreased physical ability. So far, I don’t have any of those conditions or symptoms. Was there no longer a need, then, for me to take up their time, expense and living space?
Some months ago, John was asked to take on a new responsibility as President and CEO of the joint ministry of theirs, and another one in California. As John and Tonya have done for over 4 years with their own ministry, they work right here out of their home. They have become increasingly busy in the time Jean and I have been here.
From the beginning, John had an office in one of their upstairs bedrooms, in addition to another office-setting in their den.
When the new position opened up for John, he then required another office. With no other space readily available, John took up space in THEIR upstairs bedroom. The VERY FIRST thought I had then was: “John should have my bedroom for his office.”
John, however, would not hear of it! “That’s not an option, Dad”!
Back again came the previous wonderment if it were now time for me to go back on my own, thank John and Tonya for their year and a half’s hospitality, and move back to Springfield.
I mentioned my thinking to John and Tonya. They listened very patiently to what I had to say, and seemed to somewhat understand where I was coming from. They assured me that that was not necessary, and that I may stay “for the duration”, as we say.
Where would I live if I moved to Ohio? The Grand Court, the Assisted Living facility where we were before coming here, was the obvious choice. It provides complete housing, food, utilities, laundry and housekeeping services.
I will miss the added benefit of the families of two of our grandchildren and their families. They have all “taken me in” as, of course, one of the family. I shall miss them tremendously! They hugged me and prayed for me tonight!
So, since I had applied to enter The Grand Court again, I had to have this TB test, along with other health reports from my doctor, in order to be re-accepted.
The test was applied at 11 AM on Tuesday, with the result available in 48+ hours. The Nurse just inserted a needle in my left lower fore arm, and injected a fluid. She said to come back at noon on Thursday for the results.
Fine.
During the day Wednesday, I noticed a “red spot” on my left lower fore arm, where she had "shot"me. I looked up Tuberculosis on WebMd on the Internet, and it mentioned this “PPD” test, and said a positive result would result in a “red spot” on my arm.
Worrier that I am, what do you suppose I thought? I was convinced I had, or once had, or was about to have, TB. If the Facility would not accept me, where would I go, since all my things are packed up at John and Tonya's?
Though I had some things to do Wednesday afternoon to prepare for my move on Saturday, my stomach began churning, and I skipped half of lunch, and ALL of dinner.
Wednesday night, I attended the Bible Class that I have been going to steadily since last July, and seemed to feel fine. They “laid hands on me and prayed for my future.”
I arrived home at about 8:30PM amid a heavy snow storm. I greeted John and Tonya, then went to bed. I slept fitfully, waking up several times. I went to the bathroom twice.
On Thursday mornings I’ve been going to Molly’s to help with “Home Schooling”. I read to the two oldest children, and “Play Barbies” with 4 year old Mary. This time, my stomach was uneasy, and I ate only one of my fried eggs for breakfast. I called Molly and told her that I didn’t feel “up” to coming over. She understood. We planned a get together tonight before I leave.
At 11:45 - actually while Tonya was preparing lunch - I excused myself and told them I was going to the Lab. “For tests, or results?”, Tonya said. “Well, I’m going for results, and it doesn’t look good.” I showed them the red spot on my arm. John said, “Dad, I think it’s unlikely that you have Tuberculosis.” I agreed with him.
I got to the Lab 4 minutes late, and as soon as the Nurse saw me, I lifted up my sweater so she could see my arm and said, “Did you ever see something like this?” She nonchalantly said, “Oh…you’re good to go. Come on in and sign some Medicare papers.” “You mean this is normal?” “Sure. If it was positive, the spot would be swollen and look bad.”
Did I praise the Lord? You bet! But, I was ashamed that I was worried.
We’ve always said that instead of worrying, we should pray. I do both! “Why not just trust the Lord, Mike?” Well, I do, but I’m worried that His Answer might not be what I want - like NOT moving in to The Grand Court. Juvenile, right?
When our “kids” were in primary and junior Sunday School classes, they sang, and we along with them:
“Why worry, when you can pray?
Trust Jesus, He knows the way.
“Don’t be a doubting Thomas.
Rest fully on His Promise.
“Don’t worry, worry, worry, worry,
When you can pray!”
Sure!
“But my God will supply all of your needs.” Phil. 4:19
Thank God!
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Musings of a Story Teller Wannabe
Sometimes I do the craziest things!
Like, at 5 years old, putting my tongue on a frozen pump handle in the winter, just because an addle-brained friend dared me to.
Or, on the first day of school in the 3rd grade, automatically “lining up” to go into the school building at the head of the line, at the spot where I did the previous spring in the 2nd grade. Embarrassing.
Or, misspelling “embarrassing” at the end of the last sentence. (I changed it later.)
Or, making the Instructor in the Radio Repair class in Trade School (at age 18), help me get my “jerry built”, home made radio to work. (I MADE it, so I should have been able to make it work.)
Or………..like sitting at my computer RIGHT NOW at 1:37AM trying to keep my promise to myself that I will “produce” one of these postings for my “blog” every 2 or 3 days - at least, no more than 4. I got up to do this, while Carly Simon sang “My One and Only Love” from my iPod.
Why do I do these things?
The least you’d have to say is that I’m “compulsive”. Or maybe, “egotistical” - thinking I could do such a thing.
However, I’ve already written 39 of them in the last 4 months, and I must have felt that I could go on forever.
My excuse is that it wasn’t MY idea to open a “blog”. I didn’t even know what a “blog” was - except that 2 of my grandchildren have had one, and I’ve read them.
But my son said one day, “Oh Dad…..we think you should spend some of your spare time writing up a ‘blog’. You’re retired, you know, and you may need something to occupy your time.” (I think that’s what he said.)
What occupy? I read 3 books from the Library nearly every week. I send e-mails from my computer every day. I read the Bible. I pray some. I go to the store to buy some Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. (I think I’m hooked on them.) I ride around the area in my son's car, to "get a lay of the land". Go to the barber. Go to the doctor. Visit friends of 50 years ago in Shipshewana. And other things I do that are “too numerous to mention”. (Have you heard that phrase before?)
“So, I say, “How do you do that?” (Write up a blog, that is.) (In case I wanted to waste my time gabbing on the computer.) Smile! He said, “Molly would help you if you needed it, but just get on the computer and type http://mikemaddex.blogspot.com/ and see what happens.
I did that, and guess what a mess I’ve got myself into!
It’s 1:50AM now, and I’m no further along (I used to think I shouldn’t use “further” to denote distance, since the proper word is “farther”. But, I looked it up, and “further” works just as well.)
At first, these stories just seemed to float off my tongue, er, fingers. I wrote like a mad man - even putting out 2 or 3 just a day or two apart. (Can you imagine how sorry I am now that I didn’t save some of them?)
After 39 of them, I’m wrung out. (My friends: “Are you trying to tell us, Mike, that you have no more to say?”)
Not TOTALLY “wrung out”. Almost.
Whew! It’s now 2:01AM.
I could have saved the 3 stories I did on my experiences overseas during World War II, but somehow, I thought the world was just waiting to hear me tell about these things.
I HAVE heard some good comments about the stories. My granddaughter in Florida, for example: “Keep it up, Grandpa, I look at your blog every day.“ My missionary friends in Florida, who said, “But that‘s what makes you, you, Mike”. My grandchildren in this town, “I’m really glad you’re handling the blog well, Grandpa.” My former associate in Radio, who said, “Good stories, Mike.” A niece in Ohio: “Just love your fascinating stories, Uncle Myron.” My daughter-in-law: “Your blog postings are nice, Dad, especially the pictures.“ And others, who say “Oh that’s nice. What‘s a blog?” (They wouldn’t “pan” it to me, in person, would they?) At least, no one has said, “Hang it up, Mike. You’re wasting your time.” The family is supportive. (Grin)
I really do think I’ll come up with something before long. I hate to “keep my public waiting”.
Actually, it may not be so bad. I’ll bet that some day in the future, I’ll look back on this adventure and say,
“What in the world was I thinking?”
I’m going to bed. I’m not telling what time it is now, but it’s later than it was before. Also, I’m not posting this until later today, because the computer dates and times them. That way, no one will know how much time I wasted on this posting.
If they run me off the internet - so be it!
“C’est la vie”, as they say in the south of France.
Or, “C’est la guerre”, quoting Charles DeGaulle.
Or, as they say in the good old USA, “Get a life!”
Or, as my new computer said 6 months ago, after logging on so many different screens on the Internet: “Get a job!”
Somebody help me!!!
Like, at 5 years old, putting my tongue on a frozen pump handle in the winter, just because an addle-brained friend dared me to.
Or, on the first day of school in the 3rd grade, automatically “lining up” to go into the school building at the head of the line, at the spot where I did the previous spring in the 2nd grade. Embarrassing.
Or, misspelling “embarrassing” at the end of the last sentence. (I changed it later.)
Or, making the Instructor in the Radio Repair class in Trade School (at age 18), help me get my “jerry built”, home made radio to work. (I MADE it, so I should have been able to make it work.)
Or………..like sitting at my computer RIGHT NOW at 1:37AM trying to keep my promise to myself that I will “produce” one of these postings for my “blog” every 2 or 3 days - at least, no more than 4. I got up to do this, while Carly Simon sang “My One and Only Love” from my iPod.
Why do I do these things?
The least you’d have to say is that I’m “compulsive”. Or maybe, “egotistical” - thinking I could do such a thing.
However, I’ve already written 39 of them in the last 4 months, and I must have felt that I could go on forever.
My excuse is that it wasn’t MY idea to open a “blog”. I didn’t even know what a “blog” was - except that 2 of my grandchildren have had one, and I’ve read them.
But my son said one day, “Oh Dad…..we think you should spend some of your spare time writing up a ‘blog’. You’re retired, you know, and you may need something to occupy your time.” (I think that’s what he said.)
What occupy? I read 3 books from the Library nearly every week. I send e-mails from my computer every day. I read the Bible. I pray some. I go to the store to buy some Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. (I think I’m hooked on them.) I ride around the area in my son's car, to "get a lay of the land". Go to the barber. Go to the doctor. Visit friends of 50 years ago in Shipshewana. And other things I do that are “too numerous to mention”. (Have you heard that phrase before?)
“So, I say, “How do you do that?” (Write up a blog, that is.) (In case I wanted to waste my time gabbing on the computer.) Smile! He said, “Molly would help you if you needed it, but just get on the computer and type http://mikemaddex.blogspot.com/ and see what happens.
I did that, and guess what a mess I’ve got myself into!
It’s 1:50AM now, and I’m no further along (I used to think I shouldn’t use “further” to denote distance, since the proper word is “farther”. But, I looked it up, and “further” works just as well.)
At first, these stories just seemed to float off my tongue, er, fingers. I wrote like a mad man - even putting out 2 or 3 just a day or two apart. (Can you imagine how sorry I am now that I didn’t save some of them?)
After 39 of them, I’m wrung out. (My friends: “Are you trying to tell us, Mike, that you have no more to say?”)
Not TOTALLY “wrung out”. Almost.
Whew! It’s now 2:01AM.
I could have saved the 3 stories I did on my experiences overseas during World War II, but somehow, I thought the world was just waiting to hear me tell about these things.
I HAVE heard some good comments about the stories. My granddaughter in Florida, for example: “Keep it up, Grandpa, I look at your blog every day.“ My missionary friends in Florida, who said, “But that‘s what makes you, you, Mike”. My grandchildren in this town, “I’m really glad you’re handling the blog well, Grandpa.” My former associate in Radio, who said, “Good stories, Mike.” A niece in Ohio: “Just love your fascinating stories, Uncle Myron.” My daughter-in-law: “Your blog postings are nice, Dad, especially the pictures.“ And others, who say “Oh that’s nice. What‘s a blog?” (They wouldn’t “pan” it to me, in person, would they?) At least, no one has said, “Hang it up, Mike. You’re wasting your time.” The family is supportive. (Grin)
I really do think I’ll come up with something before long. I hate to “keep my public waiting”.
Actually, it may not be so bad. I’ll bet that some day in the future, I’ll look back on this adventure and say,
“What in the world was I thinking?”
I’m going to bed. I’m not telling what time it is now, but it’s later than it was before. Also, I’m not posting this until later today, because the computer dates and times them. That way, no one will know how much time I wasted on this posting.
If they run me off the internet - so be it!
“C’est la vie”, as they say in the south of France.
Or, “C’est la guerre”, quoting Charles DeGaulle.
Or, as they say in the good old USA, “Get a life!”
Or, as my new computer said 6 months ago, after logging on so many different screens on the Internet: “Get a job!”
Somebody help me!!!
Saturday, February 14, 2009
The New 1937 Ford V-8
The first car I remember my dad ever having was a 1928 Chevrolet Sedan. It was a two door model, and, I think, a kind of “greenish” color.
At about age 11 or 12, I got interested in what cars looked like, and what model year they were. I got so I could recognize just about any “ordinary” car (meaning NOT one of the expensive variety.), and the model year of them. Later on, it distressed me when most of them looked a lot alike from year to year, as well as, make to make.
They were: Ford, Chevrolet, Dodge, Plymouth, Hudson, Essex and Buick, at least. The expensive American car then, I think, was the Packard. That’s what General MacArthur rode in at Manila when I saw him, during World War II.
I remember one car’s slogan: “See the USA, in your Chevrolet!”
The first Ford I saw, of course, was the Model T. It was built like a “box”, all square corners, with a front grille that looked like an inverted “U”. Those I remember were all black. In addition, they had a crank in front - this was before the self-starter. And, a spare tire on the back. (In 1941 or ’42, I bought a Model T from my Grandpa for $25. I drove Jean to church in it, though I parked a block away, “down town”. Much to Jean’s chagrin.)
Speaking of the crank in front again, though one person COULD start the car by cranking without anyone inside, it was a lot easier if another person was in the driver’s seat. He could adjust the “throttle” and “spark” with a lever on each side of the steering wheel. Kinda like the steering wheel gear shifts in later years. A very real danger of “cranking” the Model T, was that sometimes, the car would start to “catch”, but then “backfire”, and if the crank was still engaged, it would turn the other way, and some folk got broken arms from the cranks. The crank was loose on its hinge and “hung down” when not engaged. To engage it, you had to push it toward the car and start turning it.
The cars all had “running boards”, to facilitate getting in and out of the them. They were pretty high off the ground.
The first “regular” car I remember having a gear shift on the steering wheel was the 1939 Chevrolet. There were, of course, still 3 forward gears, and one reverse. You could shift the gears without removing your hand from the steering wheel, or at least, your thumb, anyway. You could reach the lever with your fingers, leaving your thumb on the wheel, then pull it up toward you, then slide down for first gear. For second, you would push upward, let it spring down, then push upward again. For third, the shift came back toward you, in the lower position. Reverse was to lift the lever toward the wheel, then slide up.
Back in those days, there were a few cars that had front doors that opened up from the front, rather than the rear as all cars do today. I think the 1935 Chevrolet was one of those. This feature only lasted a year, though, because if the latch became loose while driving, the wind would push it to the rear, and sometimes tear it off the hinges. When opened from the rear, the wind would keep it nearly closed, even if un-latched.
Some of the “coupes” were convertible, and sometimes with a “rumble seat”.
Rumble seat.
When we all returned from the war, there were several of us couples who had not been “belled” after marriage.
New term?
A “belling”, at least in Mechanicsburg, consisted of piling the couple into the “rumble seat” of someone’s car, then all of their friends would get in their cars, form a parade, and follow them all around town, honking their horns. Depending on the leader, the speed sometimes got out of hand.
The night Jean and I were belled, there were 3 or 4 other couples who had not been “initiated” yet, so we got in two cars, I think, and joined the parade.
This night (always at night), the leader got carried away, and decided to go out of town. He want south on Main Street and out in the country toward Columbus, then turned right on Route 187. Speeding all the way. Then he turned right on the little- traveled Wren Road. Shortly, the cars all started to slow down, and stop lights could be seen coming on. The leader (I haven’t the slightest idea who it was) traveled too fast, and came up over a small hill, and left the road.
My memory tells me that though there were injuries, no one was SERIOUSLY hurt. We all piled out of the cars to see what happened.
Needless to say, we all drove slowly back into town. But, WE WERE BELLED!
In about 1935, a new family moved into town, and lived right across the street from us. It was the Snell family. They moved to Mechanicsburg from Loveland, just north of Cincinnati. The father, Roy, became the town’s Ford dealer.
They had two sons, Elmer and Donald. Elmer was maybe 5 years older than I, but Donald only a year ahead. Donald and I became friends, and when he became old enough, he got to drive one of the new Ford “Demonstrators”. That is, a car that a potential buyer could “try out” to see if he liked it. Man………was that livin’!
Liking cars so well, you can imagine my “pestering” my dad to buy a new one. A 1928 car was all of 9 years old in 1937. That was old! Are you kidding? I see cars on the road today that are a lot older than that. And, with a lot more miles. A second hand car Jean and I bought maybe three years ago (that my son is driving as a second car), now has 156,000 miles on it. It's a 1995 model! (14 years old?)
Nevertheless, my argument to Dad was that the Chevy was too old, and we needed a new car. Clyde Frost,the Chevrolet dealer in town, would have been the natural place to buy, since he was a friend. However, I knew all of the advantages of the new 1937 Ford V-8s, and “worked on” Dad to buy one of those. They had basically two models that year: the better one had 85 horsepower, and a cheaper one just 60.
I don’t actually know how I was able to convince Dad and Mother to buy a new Ford, but I did.
The one they chose was a beautiful blue 1937 Ford V-8, and had 60 horsepower. They had it delivered on my birthday on May 20 - not as a gift TO me, but BECAUSE of me. The cost was $750.
I was, as they say, “in seventh heaven”. I wasn’t old enough to drive yet, but WE HAD A NEW FORD!
I was thrilled when we drove it to church, or anyplace.
Dad had a favorite place to park when going to church, it was right on the east side of Walnut Street, the first spot off Sandusky. We ALWAYS parked there. It was almost like some folk in churches today, who ALWAYS sit in the same pew, and “woe” be to anyone who sits there instead!
This was 1937. I had just celebrated my 13th birthday. I had joined the “teenage” years.
Twelve days later, we parked at the usual spot across the street from the church, went to Sunday School and Church, then came out to drive home.
“Where’s the car?” My dad said. “Where’s my new blue Ford V-8”, I said.
It was nowhere to be found. IT HAD BEEN STOLEN. Eleven days old.
Even in those days, we had car insurance.
So, Dad reported to the police and insurance company, and we waited ANOTHER MONTH for my new car. Meanwhile, Mr. Snell let Dad drive the OLD 1928 Chevy. How humiliating!
Near July first, the Sheriff reported that the car had been found in Miamisburg, and was FILTHY inside. It had been used to haul milk, and it SMELLED. It seems to me that it had been wrecked also.
Anyway, the Insurance Company gave Dad a new blue 1937 Ford V-8, and I was mollified.
“All things come to those who wait”?'
At about age 11 or 12, I got interested in what cars looked like, and what model year they were. I got so I could recognize just about any “ordinary” car (meaning NOT one of the expensive variety.), and the model year of them. Later on, it distressed me when most of them looked a lot alike from year to year, as well as, make to make.
They were: Ford, Chevrolet, Dodge, Plymouth, Hudson, Essex and Buick, at least. The expensive American car then, I think, was the Packard. That’s what General MacArthur rode in at Manila when I saw him, during World War II.
I remember one car’s slogan: “See the USA, in your Chevrolet!”
The first Ford I saw, of course, was the Model T. It was built like a “box”, all square corners, with a front grille that looked like an inverted “U”. Those I remember were all black. In addition, they had a crank in front - this was before the self-starter. And, a spare tire on the back. (In 1941 or ’42, I bought a Model T from my Grandpa for $25. I drove Jean to church in it, though I parked a block away, “down town”. Much to Jean’s chagrin.)
Speaking of the crank in front again, though one person COULD start the car by cranking without anyone inside, it was a lot easier if another person was in the driver’s seat. He could adjust the “throttle” and “spark” with a lever on each side of the steering wheel. Kinda like the steering wheel gear shifts in later years. A very real danger of “cranking” the Model T, was that sometimes, the car would start to “catch”, but then “backfire”, and if the crank was still engaged, it would turn the other way, and some folk got broken arms from the cranks. The crank was loose on its hinge and “hung down” when not engaged. To engage it, you had to push it toward the car and start turning it.
The cars all had “running boards”, to facilitate getting in and out of the them. They were pretty high off the ground.
The first “regular” car I remember having a gear shift on the steering wheel was the 1939 Chevrolet. There were, of course, still 3 forward gears, and one reverse. You could shift the gears without removing your hand from the steering wheel, or at least, your thumb, anyway. You could reach the lever with your fingers, leaving your thumb on the wheel, then pull it up toward you, then slide down for first gear. For second, you would push upward, let it spring down, then push upward again. For third, the shift came back toward you, in the lower position. Reverse was to lift the lever toward the wheel, then slide up.
Back in those days, there were a few cars that had front doors that opened up from the front, rather than the rear as all cars do today. I think the 1935 Chevrolet was one of those. This feature only lasted a year, though, because if the latch became loose while driving, the wind would push it to the rear, and sometimes tear it off the hinges. When opened from the rear, the wind would keep it nearly closed, even if un-latched.
Some of the “coupes” were convertible, and sometimes with a “rumble seat”.
Rumble seat.
When we all returned from the war, there were several of us couples who had not been “belled” after marriage.
New term?
A “belling”, at least in Mechanicsburg, consisted of piling the couple into the “rumble seat” of someone’s car, then all of their friends would get in their cars, form a parade, and follow them all around town, honking their horns. Depending on the leader, the speed sometimes got out of hand.
The night Jean and I were belled, there were 3 or 4 other couples who had not been “initiated” yet, so we got in two cars, I think, and joined the parade.
This night (always at night), the leader got carried away, and decided to go out of town. He want south on Main Street and out in the country toward Columbus, then turned right on Route 187. Speeding all the way. Then he turned right on the little- traveled Wren Road. Shortly, the cars all started to slow down, and stop lights could be seen coming on. The leader (I haven’t the slightest idea who it was) traveled too fast, and came up over a small hill, and left the road.
My memory tells me that though there were injuries, no one was SERIOUSLY hurt. We all piled out of the cars to see what happened.
Needless to say, we all drove slowly back into town. But, WE WERE BELLED!
In about 1935, a new family moved into town, and lived right across the street from us. It was the Snell family. They moved to Mechanicsburg from Loveland, just north of Cincinnati. The father, Roy, became the town’s Ford dealer.
They had two sons, Elmer and Donald. Elmer was maybe 5 years older than I, but Donald only a year ahead. Donald and I became friends, and when he became old enough, he got to drive one of the new Ford “Demonstrators”. That is, a car that a potential buyer could “try out” to see if he liked it. Man………was that livin’!
Liking cars so well, you can imagine my “pestering” my dad to buy a new one. A 1928 car was all of 9 years old in 1937. That was old! Are you kidding? I see cars on the road today that are a lot older than that. And, with a lot more miles. A second hand car Jean and I bought maybe three years ago (that my son is driving as a second car), now has 156,000 miles on it. It's a 1995 model! (14 years old?)
Nevertheless, my argument to Dad was that the Chevy was too old, and we needed a new car. Clyde Frost,the Chevrolet dealer in town, would have been the natural place to buy, since he was a friend. However, I knew all of the advantages of the new 1937 Ford V-8s, and “worked on” Dad to buy one of those. They had basically two models that year: the better one had 85 horsepower, and a cheaper one just 60.
I don’t actually know how I was able to convince Dad and Mother to buy a new Ford, but I did.
The one they chose was a beautiful blue 1937 Ford V-8, and had 60 horsepower. They had it delivered on my birthday on May 20 - not as a gift TO me, but BECAUSE of me. The cost was $750.
I was, as they say, “in seventh heaven”. I wasn’t old enough to drive yet, but WE HAD A NEW FORD!
I was thrilled when we drove it to church, or anyplace.
Dad had a favorite place to park when going to church, it was right on the east side of Walnut Street, the first spot off Sandusky. We ALWAYS parked there. It was almost like some folk in churches today, who ALWAYS sit in the same pew, and “woe” be to anyone who sits there instead!
This was 1937. I had just celebrated my 13th birthday. I had joined the “teenage” years.
Twelve days later, we parked at the usual spot across the street from the church, went to Sunday School and Church, then came out to drive home.
“Where’s the car?” My dad said. “Where’s my new blue Ford V-8”, I said.
It was nowhere to be found. IT HAD BEEN STOLEN. Eleven days old.
Even in those days, we had car insurance.
So, Dad reported to the police and insurance company, and we waited ANOTHER MONTH for my new car. Meanwhile, Mr. Snell let Dad drive the OLD 1928 Chevy. How humiliating!
Near July first, the Sheriff reported that the car had been found in Miamisburg, and was FILTHY inside. It had been used to haul milk, and it SMELLED. It seems to me that it had been wrecked also.
Anyway, the Insurance Company gave Dad a new blue 1937 Ford V-8, and I was mollified.
“All things come to those who wait”?'
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Cigarettes
Is it possible that I can get through this posting, relating my OWN experiences, without making some one angry? I’ll say right up front that it is not my intention to raise anyone‘s temperature.
I’ve done over 35 of these blog postings, and as far as I can recall, EACH ONE has been about my own experiences. None was designed to cause rancor, resentment or to otherwise be divisive.
But, truth be known, it can’t be helped, if one insists on talking, and/or writing about, such a controversial subject.
“So”, you say, “WHY insist on writing about a controversial subject, Mike?”
Because, well, it’s a subject that has AFFECTED me seriously. I was a full-blown addict! I got so I smoked 2 or more packs a day - even after I had quit once. (Let me mention that we’re talking about 55 years ago, actually.)
My first memory of smoking was when “Googie” Culp and I went behind the barn on their lot, and lay some corn silk into a cigarette paper, lit it up, and smoked it. I say, “smoked it”. I doubt if I was REALLY smoking then, because I’m sure I wasn’t inhaling. But, it LOOKED like I was smoking. Even though “Googie” was the only one that saw me. I was, BIG, don’t you know! So I GUESS that was the big reason. What else was there? Was there enjoyment in puffing in corn silk, then blowing it out? I doubt it. Nobody but Googie saw me. But, I was an adult. (Foolish thought.)
Oh…………I didn’t mention my age. I think, 14 or 15 years old.
So, a “filling station” up the street from us (Do you know what that is? Probably not if you’re younger than 60.) sold pipe tobacco, as well as cigarettes. I don’t know where I got the pipe (probably right there), but I “secretly” bought some pipe tobacco, put it in my pipe, and “smoked” it. (Oh….a “filling station” “filled-up” cars with gasoline.)
Now, the question is, “Where did I hide the pipe, tobacco and corn silk?” In the barn, of course. If you’re going to “sneak around”, why not hide it in a barn?
If I was going to hide my pipe, tobacco and cornsilk in the barn, why not the actual cigarettes? Remember, I hadn’t actually smoked a cigarette yet.
“So, what brand did you buy, Mike”
“What do you think? The most popular brand of that day, LUCKY STRIKE, of course.” I tried CAMEL one time, but the taste was different (after I started inhaling). It was OK, but different. PHILIP MORRIS was different also, but in a different way. And, KOOLs had a kind of menthol taste.
I don’t exactly remember the first time I inhaled a cigarette, but my mind kinda makes me think of choking on a sore throat, when you cough. The first time, I really wondered if the whole thing was worth it. But, I was an “adult” now, you know.
I do think I didn’t do it many times the first day. The next time, it was a LITTLE easier, but still made me cough. Looking back now, I think, “Wasn’t that some kind of warning, Mike? Didn’t it hurt? Why put yourself through that?”
It was because I was NOW an ADULT. Ground taken, should not be relinquished!
Each day, the inhaling seemed easier, and eventually a kind of “euphoria” swept over me. “Look at me. I’m an adult. I smoke.”
Subterfuge - and that’s what it was, in keeping all of this from my mother - became almost a way of life. I felt kinda smug. I was “putting something over on her”, I thought.
“Thought” is the operative word here.
For some reason, the obvious fact that she could “smell” it on me, never occurred to me. It should have, because I could remember a few short years before that, when sitting in our “cubby hole” of a “picture show” named, “Rainbow Theater”, I could sit anyplace in that theater, and if a smoker came in, I could smell him “a mile away”, as we say. I tried to sit where they weren’t, so I couldn’t smell it. I couldn’t get away from it. (They weren’t smoking, but they HAD been.) I say, since that was so, don’t you think I would have remembered that when coming near my mother?
Not a chance.
I can’t remember very well the first time she asked me if I had been smoking. I don’t know if I lied or not. The subterfuge that I was passing along surely would have justified it, in my mind. But, she DID find out, and let me know she didn’t like it. I hope I didn’t lie and say, “I’m sorry, Mother. I’ll not do it again.” I can’t guarantee I said that, but on the other hand, I wish I had, and then kept my word!
And, if smelling it on my breath wasn’t enough, my clothes were certainly “full of it.”
At any rate, I just moved on - smoking and smoking. I think Mother finally got over it - or at least accepted it. I didn’t smoke in front of either her or my dad, nor would I bring the cigarettes in the house.
Subterfuge!
I MUST mention what cigarettes cost in those days. At Smitty’s, they were 15 cents a pack, and $1.35 for a carton of 10. I bought the carton.
Next, came the Army. The old adage that ANY former soldier could tell you is: “At ease. Smoke, if ya got ‘em.” Well, I “had ‘em” and I “smoked” ‘em.
One of the things seared in my memory of my smoking days, is the “brownish black” mark on the edge of any table where we had stood. You know, you’d “take a drag”, then lay it down - on the edge of the table. No probem, except invariably, you let it smoke down to the table before you realized it. So, you made a cigarette mark. If a guy worked at a bench (radio repairmen do) for very long, you could tell if he was a smoker, without seeing him smoke, or smelling it on his breath, by just looking at the edge of his table. Or, an ash tray, if he was careful.
After the Army, I went in the R.W. Schetter Jewelry store, and opened up the first full time radio repair shop in town. Bob had done some of it, but fixing watches was his bag.
I don’ t remember how long it was - nor how it happened - that my cigarette intake increased. Like any habit, I guess, you seem to crave even more.
In the winter of 1950, Mechanicsburg had the biggest snow storm in the memory of any one still living. The streets were covered solid with 12 to 18 inches of snow. (No snow plows back then.) I lived maybe 4 blocks away, but I couldn’t get my car away from the curb in front of the store.
There was a young lady clerk in the store, named Louise Pitzer. She lived 2 or 3 miles out of town, on a state highway. I may be mistaken, but I think she had a 1938 Ford V-8. Maybe not. Bob let her leave early.
Anyway, Bob and I tried to push her car back into the street, with the idea of her driving up the Main Street hill, and then home. Little did we know, but we tried anyway. She stayed at the Schetters’ that night.
The thing is, after pushing Louise’s car for so long, I was desperately “out of breath”, and “wheezing”. I thought (as I’ll bet nearly EVERY smoker has said at one time), “I’ve got to quit this smoking”.
So I did. I didn’t smoke any longer. I felt better. I could breathe better - for some months, I don’t know how long. But, I walked home.
But the urge was still there, and after a time, I started smoking. If you think I smoked a lot before, you should should have seen me after I started up again. Very shortly, I exceeded 2 packs a day (that’s more than 40 cigarettes), regularly!
In an earlier posting on this blog, I related how Jean and I “came to Christ” - became Christians. We “got saved”, as we like to say in our circles.
About a month later, we had a city wide Evangelistic Crusade in Springfield, 18 miles from Mechanicsburg. Since my sister and brother-in-law had “led us to Christ”, they got us involved in the meetings, at Memorial Hall in Springfield (Building now condemned).
Right now, my mind is foggy about even the name of the Preacher, or the subject of the message, but I DO remember that I surrendered my life to Christ, for whatever He wanted me to do.
At the time, Christians in the northern part of the USA, looked down on smoking, as a sin against the body. In the south, however, it was an OK thing. Even many of those coming north, but attending churches originating in the south, smoked.
However, when I got home in Mechanicsburg that night, after surrendering my life AND body to Christ, I told Jean, “You know, I think I’m done with cigarettes. They’ve never done anything but harm my body.”
I went into the bedroom, opened up the top drawer of the chest of drawers, and slid the pack of Lucky Strikes down into the right front corner of that drawer, and now, after 57 years, I can say I have NEVER tasted ANY form of smoke or tobacco. I’ve never even had an urge to do so. Don’t ask me how it happened, since so many CAN’T quit. But it did. For years, I dreamed I had started smoking again, and I sometimes woke up in a sweat. But, NEVER SMOKED!
As a final thought after all these years, I have become convinced that, if I hadn't quit, I would have been dead 35 years ago, at the age of 50, instead of reaching, by the Grace of God, the age of 85 in 3 months, God Willing.
“….know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit, …and that you are not your own, …you are bought with a price?” I Cor. 6:19
Wow!
I’ve done over 35 of these blog postings, and as far as I can recall, EACH ONE has been about my own experiences. None was designed to cause rancor, resentment or to otherwise be divisive.
But, truth be known, it can’t be helped, if one insists on talking, and/or writing about, such a controversial subject.
“So”, you say, “WHY insist on writing about a controversial subject, Mike?”
Because, well, it’s a subject that has AFFECTED me seriously. I was a full-blown addict! I got so I smoked 2 or more packs a day - even after I had quit once. (Let me mention that we’re talking about 55 years ago, actually.)
My first memory of smoking was when “Googie” Culp and I went behind the barn on their lot, and lay some corn silk into a cigarette paper, lit it up, and smoked it. I say, “smoked it”. I doubt if I was REALLY smoking then, because I’m sure I wasn’t inhaling. But, it LOOKED like I was smoking. Even though “Googie” was the only one that saw me. I was, BIG, don’t you know! So I GUESS that was the big reason. What else was there? Was there enjoyment in puffing in corn silk, then blowing it out? I doubt it. Nobody but Googie saw me. But, I was an adult. (Foolish thought.)
Oh…………I didn’t mention my age. I think, 14 or 15 years old.
So, a “filling station” up the street from us (Do you know what that is? Probably not if you’re younger than 60.) sold pipe tobacco, as well as cigarettes. I don’t know where I got the pipe (probably right there), but I “secretly” bought some pipe tobacco, put it in my pipe, and “smoked” it. (Oh….a “filling station” “filled-up” cars with gasoline.)
Now, the question is, “Where did I hide the pipe, tobacco and corn silk?” In the barn, of course. If you’re going to “sneak around”, why not hide it in a barn?
If I was going to hide my pipe, tobacco and cornsilk in the barn, why not the actual cigarettes? Remember, I hadn’t actually smoked a cigarette yet.
“So, what brand did you buy, Mike”
“What do you think? The most popular brand of that day, LUCKY STRIKE, of course.” I tried CAMEL one time, but the taste was different (after I started inhaling). It was OK, but different. PHILIP MORRIS was different also, but in a different way. And, KOOLs had a kind of menthol taste.
I don’t exactly remember the first time I inhaled a cigarette, but my mind kinda makes me think of choking on a sore throat, when you cough. The first time, I really wondered if the whole thing was worth it. But, I was an “adult” now, you know.
I do think I didn’t do it many times the first day. The next time, it was a LITTLE easier, but still made me cough. Looking back now, I think, “Wasn’t that some kind of warning, Mike? Didn’t it hurt? Why put yourself through that?”
It was because I was NOW an ADULT. Ground taken, should not be relinquished!
Each day, the inhaling seemed easier, and eventually a kind of “euphoria” swept over me. “Look at me. I’m an adult. I smoke.”
Subterfuge - and that’s what it was, in keeping all of this from my mother - became almost a way of life. I felt kinda smug. I was “putting something over on her”, I thought.
“Thought” is the operative word here.
For some reason, the obvious fact that she could “smell” it on me, never occurred to me. It should have, because I could remember a few short years before that, when sitting in our “cubby hole” of a “picture show” named, “Rainbow Theater”, I could sit anyplace in that theater, and if a smoker came in, I could smell him “a mile away”, as we say. I tried to sit where they weren’t, so I couldn’t smell it. I couldn’t get away from it. (They weren’t smoking, but they HAD been.) I say, since that was so, don’t you think I would have remembered that when coming near my mother?
Not a chance.
I can’t remember very well the first time she asked me if I had been smoking. I don’t know if I lied or not. The subterfuge that I was passing along surely would have justified it, in my mind. But, she DID find out, and let me know she didn’t like it. I hope I didn’t lie and say, “I’m sorry, Mother. I’ll not do it again.” I can’t guarantee I said that, but on the other hand, I wish I had, and then kept my word!
And, if smelling it on my breath wasn’t enough, my clothes were certainly “full of it.”
At any rate, I just moved on - smoking and smoking. I think Mother finally got over it - or at least accepted it. I didn’t smoke in front of either her or my dad, nor would I bring the cigarettes in the house.
Subterfuge!
I MUST mention what cigarettes cost in those days. At Smitty’s, they were 15 cents a pack, and $1.35 for a carton of 10. I bought the carton.
Next, came the Army. The old adage that ANY former soldier could tell you is: “At ease. Smoke, if ya got ‘em.” Well, I “had ‘em” and I “smoked” ‘em.
One of the things seared in my memory of my smoking days, is the “brownish black” mark on the edge of any table where we had stood. You know, you’d “take a drag”, then lay it down - on the edge of the table. No probem, except invariably, you let it smoke down to the table before you realized it. So, you made a cigarette mark. If a guy worked at a bench (radio repairmen do) for very long, you could tell if he was a smoker, without seeing him smoke, or smelling it on his breath, by just looking at the edge of his table. Or, an ash tray, if he was careful.
After the Army, I went in the R.W. Schetter Jewelry store, and opened up the first full time radio repair shop in town. Bob had done some of it, but fixing watches was his bag.
I don’ t remember how long it was - nor how it happened - that my cigarette intake increased. Like any habit, I guess, you seem to crave even more.
In the winter of 1950, Mechanicsburg had the biggest snow storm in the memory of any one still living. The streets were covered solid with 12 to 18 inches of snow. (No snow plows back then.) I lived maybe 4 blocks away, but I couldn’t get my car away from the curb in front of the store.
There was a young lady clerk in the store, named Louise Pitzer. She lived 2 or 3 miles out of town, on a state highway. I may be mistaken, but I think she had a 1938 Ford V-8. Maybe not. Bob let her leave early.
Anyway, Bob and I tried to push her car back into the street, with the idea of her driving up the Main Street hill, and then home. Little did we know, but we tried anyway. She stayed at the Schetters’ that night.
The thing is, after pushing Louise’s car for so long, I was desperately “out of breath”, and “wheezing”. I thought (as I’ll bet nearly EVERY smoker has said at one time), “I’ve got to quit this smoking”.
So I did. I didn’t smoke any longer. I felt better. I could breathe better - for some months, I don’t know how long. But, I walked home.
But the urge was still there, and after a time, I started smoking. If you think I smoked a lot before, you should should have seen me after I started up again. Very shortly, I exceeded 2 packs a day (that’s more than 40 cigarettes), regularly!
In an earlier posting on this blog, I related how Jean and I “came to Christ” - became Christians. We “got saved”, as we like to say in our circles.
About a month later, we had a city wide Evangelistic Crusade in Springfield, 18 miles from Mechanicsburg. Since my sister and brother-in-law had “led us to Christ”, they got us involved in the meetings, at Memorial Hall in Springfield (Building now condemned).
Right now, my mind is foggy about even the name of the Preacher, or the subject of the message, but I DO remember that I surrendered my life to Christ, for whatever He wanted me to do.
At the time, Christians in the northern part of the USA, looked down on smoking, as a sin against the body. In the south, however, it was an OK thing. Even many of those coming north, but attending churches originating in the south, smoked.
However, when I got home in Mechanicsburg that night, after surrendering my life AND body to Christ, I told Jean, “You know, I think I’m done with cigarettes. They’ve never done anything but harm my body.”
I went into the bedroom, opened up the top drawer of the chest of drawers, and slid the pack of Lucky Strikes down into the right front corner of that drawer, and now, after 57 years, I can say I have NEVER tasted ANY form of smoke or tobacco. I’ve never even had an urge to do so. Don’t ask me how it happened, since so many CAN’T quit. But it did. For years, I dreamed I had started smoking again, and I sometimes woke up in a sweat. But, NEVER SMOKED!
As a final thought after all these years, I have become convinced that, if I hadn't quit, I would have been dead 35 years ago, at the age of 50, instead of reaching, by the Grace of God, the age of 85 in 3 months, God Willing.
“….know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit, …and that you are not your own, …you are bought with a price?” I Cor. 6:19
Wow!
Saturday, February 7, 2009
iPod for a Senior
Seven or eight months ago, I asked my son if he could suggest some way for me to be able to listen to Bible Readings while walking or riding in the car. Especially if I’m driving.
He said “Sure. You need either an MP3 player or an iPod.”
“Say what?”
He replied, “You know, what you see all the teenagers wear in their ears as they walk around.”
“In their ears?”
“Sure! You have to buy either one of those items I just mentioned, then go to your computer and download iTunes from the Internet. Those ear pieces are little speakers that will play into your ears, whatever you record on the iPod.”
“Right. What’s an iPod?”
“Go to an electronics store and buy one of the items mentioned, hook it up to your computer, then download Scriptures, Songs, Videos, Podcasts, etc. from iTunes.”
So, intrepid Senior Citizen that I am, I GO to the store.
I say, “I need either an MP3 player, or an iPod. Can you help me?”
He says, “Of course I can help you. Is the Pope Catholic?”
(Little joke there)
So, this guy takes me to the department for such things and I don’t know what I’m doing. I told the guy what I wanted to do, and he said,
“Want to download music also?” “Uh, yeah. Can I do it?”
We then try to figure out how much memory I might need in the iPod.
I call my son. He says, “Be sure to get one that will download from iTunes.”
“Right. But, how much memory?”
“Depends on how much you want to download.”
When the salesman hears “iTunes”, he says,
“Over here are some iPods that have 4 gigabyes of memory, or even 8 gigabytes of memory, and they‘ll work with iTunes.”
“Right. Let’s get the 8, OK?”
“Right over here. Take this one to the check out, for about $150.”
Gulp!
So I say, “Hey, let’s go for it!”
That’s how I got my iPod. I could have had the 4 for $100, but I got the “better deal”.
So, I bring the iPod home, and my son shows me how to download iTunes on my computer. We plug in my iPod, pick some Scripture portions from the Internet and download them, along with some music from the iTunes Store (you have to pay for the music and some of the Podcasts), along with some songs from a CD in the computer, and I’m in business.
This description IS rather simplified, in that there are some set up items that have to be done, the instructions are fairly clear. (At least to my son.)
Later, he showed me how to “dub” music from any CD’s I have, upload them to the computer, then download to the iPod. Upload? Download? What do I know?
So far, I’ve downloaded the books of John, The Acts, Romans, Galatians, Ephesians and about 10 Psalms, 16 Podcasts, PLUS over 650 songs.
Guess how much memory I have left? 5 Gigabytes.
I’ve got room for some Audio Books, too, it seems to me.
Somebody said I should be able to get the whole Bible on 8 Gigabytes. I don’t know.
Let me tell you what I do with my iPod:
1. When my wife was in the Emergency Room for the last time, during her last couple hours of life here on earth, I placed the little ear plugs in her ears, and played Gospel songs for her, over and over, until she died. The nurse said she seemed so much quieter when she heard that music.
I’d also been whispering in her ear how much I loved her. Then, the Nurse said, “Did you hear that? She said , ‘I love you’”. I heard the words, but couldn’t distinguish them as well as the Nurse could. Those were the last words my wife said on this earth.
2. Every night after I get in bed, I put the ear pieces in my ears, turn off the lights, and listen to some of the music and scripture before I go to sleep. I have done so as long as 3 hours.
3. I have the iPod in my pocket at all times, and when I am someplace where I have to wait on someone, or on some service (like car repair), I take out the iPod and ear pieces and listen. No one else can hear.
4. Last fall, I went to one of the local high school football games by myself. I went early (as I ALWAYS do), and while the teams were “warming up”, I listened to music on my iPod.
5. et al.
Since I’m 84, you ought to hear some of the comments from people when they see me wearing those ear pieces. (My son said, “Dad, you look like a teenager.”)
Other people see me with them, or even with my BlackBerry Smart Phone accessing the Internet, and they say, “Boy, you’re up to date. I don’t even have any of those.” (Commenting on my age actually. It doesn’t bother me.)
Now……..if I could just get it to make my bed. (I thought maybe either Elijah’s or Benjamin’s Robots could do it, but to no avail.)
Or give me a shower, or brush my teeth? I’m an up-to-date kind of guy (I didn’t want to use “intrepid” again so soon.) Maybe there’s a “gadget” that’ll drive the car. (I’ll bet John would just LOVE seeing me drive his car down the street - in the back seat.)
Oh……I forgot.
A part of the iPod phenomena is that all those 600 or 700 different songs or Bible chapters can be played right off the iTunes, without the iPod being connected. (I wish I had known that before I bought the “dock”.) Coulda saved me maybe $30.
Nothing like keeping an old guy like me busy!
He said “Sure. You need either an MP3 player or an iPod.”
“Say what?”
He replied, “You know, what you see all the teenagers wear in their ears as they walk around.”
“In their ears?”
“Sure! You have to buy either one of those items I just mentioned, then go to your computer and download iTunes from the Internet. Those ear pieces are little speakers that will play into your ears, whatever you record on the iPod.”
“Right. What’s an iPod?”
“Go to an electronics store and buy one of the items mentioned, hook it up to your computer, then download Scriptures, Songs, Videos, Podcasts, etc. from iTunes.”
So, intrepid Senior Citizen that I am, I GO to the store.
I say, “I need either an MP3 player, or an iPod. Can you help me?”
He says, “Of course I can help you. Is the Pope Catholic?”
(Little joke there)
So, this guy takes me to the department for such things and I don’t know what I’m doing. I told the guy what I wanted to do, and he said,
“Want to download music also?” “Uh, yeah. Can I do it?”
We then try to figure out how much memory I might need in the iPod.
I call my son. He says, “Be sure to get one that will download from iTunes.”
“Right. But, how much memory?”
“Depends on how much you want to download.”
When the salesman hears “iTunes”, he says,
“Over here are some iPods that have 4 gigabyes of memory, or even 8 gigabytes of memory, and they‘ll work with iTunes.”
“Right. Let’s get the 8, OK?”
“Right over here. Take this one to the check out, for about $150.”
Gulp!
So I say, “Hey, let’s go for it!”
That’s how I got my iPod. I could have had the 4 for $100, but I got the “better deal”.
So, I bring the iPod home, and my son shows me how to download iTunes on my computer. We plug in my iPod, pick some Scripture portions from the Internet and download them, along with some music from the iTunes Store (you have to pay for the music and some of the Podcasts), along with some songs from a CD in the computer, and I’m in business.
This description IS rather simplified, in that there are some set up items that have to be done, the instructions are fairly clear. (At least to my son.)
Later, he showed me how to “dub” music from any CD’s I have, upload them to the computer, then download to the iPod. Upload? Download? What do I know?
So far, I’ve downloaded the books of John, The Acts, Romans, Galatians, Ephesians and about 10 Psalms, 16 Podcasts, PLUS over 650 songs.
Guess how much memory I have left? 5 Gigabytes.
I’ve got room for some Audio Books, too, it seems to me.
Somebody said I should be able to get the whole Bible on 8 Gigabytes. I don’t know.
Let me tell you what I do with my iPod:
1. When my wife was in the Emergency Room for the last time, during her last couple hours of life here on earth, I placed the little ear plugs in her ears, and played Gospel songs for her, over and over, until she died. The nurse said she seemed so much quieter when she heard that music.
I’d also been whispering in her ear how much I loved her. Then, the Nurse said, “Did you hear that? She said , ‘I love you’”. I heard the words, but couldn’t distinguish them as well as the Nurse could. Those were the last words my wife said on this earth.
2. Every night after I get in bed, I put the ear pieces in my ears, turn off the lights, and listen to some of the music and scripture before I go to sleep. I have done so as long as 3 hours.
3. I have the iPod in my pocket at all times, and when I am someplace where I have to wait on someone, or on some service (like car repair), I take out the iPod and ear pieces and listen. No one else can hear.
4. Last fall, I went to one of the local high school football games by myself. I went early (as I ALWAYS do), and while the teams were “warming up”, I listened to music on my iPod.
5. et al.
Since I’m 84, you ought to hear some of the comments from people when they see me wearing those ear pieces. (My son said, “Dad, you look like a teenager.”)
Other people see me with them, or even with my BlackBerry Smart Phone accessing the Internet, and they say, “Boy, you’re up to date. I don’t even have any of those.” (Commenting on my age actually. It doesn’t bother me.)
Now……..if I could just get it to make my bed. (I thought maybe either Elijah’s or Benjamin’s Robots could do it, but to no avail.)
Or give me a shower, or brush my teeth? I’m an up-to-date kind of guy (I didn’t want to use “intrepid” again so soon.) Maybe there’s a “gadget” that’ll drive the car. (I’ll bet John would just LOVE seeing me drive his car down the street - in the back seat.)
Oh……I forgot.
A part of the iPod phenomena is that all those 600 or 700 different songs or Bible chapters can be played right off the iTunes, without the iPod being connected. (I wish I had known that before I bought the “dock”.) Coulda saved me maybe $30.
Nothing like keeping an old guy like me busy!
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
New Orleans
In an earlier posting, I mentioned that after being drafted into the Army in 1943, Jean Anderson and I were married, after about a 2 year courtship.
Since I had been working at Patterson Field in Ohio (now WPAFB) in the Airborne Radio Repair shop, the Signal Officer requested that I be returned to Patterson, and placed in the Signal Corps, attached to the Air Corps.
When it came time for me to join a unit, I was transferred to New Orleans and the 897th Signal Company Depot Aviation. The “Signal” part referred to my radio work; “Depot” referred to a part of our outfit that did warehouse and storage work. “Aviation” referred to our connection to the Air Corps - installing and repairing radios for airplanes. This type of outfit would be called Air Force today.
On arrival in New Orleans, two other men and I joined the 897th. We were stationed just outside the City, and fairly near Lake Pontchartrain.
Our training there was basically preparing us for our work overseas. We didn’t do any “radio” work there - only learning how to cope with being in a foreign country, as US Soldiers. We did learn some new radio gear, and how to maintain them.
Having once got settled there, it became possible for my new wife to join me for a visit. No promise was made for how long that would be, but Jean had arranged it anyway.
Jean and my sister Miriam got on a Greyhound Bus and headed for New Orleans. I had arranged for a Hotel room for them for the week-end, at least.
When they arrived, I was able to meet them, and take them to the Hotel. We got a room for them, and I indicated that, for now, I could just be with them for the week-end. We all three slept in that one room - me on the floor.
On Monday morning, I went back to the Base, and discovered that I was among a group that was to go to Mobile AL for some weeks for training on a piece of radio equipment. I could only go back to the Hotel to tell Jean and Miriam that I couldn’t see them anymore - for a time.
They got on the Bus for Springfield OH, from which they had just departed a few days before.
I went back to the Base, and shortly joined about 10 other men for the trip to Mobile. We were expected to stay only a few weeks.
After the training was ended, we returned to New Orleans, and I called Jean to tell her she should come back down by herself, and stay as long as I was in New Orleans.
She did that, and we secured a one-room apartment on Canal Street in New Orleans, at what would now be called a “ridiculously low” sum of money.
I don’t recall how long we had there, but it must have been at least a month. We had a wonderful time with each other, and with visiting the “sights” of New Orleans, including Bourbon Street of nefarious reputation, that didn’t affect us at all.
We also went swimming in a below ground pool there, and the water was so warm, you almost thought it was heated. It was so humid that our stamps would stick together. We learned to separate them.
While there, we had our first “month-i-versary”celebration, and our land lady baked us a cake. Since we didn’t eat all of it, what was left was put on the top of a chest of drawers. The next morning, all we could see were ants all over it.
The time finally came when our orders were secured, so Jean went back home. But, in just a few short days, I was given a 30 day furlough prior to leaving for overseas. So, I went home for that time.
When the 30 days were over, I got back on the bus and headed south. Around the last of September 1943, we were loaded onto a “Troop Train”, with blinds on the windows, and headed for Newport News, Virginia. Along the way, though the train had to stop some, we were not permitted to even look outside, lest someone would recognize that we were transporting troops to the East Coast.
The train trip took several days, as I remember it. But we finally arrived, to then be loaded onto the Troop Ship, the USS General John Pope. While the ship was still in the harbor, all of us had to remain below deck, to hide the fact that we were troops.
Of course, leaving the East Coast, we assumed we were going to Europe. But, after we were out in open waters, with no land in sight, we were permitted to come top-side and see that we were sailing south.
We ended up going through the Panama Canal, which I have described earlier.
I don’t want to leave New Orleans without relating a rather sad story about a man who was inducted with me, went to the Reception Center with me, and then to New Orleans with the 897th.
For some reason, he was assigned a job in the Company Commander’s office. He had access to all of the troop movements of our company - along with the 898th and 899th companies.
Whether it was a “fear” of going overseas, or just what, we were never able to discover. But, he began, surreptitiously, to investigate the various troops and companies he found in the records. He apparently found the access too much to resist, and, thinking he could arrange a transfer for himself out of either of the three companies going overseas, he did just that. He felt he was destined to stay “stateside”. In addition, he took a couple of others with him, for safety.
We never knew what or how it happened - only that he had been “found out”, was court-martialed - along with his cohorts, and the next time we saw him was when he was marching within the confines of the “brig”, I suppose it was called, carrying his rifle on his shoulder, looking neither left nor right. We saw him, but ostensibly, he never saw us.
Very sad.
Fast forward to the end of the Japanese War. We were on a troop ship, I think returning home, (I thought we flew. But now I think it was on a ship.) Anyway, some of us were in the Radio Room, and heard some Ham Radio Operators communicating back and forth, and lo and behold, there was our “brig” friend who had apparently been sent overseas after all, and set up a clandestine radio station for the Ham bands. There were dozens of them - all illegal until the war was Officially over.
All Amateur radio activity had been banned by the Government “for the duration”. With the war now over, the Hams could operate legally, but not with the bogus call sign they were using. They assumed they would not be prosecuted since the Japanese had surrendered.
I had no further contact with him, but I understand he returned home when all the rest of us did. What he did after New Orleans, I have not the slightest idea.
I always felt sorry for him. He was a real nice guy, with great electronic talent. But, temptation was just too much for him.
There, but by the Grace of God, go I.
I Corinthians 15:10 “………by the grace of God, I am what I am.”
Since I had been working at Patterson Field in Ohio (now WPAFB) in the Airborne Radio Repair shop, the Signal Officer requested that I be returned to Patterson, and placed in the Signal Corps, attached to the Air Corps.
When it came time for me to join a unit, I was transferred to New Orleans and the 897th Signal Company Depot Aviation. The “Signal” part referred to my radio work; “Depot” referred to a part of our outfit that did warehouse and storage work. “Aviation” referred to our connection to the Air Corps - installing and repairing radios for airplanes. This type of outfit would be called Air Force today.
On arrival in New Orleans, two other men and I joined the 897th. We were stationed just outside the City, and fairly near Lake Pontchartrain.
Our training there was basically preparing us for our work overseas. We didn’t do any “radio” work there - only learning how to cope with being in a foreign country, as US Soldiers. We did learn some new radio gear, and how to maintain them.
Having once got settled there, it became possible for my new wife to join me for a visit. No promise was made for how long that would be, but Jean had arranged it anyway.
Jean and my sister Miriam got on a Greyhound Bus and headed for New Orleans. I had arranged for a Hotel room for them for the week-end, at least.
When they arrived, I was able to meet them, and take them to the Hotel. We got a room for them, and I indicated that, for now, I could just be with them for the week-end. We all three slept in that one room - me on the floor.
On Monday morning, I went back to the Base, and discovered that I was among a group that was to go to Mobile AL for some weeks for training on a piece of radio equipment. I could only go back to the Hotel to tell Jean and Miriam that I couldn’t see them anymore - for a time.
They got on the Bus for Springfield OH, from which they had just departed a few days before.
I went back to the Base, and shortly joined about 10 other men for the trip to Mobile. We were expected to stay only a few weeks.
After the training was ended, we returned to New Orleans, and I called Jean to tell her she should come back down by herself, and stay as long as I was in New Orleans.
She did that, and we secured a one-room apartment on Canal Street in New Orleans, at what would now be called a “ridiculously low” sum of money.
I don’t recall how long we had there, but it must have been at least a month. We had a wonderful time with each other, and with visiting the “sights” of New Orleans, including Bourbon Street of nefarious reputation, that didn’t affect us at all.
We also went swimming in a below ground pool there, and the water was so warm, you almost thought it was heated. It was so humid that our stamps would stick together. We learned to separate them.
While there, we had our first “month-i-versary”celebration, and our land lady baked us a cake. Since we didn’t eat all of it, what was left was put on the top of a chest of drawers. The next morning, all we could see were ants all over it.
The time finally came when our orders were secured, so Jean went back home. But, in just a few short days, I was given a 30 day furlough prior to leaving for overseas. So, I went home for that time.
When the 30 days were over, I got back on the bus and headed south. Around the last of September 1943, we were loaded onto a “Troop Train”, with blinds on the windows, and headed for Newport News, Virginia. Along the way, though the train had to stop some, we were not permitted to even look outside, lest someone would recognize that we were transporting troops to the East Coast.
The train trip took several days, as I remember it. But we finally arrived, to then be loaded onto the Troop Ship, the USS General John Pope. While the ship was still in the harbor, all of us had to remain below deck, to hide the fact that we were troops.
Of course, leaving the East Coast, we assumed we were going to Europe. But, after we were out in open waters, with no land in sight, we were permitted to come top-side and see that we were sailing south.
We ended up going through the Panama Canal, which I have described earlier.
I don’t want to leave New Orleans without relating a rather sad story about a man who was inducted with me, went to the Reception Center with me, and then to New Orleans with the 897th.
For some reason, he was assigned a job in the Company Commander’s office. He had access to all of the troop movements of our company - along with the 898th and 899th companies.
Whether it was a “fear” of going overseas, or just what, we were never able to discover. But, he began, surreptitiously, to investigate the various troops and companies he found in the records. He apparently found the access too much to resist, and, thinking he could arrange a transfer for himself out of either of the three companies going overseas, he did just that. He felt he was destined to stay “stateside”. In addition, he took a couple of others with him, for safety.
We never knew what or how it happened - only that he had been “found out”, was court-martialed - along with his cohorts, and the next time we saw him was when he was marching within the confines of the “brig”, I suppose it was called, carrying his rifle on his shoulder, looking neither left nor right. We saw him, but ostensibly, he never saw us.
Very sad.
Fast forward to the end of the Japanese War. We were on a troop ship, I think returning home, (I thought we flew. But now I think it was on a ship.) Anyway, some of us were in the Radio Room, and heard some Ham Radio Operators communicating back and forth, and lo and behold, there was our “brig” friend who had apparently been sent overseas after all, and set up a clandestine radio station for the Ham bands. There were dozens of them - all illegal until the war was Officially over.
All Amateur radio activity had been banned by the Government “for the duration”. With the war now over, the Hams could operate legally, but not with the bogus call sign they were using. They assumed they would not be prosecuted since the Japanese had surrendered.
I had no further contact with him, but I understand he returned home when all the rest of us did. What he did after New Orleans, I have not the slightest idea.
I always felt sorry for him. He was a real nice guy, with great electronic talent. But, temptation was just too much for him.
There, but by the Grace of God, go I.
I Corinthians 15:10 “………by the grace of God, I am what I am.”
Sunday, February 1, 2009
South Shore
Though it has been 44 years since we lived in Chicago, I have maintained a strange fascination with the South Shore Train, that runs from downtown Chicago, east to South Bend.
Growing up in a farming community in central Ohio, I had always heard and read about these “commuter trains”, that bring “suburban” residents into the “City”. Most ride those trains, I think, to get from home to work. But, not only workers ride them - housewives, students, visiting relatives and a lot of other types of folk do also. (As well as inquisitive Senior Citizens like me.)
Since I’m an avid reader, I recall MANY instances where the author refers to one of his characters as “taking the 6:17”, or having the character’s wife meet him at the “5:49” with the car to take him home.
Many of these stories were located in the New York and suburban area, but there are sizable numbers of “commuters” to London, Chicago, Boston, Los Angeles, Paris and other “large” metropolitan areas as well.
When we first moved to Chicago in 1954, my sister and her family lived in West Chicago, a “suburban wannabe” west of Wheaton - though just a short driving distance from the Chicago Northwestern train station there.
Occasionally, we stayed over several nights with them (they had two boys near our kids’ ages.) When we did so, I still had to be at “work” (a term I hate when referring to my participation in the ministry), so I drove to Wheaton, got on the CNW train at about 6 AM, and rode to Chicago, then took the EL to Moody - arriving before 8:00.
At maybe 5 PM, it was back to the train again, arriving at West Chicago at nearly 7:00.
What a waste of time! But………..not for everyone!
I’m told that, on the “commute” back and forth between Chicago and Wheaton in those days, Ken Taylor, Director of Moody Press, translated the New Testament into what was eventually the “Good News for Modern Man” I remember seeing him on that train. ( So, THAT’S what he was doing!)
When we lived in Chicago, it was on the North Side. We had no contact with any train that ran from the “Loop”, south past the suburbs, then east along the southern edge of Lake Michigan, to South Bend, IN.
I KNEW some folk who rode the South Shore. Some of my fellow workers, in fact. They also had to take the EL to Moody, a mile or so north, or else walk the whole distance.
In fact, after we moved to Ohio, but visited family in Chicago, I heard that one of the on-air personalities on WMBI lived “way down” in Northern Indiana, and of all things, took the South Shore every day. When driving back to Ohio, we would drive along that track for some time, and I always marveled at the fact that he took that train, EVERY DAY.
But, such is “suburban living”.
Wonder of wonders - I discovered that it was an ELECTRIC train. Memories of my childhood and my “Lionel” Electric Train. (No third rail, though. It ran like a “trolley”. Still does.)
The South Shore is properly called the “Northern Indiana Commuter Transportation District” (NICTD, for short), and though I always assumed their offices were in Chicago, in fact, they are a short distance from a scenic little town - with offices at one of the “stops” on the South Shore, called “Dune Park”.
When we moved in 2007 to a spot not many miles from the South Shore, I regained my interest and enthusiasm for it. Though my wife Jean was in a wheel chair, I wanted us to ride that train just once, for the first time since my early knowledge of it. I even drove with her along US 12 to watch the train go by, and once, stopped at a station called “Beverly Shores”,
to again observe the train, and go into the station. Since we both grew up in a small town, we were enthralled. (Does that make us “hicks”?
The train does have facilities for wheel chairs, but before I could arrange for her and me to ride the train together, she entered a Nursing Home, never to return. She went to be with the Lord on October 19, 2008. What a love we had for each other!
My first ride on the South Shore was to South Bend, to then take a plane to Florida in order to visit our granddaughters, whom we hadn’t seen for five years. Thrill!
Coming back, though, I ALMOST got stuck on the train at our station, since I didn’t know which door would open to get out. There are sometimes as many as eight cars. I looked out the window and saw my son searching for me. Finally, I had enough presence of mind to ask the Conductor (It’s a “guy” thing not to) which door was open. Since then, when I surrender my ticket, or pay my fare, I ask which door will open at my stop. I sit near that one! (I did that today!)
An official at Northern Indiana Commuter Transportation District has supplied me with some historic, and other interesting material. Actually, it’s a large, 3-column, small type document, on and 8 ½ X 11 sheet. I think I can condense it, giving the gist of the history.
What is now called the South Shore, began in 1903 as “The Chicago & Indiana Air Line Railway” - consisting of basically a “street car” between Indiana Harbor and East Chicago - all in Indiana, of course.
Then, in 1908, the name shortened to Lake Shore, it ran 68.9 miles from Hammond to South Bend. It included trains every two hours from Michigan City to SB. By 1909 they provided service to Pullman, Illinois, with a chance to change trains for downtown Chicago.
In reading the history, one can see several financial difficulties, including some bankruptcies.
In June 1925, Samuel Insull bought the railroad at an auction, and began modernizing and updating the system - moving from an AC power system, to the current 1500 volt DC system. This permitted the South Shore trains to “operate directly and continuously over the trackage of the Illinois Central Railroad from Kensington to downtown Chicago, helping assure the South Shore’s long term survival.” (South Shore history) Freight business was added for additional revenue.
Financial reversals continued, however, until 1938, when it began operating profitably.
During World War II, heady days arrived - including defense workers like “Rosie the Riveter” riding the South Shore to their necessary jobs.
Urban development after the war, brought out more automobiles, and fewer folk “riding the train” to work. “Each new highway in the area led to additional drops in ridership”. Losses were such, that in 1976, “the South Shore asked the Interstate Commerce Commission (ICC) for a total discontinuance of the passenger service.”
Thankfullly, the “ICC delayed approving the cessation of service to allow the State of Indiana to develop a solution to the problem of the South Shore passenger service.” The state acted and “created the Northern Indiana Commuter Transportation District (NICTD)” to help. It provided annual grants. But by 1988, bankruptcy came up again.
In 1990, NICTD actually “purchased passenger assets from the bankruptcy court” and “with the help of the State of Indiana and the Federal Government, NICTD was able to purchase the track and right-of-way.”
NICTD now operates the South Shore as a public service for the residents of Northwest Indiana. It provides “an alternative, reliable form of transportation to get to jobs, schools, museums, and recreational opportunities found in the City of Chicago.” (And, an easy way for me to get to South Bend to take a plane or bus - without driving.)
Know more than you did before? I’ll bet - whether you wanted to or not. Right?
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