Memories of the long ago

It was last night I stumbled onto a movie that has caused me to get up in the very early hours remembering some of the thoughts of the nostalgia of my early days. It was about baseball and I was drawn back to the days when  thoughts of a career in the national game were on my mind. You know, some kids want to be firemen, soldiers or pilots. I wanted to be a ball player. At a very early age I was permitted to get on a street car which carried me to our old Offerman stadium in Buffalo N.Y. where I could sit in the bleachers and   watch the Buffalo Bison'  home run hitter, Ollie Carnegie, knock a horse hide ball over the distant fence or watch Greg Mulleavey turn a doube play. I was deeply impacted of what might come to pass in those days  and this movie stirred my mind. Beauty McGowan used to play center field and he had such a flawless running stride that his nick name was so fitting. Yes, at that age, I knew each player, his batting average and maybe, what chewing tobacco was his favorite. I was really into the game and not only for the local team but my memory was also about many other players in the Major Leagues. I was a baseball nut! The movie had to do with a high school science teacher who doubled as the baseball coach of a mediocre team  and in a peak of anger challenged them to do better. He had a reputation of being able to throw a ball at a very high speed - throwing the cheese, as it was sometimes called, and his team returned the challenge that they would try harder if he would agree to a tryout for a authentic baseball team. His age had already put him almost over the hill, certainly past the age of a rookie and thus the name of the movie, "The Rookie". So there I was with the dawn beginning to break and me  deep in my memories of days gone by. I had to get up and put my thoughts on paper for sleep had fled and left me wide awake. In the final days of the movie his team had won the district championship and he was bound to attempt a tryout. In the conclusion he had become a relief pitcher for a major league team and was called to show his "heat" by striking out the hitter for the opposing team. The result was successful and he became a local hero. The movie had other poignant interests like his divorced father who had not been interested in his son's exploits or having to take his three children to the major league tryout and the ignominy of needing to change the babies dirty diaper as he was being called to the mound. The film went far into the night and while I was able to fall asleep, when I awakened, the movie reel of my mind was activated and here I am. Was I ever a really good ball player? Not really, but that doesn't stop a childs mindset of what he would like to be. However a war came along and any dreams were set aside. The irony of all the above is that this was the third time I had seen the movie but  we should all acknowledge that the dreams of long ago may never come to pass nevertheless they still reside in our memories and will be there for a long as we live. May those recollections never leave us or be dismissed for they are a part of what we are today. They are a part of the  days of long ago - our childhood, where dream and memories are forever.

Fishing Re-visited

As we are driving Eastward, the Sun, an orange orb,is slowly rising, ahead of us and my excitement is at a peak. For we are going to fish the Atlantic and I am wondering what the day will bring. I had arrived in Orlando the evening before and Jeff and I are now en route to try our hands at rod and reel to see what the waters will hold for us. Jeff is my grandson and I found has a real passion for fishing. He used to go with his step Father, who was a commercial fisherman and had begun to take Jeff out on the water when he was a youngster--thus the passion was acquuired early on. As we begin our quest a decision had been made to fish the first day by putting heavy weights on our lines and fishing the bottom--some 150 feet. The beauty of the ocean is not only the varying sea life you could view, the porpoise, the sea turtles, the schools of Dolphin just under the surface, and we saw our share, as we felt the bottom bump of our weights hoping the next bump would be a Red Snapper or a Grouper, both of which could be in the 20-30 pound class. Pure excitement mingled with hope!  It is a known fact that, indeed, hope springs eternal in the heart of a fisherman although the quest is not always rewarded with fish. On this day  our hopes were dashed with only a few small finny creatures were to stir our imaginations as we pulled them up from the deep. One of things that impressed me was the line of the horizon out to the East. The sea went on forever and it seemed as though the horizon did as well. That straight line was occasionally affected by a distant vessel but it was as though a ruler in Gods hands had been the instrument used to mark his territory. And so the day ended with little to show for it--fish wise. But ah, another day would soon dawn and we would go at it again, undaunted and positive to-morrow would be different. See what I mean when I say all fishermen are  of the same class-there is always tomorrow. However, I must admit that while we would use a different tactic the end result would be pretty much the same--no fish of any consequence. The weather, the ocean, the sights have all cooperated but the fish had taken some time off. I reminded Jeff that I had once visited Cape Cod several times with no luck until my host there had playfully informed me he had called all the charter fishermen to tell them to take the week-end off  because I had returned to try my luck. This bit of tongue in cheek humor caused Jeff to call our time, the days of the Winspear curse!! And so it was to be. I returned home to Arizona , although a bit disappointed, my many years of fishing had brought many fruitless ventures and this was another of hope being dashed. Still, my disappointment was minor compared to several points of pleasure--being on the water, seeing the various sights, spending time with a grandson with whom I had been delinquent, seeing a family that I had hardly seen before and in general having a damn good time. This adventure which could be my last in the  great outdoors.Would I do it again? Just as soon as I can pack!! Wait for me. I'll be right there.

Fishing

• Now this that I am going to write about will have to be written in two phases. First, to tell of the excitement I am feeling and the next will be to report on the success or lack thereof on my adventure. I have talked about fishing in the past but there is a new excitement swelling in my heart these days for I am about to embark on an old but now, new venture. One of my grandsons, living in Orlando, has invited me to join him in fishing the Atlantic ocean--no, not the whole ocean but some part lying East of Florida. And I am tripping!!! Now you would think I could contain myself having fished many places around and even beyond the confines of these United States but it has now been many years since I have ventured into the deep sea fishing variety and so by hook (pun intended) or crook, I'm going to have a go at it. I have known Jeff was a fisherman for some time but for some reason never inquired of his exploits. However, in a recent phone conversation, when he finished by saying, "Grampa, they are so big that I will have to help you pull them in". Now if that isn't enough to stir the blood of an old fisherman, I don't know what is. I have fished Northerns in Canada, Dolphins off Venezuela, Striped Bass at Cape Cod and Walleye all over this land but the thought, now, of Snappers or Groupers near Florida will be a new and hopefully successful expedition. I have to qualify my last sentence containing "hopefully" because there have been  almost multiple time where I have not been sucessful in the catching of those wiley denizens of the deep. I have seen them laying on the bottom, with me literally bumping their noses with my bait with nary a bite. I have become arm weary casting for trout in fast waters all in vain. I have even done jigging in waters teeming with fish only to have an up and down experience (There's a bad pun in there if you have ever fished)  but Jeff has laid down the gauntlet and I am accepting the challenge. To horse!!?? A fishing we will go!! 

Leadership Lost

• By now most of you recognize me as a patriot; not because I served in World War 2 but because I continue to have eyes that water as the flag is presented or the sight of our young men and women marching or as the strains of the National Anthem is resounding through the land. I do not apologise for by my emotional character, contrary, I allow this mentality to be a source of recognition for all that have been killed, wounded or harmed in any of the ways that wars inflict. This past week I received an e-mail which brought into perspective ways, of which I have never been made aware--the number of brave young men and I'm sure too many women, who lie in graves all over Europe. This has primarily been the result of the second World War. I am not attempting to make a political report out of this, but rather just to bring to attention the terrible cost of war and the loss that goes beyond merely the paralyzing deaths that have occured. I think of the potential, the capabilities, the leadership that many of those lost could have provided to my beloved country. How many Einsteins, Reagans, Kennedys or Salks lie in those many burials sites? I am so deeply saddened at the thought of the parents, wives or husbands that, very likely, may still weep today at those lost. We have been accused of arrogance in parts of Europe and the far East where Iraq and Afghanistan still exact the deaths of, too many, courageous men and women.Yes, and my eyes are blurred even now as I write this. I don't know how many may read this and be aware that 104, 000 is the result of our last excursion into war torn Europe. Over 100,000 souls lie in the 20 graves that dot a distant land. Basically, much of the world treats us with distain. We have, numerically, few allies that will stand at  our sides during the present conflicts and it is still the U.S. that stands the brunt of these conflicts. Is this truly arrogance?   Who knows what we have lost that is more that their deaths? It is my hope, no, my prayer that in some mystical manner we may find ways to solve world problems without resorting to military acts of  violence. It is also my hope that sufficient may read this text to stop and think of those who might well have lead our country in ways of peace and prosperity but for their courage in battle. May God bless them and guide us that we may be able to prevent this horror from ever happening again. 

Mattydale

Its as though I am in a time machine going back again to the happy days of my childhood and since my prior blog, Judson Place, I have advanced now to approximately 12 years of age. My grandparents had moved to a town on the outskirts of Syracuse and it was more in the country than they had lived before. Why did they move? I was too young to realize this was probably tramatic for them but what did a 12 year old know about such things? I was just happy to be out in the country where my Uncle Chuck had planted a fairly large garden and there was a real swimming hole on their property. Both of those things were a part of the 3 years or so in which I got to know how to hoe and how to enjoy the summer warmth. There was a golf course up the road and I discovered I could be a caddy. Most days when the hoeing was completed or the weeds were eliminated I was free to walk to the golf course. There I would hang around the pro shop hoping to carry some one's golf bag and earn .75 for 18 holes or if I was really lucky, I was given a whole buck for my efforts. Lordy me things were fine as wine --as we used to say. Mondays has been, universally, a day in which all golf courses honor their caddies by allowing them to play free as long as they wanted and so the Thornton brothers and I, two boys about my age, would carry 3 golf clubs and some broken tees and maybe a ball or two and get in at least 54 holes before darkness shut us down. They became good friends and asked me to play on their high school baseball team, where I was assigned to be the catcher. (I think it was Junior High School) I had never caught before but it was a great experience and they were very excited to see that I could throw to 2nd base and prevent the other team from stealing. I know a lot of this may sound strange to you but ask a male friend to explain some of these things. It was here where I also, through very hard work and long hours, learned to play Rachmaninoff' Prelude in C# minor--no mean accomplishment and that I reported to you in a previous blog. The swimming hole became almost a nightly visit and there was a rope hanging from the branch of an overhanging tree where you could sit on a large knot and be carried out over the water to do a flip as you released the rope--fun stuff for young boys. I grew up while I lived there I think, because my Uncle Chuck would take me to faraway places to fish, dig potatoes, or maybe pick mushrooms. I got to know how to bait a hook, care for a garden, select the correct mushrooms, and many other things that occupied my times in Mattydale. Although we were in the depths of a depression during those years, I had no understanding of the meaning of that problem. It was not a part of my life and my freedom there was unihibited. I remember those days and there are too many happy boyhood memories to tell all that I recall. Here again, were happy vacation times with grandparents and other relatives that loved me and cared about my well being. What else can a young boy have than to be surrounded by circumstances of happiness and joy. I can only wish the same for those that might read this short story of the meanderings of part of my childhood.

Judson Place

I do a lot of my thinking and remembering while I am in my bed. Sleep does always stay with me throughout the night and I am too warm to get up and do something constructive and so, I think. The other night I began to think of the things of my childhood--again and my thoughts turned to the first place I recall in Syracuse, N.Y. --- the family home on Judson Place. I was no more than 6 or 7 when I think of the home I really grew to love because my grandparents were there as was my Aunt and Uncle. My grandmother was a very sweet and warm lady, and I use that word intentionally, while my grandfather was rather a sternvisaged, taciturn man , who with all his gruff exterior still would pull me on his lap to read the funnies to me. Incidentally they don't have funnies like they used to, or maybe its me having outgrown the Katzenjamma Kids. At any rate I recall my grandmother going about the house dusting and singing softly to herself. She was hard of hearing. (Now, I know that's not politically correct but its my grandmother and I can say anything I wish about her). I can't leave my thoughts about the home without mentioning Uncle Chuck; my uncle of whom I have the dearest memories; fishing, picking berries in the Adirondacks and other fun times. I loved going there and being in that family home. It was not a family home such as we are inclined to think, but it had a certain magic to a 7 year old and it was the gathering place for my Mothers' 6 siblings and their mates as well as many cousins. However, I want to dwell on the friends I developed. There was a family living in the upstairs of our home and they had a son, Jack, with whom I palled. And Billy lived across the street on Thornton Avenue also became my little buddy. I looked forward every year or each vacation period to seeing them. There was a huge hill behind Billy's house and we used to climb it regularly just to walk around the large water tower on topand then to roll down its lengthy expanse. Because of the nature of that neighborhood, there were hills in front of every house on Thornton and king of the castle became one of our games which allowed us to carry multiple grass stains home. We also played hide and seek and other classic children activities. But it is the nostalgia of the years and the manner in which my memories are impacted that is the substance and the subject of today. It was my vacatiion place for several years. The sweetness of those early years clings to my thoughts into these many years later. I hope you have memories of warm sunshine, loving grandparents and good friends as do I. There is little of value that can replace those recollections of the past.

Reminiscing

Her name was Mary and I must have spoken about her in the past. It was a long time ago and I don't know what made me think of my first girlfriend. I was 16 and I walked her home from school and isn't that the way most young romances begin? She was a very personable young womn and we began a delightful relationship. I don't think she was as enamoured of me as was I with her and it wasn't really a case of true love. I guess you could characterize it as a strong friendship and we greatly enjoyed each others'company. That first day I went home with her, there were 8 other guys waiting for her on the front porch. That puts into perspective her popularity. I can remmber saying to the group of young men, "O.K. now we have a team. Lets play ball" (A reference to a baseball team for those from the heart of Texas) However, what I mainly wanted to tell you about was,not so much Mary, but her Grandfather.I met him too that first day. Grampa was a gruff old German still with a slight German accent and meeting him was rather a shock to my confidence. He first asked me "Are you a boy scout or a pup?" Thats a direct quote from 70 years ago and you think I may be losing my memory?? I replied stammering, "I'm a scout sir". Whereupon he said "Come here with me" and like a little boy I followed him into the foyer. There was a fairly large chair sitting there and it had two sturdy arms which Grampa took hold of with a strong grip. With that, he hoisted himself into the air and performed a handstand that in Olympic circles would have earned him at least a 9. Lowering himself to the floor and turning to me asked in that same gruff voice, "Can you do that?" My confidence was leaking out of me faster than a hole in a bag of sand and still stammering I replied "No sir" He muttered something under his breath and stormed away.I'm sure he felt about my generation what I sometimes feel about the generations that have followed me; they just don't make them like they used to. Well, that wasn't exactly a roaring success for me who was trying to make an impression on a young lady but Mary must have experienced that before because she was laughing as we walked into the living room. She and I spent the better part of the two years that followed until graduation together in 1940 at which point it was pretty much the end of our friendship because she went to their summer place and then off to Michigan State when fall came around whereas I had found a new friend by the name of Louise and the rest is history.