Summer is almost here and schools will soon release their prisoners for the season. I envy the kids and their feelings of anticipation right now. Summertime, and the livin’ will be easy… Of course lots of the summer will be planned out, as seemingly everything is for children these days. Do they ever have the chance to just act like kids?
I was thinking back to summertime during my own youth and growing up in Tomahawk Terrace on the Southside of Ottawa, Illinois – population 18,000. There wasn’t much planning of our time at all, with every day it’s own adventure. Playground at the school? Playing Horse or two-on-two basketball at Schaefer’s or Cavanaugh’s house? Playing army in Varland’s nearby corn field or cow pasture? Hanging out and reading comics? … The possibilities were endless.
There were some organized activities in my life, such as Little League Baseball, or Boy Scout Camp, but most of the time? It was just us kids hanging out. You had to be home for lunch, and you had to be home for dinner. After that, I don’t really remember any other requirements.
… me in the mid 60s …
I think one of the best memories was playing “Work Up” baseball behind Honer’s house, next to the cemetery.
Work Up? What’s that you say? It’s the baseball game you play when you don’t have enough players for two teams, or maybe even one team. Hell, it’s the game the kids on the movie “Sandlot” would have been playing if the film had really gotten it right (and yes, I do love the movie).
The rules? Well there weren’t really any rules, but there were norms. Typically we’d have 7, 8 or 9 guys show up to play. You’d have 2 or 3 guys up to bat, with the remainder in the field. In our case, that included, in order of importance, a pitcher, 1st baseman, shortstop, 2nd baseman, and right and center fielders. We didn’t have a catcher, it was just whoever was up next to bat. The game was called Work Up because you would bat and run the bases until you made an out. Then the pitcher would go in to join the batters, the first basemen became the pitcher, and everyone else advanced one position. Whoever made the out moved to right field. Oh, and if you hit a fly ball and someone caught it, you did a direct exchange with that player.
The game was really adaptable. As an example, if you didn’t have enough kids, there might be only one outfielder, or maybe no 2nd baseman.
The only rules I really remember concerned Left Field. Our “ball diamond” had a graveyard where much of left field normally was. We never put a player in left field, although the center fielder might shade that way a bit. When you were at bat, if you hit a tombstone on the fly, it was an out – we basically assumed the gravestone “caught” the ball. If you hit a tombstone on the ground, we assumed the gravestone fielded a grounder and it was an automatic double. If you hit a ball and it didn’t touch any of the gravestones (almost impossible to do), then the ball was in play.
There are now trees near where Home plate, and 1st and 3rd Base were. Varland Park was a cow pasture at the time.
I don’t remember us ever having a set time for a game. Word just spread around and some number of guys would show up. We might play pickle, while waiting for enough folk to show. Most everybody was from the ‘Terrace, with the occasional friend or cousin added in. This included the Honer brothers, the Hinsons, Deaks, Hazelwoods, Steve Schaefer, John Levy, Chuck Ogden, Jim Habben, one of the Leach boys, Leonard Mayberry, Howard … other names I have long forgotten. If everyone showed up, we’d actually have enough for two teams and play pick-up, but that rarely happened. Kids ranged in age from a couple years older than me to a couple years younger, and there were lots of younger brothers in attendance. One unwritten rule was you didn’t try and take advantage of the younger kids. I mean, it was OK if one of your hits went towards them, but if you did it every time? Not so cool.
By the way, there was never an adult in sight. We seemed to manage just fine by ourselves, without their oversight or interference.
I don’t recall much about the games themselves, I just remember playing the game on hot summer days until we were tired. It might have been an hour, it might have gone on for three hours. Eventually someone’s mom would call and that player went home and then someone else would have to leave, and the game slowly broke up. We might reconvene again the next day, or maybe not until a week later.
I know it’s a different world today. Things are more complex, more challenging, and perhaps less safe. Kid’s lives, from what I can see as an outside observer and non-parent, are organized to the nth degree. Multiple activities, multiple practices, multiple study activities. I guess they are able to try more things, but I also think some things might get lost in the process, like the ability to entertain yourself, informal group interactions and how to handle them, and perhaps even learning a little about leadership for better or worse…
I dunno, do kids even want to spend time outside these days, or is it all mostly computer and video games? Back in the day, I know mom, or our babysitter, would have kicked us out of the house if we were hanging there too much.
I suppose some of this makes me sound like a grumpy old man after a fashion. I don’t really mean it that way. I just remember how much fun we had hanging out on our own behind Honer’s house, playing ball and trying like hell to not hit a fly ball to left field, where it was sure to be caught by a tombstone…
Addendum:
I went online to do a bit of research on “Work Up” baseball as a check on my memory. In a sign of the times, I found plenty of entries, most of them with long lists of rules on how to play Work Up… – sigh –
Thanks to Tomahawk Terrace alumni Bob Deak and Leonard Mayberry, for providing input to this blog.
It was Memorial Day Weekend, 1973. High School graduation was a couple of weeks away, when Howard, Funny, Hick, Bull, and I drove north to Wisconsin in search of Beer, Bass and Northern Pike. We would be more successful in finding one of those items than the other two.
I’m not sure who came up with the original thought, but with graduation from Ottawa High School (OHS) looming, the idea of a fishing trip to Wisconsin came up among a number of my friends. Sure we were interested in fishing, but we were also interested in drinking beer. At the time, the drinking age for beer and wine in Illinois was 19, while a mere two hours away in Wisconsin, it was 18. We decided to do it. Amazingly, our parents all agreed with the idea, (the fishing part, that is), and we were just about set. One of our number, my old friend June, actually had to work the whole weekend, and couldn’t make the trip. Another buddy, Jack, had to work on Friday, but would drive up on Saturday and meet us in The Promised Land.
A Photo of me, from the 1973 OHS Yearbook – Yea, we were Young
On the Friday of Memorial Day weekend, after skipping a half day of school, five of us set off for Wisconsin. The fishing party included Howard (Kim), Hick (Tim), Funny (Mark), Bull (Ed) and me. We piled into two cars, and drove north. The goal was to head to Lake Geneva, find a campground, find beer, and settle in for the weekend. When we reached the Lake Geneva area, a small bug crept into our plan – It was Memorial Day weekend and everybody and their brother was going camping and fishing in Wisconsin. As teenage boys, it didn’t occur to us to make reservations. There was nothing, and I mean nothing, available.
They say necessity is the mother of invention, and we decided to head west looking for a place to camp. Suddenly, near Delevan, Wisconsin our luck changed. On the side of the road, as if bathed in heavenly light, we came across Don’s Liquor Store. A sign in the window proclaimed “2 cases of Red, White and Blue for $5.85.” We had hit the mother lode! Now, for those who may not be aware, Red, White and Blue was Pabst Blue Ribbon’s lower level beer. You may be thinking to yourself right now “Hmmm, PBR is pretty low level itself. I didn’t know they had an even lower level beer.” Fortunately for us, they did. We didn’t care so much about the taste at the time, this was a matter of economics. Going into Don’s, we made our purchase, and loaded up the trunk of one of the cars with an enviable amount of beer. We then continued west, and that’s where the second bit of good luck hit.
We came across Turtle Lake, and as importantly, Schroeder’s Snug Harbor Inn. The Pabst sign out front drew us in like moths to a flame. It wasn’t fancy, and the lake wasn’t big, but camping sites were available right on the lake. Schroeder, the owner, registered us for three nights. We left the lodge, popped some beers and set up camp. This was going to be good.
The PBR Sign Drew us in, Like Moths to a Flame
Later, we explored the campground and their Lodge. Lodge is really toooooo grand of a title, but I don’t know what else to call it. There was a bar, a pool table, and they sold bait and snacks. A guy named Hank helped Schroeder at the Lodge and bar. The Inn was also affiliated somehow with the Turtle Lake Sportsman’s Club, but the relationship was murky. All in all, we were pretty happy.
A Turtle Lake Sportsman’s Club Patch from 1973
Back at our camp we made a fire and continued to drink beer. Suddenly one of our members came running up – “Guys! Guys! You aren’t going to believe this! Mr Murphy is here with his family and camping about a hundred yards a way!” What!!?!? Now, all of us knew Mr Murphy. He was a teacher at OHS. He’d coached Howard and I in wrestling, and I’d given his sons swimming lessons. More concerning was the fact that he was currently Howard’s homeroom teacher. Rut Roh…
Mr Murphy from the 1973 OHS Yearbook
What to do!? What to do!? We finally decided to take the bull by the horns and go say hello. We left our beers on the picnic table and wandered through the campground till we finally came to his tent. I believe he was as shocked to see us, as we were to see him. What are the odds we would both pick a minor campground in the middle of no-where for the weekend? Everyone shook hands and he introduced his wife and kids. I’m sure we reeked of beer, but he didn’t say anything. And to his credit, after that, we pretty much stayed in our part of the campground, and he stayed in his, preventing chance encounters. Still, we weren’t sure how to interpret this new omen…
Dinner that night was burgers and chips, and of course more beers. We drank around the fire well into the night, before eventually retiring.
The next morning arrived, and at least some of us went out early to fish in our canoe and rowboat. My recollection is that after a couple of hours, we came back in, skunked. No bass, no pike, no fish in general. Making our way to camp, we cooked up some breakfast and discussed the situation, but mostly just put it down to bad first day luck.
A couple of us went up to the lodge bar to have a beer, and Hank was working there. My buddy Hick recently recollected “I can see Hank behind the bar. I still smell his Lucky Strikes, and see the Brylcreem in his hair…” That’s as good of a description of Hank as any. We ordered our beers and were lamenting our poor morning showing to Hank when he suddenly said “You want fun? I’ll tell you what you do. Buy some of these wax worms we have for bait, and you’ll have more fun than a barrel full of assholes!” What? “Yep! More fun than a barrel full of assholes! You’ll catch plenty of brim and bluegill with them!”
Now I don’t know how much fun a “barrel full of assholes” would actually have, but we were hooked and bought some wax worms.
After we finished our beers, we headed back to camp. In the late afternoon, it was back in the boats to try our luck once again.
Someone caught a pike, but in general we were again having no luck and decided to switch to the wax worms – amazingly, we caught a number of brim, but most were too small to keep or cook. I don’t know if we met Hank’s definition of fun, but it made the late afternoon of fishing more enjoyable. The pike and a few brim become a part of dinner that night.
At Least a Few Fish Became Part of a Meal…
Eventually, we made it back to shore. Some of us worked our way to the lodge to shoot pool and have a beer or two. Jack, who had arrived too late to fish, joined us at the bar, where he impressively slapped a handful of bills on the bar like he’d been doing it his whole life. Never mind that we were still in high school.
While we were at the bar, Mr Murphy walked in to buy something in the store. We pretended our beers didn’t exist, and were making small talk with him, when Howard invited him to shoot a game of pool with us. He hesitated for a second, and then readily agreed. We decided to play two on two, with Howard and I against Mr Murphy and one of the other guys. As the game was about to start, Mr Murphy said “What do you say we make it interesting, and put a bet on the game?” We all readily agreed and were trying to decide what would make a good bet when Mr Murphy said “How about losers by the winners a beer?” Dead silence, and then an immediate and resounding “YES!” From all of us.
We played the game, and eventually Howard and I lost. And so it was, that Howard bought his high school homeroom teacher a beer, while still in high school. I don’t see that happening in today’s world.
After awhile, we went back to the campsite and started a fire. Unfortunately, later that night it started to rain, and rain, and rain some more. We moved to our tents when it turned to a deluge. At some point in time, we went to sleep, but the rain didn’t stop and continued all night long. By the early morning hours, our tents and everything in our tents, including us, was soaked through. It was almost as if Turtle Lake itself expanded, there was so much water.
The next morning we woke and went about making breakfast. Jack was already out in a boat by himself a bit off shore, and using the wax worms. Since he’d arrived so late the day before, he hadn’t yet been able to fish and went out early. He was getting a lot of bites, but the fish were so small, he wasn’t pulling any in.
The weather forecast was for rain all day long. As we ate a wet breakfast, a mutual decision was reached – it was time to head home after only two nights in Wisconsin. We packed our soggy belongings, along with our remaining beer and made the drive back to Ottawa. The great fishing expedition was over.
I did have one small problem. My mom worked at OHS as a secretary. What if Mr Murphy told her about seeing us, and our beer drinking? I decided to come clean and after unpacking, casually mentioned to mom and dad – “Did you know the drinking age in Wisconsin is only 18? We drank a couple of beers while fishing.” They didn’t really say much, and a few minutes later I added – “and it was amazing – we ran into Mr Murphy at the campground!” Mom shot me a look, but didn’t say anything. I never asked later whether he told her about seeing us and the game of pool.
The story didn’t quite end there…
Graduation came a couple of weeks later, and four weeks after that, I headed to West Point for summer training. The rest of the guys returned to Turtle Lake for another weekend of beer and fishing later that summer. When they arrived, they bought a beer at the bar and said hello to Schroeder. After a bit, someone inquired about Hank and rather irate, Schroeder immediately answered ““Hank?! You know Hank?! We don’t talk about Hank! Leaves a brown taste in your mouth!”
That was the last any of us ventured up north to Turtle Lake until 2021. 48 years after our fishing adventure, Mark, who now lives in Wisconsin, made a trip to see what, if anything still existed of the Snug Harbor Inn and the Turtle Lake Sportsman’s Club. The Snug Harbor Inn itself was still there with the PBR sign out front. He reported the lake was lower and smaller than we remembered and the lodge a bit bigger. Unfortunately, it was closed, either due to covid, or being off season and Mark couldn’t obtain any updated information on it, or the Sportsman’s Club.
Mark, and the Return to Turtle Lake in 2021
It’s almost fifty years since we made that trip to the wilds of Wisconsin and none of us live in Ottawa any longer. One of us has passed away, and the rest are scattered between Illinois, Wisconsin, Texas, Georgia and Virginia. In my mind, I can still see us drinking Red White and Blues by Turtle Lake on that first night, with not only the weekend, but our entire lives stretching out in front of us. It’s a pretty good memory, as memories go.
Addendum:
The Snug Harbor Inn is still at Turtle Lake. Looking online, it looks like they expanded some, and it’s nicer than I remember. They also opened a pub inside the lodge area and still have a pool table. I recently had a phone conversation with the current owner, and asked if he knew Schroeder or the Turtle Lake Sportsman’s Club. He said Schroeder was the owner of Snug Harbor about three owners before him. As to the Sportsman’s Club, he remembered hearing of it, but it no longer existed. He didn’t know what happened to it. You can link to Snug Harbor’s website here: https://snuglakeharbor.com/
Tom Murphy was always one of the good teachers at OHS and you could tell he cared about his students. In addition to serving as a teacher and coach, he later became Principal. My mom was a secretary in the front office, and they worked together there for several years.
Thanks as always to my friend Colleen for her editorial assistance. In a strange twist, Colleen knew about Turtle Lake from her youth, while living in Illinois. Her father was also at the Turtle Lake Sportsman’s Club! What are the odds?!
Thanks to Mark, Howard, Jack and Tim for contributing memories to this blog. Like the great 1950s Japanese movie, “Rashamon”, all of us have various “subjective, alternative and contradictory versions” of the trip to Turtle Lake. I’ve tied together my best recollection of the trip, along with information from the others as much as possible. I left out a couple of items to protect the innocent.
My good friend Mark Dunavan published a book “Almost an Eagle – The Roots and Escapades of a Midwestern Baby Boomer” in 2020 that tells the story of his life. The story of our trip to Turtle Lake is also recounted there, with some variations. This limited edition book is hard to find, but if you can get your hands on a copy, I highly recommend you do so.
How could you not possibly like a local place, where both Patsy Cline and Duke Ellington have performed in the past? Buchanan Hall, a small venue just down the road in Upperville, VA, hosted both of those greats during it’s storied past. The best part? The Hall continues as a focus for music and good times today with their weekly Farmers Market.
Buchanan Hall has existed since the late 1920s, when General James A. Buchanan allegedly decided to build the Hall for his daughter’s wedding. Construction was completed in ‘33, in the middle of the depression. Eventually, the Hall belonged to the community, and a Board of Trustees was set up. The problem was, the Trustees may not have always had the best judgement on who could use the Hall. Some of their clients were “questionable”.
A few years ago, an undated note to the Trustees was found – “I had little problem last [night] with some guys fighting [over] girls, so the security guards put him out [he shot] in the air two or three times and I call the sheriff [but] I take care of the problem for now on… no drinks is allowed and no ins and outs. Thank you Romeo Ferguson.” … Another note from Ferguson read, in part: “To the hustlers, leave the guns at home or in your cars . . . this is a nice place to have fun at – think about it!”
As you can see, Buchanan Hall has a varied history…;-)
But oh, did it draw the crowds. On the local level, there was the likes of Chauncy Brown and his band for dances that drew folk from Middleburg, Warrenton, and even DC. It turns out Brown was often the drummer for Duke Ellington’s band from 1930-37.
An undated photo of Chauncy Brown
They also drew major talent over the years. Ramblin’ Jack Elliott, who was friends with Woody Guthrie, influenced Bob Dylan, The Rolling Stones, The Band and others, performed a couple of times. And then of course, you have Patsy Cline and Duke Ellington – both appeared at Buchanan Hall. Patsy was originally from nearby Winchester, Virginia, so perhaps her appearing was not such a huge surprise. She played many local venues in the early 50s before making it big and moving to Nashville. Duke on the other hand held a national reputation from the 1930s – I’ve wondered if his work with Chauncy Brown is what drew him to Upperville, however, I can find no confirmation.
Can you imagine sitting in a 200 seat theater and hearing Patsy sing “Crazy”, “I Fall to Pieces” and “Walkin’ After Midnight”, or Duke playing “In a Sentimental Mood”, “Satin Doll” and “Take the A Train”? It would have to be both sublime and amazing….
In addition to having the piano in common, Patsy and Duke both appeared at Buchanan Hall
Time passed and by 2000, Buchanan Hall was in disrepair, and locals decided it was time to renovate the structure and grounds. Through donations, the Hall was eventually restored.
Since then?
Buchanan Hall has served in a number of roles. Community Center, wedding venue and event location to name a few. As examples, it continues to host parties and happenings in conjunction with the Upperville Colt and Horse Show, the oldest such show in America. In 2018, it hosted an American Roots Music Revival that sold out over the course of several evenings. And last year, the inaugural Piedmont Pride event, including a drag cabaret brunch, was held there.
I was excited to recently learn the Buchanan Hall Farmers Market is returning again this year. The market is every Wednesday from 4-8 pm from May 18, 2022 through October 26. This isn’t just any farmer’s market. You can of course purchase farm fresh meats, produce, and artisan goods. Even better is grabbing something from one of the food trucks, buying a glass of beer or bottle of wine from one of the local producers, and then pulling up a big piece of lawn and watching a band playing outside the entrance to the Hall. They always have a live band. It’s a pretty good way to spend a Wednesday evening.
Wonderful live music can still be heard at Buchanan Hall on Wednesday evenings during the summer.
I recommend you give the Farmers Market a try this summer on a Wednesday evening or two. While there, wander inside and take a look at the pictures of Patsy, Duke, and Chauncey. Remember those days gone by, while having a wonderful evening in the present.
Addendum:
– Buchanan Hall is located at 8549 John S Mosby Hwy, Upperville, VA 20184. You can learn more about it here: https://www.buchananhall.org/ .
– Much of the history I’ve discussed in this blog came from the Buchanan Hall website itself, and a Washington Post article from a few years ago – Chauncy Brown’s Dance Party Lives On (link is above).
It was May of 1943 in Bizerte, Tunisia. My Dad, then twenty year old Sergeant Willie I. Hall looked at the German soldier and said “Chicago”. The German answered “Chicago?” Dad stared back. “Chicago. Al Capone”. Now the German’s eyes’ widened …
… After the battle at Maknassy, Dad’s unit, the 60th Regimental Combat Team (RCT) reunited with the rest of the 9th Infantry Division. In late April of ‘43, the push was on to finish the war in North Africa, and in the words of the division Commander, Major General Eddy, “A world spotlight will be focused on us from the moment we attack until we have killed, captured, or driven every Axis soldier from Tunisia…”
The history books tell us that as a part of their assault, the 60th, attacked through the Sedjenane Forest and after driving the Germans out of the area, hit a bottleneck at Djebel Cheniti. On May 5th, the 1st Battalion of the 60th (Dad’s Battalion – about 500 men) attacked Hills 207 and 168 (see diagram below) and Djebel Cheniti by a direct assault with fixed bayonets. You read that right. Fixed Bayonets. In the words of the 9th Infantry Division Record, “One of the strongest positions in the final Axis defense was assaulted by one battalion of Infantry, with artillery blasting a shell-strewn pathway for its advance. Another story in the annals of foot soldiers, who do the dirty tasks of warfare”. After several hours, they took the hills and Cheniti.
I never heard dad say a word about the battle at Cheniti. Not one.*
1st Battalion, 60th RCT’s Path While Attacking Djebel Cheniti and then Bizerte
On the 8th of May, they arrived in Bizerte, and on May 9th, the Germans surrendered. The battle for North Africa was over. In the words of one soldier of the 60th, “We were all 20 pounds lighter and 20 years older.”
Soldiers of the 60th RCT in the Hills outside Bizerte, Tunisia on May 7, 1943.
At this point, I’m sure you are saying, “This is all great history Max, but what the hell does it have to do with your Dad and Al Capone?” Good question.
Now we come to the rest of the story.
With the collapse of Rommel’s Africa Corps, the allies captured prisoners. A lot of prisoners. Over 275,000 Axis prisoners were taken in all, including 25,000 in and around Bizerte alone. This included General Jürgen von Arnim, the German Supreme Commander.
There were, of course, no prisons, so in the immediate aftermath they confined the Germans in large “holding pens” with single strands of barbed wire around each of the pens. The 9th, along with other units, were then drafted into guarding the prisoners until more secure facilities could be established.
Prisoner Holding Pens Near Bizerte, Tunisia
Dad talked about guarding the Germans and the Italians. You have to remember just a few days or weeks before, they were in a kill or be killed mode with the enemy, with plenty of butchery to go around. All that separated the two sides now was a bit of barbed wire. According to Dad, the Italians never had much fight, and the captured Germans knew they were beat, so they generally behaved. Still, you needed to be careful.
During the days they were on duty, dad’s platoon always guarded the same area, and after a while, they would recognize certain prisoners, talk a bit back and forth, and maybe even pass a cigarette across the wire. At the same time, Dad said he wanted to make sure he looked tough so no one did anything stupid.
As Dad tells the story, he was talking with a few of the Germans one day and someone asked where he was from. He answered “Illinois”, but the Germans looked confused. So dad thought about it a bit, and then trying to look a bit tougher he said “Chicago”. The German answered “Chicago?” Dad stared back. “Chicago … Al Capone”. Now the German’s eyes widened. Everyone knew who Al Capone was.
The German looked at Dad and said with a smile “Al Capone…. Ratatatatat….” While making a machine gun like motion with his hands.
Dad looked back at the German, nodded his head, patted his M1 Garand Rifle and without smiling, said “Ja, Al Capone.” The German stopped smiling and didn’t say anything else.
Dad always told the Al Capone story with a chuckle. When getting to the punchline, he would draw himself up to look bigger and meaner. But he was deadly serious about the Germans not trying anything. After what they had been through, I don’t think it would have taken much for him to put a bullet in someone, for doing something stupid.
A little over two months later, after a bit of rest and relaxation, Dad and the 60th were back in Combat against the Germans on the Island of Sicily. There, he was wounded and almost died. You can find a link for that story in the Addendum below.
Dad at the WWII Memorial in 2008.
Addendum:
* Except for the story of how he was wounded, Dad never said much about any of the battles he was involved in. For the most part, he told funny stories about events during the war. I was shocked when doing some research for this blog to find he had been involved in a charge with fixed bayonets. As a soldier, you know things aren’t going to be pretty when you receive an order to fix bayonets. That is combat at its most up close and personal. I have to figure that after you’ve been given the command to fix bayonets, and then taken part in a bayonet charge, everything else in your life, maybe for the rest of your life, must seem pretty easy. It may explain a bit about why Dad always had such a good attitude throughout his life.
Al Capone – As everyone knows, after being the Crime Boss of Chicago for much of the Twenties, Al Capone was incarcerated for tax evasion in 1931. He was released from prison in 1939, but wouldn’t die until 1947. He had a worldwide reputation for murder and violence that may have been the equivalent of his actual deeds.
The sly glances, the casual banter, the innuendos, the back rubs… I think we all knew what was going on, but no one said it out loud. Let’s face it, Perry Mason was having an affair with Della Street, while Paul Drake, Hamilton Burger, and even super sleuth, LT Tragg, were all unaware.
Just another sly look between the two…
This past winter, Cathy and I discovered Perry Mason reruns on TV. We chuckled as we decided to watch the first episode, but soon became addicted. Nothing else on tonight? Let’s go watch a couple episodes of Perry.
Perry Mason was on the air from ‘57-‘66, and Raymond Burr won two Emmys. I have to say the show is great entertainment, although a couple of thoughts have crept into my brain while watching.
First, was there ever a more inept District Attorney than Hamilton Burger? Over the course of nine years, Perry won 268 out of 271 cases right off the bat, and while Burger didn’t handle all of them, he was the prosecutor for the vast majority. (Note that the actor who played Burger, William Talman, was fired from the show in 1960 for about six months after being arrested on charges of marijuana possession and lewd vagrancy. During that period, there were several different prosecutors. After the charges were later dismissed, he returned to the show). How could Hamilton Burger be so bad? He is ALWAYS on the wrong side. Even the cases he won were eventually overturned on appeal. Fred Thompson, as the DA on “Law and Order”, would have had no use for him… 😉
Don’t worry, Perry won during the appeal.
What really intrigues me is the relationship between Perry, and his Executive Assistant Della Street. I mean, hello, if these two aren’t having an affair, then nobody is. The sly, knowing looks, the continual side-by-side presence, the flirty banter back and forth… It all adds up. Plus, Della is ALWAYS there. Early morning in a diner with a client? Della’s right there with Perry sipping coffee. Midnight or 2AM in the office waiting on a call? There’s Della asleep on the couch. When Perry’s home sick with the flu, laying on his couch in pajamas, who brings him chicken soup? Della of course. Perry has a tough day at the office – who gives him a back rub? Della! And who’s walking off a vacation cruise ship with Perry to go help him solve a murder? I think you know the answer.
Who nurses Perry back to health? Why Della, of course!
We were discussing Perry and Della one evening with a friend when he exclaimed “I know! And you have that gorgeous Paul Drake right there! What is wrong with her? She’s definitely going after the older guy with the money!”
What about the “gorgeous” Paul Drake? He appears to be the ultimate catch. He drives a convertible sports car, wears sport coats or turtlenecks instead of the suits Perry is always in, has that rakish haircut, and is just hip in general. Not only was he an investigator, he acted as Perry’s tough guy, was an alleged ladies’ man, and the coolest dude on the show. And yet, he apparently has no personal life. Perry needs him in the middle of the night for a murder investigation? He’s there. Someone needed for a 24 hour stakeout? Paul’s your man. Here’s an interesting tidbit – Although he is a supposed “ladies’ man”, he never once hits on Della. Not once. If James Bond was always flirting with Miss Moneypenny, Paul, other than the occasional “Hello beautiful” to Della, was just the opposite. There was zero flirting. Was this in deference to Perry, or for some other unstated reason? We’ll never know.
Another of Paul’s evenings, about to be interrupted by Perry Mason.
We continue working our way through the episodes and are somewhere in season 5 by now. Perry continues his winning ways, Hamilton continues to snivel and lose, Paul continues looking cool, and Della? Della’s right there for Perry, anticipating his every need.
Addendum:
– This blog was written tongue in cheek, but it turns out that it is a common question among fans as to whether Perry and Della ever had an affair. The author of the Perry Mason books, Erle Stanley Gardner, wanted the answer to be, “No.” Believing that if Perry ever married Della “he would lose his sex appeal,” Gardner intended the nature of the relationship between the two to remain a mystery. In fact, he said that if they ever had a romance, he’d write about it. He never did.
The call came at about 3:40AM in late February, 1979. I answered the phone, “LT Hall.” – “Max, this is Captain Ward. A Lariat Advance Alert was called at 3:25AM this morning.” – “Got it sir – on my way.” I called my Platoon Sergeant, Paul Teague to notify him, and kissed Cathy goodbye, with a “See you when I can”. I was out the door for the drive to Hindenburg Kaserne by 3:50AM.
We lived in the little town of Helmstadt, Germany, about 15 minutes from Hindenburg Kaserne (Barracks, or Army Post) in Würzburg. My mind raced on the drive to the barracks.
LT Hall in 1979
This was my first Lariat Advance. I’d joined the 123D Signal Battalion, 3rd Infantry Division in January of ‘79. A Lariat Advance was a US Armed Forces Cold War mobilization alert in Germany. The thing was, you never knew if it was a drill, or in response to a real world situation. If just a practice, it might be called off after a couple of hours. BUT, you could also deploy and link up with the unit you supported (2nd Brigade, 3ID in my case), or even deploy to your General Defense Plan (GDP) location. For my platoon, that was near the village of Hof, and the Hof Gap on the the Czech/East German border. The Hof Gap was considered a major Armor Route for a Russian invasion of West Germany. The pucker factor increased significantly if you deployed there on an alert.
My unit, B Company, 2nd Platoon, was always the first unit scheduled for departure, as we had farther to go. We would depart two hours after the alert was originally called. In this case, we needed to be lined up at the Kaserne Gate and ready to go at 5:25AM.
Main Gate, Hindenburg Kaserne
I arrived at the Kaserne a few minutes after 4:00AM. As I climbed out of the car, I promptly locked my keys in the car. “D@mn!” I stood looking at the car, shaking the door when one of my squad leaders, Sergeant Santos ran by and called out – “Yo, L.T. (Pronounced Ell-Tee), what’s up?” – “I locked my keys in the car.” He stopped, looked at me for a second and then said, “Forget ‘em. We’ll get them later – we gotta go!”
He was right, of course. I left the car and ran to the Company HQ and checked in with the CO. Next, over to the Armorer, where I picked up my .45 pistol, and finally, I ran back outside and over to our Platoon Bay. It was probably about 4:15AM.
Sergeant Teague had also just arrived and he gave me a status report. About 80% of our troops were on the Kaserne, with the others expected shortly. We then looked at our vehicles’ status. Our platoon had around 20 vehicles in all – a combination of jeeps, a 2 1/2 Ton truck (the Deuce) and several Gamma Goats. Gamma Goats were six wheeled vehicles that could, at least in theory, perform off road much like a tank, or other tracked vehicle. We needed to determine which deadlined vehicles could be made readily available, by cannibalizing* other deadlined vehicles. We agreed that of our four deadlined Gamma Goats we could maybe get three ready, and still make the 5:25 departure time.
A Gamma Goat, with Comm Shelter
The next half hour was total chaos. By then, all of our troops but one were on the Kaserne and had picked up their weapons. We continued loading both personal and platoon equipment into our vehicles. Cases of C-rations were loaded into the Deuce, along with other supplies. Two of the deadlined vehicles were fixed, but we were still having problems with the third. Somewhere in there, we received word we would deploy to Kitzingen, and link up with 2nd Brigade’s HQ elements. It was now 4:55AM, a half hour before departure.
Suddenly, a feeling of great calm and clarity settled over me. The world seemingly slowed down. Sergeant Teague and I agreed it was too late to fix the last vehicle and to hell with it, we would roll with what we had. We held a quick meeting with our three section leaders and strip maps to Kitzingen were passed out for each of the vehicles (remember this was all pre cellphones or google maps). We lined up the vehicles in the motor pool and proceeded to the gate, with my Jeep in the lead. Sergeant Teague was in the last Jeep at the end of the convoy. At 5:15, we were at the gate where the Battalion Commander, Colonel Swedish and Command Sergeant Major Johnson greeted us. We spoke briefly and they wished us good luck.
5:25AM came, and we rolled. The rest of the day passed in a bit of a blur. Google maps says the drive from Würzburg to Kitzingen takes a half hour, but at convoy speed, it probably took us about an hour. We arrived and I reported in to the 2nd Brigade Operations Officer (S3). Then, as is often true in the Army, we sat and waited. And waited. I stayed in touch with the Brigade S3, and also with my Company Commander via FM radio. After a couple of hours passed, we received word it was a drill, and perhaps another two hours later, we were released and returned to Hindenburg Kaserne.
The drive back took another hour. Once back at Hindenburg, we offloaded all of our equipment, washed our vehicles, and then topped all of them off with fuel, so they were ready to go. Cannibalized parts were returned to their original vehicles. A weapons count was done by the armorer, and it was verified all weapons were turned in and accounted for.
I reported to Company Headquarters that all recovery tasks were completed. Once all three platoons were finished, Captain Ward let me know we could dismiss the troops, which I did.
By now, it was late afternoon or early evening, and my keys were still locked in the car. I started thinking about how I was going to get home, when Sergeant Santos came up. “Hey L.T. Let’s get those keys.” – “Sure, how are going to do that?” Ramos just smiled, and then pulled a Slim Jim** out of his jacket. Two minutes later, the door was open, and I had my keys. I thanked him, and decided right then and there, I didn’t need to know why he owned a Slim Jim.
A Slim Jim – Need your car door opened?
With Russia and the Ukraine in the news, I was thinking about that first Lariat Advance. Forty years ago, we were concerned about, and prepping for war with, the USSR. After The Berlin Wall fell in 1989 and the Cold War ended, I thought those days were behind us, at least for Europe. With Mr. Putin’s current aggression, that no longer seems the case. I’ve been thinking about an Intelligence flyer that came out, right after The Wall fell, warning us about the long term goals of the Russians:
“We will Smash them with our clenched fist.”
It is no longer Communism against capitalism, but it is still Russia versus the West. Sometimes the more things change, the more they stay the same. I’m wishing Godspeed and safety to all of our troops.
Addendum:
• Cannibalize – If a vehicle was determined to have a safety issue, or something major wrong with it during operations or an inspection, it was put on the deadline report and the appropriate parts were ordered. You were not allowed to drive deadlined vehicles, until they were repaired. In the event of an alert, you “Cannibalized” one of the vehicles to remove parts to put in the remaining vehicles. It might be something as simple as a brake signal bulb (safety feature), or something more serious like a transmission problem. Cannibalization was frowned upon, as you could literally reduce one of your vehicles to a pile of parts in order to fix other vehicles. That one vehicle would stay on deadline forever. This is why we were to return cannibalized parts to the original vehicle when we returned to the Kaserne.
• **Slim Jim – For those unaware, a Slim Jim is a slender device used to break into a car by fishing down the side of window and into the door for the locking mechanism.
It’s good to keep memories alive, and laugh and cry for those we have lost. It’s also good to remember that life is for the living – to try and savor each and every day, and the time we have with those we love.
Before New Year’s Eve 2021, the last time we were all together was almost three years ago at the 2019 Anderson Valley (California) Pinot Festival. The difference was there were six of us then, and only four of us now. Don passed away in October of 2019, and Kim in August of 2021. I like to think Kim and Don were with us in spirit this year. We certainly ate and drank enough to cover them. 😉
Don and Kim at the 2019 Anderson Valley Pinot Festival
Cathy’s sister Bonnie married Don in ‘96 and the four of us were great friends from then on. They introduced us to their friends Kim and John, perhaps ten or fifteen years ago. Over the ensuing years, we saw Kim and John just about every time we visited California. Inevitably they would spend a couple of days at Bonnie and Don’s when we were in town. Often it was for either the annual Anderson Valley Pinot Festival, or perhaps the winter white wine Alsace Festival, but there were also a couple of Christmases or New Year’s Eves in the mix.
In 2018, the Californians all came to Virginia for a vacation over New Years and we again enjoyed fun times. It’s always wonderful when you find people you get along with in multiple locations and over time – you realize you are a part of the same tribe. At the time, we talked about the six of us linking up at Kim and John’s vacation place in Hawaii, “sometime in the future.”
New Year’s Eve Menu at Rohan Farm in 2018
The following May, we were all together again at Bonnie and Don’s for the 2019 Pinot Festival. Kim was dealing with cancer, but it didn’t slow her, or us, down. At the time, we of course didn’t realize it was the last time all six of us would be together.
Pinot Festival 2019! From the left – Don, John, Kim, Cathy and Bonnie.
Don passed away five months after that Pinot Festival and Kim a little over two years later in August of ‘21. Covid provided an overlay for all of that time. We had reservations for Pinot Festival in May of ‘20 and ‘21, but it was cancelled both years due to Covid.
Time Passed.
We came to California this year for Bonnie’s birthday and to celebrate New Year’s Eve, and were delighted to find out that John would join us for both of those events.
We arrived first, and John drove up from Santa Cruz a couple of days later. The time passed in a whirlwind of fun, food, wine, poker games, walks and talks. We of course remembered and talked about Don and Kim throughout our time together. For John, it had only been 4 months or so since Kim passed away – they were married for 53 years. Bonnie and Don had 23 years together. As she noted, it’s not easy, and everything takes time. On New Year’s Eve, we toasted Kim with one of her favorite wines. On New Year’s Day, we went to Point Arena for a hike and toasted Don with beers and some tasty pizza.
Good Times Celebrating Bonnie’s Birthday on Dec 29th in Healdsburg, and later on New Year’s Day at Point Arena
We also spoke about many other things and didn’t forget to enjoy life and the time we were having together. John invited Cathy and I to Hawaii again. There was laughter and joking, smiles and stories. We kept old memories alive, while also making new ones. It was good to be with the tribe again. We consumed our fair share of food and al’ahol over the five days we spent together.
John eventually left for the drive back to Santa Cruz. There were hugs all around and promises to see each other sooner rather than later. John made sure to invite us to Hawaii again and we readily agreed to give serious consideration for a trip there.
It’s good to keep memories alive, and laugh and cry for those we have lost. It’s also good to remember that life is for the living – to try and savor each and every day, and the time we have with those we love. As the days fly by, I want to race with the wind and also stop and smell the roses. Can you do both? I want to keep trying.
—-
Ecclesiastes 5:18-20 – Even so, I have noticed one thing that is good. It is good for people to eat well, drink a good glass of wine and enjoy their work – whatever they do under the sun – for however long God lets them live. To enjoy your work and accept your life, that is indeed a gift from God. People who do this rarely look with sorrow on the past, for God has given them reason for joy.
Punk turns sixty this week. Yep, that’s correct. Punk, also known as Bonnie, Bon, Bonswa, Lana’s mom, Don’s wife, and one half of ‘The Sisters of no Mercy’ turns sixty this week. For Cathy and I, she is the youngest of all of our sisters and we are happy to finally welcome her to middle age – ;-). Come on in Bonnie, the water is fine…
Truth be told, I’ve known Bonnie for most of my life, and hers. When Cathy and I started dating in ‘72, Bonnie was ten years old, and known in their family as “Punk”. I don’t think anyone has called her that in a long time.
Bonnie, around the time we first met
When we married in ‘78, Bonnie was all of sixteen and at the wedding, held her own with the newly commissioned officers in attendance, and all of our long time friends. In ‘83, when we returned after almost five years in Germany, she was of legal age – twenty-one, living near Washington DC and was married. That’s when I remember our relationship starting to change. She was no longer just Cath’s punk sister – she had become an adult in her own right. It was really the start of an adult friendship between us, something I’ve treasured ever since.
Bonnie at our wedding in ‘78, with my classmate Tom Guthrie
In our second tour of Germany, Bonnie enjoyed Multiple trips to Europe and even a Christmas. She was present and an integral participant at the initial Hare-of-the-Dog New Year’s Day party. When we returned to the States in ‘89, Bonnie was still in her twenties. Two years later, we attended the combined party for her thirtieth birthday and her graduation from the University of Maryland. That was a fun night – I seem to remember a bottle of Dom Perignon at some point.
Never one to let the grass grow under her feet, Bonnie moved to California a year or two later. There, she really launched her marketing career, her firm, B3 Communications, was established and she met the love of her life, Don. For the next almost twenty five years, the four of us were the best of friends. We named ourselves the 4-H club and had “meetings” on the East Coast, West Coast, and places in between. Those good times still bring a smile to my face.
Good times with the 4H Club
In 2003, Cathy and I celebrated our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary with a large party, which Bonnie and Don attended. During the evening’s festivities, Bonnie disappeared for a bit. When she reappeared later to make a speech congratulating us, she was wearing her Bridesmaid’s dress, and carrying her parasol from our wedding twenty-five years before. At the age of forty-two, she was happy to inform anyone who would listen that, “Yes, the dress still fits; I didn’t have to alter it!” 😉
Yes, the dress still fit, 25 years later.
Of course Lana joined Bonnie and Don along the way in 2005 and we changed from the 4-H Club to the 5-H Club.
Bonnie and Lana
I now chuckle slightly at the fact that as Bonnie turns sixty, Lana is sixteen – the same age Bonnie was when Cathy and I married. How is it even possible? Seriously, how is that even possible? Where did the time go?
So, yea, Punk turns sixty this week. We look forward to celebrating the big day with her out in California. Good food, great wine, loving family and friends – It’s going to be wonderful.
Happy Birthday Punk!
Happy Birthday Punk! I love you as if you are one of my own sisters, and also one of my best friends. On the last day of your 59th year, I want to welcome you to the start of your seventh decade – jump on in, the water is just fine.
Addendum:
Thanks to Lana Harris for the use of the picture of Bonnie and their Dog, Ruby for the cover photo.
Thanks to Paula Johnson Hamley for the picture of Bonnie in the 5th Grade, around the time we met. I clipped the picture to just get Bonnie, but the whole picture (below) is too cute to pass up. They had just been selected as the 5th Grade Students of the Month in Mr. Herman’s class at Shabbona Grade School in Ottawa Illinois.
It’s funny what sparks a memory. For me, the Christmas song Up on the Housetop, with it’s chorus of “Ho ho ho, who wouldn’t go, Up on the housetop, click, click, click, down through the chimney with good Saint Nick…”, instantly floods me with holiday memories from my youth. I fondly remember McKinley Grade School in Ottawa, and our Principal, Mr Powell.
‘Tis the season. Don’t we all really remember the Christmases from our childhood? I know I do. The Christmases at McKinley, on the southside of Ottawa, Illinois were special. We ALL remember them.
McKinley was originally a small two story wooden school house. Eventually, in the late fifties, it was replaced with a large, one story brick building. The new school included an indoor gymnasium, with a small elevated stage on one side. Both would figure prominently in the school’s Christmas celebrations.
McKinley School Teachers for 1959/60. Mr Powell is second from the right in the second row. The photo is probably from about two years after the new school building opened.
Our excitement started sometime in early December. Christmas was approaching, which of course meant an upcoming break, and if we were lucky, the chance to go sledding, or maybe skating on the pond at Varland’s pasture. Almost as exciting was the Christmas Show the school presented, just before the break. The teachers told us about the upcoming show, and each class was assigned a song to sing. We stared practicing on a daily basis.
A large evergreen tree eventually arrived at the school and was placed prominently on one side of the gym. Of course, it needed decorating. Where did the ornaments come from? They were handmade by the students. Yes, there were the obligatory construction paper chains from the younger classes, but another source of ornaments proved a favorite memory for many. Milk, in individual glass bottles was delivered to school each day. Those bottles had blue or silver foil caps. We collected the caps and then made stars, ornaments, or strings of ornaments from them. Oh how they shined and sparkled in the reflected light on the tree.
Foil milk bottle caps similar to these made perfect tree ornaments
The excitement grew, and a few days before our break, there were gift exchanges in each of the classrooms. The gifts weren’t big of course, but it was still fun and increased our anticipation.
As the date of the show approached, we kids practiced our songs. The week of the show, the entire school gathered in the gym a few times to practice, and also to sing “songs of the season” together. Those daytime sessions were great fun. All of the kids marched by class to the gymnasium, and then we’d sit on the floor facing the stage. Everyone was in a giddy mood with much laughter, yelling and barely contained excitement. Each class practiced their songs, but in between, Mr. Powell would lead the entire school in Christmas and Holiday songs. He stood in front of us near the tree, wearing a holiday bow tie. I think he was as excited as we were.
When leading the songs, he also acted some of them out. One example several friends remember was singing the song Up on the Housetop*. As the chorus was sung, Mr. Powell would stick his belly out and while placing both hands over his stomach, sing in his deep baritone “Ho ho ho, who wouldn’t go, ho ho ho, who wouldn’t go…”. When the next line “Up on the housetop, click, click, click, Down through the chimney with good Saint Nick” was sung, he clicked his fingers three times instead of actually singing “click, click, click.” Of course, all of us kids quickly caught on, and did the same thing – imagine a couple hundred kids all clicking in time with the chorus, and you get the picture.
The songs we sang at the time included both religious and secular Christmas songs. One student who is Jewish, remembered feeling special because we would inevitably sing one or two Hannukah songs. It was a simpler time.
Eventually, it was time to return to our classrooms, but the singing wasn’t quite over. Mr. Powell would start us singing an old English folk song Christmas is Coming, with the opening line “Christmas is coming, the geese are getting fat…” The song is meant to be sung as a round, which is exactly what we did. I believe we were divided into thirds, with each group starting one line after the previous group started. Once we had sung “around” a couple of times, the classes were dismissed, one grade at a time, with each class singing the song all the way back to their classroom.
For the younger kids, there was often a bit of confusion on the lyrics. Instead of “…if you haven’t got a ha’penny, God bless you…”, they heard “if you haven’t got a hay penny God Bless a shoe…” What was a Hay Penny? Why were we blessing shoes? It could all be a bit confusing, but the fun and good spirits made up for it.
Finally it was the big day of the Christmas Show. It was also the day before Christmas break started. Excitement was at a fevered pitch.
The evening program was a bit more formal than our daytime singalongs. It wasn’t quite the Christmas Show from the movie Love Actually – McKinley School was a bit more primitive, but we did have a stage, and the adults sat on folding chairs set up on the gym floor itself. As kids, we dressed in our “good clothes” for the big night. Our parents brought treats and cookies for the classrooms.
While the adults found their seats in the gymnasium, we kids walked to our classrooms, waiting for our turn to sing. My friend Joy remembers sitting at her desk eating cookies and coloring (after smelling) the newly mimeographed Christmas pictures. For the younger grades, there were also games that some of the parents (moms) helped with in the classrooms. Everyone wanted to make sure we kids were entertained, focused and staying out of trouble.
Finally the show started, with the Kindergarten classes singing first. My friend Lynn remembers “The big curtain opening was our cue to start singing. It was quite intimidating to see all the people “out there” sitting on folding chairs looking at us. We sang Away in a Manger and the little stage seemed huge.”
One of the classes always sang Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree in German (Oh Tannenbaum, Oh Tannenbaum…). How cool was that? Singing a Christmas song from another country!
The show eventually ended and parents picked up their children from the classrooms. Cookies were finished, and newly colored Christmas pictures served as visual reminders of the fun that night. During the short drive home, we were still animated. I suppose the stimulation from doing the show, along with the sugar rush of the cookies combined and kept us amped up for awhile.
As with all things, time passed and the world changed – not for better or worse, but changed none-the-less. Mr Powell retired. The huge tree was replaced with two smaller artificial trees for fire safety. Eventually, the festivities changed from a secular Christmas celebration to a Holiday celebration, which was the right thing to do.
One teacher later reminisced “We teachers loved the singing almost more than you kids! We continued the tradition after Mr. Powell retired, but it was never quite the same.”
I’ve been gone from Ottawa for many years now, and to be honest, I don’t know if they have the Holiday celebration in the gym anymore. What I do know is I have wonderful memories from my youth that I wouldn’t trade for anything.
I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams… Christmas is coming, the geese are getting fat, Please put a penny in the old man’s hat…
Addendum:
There is some question/controversy among my friends about whether the title of the song is Up on the Housetop or Up on the Rooftop. Folk seemingly remember singing it both ways. For what it’s worth, the song is referenced in Wikipedia as Up on Housetop. It was written in 1864 andis the second-oldest secular Christmas songafter Jingle Bells, which was written in 1857.
I had some memories from those special times at McKinley, but of course forgot lots too, until reminded by others about some of the activities. My thanks to the many who contributed memories to this blog, including: students Lisa Palmer Braley, Brenda Brown, Karen Williams Miller, Robert Cavanaugh, Linda Baker, Dorey Renee, Glenda Boettcher, Laurie Sargent Kinken, Mary Cunningham Heider, Kelly Nagle Shanley, Barbara Charlier Houston, LeeAnn Slack Niemann, Lynne Galley Robinson, Becky Ann, Roberta Sherman Schwandner. Jan Butler, Robert Cross, Linda Gerding Bergman, Joy Starjak Algate, Jessica Burress, Roberta Gourley, Tanya McCambridge, Tim Stouffer, and Howard Johnson, along with teachers Charlean Grobe and Sylvia Eichelkraut.
Thanks to Mrs Charlean Grobe for the photo of the McKinley School Teachers in 59-60! Charlean was my Kindergarten Teacher, one year later! She is second from the left in the second row in the picture.
Next month, it will be 25 years since our first dog, Top, passed away. He was 17 years old at the time. Recently, I was thinking about him as we were placing baskets on couches and chairs, so our current dog, Carmen, couldn’t hop up for a quick snooze while we were out and about. We weren’t that smart with Top, and he took full advantage of our negligence. He was a covert couch sleeper the entire time he was with us.
Some of our German friends often said Top was “einmalig”, which translates to “one of a kind.” He was definitely that. We have tons of stories about him – eating a cherry (and only the cherry) off the top of a danish; chasing and catching bees; leaping out of a moving car while traveling with Cathy; earning the nickname “Deerslayer” from our running group; hating cats, except for Vincent, who lived next door to us; eating half a ham one Christmas, as Cathy and I were opening our presents; learning how to open an outside door and letting himself out for a walk… The list goes on. This story is about him outfoxing us and sleeping on the couch.
Top, Early in His Life
From day one, Top wasn’t allowed on the furniture, unless “asked”. That is, he sat in front of you, looked cute and stared at you. If you didn’t invite him to join you, he knew he wasn’t allowed on the furniture. And for all intents and purposes, he respected that rule … as long as we were at home. If we were out of the house, there were evidently a different set of rules. Top’s Rules. Since there was no one to ask, he presumed it was OK to grant himself permission, and would jump on the couch for a nap.
Through much of Top’s life, when we arrived home and opened the door, there he was, sitting in the entry way with his tail wagging, eager to see us. You could look over at the couch, see the indentation where he’d been sleeping and feel his warmth on the cushion. Of course we were never able to catch him. He was too clever for that. We drove Saabs for much of that time period, and although I could never prove it, I always suspected he recognized the unique engine noise of a Saab, and knew it was his cue to leave the couch.
As the years went by, Top grew older, and had some hearing loss. When you arrived home, turned the key in the lock and opened the door, you would hear him spring off the couch and run over to the entryway. There he greeted you, looking innocent. We didn’t catch him in the actual act of laying on the couch, and so ignored the transgression.
More time passed and he became a senior dog, getting deafer and a bit creakier. Now when we arrived home and opened the door, he would still be on the couch, just starting to sit up, looking sleepy and a bit chagrined. He’d hop down and walk over to greet us. We’d admonish him, but only a bit. Who could blame an old guy for wanting a soft and warm place to sleep?
In the last year or so of his life, his hearing was pretty much gone. We’d come home, unlock and open the door, and come inside. No dog to greet us, no dog springing off the couch and trotting over, no dog looking embarrassed and walking slowly to the door. We’d look at the couch, and there was Top, curled up in a ball sleeping, while softly snoring. We’d walk on in and quietly go about our business. If it was dinner time, we’d go to the couch and gently wake him for his evening meal. Otherwise, he’d snooze away a bit, and eventually wake up. He’d hop down and find us in the kitchen, or wherever, and walk up to say hello and receive a pet.
A few months later, it was time, and we eased him over the rainbow bridge. It was a sad day, weekend and month. As with all things, time eventually passed and the pain lessened.
Flowers we Received from our Friend, Don, at Top’s Passing
We still think of Top, laugh at his antics and tell his stories. Of course many of our friends have heard the stories more than once. Maybe because Top was “einmalig”, or maybe because he was our first dog, we tell more stories about him than any of our other pets. I’m sure they are a bit boring to others, but for me, it’s a way of keeping his memory alive. He’s been gone for 25 years now, but will never be gone from our hearts.
Addendum:
Here’s another blog about Top from the past. I don’t know if our dog Top could bark in both German and English, but he had a fluent understanding of the two languages … We discovered this outside our local Bäckerei (Bakery), when an old German lady bent down, looked at Top and said “Gib mir deine Pfote”. As she extended her hand, Top […]. Continue at: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2020/07/15/our-bilingual-dog-top/
Live Life Exuberantly 