Category: Childhood Memories

1980's, Childhood Memories, Music

A Reunion With Lita Ford
Me, John, Lita Ford, Mike

Once upon a time, back in the 1980’s if you really must know, there were three kids who used to hang out together on the south side of Easton: James, Michael and John.

For the most part, these three friends would spend summer days playing Dungeons & Dragons, reading comic books, shooting basketball or occasionally, making Spiderman home movies.

Music was also a huge part of their lives. The boys loved buying the latest albums, wearing out the vinyl while playing state of the art video games on the Atari 2600, and attending concerts. Sometimes in pairs but rarely as a trio.

As time wore on these three people (let’s just call them “The Trio”) kind of lost touch with each other and went their own separate ways. Michael started college and entered the world of finance, John put down his imaginary +2 sword in favor of an army rifle and James entered the health care field and continued to play guitar on the side.

Prelude over….

Through fate, and the social networks, the three of us were able to reconnect a year or so ago. We had always talked about getting together for a drink and reminiscing, but of course talking about something and actually doing it are two different things. Work, families and other commitments tend to get in the way. Days quickly turned into months and although I’d see John at the gym every so often or receive a text message from Mike when our football team was playing, we never pulled the trigger and made The Trio reunion happen.

Then one day, a few weeks ago something really cool happened. I was offered concert tickets to see Lita Ford at Penns Peak. Now, readers of my blog already know of my admiration for Lita. Heck, I walked for miles in the summer heat with my guitar to lesson to learn how to play her songs. But, as I thought about the opportunity of seeing Lita some more, a huge smile came across my face. What better way to reunite The Trio than with the one thing we all had in common: our love of music?

So, instead of texting Mike I decided to do it “old school” and actually call him. You know, just like if it were the 1980’s. Mike and I had seen plenty of concerts while teenagers back in the day. From the first concert we both ever saw: The Scorpions and some new band named Bon Jovi to REO Speedwagon, Survivor, Cinderella, RATT, Poison, Night Ranger, Ace Frehley… the list goes on. Mike checked his schedule, and it was a go.

Next, a quick message to John, who also was also immediately on board. “Dude” he said, “I haven’t been to a show with you since we saw Stevie Nicks and Frampton back in ’86. You KNOW I’m there!”

Wow! I knew John and I had seen Stevie Nicks in Philadelphia, but had completely forgotten that Peter Frampton was the opening act. But that’s what’s cool about seeing concerts with friends; they help remind you of these things.

So…..

At approximately 6:10 pm on July 12th, 2012 The Trio were officially reunited in the parking lot of Penns Peak. The first time the three of us stood together in probably 25 years. In between handshakes, hugs and pats on the back was a bit of sadness too. How was it possible that the three of us all still lived within 30 minutes of each other and never got together?

My self-imposed depression was short-lived as we made our way to the bar (yes, it’s good to be an adult sometimes). It was there that we ate, drank and talked about how great it was to be together again and do something we all loved.

As we watched the concert, much like we always did back in our heyday, Mike and I would constantly look over at each other, nodding in approval of Lita’s performance. It was just like the days of yore and the three of us basked in the glory of metal. Lita was supporting her brand new album and never sounded better.

After rocking together at the show, we actually had the opportunity to meet Lita backstage. Of course, I already know that she’s the “Queen” so it was one of the coolest things ever for me to meet her personally. But for some reason, having the three of us there together at that moment bumped it up a notch in cool.

As we stood there for a group picture, another smile came across my face (this now seemed to be a recurring trend). I kept thinking that Lita was part of something really special and had absolutely no idea about it.

Afterwards, we made our way out into the late summer night, the last ones left in the now empty parking lot. We stood there for fifteen minutes absorbing what had just taken place.

“Jimmy, I KNOW you want to wait here and follow her bus!”, John said. I laughed out loud thinking that was probably something he would have said after we saw Stevie Nicks, and in both cases my answer would still the same: “Hell, yes!”

After a final handshake, high-five and promise to keep in touch we all went our separate ways again. Brothers in music, hoping the time between now and our next reunion isn’t quite so long.

Childhood Memories

It Won’t Be Long Now

I strolled downstairs this morning with a huge decision to make.

My eyes slowly adjusted to the light now beginning to break through the kitchen windows and I began rubbing the last bit of sleep out of them. A bit of a distraction but the need for a decision continued to weigh heavily on my mind.

What kind of coffee was I going to have?

After deciding I needed a little Ginseng mixed in with my K-Cup I felt the pressure leave my shoulders. I smiled and let out a sigh. Yes sir, today was going to be a good day.

As the Keuring brewed I decided to peer out my kitchen window and that’s when I saw it…my blueberry bush. The one that I had painstakingly planted last year. The one that almost didn’t survive the onslaught of two Boston Terriers rough housing around it. The one that was now at last beginning to bear fruit, albeit still hard and green. It wouldn’t be long now before hints of blue began to show on the small orbs that adorned the bush. I believed it was only a matter of time before I could enjoy the fruits of my labor.

Another smile came across my face. Only this time it was because I was about to once again take a trip down memory lane:

My family and I had spent my childhood living with my grandparents in their small turn of the century home on the south side. My grandfather had owned several acres of land where he had planted dozens of trees and shrubs. All of which he meticulously cared for himself.

Since he couldn’t afford one of those “luxury” gas-powered lawn mowers, my grandfather would mow all of the yard with one of those old school hand-held contraptions. It’s still hard for me to imagine that after spending an entire week working in a sweaty silk mill he’d spend one of his only days off every weekend doing yard work. His yard was his baby.

For a typical kid, summer mornings usually meant sleeping in but not for me. I’m not typical. I was always up early because I could not wait for breakfast. Now, those of you who frequently read my blog know of my affection for the chocolatey goodness of Count Chocula so what I’m about to say may sound like blasphemy so forgive me:

Summer time was perhaps the only time that I did not eat Count Chocula or some other sugary cereal for breakfast.

One of the things I really loved about summer while growing up was getting up early and pouring myself a large bowl of Corn Flakes. You heard me right: regular old Corn Flakes. But before a single drop of milk was added I would first grab a small bowl from the cupboard and head down into the yard.

For down there, in between the clothes lines my grandmother would hang socks and linen out to dry in the warm summer breeze stood a trio of blueberry bushes my grandfather had planted many years ago.

Every morning in late June there were always berries galore. Bushes that over flowed with the sweetest blueberries I had ever tasted. Blueberries that not one other member of my family even cared about. Blueberries that were literally, all mine.

I remember laughing to myself as I filled up my bowl with the bushes’ wonderful creation. I’d pick handfuls off at a time and eat them right there. I was convinced that the combination of warm summer sun, the smell of clean, wet clothes drying on the line and the taste of this fruit was what heaven must be like. Childhood was wonderful.

With my bowl now filled I would literally run back to the house with bounty in hand. I rinsed off the berries and added them to my cornflakes. While my parents and siblings still slept I was about to partake in the best breakfast ever!

On certain days when the morning harvest was exceptionally high it was like I was having corn flakes with my blueberries instead of the other way around. I OD’d on antioxidants but it was so worth it.

And now here I stood, still gazing out the window thirty years later looking at my own blueberry bush. One that is not hidden behind hanging sheets or tube socks. One whose fruit will now be the cause of countless battles between me and my daughter, a blueberry lover herself.

But I look at the bright side: I get up earlier than she does.

It won’t be long now.

1980's, Childhood Memories

Asia – 30 Years Of Rock

It was mid May 1982, a time period I remember fondly even though I can’t recall the exact date.

I was a young thirteen-year-old boy in the home stretch of seventh grade and actually loved going to school. And before you go making assumptions: no, I wasn’t on drugs or suffering from some serious mental ailment.

Just hear me out.

As a student, the end of the school year is always the most exciting time of the year. At least it was for me. Worries about final exams, peer pressure and girls would soon give way to dreams of summer sun, picnics and marathon sessions playing Pitfall on the Atari.

I actually looked forward to getting up in the morning and going to school. If for no other reason than to spend the day just hanging out with my friends in class. Because let’s be honest, there sure wasn’t a hell of a lot learning going on when there was a summer itch that needed to be scratched.

The middle school I attended sat in the center of the city’s west ward. A two-story brick structure that I think doubled as an oven from May through September. The building itself had no central air conditioning and by mid morning the temperature in the classroom rose to almost unbearable levels. And there’s only so much relief open windows and small portable fans can provide to a class of two dozen antsy students.

But the heat from the unusual May weather pattern did not deter my enthusiasm one bit. On the contrary, as the sweat ran down my brow it only reinforced the notion that before too long, summer would officially arrive.

It was during one of those final hot days when I was sitting, ironically enough, in music class when it happened. As I said, there was very little left to learn and aside from each student cleaning out their desks and getting old test papers back the teacher had pretty much given us a free period. As a sort of “going away present” he even offered to let students bring in some record albums to listen to rather than to just sit in silence.

That was when this kid, who I will forever remember as Danny, put it on the turntable. As needle met vinyl the crackling hum began and it would be the first time I heard that infamous guitar riff and opening line:

I never meant to be so bad to you.
One thing I said that I would never do..

My eyes lit up and my heart began to race as a smile ran clear across my face (did you like how that rhymed?). Anyway, I think if Mom and Dad would have been there what happened next would have been justifiable cause for having my mouth washed out with soap.

“Who the HELL is this?”, I almost blurted out. Thankfully, someone else said the exact same thing to Danny and spared me the trouble of a reprimand from the teacher thus keeping my goody-two shoes status in tact.

“Asia“, Danny replied with a smile. Danny was one of those lucky guys whose parents had just gotten him the record from the first real “super group” of the 1980’s. A band formed from the nexus of YES, Emerson, Lake and Palmer and King Crimson.

Not only was the first song killer but they even had a picture of a dragon rising from the sea on the album cover. I LOVE dragons!

I resisted the urge to reach out and “touch” the record album Danny held in his hands for fear that it might appear to be sacrilege. Or at least grounds for a punch in the arm.

As Danny explained the premise of Asia my ears were glued to the turntable. The music coming from the spinning disc was different and exciting. As “Heat of The Moment” played on not only do I recall thinking it was apropos to the oppressive situation we were experiencing in the school but I also remember thinking how great my life was to be able to bear witness to this new music.

The next song was just as catchy as the first: “Only Time Will Tell”.  An amazing keyboard intro and a video I would later find on the then fledgling MTV channel. You remember, the one with the girl gymnast jumping over TV sets with the bands faces on them?

Have I mentioned before how much I loved the 80’s?

I think we had just gotten half-way through the third song: “Sole Survivor” when it was time to pack things up and head out.

Although my tenure in seventh grade would soon be coming to an end the seed was planted for my love of hard driven guitars and keyboards.

It would be years before I would finally get to see Asia perform live. They are one of the very few bands from that era (RUSH, Mötley Crüe and Poison also come to mind) that are still performing with all of the original members and sound better than ever.

On July 3rd, 2012 Asia will release “XXX” (pronounced “Triple-X”) an album which celebrates three decades as the original super-group. Still with the same powerful line-up as when I first heard them in the sweltering heat of the middle school I’ll once again be able to hear new music and recall those care free days of youth.

Thanks Danny, wherever you are. Now bring on the heat.

Childhood Memories

The McDonaldland Crime Syndicate

Back in the day, if Mom and Dad drove anywhere passed a Mickey D’s you knew darn well a whiny blonde-haired boy in the back seat was going to beg them to make a pit stop.

As a child, I loved going to the Golden Arches. It was like visiting Mr. Rogers or The Fonz only this excursion also included burgers, fries and shakes! I just loved eating there as a wee lad. Much more so then now, as eating that stuff today tends to put weight on me for some unknown reason.

But I have to admit, the thing I loved most about going to McDonald’s in the 1970′s had nothing to do with burger or fry. No, the best thing about going to the place where billions and billions were served was that it was another chance for me to see what my boy Ronald McDonald and his homies were up to.

Ronald sure had the coolest bunch of friends ever – a posse that all lived in their own little McDonaldland. A world filled with talking nuggets, trash cans and trees. A place I only got to visit when my parents grew tired of listening to their bratty kid on the way home from the store.

I still fondly recall trying to collect all of the promotional, lead-laced glasses and plates they’d have. Not because I’d ever utilize such items for eating or drinking mind you. My goal was strictly to have something with the McDonaldland characters on it. The coolest bunch of dudes ever. You know who they are: Ronald McDonald, Grimace, The Professor, Mayor McCheese, Big Mac and Birdie the Early Bird (for all you breakfast lovers out there).

It’s actually been years since we all really hung out together, so on a whim I decided to read up on my old pals to see what they were up to. What I discovered about their past was shocking… and sadly, I don’t think we can be friends anymore.

Has anyone else noticed the evil crime syndicate that was being run out of McDonaldland?

Take a look at these biographies of the characters and you tell me. Fatty fast food is the last thing our children need to be worried about. The truth is, larceny has been running amok in McDonaldland:

Hamburglar – The Hamburglar was a pint-sized burglar who first appeared in March 1971 and was one of the first villains on the commercials. He is dressed in a black-and-white hooped shirt and pants, a red cape, a wide-brimmed hat and red gloves. His primary object of theft was hamburgers.

 

 
Captain Crook – Captain Crook was a pirate who first appeared in July 1970 and is similar in appearance to the famed Captain Hook from Disney’s 1953 movie Peter Pan. Unlike the Hamburglar, this villain spent his time trying to steal Filet-O-Fish sandwiches from citizens of McDonaldland while avoiding being caught.

 

 

 

Fry Guys -They are characters used to promote McDonald’s french fries. When they first appeared in 1972, they were called Gobblins and liked to steal and gobble up the other characters’ french fries.

 

 

Griddler – A short-lived McDonaldland character. He was featured in 2 commercials in 2003 to promote the McGriddles by stealing them from Ronald and his friends.

Even my boy Grimace started out on the wrong side of the tracks:

Grimace – a large, purple character who was first introduced in November 1971 as the “Evil Grimace”. In Grimace’s first two appearances, he was depicted with two pairs of arms with which to steal milkshakes and sodas. “Evil” was soon dropped from Grimace’s moniker, and Grimace was reintroduced in 1972 as one of the good guys.

It seems like almost everyone at McDonalds has taken to a life of crime. And to make matters worse, the only two real “good guys” around: Mayor McCheese and Big Mac (an actual police officer) both disappeared from McDonaldland years ago and haven’t been heard from since. Coincidence?

I don’t know about you, but I’m beginning to question which side Ronald himself is on.

Which makes me wonder how it all began….

1980's, Childhood Memories, Life

Dear Diary: May 13, 1987

I am so grateful to have kept my journal from high school. It gives me the opportunity to look back now thirty years later and see just how far I’ve come.

I’ll be the first to admit, a lot of it is rambling on and on about music, girls and homework but sometimes I said some of the most profound things. Not bad for a seventeen year old.

Case in point: This entry from 30 years ago. I was a member of the Concert Choir in high school during my senior year and quite honestly it’s the best memory I have. I loved it so much that when the director of the choir retired from the school district a few years ago and became the director of an adult choir I immediately brushed up on my Bass II vocals and joined without question.

But back to the story: On May 13th, 1987 my high school choir performed its annual Spring Concert. It was a night of firsts and lasts. It would be the first time I ever performed on stage as a guitarist. It would also be the last time I’d be singing with the amazing people I spent nearly thirteen years of my life with.

I still remember standing in the hallway behind the auditorium when it was all over just letting everything sink in. Receiving high-fives and handshakes from kids, excuse me… “Seniors”… many of whom I only knew from yearbook photos and who wanted nothing to do with me during my entire school career. Sadly, the feeling was mutual.

And yet suddenly, a truly amazing thing happened. The ignorance of  high-school “clicks” was gone and everybody (yes, everybody) suddenly became “cool”. I guess it was because we all knew that in less than a month we’d be saying goodbye for the last time.

It was one of the last true moments of greatness in high school and my youth. This is what I wrote the next day:

5/14/87

Dear Diary: Last night was my first time EVER playing to an audience on stage. I was really scared as the moment approached but they, friends comforted me (in more ways than one).

I tried like hell to psyche myself up but it didn’t work until the curtain opened. Then I WANTED it and I really let loose!

Afterwards, the G- string on my guitar broke (3rd string). I was so grateful it didn’t happen during the concert.

I threw picks into the audience and don’t know what became of them. Maybe somebody’s home with it – happy. That’s what I hope. I hope I made people happy.

That’s what music is all about. It’s not money, sex, drugs, long nights – although all of that somehow seems to go with it. Music has one purpose: To make people emotional.

We did that last night.

I laugh when I think about my rock-star mentality that night. I mean, who in their right mind would ever play a menacing black guitar on stage for “Flashdance” and then jump back in to the choir to sing Aus Justi?

I remember there was one thing I was especially excited about as I put pen to paper the next day. I couldn’t wait to write the line “in more ways than one”.

You see, that night was also the first time a boy five months shy of becoming eligible for Selective Service actually received a kiss on the cheek by a female that was not his Mom or Grandmother. Keeping my journal over the course of the year, I would NEVER have gone so far as to write anything about my interaction with girls. Mainly due to my fear of the journal winding up in the wrong hands. But on that day I didn’t care. And as I read this awesome entry again the words on the now tattered yellow pages began to sink in.

Not only did we make great music that night but I think I became more confident in myself as a person.

Childhood Memories, Life

Teacher Teacher

Most of us wanted our school years to just fly by. Every day of school was just another day closer to the weekend and doing whatever we wanted to do. At the time, most of us never really thought about the real impact school and teachers would have on our lives.

Bring out the way back machine Sherman and set it to the years 1984-1987……

I’m in high school again. You know, those crazy years we all went through. Like walking down the halls in Jordache jeans while Spandau Ballet blared over the loud speakers, carrying books covered by paper grocery bags (a requirement back then and before plastic bags became ALL the rage). Ok, its “True”, I made up the part about Spandau Ballet.

In all of my schooling I can’t remember much about what was learned or very much about my teachers. Although my friend Michele has the uncanny ability to recall exactly WHERE I was sitting in history class in proportion to her location. We’ll have to talk about this at the next reunion. I have a lot of questions that need answering.

Anyway, although I can’t recall much I do remember three teachers during my tenure there that really impacted me the most: Mr. Siddons, Mr. Fox and Mr. Milisits. I won’t even bother to give their first names because to me, respectively, that’s who they will forever be known as.

Mr. Siddons was my tenth grade history teacher. His father was one of the last of the old school door to door sales people who had sold insurance to my grandparents. He was also my brother’s history teacher two years earlier. So there’s sort of a familial relationship there too.

Mr. Siddons was probably the most benign person you’d ever meet. He had a soft tone and rarely yelled. But the one trait he had that I’ll never forget was the ability to tell the lamest jokes. You know the ones I mean, something like: “Why did the chicken cross the road? Because He had to go the bathroom”. And he’d always give out a “Mr. Siddons” laugh. Nothing outrageous or anything. He would just kind of chuckle to himself. You could tell he must have been up all night thinking about it. How he’d deliver it and the kids would go crazy.

At first his shtick didn’t go over too well with me. But by the end of the first month of class I actually looked forward to the little gems he’d throw out. Even though most all were met with crickets (and he must have felt like the size of an ant in a room full of elephants) he never let it get to him. He’d always chuckle, wipe his mouth and seque with “Ok, let’s take a look at the Gulf of Tonkin”….

Strangely enough, every day after having learned about Tonkin, the Volstead Act or some war to end all wars I remember giggling to myself reciting a joke over and over in my head as I walked out of the room. Surely, a joke I would never utter to anyone else. Maybe that was really his shtick. To get me to try to remember them.

During my junior and senior years I rarely got down to the part of the school where Mr. Siddons and others of his “ilk” resided. But on the occasion that I did or saw him in the hall he would always say “Hi” to me and call me by name. He always remembered me. And I’d never forget him.

Let’s transfer over to Mr. Fox in the Art department. A short, grey bearded man with a limp. Mr. Fox had suffered from polio as a child and as a result he walked a bit strangely. Sadly, I’m sure he was the butt of many jokes from cruel students but I think by this point in his life he was immune to all.

Art class was a means of escape for me. I loved to draw and became an affection ado for Bob Ross. I could watch that dude for hours paint a happy little tree. And while we never painted those trees in Mr. Fox’s class it was still a way for me to forget about all the problems of the day.

We all knew Mr. Fox must have been an artist himself. And one day we found out what he loved to do. We came into class to see these miniature models of a circus that he had constructed himself. Everything he painstakingly made from scratch with his own two hands. You could see the pride in his eyes. This guy was GOOD.

But the one day that really stands out for me was when we were drawing the human figure. We’d have students go up and just stand there while the rest of us drew. I could always draw the body (even cool detail on their Converse sneakers with rainbow shoe laces) but never the face. It never came out right. I spent a long time on it and it just wasn’t happening. He must have seen my frustration because at one point he came over and sat across from me. It was just me and him…face to face.

He looked at my piece and was impressed. Then he asked me why I was so frustrated. I told him it was because as hard as I tried I could never get the face to be anywhere close to being right. So he took a piece of paper and started doodling…all the while looking at me and just saying things like “You know, if you really want something and try hard enough, you can make it happen”.

For those thirty seconds or so I was more doubtful than ever…”Yeah, right” I thought to myself. Then he stood up and told me “Keep up the good work Jim”, and passed me the paper he was doodling on.

As he walked away I picked up the paper and looked at it. The old guy with the limp had just drawn a picture of my face. One where even the subject (in this case, yours truly)  would say “That looks just like ME”….he did that in thirty seconds of just scribble.

Finally, we move on to the music department, my personal favorite. I could write a novel on my exploits here (including the day I officially became a ROCK STAR opening for Clay Aiken) but we’ll save that for another time. Suffice to say, I credit most of my music “success” to the days of high school music theory and choir.

Mr. Milisits (or “M” as he is known) would conduct the huge high school choir. One that won many awards over the years. I’m sure for many; choir was like art class was for me. Just a way to get out of taking another boring subject. But that soon changed. Somehow, he would take a group of kids and make them WANT to sing.

He would always tell us inspirational things to keep pushing us. Quotes like “You can do this”, “A new mistake shows progress” and “Talk to me” resonated with everyone. He just had “something” that made you want to work hard.

During my senior year, it was his teaching that made me want to play guitar in jazz band and the school play. Now, to get a metal head that wanted nothing to do with ANY after school activity and would spend most of his free time jamming to Bon Jovi and Def Leppard to perform “Leader of the Pack” is really saying something.  That M’s got some strong kung-fu.

When it came time to perform, be it at school or somewhere in Canada, it was really like “rock star” night for the choir. And well, I even got to play that black heavy metal guitar during our spring concert. One that hangs on the wall in my office right to this day that I still play.

I could bore you for hours on how M’s classes changed me but let me just end by saying those classes are the best memories I have from high school.

A few years ago I had the opportunity to rejoin “M” and a few other alumni as he is now the director of the Lehigh Saengerbund Chorus.We’re preparing to perform at Allentown Symphony Hall in early June, twenty-five years after I last sat with him in high school concert choir.

As I sit in rehearsals now there’s no wayback back machine required. It’s like re-living a part of all the best days of being in school again. That old feeling of “you can do it” and “new mistakes show progress” are back.

And it’s all good.

Childhood Memories

Saturday Night Fever

I guess its kind of fitting that I found out about it on a Saturday afternoon.

I had just sat down at my computer and started perusing the various news sites. I like to read the entertainment tabloids first if for no better reason than to see ridiculous stories about  J-Lo renting a beach or if some other celebrity got popped for drunk driving.

That’s when I read the news.

Robin Gibb is in the hospital suffering from a variety of maladies. Cancer of the colon and liver being one of them. His family making a bedside vigil hoping for recovery. Robin’s twin brother Maurice died unexpectedly back in 2003 and now, the possibility that 2/3 of the Bee Gees might be gone suddenly became a reality.

For a moment I thought about closing my web browser. I guess I believed that somehow  me doing that would magically make it disappear and everything would be as it were just a minute ago.

But I read on. And it was like a punch in the stomach.

Having myself lost my own father to the disease 15 years ago I can personally relate to what their family is going through now. I quickly re-lived everything that I went through during my father’s last days. How all of the wishful thinking, prayers and hopes that somehow, the sickest man in the entire hospital would somehow pull through just wasn’t enough.

Worse still, the news of Robin’s possible final hours only reminded me of my own mortality.

I recalled how carefree I was as an eight-year old boy back in 1977 when Stayin’ Alive was on the radio. How I went to my cousin’s house to listen to all of those cool songs from the soundtrack on his stereo. Or how I used to beg my Mom and Dad to take me to see Saturday Night Fever but was only laughed to scorn because of the “R” rating. It sure was fun being a kid during the height of the disco age.

I can’t even remember the last time I listened to that entire album. I may just have to call my cousin and see if he still has it. He probably won’t but it will be fun to talk about those days again.

And how 35 years later, I’m once again reminded that every beginning has an end.

1980's, Childhood Memories

Take A Walk

It was one of those afternoons where I had to make a quick run to the store for a few items. Nothing major at all and quite frankly it probably could’ve waited until a bigger shopping excursion was needed. But I was never one to go too long without my green tea so off I went.

I quickly grabbed the keys and proceeded to the garage to take the car on a trek of two miles to the local grocery. Driving everywhere has simply become routine for me, whether it be a bread and milk run or to a neighbor’s house several blocks away.

On the short drive there, and as is usually the case, my peripheral vision took over and my mind began to wander. Funny, I didn’t think about what else I may need at the store or if I should stop and get gas while I’m out. No, I actually started thinking about all the places I used to WALK to growing up.

You see, those were the days when my Mom and Dad almost always said “No” to taking me on short little runs to play video games at the Palmer Park Mall or obtain comic books at Mr. Monster’s Comic Crypt. It quickly got to the point to where I didn’t even bother asking them anymore. I’d just gather up my posse of friends and we’d put our boots on the ground (or Chuck Taylor’s with rainbow colored shoe-laces. After all we’re talking about the 1980′s here).

I remember how we used to walk downtown to go to Mr. Monster’s on Fridays in the summer when the new shipment of books arrived. We never even second guessed if we should be doing it. We just did it. The walk was insignificant compared to what awaited us. The new adventures of Spider-man or the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles always came before the thought of possibly developing a charlie horse in the leg.

Perhaps it was also because we had nothing else to do but that didn’t really matter. We had no problem walking long distances through green pastures and city streets. Feeling the heat of the sun and the warm summer breezes. It was the camaraderie of teenage boys without responsibility taking a long walk. Talking about life, sports and music. Oh yeah, and girls too of course. They seemed to become less and less icky with each passing summer.

One of the longest walks we used to make was from South Side Easton, Pennsylvania to Phillipsburg, New Jersey to go to a hobby store. An interstate trek of about 4 1/2 miles. It was on this journey that we would take a “short-cut” and use the train trestle bridge that spanned 40 feet above the Lehigh River to cross over state lines.

We’d climb up huge hills and over rocks, scuffing up knees and twisting our ankles just to make it onto that railroad track. And while walking over the bridge our only concerns were one: to never look down and two: hope that we had timed it just right and there would be no train coming.

Far along the other side of the track, on the New Jersey side, stood an old rusty-metal train signal that always glowed a solid red light. And we, with our teenage engineering degrees, took that as meaning there was no train approaching.

On one occasion as we were about halfway across the bridge I noticed that the light had suddenly changed color from red to green and my heart skipped a beat. Even though we couldn’t see or hear any locomotive approaching I don’t think I was ever more afraid in my entire life.

The gaggle of us took off as fast as we could making it to the other side in seconds flat. I remember having to console one friend who was really having a hard time with the situation in mid sprint. “Wood?”, he said. “I’m scared”. I responded the way any caring friend would. “Shaddap! Don’t be scared… RUN!”.

As we sat on the side of the tracks, now well off of the bridge and gasping for air we all looked at each other and began laughing. No train ever came but looking back now and thinking about how we could have easily been taken out by one it certainly was one of the most stupidest things we ever did.

I was quickly transported back to present day as I realized that I had pulled into the parking lot at the grocery store. I could actually feel my heart racing a bit from thinking about that mad dash on the trestle 25 years ago. I quickly stocked up on my green tea and made a hasty return home.

Arriving back in my garage I thought again about those walks. Not so much about my near death experience but the idea of walking when possible. The thought of green pastures, city streets and summer breezes sounds very appealing so I’m hoping that for my next green tea run I’ll be able to lace up the Chuck Taylor’s and two-step it to the store.

After all, it’s not that far… and there’s no train trestle to cross.

Childhood Memories, Games

Video Games

I still remember it like it was yesterday. It was Tuesday, October 5th, 1982 (ok, I looked up the day of the week, but I did remember the year) and I had just completed another long, grueling day at school.

The big yellow bus had just dropped me off at the corner of Charles and Wilkes-Barre streets and I had to walk the usual two blocks to get home.

Normally, this would be a challenge for me because the weight of my science and math books would always wear me down by the time I got home. But today I probably could have carried a dozen thousand-paged text books without a problem. Because today was no ordinary Tuesday.

It was also my birthday and I KNEW that there would be some kind of present waiting for me as I walked through the door. And sure enough, there was.

It was a brand new Atari 2600 video game system. The first state of the art system I ever owned and my first real taste of home video games. I quickly set everything up on our 19 inch color television and put in a game. I didn’t even need to read any instruction manual. Everything was so easy to figure out.

Needless to say,  I relished every moment playing games like Combat, Pitfall, Pac-Man and my all time favorite: Haunted House. Each one easy to play and all providing me countless hours of mindless entertainment. (I’m also quite sure that the sounds eminating from the games drove my parent absolutely insane).

It wasn’t long before technology started making games “better” and a few Christmas’ later my neighbor got a Texas Instruments mini-computer that also played video games. I’m sure his parents probably spent a million dollars on it because the graphics (from a 1984 stand point) were just so cool.

That winter I think we spent every waking moment we had playing games in his basement and listening to records on an endless loop. We played Vital Signs from Survivor, Wheels are Turnin’ by REO Speedwagon, Midnight Madness by Night Ranger and Heartbeat City by The Cars. So, in addition to dominating the game “Tunnels of Doom” we also memorized every lyric from every one of those albums.

Over the years the gaming systems continued to change. Each one getting progressively better than the last. Coleco Vision, Sega, Nintendo and the Sony Playstation all came along and one-upped each other. I owned quite a few of these consoles myself and marveled at how much better the quality of the games had become.

Fast forward: It’s now thirty years later and I wanted to buy a game for my Playstation 3.

I decided to try Skyrim – the 5th installment in the Elder Scrolls series. It’s about a bunch of dragons who attack this city. At least that’s what I think it’s about. I never played any of the other games in the series but I assumed it would be kind of like a 21st century “Haunted House” meets “Tunnels of Doom”.

I started playing the game to try and get a feel for the controls and quickly discovered that this was no “Haunted House”. This is a game in which every single button on the controller is used in some way. Failure to know what each button does and when to use it can lead to an untimely death.

I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what I needed to do to play this game properly. So I do what I always do when I’m stuck playing a game – I cheat. I went to the local Game Stop to look for any cheat manuals and sure enough they had one.

I am not kidding you – the companion guide for this game is the size of a phone book. There are 655 pages of information ranging from how to create a character to side quests that steer off from the main objective.

What the <insert expletive here>? Haunted House only had 12 pages and three of those were just information about the Atari company. There were nine pages about how to play the game and I didn’t need any of them.

As I began perusing the data contained in this volume of War and Peace it suddenly occurred to me that as great and realistic as these new games are I sorely miss the days of just popping in a video game and playing.

My time is limited enough as it is for these games so when I do get a spare hour or two to play them I shouldn’t have to read a novel just to maneuver a character.

I’d much prefer to spend that time playing Side A of Vital Signs and slaying some dragons.

But that’s just me.

Childhood Memories, Movies and TV

Henry Winkler – Still Cool

I was reading Parade magazine a few Sundays ago and came across an interesting article about a new book Henry Winkler had written called “I’ve Never Met an Idiot on the River: Reflections on Family, Fishing, and Photography”. Henry Winkler. Now there was a name I haven’t heard in a long time.

As I read about his new book and passion for fly fishing in Montana it suddenly occurred to me that this man had a profound impact on me growing up. But Henry Winkler is no ordinary man. He was; well let me rephrase that, IS the coolest person I ever knew while growing up.

I’m sure by now he is tired of hearing about it but to me and to thousands of others Henry Winkler will forever be remembered as Arthur Fonzarelli aka The Fonz. Quite possibly the greatest character to ever appear on a fictional television sitcom (and also another reason how influential television can be and why we as parents need to always be conscious of what our children are watching).

Some where in the 1970’s is where my story begins. A time when “Happy Days” was the reason for my existence. I couldn’t really tell you all of the story lines or dialogue and quite frankly, it doesn’t really matter. All I knew was that Fonzie was my hero.

From the moment I saw that 45″ record spinning and the ”Sunday, Monday… Happy Days”  theme begin playing I was hooked. And when they showed the Fonz giving me the thumbs-up as he appeared in the middle of that record I knew all was right in the world. Because whenever Richie, Ralph and Potsie got into trouble, The Fonz was always there to help bail them out.

No matter how tough their assailants may have been when The Fonz showed up they all turned to mush. The bigger they were the harder they’d fall. My personal favorite episode was the one where the dude with the iron claw hand came at him. The Fonz just grabbed him by that metal hand and bent it straight back, fingers and all. I don’t even think Superman could have done that. Just the presence of The Fonz was powerful enough to instill fear into even the meanest of people, my own family included.

As most young siblings do, my brother Bones and I used to fight like cats and dogs. Bones was one tough cookie back then. In fact, Bones was even considered one of the most feared kids in the entire neighborhood.

Now I know what you’re thinking: “Who could possibly be afraid of someone named Bones”? Trust me, we all were. Most of the time me and the other kids on our block would be afraid to even approach him out of fear of what he might do to us.

Any attempt to invade his space on a bad day might result in a head lock, noogie session, punch in the arm or some combination of the three. Yeah, I knew my bro was a bad ass but the only thing that really got to him was The Fonz. Because when Happy Days was on his eyes didn’t move from the TV. He was in awe just like I was. Oh I’m sure he would like you to believe that he was on the same level of cool as The Fonz but I knew the truth. Yes sir, Bones was scared of The Fonz and really, who could blame him?

Fonzie had these awe-inspiring powers. He could just snap his fingers and all the girls would be drawn to him like a moth to a flame. In retrospect, I sure wish I had that ability in high school. I might have gotten out more.

And then there were the times that The Fonz would be in the bathroom preparing to comb his hair and then realize, every time of course, that there would be no need. It was always perfect.

And I can’t even count the number of times I hurt my hand trying to pound the jukebox and get it to start playing a tune like he did. C’mon, now tell me that’s not cool! And only The Fonz had that ability.

But of all the powers The Fonz possessed there was only one that I still desire. I mean, who wouldn’t want to walk into a room and hear nothing but hand clapping, whistles, cheers and girls screaming while welcoming your arrival? I’m still not sure how he pulled it off but on every episode, when he walked on set that’s exactly what happened. Coolness sure has it’s advantages.

The Fonz was not only cool but he also had the ability to ward off evil. Growing up, I used to have to sleep in the scary attic of my grandparent’s house. A real turn of the century type house with creaky steps. More than enough to scare the crap out of a young boy. But I was not afraid.

Me in the 70's in a feeble attempt to imitate the master

For as I ascended the stairs each night to climb into bed a huge poster of The Fonz greeted me. Dressed in his trademark leather jacket, wearing a smile and giving me a big thumbs up. HEY!

It was all I needed to protect me from any monsters that might be lurking under my bed. As far as I was concerned,  if Bones was afraid of him there was no way the Boogie Man would mess with The Fonz either.

Fonzie and the gang ended their run in 1984 just as I was starting high school. It was bittersweet to say goodbye but I knew that it was time for me to take care of myself and find my own cool. Something I think we all have to do on our own.

 

But if there’s one thing The Fonz has taught me it’s that there are actually many different ways to be cool.

Living our lives to the best of our ability and raising our children right tops my cool to-do list. I’m sure Fonzie would agree and give me a thumbs up for the way I turned out.

After reading the Parade magazine article I decided right then and there that I’m going to buy Mr. Winkler’s latest book and get a glimpse into his human side as well. I know it will be a good read. I’m looking forward to the adventures he has with his family.

And even better, I really can’t wait to tell Bones how cool it was to go fly fishing with The Fonz.