The New Kids

It was just an another ordinary day, in that summer of 1966. I got up early to do my hair so that I wouldn't have to sleep on rollers. Back then rollers had bristles in them and they picked like heck. Also you had to position your head just so, and then keep it that way if you had any hope of getting a decent night's rest. I opted for the morning shampoo, set, and then an hour under the hairdryer. It meant an hour in my own little world without my younger siblings or my mother bothering me. A couple of teen magazines, and I was all set. Then I ironed my clothes to wear to work that afternoon.

I was only 15, but I had a summer job working at Morrison's Miracle Drug Store. My best friend was Jean Morrison and her Dad decided the best way to keep us out of mischief for the summer, was to put us to work in his store. I loved it. Dusting merchandise, stocking shelves, and waiting on customers, sure beat the heck out of being my mother's go to gal, and the extra spending money was nice too. The store was located in the Miracle Shopping Center in what is now called a strip mall. It probably got the name Miracle Shopping Center because it was a miracle it ever got built. Bored kids used to call us up and ask if we sold miracle drugs. Well, I had to give them credit for originality, it was better than the Prince Albert in a can joke that was common back then.

So there we were, standing behind the counter when this vision of cool walked into the store. He wasn't what you would call tall, only about 5' 9", but he made up for it in every other way. His tossled sandy blond hair was in a longish Beatle style haircut. He had these blue eyes that smiled when he did...a boyish grin, and rock musician good looks. And get this...he was wearing corduroy jeans and loafers...without socks! How cool was that! He obviously wasn't from around here. OH! And he drove a white Corvair convertible. Can you imagine! A convertible in the U.P. was probably the most impracticle vehicle you could own being that there were only about 10 days out of the entire year where you could drive with the top down. If it wasn't snowing or raining, it was just too darn cold!

He walked right up to us and without introducing himself, asked if Mr. Morrison was in. My friend Jean directed him to the back of the store where her father was filling prescriptions. I just stared...hopefully not with my mouth open. As far as we knew, that was the very first Brian Peterson siting. We found out later from Jean's dad that he was the son of the new mining executive that had just been transferred here from Toronto, Canada! How cool was that! A real live Canadian! I had been waving to the Canadians across Lake Superior ever since I was a little girl, but I never expected them to look like that!

We could hardly wait to spread the word. A new guy in town...and he was cute! More than just cute...he was cool! Brian Peterson was going to become to the local boys, what Margaret Kunos had been to the local girls last year. Margaret was the cute new girl last summer... the daughter of the new Methodist minister, only she wasn't like any preacher's kid we knew. Margaret was pretty in a grown up sort of way...not cute...sexy, only we didn't use words like sexy back then. She had long blond hair that was past her shoulders which she made blonder with a little help from Miss Clairol. Margaret's skirts were barely to her knee when the rule was that they had to be "mid-knee". She always claimed that she shouldn't be punished for having small kneecaps. Margaret Kunos could be summed up in one sentence. She rode on the back of Peter Wirtola's motorbike...in a skirt! That's all you needed to know about Margaret as far as we were concerned. Never mind that she was also smart, funny, and awfully adventerous for girl. She obviously wasn't from around here either. Yup...the boys were going to get every one of those wistful Margaret Kunos comments thrown back at them. If 1965 was the summer of Margaret Kunos, 1966 was going to be the summer of Brian Peterson. Paybacks! Who cared if Margaret Kunos rode on the back of a motorbike in a skirt....Brian Peterson drove a white convertible!

The following Monday, Jean could hardly wait for me to get in the car before she started telling me about the latest Brian Peterson siting. Guess who was at church with his parents and younger sister! Holy Mackeral! Brian Peterson was a Presbyterian! We didn't have many of those in town. This was good news as Jean and our friend Diane were the only teenage girls that were members! Jean said the whole family was introduced. We learned that Brian had just graduated and would be attending college in the fall to study pharmacy! That's why he wanted to talk to her father. His timing couldn't have been better because Jean's older brother Alan, had just announced to his family that he wanted to study engineering, and that pharmacy didn't appeal to him as a career choice. Mr. Morrison agreed to allow Brian to come and work at the pharmacy with him for the summer.

" Oh, by the way, his sister Janice is in our class.", Jean casually tossed out as an afterthought. It turns out that Janice was tall like Jean. This made Jean espeically happy because she had been the tallest girl in our class since kindergarten I think. She seemed nice, but was obviously shy. She hardly spoke.

"Well, it sounds to me, like she could use a couple of friends. We'll have to ask Brian about her. How's that for killing two birds with one stone, talking to Brian, and learning about the new girl." I said. I was more interested in meeting the new girl being that I already had a steady boyfriend. I would leave Brian Peterson to be pursued by the others.

So that's how Jan Peterson became our friend. We just kind of absorbed her into our group of friends. She was indeed on the shy side, and she felt a bit out of place being Canadian and all, but we tried our best to make her feel comfortable and welcome. She joined the group of girls going to the weekend dances, and then joined us all at the Congress for pizza afterwards. She also joined in our birthday parties. As a group, we would all plan an event or an outing for someone's birthday. We tried to make them different and individual... a slumber party, a dinner at a fancy restaurant, a boy/girl party with dancing, a concert outing, etc. It was Jan who came up with the magic formula for the frosting of Diane's cake...who knew burgundy and pink would be such a challenge!

The following June, it was Jan's birthday and we wanted to do something special for her. So we decided that we would all go over to Marquette and have a picnic at Presque Isle. Not that Jan was particularly fond of picnics mind you...we just thought that she might like to wave at the Canadians across Lake Superior! Well, that's what we told our parents anyway. Truth be told. We had just finished our Junior year and were Seniors now. Where else were we going to meet olders guys? Marquette was the home of Northern Michigan University which was within walking distance of Lake Superior. Jan's birthday party was a darn decent excuse to go there, and those didn't come along every day.

I, of course was only thinking of the others as I still had my steady boyfriend Rick. We had been going steady for well over a year now. He had just graduated, and it looked like we were settling in for the long haul. We had plans for the entire summer...well HE had plans for the entire summer anyway. His parents had given him their old car, a 1962 blue Ford Falcon as a graduation present, and his plan was to re-build the engine with me as his mechanic's helper. "It will be fun!", he promised. And it probably would have been too, if that hadn't been his ONLY plan for our entire summer.

So that's how it came to be that I was on Presque Isle in Marquette, Michigan with bunch of girlfriends looking to meet guys on that particular day in June in 1967.

I Had a Plan

When I graduated from high school in May of 1968, I did so kicking and screaming every step of the way. Well not so much kicking screaming...more like weeping and sobbing. The tears flowed through the entire ceremony. Good thing I didn't have to give a speech, as it was I couldn't even sing a single word of the songs we had spent weeks rehearsing. I am really rotten at good byes, and this was a big one. My whole life revolved around that school and those people. Leaving it was like leaving the womb.

I wasn't ready to commit to another school. All my life I had dreamed of a career in nursing, but I wasn't ready to ask my folks to support me in that endeavor until I was absolutely certain it's what I wanted. So the smart thing in my mind, was to work at the hospital for a year as a nurse's aid. Not only would I find out if nursing and I were suited for each other, but I would get the lay of the land so to speak, and have a leg up. If I was familar with the place and the people, and the procedures, then maybe the whole idea of it wouldn't be so daunting. That was my plan.

At least I had a choice. I was lucky...I was born a girl. My male friends weren't so lucky. It was either college, enlist in the service, or wait for Uncle Sam's inevitable call.

My friends were all heading to college with their sights set on the future. My best friend Jean was going to Michigan Tech. Her brother was already there so she kind of knew the place. Her boyfriend Gordon was leaving to join the Navy in August. So no more double dates.

My boyfriend was still in high school. No, he wasn't younger, he just wasn't all that bright. He wasn't the love of my life, just a temporary someone to pass the time with. He would be leaving for the army eventually...or the marines....like I said, he wasn't all that bright.

That summer was a stream of good byes. I saw several of my friends off at the bus station as they left for Milwaukee and the military. We had a dinner with all of my girlfriends...so that we could all be together one last time. And then we had the picnic for Gordon. Just the four us...double dating one more time. Then they were all gone and I was left behind. I was working at the hospital and seeing my boyfriend on my occasional weekends off. I was just biding my time...going along with the plan.

Then the first chink in the plan came about. We got a new orderly. He had just retired from the Navy. He loved the Navy. I loved listening to him talk about the Navy. I had never considered a military career fearing that I would never make it through boot camp. I didn't think I had the discipline for it. But listening to him talk, and wanting to do my part...even though I was a girl...the idea began to take on a life of it's own. I loved working on the Orthopedic ward. I enjoyed the easy banter with the guys.

Maybe that's the kind of nursing that I was meant to do. I knew that I was meant to do something, I just had to figure out what. If I enlisted, did my time, figured stuff out...then I would have the GI bill, and I wouldn't have to ask my parents to support my dream of nursing school. I could do it myself. That very much appealed to me. Now all I had to do was muster up the courage to tell my parents that I was going to leave home and join the Navy. I had a new plan.

My Dad was afternoon shift on that day in October. That meant that we would have a large meal at noon before he went off to the mine. I had the day off so I was enjoying the day spending time with my little brother while our inbetween siblings were in school. My mother decided to go all out that day and fixed a huge turkey dinner with all the trimmings. (One of the few things that even she couldn't mess up). I piled my plate high with white meat and mashed potatoes....added some vegetables and squeezed in the stuffing. All through dinner, I tried to figure out how and when I would tell my parents that I was ready to fly the coop. It wasn't going to be easy...another good bye. Another big one. I was the oldest and would be the first to leave home. I didn't think they were ready for that. I knew they weren't.

After dinner, when the other kids went back to their classes, little brother and I sat down to build something out of Legos. That's when I first felt it. A pain in my side. It was dull at first and I tried to ignore it. I thought that I must have eaten too much and this was the consequence. But it wasn't going away, in fact it was getting worse. I told mom that I wasn't feeling well and that I was going to lay down for a while. She began to get concerned.

Before he headed off to work, my dad came to my room to see how I was doing. He didn't like the looks of things, he didn't say so, but I could see it in his face. He thought it might be best to get this checked out. He told my mother to take me to the clinic to see Doc Williams.

Dad headed to work and mom and I headed to the clinic. I was quite surprised when I was informed that the blood test confirmed that I had appendicitis. It was off to the hospital immediately for surgery...do not pass go...do not collect $200.00. This was not in the plan.

I spent six weeks recovering. My whole life was put on hold what seemed to me like forever. But with all that time to think, I had made up my mind. I for sure wanted to join the Navy. It was time for me to stretch my wings. I was needed. I liked to be needed. I couldn't think of anything more rewarding than to serve those who served. The plan was put on hold for a while longer...but it was still very much a plan.

Then the letter arrived. It was in a textured blue envelope on matching blue stationary. It was short, only one page, and so innocent. It was from Gordon, who had written from Navy boot camp. My friend Jean had written and told him about my appendectomy. She suggested that he write a get well message. Gordon's handwriting was so awful, that it took me 20 minutes, with help from my mother to read it. It probably took me as much time to read it as it did for him to write it. Still it was a nice thought. And perhaps I had found an ally. Someone to share my Navy secret.

My mother had different ideas however. She hated my boyfriend...and saw this as an opportunity of a different sort. "He likes you," she said. "And when he comes home on leave, he is going to ask you out....and darn you....you'd better go!"

I laughed at the very idea of it. Gordon and I had always had an advesarial relationship of sorts. We were always bickering about one thing or another. He loved to push my buttons...and my buttons were easily pushed. If she only knew how we used to drive Jean crazy with our back and forth jabs.

Then a couple of weeks later on a Wednesday night, I got the call. "Hi, I'm home on leave, and I'd like to come over to see you if I could. I went up to Tech to see Jean yesterday, and we've decided to go our separate ways. I'd like to talk. Can I come over?" He sounded different.

"Sure," I said. "No problem, I have tomorrow off. Come on over."

We talked. We went out "for a coke"....which also involved a pizza. Then the late movie, and a drive in his 1956 two tone green Ford. Then we parked at the foot of the ski hill...and talked until 4:00 am. Somewhere in there he kissed me. Somewhere in there I forgot all about the plan.

Memorial Day

Memorial Day has never been a day of celebration for me. It's always been a day of rememberance. Maybe it's because I lived in a small town in the midwest where we took Memorial Day seriously. We always had a parade where the flag was flown and the veterans marched to the cemetary. The graves were marked with new flags and speeches were given. When I was in high school and a member of the band, I marched too...all the way out to the cemetary on the outskirts of town. I stayed to hear the speeches. I deliberately made myself aware of the sacrifices others who were called to serve. That's the way it was in the years following the second World War and before the quagmire of Vietnam.

I was a good kid, a pretty good student, and oh so terribly naive. I lived a pretty sheltered life in the north woods. So sheltered that current events all seemed to happen somewhere else...in some far away place like California, or New York, or Washington D.C. Nothing ever happened in our isolated corner of the country. Our lives pretty much revolved around the iron ore that was mined by our fathers...that is until the young folks in our neck of the woods started getting draft notices or were bussed to Milwaukee to enlist.

Still things didn't change much. Folks pretty much believed the government knew what they were doing and trusted them to be smarter than the average Yooper. We accepted them at their word. If it was on the Channel 6 news, then it must be true.

Even when the Ishpeming High School class of 1968 graduated, we still believed that the war was necessary to hold back the tide of communism. Our yearbook attests to that. Such innocents we were. Things didn't really start to change until the fall of 1968, when Bobby Polkinghorne died, then Earl Seablom..on his first day in country (Can you believe that!)

But on July 9 1969, everything changed. Pete Ulrickson was killed by a sniper. We the class of 1968 had lost one of our own...our star quarterback. No more would the black and white 1957 Chevy "buzz the gut" around town. Pete was the third and thankfully last that our small town would give to that unholy war.

A month later we watched the news reports of Woodstock. They weren't the long haired freaks our parents talked about. They were kids...like us. We were the same. They were us. And we joined them in their frustration. Dissent which before had been simply unthinkable became inevitable. We joined the tide sweeping the nation.

Every Memorial Day, I visit the virtual wall, and pay my respects to Bobby, and Earl, and especially to Pete. This day though, I happened to tune into a program on PBS based on a book titled "They Marched into Sunlight". It was informing and moving...and all just so sad. I haven't been able to get past the sadness. Two days in 1967. Two days...before Bobby , before Earl, before Pete. If we had only known then what we knew later.

How can this happen twice in one lifetime? What didn't we learn.? We should have known better. What good is remembering if we don't learn? It's all just so heartbreakinly sad.

Beach Girls

There are times when you see or hear something that just makes you go back in time to a place where you were young and happy. The mini-series Beach Girls that is currently being shown on the Lifetime channel and based on the book by Luann Rice is one of those things.

I woke up this morning finding myself in a farmhouse next to a field of tall corn stalks and looking across the road at a sea of soybeans. I was wishing though that I was back at Champion Beach now known as Van Riper State Park in the upper penninsula of Michigan. We didn't have an ocean that roared at us, but we had a lake, Lake Michigamme whose waves gently lapped the shore.

My time as a beach girl was the mid 1960's. My co-horts were my sister Jean, my best friend Jean, and our other friends, Diane, Sandy, Susan, and Julie. When we got older and weren't dependent on parent's for transportation, we would also make our way over to Marquette and the shores of Lake Superior where we would find bigger waves, and older boys. But for me, no place was more special than Champion Beach.

Champion Beach was our summer home. We often took a picnic and spent the whole day there. We got up early and got our chores done. We helped mom while she prepared the meal to take and we helped Dad pack the cooler with soft drinks. There was Coca Cola in a can for me (the kind where you had to use a "church key" to open...tab tops were just coming into being, but mom said they cost more) and orange pop for my sister. We made Kool-aid for the boys in one of those Coleman jugs with a spout. We packed up the Rambler station wagon and headed out for the 30 minute drive arriving late morning.

We hauled all of our stuff up to the picnic area, and once we had mom and baby brother settled in, we were free to go. First stop was the changing rooms. Back then Champion beach had these old style bath house changing rooms. They were large and could accomodate a whole family. We used to love the wide swinging wooden doors and being that the floor was concrete...the place had an echo you wouldn't believe. Once we changed into our suits, we stored our clothes back in the station wagon. It helped to have flip flops to manage the gravel of the parking areas and the hot sand.

Early in the summer the water was still quite cold. They used to take the temperature of the water hourly and post it on a blackboard so that you knew when it was comfortable or freezing! Sometimes we just couldn't wait and ventured in gingerly...wading in bit by bit....taking each step only after our body had "gotten used to" the cold water up to that point. Getting past your waist was the hardest...sometimes your patience would just wear out and you just leaned forward and started swimming hoping the movement would help to keep you warm. Brave souls just jumped off the edge of the dock. But you had to be old enough and a good enough swimmer to attempt that.

After the initial swim, you came out of the water with blue lips, shivvering running for your towel to wrap yourself in to get warm. Hopefully the sun would be shining and that would help to warm you, but more often than not, the sun would play peek-a-boo with the giantic clouds. You were left standing there wrapped in your towel waiting to dry.

Then we would build a pillow in the sand, and place our towels to make a "bed". We would lay there for a long time....talking quietly, and feeling alive. You either started to feel hungry or someone would come to get you for lunch. No one bothered to change. By this time we had dried off, so it was off to the picnic area for a lunch of hamburgers, a salad, and a dessert.

Then came the dreaded 30 minutes. At Champion Beach they had a really nice playground. They had swings that could accomodate adults as well as children and a teeter totter that was one of the highest I have ever seen. Thirty minutes passed before we even realized it.

By now the water had warmed up sufficiently to make the second venture into the water far more easier. We would swim out to the children's raft....and when we got to be better swimmers out to the diving boards on the bigger raft. If we were lazy, we would simply float on our airmattresses. Of course the waves, would keep brining you back to shore, so you had to keep getting off and carrying your floating matress further out.

That's what it was like when we were youngsters. Then adolescence hit and it wasn't so much about the water anymore. It was more about the beach...more importantly who was on it. What lifeguard was on duty. How many cute guys were there. Any new guys. Any campers temporarily crossing our paths. Sometimes we came with our own guys. Guys from town. Brothers, cousins, and their friends....later boyfriends. But sometimes it was more fun to meet new guys and flirt to our hearts content knowing full well that when the day was over, we would never see them again...no matter how sincere our promises were to write.

I became a woman at Champion Beach. I remember getting my first two piece swimsuit and growing the chest to fill it out. My suit was yellow and white which probably didn't look all that noticeable starting out the summer....but once I got a decent tan and with my long dark hair, it was certainly noticeable by summer's end. I had a couple of summer romances and had my heart broken.

Later when we camped there, we would build a campfire and sing songs hootenanny style. One night going back to the campground, we skipped across the beach holding hands singing the Herman's Hermits song "I'm Henry the Eighth I am"...with nothing but the moon and the stars to guide us. I can still see the moonlight on the water and hear the joyous laughter of innocence. Awww...Beach Girls. What wonderful summers we had.

I am a Yooper

There is no denying it, so I might as well embrace it. I have lived in many other places, but now realize that in spite of my many efforts to be something else, I am what I am. I am a Yooper.

A Yooper is a person who is native to the Upper Penninsula of Michigan. We are UPers...or more easily pronounced Yoopers. We are quite different from the folks who live in the Lower penninsula. There is more than a bridge that separates us. We are our own unique culture. We are Yoopers first and Michganders second.

Thomas Jefferson is responsible for this. It was he who decided that the Upper Penninsula be given to Michigan as a compromise. Michigan would give up a strip of land including the city Toledo on the bottom to Ohio, in exchange they would be given the Upper Penninsula. The transplant never took.

We talk like people from Wisconsin or Canada. There are more Packer backers than Lions fans. We prefer to live in rustic surroundings. The climate is brutal and I think it has an effect on our overall temperment. I've always said that Yoopers have more crabby people per capita...but it keeps the riff raff out.

We come from a long line of miners and loggers. We work hard and don't expect much in return. We prefer the simple life. When I make the treck home, I am always amazed at the disparity. The first rest stop is off an interstate highway. It is always sparkling clean and with plenty of amenities including those faucets that turn on and off with an electric eye. The last stop is on a two lane road which is actually one of the major highways. There is an outhouse and a pump for water. No muss...no fuss. Just keep it simple. Not much has changed in fifty years, and Yoopers like it that way. Change is rarely a good thing.

There are some famous Yoopers. Glen T. Seaborg was a world known physicist and was the head of the Atomic Energy Commission for decades. Johnny Volker was my neighbor and the writer who wrote "Anatomy of a Murder". When Otto Preminger decided to make the book into a movie, Hollywood invaded my neighborhood for several months.

Did you know it was a Yooper who invented Jeopardy? Merv Griffith has always credited his first wife Julainne with coming up with the idea of giving the answers and having to think of the questions. Yup...another Yooper.

Some Yoopers that you might know are Steve Mariucci who coaches the Lions now and his friend basketball coach of the Michigan State Spartans Tom Issel. Also, if you are a fan of the TV show "Lost", the bald guy that plays John Locke is a Yooper.

There aren't many of us, but we get around. It's a nice place to be from....eh?

Trivial Pursuit

Back in the mid 1980's, my hubby came home and called out, "Guess what, Mar? They invented a game just for you!" For years he had been teasing me about the vast amount of "garbage knowledge" I had stored in my brain, now finally I could put it to good use.

Of course, I won all the time, and it wasn't long before I had hard time finding people to play with me. We solved the problem by buying harder editions for me, while hubby and the girls got to play the same questions over and over.

Finally one day, it happened. She beat me. My oldest daughter was elated and doing a happy dance around the table. She had beaten the master. What a sense of accomplishment. And how it changed her. With her new found confidence, my shy little intovert began to speak up more in school.

In gym class when it rained, the gym teacher would break out the trivial pursuit questions. Karen was so good that she was always the first choice when choosing sides. Imagine getting picked first...in gym class! Eventually, the teacher saw that whatever team she was on would win...so in fairness, he asked her be "Art Fleming." For those of you too young to remember, Art Fleming was Alex Trebeck before Alex Trebeck was Alex Trebeck.

Then later in high school, we went to parent-teacher conferences. Yes, I know she is very bright. Yes, I know she needs to speak up in class. Yes, I know she is well behaved. Then the last teacher...he smiles this broad smile and says all the same things we have heard many times over and over, but then adds, I have to tell you a funny story.

One day, in a fit of frustration, with how little knowledge his class had of American history, this teacher decided to make a bet with the class. "I think that almost all of you could tell me the name of the space shuttle that blew up, but I'll bet you pizza for the entire class if just one of you could tell me the name of the plane that carried the first atomic bomb."

(I couldn't help but grin.)

Then he says, Karen, who was always quiet, well behaved, and rarely said boo...jumped up from her seat, stood on her chair, pumped both fists in the air...and shouted...."THE ENOLA GAY!!"

"I wasn't so surprised that she knew the answer, it was the excited emotional way that she expressed it."

I had to giggle. How good she must have felt to know she had the right answer.

When we got home, I asked her about the incident and why she had gotten so excited.

Her answer was simple...."Mom," she explained, "it was for pizza!"

My daughter Karen will be getting her bachelor's degree in a couple of weeks. I always knew she would eventually. She just had to have the right motivation. Maybe I should have bet her pizza!

Go Ask Alice

She hasn't been gone a week, and I already miss her much. Alice died last Friday, or was Thursday, no one seems to know for sure. Autopsy pending.

Alice was a human dynamo. One of America's "greatest generation". I hate that term, but you know what I mean. Child of the Depression, World War II youth. She about 100 pounds soaking wet. I think it was because she never sat still. She was a farm wife and after husband died a few years back, a farmer. She ran the place. Did all the stuff that the men do. Her hands showed it. Rough and knarled with age. But you would never know it to look at her.

Alice had bright red hair and a smile that was even brighter. She would come into my office and lighten up the place especially when the sun wasn't shining. If the sun was out...so was Alice. She never stayed put. Go go go.

She was the heart and the soul of our community. They are going to make a park for her with a gazebo. She would like that. They say it's to remember her by, but who could ever forget her. She was always the first one on the scene of any community project. "How can I help you? What do you need?" Those words seemed to be her motto.

She never slowed down, but would always stop to lend a hand or speak a kind word. So wise. Salt of the earth.

She was found on her farm. No one knows how long she had been there. Found by a nieghboring farmer. They looked for foul play, but there doesn't appear to be any. Alice was always there for others, so why did she have to die alone? I take comfort in knowing that she was in the place that she loved the most. Her farm, that land, that earth that she was the salt of.

We are all going to miss her so much. I 'm not sure they make them like that anymore. So the next time, when someone needs to know something...what are we going to do when before it was so easy just to ...Go ask Alice.

Rest in Peace my friend. You've earned it.