Thanksgiving...a gathering...like no other...a tradition that bonds one another...bringing us all to the table...for a bountiful feast...and just a little bit of pumpkin pie with whip cream on top, if you still have room...of course...
When I think of Thanksgiving, I especially think of my Mom...Sure, this was her sure-fire way to kick it up a notch in the kitchen...but she always, always managed to throw together such a vast array of hidden little talents...into action...starting around mid-November...
See, my Mom, Frances, was notorious for making up a knock-down, drag-em-out, your-not-going-anywhere-til-you-get-this-done, Things-To-Do-List, that had to be reckoned with, before even thinking of throwing the bird in the oven...Just think of it as a Spring clean-up, meets odd jobs only a dispicable mind could conceive, with the additional measure of whipping up a collosoll feast, for a huge, huge crowd of at least 35-40 people, year in and year out...
It was the time of the year, where she hauled out the good china, where she got somebody to polish the silverware, and made every square inch of the house, sparkle and shine, in a radiant glow...Well, maybe that radiant glow came in after we sprayed some funky stuff on the dining room chandelier, that made it glisten, in a transluscent rainbow of colors...
That damn list had to be 6 pages long and some of the things on the list, even were written in my Mom's shorthand, a bunch of un-readable Chinese scribble that held some secretive matter, no one except my Mom could take on...You are getting it right, a downright, unfathomable, set of tasks, just for this single holiday...a list that seemed endless to us kids, holding our breath. as my Mom would rattle off a chore, and all of us ducking, to avoid, one of the more dubious tasks...
But eventually, one by one, my Mom would cross another thing off that list, and the 6 page list, became the 3 page list, then dwindling down to 1 page...And as we hit that last page, my Mom and sisters would hit high gear, in the kitchen, making up cherished holiday goodies, which were way beyond, mouth-watering...My Mom loved to dazzle everyone with her infinite knowledge of every single recipe...whether it was the special toll house chocolate chip cookies, or her complex stuffing recipe...the intricate madness of bammm!!!...going from one dish to another, so quickly, so effortlessly, was mind-boggling...
I'll just throw this out there as I remember it...My Mom's famous stuffing recipie...First, you poured out, about 6 packages of Brownberry bread crumbs, into 2 very large pans, next she would pour on the crumbs, a good measure of College Inn Chicken Broth...followed by some melted butter...Then we had to chop into tiny little specs, about 3 cups of white onions and about 3-4 cups of very fresh, very crisp, celery...Then with her own hands, my Mom would knead this concoction. mashing it all together, all the time, generating a rather sweet, pungent smell, of all of the ingredients combined...Finally, my Mom would dash a bunch of fresh crushed sage leaves, thyme, and a little poultry seasoning, all about...The stuffing, then, was good-to-go...Of course, it smelled so irresistable, even in its raw form, that everyone tried to grab a handful...My Mom, would have to slap our hands away from the stuffing pan because once you had a little, you wanted to have alot.
And all the wild recipes, were rather long, multi-layered, inventions, only she could come up with, that would propel an ordinary recipie, into something, spectacular, out of this world. My sisters would all stand around in amazement, as my Mom, could catch each of them, on the verge of messing up a step, quickly stepping in, and making things just right...
And then came the turkey...I always felt bad for the big, 22 pound, pinkish Turkey, all aglow, after someone had washed it down, after it thawed out under the running water in the kitchen sink, then someone would pull out all of the innards...At that moment, you kinda realized, you were eating something that was alive, just a few weeks ago...My Mom would rub lard all over it...so that the skin would become a crisp, orange hue, as it roasted in the oven, for 3 or 4 hours, the next day...We'd throw the bird back onto the top shelf of the refrigerator, late around midnight, having finally accomplished almost 90% of the LIST at that point...
It was such a sense of overwhelmingness, that all you could do is collapse on a yellow chair in the kitchen, at that point and draw a huge sigh of relief...Off to bedtime, because the big day was only a few hours away from hitting the final phase of preperations...Where was my Dad while all this was going on...Well, he was usually the one, who carried in the huge bird and of course, he got to unleash his carving skills on the Sunbeam electric carving knife...just minutes away, from the actual meal...It really was my Mom's big holiday to shine, so he stepped out of her way...
I can remember laying out some layers of newspapers, out on the floor in the basement and peeling a huge bunch of white Idaho potatoes, as I watched the Macy's Parade...I remember I'd have to switch over every 10 minutes to CBS, to check if it was the segment of the live Thanksgiving Parade from Honolulu, Hawaii...At that point, my Mom would scurry down to watch the 10 minute segment, as the floats gently preceeded along amidst palm trees swaying and hula girls, all about...It was kinda ironic to us, that these Hawaiians could actually be celebrating a Thanksgiving feast without the cold & the snow...like we had, outside our house, in Chicago...Sort of freaky, for us...I must admit...
Another delightful dish made at the last moment was my Mom's super-duper cranberry relish. It basically was Ocean Spray whole berry relish...then my Mom would add freshly squeezed orange pulp, a little lemon juice, and a bunch of finely chopped Washington MacIntosh apples...Wow...it all just came together and was totally awesome...All of my Mom's little funky recipes were just so good and we just were so psyched because we knew we only had one moment to get a chance at enjoying these delightful dishes, only this once, this special time of year...
Then the people would come...and come and come...filling up the whole house, top to bottom. There would be a big contingent in the basement all about...even at the bar...which we never used except for maybe, Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays...I can remember my brother Joe whipping up some Tequila Sunrises, a new Tequila and orange juice and grenadine concoction, with some crushed ice, added out of our new, funky little olive green, ice crusher, to boot...Another, hip 70's drink was Harvey Wallbangers which I think had a little bit of this Italian liquor called Galliano...Of course, I'd be amazed at my brother's agility to whip up all these drinks to perfection, but he was damn good ...The bar was in full gear as my brother-in-laws and brothers all would talk about just about everything, patiently waiting for the call upstairs to the dining room...
Then there were all the kiddies...Gosh, just a flood of kids, jumping all about, down in the basement, chasing deliriously after each other...some of them falling down hard, crying, then jumping back up, and running away, forgetting what happened because there was just pure chaos with so many little ones, all in a frenzy...There was Maureen's kids...Charlie, Michelle, Thomas & Patrick...my sister Kathy's kids...Eddie, Mike and Pat...my sister Patsy's kids...Colleen, Carrie and Kate...my sister Joan's kids...Bridget & Johnny...my sister Karen's kids...Pete, Jimmy & Katie...my brother Joe's kids...Joey, Kevin and Sean...Me & my brother Danny were still teenagers at the time, but as you could see...the house was a rockin', don't bother knockin'...
Finally the moment would arrive, my Dad had been summoned to carve up the bird and we all kind of slowly streamed up to the dining room, one by one...almost all of us drooling with delight. After all, as good as some other Thanksgiving's go...my Mom put on a show-stopping event with every square inch of the dining room table meticulously displayed with her fine china and all the fixings of the meal, landing all about the table, hot, ready to be devoured...
It was a very transfixing moment as someone would say grace and then in only a matter of seconds, mayhem of people all grabbing at all the food...loading up their plates, as high as they would go...My Mom's special Turkey gravy, poured over the mashed potatoes, was a big hit, as well as the bird, which usually was quite hot, moist & juicy...The cranberries also were a big hit that people always seemed to forget about until half-way thru their meal because there was so much...But the sure-fire hit was my Mom's unique, tantalizing, stuffing...there just was never enough...it was a hot commodity that went fast...You had to get ahold of that stuffing bowl and just pile it onto your plate, never looking back, at all the ungodly amount of food you were about to be stuffing into your belly...
As the meal winded down...some of the kids would wander up from the basement, down where all kinds of card tables were flung together for the kiddie feast...They all were pretty oblivious to the special food prepared that day...They were just panting and panting away, trying to get their second wind, before resuming their onslaught of terror...only seconds away...
The times, themselves, just pure magic...All these people were in their prime, for the most part, and the unique gathering bestowed us all with some wonderful memories of unforgettable food and unforgettable fun...all clinging magically together...on 2724 W. 86th Street...almost 20-30 some years ago...
Hats off, especially to my Mom, who never took a bow...never took a break...never really thought about anything but throwing the best darn Thanksgiving feast, she possibly could imagine...It was year in, year out, like clock work, every single year...Just suddenly here...then suddenly gone...Just a blip of time that seemed to fly by...way, way, way too quickly...
But I do remember those times rather vividly...and rather thankfully...because they were some of the best times...anybody could possibly have...
HAPPY THANKSGIVING EVERYONE...
...(especially to my dear Mom & Dad)...
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Sunday, November 23, 2008
86th Street--The Howland Boys
...as the 1970's began to settle in...on 86th Street, a new group of kids, ascended onto the block, and basically, took it over...
Mike, John & Tommy Howland moved in back when I was about 8 years old...They lived across the street, about 3 doors down, to the right...really only a stone's throw away...
I first noticed them...as they were playing street hockey wildly, out in the middle of the block, on a wintry, cold February or March day...Who were these new guys...???
See, there was a huge influx of kids, who moved in and out, on our block, back then. I'd say I hung around as many as 10-15 kids on our block, during my early years, as bizarre as it may seem...There were the Jarrell kids, Keith & Kevin, directly across the street...the 3 Howlands a little further down, and then me...who anchored all the action, that went down, on our block...for a good portion, of the early to mid 70's...
Together, we really had an amazing amount of fun...Really, you couldn't have asked for a more memorable childhood era...than the one we had...way back then...so, long, long ago...
Whether we were riding our bikes all over the place, playing ghosts-in-the-graveyard(similar to hide-n-seek), going up to our own private, deluxe baseball diamond, at the end of our block, or playing hoops on the Howlands low-hanging basketball net, which Johhny Howland would rattle and rattle, time and again, just elevating enough, to be able to dunk, like he was Kareem Abdul-Jabbar...I could certainly go on and on...and surely, I most certainly will, too...
I can remember how we would go up to this place called "THE B" a little beyond the end of the block, where there literally was a densely, wild, wilderness area, with a giant dirt hill, that rose ever so high, it had to be the highest vantage point, within our entire neighborhood...It was quite the challenge to ride your bike up and down that giant hill, following a make-shift bike path, that transversed throughout the entire "B" area...a dirt biker's ultimate dream world...of course...
Going down that killer hill was quite treacherous, but the Howland Boys were almost giddy, repeatedly, going up and down this huge hill as quickly as possible...Those were the days of famous stunt motorcycle rider, Evil Kneival, and we sure did our absolute darn best, to make our perilous plunge, down the hill, at break-neck speed, truly a thing of breath-taking, death-defying, beauty, just somehow, finding a way, to skid to a stop, tossing up a huge cloud of dust, laughing and laughing and laughing...before wiping out at the bottom of the hill...
And, "The B" was almost always like a treasure trove, of mysterious things you would find, as you made your way through the density of bamboo shoots and tall, tall grass...We'd come across wild rabbits, old tires, broken bottles, ripped-up, rain-soaked, Playboy magazines, and every now and then, we'd hit the jackpot and come across a full can of beer or many, many cans of BEER...
See, this was back in the day when Beer Cans, still had no pop-top...You'd have to use a can opener to get it open, and get at a chance to guzzle down the suds...and since none of us ever had a can opener...we'd resort to primatave measures to get that sucker open...We'd scavenger about looking for a giant rock with a severed edge, to puncture a hole somehow, in the can. and then, after getting a small puncture hole going, we'd furiously pass around the spraying can of suds, before it all seeped quickly, into the ground...
I guess this may be the reason I always had a fondness, for heavy, bitter beers, down the road because we'd always be finding some incredibly warm cans of Schlitz or Budweiser or Meister Brau which were just lethally heavy beers, back then, that had been left to cook underneath the intense, hot-hot summer heat...It didn't matter at all, to us...We'd just guzzle them down as quickly as we could, and then resumed looking through the high weeds for more...and often, we did find more...Because alot of older teenagers hung out there, during the night...
Another great thing about "THE B" was that it was nestled up against the railroad tracks, which really isolated itself, from everywhere else...You could go up and down along the railroad tracks, throwing an endless amount of rocks, at trains passing by, sometimes coming across some neat little forts that other kids had carved out, all along the tracks, most of the time, against the security fence of the Beverly Country Club...in a bunker-of-sorts...
FORTS were HUGE back then...There was still quite a bit of building of houses near the unsettled areas by the railroad tracks...and we'd grab some big sheets of wood from construction sites, when nobody was looking and haul it down the street, out into unknown domains, where we would, work like fiends, assembling fort after fort...And we just got better and better at it...as time went by...Some of them were really, really cool...
I can remember one fort...where we dug out an enormous hole, shovel by shovel, about 6 foot deep, about 12 feet wide...in a densely, high grassy plot at about 86th & Washtenaw...Then we placed a layer of sheets of wood, on top, then placed a thick layer of dirt and grass to camaflauge our new neat, humble hideout...
Then we'd hairy-scary, ride up to the White Hen Pantry where we would stock up on all kinds of soda pop and Ho-Ho's and Taco-flavored Doritos, which had just come on the market with great results and last but not least, every conceivable kind of candy, too...Then we would quickly ride, ride, ride back like little ferocious madmen, back to our new fort and hang out there, totally oblivious from the world around us...as if it were the most coolest, coolest place on Earth...
I believe Mike Howland even tried to install a chimney on this specific fort and even tried to cook a tin of some Jiffy-Pop popcorn, in this bizarre little hole he had carved out for this ridiculous purpose...Of course...As the fire grew bigger and bigger inside this little cavernous pit, the smoke also billowed out like a gusher, sending all of us, Tommy, John and me, scrambling out of the fort, except for Mike, who was gonna stay beneath, inside there, popping that popcorn as if it was the last thing he would ever do...
He did somehow manage to get the popcorn popped, as he coughed and coughed and coughed, resurfacing almost drenched in sweat and soot, emerging from the underground fort, triumphant...but alas, the popcorn was pretty wretched looking and badly burnt...But it was considered a great, great success as we passed it around, this severely burnt, mangled, Jiffy Pop tin as each took a huge handful of this awful creation...
Also...another thing that stands out is...Our baseball games were absolutely legendary...We'd probably be up at our very own dirt and grass baseball diamond we had constructed, a block away at 10AM and play way, way, way until Sundown, sometimes...It was a crazy set up, because there was a huge security fence, situated between 1st Base and 2nd Base...up against "THE B"...which meant Right Field was closed, completely. All of us somehow eventually managed to correct our swing so that we would only hit towards left field...which may seem a little unusual, but it didn't even phase us...
I do remember I had this very light, bright, shiny red aluminum bat...because...I couldn't handle the heavier bats...and that loud, ringing ping! sound, of ripping a baseball, down the line, out into the outfield, was as good as it gets...rounding the bases so quickly, at a chaotic, stutter-step pace, trying to dementedly watch our ball all the way, as we tried hastily to scramble to 2nd or 3rd Base...
I'm pretty sure, Mike and Johnny Howland, would get a hold of one, from time to time, and just sizzle one out, far, far beyond where anyone could come close to reaching...Sometimes even hitting a window of a house residing right next to the field...but amazingly, they never, ever broke any windows...
We also used the baseball field as a football field of sorts, too, when Autumn would come about...Touch football was really huge, back then, also, and our touch football games were relentlessly paced, just kids pouring their whole heart & soul, into getting open for a pass, totally out of breath, only to realize the quarterback had been already sacked, that play...
I can remember one special time...we had the ball on the goal-line, with only one play left...Keith Jarrell who was the oldest kid, and rarely hung around with us, lined up all our receivers on the right side, except for me...Of course, the play was designed to catch the other team off-guard and throw it to me, on the opposite side...wide-open, in the end zone...It played out just as Keith had drawn up in the huddle...The guy defending me, broke loose and tried to run after the mess of people in the middle of the end zone, screaming like crazy for the ball...
Here I was, standing all alone, wide-open, as I'd ever be...Keith just stepped back and lobbed this wildly high pass my way...It surely was beyond my grasp but I kept back-peddling further and further back, into the end zone and managed to come down with the ball...as I fell backwards, onto the ground, somehow able to hold tight, clutching onto the ball, despite getting the wind knocked out of me...to win the game...
There's just so, so much ground to cover...All the good times...as we grew up and up and up and then suddenly, we all kinda, shockingly, poof, disappeared off of the block, one at a time, for good...finding new friends...our own age...basically leaving it all behind...as if it never, ever, even occurred...
But I do remember the good, good times, especially, like seeing the movie TOMMY with the Howlands, way back when, when it first came out, back around 1972...I think they even had the poster from that movie, too...And they'd also sometimes buy the latest top 40 hits, up at the Evergreen Plaza Mall, that were oddly on these little, funky 45 vinyl records you'd buy for only 45 cents...I definitely remember Tommy Howland pulling out the new, latest Paul McCartney/Wings hit, Band On The Run, playing it over and over and over...
There were so many old stories and old times to recall, whether it was walking all the way up to 95th & California in a blizzard to go snow sledding, and freezing half to death...or just laughing it up, tearing things up, in the spring or summer, on our old Schwinn bikes, with the ever-so-cool, banana seats or the latest 10-speeds...
And surely, if we did come across a nerdy kid who had one of those giant, obnoxious orange flags sticking out of the back of their bike, Johnny Howland, would make it a point, to make them feel like a fool for having such a stupid, stupid, ridiculous thing, hanging off the back of their bikes...
At times, its true, we were treacherous little slugs, but for the most part, it was mostly, all good clean fun. I think the only time, one of the neighbors would yell at us, was when we'd accidentally throw a ball of some sorts, out onto the crabby neighbors, the NIPPONS, precious front yard...They'd come out angry as hell and go completely ballistic as if our tiny, little footprints were going to completely alter the look of their nice, perfectly-manicured, grassy lawn...
86th Street, unfortunately, took a huge hit when we all did, finally go our separate ways...It had been almost like a perfectly isolated, peaceful sanctuary, amidst the far south-eastern corner of Saint Thomas More Parish in Chicago. A very, serene, hazy, dazy, Huck Finn/Tom Sawyer existence, to some extent, really just a pandora's box of adventure, we'd open, day, after day, after day...
And, believe me, we utilized every square inch, of territory, we could come across, barreling it into the ground...because we were filled with an endless amount of energy, having an endless amount of fun and creating an endless amount of good times...
All the laughter and all the screaming at each other, all the rough-housing, or just showing up at each others door, at the start of the day, and yelling for each other, to come out and play...We never, ever, used the door buzzer, back then, we'd just let loose with a loud, penetrating roar, that instantly got the others attention inside...And within seconds, you could hear the excited, rumbling footsteps making their way for the door...grabbing their baseball cap, maybe a coat, maybe a baseball mitt, whatever...It happened almost every day for me, from age 8-11, probably...They were my best friends, back then...and will always bring a chuckle to my mind...even though the years and years...have long passed us by...
So...Here's to all the Howlands, Mike, Johnny & Tommy's Mom & Dad especially, who kept their kids on the straight and narrow...coming home from a hard day's work, just to make ends meet, just to make sure, all their kids, had the best, that life could offer...Because, those times were so timeless, to all of us...and the moments we shared were very heart-warming to recall, as you can very well, imagine....Down on...86th Street...down on the South-Side...just a piece of everyday Americana...that probably would have faded from memory...into oblivion...
In summary, it does seem like such an incredibly long time ago...yet, it does remain, very vivid, very heart-warming, and very much, a long-lasting memory...of those days, from my early childhood, sadly gone by...into the night...No more "B" there, anymore...no more baseball field and no more good friends who would pass on...some of them dead...some of them alive....but surely a decent part, of Jim O'Leary's memories, I was truly, very happy to share...
Mike, John & Tommy Howland moved in back when I was about 8 years old...They lived across the street, about 3 doors down, to the right...really only a stone's throw away...
I first noticed them...as they were playing street hockey wildly, out in the middle of the block, on a wintry, cold February or March day...Who were these new guys...???
See, there was a huge influx of kids, who moved in and out, on our block, back then. I'd say I hung around as many as 10-15 kids on our block, during my early years, as bizarre as it may seem...There were the Jarrell kids, Keith & Kevin, directly across the street...the 3 Howlands a little further down, and then me...who anchored all the action, that went down, on our block...for a good portion, of the early to mid 70's...
Together, we really had an amazing amount of fun...Really, you couldn't have asked for a more memorable childhood era...than the one we had...way back then...so, long, long ago...
Whether we were riding our bikes all over the place, playing ghosts-in-the-graveyard(similar to hide-n-seek), going up to our own private, deluxe baseball diamond, at the end of our block, or playing hoops on the Howlands low-hanging basketball net, which Johhny Howland would rattle and rattle, time and again, just elevating enough, to be able to dunk, like he was Kareem Abdul-Jabbar...I could certainly go on and on...and surely, I most certainly will, too...
I can remember how we would go up to this place called "THE B" a little beyond the end of the block, where there literally was a densely, wild, wilderness area, with a giant dirt hill, that rose ever so high, it had to be the highest vantage point, within our entire neighborhood...It was quite the challenge to ride your bike up and down that giant hill, following a make-shift bike path, that transversed throughout the entire "B" area...a dirt biker's ultimate dream world...of course...
Going down that killer hill was quite treacherous, but the Howland Boys were almost giddy, repeatedly, going up and down this huge hill as quickly as possible...Those were the days of famous stunt motorcycle rider, Evil Kneival, and we sure did our absolute darn best, to make our perilous plunge, down the hill, at break-neck speed, truly a thing of breath-taking, death-defying, beauty, just somehow, finding a way, to skid to a stop, tossing up a huge cloud of dust, laughing and laughing and laughing...before wiping out at the bottom of the hill...
And, "The B" was almost always like a treasure trove, of mysterious things you would find, as you made your way through the density of bamboo shoots and tall, tall grass...We'd come across wild rabbits, old tires, broken bottles, ripped-up, rain-soaked, Playboy magazines, and every now and then, we'd hit the jackpot and come across a full can of beer or many, many cans of BEER...
See, this was back in the day when Beer Cans, still had no pop-top...You'd have to use a can opener to get it open, and get at a chance to guzzle down the suds...and since none of us ever had a can opener...we'd resort to primatave measures to get that sucker open...We'd scavenger about looking for a giant rock with a severed edge, to puncture a hole somehow, in the can. and then, after getting a small puncture hole going, we'd furiously pass around the spraying can of suds, before it all seeped quickly, into the ground...
I guess this may be the reason I always had a fondness, for heavy, bitter beers, down the road because we'd always be finding some incredibly warm cans of Schlitz or Budweiser or Meister Brau which were just lethally heavy beers, back then, that had been left to cook underneath the intense, hot-hot summer heat...It didn't matter at all, to us...We'd just guzzle them down as quickly as we could, and then resumed looking through the high weeds for more...and often, we did find more...Because alot of older teenagers hung out there, during the night...
Another great thing about "THE B" was that it was nestled up against the railroad tracks, which really isolated itself, from everywhere else...You could go up and down along the railroad tracks, throwing an endless amount of rocks, at trains passing by, sometimes coming across some neat little forts that other kids had carved out, all along the tracks, most of the time, against the security fence of the Beverly Country Club...in a bunker-of-sorts...
FORTS were HUGE back then...There was still quite a bit of building of houses near the unsettled areas by the railroad tracks...and we'd grab some big sheets of wood from construction sites, when nobody was looking and haul it down the street, out into unknown domains, where we would, work like fiends, assembling fort after fort...And we just got better and better at it...as time went by...Some of them were really, really cool...
I can remember one fort...where we dug out an enormous hole, shovel by shovel, about 6 foot deep, about 12 feet wide...in a densely, high grassy plot at about 86th & Washtenaw...Then we placed a layer of sheets of wood, on top, then placed a thick layer of dirt and grass to camaflauge our new neat, humble hideout...
Then we'd hairy-scary, ride up to the White Hen Pantry where we would stock up on all kinds of soda pop and Ho-Ho's and Taco-flavored Doritos, which had just come on the market with great results and last but not least, every conceivable kind of candy, too...Then we would quickly ride, ride, ride back like little ferocious madmen, back to our new fort and hang out there, totally oblivious from the world around us...as if it were the most coolest, coolest place on Earth...
I believe Mike Howland even tried to install a chimney on this specific fort and even tried to cook a tin of some Jiffy-Pop popcorn, in this bizarre little hole he had carved out for this ridiculous purpose...Of course...As the fire grew bigger and bigger inside this little cavernous pit, the smoke also billowed out like a gusher, sending all of us, Tommy, John and me, scrambling out of the fort, except for Mike, who was gonna stay beneath, inside there, popping that popcorn as if it was the last thing he would ever do...
He did somehow manage to get the popcorn popped, as he coughed and coughed and coughed, resurfacing almost drenched in sweat and soot, emerging from the underground fort, triumphant...but alas, the popcorn was pretty wretched looking and badly burnt...But it was considered a great, great success as we passed it around, this severely burnt, mangled, Jiffy Pop tin as each took a huge handful of this awful creation...
Also...another thing that stands out is...Our baseball games were absolutely legendary...We'd probably be up at our very own dirt and grass baseball diamond we had constructed, a block away at 10AM and play way, way, way until Sundown, sometimes...It was a crazy set up, because there was a huge security fence, situated between 1st Base and 2nd Base...up against "THE B"...which meant Right Field was closed, completely. All of us somehow eventually managed to correct our swing so that we would only hit towards left field...which may seem a little unusual, but it didn't even phase us...
I do remember I had this very light, bright, shiny red aluminum bat...because...I couldn't handle the heavier bats...and that loud, ringing ping! sound, of ripping a baseball, down the line, out into the outfield, was as good as it gets...rounding the bases so quickly, at a chaotic, stutter-step pace, trying to dementedly watch our ball all the way, as we tried hastily to scramble to 2nd or 3rd Base...
I'm pretty sure, Mike and Johnny Howland, would get a hold of one, from time to time, and just sizzle one out, far, far beyond where anyone could come close to reaching...Sometimes even hitting a window of a house residing right next to the field...but amazingly, they never, ever broke any windows...
We also used the baseball field as a football field of sorts, too, when Autumn would come about...Touch football was really huge, back then, also, and our touch football games were relentlessly paced, just kids pouring their whole heart & soul, into getting open for a pass, totally out of breath, only to realize the quarterback had been already sacked, that play...
I can remember one special time...we had the ball on the goal-line, with only one play left...Keith Jarrell who was the oldest kid, and rarely hung around with us, lined up all our receivers on the right side, except for me...Of course, the play was designed to catch the other team off-guard and throw it to me, on the opposite side...wide-open, in the end zone...It played out just as Keith had drawn up in the huddle...The guy defending me, broke loose and tried to run after the mess of people in the middle of the end zone, screaming like crazy for the ball...
Here I was, standing all alone, wide-open, as I'd ever be...Keith just stepped back and lobbed this wildly high pass my way...It surely was beyond my grasp but I kept back-peddling further and further back, into the end zone and managed to come down with the ball...as I fell backwards, onto the ground, somehow able to hold tight, clutching onto the ball, despite getting the wind knocked out of me...to win the game...
There's just so, so much ground to cover...All the good times...as we grew up and up and up and then suddenly, we all kinda, shockingly, poof, disappeared off of the block, one at a time, for good...finding new friends...our own age...basically leaving it all behind...as if it never, ever, even occurred...
But I do remember the good, good times, especially, like seeing the movie TOMMY with the Howlands, way back when, when it first came out, back around 1972...I think they even had the poster from that movie, too...And they'd also sometimes buy the latest top 40 hits, up at the Evergreen Plaza Mall, that were oddly on these little, funky 45 vinyl records you'd buy for only 45 cents...I definitely remember Tommy Howland pulling out the new, latest Paul McCartney/Wings hit, Band On The Run, playing it over and over and over...
There were so many old stories and old times to recall, whether it was walking all the way up to 95th & California in a blizzard to go snow sledding, and freezing half to death...or just laughing it up, tearing things up, in the spring or summer, on our old Schwinn bikes, with the ever-so-cool, banana seats or the latest 10-speeds...
And surely, if we did come across a nerdy kid who had one of those giant, obnoxious orange flags sticking out of the back of their bike, Johnny Howland, would make it a point, to make them feel like a fool for having such a stupid, stupid, ridiculous thing, hanging off the back of their bikes...
At times, its true, we were treacherous little slugs, but for the most part, it was mostly, all good clean fun. I think the only time, one of the neighbors would yell at us, was when we'd accidentally throw a ball of some sorts, out onto the crabby neighbors, the NIPPONS, precious front yard...They'd come out angry as hell and go completely ballistic as if our tiny, little footprints were going to completely alter the look of their nice, perfectly-manicured, grassy lawn...
86th Street, unfortunately, took a huge hit when we all did, finally go our separate ways...It had been almost like a perfectly isolated, peaceful sanctuary, amidst the far south-eastern corner of Saint Thomas More Parish in Chicago. A very, serene, hazy, dazy, Huck Finn/Tom Sawyer existence, to some extent, really just a pandora's box of adventure, we'd open, day, after day, after day...
And, believe me, we utilized every square inch, of territory, we could come across, barreling it into the ground...because we were filled with an endless amount of energy, having an endless amount of fun and creating an endless amount of good times...
All the laughter and all the screaming at each other, all the rough-housing, or just showing up at each others door, at the start of the day, and yelling for each other, to come out and play...We never, ever, used the door buzzer, back then, we'd just let loose with a loud, penetrating roar, that instantly got the others attention inside...And within seconds, you could hear the excited, rumbling footsteps making their way for the door...grabbing their baseball cap, maybe a coat, maybe a baseball mitt, whatever...It happened almost every day for me, from age 8-11, probably...They were my best friends, back then...and will always bring a chuckle to my mind...even though the years and years...have long passed us by...
So...Here's to all the Howlands, Mike, Johnny & Tommy's Mom & Dad especially, who kept their kids on the straight and narrow...coming home from a hard day's work, just to make ends meet, just to make sure, all their kids, had the best, that life could offer...Because, those times were so timeless, to all of us...and the moments we shared were very heart-warming to recall, as you can very well, imagine....Down on...86th Street...down on the South-Side...just a piece of everyday Americana...that probably would have faded from memory...into oblivion...
In summary, it does seem like such an incredibly long time ago...yet, it does remain, very vivid, very heart-warming, and very much, a long-lasting memory...of those days, from my early childhood, sadly gone by...into the night...No more "B" there, anymore...no more baseball field and no more good friends who would pass on...some of them dead...some of them alive....but surely a decent part, of Jim O'Leary's memories, I was truly, very happy to share...
Monday, November 17, 2008
Early 70's...Mom & Dad
...When you look back, into my life, back to the early 70's...it's impossible not to recall how my parents...had finally reached a point in their lives...where they could truly enjoy themselves, without 8 crying kids, constantly demanding their overwhelming attention...
The Lake House always seemed to be teaming with visits from my sisters and their husbands, with their wild & wooly, little ones...but there also seemed to be some breaks from the chaotic atmosphere...when my Mom & Dad would escape to their own world of excitement...
...And that meant, they were determined, to get away and have some great, great times...living life to the fullest...especially during the summers around Lake Geneva...
...Whether it was dining out, up in and around Lake Geneva., going dancing on weekends up at Lake Lawn Lodge, or even having a ball at the Arnold Palmer Golf Driving Range & Miniature Golf, in Elkhorn, it was a time of leisure and laughs...a time of noticeable relief, from my own extensive spinal problems...a time of thinking they had reached a stretch of what they thought the rest of their lives would look like...more or less, a blissful existence...
...You could sense their happiness...especially when they'd go out to Lake Lawn on a Saturday Night...for a night together, on the dance floor...See, on the dance floor, is where they met, so long before, at Saint Sabinas, deep in the heart of the South Side of Chicago...back around 1938, when they were 16 year old teenagers...
They were always like magic, on the dance floor...It seemed as though, their toes never touched the ground...just a graceful, seamless, flow, around the floor, almost the entire night...Sure, sometimes they'd stop, to order a cocktail, occaisionally, my Mom, having an ultra sweet, shake-like, creme de mint-Grasshopper and my Dad going with a brisk Tom Collins or an even brisker, Whiskey Sour...
It was their time to re-live the magic, the excitement, recapturing their youth, for just a few hours...under the stars...amidst a crowded dance floor...out in Lake Lawn's outdoor garden. They made a point, of dressing appropriately, my Mom always in an elegant, beautiful dress and my Dad in his sear-sucker, double-breasted, sports jacket...Together, their smiles were endless, it was, no doubt, their moment, to shine, once again...
It really didn't matter what kind of band was playing, could be a polka, could be a big band, could be anything...They just loved being together...period...A night at Lake Lawn Lodge, gave them more than a chance to break loose, but also a chance to realize, they were not getting older, but just entering a phase where everything seemed to be going their way, finally...
Also, on the docket, back then, was some care-free moments, of enjoying a night of golf adventures...in Elkhorn, Wisconsin, some 8 miles away...First, we'd hit the miniature golf course, at the Arnold Palmer facility, which was rather a nice, new, place...located on the outskirts of Elkhorn, out by where the bowling alley was, out on Route 67, not to far from where the McDonalds is, these days...
The course, itself, was challenging...My Dad, who was a legitimately, good golfer, often would be astounded by my Mom, a relatively decent competitor herself, who could miraculously ace a hole-in-one, from time-to-time...Right then and there...There was some uproarious laughter, when that would occur...
And after the entire 18 holes were through, there was a chance at dropping your golf ball, from the top, into a clown maze, that allowed the ball sift & boblle & bounce to the bottom and sometimes land in a tiny hole, that entitled you to a free case of soda pop...
Well, you know, who always won this...My Mom, just had it down cold...It almost seemed as if we were already thinking about dropping the ball in the maze again, every time we got beyond the 9th Hole...We'd already be discussing what flavor of Graf's soda pop we'd get if we won this time...
Would it be the foamy, root beer, which was pretty damn good...the tangy, orange soda, not bad, either or some other kind, like the new dark chocolate soda...My Dad, just shook his head, because he did not know how my Mom could repeatedly, win, every now and then...and he never, even came close.
After, the round of miniature golf, it was then onto their Driving Range, which was quite a spectacular event, in itself...My Dad, a very stocky, strong, individual, just had a knack, for crushing the ball, out beyond the range, out into a forest, way, way, out there...Move over Tiger Woods...
Me and my Mom, would be clapping, and expecting him, to keep crushing the golf ball, further and further, with every single swing...My Dad loved going to any golf range, he could get to...but this one, was his absolute favorite...Bucket after bucket, of balls, would come and go, as we'd all be swiping and hacking into every swing...sometimes connecting, sometimes hitting, what we'd call a WORM-BURNER...which was a ball, that you'd hit flat, topping it, and just watch it skid, along the grass, never getting any elevation...
There were many a night, we'd be there when the facility would be closing for the night...at 10 o'clock...Time just seemed to fly by...as fast as the golf balls my Dad would pummel out of sight. I don't think the swarms of nasty mosquitos or any rain or drizzle, ever deterred my Dad from pounding out a few buckets, every time, we went there...
It seemed like such a desolate, quiet area, for such a fine, almost pristine, facility...that was surely a hidden gem...amongst the crowded throngs of people who would flock to the other miniature golf venues, in Walworth County, including the giant frog, in Fontana...or the one up on Motel Road in Lake Geneva...
I don't know what happened but the Arnold Palmer facility got torn down...later that decade...No more free cases of soda...no more hitting the twirling-whirling windmill, or finding your ball, shooting through a hollow sounding pipe & landing into a cruddy, muddy, pool of water...No more unexpected, hole-in-one's...and certainly no more watching my father, supplying an endless amount of golf balls, sent whistling, far out, into the luminous night's sky...
These were uniquely, special times, indeed...and I'm certainly glad I had the chance to share this quick look back to a very tranquil era...where the good times, with my Mother & Father, seemed neverending...and my Mom & Dad's great love of having a good time...always made it so much of an entertaining , merry-go-round of laughs, that will always live on, in my cherished memories, forever and ever...and ever...
The Lake House always seemed to be teaming with visits from my sisters and their husbands, with their wild & wooly, little ones...but there also seemed to be some breaks from the chaotic atmosphere...when my Mom & Dad would escape to their own world of excitement...
...And that meant, they were determined, to get away and have some great, great times...living life to the fullest...especially during the summers around Lake Geneva...
...Whether it was dining out, up in and around Lake Geneva., going dancing on weekends up at Lake Lawn Lodge, or even having a ball at the Arnold Palmer Golf Driving Range & Miniature Golf, in Elkhorn, it was a time of leisure and laughs...a time of noticeable relief, from my own extensive spinal problems...a time of thinking they had reached a stretch of what they thought the rest of their lives would look like...more or less, a blissful existence...
...You could sense their happiness...especially when they'd go out to Lake Lawn on a Saturday Night...for a night together, on the dance floor...See, on the dance floor, is where they met, so long before, at Saint Sabinas, deep in the heart of the South Side of Chicago...back around 1938, when they were 16 year old teenagers...
They were always like magic, on the dance floor...It seemed as though, their toes never touched the ground...just a graceful, seamless, flow, around the floor, almost the entire night...Sure, sometimes they'd stop, to order a cocktail, occaisionally, my Mom, having an ultra sweet, shake-like, creme de mint-Grasshopper and my Dad going with a brisk Tom Collins or an even brisker, Whiskey Sour...
It was their time to re-live the magic, the excitement, recapturing their youth, for just a few hours...under the stars...amidst a crowded dance floor...out in Lake Lawn's outdoor garden. They made a point, of dressing appropriately, my Mom always in an elegant, beautiful dress and my Dad in his sear-sucker, double-breasted, sports jacket...Together, their smiles were endless, it was, no doubt, their moment, to shine, once again...
It really didn't matter what kind of band was playing, could be a polka, could be a big band, could be anything...They just loved being together...period...A night at Lake Lawn Lodge, gave them more than a chance to break loose, but also a chance to realize, they were not getting older, but just entering a phase where everything seemed to be going their way, finally...
Also, on the docket, back then, was some care-free moments, of enjoying a night of golf adventures...in Elkhorn, Wisconsin, some 8 miles away...First, we'd hit the miniature golf course, at the Arnold Palmer facility, which was rather a nice, new, place...located on the outskirts of Elkhorn, out by where the bowling alley was, out on Route 67, not to far from where the McDonalds is, these days...
The course, itself, was challenging...My Dad, who was a legitimately, good golfer, often would be astounded by my Mom, a relatively decent competitor herself, who could miraculously ace a hole-in-one, from time-to-time...Right then and there...There was some uproarious laughter, when that would occur...
And after the entire 18 holes were through, there was a chance at dropping your golf ball, from the top, into a clown maze, that allowed the ball sift & boblle & bounce to the bottom and sometimes land in a tiny hole, that entitled you to a free case of soda pop...
Well, you know, who always won this...My Mom, just had it down cold...It almost seemed as if we were already thinking about dropping the ball in the maze again, every time we got beyond the 9th Hole...We'd already be discussing what flavor of Graf's soda pop we'd get if we won this time...
Would it be the foamy, root beer, which was pretty damn good...the tangy, orange soda, not bad, either or some other kind, like the new dark chocolate soda...My Dad, just shook his head, because he did not know how my Mom could repeatedly, win, every now and then...and he never, even came close.
After, the round of miniature golf, it was then onto their Driving Range, which was quite a spectacular event, in itself...My Dad, a very stocky, strong, individual, just had a knack, for crushing the ball, out beyond the range, out into a forest, way, way, out there...Move over Tiger Woods...
Me and my Mom, would be clapping, and expecting him, to keep crushing the golf ball, further and further, with every single swing...My Dad loved going to any golf range, he could get to...but this one, was his absolute favorite...Bucket after bucket, of balls, would come and go, as we'd all be swiping and hacking into every swing...sometimes connecting, sometimes hitting, what we'd call a WORM-BURNER...which was a ball, that you'd hit flat, topping it, and just watch it skid, along the grass, never getting any elevation...
There were many a night, we'd be there when the facility would be closing for the night...at 10 o'clock...Time just seemed to fly by...as fast as the golf balls my Dad would pummel out of sight. I don't think the swarms of nasty mosquitos or any rain or drizzle, ever deterred my Dad from pounding out a few buckets, every time, we went there...
It seemed like such a desolate, quiet area, for such a fine, almost pristine, facility...that was surely a hidden gem...amongst the crowded throngs of people who would flock to the other miniature golf venues, in Walworth County, including the giant frog, in Fontana...or the one up on Motel Road in Lake Geneva...
I don't know what happened but the Arnold Palmer facility got torn down...later that decade...No more free cases of soda...no more hitting the twirling-whirling windmill, or finding your ball, shooting through a hollow sounding pipe & landing into a cruddy, muddy, pool of water...No more unexpected, hole-in-one's...and certainly no more watching my father, supplying an endless amount of golf balls, sent whistling, far out, into the luminous night's sky...
These were uniquely, special times, indeed...and I'm certainly glad I had the chance to share this quick look back to a very tranquil era...where the good times, with my Mother & Father, seemed neverending...and my Mom & Dad's great love of having a good time...always made it so much of an entertaining , merry-go-round of laughs, that will always live on, in my cherished memories, forever and ever...and ever...
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