Loves of My Life

by John B. Anderson

It seems that I fell in love many times when I was growing up. Most of the girls that I fell in love with I'm sure had no idea that I was feeling that way towards them. I just liked girls a lot. This all started about the fifth grade. My imaginary stable included Gwen, Sandy, Jeannie, Virginia, Patsy, Sue, Mary, Mary, Mary, Jill, Nancy, Barb, Jaymee, Emily, Sally, Margaret, and Joy. (If your name is not on that list, it's probably just an oversight on my part.) The last three names on the list are legitimate, because I married each of them.

Gwen was a second grader when I was in the fifth grade at Lakeside School. She was so pretty, but way too young for me. She told me that she felt sorry for me when Bill helped me home one day with a split-opened knee that bled all over. I got the split knee when I slid into first base on the playground. First base was a sheet of steel. We all thought that it was okay to use a piece of steel for first base, because nobody slides into first base, right? Well, I got caught in a pickle between first and second, and ended us sliding into first base. After ten stitches at Dr. Wehner's clinic, I was back in school.

Sandy and her sister, Margaret, lived across from the school in Pookie's house. They didn't stay long in Manistique, but long enough for me to fall in love with Sandy. Sandy was a year older than I, but that didn't make any difference. Ronnie lived just west of Lakeside, and he was sweet on Margaret. He was at a disadvantage, because he attended St. Francis. The girls and their family moved to Milwaukee, where, (reportedly), Sandy became a model.

During the sixth grade, the pipeline came through Manistique. Steve's sister, Karen, married a pipeline person, and Barry's folks decided to stay. Jeannie and Barb joined us at Lakeside. Every boy in the sixth grade was in love with Jeannie. When Jeannie returned to Verdon, OK, she sent each of us a school picture, which we each kept close to our beds.

Sue was the prettiest girl in junior high. (Now, I know that some of you might dispute that, but, trust me, she really was.) Sue and I always had a good time in Mr. Barnard's study hall. You remember Mr. Barnard, the music teacher. He and his briefcase bobbed when he walked. His son, on the other hand, walked like the Cro-Magnon man. I believe that they gave inspiration to “Crazy Walks” on “Monty Python's Flying Circus.” Anyway, Sue and I, (and others), used to play “Dirty Dictionary” in Mr. Barnard's study hall. To explain: The only time that we were permitted to leave our seats in study hall, was to look up a word in the giant dictionary, located at the far side of the room. I would go to the dictionary, and find a dirty word, such as “tit.” I would write on a small note, “page 1400,” then pass the note to Sue. Sue would go to the dictionary, find page 1400, and the word, giggle, then she would find a word for me. Her note to me was, “page 261.” I would go to the dictionary and find page 261 and “cock.” We involved many more kids in this game.

One day in Mr. Barnard's study hall, I spotted a spider crawling across the floor. I picked it up and threw it on Sue's book. She screamed, “Jesus Christ!” Mr. Barnard had seen me do it, so he sent me to the principal, Mr. Dissinger's office. When I walked through the office door, Mr. D. was busy doing something at his desk. I waited until he had finished his task. He looked up and said, “Oh John, how did you boys do at the Garden Basketball Tournament last night?”

I answered, “We won the tournament by beating Nahma and Garden handily, but we had a tough time with St Francis. They had some really good players, like Rubick and Poupor.”

Mr. D, replied, “But just think, they'll be with us in high school.” Just then, the bell rang, and Mr. D. said, “I'm sorry, why did you come to the office?”

I said, “My pencil broke, and I wondered if I could borrow one of yours?” I smiled at Mr. Barnard, gathered up my books and left the study hall.

Sue invited me to supper one night at her house. My mom gave me a ride to Sue's house, thinking that Cubby and Ed would be home. They were not. Sue and I cooked supper together. We breaded the smelt, put them into the deep fat fryer, and cooked them to perfection. Sue took the fry basket from the grease, turned it over, and the smelt came out in one big chunk. We each grabbed a fork and laughed our way through supper. Mom was pretty pissed when she picked me up, and discovered that we had had no parental supervision, but I assured her that we only played board games, and that's the truth.

Perhaps my shortest love was Jill. She and I ended up at the same tobaggon party one sunny winter day. We were on the same tobaggon, sailing down a hill, when we hit a big bump. We went ass over teacups, and I ended up on top of her. Both of our faces were covered with snow, and we were laughing hysterically. I kissed her. At that point in my life, that had to be the sweetest kiss ever. That was the end on my one day romance, as Jill was dating Pat at the time.

I guess that I had too much time on my hands in study hall. In Mr. Cooper's fourth hour study hall, I happened to notice Barb with the beautiful eyes. Barb was another one of my secret loves. I don't know if I told her in later years how I felt about her in fourth period study hall, but she caused me some anguish back then. I'm certain that I ruined at least a couple of solid geometry papers by drooling on them. By the way, she still has those same eyes.

Mr. Cooper also recognized that I had too much time on my hands in his study hall. He gave me the keys to his car one day, and sent me to get some snacks for the kids on the fan bus to Newberry that night. He told me to also pick up a six-pack for, “Buzz and me.” I never knew that he knew that we called Mrs. Sawyer, “Buzz.” Coop also had me arrange the basketball schedule for the elementary schools. I got stuck with the shortest team, “St. Francis,” but we went undefeated that year. Thanks Frankie, Peety, Jerry, Bobby, Bob, and one other boy.

Falling in love has always been wonderful for me, whether in fantasy or for real. As I age, I hope that I never lose the feeling.

“Chicken Pluckin”

by John B. Anderson

When I was attending the University of Chicago, ('60-'61), a couple of my friends from New York decided to hitch hike home for the weekend. They were upset with Chicago, as a person couldn't buy a single slice of pizza. A person could only buy a whole pizza. Anyway, the two hiked out to New York and back to Chicago over the weekend. They survived by grabbing a sandwich at “Horn and Hardart's” auto mat deli, ($.25), and sleeping in Penn Station.

Trying to sleep in Penn Station had its drawbacks. Every hour, one of NYPD's finest, (a cop), would jab the boys with his billy club, and ask them to move on. He also asked the boys what they were up to, and they replied, “We're loitering with the intent to commit a felony.” This confused the cop, so he left them alone the rest of the night.

“Loitering with the intent to commit a felony,” pretty much describes what Ron, Pat and I were doing one particular evening in Manistique. Ron didn't hang with Pat and me all that much, but he was a good guy, he was as adventurous as we. Another benefit of hanging with Ron was that his dad was chief of police, so how much trouble could we possibly get into? The adventure of the night was proposed by Pat. Pat was pretty clever when it came to getting into trouble, and this was no exception. We were going to steal some chickens.

I had read somewhere, (it certainly wasn't “Scientific American,”), that a person could quiet a chicken by tucking its head under its wing and spin it around. The plan was to raid Mr. Alstrom's hen house, and to grab a couple of hens. Mr Alstrom lived on Range St., just behind the Zion Lutheran Church. It was a really dark night. We sneaked down Mr. Carlson's driveway and into the chicken coup. The hens started mumering. I grabbed one bird, tucked her head under her wing, and spun her around. She went to sleep, but the other hens kept mummering.

The back porch light came on. We quit breathing. Mr. Carlson stepped onto his back porch, and listened. The hens quieted down, we thought that maybe we wouldn't be going to jail after all. Mr. Carlson, satisfied that nothing was amiss, went back inside, and turned out the light. We resumed breathing.

We quickly sneaked back up the driveway, ran down Oak Street, and then to the Sand Hills. There we did in the chicken, and attempted to pluck and clean up the bird. Not much success with that operation. We needed a sink. Pat said, “Doc is entertaining tonight, so maybe the kitchen at our house is available.”

Very quietly, we went in Pat's back door and into the kitchen. The kitchen door was closed, so we had to work quickly to finish getting the bird ready for cooking. We were almost finished, when Virginia, Pat's mom, came through the kitchen door. Once she realized what we were up to, she said, “You boys better hurry and get out of her, because if Doc sees you, he'll kick your butts.” Good advice.

We took the cleaned to my cabin on Indian Lake. It was too late to cook it that night, so we made a plan to get some beer, and to cook the chicken on the weekend. I was a cook at the Surf at the time, so I was in charge of the eats.

That weekend, we secured some beer, and went to the cabin. Pierre decided to join us. Talk about entertainment, Pierre regaled us with stories of his escapades around Manistique. The first story was, after a few beers, he bet everyone at the pool hall that he could get his motorcycle up to 90 mph between the First National Bank and the pool hall. He said that he was close to 90 by the time that he went flying past us at the pool hall. Joe Davis, the cop, was right on his tail, as they sped down River Street. When Pierre was going up the siphon bridge, here came Bruce Neadow, another cop, from the other way. Pierre hit the brakes, dumped the bike, and jumped into the flume. Pierre thought that the cold water would sober him up, and if the police didn't fish him out, he would sue them, claiming that he couldn't swim. They fished him out. As of the telling of the story, no charges had been filed.

The second wild story from Pierre was of the trial of the two predator teachers. I can't repeat any of those details her, but the story had the rest of us with open mouths.

I can safely say that I'll never steal another chicken.