A Couple of Short Ones

by John B. Anderson

The Heating Plant – The high school, the junior high and the old gym were heated by a spectacular heating system. During my six years in junior high and high school, the boiler had only failed once, and that was the only day that school was closed. The huge steam boiler was heated by a gigantic furnace. A large hopper fed stoker coal into the furnace to keep the water hot at all times. Dick Berger and Joe Wood kept the hopper full, and kept all of us warm.

Certain teachers liked to hang out at the boiler room. Mr. Bonifas, Mr. Ebli and Mr. Reque stopped by to get the latest on the JV basketball team, and to catch a smoke between classes. I'm sure that other teachers who had the habit joined them.

The hot steam from the boiler was carried underground along the north side of the auditorium/study hall. There was a manhole cover along the way for maintenance access that seemed relatively secure – but not really. Another way to access the steam tunnel was to lift one of the student desks along the north side of the study hall. The tunnel was usually dark (how did I know this?).

With that backdrop, Bill and I had just finished a refreshing swim at the quarry one summer's evening. He and I were headed past the high school, on our way to the pool hall. As we walked past the back of the building, one of the windows of the East Room flew open, and Bob, Greg, and Ron crawled out. We asked, “What the hell are you guys doing?”

“We're not doing anything. We had late play practice.”

The next morning, Mr. Frederickson was greeted by the huge statue of Uranus, right at the door. The fire hose was wound up the railings of the down staircase. How in the world did all of that happen? By the way, where is the statue of Uranus, today?

Scar Tissue – At one of our class reunions, probably the fortieth of the forty-fifth, we gathered at the Elks Club to catch up. For some reason, Ron, Dick and I decided to compare scars. I had a good one from a car accident, due to the repair of my tibia plateau. Dick had a couple of good ones from surgeries. Ron had had a heart attack, so, as a result, had a long scar on his leg.

I exclaimed, “Gee, Ron, yours is longer than mine.”

“Always was, Andy.”

The party palace – Some winters, when it got really cold, Doc and Virginia would take off for Cuba, leaving the house to Pat and Mike. The Great Lakes ships on which Mike and his friends worked would pull into dry dock the first week in November. Mike, then, would invite Frank, Frank, Butch, Gerald, and a few others to party at his home, or even stay the night. These older boys were a lot of fun. We would engage them in poker, after they'd had a few, and we could finance our way through high school. Sometimes, we could even get a beer or two, but never enough to dull our poker skills.

Frank and Gloria were super nice to us younger boys. Frank let us take his new Packard for a spin one night, so were drove downtown looking for someone to race with, as the Packard was one fast car. Sometimes, the older boys would pick up some high school girls, and bring them to the house. That was always a treat to catch a glimpse of women in their underwear running around the upstairs.

One evening, we had nothing to do, so the other Frank volunteered to take us for a ride around town. We checked out the downtown, the evening Soo Line Train, and Frank started driving down to the ferry docks. The car ferry had just arrived from Lower Michigan. Mr. Case, my tenth grade English teacher, had just arrived on the ferry, and he was walking down the road toward town. Mr. Case rented a room from Mr. Cousineau, as Mr. Case's family was still downstate.

Frank said that we should give Mr. Case a ride, as it was a long way for him to walk to Mr. Cousineau's house. We pleaded with Frank not to do it, because Frank had a tendency to cuss a lot. Frank promised that he would watch his mouth, and he stopped and asked Mr. Case if he wanted a ride. Mr. Case got in the car, thanking Frank and us for picking him up.

Everything was fine, until a rabbit darted out in front of Frank's car.

“F**k!”

Nice going, Frank. Now, we're all going to flunk tenth grade English. As it turned out, Mr. Case was very forgiving.

Christmas in Manistique

by John B. Anderson

I loved Christmas when I was a boy in Manistique. We always had a lot of snow. One year, I got a new sled from Santa. For the rest of Christmas vacation, I was to be found at the sand hills. Ron used to drive his sled over a jump near the bottom of the hill. I did that once. Other daring deeds were sledding down the, “Man Killer,” and “The Nut Cracker.” Both of those adventures lived up to their names.

At Lakeside Elementary and at church, we had to memorize parts of a play, so we didn't embarrass our parents. The program a church had Vi Pavlot singing, “Oh Holy Night.” The beauty of her voice sent shivers up my spine.

Christmas Eve always reminded me that I was Swedish. We would always celebrate Christmas Eve at Aunt Hildur's, along with Uncle Ed, Ruth, Lois and Elizabeth, my cousins. We were always late for dinner, because my dad had to have a Christmas drink with the other staff at the drugstore. He didn't want to seem ungracious leave the party early, as he got his bonus at the time, usually $100. (That's back when $100 was $100.) When we arrived at Aunt Hildur's, we were greeted with the smell of lute fisk. I went through the front door, stifled my urge to vomit, and gave everyone a big smile.

Outside of the lute fisk, the rest of the Christmas Eve meal was wonderful. We ate potato sausage, boiled potatoes, Limpa bread and rice pudding. There was conversation about which grocery had the best potato sausage, and Smitty's IGA won the prize each time. My mom would ask Aunt Hildur for her Limpa recipe, but Aunt Hildur would only say, “I make it differently each time. There is no recipe.

After supper, we would gather around the Christmas tree, and distribute the gifts. Their tree always had some large outside lights, which I really loved, as the lights on our tree back home were a lot smaller. Most of the time, my gift would be a pretty shirt from the People's Store, where Aunt Hildur and Ruth worked.

Christmas morning at our house had its own rituals. I could open one present before breakfast. I always went after the biggest one. For breakfast, mom would fix grapefruit baskets. In the middle of each basket was a maraschino cherry. After breakfast, we would open our family gifts, then just lay around in our pajamas for a couple of hours. My best gift ever, was an American Flyer train set. Later, when we got dressed, we headed down the block to see what the other kids had gotten.

One year, Sandy had just broken up with one of her boyfriends, (probably, Eddie,) so she was feeling pretty sad. I kept playing Elvis Presley's “I'll have a blue, blue, Christmas.” She got really pissed at me. During those years, Sandy and I weren't really all that tight. We, eventually, got over it.

We had lots to do over the two week holiday. When we were smaller, we would chase the Sno-Go down the street, to stand in the snow being sprayed beyond the catching truck. Mom yelled at us, saying the Sno-Go might pick up a rock and send it at our heads. Impervious to danger, we did it anyway, never telling mom again. The skating rink was a lot of fun. Mr. Schmidt would keep the warming house nice and toasty, while we played, “Crack the Whip.” I didn't play hockey, because my friend, John, had caught the puck in his mouth, and the blank space it left wasn't cool.

Eating was a favorite pastime around Christmas. One of the best places to hang out at this time was at Bob and Donnie's house. Their Uncle Marco was a chef aboard one of the Great Lakes ships, and the dishes he served us were over the top. These were, perhaps, outdone by Bob and Donnie's grandmother on North Cedar Street. I'm not sure what she served, (a noodle dish), but I know that I ate so much, that I didn't want to move for a week.

Another great eating party was held at Andy and Art's house on New Years Day. Their dad, John, was a commercial fisherman out of Whitefish Point. Chick and Clarise would assist, as they prepared lobster, shrimp, scallops, assorted fish and all the fixings. This was another time that I ate far more than I should have.

Over the years, I have tried to emulate some of those traditions. Now that I live downstate, I have negotiated with local butchers for the preparation of potato sausage. One time, I ordered the potato sausage from Vollworth's out of Marquette, and they shipped it to me. Elizabeth gave me a copy of what she thinks is her mom's recipe for Limpa bread, and that turns out well each time that we try it. .......and I still have part to my American Flyer train.

This and That

by John B. Anderson

Chuck was a happy-go-lucky guy. He had a pretty girlfriend, a nice car, and his dad was a state cop. Chuck was a couple of years older than us. Chuck and I shared the same gym class one semester. Right after Christmas, he decided to show the entire gym class the gift that he had received from his girlfriend – a fur-lined jock strap. Chuck modeled the gift for all the class to see, when Mr. Brandstrom came out of his office to see what all the commotion was about. Mr. Brandstrom was not amused. “Get dressed and go to the office, Chuck.”

Later that winter, Dan and I were making our last pass through town on a very cold night. Dan was driving his dad's 4-wheel-drive truck. We passed the Liberty, the Pool Hall, and started up River Street. All of a sudden, a car pulled up along side of us, revving his motor. It was Chuck and he wanted to race. Dan shifted to second and hit the gas, as did Chuck. We were flying up River Street, when I looked around and saw a car gaining on us with its lights off. “Cops!”

Chuck was turning left at the triangle, so we turned right. Chuck hadn't seen the cop car, so when he saw us turn right, he turned right following us. He passed us by Smitty's I.G.A., because, by this time we were driving the speed limit. The cop car sped passed us, and chased Chuck into Central Park. Chuck drove onto the skating rink, did a few “Cats Patooties” and drove his rear end into the far bank of the rink. Chuck's headlights were now shining on the “We Serve and Protect” sign on the side of the police cruiser. “Oh, s**t!”

The cop got out of the car. It was Bruce Neadow. Bruce started walking toward Chuck's car, and fell on his butt on the ice. Chuck was laughing by this time, so he got out of his car and helped Bruce get up.

In the meantime, Dan and I were driving over the piles of snow that the city crews had removed from the city streets. It was good that we had the 4-wheel-drive. We made it over the piles to Lake Street, where we hid for about 20 minutes. We figured that the cop had given us up by that time, so we drove past the Presbyterian Church to US-2. Bruce was waiting for us. He blocked our escape, and gave us, (mostly Dan), a serious tongue lashing.

As most kids are when they are younger, I was somewhat confused about the birds and the bees. That was all cleared up one evening at one of our neighborhood meetings. The meetings were usually attended by Dave, (the eldest), Wayne, (next in line), Bill, sometimes Johnny, Me and John R. Our meeting place was Kelly's corner. We would discuss hot topics like, “How good are those new Creamsickles?” “Dr. Bernier's teaching Kenny how to box,” and the latest cars. Dr. and Mrs. Chauvin drove by with the three boys in the back seat. Wayne said, “Did you hear that Stella was pregnant again?”

Dave replied, “Ole' Doc's been hittin' on Stells.”

Inside my head: “Ole' Doc's been hittin” on Stella.” That seemed reasonable. Lloyd had told us that babies came from pills. His sister, Marcella, had told him that, and that's the truth, because she's a nurse.” I decided to go with, “Ole' Doc's been hittin' on Stella.”

When I was a senior, I assembled an intra-mural basketball team. Bobby and I, along with three or four others, would meet for intra-mural league play three times a week at 6:00 pm. The Manistique City Basketball League met at 7:00. The city league player were the MHS stars of yesteryear. They had put on a little weight since their high school days, so they were a little slower. The players could still shoot well, but they were meaner. The older guys would step on our feet, pull the hair on our legs, and pull down our pants.

After our game, if the older guys were short a player, we would be asked to play. A couple of times I made a mistake and said yes. Now, you have to understand, that the City League play was quite different from most basketball game that I have played. The fans in the old gym were wives and girlfriends of the players. Many of the ladies would bring supper and a six-pack to make the game more fun.

One game in particular would go down in history. Bob was our center, because he was the tallest player that Manistique had seen in a decade. It was a given that Bob would get the initial tip. The plan for this game was that Bob would tip the ball to Fred, (a made up name, and you'll see why in a minute,) and he would drive to the bucket and shoot puppy. Sure enough, Bob smacked the tip to Fred, and Fred started his drive to the bucket. At that precise moment, Fred's manhood, (or should I say MANHOOD?), slipped out of his jock and angled down his leg. The wives and girlfriends screamed. Fred drove to the basket, made the shot, ran through the east door of the locker room, re-adjusted himself, and appeared at the west door of the locker room. He was given a standing ovation.