The Road to Powers

by John B. Anderson

The forties, fifties and sixties brought many miracles in the field of medicine. When I attended Lakeside School, we received smallpox vaccines. (I don't know whether or not the parents had to sign waivers.) Dr. T. from Ti-County Public Health lined us up and shot us. Most of us didn't experience a reaction to the inoculations, except for one of the La Vance girls, who had to wear a protective plastic cup on her arm for awhile to allow the spot to heal.

Junior High brought the polio vaccines. The teachers would parade us to the old gym, line us up, and the nurses would shoot us. A couple of the kids didn't cotton to needles, and they passed out. Some of the kids were brave, and watched as the needles were driven home – not me. I never have liked needles.

When we got to high school, the t.b. Inoculations changed the lives of the Anderson family forever. Sandy and I both tested positive for the tuberculosis germ. The positive test didn't mean that a person had t.b., it meant that we had been exposed to someone who had t.b., and that we had develop antibodies against it. People who test positive with the skin test will always test positive with the test, so we are relegated to getting a chest x-ray every couple of years. All of our family went to the clinic, initially, to get our chest x-rays. Dad was suspect. He went to Powers Sanatorium for a gastric test, which turned out positive.

Our lives were turned upside down. Dad went to stay at the Powers San., isolating him from the general public. We weren't even allowed to see him for the first couple of weeks. At that point in Dad's treatment, we were allowed to see him on the weekends. We made the trek from Manistique to Powers every Sunday, 180 miles, for two and one half years. Mom did all of the driving, until Sandy and I got our licenses, but, even then, it was mostly Mom. I learned the names of every named creek and river between Manistique and Powers. I could also tell you every curve and turn in the road.

Sandy and I sometimes walked around Powers while Mom stayed with Dad. We visited Ann Nelson, who worked at the Dairy Cream. We sometimes got a cheeseburger at, “The Hut,” a quanset hut restaurant. We would take bets as to whether the owner was a man or a woman. We could never decide, even with Mom's input. We even walked to the Old Cedar swimming hole. One Sunday, Joyce Ann joined us on the Powers trip. Mom allowed the girls to join some boys from Spaulding to go swimming there. The boys invited the girls to the Spaulding Theater that evening, thus making our trip home much later than usual.

Some times the drive home at night was eventful. One night the sky around Big Bay-De-Noc were filled with bay flies. The car wipers couldn't clear them fast enough from the windshield to see, and the pavement was so slippery, that the car went down US-2 sideways. On another night, the highway, just west of Cooks Corner, the road was filled with deer. I don't know how Mom did all of that driving for all of those Sundays.

After the first year, Dad was granted off-site privileges. We drove to Powers, picked up Dad, and drove to neighboring towns. We visited Hermansville, where Dad had previously worked for the Earle family, in their lumber yard. (The Earles went on to buy and create Blaney Park.) On other Sundays, we visited Iron Mountain, Escanaba, Menominee, Stephenson, Norway, (where we saw the giant Aslen milk bottle office), and other towns. My restaurant choice at that time was a good cheeseburger. My two winning restaurants in that regard were The Stone House in Escanaba and a little pink house restaurant in the village of Daggett.

Things at home were a challenge. Thank goodness we lived in Manistique, for all of the support that we received from other folks. Mom went back to teaching at Cooks. She even became superintendent after a year. (The wages weren't much, and she got a raise by eventually going back to teach fifth grade at Fairview in the Manistique system.) Fred Hahn at First National gave us a loan, to be paid back when my father returned. Johnny Vaughan said that we could charge groceries at his market until my dad returned. Our neighbor, Gus, brought us buckets of smelt. Our relatives helped out, as well. When my mom got pneumonia, Aunt Hildur took us in until my mom got home from the hospital. I worked at The Surf, Sandy worked at Denny's and Sunny Shores, and we pitched in to keep us going.

A miracle drug! The new drug would gather the t.b., and transport it into a lesion in the lung. A lot of patients had the lesion removed, if it were small enough. My Dad's lesion was too large, so he was sent home with a promise to limit his activity, so not to break the lesion. We were a family once again. Dad was as fast as he was previously, but he was with us.

Manistique Mind Musings

by John B. Anderson

(Dick Graphos said that I'd better get busy, and write another story about Manistique, so here's some musings.)

One winter's day in Manistique it snowed like crazy. Then it snowed all night and into the next day. By the time it was done, we had at least four feet of snow on the ground! Dan, Art, (a kid who lived above Liz Orr), and I walked over to Crow's Cliff. Crow's Cliff was about 15 feet high, and it was located across from the hospital. During the summer months, it was a rock climber's challenge to climb up the face of the cliff to reach the cedar trees at the top. The cedar trees provided us another place to pee, as we had many of those places around town. On this particular day, however, the cliff provided us with an opportunity to do the unthinkable, jump into the snow beneath the cliff. After we boosted our courage, we ran off the top of the cliff, and landed in the four foot banks of snow below. That's when we faced our next problem, how to dig ourselves out of the snow. Dan and Art finally were able to free themselves, but I could not. They threatened to leave me there, stuck in the snowbank. That motivated me to try harder. I finally dug myself out.

Crow's Cliff became passe' when Dr. Wehner built his huge house on the property. That was about the same time that he bought his new Corvette. Dr. Wehner told my dad once, that one of his goals in life was to be a million dollars in debt. The Corvette put him over the top. My sister babysat for the Wehner's upon occasion. When she had a conflict, I had to fill in. It was good duty. The kids were in bed by the time that I arrived, and they never uttered a peep after that. The Wehner's had a beautiful stereo, and mny records, so I could amuse myself until they returned. Also, the Wehners paid 50 cents an hour for babysitting, as opposed to the usual 25 cents paid by other parents. When Doc and Mrs. got home one evening, Doc asked me if I had ever driven a Corvette. I said, “No. I'm only 15, so I haven't driven anything.”

Dr. Wehner gave me the keys, and said, “Here, you drive us to your house.” It was a foggy night; I couln't see very well. We made it all the way to my house without incident. That was the last time that I drove a Corvette.

Doc figured that his car was the fastest car in Manistique. One day he was making a house call out of town, down U.S.2. A black '57 Chevy passed Doc, which, in Doc's eyes, never should have happened. Doc floored it, and burried the needle at 120 mph. He couldn't catch the Chevy. I think that the owner of the black Chevy was George MacNamara(?). We found out later that George had never been beaten. He had gone through three clutches, before the Chevy garage installed a truck clutch.

There were a lot of fast cars in town. My parents had a '53 Pontiac, straight eight. It was really a pig. Bill's parents had a Chevy Yeoman station wagon. Bill discovered that, if he would back up across the Copenhagen Bridge, slam it into first, floor the accellerator, he could squeel the tires all across the bridge. Neither Bill nor I won any races. When my folks traded for a stick-shift '58 Pontiac, I won a beer from Mike Harbin. I had a heck of a time finding second gear, but when I did, Mike was in the dust. Ray Roussin sometimes drove his step-dad's new Plymouth. The Plymouth had a push-button transmission. We were out on the Tannery Road, when Ray said, “Watch this!” Ray pushed reverse, backed up fast, pushed the drive button, and hit the gas. The car went, “Clunk,” and didn't move. Ray said, “Oh, s**t! Willard's going to be mad!”

Don Lindroth securred a stick-shift Pontiac Bonneville from his dad's dealership, at that became the fastest car in Manistique for a little while. One evening, a young man from Milwaukee showed up at the pool hall with a 1936 Ford truck. The young man asked for the fastest car in town, and we all told him about Don's Bonneville. The challenge was issued, and the race was on. Don was no match for the young man and his truck. When they returned to the pool hall, the young man revealed the engine. The engine was hard to look at, as it was all polished chrome. A real beauty!

Joe Brown got into a discussion with Jimmy Stewart one night, about the relative speeds of Jimmy's Dodge versus Joe's Lincoln. The race was down Range Street. When we got to the stop sign at Arbutus Avenue, Joe hit the breaks, and fish-tailed to the stop sign. Jimmy, disregarding his life, sailed through the intesection. I was glad that Joe didn't have a death wish that evening.

Church Groups

We Methodists didn't really get anything going, as far as the Wesley Youth Groups were concerned, so we tended to flow to the other church groups in town The First Babtists had an active group and the Presbyterians were active as well. The Lutherans had Luther League and the Catholics had C.Y.O. I hung out with the Lutherans for awhile, as they had a lot of fun projects, and because a lot of my friends were part of the Luther League. They had ice cream socials and pancake suppers, all geared to finance a trip for the youth to a rally in Texas. At on pancake supper, a pudgy man for Riverside showed up for his unlimited pancakes. This particular gentleman always wore a three-piece suit with breakfast drippings still on his vest. I volunteered to wait on him, as everyone else said, “I'm not waiting on him.” The man kept me running with more pancakes half the evening, and I left with maple syrup joining the breakfast assortment on his vest.

Later on, I really liked C.Y.O. This group held dances. Lots of fun. One dance was held with the C.Y.O. Group in Newberry. Again, lots of my friends went to C.Y. O.

Elementary School Abuse

I don't know who got abused more, the teacher or the student. One day, Mrs Cookson had had enough for Jenks Jensen. She called him to the front of the room and asked him to put out his hands. He did, and she smacked them with a ruler. Rather than cry in front of his classmates, Jenks picked up a book, smacked Mrs. Cookson on the ass, and ran out the door. The room was quiet and tense. I think that Mrs. Jensen home-schooled Jenks from then on.

John Herlik met a similar fate at St. Francis. One day, Sister Anthony called John to the front of the room for discipline. She hit John with a ruler, and John smacked her across the butt with a book. That was John's last day at St. Francis. His mom enrolled him in public school after that.

Elementary Sex

by John B. Anderson

Girls, apparently, mature faster than boys. That became clear in the sixth grade, when we shot baskets during recess at Lakeside School. Mary and Joanie started hanging out by the basketball court, trying to engage us boys in conversation. That made it hard to concentrate on shooting, and it was actually irritating.

Finally, Dan couldn't take it any more, so he asked Mary, “What the hell is wrong with you? Are you pregnant?” That worked! Mary and Joanie left, and we were able to continue shooting without a disturbance from the girls.

The only trouble was, Mary went home and told her mother. Her mother called Mrs. Cookson, our teacher and principal, and asked Mrs. Cookson to do something about it.

The next day, all of the fifth and sixth boys were summoned to the auditorium to meet with Mrs. Cookson. We were all pretty nervous. She started out my saying, “You all understand that there is a connection between the male and the female to make a baby.” (That kind of shot holes in Lloyd's theory that babies came from pills, as he had heard from his sister, the nurse, but we were past that anyway.) “...But, I don't know where you got this word, 'Pregnant'. You boys can't be talking that way at school, or there will be consequences.”

To wrap up the meeting, she added, “If you boys have any questions about sex, you may ask them now, or at any time.” Every head was bowed. All of us thought, if anyone raises his hand, we'll beat the crap out of him after school. No one spoke.

All the fifth and sixth grade boys were called to the auditorium by Mrs. Cookson one other time. It seems as if Rodney and Jerry had been caught by Mr. Krause, the janitor, trying to urinate on the ceiling of the boy's bathroom. At that discussion, we learned about the do's and don'ts of bathroom etiquette. Almost all of us learned that to be careful when Mr. Krause was around.

After school, we walked outside behind Rodney and Jerry. Jerry said to Rodney, “Ill bet Muriel couldn't piss on the ceiling.”

Further Adventures with Pat

by John B. Anderson

As Snoopy said, “It was a dark and stormy night.” …..No moon, really dark. Pat, John R. Kelly and I were, “loitering with the intent to commit a felony.” Actually, we were engaged in planning for creative mischief. Pat was always the most creative in this regard. He came up with the best idea ever, “Let's raid Mr. Olson's plum trees.”

What a great idea! It would have been, but we didn't know that Bill Matlin and friends had raided the trees earlier in the evening.

We sneaked down Michigan Avenue and into Mr. Olson's yard. Pat and John R. climbed up one tree, I climbed up the other. All of a sudden, I saw a black shadow coming from the porch toward us. Oh, Oh, Mr. Olson! I saw the shadow head toward Pat and John R.'s tree, so I dropped to the ground.

Mr. Olson tackled me, and threw me to the ground. He slapped me hard on my head.

“I didn't mean it!”

[SLAP!]

“I didn't mean it!”

[SLAP!]

Just then, Pat and John R. saw their opportunity, and they dropped to the ground. Mr. Olson jumped up and lunged for those two.

I got up and started running as fast as I could. I figured that he was old, and that I could run faster and further.

I ran to Pat's house, where I found Pat and John R. They had escaped unscathed. They were also kind enough to share a plum with me. That was the last time that we even considered raiding Mr. Olson's plums trees.

Who's on Your Block?

By John B. Anderson

After I left Manistique, it seems as if I moved a lot. When I graduated from Western Michigan University, the three of us, (Sally, Eric and I), moved to Parchment, MI, into our first home. From there, I decided to climb the corporate ladder, which required that we move to Springfield, IL, this time Peter joined us in our journey. What we discovered in central Illinois was that, if you liked corn and soy beans, Springfield was a wonderful place to live. With Christopher in tow, we moved back to Michigan to the village of Sherwood. From there, we quit making kids, and moved to Allegan, MI, and that's where we stayed for the next 30 years. Each of these moves happened every three years, and we lost some of our household goods each time that we moved. For the kids sake, we characterized each move as a new adventure, but they were really a pain in the butt.

When I grew up in Manistique, I only moved once. I started out at 552 Manistique Avenue, at my grandmother's house, born into my Aunt Marjorie's bed, (Aunt Marjorie wasn't in the bed at the time, which was good. My aunt was cool, but my mom was a whole lot cooler.) My grandmother, Alice Bretz, delivered me, as she had delivered many Manistique babies. She was a licensed midwife in the State of Michigan. She kept records of all of the babies she assisted with, but I can only recall Bernie Fish and Myrna Fish. Many moms didn't go to Shaw Hospital to have their kids, they just called the doctor and my grandmother.

My grandfather, Charlie Bretz, operated a general store in Rudyard, another in Engadine, before coming to Manistique. He had a greenhouse which yielded many blue ribbons at the Schoolcraft County Fair. He also worked for the city, keeping the flowers around all of the monuments fresh. Grandpa's true love was his eighty acres near the Seney Game Refuge. Grandpa would go to his cabin three weeks at a time, sometimes stealing my dog. I loved it when Grandpa would take Sandy and me to the cabin. The deer would show up in the morning, and we'd let the dog out to chase them. Grandpa could shoot a penny out of the air with his .22, and, at 50 paces, he could shoot the tines of a fork, one tine at a time. Mom worried about what we kids would do, if Grandpa had a heart attack, while we were at the cabin. He said, “Don't worry, Faye, McCauley's cow comes by once a day, and I've trained John to follow the cow.”

My folks rented a house at 538 Manistique Ave. from Mrs. McCauley. The main furnace burned large chunks of coal, and the kitchen stove was a wood stove. We would get a load of wood from the handle factory, and, in later years, it was my job to keep the wood boxes full. I did my grandmother's wood box as well. That's when I learned the expression, “Lazy man's load.” I loved to fill grandma's wood box on the days that she would make donuts. I got the holes. She fried them in lard.

Next door, to the west, were Leona and Jack Williams. Jack was the Miller High Life distributor and you remember Leona, the eighth grade English teacher. Leona and Jack had an old garage that they didn't use, so Pat and I would steal carrots from my dad's garden, haul them to the roof of the garage, and eat them. We dubbed the roof our, “Carrot Company.” The back part of the roof was harder to climb, so Pat and I removed a few shingles to make it easier to climb. On day, we ran into Ray Roussin and Duncan Reese. We invited them up to our carrot company. Just then, Leona and Jack pulled into the driveway, and spotted Ray and Duncan on the roof of their garage. Pat and I were still on the ground, so we hid behind some trees next door. Ray and Duncan got a tongue lashing from the Williams for ripping off the shingles.

Mrs. Williams got me back a few years later. When I was in the seventh grade, I went to my first dance at Lincoln School. I stayed on the sidelines, (typical seventh grade boy's behavior,) as I was too scared to touch a girl, let alone dance with her. Mrs. Williams grabbed me, and paired me up with Ann Cowman. I must say that Ann was gracious, and didn't make me look bad. After that, I didn't mind dancing the slow ones.

Ann and her family lived just past the Williams, before they moved across the street from us. Ann's parents were Earl, (“Turk”) and Nora. Her brothers were Jackie and Jimmy. When World War II ended, Mr. Cowman took out his hand gun and shot it many times into the air. At the same time, I remember the town's siren blasting continuously. On another day, Jackie was hitting pop flies to Jimmy when I got too close to Jackie. When Jackie swung the bat, it conked me on the head. (I haven't been the same since.) Jackie and Jimmy were popular with the young ladies. I remember “Newsy” and Mary Ann used to come sniffing around once in awhile.

Most of my adventures on Manistique Avenue included Pat Radgens. I've known Pat for 73 years, he says 72, but who's to quibble. We wiped out on our trikes coming down the pump hill. We put together concoctions in our kitchens to poison the ants. One day, Pat fell out of a tree, hit a wire fence, and bounced back up, caught a limb, and avoided breaking his back on some rocks below. Pat and I had two hideouts, one behind Robertson's garage, and on behind our garage. These provided good places to pee, so we didn't have to go into the house. We never wanted to into the house, as our moms would put us to work.

We stayed on Manistique Avenue until I was eight years old, when we moved to Arbutus Avenue. That was also the year that Grandpa died. We purchased this monster house at 644 Arbutus, from Art Drevdahl for $8,000. The Drevdahl family was related to Liz Orr. The house was a three-story house, if you counted the attic. The only way to get to the attic was up a steep ladder, but the attic ran the full length of the house. We didn't go up there much, as it would disturb the bats. Upstairs was a three-room apartment, complete with its own utilities and a shared bath. The living room was huge, a perfect arrangement for parties.

I'm going to tell you about the 600 block of Arbutus Avenue, but that really wouldn't cover the whole neighborhood. I have to include part of Cataragus, Stuben, Michigan and Garden Avenues to be complete. The west end of the 600 block of Arbutus was the Kelly residence, but, kiddie-corner to them was the Lakeside Grocery. John R. Kelly and I used to sit on the front steps of the grocery to eat our “Dreamsicles” and our “Dixie Cups.” Toward Michigan Avenue was the Bernier's basketball hoop. Almost all of the neighborhood played basketball at Bernier's. This included Kenny Bernier, Fran Bernier, Wayne Gunderman, Connie Anderson, John R., Bill Malloch, Ron Provo, Lloyd Miller, Sharon Sitkoski, and Janet Ott. One time, Sharon got really pissed at Bill, so she threw the basketball at him, catching him just below the waist. Just before Bill pounded the crap out of Sharon, he realized that she was a girl, so he just groaned for awhile.

Berniers had a mean German Shepard named “King.” “King” was tied near the basketball court. Whenever the ball was knocked over by “King,” we had to get one of the Berniers to fetch it. “You go get the ball” “No, you go get it” One time, Chris Curran got a little too close to “King,” and “King” bit Chris in the cheek. Chris ran to Malloch's, where Mr. Malloch got Chris to medical assistance.

John W. Kelly, (dad), Monica Kelly, (mom), Mary Ann, John R., and Frankie, lived in the corner house. John W. sold insurance, was a Colonel in the army, and was Manistique's postmaster. Monny was an excellent bridge player. At one point, the older boys called John R., “Little D.I.” John used to say, “Damn it” all of the time. We had a clubhouse in the rafters of Kelly's garage. Members included Wayne Gunderman, president; Bill Norton, vice president; John Anderson, secretary; and John R. Kelly, bouncer. When Frankie was in the 6^th grade, he was the captain on my St. Francis basketball team, which went undefeated against every elementary school in the county, including Cooks elementary.

Grandpa and Grandma Malloch lived next to Kelly's. Grandpa Malloch smoked “Marvel” cigarettes. He would give Bill a quarter, and send us to Lakeside Grocery for some “Marvels.” Bill was allowed to spend the change, which he shared with me. Mr. and Mrs. Cook lived in the next house. Their son, Dave, “Young Muff,” used to hang out with us younger guys sometimes. Wayne Gunderman lived right behind the Cooks. The families had a passageway among the cedar trees, so the kids could pass through from Arbutus Avenue to Michigan Avenue. Apparently, too many kids used that passageway, so one of the families ran some cord across the opening. Following that, on a dark night, Steve, (“Skinny) Jewett and I were throwing rocks a the streetlight by Kelly's corner. Suddenly, we noticed a car coming up Arbutus with its lights out. Cops! Steve and I ran through Cook's yard. We made our way through the cedars, knowing the opening was wired, and we headed for my place. Joe Davis, the cop, hit the cords that covered the opening. Such language! Steve and I laughed all the way to my house.

Next to Cook's were the Vassau's, Deal and Fran. Deal was a sister to Mrs. Eugene Johnston across the street. Mrs. LaFranier was next. Mrs. LaFraniere was really hard of hearing. Her telephone number was 181-W, when ours was 181-J. She was the other end of our party line. We would be on the phone, when we would hear, “122-J, please.”

“Mrs. LaFraniere, we're on the phone now.”

“Eh?”

(Louder) “We're on the phone now!”

“Eh?”

Mrs. Swanson live in the next tiny house. I accidentally broke her window, when I threw a snowball at Billy Allen. That cost me 50 cents.

Gus and Myrtle Hahn lived next door to us. They were family friends from Engadine. Gus was terribly gregarious and generous. It was midnight when Gus fired up his snowmobile and did circles around our house and his. Mom said that she would deal with it the next day when Gus was not in his cups. He had a wonderfully prolific garden every year, and he shared many vegetables with us. Gus also shared his smelt. He would catch a washtub full of smelt, and we would get a pail full. Super good eating. When Myrtle died, Gus became pals with Ray (“Dude”) Ranguette, who lived around the corner. “Dude” was a good pal, as he was the Hiram Walker distributor for this part of the woods. After palling for awhile, the lady who lived behind Gus befriended him; they got married, and she straightened his ass out. I guess “Dude” straightened out too.

You know who lived in our house, but you didn't know everyone. Our three-room apartment was first rented by Ernie and Betty Kralic. When baby, Kenny, came along, the family built a house on Riverside. Our next renter was Ward and Arlene Goodney. When baby, Anne, came along Ward and Arlene bought a house in Marquette. Much later, Ed, (“Butch”), Carlson stayed at the Goodney residence in Marquette the night we lost the basketball game to the Escanaba Eskimos in the regional finals. Ed and I had to take the college entrance exams, (the S.A.T.), in Marquette the next day. Ed and I shared a bed. After discussing the game and the upcoming test, we turned out the light. Ed coughed, then spit. I ducked my head under the covers, when he farted. He said, “Don't hit me. That's just an old Swedish trick.”

“You're still a son-of-a bitch!”

The Johnstons were the next apartment dwellers. Myron, “Pike,” Johnston and his beautiful wife, Laura, took up residence there. “Pike” had to go to Germany to serve his time in the army, so Laura became part of our family. Laura complained to my mom that I didn't clean the tub very well. I couldn't remember cleaning it at all, so, to keep peace in the family, I added tub cleaning to my repertoire. When “Pike” returned from Germany, he hauled lumber out of the woods with a pair of Clydesdales. Then he operated the gray Inland buses to and from the quarry and Port Inland. One bus would pick up Mr. Anderson and Mr. Gunderman at the Lakeside Grocery.

Glen Johnston and his wife, Carolyn Nelson Johnson, rented the apartment for about a year. Carolyn was a beauty as well. She had been football queen a couple of years before. One day when Carolyn was about six-months pregnant, she came downstairs during breakfast time, when I was eating my usual bowl of oatmeal. She said to my mom, “When my baby is born, I'm going to feed it oatmeal every day, so it can turn out as smart as John.” There it is – validation.

The corner house had a lot of different families with different kids. Billy Allen lived there for awhile. His family was followed by Jack, “Puss gut”, Rorick's family. I didn't like Jack so much. His dog bit me when I was beating up Jack. Jack's dad ran the Studebaker dealership in town. Margaret Arrowood and her family lived there. Clyde Strassler was their milkman. He called Margaret, “Tootsie.” An indignant Margaret replied, “My name's not, “Tootsie!”

Bernard “Skeezix” Tobin lived there, as well. Doctor and Mrs. Chauvin moved in with Jimmy, Peter, Bobby and Mary Pat. The last family that I remember were the Jorgensens. Ellie was their daughter. Mrs. Jorgensen was on the Selective Service Board. When I was in college, she called my mom to tell her that the board couldn't honor my college deferment any more, so was my wife, Sally, pregnant? It turned out that Sally killed a frog, and my orders to report to Fort Wayne were rescinded.

I'll drift away from the 600 block of Arbutus. Helen McLaughlin lived on the next corner. She and Mrs. Pointer from downstate, were sisters. Mrs. Pointer had two lovely daughters, Hope and Rae. Donny was their brother. I was smitten by Hope. I ran into her at WMU years later, but the infatuation had waned. She was a sorority girl and I was a G.D.I., (an independent).

Across from Mrs McLaughlin was an empty lot, next to Weber's house. We played baseball in that lot with Bob and Fran Weber, until Ardith Nelson's uncle and aunt bought the property and built a house on it. We moved the baseball field to next to Chauvin's house on Park Avenue. Doc and Stella had purchased the St. Francis parsonage, and had it moved to Park avenue.

At the corner of the 700 block of Garden Avenue, the Eck/Ott family resided. This was too many beautiful women in one place. Lloyd Miller and I used to serenade the girls. The theme from “High Noon” was a good choice. We weren't singing to any particular girl, “Punky, Pee Wee, Janet, or Joann,” were all good choices. Kiddie-corner and down the street were the two neighborhood bad asses, Jimmy Stewart and Bob Archambeau. Fifty percent of that combination is now a friend. Down Garden Avenue to the west, were Ronny and Roberta Johnson, a good pitcher and another georges girl.

Going down the street was the Davis house, Joe and Irma, JoNell and Joey. Irma was another on of our many moms. We went out by the Big Spring, picked 6 quarts of blackberries, and brought them to Irma, who made us two blackberry pies. Good mom.

I peddled the Milwaukee Sentinel to Ivan Slough across the street from the Davis house. Ivan was in the hospital getting his plumbing repaired at the same time that I was in for my appendectomy. I puked a lot following the surgery, so they kept me in bed for two days. Ivan stopped by to see how I was doing. I told him that I was in serious pain in my gut. He said, “Start running in bed.” I did. I farted so long and so loud that, if there were ever a farting marathon, I would have won. Thank you, Ivan.

Back to the north side of Garden Avenue. Bill, “Goat” Norton lived there. He was part of our gang, until his family moved up to Terrace Avenue. Then came the McDonough's, with their kids, Ronnie, Joann, Jimmy, and Danny. Joe, the dad, would hold poker sessions in the basement with uncle Gerald “Giggles” Walstrum. It was tougher to win there, because, unlike the poker games at Radgen's house, the older guys weren't drinking. I dated Joann in the spring of my senior year. Joann was my date at the senior prom, (“Theme from a Summer Place”). Both of us had been outside on that gorgeous spring day, and got really sunburned. In all of the pictures, we were both red-faced. After the prom, I spent the night with Joann, (No, not like that. Get your mind out of the gutter.) Joann and I stayed up all night watching family movies. Funny thing, all of the movies showed someone eating. It was probably because they kept the movie camera in the dining room.

I left Joann's house at 5:00 am the next morning. I walked home, washed my face, then I left for Riverview, MI. John and Mary Moffit picked me up, along with Bill Grace, to participate in mayor exchange. Riverview is down river from Detroit, so it was a long journey. I missed a lot of the trip, because I was sleeping. I represented the senior class, and Bill represented the junior class. When John and Mary went off with city officials to tour city hall, Bill and I were taken on a tour of Riverview High School. We met a quarter-miler who could run the oval in 49 seconds. We also met the student body. She lived up to her moniker. We joined the Moffits for a tour of a plant which stamped wheel rims from a sheet of steel. Impressive, but loud.

After a great lunch, we toured an Ajax missile site. They let us touch the rockets, but not the controls. With our mayor exchange duties completed, we headed north. We stopped at the giant crucifix at Indian River, then it was on the St. Ignace for a juicy steak. Thanks to the taxpayers of Manistique.

…....but I digress. The corner house on the south side of the 600 block of Arbutus belonged to Chet Rivers. Chet drove a snowplow for the State of Michigan. He got up early many a morning. The next house was Leach's, when we first arrived on Arbutus. Chucky and Elizabeth were the Leach kids. Chucky was sweet on my sister, Sandy. Following them were Jim Sangraw and his wife. Jim took over Barney's grocery when Barney retired. Jim was almost as nice as Barney.

The Burrells owned the third house from the corner when we moved to the neighborhood. One day, Pat Burrell set up a movie projector and a screen in his garage, and showed me movies of our dropping the atom bomb on Japan. Pat's dad was assigned to take movies of that horrible event, and he had kept a copy for himself. Later residents of this house were Wes and Arlene Turan. George, Anise, and Rodney Carney were in the next house. George worked as a mechanic at Lunstrom's Garage. Rodney had a sister, Anise Hinkson, who lived in Escanaba. She was pretty. When Ronnie Provo said that he had a girlfriend in Escanaba, I told him that I did too.

House number five sheltered the Woods, Mr. and Mrs. They went to our church. Next came the Johnstons. There was Eugene Sr., Marvel, Eugene, Jr., Myron, (Pike), Glen, Myrna and Milton, (Mootsie). We hung out with Myrna and “Mootsie” a lot, playing hide and seek, among other games. Grandma Malloy lived in the next house. That's how I met Pat Malloy. We traded comic books. “Bud” Ulyses Malloy, (Pat's dad), had his sign shop behind Grandma's house. “Bud” would stack up his old signs against the barn, and we kids would hide out there.

Herliks lived in the next house. There was Vic and Vickie, Johnny, Bobby, and Eddie. I'll tell you a story or two about Johnny in future publications. I think the last house on the block was DeHuts, but I don't know. I just didn't have contact with those folks.

Sorry, if I murdered your name, but I don't have any reference books with me in Florida. Let me know and I'll correct them when I get home.

Who was on your block? Write me a story.

[Coming up: “Further Adventures with Pat”, and “Elementary Sex”]

The Surf

by John B. Anderson

The Surf restaurant was a dream of George Babladellis. George and his brothers Pete and Louie operated The Liberty Cafe in downtown Manistique for many years. George and Louie handled the kitchen while Pete and his chewed-up cigar, took care of the customers out front. We kids always hit The Liberty after a football or basketball game for a burger and french fries with gravy. The food and the service at The Liberty were great, but George's dream was to create the finest restaurant in the U.P.

…..and he did. The Surf was located about a mile east of Manistique on U.S.2. I became interested in The Surf when friend, Clifford, told me that we would be getting jobs as valets, parking cars for The Surf customers. Wow! For a couple of 12-year-olds, these were the best of all jobs. Clifford said that the valet jobs were a sure thing, as Clifford's dad worked at The Surf. (I found out later that Clifford's dad removed the garbage from The Surf twice a week.)

I didn't hear anything about the jobs for quite a while. My mom served as dining room hostess at The Surf during the next summer. She had asked George about the valet jobs, and the sad news was that there were no jobs of that kind available, nor were there any planned. They did, however, have an opening for a dishwasher, so I decided to take that. Prof. Olson gave me a work permit, so I started washing dishes the next night. My first night was tough, as I was too shy to ask for a break from the dishes to get something to eat. Kay Bowles, one of the dining room waitresses, told George to send me home, as I was sick. The next night, I wasn't so shy.

George ran the operation my first couple of years of working there. His wife, Stella, was hostess and cashier in the grill. The two sons, Nat and Nick joined the management team later. Nat had been christened, Ignacious Babladellis, but he shortened his name to Nat Dellis. Nick also shortened the last name. Nat took over a lot of the paperwork, freeing up George to concentrate on the kitchen functions. Eventually, the Babladellis family purchased the other two fine restaurants in the U.P., The Knife and Fork at the Sault, and the Chalet in Marquette. Nick spent most of his time at the Knife and Fork.

Most of the patrons were tourists. We didn't get much town trade during the summer. Buck Williams, from The Breakers Motel down the street, would stop by in the evenings to have a drink with Nat in the bar. The Surf was comprised by six rooms: The grill, which served breakfast, lunch, and less expensive supper, the bar, two dining rooms, the prep kitchen and the main kitchen. Smaller rooms included the office, two walk-in freezers, two walk-in coolers, and two bathrooms.

If you were to stop for dinner at The Surf, you were in for a real treat. The cocktail bar was well stocked, so you could order just about anything to drink and expect to get it. Next came George's famous hot hor d'ourve of barbecue meatballs. This was followed by the most magnificent salad bar that I had ever seen. The salad bar included a mixed green salad, salad fixings, pickled peaches, pickled crab apples, cottage cheese, 3 pasta salads, mixed pickles, along with other items. Next came the bread basket, including heated dinner rolls, garlic bread, and bread sticks, all freshly made by Ester Bloomquist, the baker. (Ester became head chef later, but that's another part of the story.) One of three homemade soups was also served at this time.

The dining room menu was eight pages. It included:

Beef Pork and Lamb: Club steak, Sirloin steak, T-bone steak, (looked like porterhouse to me), sirloin tips , (featured in “Ford Times” magazine), shish-ka-bob, Prime rib, Pork chops, Lamb chops and Leg of lamb. I discovered why we served mint jelly with the leg of lamb. Lamb tastes horrible.

Fish and Sea Food: Fresh White fish and Lake trout from King's in Naubinway. Lobster, scallops, and shrimp from the ocean.

Chicken and other Fowl: Pan-fried chicken, Cornish hen, Brandy chicken, and Duck.

Sides included baked, mashed, and french-fried potatoes.

The grill breakfast menu was pretty traditional. A single egg required either three pieces of bacon or sausage, two eggs would require four pieces of each. Eggs were any style, scrambled, sunny-side up, over easy, boiled and poached. We saved our bacon grease in which we cooked our eggs, (except for Mrs. Babladellis' eggs, which were cooked in olive oil). We also served waffles and pancakes. The Surf Breakfast included three pancakes, wrapped around grape jelly, topped by two strips of bacon.

The grill lunch and supper menu included chicken salad and tuna salad plates, a fisherman's platter with whitefish, shrimp and scallops, and assorted sandwiches The hamburgers were especially good, as they were made from beef round and fat scraps from the dining room steaks. We had tuna fish, egg salad, fried egg, and ham salad sandwiches We also served a club sandwich, a three-decker with chicken bacon, tomato, lettuce, and mayo.

I hated making that club sandwich. At the end of my first summer as a dishwasher, I asked George if he would teach me to cook. He said, “Sure. Come in on the weekends, and we'll teach you. Weekend cooking in the Fall was different from the summer cooking. Most of our customers were old people, touring the peninsula looking at the colors. Old people love club sandwiches I made so many club sandwiches that Fall, that I decided that I hated old people.

Some of the people that I worked with over the seven years at The Surf included Babe Garvin, Vickie Herlik, (Vickie used to sneak me cokes from the grill),Ruth and Sue Olson from the grill. Kay Bowles, Fran Bernard, Nancy Klagstad, Kathy Reed, Cerona Christensen, Lorna LaVance, Kay Atherton, Jimmy Chartier, John Herlik, Ralph Miller, and Donny Russel from the dining room. One one occasion, we sprayed for bugs in the kitchen after all the meals had been served for the evening. John, the busboy, came into the kitchen and remarked, “It smells like mothballs in here.”

Fran, (who wouldn't say it if she had a mouthful,) “Gee, Johnny, I didn't know that you could get their tiny legs that far apart to smell.”

Ester was our baker, none better in Manistique. She make all the pies, breads, sweet rolls, dinner rolls and breadsticks. Ester's sweet rolls were so good, I used to eat them when I took inventory in the walk-in freezer. One evening, the boss came to us and said, “Ester you're now the head chef and John, you're the sous chef.” The three cooks whom the boss had hired from Michigan State Restaurant program, came in drunk that day, and were immediately fired.

So....Ester was the baker, then head chef, then baker, Tommy Dufour was head chef, then transferred to The Chalet in Marquette. Beverly Rogers worked the grill side in the evening, Vivian Miller, Jim Miller and I worked the breakfast and lunch crowd in the grill. Sometimes I worked in the evenings as well. One evening, someone left the pork loin out on the meat saw. It had become sweaty and slippery. I had to cut two chops, but my hand slipped and my knuckle went into the saw blade. Bill followed me around with a mop to clean up the blood, until someone could take me to the clinic to get stitched up. After the stitches, I went back to work to finish my shift.

Every Spring, we would get a huge shipment of canned goods from John Sexton Company in Chicago. Sexton's, at the time, were of the finest quality. About the same time, Armour would ship us barrels of beef ribs packed in dry ice. The dry ice was always fun to play with. Our regular supplier of meat was the Swift Company, again, out of Chicago. There was no bridge, then, so most of our supplies came from Chicago or Milwaukee. Local suppliers included Harold from the Cloverland Creamery, Lionel Tyrrell from Bunny Bread, and King's who brought the fish. The produce came from Escanaba.

Nat assigned me to take inventory every month. I would put on George's ratty old green sweater to count and weigh the meat in the freezers. Each beef rib had to be weighed and counted. The two coolers weren't quite so bad. We kept two large bins in the cooler, one for steak scraps for the hamburger, and one for other meat scraps for the meatballs. I weighed all the open booze bottles in the bar, figuring an liquid ounce of liquid equaled an ounce on the scale. I counted all of the cans of dry food in the basement storage area, as well as all of the full bottles of whiskey, which were locked in the liquor closet. There was one open bottle of tequila in the liquor closet. I thought that I would try that one day as I was taking inventory. I took a big swig, choked it down and ran for the stairs. We had no running water in the basement. When I got upstairs, I threw my head under the faucet and turned on the cold water to stop the burning. Ester said, “I see that you found the tequila!”

When Nat joined us, he had just finished his stint in the army. He was proficient in the culinary arts, so the army put him in charge of a squad of tanks. He had kept his sidearm, a .45, so we practiced with it on slow afternoons. Lots of fun. A couple of times during the summer, after closing time, Nat and I stripped the tile floors in the grill, the bar and the kitchen. We usually finished between 2:00 am and 3:00 am, then went to breakfast.

Nat said that he would help with my college expenses, if I had chosen to attend the Hotel and Restaurant Management School at Michigan State. I elected, instead, to accept a scholarship at the University of Chicago. That ended my career at The Surf, so I took a job working for a French chef at Atlantic City the next summer. I am forever appreciative of all that I learned at the U.P.'s finest restaurant.

My Gun Went to Cuba

by John B. Anderson

[This is not strictly a “Stique story. This story started in Manistique in 1958 and ended in Cuba ten years later in1968.]

My grandfather, Charlie Bretz, was an avid outdoors-man. He had a cabin on 80 acres adjacent to the Seney Game Refuge. Grandpa loved to hunt. He would go to the cabin for 3 weeks at a time, sometimes stealing my dog. He and Grandma got along famously. Grandpa owned four guns, a pistol; a lever-action 30-30, Winchester '94; a 20 gauge pump shotgun, Winchester model 1912, and a .22 Remington single shot Targetmaster. Sandy and I really enjoyed going to Grandpa's cabin, and we might stay there for 3 – 4 days at a time.

Grandpa died when I was eight-years-old. Grandma sold the pistol and the 30-30 rifle. Amazingly, some years later, the Michigan State Police showed up at Grandma's door. Grandpa's pistol was used in a murder downstate, and Grandpa had been the last registered owner. Grandma had no idea to whom Grandpa had sold the pistol. Grandma gave me the 20 gauge pump and the .22 single shot. It was not unusual for me to own a couple of guns when I was 12; we all had guns. I used the 20 gauge as my all-around gun for rabbits, partridges, woodcocks, ducks, geese, deer, my hat, and other various and sundry items.

When I was 16, I wanted a high-powered rifle for deer hunting. Roy said that there was a lever- action .32 special, Winchester model '94 for sale at his parents' store in Gulliver. The gun was exactly what I was looking for – a cowboy gun. The gun had been his mother's, and they sold it to me for $54.00. I shot one deer with that gun, and that's about it.

Fast forward: I graduated from Western Michigan University, got married, and a couple of year's later, had my first son. When I was at WMU, I decided to marry Sally, but I didn't have enough money for a down payment for an engagement ring. I was weekend manager a Walwood Student Center, so I wasn't making a lot of money doing that. My .32 special was not legal to use in the lower part of Michigan, so I sold it to Tom to get my down payment.

Tom: What an interesting friend! Tom lived in the dorm behind Walwood Union. He would bring his guitar to the union on Saturday afternoons when we would pour some vodka into the lemonade dispenser, sing some songs, and enjoy a otherwise-slow afternoon.

Tom was the son of a chemistry professor at WMU. He had quit high school when he was sixteen-years-old, when he joined the U.S. Merchant Marine. After a couple of years in the Merchant Marine, Tom took the GRE, (Graduate Record Exam). His score was to high, that he entered the Sociology Department at the masters level. Tom graduated with honors with his masters. At that point, Tom enrolled in the doctoral program at The University of Oregon. He lived in a log cabin along the Columbia River, but this turned out to be a problem. The Columbia overflowed its banks, washing Tom and the cabin downstream. Someone pulled him out of the water, but he had contracted pneumonia. He gave up on his studies and returned to Kalamazoo and WMU.

He taught a couple of Sociology courses at Western, then took a teaching job at Laurus College in Iowa. While he was in Iowa, he married a stripper and her daughter. After he taught a year in Iowa, he returned to Kalamazoo. Tom took a job as program evaluator at the Fort Custer Job Corps Center. I had just graduated from WMU. Tom called me one evening, and told me to go to the Job Corps Center and tell them that I wanted to be a, "Group Life Foreman.” I didn't know what that was at the time, but then I was one of those, (a dorm counselor). I moved from that job to property control, and, after two-and-a-half years, our Job Corps Center was closed.

When the center closed, I checked in all of Tom's Job Corps property, computer, bicycle, etc. On that day, I invited Tom to our house for supper. Over a few shooters, Tom told us that he had had his marriage annulled, and had sent his wife and her daughter back to Iowa. He said that his wife was a drug user, and the mafia was pressuring him to work for them running some statistics. Tom had refused, and he had run away to Tennessee, where his car was peppered with shotgun pellets. He came back to Kalamazoo, but now Job Corps had closed. Tom said that he was planning to borrow his dad's car, and drive to Florida.

Three days later, the headlines were, “Professor's Son Hijacks a plane to Cuba.” There goes my gun.

Tom worked a couple of years in Cuba. He requested the government let him do sociological research, but Fidel wanted him to cut sugar cane. He got sick, and decided to return to the United States. Tom and three civil activists flew to Canada, walked across the border to Plattsburg, NY, and all three were arrested by the Feds. As Tom was the first hijacker, he was not tried for air piracy, but for kidnapping. He was assigned to the federal pen in Atlanta. When I last heard from Tom, he had served five-plus years, and was before the parole board to be released.

In his letter, Tom said, “Sociology didn't work very well for me. Maybe I'll try psychology next time.”