When Did Summer Reading Get So BORING?!

My summer reading is boring! Has been for years, unfortunately.

Titles like "The World is Flat," "Who Moved My Cheese?," and "First Break All The Rules," as well as the latest corporate IT process manuals and HR policy documents, have made up my summer reading list - recommended by senior management, of course - for most of my adult life.

It wasn't always like that, though. Not back in the early 1960s, when my summer reading list was made up of titles from the Riverview Memorial Elementary School Library summer program. The library was just a few blocks walk from my house on Hinton and I was a daily visitor.

I'd like to say that was where I first discovered classics by Faulkner, Hemingway and Henry. But that would be a lie.

My taste ran to titles almost nobody heard of, and probably fewer remember - "Big Mutt," by John H. Reese, and "Utah Lion," by James Ralph Johnson; as well as any "Hardy Boys" adventure, and all six "Power Boys" adventures (bet you don't remember those brothers!).

Summer reading was fun back then. Every cover I opened led me on a new adventure, and every page fueled my imagination. I devoured summer books with the same appetite - and almost the same speed - as Popsicles from the Good Humor man; sometimes getting literary "brain freeze" from the excitement.

I miss that. Somehow all this "meaningful" summer reading I've been doing is, ultimately, meaningless. Enough!

Today, I'm dusting off my copy of "The Call of the Wild," grabbing a Popsicle from the freezer, and heading to the back porch for some good, old-fashioned summer fun!

Cruisin' Down(river) Memory Lane

Thank you, Chris Matthews!
After reading my Cruisin' Downriver blog, and learning I was disappointed at not seeing a '55 Chevy in the hours I was at the Cruise on Fort St., Chris Matthews kindly sent me some photos of her husband Barry's classic Chevys - including the one above with Barry and her seated in it. Thanks Chris and Barry, for making my cruise season complete and for sharing your memories with me - and now with all our Downriver friends!

Fort St. could have been renamed “Memory Lane” on Saturday, June 26 when thousands of cruisers, and thousands more spectators gathered along miles of Fort St. to watch, and be a part of the 11^th annual “Cruisin’ Downriver.”

I watched from the corner of Longsdorf and Fort, just a few blocks from the house I grew up in on Hinton, standing in front of what used to be Mike’s Barber Shop and across Longsdorf from the bank parking lot where I learned to ride a two-wheeler nearly 50 years ago.

Hundreds of classic cars, bumper to bumper at times, cruised along Fort St. We had a different term for those cars back in late ‘50s and early ‘60s … they were called “traffic.” Today, when they gather, it’s more than just a celebration of “Detroit Iron,” it’s a celebration of a past era, and the people we all were back then.

I watched intently for a 1955 Chevy Bel Air. Any color, but cream-over-turquoise would have been ideal. That’s what my dad, Joe Saad, drove for a good part of my early childhood.

It was the car that we all went to St. Cyprian Church in every Sunday. It was the car that dad and mom drove every week to the National Supermarket. It was the car we sat in at the old Fort George Drive-In, and it was the car we’d take to Bob Jo’s Frozen Custard for a cool treat on hot summer nights.

It was on that car that dad taught me how to do an oil change and set a gap on a spark plug. And it was the first car I ever drove – on a gravel back road, long before I was actually old enough to drive. That little foray into the country was preceded by words of caution from dad, “Now, your mother doesn’t need to know about this …”

As I stood there at the curb on Fort St. last Saturday, I saw ’57 Chevys, I saw ’59 Plymouths, I saw Mustangs from almost every year – same with Corvettes, and I even saw a ’56 Chevy, cream-over-red, but not a single ’55 Chevy.

That’s OK, though, because for a few hours that afternoon, I was back there where it all happened for me, and for so many others, nearly 50 years ago. I realized that Crusin’ Downriver is as much about what the cars meant to us, as it is about the cars themselves. And as much – maybe even more – about the people that we rode in those cars with and the milestones in our lives that we passed sitting in those old bench seats.

A Legend Who Taught Us Many Lessons

His voice could smooth the static on my little green RCA transistor radio.

Ernie Harwell sat down at the Detroit Tigers’ microphone just about the time I got interested in baseball. The guys and I used to listen to his calls of Tigers games on hot summer afternoons while we were playing pick-up games at the dusty sandlot near Memorial School, in Riverview.

I’d often fall asleep to his voice on summer nights, with my radio tucked under my pillow when, as Ernie used to say, the Tigers were “… on a west coast swing …”

While we all dreamed of being Al Kaline or Norm Cash, or Mickey Lolich, a couple of us – my friend Jeff and me – used to dream of being Ernie. With our little reel-to-reel tape recorders, we’d sit in my garage and “broadcast” imaginary games, complete with sound effects that we’d provide for each other.

We’d play the tapes back and convince ourselves that, despite our cracking adolescent voices – and our flat Midwest accents – we sounded “just like Ernie.”

To us, as kids, Ernie Harwell was more than the voice of the Detroit Tigers. He was an inspiration. Not just as a broadcaster, but as a human being. It was through Ernie that we first heard about Baseball Chapel and learned that many ballplayers had faith lives too. We saw him live a life of humility and service, putting his fame and his status as a celebrity to work for the betterment of the communities in which his listeners lived.

While for now, we’re saddened at his death; we all can – and should – take comfort in the fact that we, for so long, were blessed to have had “…the voice of Ernie Harwell heard in our land.”

I think I'm immune to Spring Fever!

I'm not feeling it.

Spring officially arrived nearly two weeks ago, but I'm not feeling any symptoms of spring fever - haven't for years. I've come down with some serious cases of playoff fever while following the Red Wings, the Pistons and even the Tigers in recent years. I've certainly suffered through annual cases of cabin fever during our long, gray winters. I even caught a brief, mild case of boogie fever a couple of years ago, when I dug out and played an old Bee Gees album.

We all take precautions to avoid catching the flu, but spring fever is something that everyone wants to catch and I, somehow, sometime, seem to have developed an immunity to it! And I'm more than a little concerned. Listening to the first Tiger exhibition broadcasts from Lakeland on my RCA transistor radio used to bring it on. Brown grass peaking out from under the melting blankets of snow on the lawns on Hinton used to bring it on. Sunny mornings walking to St. Cyprian School used to bring it on. Lots of things used to give me spring fever ...

• Buds on the trees in Memorial Park
• "Open Soon" on the marquee of the Fort George Drive-In
• The plywood being removed from the windows of Bob Jo's
• The slightly rusty chain (from spending a damp winter unused in the garage) of my Evans bike
• Radio advertisements for Boblo Island
• Newspaper ads for Keds and Red Ball Jets
• My first glass of grape Kool-Aid of the season

I still enjoy spring. I sure look forward to it. But I don't embrace it, and it doesn't embrace me, not the way it did back in 1963; when I laced up my Red Ball Jets, gulped a glass of grape Kool-Aid and hopped on my bike (with its freshly oiled chain) to meet the guys at Memorial Park.

What about you? What gave you spring fever when we were growing up Downriver? Do you still get spring fever? If you do, what triggers your symptoms now?

Send me your Downriver spring fever memories, or post some here. Let's start an epidemic of seasonal smiles and optimism. It sure beats hay fever, which - unfortunately - I still get!

THIS is all I’m going to be when I grow up?!

From left: Gordon Cooper, Wally Schirra, Alan Shepard, Gus Grissom, John Glenn, "Deke" Slayton and Scott Carpenter. Photo credit: NASA

With another birthday rapidly approaching, I have to admit to myself that I’m never going to be an astronaut. Heck, I’m never gonna’ even make it into space.

Growing up Downriver in the 1960s, the heroes of the boys in my neighborhood were named Shepard and Grissom, Glenn and Slayton, Cooper, Shirra and Carpenter. The original “Mercury 7” astronauts were mid-20th Century American swashbucklers who rocketed into the darkness of outer space, chasing adventure and pursuing the unknown. And they inspired us in ways that Mantle, Maris and Starr just couldn’t.

We didn’t want to simply be like those guys, we wanted to be those guys. Because we were afraid that by the time we grew up, being an astronaut would be different. It might even be just a job, like our dads had!

And we couldn’t imagine anything more boring than ending up like our dads. They just, well, went to work every day – at places like PEP Lines Trucking, or Wyandotte Chemical, or the Riverview DPW.

So, every cardboard box rocket ship we “built” became our way to blast out of the old neighborhood and into the excitement, adventure, and the unknown of what lay ahead for us as adults.

I thought about those days earlier this week, as I made my way downstairs in the early Monday morning darkness of inner space (home), with my family still asleep. I was getting ready to go, you guessed it, to work, and I thought, “… is this really all I’m going to be when I grow up?!”

By the time the coffee was brewed, and I was ready to leave, the rest of the family was up and getting ready for their day – the kids for school, my wife for the office of the small business she owns.

As I drove (not rocketed) off into the morning darkness, I looked back at the lights glowing in the house and thought about my dad, all those Downriver mornings, disappearing into the same darkness … before we were awake … to go to work … to make sure we had everything we needed.

I understand now that the real heroes of my old neighborhood, so many years ago, were actually the guys named Joe and Vic, Ray and Jay, Tom, Bill, and Henry – our dads. And you know what? One of those guys is a pretty good thing to be when you grow up!

Home for Christmas

“I'll be home for Christmas,

You can plan on me,
Please have snow and mistletoe,
And presents on the tree …”

– I’ll Be Home For Christmas - Ram, Gannon and Kent; recorded by Bing Crosby
in October 1943
I listen to those words every Christmas through the hiss and crack of the 78 rpm record on my Grandfather’s century-old Columbia record playing machine. It’s a copy that my Uncle, Tech. Cpl. Vitaut Voselius sent to my Grandfather in Detroit, through the kindness and, I’m convinced, magic of some USO Troop that helped GIs send Christmas gifts home to their families. Uncle Vittie and his buddies were half-a-world away from home, mistletoe and any presents. They had helped chase the German Army out of North Africa in May of that year, and then hopped to the Italian peninsula to press the pursuit. By the time they met that USO troop in early November; they had fought their way ashore at Salerno, and had survived the worst that the German 16th Panzer Division could dish out.

Uncle Vittie didn’t make it home for Christmas that year, nor did he in 1944; but, by 1945 – thank God – he did. That Christmas, he had dinner with Grandpa, my Mom (his sister) and my Dad; and – like most of the veterans of WWII – got about putting the war behind him and quietly getting back to work in the world that he had just fought to save. Not quite 10 years later, he used the VA mortgage program to buy a little house on Hinton in Riverview Village that my parents rented from him until they could later afford to buy it themselves.
Every Christmas in that little house, and for as long as we were all together, we played that record on Christmas Day, all of us smiling through teary eyes at each other and just loving being together. Today, I’m the last one left from that circle, but I play the record every year for my wife and children.

And you know what? Mom, Dad, Grandpa – and especially Uncle Vittie – all come home for Christmas every time I hear it … if only in my dreams.

Merry Christmas, and the Happiest New Year to all!

Dear Santa, I want a Jimmy Jet, a cup of real hot chocolate, and it to be 1966 again

Forty-three years ago, Christmastime was different. While we wrote our letters to Santa, mom made hot chocolate on the stove, from milk, sugar, Hershey’s Cocoa (from that can with the lid that went “pop!” when she opened it) and love.

Our wish lists were made up of toys made here in the U.S., by long-forgotten companies like Deluxe and Remco. And it seemed like every store – including the grocery and the hardware – magically turned into a toy store at Christmastime.
Do you remember “grocery store toys,” mostly from Deluxe, like Jimmy Jet, Suzy Homemaker and Playmobile? They were packaged in big, colorful boxes that we could easily see (and wish for) from the top of the dairy cases and the frozen food shelves at the National Supermarket.

My daughters drink hot chocolate made by my wife or me in the microwave, from water and a packet from a Swiss Miss box. Their wish lists are made up of things from Best Buy, Amazon.com and iTunes. But, for all that’s different, some things aren’t. The hot chocolate is still made with love, and their Christmas wishes are as magical to them as ours were more than 40 years ago.

Making a list and checking it twice
This is a time of year for list-making – Christmas card lists, wish lists, and lists of our blessings. Here are a few lists that I hope will rekindle some memories of Christmastime long ago Downriver.

Favorite Christmas songs
According to ASCAP (American Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers), these are the top-5 most performed Christmas songs:
1. The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire)
2. Santa Claus Is Coming to Town
3. Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas
4. Winter Wonderland
5. White Christmas
Is your favorite on the list? I’d bump number 5 to number 1, but all five are favorites of mine.

Favorite Christmas TV specials
Remember when TV specials really were special because we could only see them when they aired? We couldn’t TiVo them, or get them on DVD. Here, according to the A.C. Nielsen Company, are the top-5 most-watched Christmas specials:
1. A Charlie Brown Christmas
2. How the Grinch Stole Christmas
3. Mickey’s Christmas Carol
4. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer
5. A Chipmunk Christmas
I certainly agree with number 1 because, well – that’s what Christmas is all about! For me, however, number 2 would be “Mr. Magoo’s Christmas Carol.” That one didn’t even show up in the top-25. I still remember Tiny Tim singing “We’ll have the Lord’s bright blessing, just knowing we’re together …”

I also have fond memories of Christmas specials from entertainers like Perry Como and Andy Williams. You remember the ones … with them dressed in cardigan sweaters and crooning traditional Christmas songs on a festively decorated set that could have been – and maybe, in a sense, was – our collective living room.

Favorite Christmas TV episodes
Next to the specials, our favorite Christmas TV viewing 40 years ago was the Christmas episodes of our weekly TV shows. According to amazon.com, these are the most popular, based on DVD sales:
1. Friends – Dec 14, 2000
2. Bewitched – Dec 21, 1967
3. M*A*S*H* – Dec 17, 1972
4. Growing Pains – Dec 16, 1986
5. The Wonder Years – Dec 14, 1988
“The Honeymooners Christmas” is a childhood favorite of mine. I have it on VHS, and my kids enjoy watching it with me every year.

Although neither of these shows appears on any list I’ve found, I’d put them near the top of any list I’d make:
Studio 60, “The Christmas Show,” that aired on December 4, 2006. You can see the classic musical performance from that show here:
http://www.tvsquad.com/2006/12/09/free-download-of-studio-60s-christmas-musical-performance/
The Gilmore Girls, “Forgiveness and Stuff,” that aired on December 21, 2000

Christmas “cards”
As a kid, my favorite part of the weeks before Christmas was bringing in the mail and opening the cards from friends and family. Well, I guess I’m still a kid (something else that hasn’t changed!) because I still enjoy getting holiday mail. Here are some memories sent to me by holiday e-mail that celebrate Downriver Christmas past:

Susan Maricle wrote, “… Here’s a Downriver memory that I carry with me – at Monroe Elementary in the early 60s, they sold Christmas corsages in the office for 25 cents apiece. They were pinned to a gray felt-covered bulletin board that was propped up on the front counter, so all the kids could see them through the window. They had little extra touches like a pine cone, an ornament, or a bell. I never knew who made them. Perhaps it was the school secretary, Mrs. Frostic, who years later I discovered was a famous artist.

Monroe's Christmas music assemblies were led by Mrs. Hollar. (She was just one of the perfectly named teachers at Monroe, along with Mrs. Staples for Kindergarten and Mr. Green for art.) So in my mind, Christmas corsages and Christmas music assemblies go together. When my son appeared in his first Christmas concert years ago, I ordered a corsage for the choir director. I knew nothing about corsages, except that they probably cost more than 25 cents. I described to the florist, Deb Lalli, the corsages from Monroe, with their little extra touches. She remembered a box of accessories she had in the back room and the finished product was absolutely beautiful!”
Fred Stull wrote to remind me about some very personal Christmas memories. He’s a childhood friend – we grew up on Hinton, in Riverview, where he still lives with his family. “… Some of the things that I have never forgotten about – playing Stratego® (a favorite Christmas present of mine) at your house and the bubble lights in your window at Christmas …”

Thank you, Susan and Fred, for sharing those Downriver Christmas memories; and Merry Christmas, Downriver! May you always remember the joys of our Christmases past, and may you make many new memories this Christmas present.