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Why do we do it this way and not that?

Some say we like to reminisce about the past and often repeat the “traditional” things we have “always” done at Thanksgiving and other holidays for a sense of continuum that our lives have been.

We are reminded of the persons and personalities we were many years ago.

We shun any new “traditions” because they separate us from our past and make us feel even older than we are because they attach to no memories.

However, some people don’t want to attach to the persons they were earlier because those memories are not often happy ones, and/or they prefer the people they are now over who they used to be.  

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

Happy memories, or not?

 (Music plays: “Tradition,” from Fiddler on the Roof.)

Question_mark_(black_on_white) 

 

 

 

 

BY: JAMES F. O’NEIL

“Are we there yet?    “Do we hafta go home?”   “Can’t we stay another few days?”

* * *

Summer is over. School is in session. No more whining about getting there or coming back. It’s another ended-vacation, no matter where or when, no matter how long or how short.

FIN. THE END. FINIS.

And next year? “We have time to talk about that. Do your homework now.”

The essay “What I Did Last Summer” has already been turned in, been graded, and returned. “Excellent!” “Nice Story.” “Sounds Like Fun.” “Oh, I Hate Spiders, Too!” “I’ve Never Been There. Glad It Was Enjoyable.” A++

And so it goes–or went.

I have never been in the military, never have been deployed, never have been separated for months and months at a time in a foreign country.

Oh, I have been on some very short vacations as a child–weekends in South Bend or in Dowagiac, Michigan. Longer adult vacations in England, Turkey, France, Greece. And July summers at school in Cambridge, England.

Memorable vacations with friends, family, scouts, students.

But always–always–I had to come “home,” wherever that was at the time.

This past summer I returned to Florida (with my wife, and a cat) from our 11th summertime in Ohio.

Ohio is not a foreign country. But what a difference from our life in Florida!

It is a different world–a “whole new world”–if one wants it to be.

welcome to ohio

The TripTik trip is 1100 miles (like “forever” to leave Florida). And then, after rest stops, potty stops, burgers-on-the-road, crossing states’ lines, motel rooms, changing drivers, fuel stops, napping and dozing–finally! “We are there! Finally!”

Entrance to Epworth Park

ENTRANCE TO EPWORTH PARK

Then we do our “summer things,” with friends, family, and other park-vacation dwellers.

We have arrived: Cottage #16

?

We are now Deployed in Ohio. We are IN-COUNTRY: being or taking place in a country that is the focus of activity (such as military operations or scientific research) by the government or citizens of another country.” Sometimes we feel we have time-travelled, back to the 1880s:

morristown residents

                                 MORRISTOWN, OHIO

Now there exists time to do “stuff.” To spend time in activities. To have time for reading and quiet time. (“NO TELEVISION! We are on vacation!”) To watch the lake–for hours. To feed the ducks. To walk to the post office. To garden Ohio flowers. To enjoy the quiet in the evening (though silence is sometimes shattered by an occasional Air National Guard C-130 “practicing” over the village of 800 persons, and 60 cottages). But normally, the crickets and the frogs and the owls and the geese provide their evening and night symphonic repertoires.

I have crossed over (the Ohio River). I live a different life. Some years back, I read In Country by Bobbie Ann Mason (1985). This past summer, perhaps somewhat nostalgic and “moody,” I kept remembering the book, and the film with Bruce Willis.in country poster

Awareness of my past time reading the novel and viewing the movie was significant. There was some kind of heightened response this past summer to my being “in the world but not of the world.” Perhaps because we were able to have more time there, not just a “quick weekend?” Perhaps. Time there is filled with memories of others who tell stories of the “before” of the Park. And ghosts? Certainly they reside in the walls and around the trees.

morristown cemetery

                                           MORRISTOWN, OHIO, CEMETERY

Time does not ever stand still: the same 24 hours a day. But still melds into quick time and the days go faster and faster. The end gets closer; we count the “sleeps” until packing the car, closing down the blinds, taking down the hummingbird feeders.

It is time to go. Back to The World.

The drive leaving is quiet. Not much talking. The first hour in the car winds down, and the Ohio River Crossing nears.

ohio river bridge 800px-Williamstown_Bridge_WV

“Over the river and through the woods to grandmother’s house we go….” Not quite. We leave Ohio. In the rear-view mirror In Country slowly disappears as the car climbs up the hills of the river’s valley. We have crossed over.

The trek home really begins here, from this point. It will be burgers and stops and motel beds for the thousand miles remaining. There will be fog and rain and heat and cool air conditioning in the car. And spilled snacks, and lane changes–and maybe an occasional highway patrol car watching our movements.

Then The World Approach can be seen. We cross over, another river divide.

welcome-to-florida-sign-20140116

WELCOME BACK…WELCOME!

“It won’t be long now.”

“WEEEEERRRRREEEE BAAAACK!”

We have returned, been returned safely, to Florida. All went well. No major problems, no delays.

Soon we are greeted; the vacation ending is looming larger:

Welcome to St Pete 2

GREETINGS ON I-275 FROM TAMPA

The forgetting begins. We’re home. We cannot forget there, but now we have to remember: what drawer holds the forks; what cabinet houses the packs of Kool-Aid; where the peanut butter jar is; and, certainly, where we are to put the dirty laundry from the trip home.

We are home. It’s really different here.

mission oaks condo

MISSION OAKS: SEMINOLE, FLORIDA

However, we have our memories of a time to nurture us, until next time.

© James F. O’Neil 2015

The AvenueNOW AND THEN:

Early Epworth Park Photo b

BY: JAMES F. O’NEIL

“Wow! That really tastes good,” I said to Jimmy Pappas so many years ago, so many long years ago. I had just had my first taste of a Green River malted milk shake. What a treat and delight that was.

Who would have ever thought of marrying one of the greatest flavors made by man–malted milk–to Green River soda? A marriage made–in heaven?

No, a marriage performed often at the Pappas Ice Cream Shop, at the corner of 55th (Garfield Boulevard) and Halstead. In the Byrne Building.

BURNS BUILDING  Pat Telios Reagan

 Byrne Building.  Credit Pat Telios Reagan 

And I was the Best Man, along with my friend Bill Manion. There we sat, in the booth, savoring the minty-looking thick green malted milk shake in the tall ice-cream-parlor glass, with melting drippings running down the sides of the metal mixing container. Ahhh, a Green River malt (-ed milk shake).

green river malt

Yum! So far from “the next best thing to sliced bread!”

It was heaven for us ice cream lovers (I still am) who would choose wisely between “a malt” or a hot fudge sundae. Choose wisely. Tastefully.

milk shake glasses ebay

Milk Shake glasses [eBay]

Marriage: two entities who come together and pledge (“plithe their troth”–whatever that used to mean) to … standing before a minister (administer) of the state.

Jimmy Pappas was our minister. Bill and I sat, ready to partake in the marriage, not of two vines (as some wines and brandies are known as), but of a blend of the finest ingredients: icy cold vanilla ice cream, Horlick’s malted milk powder, and Green River soda fountain syrup flavoring (and color). “Blend and serve chilled in a …”

milk shake mixer tin

(As many know, or remember, “a malted milk shake” has that special powder, that “strengthening medicine” [malt extract] told Kanga to Roo in The House at Pooh Corner, and was also Tigger’s favorite food in the book.)

 horlick's ad pinterest

Horlick’s ad from Pinterest

Pharmacist James Horlick developed ideas for an improved, wheat and malt-based nutritional supplement for infants. With his brother William, in 1873 they formed J & W Horlicks, manufacturing an infant food in Chicago. In 1887 the company marketed its new product, trademarked the name “malted milk.” (See Wikipedia for more history.)

Like Ensure today, and similar drinks, malted milk found unexpected markets, customers drinking the new beverage for enjoyment. So malted milk became a standard offering at soda fountains, and found greater popularity when mixed with ice cream in a “malt.” “Malt shops” owe their name to the Horlick brothers. Additionally, I used to buy jars of malted milk tablets, chewing them like candy, making a glob of them in my mouth to suck on and melt away. Yummy!

horlicks white tablets

Now, add the Green River syrup:

At the time of Prohibition, Green River soda was introduced to Midwestern drinkers when some breweries turned to making nonalcoholic drinks, while others were churning out ice cream. The Schoenhofen Edelweiss Brewing Company of Chicago turned to Green River in late 1919 as a non-alcoholic product that became popular as a soda fountain syrup, “trailing only Coca-Cola popularity throughout the Midwest.” However, after Prohibition ended in 1933 the Schoenhofen Brewery made Green River a second priority to alcoholic drinks. (The Brewery closed in 1950.) [Wikipedia]

Green River aficionados know that it’s not just another soda; it’s nostalgia in a bottle, being found at St. Patrick’s Day (being produced by WIT Beverage Company) and in some Chicago-area restaurants.

GREEN RIVER AND BURGER WIKIPEDIA

“With a Green River, please.”

We acquire tastes, our taste buds–and brain–telling us what we like: carbonated water, cane sugar, lime flavor, some lemon flavor, and all the special colors that are used to make it “look good.” Some do not like drinking something green or tasting lime-y.

But Jimmy Pappas put my mind at ease, and my taste buds accepting something green that was not mint-y. At first, the color tricked the brain. Then the taste buds received the message that found its way into my memory.

I grew up, then grew away from our favorite ice cream shop–and found Green River malts harder and harder to find.

In time, I learned that the Byrne Building was torn down in the late 70’s. Now the corner is occupied by a gas station. That was the end of the shop, but I have my memories of a time when Green River flowed freely and made its way into those great ice cream malts.

© James F. O’Neil 2015

Green River bottle WIKIPEDIA

 

 

 

 

 

BY: JAMES F. O’NEIL

Clear and Present Danger

In the film Clear and Present Danger, hero (Dr.) Jack Ryan is accused of being a “boy scout” because he learns of a misguided military operation–and intends to commit “transparency.”

Is the truth to be told? Is telling the truth–facts–a bad thing, to be associated with being a “boy scout”? Seems so, by the standards of the antagonist’s comment to Jack Ryan. It’s complicated. “It’s grey” (not always just black and white).

Whistle-blowers are conflicted, are complicated. Are they “boy scouts” by not speaking up, by not speaking out, by not telling it as it is: the truth?

“[Jack]…You are such a Boy Scout!”

I was a real Boy Scout. Troop 661. St. Mary of Mount Carmel, Chicago. Here I am pictured in my most official uniform, smiling, giving-receiving the Scout handshake. There I am, published in the Southtown Economist, a local Chicago newspaper. My fellow Scouts and I are with the regional Scout director. We must have done something special to get our picture taken and distributed. I cannot remember what it was.

Jimmy as Boy Scout with Scout Leader 1950sWhat I remember about Scouting could fill pages, memories from years of service, from Cub Scout to Boy Scout, ending in 1955. It was a sad time for me when I “resigned,” but we also were moving away from the neighborhood. Once there, my high school studies became a priority. No time for Scouting.

life scout patch pre-1972

LIFE SCOUT BADGE

So there I sit, smiling and handshaking. One can see the sash  I have over my right shoulder, with a few merit badges, with my pins from my previous ranks: Tenderfoot, Second-Class, First Class. At the time,  I was a Star Scout.

Then I progressed to complete the requirements for a Life Scout. (I never became an Eagle Scout.) An honor, Life Scout was, to wear the heart over my heart, and become a card-carrying member of an elite group.

Scouts, as many know, complete time-in-rank requirements (as military Service members do) and requirements for merit badges before advancing. I earned mine mostly the hard way: work and study. Some stand out more than others, are memorable memories of a time past.

FIRST AID MERIT BADGE

FIRST AID: Though no badge is pictured on my sash, I did complete all required tasks. I later received the badge symbolized by a green cross on a red background.

I wondered about that color until I learned about copyright rules and using the Red Cross logo. I always had to explain that badge. I was pretty good at first aid, one of my better subjects. I knew A-B-C (Airway, Breathing and Circulation, the protocol for cardiopulmonary resuscitation–CPR. “The color, don’t forget the color: When the face is red, raise the head; when it’s pale, raise the tail; when it’s blue, it’s up to you.”) And other good tidbits of life-saving activities.

I remembered much from first aid that helped me in my job while in college as a hospital orderly, even the chest compressions I gave on a patient (who died), and at another time for a neighbor lady who had a heart attack in her yard (who died). Not a really good record, but as a Scout I helped our troop win some first aid competitions.

Later, many years later, I was training for a local volunteer EMS service in our small town. In First Aid Competition, I did well with GSW [gunshot wound] and delivering a baby. Neither of these was I taught in Scouts. My demonstration of the Heimlich maneuver was so good that the “victim” blew out his false teeth… I would have saved his life, but probably bruised his diaphragm.

sleeping bag

ARMY SLEEPING COCOON

A most important badge for Scouts is CAMPING. Mine is seen there in the picture, along with HIKING–to get to the campgrounds, usually. Most of my experiences in camp, summer or weekend or camporees, were disasters. Most of the time I was constipated…

I had a WWII-Korea-era, US Army–style sleeping bag passed down from my older cousin. It zipped up my body into a cocoon, leaving only my face exposed to the mosquitoes.

I had a good voice for singing around the campfire, could roast marshmallows burned the right way, could even put up a tent or two; but my land navigation was “crap.”

messkit_fks

ARMY MESS KIT

My Army surplus metal eating-cooking pan and plateware oxidized, rusted, and were awful to clean with cold camp water. These were real “mess” kits.

SWIMMING: I hated summer camp swimming: cold, cold water. Always cold–and over my head. My merit badge for this activity was earned later, really earned. It took a long time for me to get in over my head, literally. But I did it–and was even able to dive from the barrel raft once I overcame my fear of deep water. Scouting enabled me to do this.

public_speaking_lg

PUBLIC SPEAKING BADGE

PUBLIC SPEAKING: “Prepare a talk on a topic…” And so forth, to collect and organize information…leading a meeting…rules of order…

I received this badge, never dreaming that I would stand in a classroom in front of students, teaching for nearly fifty years.

On my left arm is the patch for Senior Patrol Leader: I became drill instructor, teaching marching, calling meetings to order, and tried to teach knot tying. (I was awful with the Bowline on a Bight, and some others. But I did master the square knot.) I planned outings with our Scout Master (who drove a beautiful four-door Hudson–and told us he was a G-man. Then we learned he worked for the Chicago Sanitation Department: a “Garbage man.”) And, I did “other duties as assigned.”

SOUTHTOWN THEATER LOBBY

One of my greatest experiences was our troop’s exhibition in the lobby of the beautiful Southtown Theater.

Our troop was invited to set up a model campsite, make pretend fire, answer questions, and make displays of our own hobby work. I shall never forget pretending I was sleeping in the tents we arranged–and eating baby hot dogs.

So that is some of what “such a Boy Scout” means to me. I tried to “Do a good turn daily.” Is that such a bad thing? I know I have tried to “Be prepared.” I swore the oath to “do my best, to do my duty to God and my country, and to obey the Scout Law; to help other people at all times (not a bad idea); to keep myself physically strong (ooops!), mentally awake, and morally straight.” Quite a bit for twelve to eighteen year old boys.

I was such a Boy Scout!

I was “trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent. Then. But I remember. All this from watching a movie. Way to go, Jack Ryan! (Way to go, Author Tom Clancy!)

* * *

“Boy Scouting, one of the traditional membership divisions of the BSA, is available to boys who completed the fifth grade and are at least 10, or who are 11, but not yet 18 years old. The program achieves the BSA’s objectives of developing character, citizenship, and personal fitness.”

BOY SCOUT HANDBOOK c.1952

© JAMES F. O’NEIL 2015