Month: February 2017

The Great Mouse Roundup

A creek called Congress Lake Outlet crosses Waterloo Road about one-half mile west of Randolph and empties into Breakneck Creek. During heavy spring rains this creek overflows and floods the lowlands of Johnnycake Hollow, about 2 miles north of Waterloo Rd.

Kenny, my buddy and partner-in-crime, had a 12 foot fishing boat powered by a 3 horsepower outboard motor. On one of these flood occasions we decided to take the boat down the creek and do some exploring. We launched the boat at the Waterloo bridge and fired up the motor.

After some amount of effort getting around and over logs that had fallen across the stream we arrived at Johnnycake to find that the creek had flooded the fields of the Paulus farm. We saw that we could take the boat for a cruise through the flooded fields if we were careful not to run into the fences. The fields were not flat but rolling, and the rises caused small islands in the water. To our amazement we saw that these hummocks were black with field mice that had gathered there to keep from drowning. This sight caused our evil minds to go into high gear. We didn’t yet know how this would play out but we could see that the situation had interesting possibilities.

I was wearing a new canvas hunting jacket that had zip-up pockets, four in front and one very large one in the rear. Pulling up beside one of these little islands, we noticed that the mice were unable to escape, so we could just pick them up by their tails, one at a time, drop them into the jacket pockets and then close the zippers.

Now we had a coat full of mice just looking for a good place to cause panic!

Down the road from our access point was a gas station and small restaurant run by Frank Breyer, we called him “Pappy”. After our excursion we were hungry and decided to stop there and get a burger. I hung my jacket in an inconspicuous place in the rear of the restaurant and  un-zipped the pockets. The mice were tired of being cooped up, so they poured out of the pockets like cold gravy, four abreast. We then went to the bar and ordered our burgers.

Soon there were mice running all around the floor, scaring the women and making Pappy Breyer rather uncomfortable. We tried our best to look surprised and to help catch some as they scampered around, but our hearts weren’t really in it and we missed more than we caught.

About a week later I was in Pappy’s, and saw one of the remaining  field mice run under the cigarette machine. Pappy whacked it with a piece of pipe and held it up by the tail. “Look at that thing”, he exclaimed. “It’s tail is only one-inch long and it has a face like a bulldog. I have no idea what it is or where these things came from”.

I must admit that I didn’t offer much in the way of an explanation.

The Gas Station

The Gas Station  (c.1938)

On the Clem Lang property there was a small building adjacent to the general store that was used as a Sunoco gas station. There one could buy oil, gas, tires, and minor auto repairs. The first gas pumps I remember were not electric, but had a glass tank with graduations in gallons on the glass so the attendant could hand-pump the amount of gas being sold into the glass container. When the nozzle was opened, the car’s tank was then filled by gravity. Sunoco gasoline was dyed blue so it looked very nice in those glass cylinders.

Inside the station was a short order restaurant where sandwiches and light meals were served along with coffee, soft drinks, and ice cream cones. There was a freezer with circular holes containing large 5-gallon paper containers of ice cream, also a “pop cooler” with a bottle-opener on the side containing Coke and Nehi pop in glass bottles partially submerged in water. In the center of the room were a half dozen small round tables with wire-backed chairs . Most of the Lang family took turns working there and at one time my father worked there as a short-order cook.

The Harness Shop

After the war the gas station closed and a harness shop moved in. There were horse harnesses for teams and singles, bridles, buggy whips, belts and other leather goods hanging everywhere along the walls. The smell of leather was very prominent.

Mr. Howard Hartman and his wife Ollie ran the harness shop. Along with selling and fixing harnesses they repaired shoes, made leather belts for men and machinery, fixed canvas tents and other items that needed heavy sewing.

Mr. Hartman was very methodical, deliberate, and spoke slowly and softly.

And then there was Ollie.

Ollie was a rather stocky lady with grey hair pulled into a bun. She would sit behind her sewing machine in her long dress and look up at the customers over the top of her small, oval glasses. She was almost the spitting image of Jonathan Winters character “Maudie Frickett”. She looked like someone’s saintly old grandmother, but when she spoke, her language would curdle milk, crack cement, and make a sailor blush.

One day I overheard her speaking to Dad about some girls standing in front of the store wearing shorts that she thought were too short. Click on the arrow to hear the conversation, but make sure your kids are out of the room.

 

See related pictures here

Uncle Bob

Uncle Bob Roliff and his wife Eleanor farmed their land on Stroup road in Atwater, Ohio. In the summer they raised hogs, in the spring they ran a maple sugar camp. During the summer and autumn Bob chopped and sawed wood – tons of it, to fire up the maple sap boilers. No chain saws were used, just axes and two man crosscut saws, so it was difficult and strenuous work. I guess it didn’t hurt him since he lived to 96 years of age. Part of the farm consisted of 100 acres of timber, mostly sugar maples. My dad often took me hunting there for squirrels, rabbits, and pheasants. I also spent time with Uncle Bob when he was gathering sap and making syrup, so I have many fond memories of this place.

Uncle Bob’s was the only place I remember that had no electricity. If I recall correctly, this was about 1940 and power lines had not yet been strung down Stroup road. In the evening they used kerosene (they called it coal oil) lamps and at night they just went to bed since it was too dark to read. The place seemed rather dingy in the evening because an oil lamp didn’t cast nearly as much light as an electric bulb.

Aunt Eleanor also taught math at Atwater High School. Her father was a former preacher and very strict. He had a farm about a mile down the road and also made maple syrup. It was said that he poured the sap out on the ground that ran on Sundays because “That sap belonged to The Lord”.

Uncle Bob had a team of horses that pulled the plow and the sap wagon in spring. One of the horses was blind so the other horse in the team had to furnish eyes for both. Bob was so used to having horses that when he finally bought his first John Deere tractor, he had some trouble getting accustomed to running it with pedals instead of voice commands. He recalled one time pulling the tractor into the barn and when he said “Whoa” the darned thing didn’t stop, so it ran right through the back of the barn.

Bob also had a hen house as most farmers did at the time. He often had trouble with raccoons stealing the eggs and foxes killing the chickens. Dad told the following story:

One night while in bed, Bob heard a commotion in the hen house. He got up to see what was causing the trouble. He didn’t sleep in pajamas so he was wearing his long johns. Slipping into his rubber knee boots, Bob picked up his shotgun, loaded it, slowly and quietly sneaked around the corner with the gun poked forward, loaded, cocked and ready.
About this time his trusty hound dog pussyfooted up behind him and stuck his cold nose in the trap door of his long johns.

After the smoke cleared there were 6 dead chickens. Dad laughed when he told this story and said that if it had happened to him there would also have been a dead dog.

Uncle Bob’s Maple Sugar House

World War ll

The attack on Pearl Harbor by the Japanese occurred on Sunday, December 7th, 1941. I was 8 years old at the time.  I remember hearing about it around 1:00 in the afternoon, and I was scared to death. I couldn’t believe that nobody else was panicking. That evening the radio shows went on as usual.  I found it disturbing that Gene Autry and others sang songs and carried on as though everything was normal. Of course it wasn’t, as I’m sure everyone knew.

Unlike recent wars, this one really had an effect upon the civilian population. The speed limit was lowered to 50 mph, and later to 35 mph – everywhere.  Gasoline was rationed. Each car owner had a gas coupon book and a windshield sticker printed with a large “A”, “B” or “C” which allowed the driver to buy certain amounts of gasoline depending on how important his job was to the war effort. If I remember correctly, an “A” sticker entitled the driver to buy 4 gallons per week, and a “B” sticker 8 gallons.

                          Gas Ration Windshield Stickers

Meat, canned foods, tires, and sugar were rationed. Ration books were issued by the Office of Price Administration (OPA). Each page was worth a certain number of points. Change was given in tokens, red for meat, blue for other food, each worth 1 point.

                                Ration Tokens – dime-sized

Building materials were unavailable. Tires were especially critical since the Japanese army had cut us off from our rubber supply in South East Asia. We were encouraged to save fat from bacon etc, and to  put it in tin cans to be used to make explosives. Tin cans were flattened and saved. Everyone was encouraged to grow a “Victory Garden” and to buy “War Bonds” to pay for the war. A war bond stamp book could be picked up at the postoffice. War stamps were purchased starting at 10 cents apiece. When the book was full, $18.75 had been invested and the book was turned in for a bond worth $25 in ten years.

                             War Stamp and Stamp Book

                                          War Morale Posters

New cars were no longer manufactured. The auto companies were making planes, tanks, and trucks. It wasn’t long before Model A Fords appeared to be the most numerous cars on the road. The last one of those was manufactured in 1931, but they were the cars that were tough enough to run without parts replacements, and of course no parts were available.

Everyone who wanted a job could now get one working in a defense plant. People had money, but now the problem was that there was a shortage of things to buy.

Uncle Claude and Aunt Jane Lang worked at Goodyear Aircraft. Claude was an electrician and wired B29 bombers, Jane worked in the production line and in the office. Uncle Walter Lang was sent to medical school and later drafted into the army as a doctor. Uncles Emmet and Bud Roliff were drafted into the infantry and saw action in Europe. Emmet was shot in the arm and Bud ended up with PTSD. They called it combat fatigue back then.

The government used imminent domain to obtain 23000 acres in northern Portage and eastern Trumbull counties to build the Ravenna Arsenal, a facility to make and test bombs and artillery shells. My father finally obtained a good-paying  job working for the construction company that was building this plant. Even though he now had money, there was nothing much available to buy. That was a good thing because he saved enough to buy a house in Randolph. We moved there in 1943.

During the war Dad had several hives of bees. Since bees make honey, and honey was a substitute for sugar which was vital to the war effort, the OPA determined that it was important to keep those bees alive in the winter. Because of this our family was given the privilege of buying extra sugar for the bees. I believe it was 10 pounds for each hive per year.

I can assure you that the bees never saw any of that sugar.

In February 1942 the Japanese-Americans on the west coast were placed in internment camps surrounded by barbed-wire. Panic set in after the Pearl Harbor attack and the government was afraid our country was going to be over-run by the Japanese army from the coast and these citizens would help their relatives. At that time of panic it didn’t seem like an unreasonable move. Viewed in retrospect it looks like an uncivilized and unfair thing to do. (See recent article)

The Randolph Monster

Sometime around 1943-44 a story went around the Randolph area that there was some kind of wild animal roaming the local woodlands and fields at night near the fairgrounds. Farmers claimed that their sheep and chickens had been killed, and cows came back from the pastures with their udders all scratched up. There were half-eaten carcasses found lying in the fields. Some people claimed that they heard strange howling and growling and scratching at night. Some were afraid to let their children  go outside for fear they would be eaten.

Reporters from the nearby papers came to interview the local “authorities”, who became famous with increasingly exaggerated  claims, and these sensationalized versions made news for several weeks. The headlines  “Randolph Monster” or “Randolph Wolves” were followed by terrifying stories verified by some of the locals. One Randolph citizen named Waldo Loomis was interviewed almost every day. The stories got taller and more sensational, and pictures of Waldo with a terrified look on his face and eyes as big as alarm clocks showed up in the papers, along with his stories, which were getting scarier and stranger.

When I voiced my concern about our safety to Dad, he told me that this was all a scam; the cow’s udders we’re scratched by barbed wire, the  carcasses found were probably from animals that died and were later partially eaten by scavengers, and the howling Waldo heard was  caused by something running on a railroad track in Atwater and pulling 100 freight cars.

Dad had a friend, Frank Petty, who had the job of walking a 20-mile stretch of pipeline north of Kent and inspecting it for leaks and other problems. While talking to Dad one day, Frank mentioned that he had stumbled onto the nest of a mother dog and her pups out in the woods near the pipeline. This caused a light to go on in Dad’s head. He’d had enough of this Randolph monster-wolf foolishness and he now had an idea on how to stop it.

So Dad, Frank, and Bill Petty went to the place where the nest of pups was located. They took me along over the objection of Bill and Frank. I was 10 years old and they were afraid I would “spill the beans”. But Dad insisted, so I was included in this adventure. We gathered up the pups, made a nice nest of leaves in the woods on the Randolph fairgrounds, deposited the pups, and then called the newspaper. They came with cameras and flash bulbs blazing, and took pictures of the pups along with the local heroes – all except for me (to my disappointment). The next day the picture along with the story about the solving of the Randolph Wolves mystery made the front page.

Nothing was ever heard about the Randolph wolves again – no more lacerated cow’s udders, no howling at night, no missing livestock or dead carcasses.

All, that is, except for one more article. I had kept one of the pups as a pet. About a year later the paper sent a photographer to get a picture of the last known remaining Randolph wolf along with it’s owner. I finally had my turn in the limelight. As for “spilling the beans”, I never told anyone what had really happened, including my mother. Years later when she finally found out, she couldn’t believe I would hold out on her for that length of time. To this day, I’m sure only a handful of people know what really happened.

Edith (Lang) Roliff

My mother Edith taught 5th and 6th grade at Randolph School. She was also a musician and played piano for operettas and shows at the school, and the organ at St.Joseph’s church. She gave lessons on the piano and violin at home. For several years she was the town postmaster, and  ran the postoffice out of the front of Lang’s General Store.

She was a modest, quiet, woman who was often deep in thought. Due to her strict German Catholic up-bringing, she was somewhat  rule-bound and conscious of public opinion, the complete opposite of my father, “Dutch”.

When Dutch blew into town riding his Harley she was completely and utterly fascinated by this handsome, reckless, devil-may-care individual. She had never seen anyone like that. She got a real kick out of some of his antics although she publicly disapproved and was embarrassed by many of them.

Mom was not a gourmet cook. The food was basic and healthy, but not much time or agonizing was spent in preparation. There was sometimes smoke in the house because she had forgotten about the food on the stove. When Dad would complain that the meat was tough, she would tell him it was “just chewy”.

She did bake very good raisin bread and we use that recipe to this day. One time she decided to try a new bread recipe, but she couldn’t get the dough to the right consistency. She would add flour, knead, add water, knead, more flour, etc. etc. She kept this up for quite some time. Finally she had enough. She wadded the dough into a big ball, took it out on the back porch, and gave it a mighty heave out into the back yard.

Housekeeping was not her specialty. We didn’t live in absolute squalor, but our house would never have made it into Better Homes and Gardens. She once said about dusting the furniture, “That dust can get off of there the same way it got on”. There were other things much more important to her.

The Button Incident

Mom also had an ornery side, and because of her quiet nature, her tricks would come as a complete surprise. One time I was sitting in church and became aware of an uncomfortable feeling in my crotch, some kind of a large lump. I reached down to find that someone had sewn a very large button in there. She laughed for weeks about that.

Sewing Project

When I moved to Brady Lake I decided to buy a sewing machine so I could fix my clothes, hem my pants, etc. I made the mistake of telling my mother and sister about it.

Several days later the mail man delivered a large package wrapped in plain brown paper. In it were a bunch of clothes in various stages of damage and disrepair, including a pair of ladies underpants without a crotch, a pair of mens shorts with several burn holes in the rear end, some bras with large holes cut where the nipples should be, and various other items that escape my memory. There was also a note from Mom and sister Ruth requesting that I use my new sewing machine and prowess as a seamstress to repair those items. I’m sure they thought that since I was only a man untrained in the womanly art of sewing-machine-ship I would just laugh and throw the stuff away.

Wrong, thinks I. I will fix you guys. I went to Kmart, bought some maxi-pads, baby bottle nipples, naugahyde patches, and a few other sewing supplies and decorations. I patched the burn holes in the pants with the naugahyde and sewed the rubber nipples into the bras. I then made a large button hole in one of the maxipads using the button-holer  attachment, and used it to build a crotch into the ladies underwear. I tried to use every fancy stitch on the machine to do the repair work. Then I sent the whole package back.

We all had much fun and laughs over that incident, and I acquired some new skills! It just goes to show that mothers and grade school teachers know how to motivate learning.

Shovel Spoon

When I was a small child I was fascinated by tablespoons. I called them “shovel spoons”. Much to the horror of my mother and grandmother, I wanted to use a shovel spoon to eat everything – cereal, potatoes, meat, fish- everything.  They told me it wasn’t polite or proper and would make my mouth big. It didn’t matter what they told me I insisted on eating with a shovel spoon.

When the latest National Geographic magazine arrived, it contained a picture of a native African tribesman who had  large wooden plates surgically installed into his lips which made them huge. I asked Mom what happened to his mouth. She told me that when he was a kid he ate with a shovel spoon.

I never used a shovel spoon after that.

The Watchbird

Mom  subscribed to a magazine called “Children’s Activities” for my sister Ruth and I to read. She also used it in her classroom. In it were many stories, puzzles, pictures, projects, and other items of interest to children. Also to help guide us little devils in the right direction there were examples of good and bad behavior. One I remember in particular involved “The Watchbird”, which was a form of Big Brother for kids. The watchbird stories usually went something like this:

This is a watchbird watching Johnny stealing cookies from the cookie jar:

 

This is a watchbird watching YOU!

I’m sure you get the idea.

So when someone’s behavior went a little bit off the rails, the “watchbird” was often called into play.

The watchbird was OK for venial matters and light weight stuff like pilfering cookies, but for more serious offenses that the watchbird couldn’t handle, it was GOD who did the watching!.

Mr. Lester Sabin

Mr. Lester Sabin was the industrial arts teacher in my high school. At that time we called it “Shop”. He was an excellent teacher, demanding quality work and was very patient with us (he had to be!). I believe I learned more things from him that were useful to me in later life than in any other high school course.

Peter Rabbit

Having said that, I have to point out that he had some interesting traits that high school students have a way of picking up on. He was very deliberate and laid-back, and talked in a slow, steady monotone. Sometimes it was difficult to determine if he was awake. The students nicknamed him “Peter Rabbit”, but never called him that to his face. When he needed to get the attention of the class amid the din of whirring machines and pounding hammers he would blink the lights and exclaim several times in a slow drawl “Felllaaas”. The “fellas” would turn off machines, stop all work, and await the pearls of wisdom which were about to be dropped. When he became upset with something or someone he would slowly drawl, “It makes me madder than sixty”

There’s Juice

One time we were checking an extension cord and light socket for continuity. The bulb was not lighting so Mr. Sabin unscrewed it and said,”I  will  check  to   see if  there  is  juice”. He stuck his finger in the socket, looked up, and slowly pulled his finger back out. “Theerre’s   juice”, he slowly exclaimed.

Mail Pouch

Mahlon was a student who liked to chew tobacco in shop class although it was forbidden. One time the lights started blinking, work stopped, and Mr. Sabin drawled,”Fellas, there  is  saliva  in  the  waste  basket. Mahlon,  are you  chewing   tobacco again?

Tablesaw Etiquette

One time he pointed out to us that when using a table saw, one never uses the rip-fence and miter gauge at the same time  since that can bind up the piece being sawed and cause it to be hurled through the air at a high velocity. A few minutes later everyone was back to sawing, Mr. Sabin was sitting at his desk. Suddenly a sharp piece of wood flew right past his ear at  high speed and stuck in the plaster wall behind him. Someone had used the miter gauge simultaneously with the rip-fence. What followed was blinking lights, “fellas”, and some slow, methodical scolding.

Buck

A student named Buck had a class schedule that caused him to come into shop class at the middle of the period. He would walk in and scan the place. If he saw that the teacher was not present, he would blink the lights a few times and loudly exclaim, “Fellaas, where-the-f*** is Peter Rabbit?”. The other students got a big kick out of his daring and bravery.

One time Buck came in, didn’t see the teacher, and loudly exclaimed “Where the f*** is Peter Rabbit?”. Well, it turned out that “Peter Rabbit” was working underneath the lathe and Buck didn’t see him. Peter Rabbit slowly crawled out from under the lathe, stood there and stared at Buck. All work stopped in anticipation of Peter Rabbit’s next move. After a minute or two of silent staring, Peter Rabbit crawled back under the lathe and everyone went back to work.

Buck never again entered the class with that profane question.

Many things went on in that class that are hard to explain and made no sense. I remember seeing one boy holding a dead rat by the tail and roasting it with a blowtorch. Another time someone drizzled gasoline in a small stream from a blowtorch across the room and up the ladder to the lumber loft. One end was lit and the flame shot across the room and up both sides of the ladder. Another student, pretending to be a fireman, put his hat on backwards and climbed up the flaming ladder. These incidents were rare, but this kind of thing is what I remember because they would probably not occur in today’s schools. In spite of this, much valuable learning took place in shop class. However I believe the class was often used as a place to relax and wind down from the rigors and boredom of some of the other classes.

Ike

When I was in grade school a man by the name of  Charlie Biles sold Heberling Products (patent medicines, herbs, elixirs, etc) in the front of my grandfather’s store. The old men of the  town would meet there every morning where they would chew  tobacco, spit into a box full of sawdust, and spin yarns. I would  hide in the back behind  some  boxes  to listen.  This is how I got my sex education along with  other great pearls of  wisdom. One of regulars was Ike.

Ike 

Ike Coler was a farmer in Randolph. He was a big man with a large chin that was further enhanced by a huge chaw of Mail Pouch chewing tobacco. His preferred attire  was grey and blue striped Oshkosh overalls. He had a  livestock truck and he hauled cattle to market for the local farmers. But his most interesting quality was his quick wit and barnyard philsophy. He also stuttered a bit  which made his quotes even funnier, and even Ike laughed about that. Following are some of his stories And sayings. It is difficult to capture the effect in print but I’m going to try.

On living a long life

“If every day you would  t-t-t-take a  spoonful of honey and  a  spoonful  of w-w-whiskey, when Gabriel blew his  horn they would have to kk- knock you in the head”.

Cow’s Tails

Ike  told  about  some dogs getting loose and biting the tails off of some of his  cows. “A cow w-without a tail is pp-pretty worthless because she c-can’t  swat the flies  off”, said Ike. Then he looked up with big eyes and added in a tone of helplessness, “N-Now I c-c-can’t fu-u-urnish tails for every d-damn dog  in town”.

Ike the Surgeon

Ike told  about his neighbor Freem Ladd calling  him  over to look at one of his chickens that was sick. “I knew it would k-kill Freem to loose a chicken because he was so damn tight. I l-looked at the chicken and saw right away  it couldn’t pass its eggs. S-s-so I t-took a r-razor blade a-a-and operated on it. L-l-l-laid  three eggs just like a machine gun!”.

Ike the Vet

Ike talked about a calf that was sick. “I t-took him to the vet and he said to give it a pint of lard”. “B-but he didn’t say w-which end to put it in. S-so I p-put a pint in one end and a p-pint in the other. Ffff-figured when they got together something was bound to happen!”.

Ike the Political Advisor

When Ike heard that my father was running for the local school board he dropped by to offer some invaluable political advice:

“Dutch, yy-you nneed to g-go out there, ss-sh-shaake some hands and kk-kiss a  ff-few asses and g-get yourself elected to that school board”.

Giving Directions

One night Ike was standing in front of  the  gas station and a man stopped and asked him how to get to Deerfield. He pointed, waved his arms and said,” Y-yyou g-go down h-here for t-t-three m-m-miile– y-you g-go – and th-then yy-yyou… “. Finally, his stuttering got the best of him. “Oh shit, you could be there before I can tell you”. With that Ike turned and disgustedly walked into the gas station.

Chinese Rot

Ike told this story about one of his friends who was in the navy during the 30’s. His ship docked near Tientsin, China ( now called Tianjin). The story goes that this friend went on shore leave for a few days and upon returning to the ship found that he had picked up some kind of a strange venereal disease. They called it “Chinese Rot”. No one knew exactly how it worked but the sailors thought that some kind of little worms got into your thingy and drilled holes all the way through. Then when you peed it squirted out everywhere, “ Jj-just l-like a lawn sprinkler”. So to make everything work correctly it was necessary to hold your fingers over all the extra holes. “You ha-had tt-to h-hold it like a flute”, said Ike.

I can almost hear the music now!

Minstrel Shows

Minstrel shows were vaudeville-type acts that were presented in many schools in the country. Most had a similar format, consisting of six boys in black face sitting on straw bales, 3 on each side of the stage. These guys had their faces smeared with burnt cork to resemble negroes and wore old overalls and straw hats. They were called end men. The chorus stood along the back of the stage, which was open in the center where dancing, magic acts, and other  performances occurred. The end men would tell jokes trying to sound like blacks and performers would perform and the chorus would sing. It was one of the big productions of the year and well-attended by the community. It was also very racially provocative, but no one seemed to know any better (or care). I don’t know when these shows stopped but I would be willing to bet that you would never ever see one now in a high school. I guess they went away along with Al Jolson and Amos n’ Andy.

Eugene “Dutch” Roliff

 

Dutch

Although my father didn’t finish high school, he was an educated man in the ways of the world. He knew most of  the plants and animals of  the area, and how to survive both in the woods and in the back streets and bootleg bars of Akron. He was an expert with a rifle and shotgun, and taught us how to use and respect these weapons. He did respect knowledge and education, but he didn’t have much use for pompous people, nor did he think that a fancy degree would change a person who was morally bankrupt. On  hearing about someone who  was supposedly highly educated  but got caught in some dishonest or shady deal he would say, “It just goes to show, If you take a son-of-a-bitch and educate him, all you  end up with is an educated son-of-a-bitch”.

Dad was not a large man – maybe  5 feet nine inches tall with absolutely no fat – all muscle  and sinew. He had no  rearend to speak of. His pants hung down in back where the rearend should be. Sometimes someone would make fun of his lack of a behind.

“When they made me they  made MEN, not asses!”, was his usual reply.

Early Days

When I was born Mom and Dad lived in Akron. It was 1933 during the depression. At the time Dad was working at the B.F.Goodrich Rubber Company. He was soon laid off as were many people at that time. In order to keep from being homeless, we moved in with my Grandparents in Randolph, OH.  They pretty much kept us from starving. Dad helped out to some extent by working for the WPA for very little money. Also he spent much time and effort raising a garden which helped provide food.

At the time the neighbor boy Donny had a chicken coop full of nice white pigeons that he raised as pets. The pigeons had a habit of coming over to Dad’s garden and eating his plants. Complaining to the neighbors about this did no good. They said that they had no control over where their pigeons went or what they ate.

One morning Donny went out to feed his pets. What he saw was a coop full of dead pigeons with blood, pigeon parts and feathers all over the floor and walls. When Dad was asked about this, he said it looked like the work of foxes or weasels to him.

Only God will ever know what really happened.

Operation Cat

Dad was  the person who was often called when any of the local farmers needed castration done. He had the necessary skills and along with his razor-sharp pocket knife and a little sheep dip as antiseptic the job was done in short order.
My buddy, Kenny, had a black  tom cat that was as ornery as sin. I suggested to Kenny that Dad had some skills that could possibly change that cat’s attitude. I asked Dad and he said, “Sure, bring  him over”. I wondered  how Dad was going to perform this operation  without getting clawed to death since that cat was as ornery as a snake  and we had no anesthetic. Well, he obtained a burlap bag and some twine, put the cat in the bag and  closed it with the twine, tying it  really close  to the cat. He then cut off the corner of the bag and  pulled the  cat’s tail out along with the  appropriate parts. I  heard a  few low growls and  deep breaths from the  bag  as the sharp knife did it’s work. The operation was  over in a matter of seconds. Dad  then untied  the bag. The  cat  emerged, ran in  two or three tight  circles,  and tore off  into the  woods.
“He will be  gone  for  about three days”,  Dad  said.  “What  will  he  be  doing”, I asked, “Canceling  dates”, Dad replied.

Evil Knievel

On the south side of Ravenna on Rt 44 there is a bridge over some railroad tracks. It is about a 50 yard span with a 40-foot drop to the tracks below. The bridge had to be replaced in the early 30’s and at the time of the following incident the girders were in place but the deck had not been installed. The story goes that Dad was headed to Ravenna on his motorcycle. Ike Coler had asked for a ride so he was on the buddy seat of the bike. When they came to the deck-less bridge there were detour signs that guided traffic around it. According to informed sources Dad ignored the signs and took  the Harley across on one of the girders with Ike hanging tightly on the rear. The workers had to scramble to avoid being hit.

“T-thhe damn fool went right across”, stuttered Ike, and rode home with someone else. My dad never would admit to this one but several people told me about it.

There were other stories about Dad and the bike. Mom told one where he was showing-off for her by going by at a high rate of speed standing up on the seat. The buckles on his boots became tangled and he went flying, doing a face-plant in the weeds.

It is interesting to note that Dad would have killed me if he had ever caught me on a motorcycle. I remember the time my buddy Mahlon drove his new Triumph over and proudly parked it in the yard. Dad looked at the bike and then looked at Mahlon and said, “If you ever want to play dirty trick on Gene, just get him on the back of that thing and let me see it!”.

To this day I have never been on one.

 

Prodigal Son

When I was 17 I played guitar in a polka band. One  of our jobs was at the Lakeview Cafe, a small bar south of town. If  my mother had  known that I played in there she would have had a fit. Thinking it over later I can see why. I played there for a year before she found out. By that time it was OK since I hadn’t grown horns or a tail .

One of the  consequences of my playing in a band was coming home late, although I can’t blame all of my lateness on playing music.  One morning about 4 AM I arrived home, took  off my shoes on the porch and proceeded  to pussyfoot into the house. Opening the kitchen door produced a loud clatter that sounded as if the house was being destroyed.  What  happened  was my dad had taken all of the pots and pans in the kitchen and piled them up behind the  door, so when I opened  the door the whole stack came tumbling down with a  racket loud enough to wake the dead and  scare the bejesus out of me. I  heard him exclaim from the bedroom, “Gene, If  you’re going to come home so damn late  could you be  a little quieter about it. We can’t sleep with all the noise out there”.

Another time I arrived home about 6 AM . I thought I had made it to my bedroom without being discovered. I sat on the bed, took off one shoe and sock. At that time Dad walked in and said, “Gene, are you getting up this early?”. “Yes” I said, and put the sock and shoe back on. I stayed up all day although it almost killed me.