  Tponetom Member Username: Tponetom Post Number: 8 Registered: 06-2007 |
3 D. The Dinosaur Days of Detroit. From what I have read in the Forum so far, it tells me that most of the respondents are somewhat younger than me and they did not experience those wild incredible years of the thirties and forties in Detroit The term, “The Golden Age” seems a bit trite but it suits. The first thought that comes to mind is that Detroit was not a ‘Sports Town.” It was “THE SPORTS TOWN.” The Tigers and Lions and Red Wings, and Joe Louis were just the highlights. The Public and Catholic Schools had great athletic programs. They were supplemented by sandlot leagues and pickup games at a myriad of public parks. But all of that action began in neighborhood streets and alleys, as well, with kids, like me. In 1935, at my age of 6 1/2, our family homestead was discovered on the east side of McClellan Avenue, the third house north of E. Warren. It was a small tract house with two bedrooms, a full attic and a 1/4 basement. It cost $ 2,200.00. Ten percent down and 20 dollars a month with 6% interest. The house would be paid off in 12 years. It was a standard Land Contract. I slept on a mattress on the Dining Room floor and my two older sisters got the second bedroom. Three more children during the next four years would flood the premises. I am an anachronistic relic from the good old days. Yes, that statement is redundant. The times that I remember so vividly took place during the years of 1935 through 1950, when Detroit was easily, the most dominant, the most productive and especially, the most opportunistic city in America. Education, entrepreneurship, excitement, sports, religion and a myriad of other pursuits were there for the taking. We also had extreme poverty, racism and political chicanery. So what has changed in the last 72 years? For one thing, no more alleys. More, later. | ||
Jimaz Member Username: Jimaz Post Number: 2427 Registered: 12-2005 |
Tponetom, I'm all ears. Don't hold back. The rarest of memories stretch most deeply into time. | ||
Ragtoplover59 Member Username: Ragtoplover59 Post Number: 104 Registered: 09-2006 |
Tponetom, You are doing a wonderful thing here, With a post count of just 8, You already have our attention! Welcome "Home" to DetroitYes! | ||
Irish_mafia Member Username: Irish_mafia Post Number: 927 Registered: 10-2003 |
Tponetom, Thanks so much! Looking forward to hearing more. | ||
Detroitej72 Member Username: Detroitej72 Post Number: 579 Registered: 05-2006 |
Keep the great stories coming, Tponetom. Also welcome to the forum. | ||
Mercman Member Username: Mercman Post Number: 30 Registered: 10-2006 |
"Anachronistic"...Wow. I was a journalism major and I had to look that one up! What a great word! I love hearing from our respected 'elders'. I eagerly await your next post. | ||
Tponetom Member Username: Tponetom Post Number: 9 Registered: 06-2007 |
3-D and Alleys. If you are a child of 6 or so, and you are lucky, you may see the world through rose colored glasses. So it was with me in 1935. After moving in to our mansion on McClellan avenue and taking a couple of days to get settled, my mother told me to go out and play with the other kids on the block. I walked through the back door, through the yard and to the gate that opened to our alley. Digression: The east side of McClellan had its own alley. The west side of Cooper, the street parallel to McClellan had its own alley also and the two alleys were connected by a short alley, forming the letter H. That configuration of alleys carried north down to Chapin street. What it really was, was a maze of mystery, fortune and serendipities. My gang of 12 was always on patrol. Alley picking was an art form. Garbage and rubbish were deposited in a cement receptacle through a door on the top, and then removed, by shovel, via a door on the bottom. We had to get there before the sanitation truck beat us to it. In retrospect, I guess it was kind of a dirty job, but to the best of my knowledge, none of my friends ever came down with lockjaw, beri beri or any serious disorder of the mind. Also, I never once saw a parent supervising our activities. The only parental intervention that was strictly obeyed was this. If your mother called for you from the back porch to come home, you better drop every thing, forthwith, and get your little backside home in a hurry or else the old man would come after you and kick your little backside home. It seemed that our mothers voice could carry for miles. A successful day of alley picking would culminate in coming home with an empty beer or pop bottle that could be redeemed at the grocery store for two cents. So what does that little story have to do with the Fabulous Ruins of Detroit. Maybe nothing,,, My grandson, in Wisconsin, was playing hockey with his grade school team recently. He had close to a thousand dollars worth of equipment on his skinny body. I chuckle! Our first real ice hockey venue was the pond on Belle Isle . Ten of us would go there, armed with shovels and clear the snow from the ice. that would take an hour or so. Then we dressed for combat. Our goalie had the only pair of racing skates with the long blades. Shin guards were made from the Shopping News, tied around our calfs and covering our knees. More times than not, we used an empty tuna fish can with a piece of wood in it as a puck. Thomas Wolfe. the novelist said, "You Can't go Home Again." I believe he was right. But I think we could learn from , 'home again.' | ||
Jimaz Member Username: Jimaz Post Number: 2430 Registered: 12-2005 |
Ha! We used to save up our used bubble gum to make hockey pucks. It worked great! ... Until it thawed.  | ||
Cambrian Member Username: Cambrian Post Number: 1243 Registered: 08-2006 |
Tponetom, What are your recollections of the great depression? How would it compare with Detroit's current economic status? Keep the stories coming. Both of my gramma's were born in the city, one in 1919 the other was born in 1922, I loved their stories of growing up in the D. | ||
Dougw Member Username: Dougw Post Number: 1770 Registered: 11-2003 |
Great stuff. With your tales from the 30's, you're making Jjaba look like a youngster. | ||
Eric_michael Member Username: Eric_michael Post Number: 17 Registered: 08-2004 |
Tponetom, thank you and keep 'em comin! My dad was born on Commonwealth near W. Warren in 1934, got to play American Legion baseball at Briggs... | ||
Karl_jr Member Username: Karl_jr Post Number: 5 Registered: 06-2007 |
Please continue | ||
Tponetom Member Username: Tponetom Post Number: 10 Registered: 06-2007 |
3-D The Dinosaur Days of Detroit. A very kind, "thank You" to Jimaz, Ragtoplover59, Irishmafia, Detroitej72, and Mercman. Let me clarify the title I use. Dinosaur does not refer to antiquity, like in "One Million B.C." I use it as an analogy to size and strength and awesomeness and oneness.That was/is my Detroit and always will be. I have many more stories on that subject but let me relate some of the things about Detroit that have influenced me. Some of the following dates may be off a year or two. I was an inmate in the fifth grade at The Nativity Of Our Lord school, under the care and sadism of Warden Geller. AKA, Father Geller. A fantastic new building had been erected on Gratiot, between Burns and Seneca. The Mark Twain Library! Oh, My, Goodness! The Gothic Architecture just overwhelmed our little minds. The very first day we were admitted to its hallowed halls, I raced to the nearest book shelf and grabbed a book. It was "Le Morte D'Arthur." It was transcribed in basic english and I was mesmerized. The Mark Twain Library would be my retreat for many years to come. Before I get too wound up in these anecdotes let me start over again. some number of years ago, I wrote the following: Death of a Salesman - Le Morte D'arthur - Death of a Matador - Bataan Death March There are many forms and moods of death, some sad, some welcome and certainly, all final. My generation’s environment, its culture and the neighborhood that I grew up in have all but vanished. Those elements were firmly entwined so as to be one. The death of my neighborhood was slow, insidious and unobtrusive. It just slipped away from us. I have been searching for a link that relates the present to my past, but there is little or no connection between the two eras. There is only a very remote and tenuous relationship, that being, memories. The present is here and now. The past is almost too far distant, to be recalled.. The present is an enigma, a confusing and contradictory philosophy that is alien to all of my emotions, beliefs and expectations. To blindly accept it as it is, is to accept the tenets of the herd instinct. I am a maverick. | ||
Karl_jr Member Username: Karl_jr Post Number: 8 Registered: 06-2007 |
WOW | ||
Rickinatlanta Member Username: Rickinatlanta Post Number: 56 Registered: 07-2006 |
Tponetom, REALLY enjoying your memories! I'm researching my dad's pro boxing career in Detroit during the 1930's. I've had microfilm of the News sent down to me here in north Atlanta now for the past three years. I started with 1/1/1930 and am up to 11/1/1933. It's difficult not to read the front page stories about Detroit and the world and stay focused on my search of the sports pages. I'm learning a lot about Detroit in that time period and your recollections just add to it. Thanks | ||
Jasoncw Member Username: Jasoncw Post Number: 371 Registered: 07-2005 |
Thanks for joining, and sharing with us.  | ||
Waz Member Username: Waz Post Number: 88 Registered: 11-2006 |
Tponetom, your first post mentioned "The Public and Catholic Schools had great athletic programs". My Dad was roughly 10 years younger than you and recalled no organized school sports. He always said that "If we wanted to play sports, we did it ourselves." I never investigated his claim, but I wonder if you could enlighten me about your memories of school sports. I know that baseball was "the" sport back in those days and could understand if the schools didn't sponsor it because the typically warm-weather sport of baseball conflicted with the timing of the school year. But I would have thought that football would be a mainstay even back then, since it has been popular at the college level for many decades. | ||
Mikeg Member Username: Mikeg Post Number: 967 Registered: 12-2005 |
^^ A lot of Catholic High Schools dropped sports during WW II because so many upperclassmen and coaches were enlisting in the military. That also caused them to be slow in re-establishing varsity level sports after the war ended. I don't know if a similar situation developed in the public schools, but it wouldn't be surprising if it did. | ||
Fury13 Member Username: Fury13 Post Number: 1810 Registered: 10-2003 |
Hey Tponetom, my dad (about five years younger than you) lived right near you, on Cooper near Moffat. He's talked about those alleys in that area many times. He has a story about how he once jumped in a milk wagon (while the milkman was away, on foot) and took off with it down the alley. | ||
Jimaz Member Username: Jimaz Post Number: 2441 Registered: 12-2005 |
Fury13, my dearly departed father was born in 1919 and lived at 5780 Cooper. I'd like to be able to mark that address on Google Earth. | ||
Tponetom Member Username: Tponetom Post Number: 12 Registered: 06-2007 |
Fury13 and Jimaz. Re: Cooper street. Everything that goes around comes around On Dec. 24 2006, my dearest friend and Handball partner for many years died. His name was Orestes (Chuck) Battilocchi. His sisters, Anna and Paula survive. His family homestead was on Cooper near Barker. Born 01-01-24 | ||
Rickinatlanta Member Username: Rickinatlanta Post Number: 57 Registered: 07-2006 |
During the 1930's MANY of the Catholic churches sponsored amateur boxing clubs from which the best boys turned pro. My dad boxed out of Christ Church on Jefferson. | ||
Fury13 Member Username: Fury13 Post Number: 1811 Registered: 10-2003 |
Jimaz and Tponetom, my dad's address was 5307 Cooper. My dad's family lived there from 1939-48. He went to Nativity of Our Lord too. Tponetom, you referred to the "sadism" of Father Geller. Was he at Nativity a long time? If so, he may be the priest that my father had an unpleasant disciplinary experience with (the priest smacked him and knocked him down; dad was about 10 at the time). Any memories of the Rivola Theater? | ||
Tponetom Member Username: Tponetom Post Number: 13 Registered: 06-2007 |
Fury13 I have a very personal reply to your message but I think it would be inappropriate to send it through this venue. On your afterthought about the Rivola theater. My goodness, we lived there every Saturday afternoon since Cain and Abel fought in Windsor. They had a change of programming three times a week. My uncle Russell lived on the west side of Detroit. He was good friends with the projectionist at the Rivola. This relationship enabled me to get free passes to the Rivola with my girlfriend. See my next post regarding "Cambrian. | ||
Tponetom Member Username: Tponetom Post Number: 14 Registered: 06-2007 |
Re: Cambrian - Depression Comparison. Monetarily, there can be no comparison. There was no money during the Depression. Only desperation. 1928. The Beginning “The Past is Prologue.” I remember that bit of profundity from the countless Saturday afternoon matinees, at the Rivola Theater on Cadillac near E, Forest, that I, as a child, religiously attended with wide-eyed amazement. What followed that pronunciation on the movie screen was a review of what had already transpired in the Adventures of Flash Gordon. The words were scrolled at a 45-degree angle of elevation and continued on into infinity, or so it seemed. No matter what the proclamation of peril might be, Flash and Dale Arden and Dr. Zharkov always managed to vanquish the villain, Ming the Merciless, ruler of the Planet, Mongo. And so our young fantasies were formed. (‘We Shall Overcome’ might have been a good slogan for those years My life in the present is not unlike that of my peers. We are living in a period of continuing prosperity. The last sixty years could be described as an upward spiraling of affluence with only a few downward swirls of recession. Materialism abounds. However, what we are lacking in our present society is appalling. The third decade of the twentieth century was aptly named, “The Roaring Twenties!) As a child, I used to wonder just what was meant by the word, “roaring.” Many years later I associated the word and the era with a roller coaster, the ups and downs, the noise and the lulls, the screeching and laughter, the thrills, the fears, and then, the final relief. After a brief respite, the anticipation of another ride began. Our parents were just young adults, their families sprouting, during that bizarre decade that started out with excitement and enthusiasm, only to end with the most dismal economic despair imaginable. I have often wondered how our young parents coped with the awesome responsibilities of raising a family in those bleak years that came to be known as, “The Great Depression.” In retrospect, their stories were neither mine nor those of the peers that I encountered during that period. In our childhood, the lack of money, food, clothing and shelter was buttressed by an overwhelming supply of love and companionship. We children fed on the constant adventures of impatient adolescence. My two sisters and I were born to poor but friendly parents. They were obviously influenced by the plight of our earlier ancestors. It was mandatory to care for the helpless and the impoverished, especially if they were relation! My oldest sister, Patricia, was born in l925. Fourteen months later, my sister Joyce was born. Perhaps my parents were feeling optimistic about their future and the future of our country in general. More likely, our father had no control over his atavistic Irish genes that compelled him to propagate his progeny. My birth in November, 1928, began the lull in the mating mania. Perhaps there was a foreboding of financial circumstances less sanguine than the country had been led to believe and depend on. “Black Tuesday,” Oct. 29, 1929, was only 11 months away. The Twenties came in with a roar but they went out with a whimper. My earliest remembrance of a home was living, for a brief period in 1934, on the second floor of a two family flat on Crane street, about two blocks away from Grandpa’s house. Then we moved to Grandpa’s house. So did Uncle Frankie and his wife, Leona. Frankie was the younger brother to my dad, Vincent. Times were tough. The reality of the “Great Depression” was not immediately apparent to the rank and file. When jobs began to disappear and money became scarce, hope began to erode and fear became a constant companion. Grandma and Grandpa lived in a charming house of medium size. A living room, formal dining room, a library or den, a kitchen, bathroom and a pantry filled the first floor. The stairwell to the second floor led to a large open hallway/room which in turn led to two bedrooms and an attic storage room. There was a small basement/fruit cellar that held vast treasures of delectable delights of canned goods, not the least of which was green tomato jam. (Grandpa owned a neighborhood saloon. (No one ever knew how he managed to get a liquor license so soon after Prohibition had been ended.) His saloon was on Kercheval and Belvidere, two blocks from the Amity street Police Station. He had some strong ties. In 1935, my father started his plumbing business, working out of our house and garage. He made a connection with one of the big banks in Detroit. The bank’s biggest operation was the foreclosing of homes and the eviction of the tenants. The bank would then call my father and give him a list of the houses that had to be winterized. That meant shutting off the water supply to the house and draining all of the pipes and fixtures so they would not freeze and burst during the winter months. Dad was paid 3 dollars a house. The plumbers who were working for Dad were paid $ 1.50 plus their bus or streetcar fare for each house they serviced. Later, when the house was re-sold, Dad would restore the water service and make certain repairs and improvements to the plumbing in the house. At one time in the early years, Dad had five plumbers sitting in our basement, waiting for the phone to ring, and the call to go out and make maybe a few dollars. Note: There was no guaranteed number of hours, no hospitalization insurance, no fringe benefits whatever. The field agents who worked for the banks were almost as destitute as the rank and file workers who had nothing. It became a daily ritual for those agents to come to our house on McClellan for a cup of coffee. That is where my mother came into the picture. She was an ex-flapper (look it up) . She took care of the home front. She answered the phone, poured the coffee, and then, through the years of 1936 and 1939, had three more babies. So how did people exist? I don’t really know, but I do have a hint of sorts. It was this. When I seen my father and mother having coffee together for example, or some other setting, I would see Dad smile at her. His lips were pursed like he was trying to suppress that bit of intimacy. And Ma would shrug her shoulders a little, and tried not to blush. | ||
Jimaz Member Username: Jimaz Post Number: 2446 Registered: 12-2005 |
Tponetom, this should become a Hall of Fame thread. You are a very good writer but I did notice an interesting typo. You typed "l925" using the lowercase L instead of a numeric 1. Some here may not remember that early typewriters had no numeric 1 key. Typists were taught to use a lowercase L instead. Please continue. | ||
Fury13 Member Username: Fury13 Post Number: 1812 Registered: 10-2003 |
Tponetom, if you would like to reply to me privately, my e-mail is digiovanni13@yahoo.com. I would be interested in what you have to say about Nativity. Your narratives are fascinating! | ||
Vetalalumni Member Username: Vetalalumni Post Number: 470 Registered: 05-2007 |
Thanks for the interesting writing Tponetom! | ||
Neilr Member Username: Neilr Post Number: 529 Registered: 06-2005 |
quote: Wirt Rowland, the noted Detroit architect who designed the Guardian, Penobscot, and Buhl Buildings was the architect of the Mark Twain Public Library on Gratiot.  http://www.villageofclinton.org/introduction.htm This library was designed to be a palace of reading. Sadly, in recent years the building has been closed, I believe because of asbestos problems. An even grander branch library, The Parkman Branch, is on Oakman Blvd. | ||
Karl_jr Member Username: Karl_jr Post Number: 9 Registered: 06-2007 |
Thanks, very captivating. | ||
Mercman Member Username: Mercman Post Number: 31 Registered: 10-2006 |
Tponetom: Wow. Words escape me for what I have read so far. This is truly great history in the making. I wish before my Grandfather had passed that I had gotten some of his takes on things in Ham-town. I do recall his stories of the "sheenies" (poor spelling?) that he said came through the neighborhoods looking for scrap metal... I have a whole other post I could do on my Grandfather, but I don't want to detract from this one. It's been a wonderful read. (Message edited by mercman on June 27, 2007) | ||
Caldogven Member Username: Caldogven Post Number: 65 Registered: 05-2006 |
Tponetom Welcome-great writing! I lived on Pennsylvania second house south of Warren. Great memories of that neighborhood and the Rivola. | ||
English Member Username: English Post Number: 536 Registered: 10-2003 |
Tponetom, you make me miss my grandfather SO much with your stories. He died in 1999 after suffering from Alzheimer's for almost 10 years. But he was born in 1916, and moved with his family to Detroit in 1919... he was full of stories of Detroit between the wars... and something about the way you tell it make tears fill my eyes. Thanks for this... welcome... and please continue! | ||
Tponetom Member Username: Tponetom Post Number: 15 Registered: 06-2007 |
Is it proper for me to make a few replies about comments I have received? I hope so. Caldogven: The 2 "Pure" gas stations on the corners of E.Warren and Pennsylvania were formerly, "Hi-Speed" stations." I can still sing the "Hi-Speed" advertising jingle that was played on the radio. Mercman: I was going to tell a story about Mr. Max, our own "sheeney man," but I hesitated using the word, "sheeney." because it is, at least by definition, an offensive word. But our sheeny man, was our cashier who paid us 'hard' cash (like in pennies and nickels) and we loved him for it. I will, later, relate a nice story about him. Neilr: "Dammit" Neilr, your picture made me cry. My wife Peggy, looked at me and asked . me what was wrong. I showed her the picture,,,and she cried also. It was another cheap date when we would go down there and sneak into the private reading rooms and,,,,,,, have some privacy. Fury13: Yes, definitely. I will send you via E-mail, not just my opinion, but a consensus of hundreds of classmates. Above, the word "dammit' is not spelled with an "n". That makes it o.k. to use. At least according to Brother Brendan, my high school English teacher. | ||
Lowell Board Administrator Username: Lowell Post Number: 3928 Registered: 10-2003 |
Awesome tponetom. Welcome to the forum. You said a magic word for me: handball. What was the handball scene like back in the 3D? I send my sympathies at the loss of your friend. | ||
Tponetom Member Username: Tponetom Post Number: 16 Registered: 06-2007 |
Lowell: I keep getting more flabbergasted and I want to shout, "Gloryosky." (That word is a teaser for others who might read this post. Who and where did it come from?) But Lowell, you said I said the magic word! It deserves capitals to scream out loud to the world: HANDBALL! Here is the brevity of it. 1940: Nativity of Our Lord Playground. Two back to back courts with abbreviated side walls. We used tennis balls. 1957: My first venture to the Northeastern YMCA. 4-wall indoor courts. Hard black balls. 1958: Belle Isle and all of its beauty in a beach setting. Two back to back 3 wall courts with full side walls, and wire netting above and back. 1960: Palmer Park. 4 - 3 wall courts. The Three Wall National championships were played there. My Handball Career did not start until 1957. I joined the 'Y' and quickly discovered that no one wanted to play with a beginner. The only way you could improve your game was to always play with someone better than you. I learned that much quickly. Clarence Gable was the first man who condescended to play with me. He was 62 years old at that time. I was 29. He suffered with arthritis and could not move very well. I was swift and agile. I was a good athlete in practically any sport. I had good timing and good reflexes and I was FAST. Clarence won the first game, 21-3. I did not want to embarrass the poor old guy, but in the second game I stepped up the pace,,,,,and lost that game 21-6. I taught him a thing or two. He became my mentor during that first year. He and Ken Smith and the Zerbo brothers, Al and Lou, who were old timers were also mentors and they were extremely generous in sharing their experience with us new players. Later, when I won the Class B and then the class A titles at the 'Y,' they were all in attendance cheering me on. Winning the 'B' title entitled me to play the better players on Class A nights which were reserved on Tuesday and Thursdays in the evening. Playing the better players is what the game is all about. But the social connection was even more satisfying. My pal, Chuck, had made his bones early on and was accepted in the top echelon. I had to wait a couple of years, Belle Isle was the capital of Handball. the first few times I played there , I got just a nodding acquaintance. Then one day, Chuck asked me If I would like to bring my wife to Belle Isle and he would bring his wife for company. I said, sure. So Chuck and his wife, Lee, and Peggy and I made our appearance at the courts. Never have I been greeted so enthusiastically by all of these lukewarm players. Lee was a look alike for Sophia Loren and Peggy had the fair Hungarian beauty that Zsa Zsa would die for. For the next fifteen years, handball was our religion. I think it was in 1962 that I had defeated the defending champion in our State Tournament in a preliminary round. In the next round I lost to Chuck. My most glorious moment came in one of the 3-wall Nationals. I was nothing more than early round fodder. Carl Obert, (the eventual champion) was my opponent. After 11 innings, the score was tied, 2-2. Brady was an outstanding player from California and he had watched the last couple of innings of my match. Carl and I took a timeout and we were standing near Brady on the sidelines and we heard Brady ask one of the spectators, Which one is Obert? The spectator replied, "Can't you tell?" Brady shrugged his shoulders and said, "No." To me, that was the greatest compliment I would ever get, to be compared to Carl. Carl wore me down very quickly and won the match but he did not embarrass me by skunking me, which He could have easily done. The three Obert Brothers from New York, Oscar, Ruby and Carl, were three of the very finest players and gentlemen I have ever met. I played Oscar in another tournament and got 7 and 9 from him in the two games. They were gifts when Oscar knew he did not have to extend himself. Later in the same tournament, John Scopis, our perennial State Champion played Oscar and lost. On the court, John was great, but off the court he was a little bit smug or supercilious. When asked how he did against Oscar, he replied, "I think I played very well. I got 9 and 7 off of him." I was standing nearby when he said that and I deflated his ego a little by saying, "Yes, so did I."I was never in John's class either. Notes: Before Bob Kendler founded the USHA, handball was controlled by the AAU and the YMCA. It was pretty much a closed corporation. Some of the outstanding players in my era were the Oberts, Jimmy Jacobs, Vic Hershkowitz and Paul Haber and others that I can't quite recall. By 1973, my knees gave out and Peggy and I made our move north. Our family had 160 acres of forest land in the Hiawatha National Forest. We spent 21 years up there. We built (literally) our home, garage, pole barn, and a 400 tap maple syrup operation. We had no commercial electricity, no phone, no TV, no mail delivery, no garbage pickup, no city water or sewer. I commuted to Detroit to work 5 different times for varying periods up to 6 months. I would come home on Friday night and then leave on Sunday night to arrive at work in the morning. But that is another story. | ||
Lowell Board Administrator Username: Lowell Post Number: 3929 Registered: 10-2003 |
Great stories tponetom. I played on Belle Isle today and then cooled off with a dip at the beach. I never played at the old wooden courts that were by the beach and are long gone, but did play at Palmer Park. The Palmer Park courts have fallen on difficult times. Click HERE to see a picture from five years ago. The City of Detroit with all its problems and lack of funds simply can't keep up with all its parks and these courts are just one of the many victims. By contrast the new courts at Belle Isle [built 1979] are among the very best in the country and are well maintained. | ||
Ray1936 Member Username: Ray1936 Post Number: 1567 Registered: 01-2005 |
"I keep getting more flabbergasted and I want to shout, "Gloryosky." (That word is a teaser for others who might read this post. Who and where did it come from?)" Little Orphan Annie, comic strip by Harold Gray. Who were Hans und Fritz? | ||
Vetalalumni Member Username: Vetalalumni Post Number: 477 Registered: 05-2007 |
Lowell: Would you happen to have any photographs of the "new courts" at Belle Isle? From your description, the courts are a sight to behold. | ||
Realitycheck Member Username: Realitycheck Post Number: 437 Registered: 08-2004 |
quote:Ach du leiber, Ray -- der Katzies!  Hans and Fritz, aka the Katzenjammer Kids, were created by German cartoonist Rudolph Dirks (1877-1968) in 1897 and continue to enliven some Sunday 'funny pages' as the oldest comic strip still in syndication. Inspired partly by Max und Moritz, German children's stories of the 1860s, the Katzies were twins battling any authority -- Mama, der Captain (a shipwrecked sailor acting as their surrogate dad) and der Inspector (school headmaster). Glad you asked, Ray! Now please tell us what paper you read them in during the '30s and '40s. | ||
Caldogven Member Username: Caldogven Post Number: 66 Registered: 05-2006 |
Tponetom I remember the HI SPEED/PURE stations well. The one on the east was owned by Joe (can't think of his last name) and his son Larry. I later worked at Wood Motors with Larry. The other one which was smaller, closed and was torn down, and a new building built for the Pennsylvania Beer Store. Which was on the other side of Warren | ||
Fareastsider Member Username: Fareastsider Post Number: 475 Registered: 08-2006 |
Amazing! Tponetom these are the stories I love about Detroit. Being only 25 I only know of the current Detroit famous for decline and violence. I am amazed how in many parts of town today it is like all of the old stuff is still there. Like those trash bins or old garage doors! Jeep the stories coming. I was very interested to find that alley configuration you described.... | ||
Blueidone Member Username: Blueidone Post Number: 95 Registered: 03-2007 |
Thanks from me as well, Tponetom! I never knew my grandparents, as they all passed away either before I was born, or when I was too young to remember anything about them. But lately I have been listening to the same types of stories from my father, who is now 91. His memory is fading and I am trying to hear as much as I can from him before he joins his parents. But your words are far more eloquent than his and your writing is captivating. I will be an avid reader! | ||
Kathinozarks Member Username: Kathinozarks Post Number: 579 Registered: 11-2006 |
Thanks Tponetom! Are you a published writer? | ||
Mercman Member Username: Mercman Post Number: 32 Registered: 10-2006 |
Tponetom!!! Where are you? No updates since Wed... Oh wait...I see you posted in another thread... Nevermind! (Message edited by mercman on July 02, 2007) | ||
Terridarlin Member Username: Terridarlin Post Number: 23 Registered: 02-2007 |
Tponetom: Thanks for your wonderful words! My Dad was born in 1928 on the eastside too. He's a peach, and so are you. Lucky to have you both. | ||
Bulletmagnet Member Username: Bulletmagnet Post Number: 761 Registered: 01-2007 |
Tponetom, I would like to chime in here as well and thank you for the above stories. I often post photos of how Detroit looks to me now, in the hope that I would elicit some stories from those who lived the past. We have gotten a few, and for that I am grateful. I'm not sure how you fond DY, but I (and the rest) are glad you did. My own family spawned in Detroit the same time yours did, but, alas, the elders are gone. But I am living their live vicariously through your vivid words. So, thanks for that, and thank for coming back to your home in DY. | ||
Jb3 Member Username: Jb3 Post Number: 90 Registered: 06-2007 |
Thanks Tponetom! | ||
Tponetom Member Username: Tponetom Post Number: 42 Registered: 06-2007 |
P. S. I have written a thousand happy stories about Detroit. However, as in anyone else's life, there was a lot of sorrow and tragedies as well. But to write of them would take off some of the luster and malign the image of Detroit that I choose to carry in my heart and mind, forever and ever. | ||
Kathinozarks Member Username: Kathinozarks Post Number: 581 Registered: 11-2006 |
Yay to a thousand happy stories! Can you start tomorrow? I'm ready to start reading |
