  Ravine Member Username: Ravine Post Number: 1570 Registered: 01-2006 |
Tponetom: A recent post, from you, revealed a sense of chagrin regarding the general mentality and attitude of some of the posting populace here at DY. Your disappointment is understandable, but I want you to know that I truly enjoy your nostalgic and entertaining posts, and I strongly feel that it is stuff like your posts which makes this forum worthwhile. I implore you to continue enriching this forum by sharing yourself with us. | ||
Gazhekwe Member Username: Gazhekwe Post Number: 973 Registered: 08-2007 |
I second that most heartily! | ||
Jams Member Username: Jams Post Number: 6904 Registered: 10-2003 |
Most heartily thirded. Miss those stories. You always have a appreciative reader here. (Message edited by JamS on November 10, 2007) | ||
Johnlodge Member Username: Johnlodge Post Number: 3543 Registered: 10-2003 |
Tpon made the mistake of getting involved on the non-D side of the board. That's enough to scare anybody away. | ||
Ravine Member Username: Ravine Post Number: 1603 Registered: 01-2006 |
Bumping up, trying to catch Tponetom's attention. | ||
Ray1936 Member Username: Ray1936 Post Number: 2268 Registered: 01-2005 |
^ ^ Agreeing with all the above! | ||
Ravine Member Username: Ravine Post Number: 1604 Registered: 01-2006 |
Ray, your prose is different from Tponetom's remarkably vivid memoirs, but my over-all sentiment goes for you too, pal. | ||
Tponetom Member Username: Tponetom Post Number: 162 Registered: 06-2007 |
Ravine, et al, Well, you did catch my attention. On the subject of "misspeaking," most of us do it at one time or another. I regret it when I do it. It is never intentional. It is a lapse of the mind over the heart. Perhaps it is just laziness not taking the time to use the more gentle words or conciliatory phrases. I have carried a bag with me all of my life. "DETROIT" is stenciled on the outside of it. Inside are all the good things that I have experienced in my (as of Nov. 13, '07) first Octogenarian year. When I need a little boost I reach in the bag and pull out a good memory. Once in a while, a bummer comes out and I just discard it. I have experienced 'the best of times' that Detroit could ever offer. Hmmm, 1933. A five year old boy. Grandpa Heimiller's funeral. He was Laid out in his own living room (on Benson Street) for three days. And: OH MY GOD, TOMMY, WHAT DID YOU DO????????? I'll tell you tomorrow. | ||
Ravine Member Username: Ravine Post Number: 1640 Registered: 01-2006 |
I am REALLY looking forward to finding out what Tommy did... | ||
Gannon Member Username: Gannon Post Number: 11006 Registered: 12-2003 |
Ditto on the PRO-Tp and Ray posts. Keep 'em coming, don't mind the lame-brainers. They will always be amongst us...heck, I've got one who hides in my mirror! | ||
Tponetom Member Username: Tponetom Post Number: 163 Registered: 06-2007 |
Funerals during the Depression years were sometimes depressing and other times, not so depressing for a variety of reasons. My Uncle Buddy, (given name, John, after his father,) died in 1932. He was 18 years old. His appendix ruptured. I was four years old. I remember only the sorrow that shrouded his death. There were no frivolities. Just tears. That is all I remember about his funeral. The usual coffin was made of wood and covered with a black cloth. To avoid certain funeral parlor and cemetery expenses, some families would say that they were shipping their demised loved ones out of state to be buried in their hometown. Then they would bury them some place in the wilderness. Well, it was good enough for the pioneers! Note: In the Thirties and Forties, performing an appendectomy in movies and even on radio became one of the electrifying, heart gulping, ‘oh my God are they going to save him,’ standard ploys to grab an audience! Today, hemorrhoids, hold more terror for the patient than the appendix. Uncle Buddy’s parents were my maternal grandparents. Grandpa Heimiller was not a nice person. My mother and her two sisters seldom spoke of him. Grandpa died one year later. Like Uncle Buddy, he was laid out in his home on Benson street in the German district. I think it was near Ellery.. There was an air of conviviality that permeated those three days of scrutiny of the deceased. I remember thinking, “Gee, everybody sure liked Grandpa.” What did I know? It is redundant to say that money was short in those years. Family, friends and neighbors contributed food and/or money to keep the wake going. A special collection was taken on the first day for a keg of beer that was set up in the basement. The keg was delivered and set up by the vendor and he was given a 25 cent tip if he made a clean tap and did not spray the beer all over the basement. When the ‘all clear’ was sounded, a tsunami of humanity flowed down the basement steps. After two or three or more imbibitions, the omnibibulous crowd became more raucous. “Good ole John,” “ Here’s to you old pal,” “May you rest in peace, old friend.” The person who seemed to be having the most fun was the bartender that was drawing off the beer and scooping the excess foam off the top with a bread knife. I was mesmerized. Then a timeout was called. The parish priest had come to the house to lead the rosary. Grandma came down to the basement to make sure all of the ‘mourners’ went upstairs. She did not notice me standing in a corner. The basement emptied. I was alone. I walked over to the keg. I had been watching the bartender. I took a glass and held it up to the spout. I pulled the handle and the beer flowed out, smoothly. The beer overflowed in the glass. It splashed on me and then the floor. I giggled! I shut off the spigot. I took another glass and then another and then another and by that time I was covered with beer. I kept giggling. My shoes were soaking in beer. Marinating, if you will. The priest ended his soliloquy. My mother came down the steps looking for me. She found me. And: OH MY GOD, TOMMY, WHAT DID YOU DO????????? She looked at me and then she just bust out laughing. The rest of the crowd came down and someone in the group said, (according to my mother, years later) “There is more Irish in that kid than German.” Many years later, some of the German pragmatism helped me to stay on the straight and narrow. Once in awhile, the Irish takes over. My paternal grandfather O. owned a saloon on Kercheval and Belvidere. It stayed in the family for forty years or so. When I would go into the bar, accompanied by my father, Grandpa O. would always say, “Keep that kid the hell away from the spigots.•••• I loved both of my Grandmothers. Grandma O. was the families fairy Princess. Everyone adored her. Grandma H. was the one that I learned to secretly love and admire. After Grandpa H. died, Grandma sold the house on Benson and using the money as a stake, she rented a big house on E. Grand Boulevard near Chene/Trombley and made it into a boarding house. NO, Not a Bawdy House! She spent the rest of her life playing poker, smoking cigarettes and playing Bingo at Eastwood Park. (8 Mile and Gratiot for you younger people.) She always reminds me of Auntie Mame. Note: I love to use the invented word, “omnibibulous.” It is not in my Funk & Wagnalls nor is it in my 3 volume Webster Dictionary. . It is, however , in a book written by Errol Flynn. “My Wicked, Wicked Ways.” Circa 1959. He described the word as meaning, “I can drink anything that is wet!” It may never get into the popular lexicon. Flynn was my favorite scoundrel. He admitted to being a philanderer, a drunk and a doper and never strayed from that image. No, I don’t think he was admirable but he was honest. Just a by the by: Does anyone recall the Amaranth Temple/Buffet on Gratiot and McDougall or thereabouts. HOME OF THE IRON ORE STEW! | ||
Jimaz Member Username: Jimaz Post Number: 3924 Registered: 12-2005 |
Another home run by Tponetom! From the pseudodictionary: quote: | ||
Tponetom Member Username: Tponetom Post Number: 164 Registered: 06-2007 |
Jimaz, Jimaz, You have made my day. Lo, these many years I thought I was using a counterfeit word. Of course I will have to view the vocabulary of Errol flynn in a lessor light. Ahh, but those legends die hard. I will, however, hang on to one fantasy, that being, that Errol Flynn did in fact split the arrow of his competitor in their archery match I have never heard of the psuedodictionary but I will peruse it in the future. Thank You | ||
Jimaz Member Username: Jimaz Post Number: 3926 Registered: 12-2005 |
You're most welcome, Tponetom. It's the least I can do to repay you for your most sincerely appreciated efforts.  | ||
Ravine Member Username: Ravine Post Number: 1642 Registered: 01-2006 |
Tponetom: It is not, so much, the content of your little story that makes it so enjoyable, but your elegant, and frequently hilarious, way with words in its telling. Bravissimo!! | ||
Jams Member Username: Jams Post Number: 7099 Registered: 10-2003 |
Just, Thank you! | ||
Barnesfoto Member Username: Barnesfoto Post Number: 4514 Registered: 10-2003 |
waiting for the next post from correspondent Tpone... | ||
Fury13 Member Username: Fury13 Post Number: 3288 Registered: 10-2003 |
Another entertaining read from Tponetom! Love it! | ||
Tponetom Member Username: Tponetom Post Number: 166 Registered: 06-2007 |
Ravine: Bravissimo? How did you know I grew up in an Italian neighborhood? That sparks an inspirational story with a sad ending. Al C. was a charter member of the old neighborhood gang of 12. Four of us were there in the beginning. (1935.) The other eight trickled in during the next three years. We bonded. 9 of us went to Nativity grade school. The other 3 went to Chandler Public School. The two schools were on McClellan, three blocks apart. All of us were good, to very good, to exceptional students. Al was what you would call, a ‘husky’ kid. Not fat in any way. He was built like a block. I was built like a greyhound and I was fassssst. (Fortunately) Al outweighed me by 20 pounds. At age 9 or so I probably weighed 70 pounds??? Anyway, one day, one of the plumbers who was working for my Dad, gave me two pair of ‘pillow’ boxing gloves. Nothing like the 6 ounce gloves the professionals used. The gang got together and we decided to have an elimination ‘boxing’ tournament. 8 of us participated. All matches were of a three round duration. Al and I made it to the ‘finals’. Our house on McClellan had a 1/4 basement. In addition, there was an attached “fruit cellar.” The fruit cellar was 8 feet long and 8 feet wide. On either side, there were 2, 2 foot wide counters made of cement block. That left the floor area to be 8 feet long and four foot wide. No place to hide. The other six guys sat on the counters with their legs crossed. They would judge who the winner would be. Round One: Al shuffled in on me and pounded me at will. He won that round. Round Two: I developed the strategy of staying away from him. I was fast enough to get around behind him and hit the back of his head. I won the second round. Round Three: Al figured out my ploy and stretched his arms out on either side to prevent me from getting behind him. That allowed me to punch him in the face and then quickly back away. I won the match on a split decision. In the following days Al kept begging me for a re-match. Disdainfully, I said, “No, I am going to retire undefeated and besides, I am not that dumb.” A few short years later we were constant competitors on the golf course. However, this story is his. Al went to DeLaSalle High School and played football. He got a football scholarship to Albion College. He took a pre-med course and went on to Wayne Medical School. He graduated and after interning he took a residency in orthopedics. He finished his residency and moved his family to Orlando, Florida and set up his own practice. They had a lakeside home and Al was into water skiing. He invited us to come and visit which we did. He asked me if I had ever water skied before. I said no. He said he would show me how easy it was. After 6 disastrous attempts to stay upright, I finally got launched in the proper position. After one circuit of the lake at a slow speed, he decided to get cute with me. He opened up the 100 Merc engine he had on the boat and I very quickly capsized. I did not have enough savvy to just let go of the tow rope right away and he dragged me half way across the lake. Finally, I let go of the rope and he circled around to pick me up. I yelled at him, “You A.H., why didn’t you stop when you seen me fall. He smiled the impish grin he was famous for and said, “Oh, I thought you wanted to do some ‘Body Surfing!’ We made three separate trips to Orlando over a five year period. The last time we visited, Al and I had a serious conversation. He told me that he needed one person to be his Business Manager, Personal Secretary and Financial Manger. He said he was so busy he did not know if he was coming or going. He wanted me to take the job. I listened to him and then said, “You dumb F—Wop!” “All you want is a playmate for golfing, hunting and fishing, and you know, deep in your heart, I would never do anything that would bankrupt both of us.” He smiled acquiescently and agreed.. Fast Forward to 1990. Peggy and I were living in the U. P. I had been out of touch with Al for a couple of years. Ermie was another of the Dirty Dozen. He lived next door to Al on McClellan. Ermie was an East Detroit Cop, retired. After retirement he took a job at St. John’s Hospital on the Security force. That summer I got a letter from Ermie to the effect, through the hospital grapevine, that Al was in very bad shape. Critical condition. Inoperable cancer. I wrote Al a letter. In it, I said, “Ermie told me that you were stymied in an unplayable lie. I wish, with all my heart, I were there to tell you what club to use.’ He died shortly after. He was 60. And to this day, the tears still come. Note: A Clarification of sorts. I do not like to use profanities, obscenities or vulgarisms in my rhetoric. But some things are absolutely sacrosanct! From the ages of 7 to 12 or so, my gang learned a second language. The ‘big guys’ in the neighborhood taught us every filthy word, phrase or other utterance imaginable. Sometimes it gets a little embarrassing. We have three speaker phones in our house so Peggy and I both can hear what is being said. So one day, our good friend and next door neighbor, a widow, is visiting with us. The phone rings and it is my pal, Mike, but I could not place his voice immediately. I said, “Who is it?” Mike replied, “Who the F—do you think it is? Our neighbor lady, a bit raunchy in her own way, choked out a laugh. With my quick wit, I said, “Mike, tone it down, our neighborhood priest is here and he is listening.” Out of that glorious twelve, there are only four of us left. | ||
Ravine Member Username: Ravine Post Number: 1649 Registered: 01-2006 |
Tponetom, it is literally true that I cannot thank you enough. There is no one in this forum quite like you. I don't drink, anymore, and perhaps you don't, either, but I can hardly imagine anything that could possibly be more fun than to sit around with you, for a few hours, getting hammered and listening to your stories. | ||
Ray1936 Member Username: Ray1936 Post Number: 2334 Registered: 01-2005 |
Couldn't agree more. And...more! More! Sadly, my old gang has been scattered all over the country for decades. I have no idea how many of them are still breathing. Strangely, in this day of email and being able to trace nearly everyone, I keep striking out on the attempts. Well, I did find one on the Social Security Death Index. | ||
Tponetom Member Username: Tponetom Post Number: 170 Registered: 06-2007 |
Ray; Your post triggers a memory. When I was a young, cocky, smart-assed kid, I thought it was real 'hip'to go around saying, "I don't mind dying but I want to die last." I heard that remark in a movie. My post # 166 (above) took place in 1990 and since then I have buried 22 family members, personal friends and classmates. All I want to do now is to survive my wife so I can be there to take care of her. I now go around saying, "Be careful what you wish for. You might get it." | ||
Ray1936 Member Username: Ray1936 Post Number: 2335 Registered: 01-2005 |
Interesting, Tp. Fortunately, our close friends from more mature years are still all around and in reasonably good health. I hope there are more years in the future for us to all enjoy each other. | ||
Mikeg Member Username: Mikeg Post Number: 1292 Registered: 12-2005 |
Ray, have you tried searching for your "old gang" members using ZabaSearch.com? | ||
Tponetom Member Username: Tponetom Post Number: 171 Registered: 06-2007 |
Mikeg; Zaba has been an incredibly successful tool for me in resurrecting old relationships that go back to grade school. | ||
Mikeg Member Username: Mikeg Post Number: 1294 Registered: 12-2005 |
Tponetom, I happened to find that website just as I was beginning to search for about 60 "lost" classmates so our committee could update our 35th high school reunion mailing list. Having the birth month and year is a big help, especially when looking for someone with a common surname. Using both ZabaSearch and Google, I eventually found all but six of those "lost" classmates. | ||
Tponetom Member Username: Tponetom Post Number: 172 Registered: 06-2007 |
Mikeg: Yes, Birth year and month is a great aid. I still have my class graduation picture with the name of each student correctly spelled which is very important as well. Ravine: Just a 'heads up:'I am going to post a story you might enjoy. I will title it: "Paging Ravine" |
