WINTER - SILVER BAY - 1962

CHEERS TO ALL,

SOME PHOTOS TODAY.  THESE WERE SHOT AT MY HOUSE ON BANKS BOULEVARD IN SILVER BAY.


MY NEIGHBOR IS HELPING WITH A SNOW PERSON.  BELOW THAT A VIEW ACROSS BANKS TOWARDS OUTER DRIVE - I THINK THE CAR MUST BE OUR 1952 FORD.  THAT NEXT SPRING WE BOUGHT MY FAMILY'S FIRST NEW CAR - A 1962 CHEVY BEL AIR.   THE THIRD SHOT SHOWS OUR BACK YARD - A VERY STEEP BANK INDEED - I WONDER HOW MY DAD EVER MANAGED TO MOW! 

Children's Theatre in the Campton Gym

Oh, how I wish I had a photo or program from the first play I ever saw.  It was in the Campton Gym where, even before the dance recital on its stage (written about in a previous blog), I experienced a production of PINOCCHIO.  For me, a life-changing event.

During that school year, 1956-57, most students beyond 6^th grade attended classes in houses on Bell Circle.  Seniors (and perhaps juniors also?) rode the bus to the high school in Two Harbors. Kelley High was not yet finished.  And yet, in the midst of what must have been a challenging teaching experience, someone began a drama club and produced a children’s play. I don’t know how or where PINOCCHIO was advertised.  I don’t remember hearing anything about it in class.  Just that one afternoon Daddy drove me to Campton School to “see a play about Pinocchio.”

We sat down on steel folding chairs set in rows on the polished, wood floor facing the stage—on the end of the gym nearest the kindergarten classroom.  I think music played on a phonograph to one side of the gym.  After a few minutes, the lights in the audience faded.  The gold pleated drapes were still shining as they parted in the center and moved slowly to each side.  Geppetto’s workshop stood there before me.

Perhaps there weren’t any boys interested in the Drama Club. A girl named Francine Williams played Pinocchio’s creator and father, Geppetto. The following Sunday I was thrilled to recognize the actress when I was leaving my church after Sunday school.  She was walking toward the church for the morning service.  She was with her mother, later my high school Home Ec teacher.  I stared at Francine as we passed each other on the cement walkway.  I wish I dared say something about her wonderful performance.

Last month I was in London for vacation, with a two-day side-trip to Stratford-upon-Avon.  Walking down Stratford’s Chapel Street I passed a group of uniformed boys— probably students of the old, prestigious King Edward VI grammar school which is right in the middle of town.  Seeing these boys I couldn’t help but think how different it would be to attend school in a village with all that history about you.  A quick check on the internet tells me that the original charter of Stratford-upon-Avon dates from 1196.  What a different perspective it must be to grow up in a village with all those Shakespearean reminders around than in a brand new town like Silver Bay.

In Stratford we saw two plays. One was a new children’s play titled ROBIN HOOD'S HEART with Marion as a funny, swashbuckling heroine.  Parents and grandparents in the audience probably all worried that the production might occasionally be too gruesome for young people.  I know I did.  But the children in the audience laughed at the slapstick, cheered the hero and heroine, and booed enthusiastically at dastardly King John and the evil Nottingham sheriff. Some girls that looked about twelve wept at the end when Robin and Marion, on trapeze, gazed at each other with rapt fairy tale true love.  And I remember how I also cried in the gym of Campton School in Silver Bay as Pinocchio and Geppetto were reunited, and Pinocchio became a real boy.  A life-changing event.  My journey to Shakespeare’s home town began that day, when Daddy took me to see that play about Pinocchio.

Narta Ramberg and her Pen Pals

In the past few weeks blog visitors from Europe and Asia prompted me to open a shoebox of memorabilia that includes letters from my childhood's foreign pen pals.

In March of 1961 President Kennedy, by executive order,  established the Peace Corps.  The Corps was authorized by Congress on September 22, 1961.  

I read about the Peace Corps at school in the Weekly Reader.  In the midst of the Cold War the idea of promoting world peace and friendship - Kennedy's words about the purpose of the Peace Corps - seemed a good idea.  But I had just turned 10 - too young to join. However, somehow I read about "Children's Plea for Peace" an organization based at the World Affairs Center at the University of Minnesota.  At least part of the Center's mission was uniting children around the world through letter-writing. Soon I had two foreign pals, a girl from London, England, and a boy from from Accra, Ghana. 

Above is the postcard I received after my pen pal request.  The date on card is 31August 1962.
Alas, I think I only exchanged letter for a year or two.  Probably stopped writing once I began junior high school.


Still, on the odd chance that someone reading my blog knows or has known these two youngsters of the 1960s, I include my nickname at the time - Narta  - as well as the names of my childhood pen friends:

  Celia Richards  of London, England 
  Richard Amable of Accra, Ghana

More about pen pals in future.

Our Dog Pebbles

What's a neighborhood without a dog?  In our case - same with many neighbors - our houses are built on hills - and there are no yards, just slopes covered with ivy or more drought resistant plants.

So - a lot of dog walking in our streets.  Imagine the miles per year when you walk a dog three times a day.  

Pebbles is our second dog.  She was probably 4 when we adopted her from Pets for Friends in Sun Valley.

Pebbles has shared our lives for nearly 10 years.  And it's taking me a long time to put together the story of her past life which, I slowly realized, included years with a circus clown named Beppo.

 

One Reason I Love the Beatles

In early January, 1964, someone tapped on Mr. Zinter's math classroom door to deliver a message from the school office.  My mother had called the school to ask if I could be excused early.  My eighty-three-years-old grandfather was in the hospital.  

Mom and I packed the car and we picked up Daddy at the gate of Reserve Mining when he got off work at three that afternoon.  We drove down to Minneapolis, stopping only for gas. During most of the trip I was squeezed in the front seat of our 1962 Chevy Bel Air between my parents, but I couldn’t seem to get warm.

Between my grandparents’ house and Deaconess Hospital Mom pulled into the parking lot of a Minneapolis Red Owl Supermarket.  There was a payphone on the pavement just outside the store.  I stayed in the car while Mom and Daddy tried to contact one of Mom’s sisters, my grandma or the hospital.
It was a cold winter night. The key was left in the ignition so the heater would stay on.
I turned on the radio and fiddled with the knob for a clear signal.  The station I found was playing a song that I had never heard before.  I stared at the radio.  What was this music? The deejay answered my question as the soon as the final chord ended.  He said it was I Want to Hold Your Hand.  He said it was by a British band, the Beatles.

Grandpa died in his room at Deaconess Hospital the afternoon after we arrived.  His funeral was several days later.

I never saw my Grandma, a stoic Dane, cry at the hospital, at her home, or at the mortuary.  At Deaconess Hospital A nurse whispered to my Aunt Florence that Grandma’s poise and self-control made her “just like Jackie Kennedy.” President Kennedy's assassination had occurred less than two months earlier.  

At Grandma’s house, when I was by myself, I would switch on my celery-green Sears Silvertone transistor radio, aching until I heard the Beatles sing that song again.

"Let's Twist Again" - Silver Bay's Malt Shop, 1961-63

Until the Malt Shop moved in, the brick, split-level Norshor building was home to professionals. As I recall it, the credit union took up the greater part of its square footage.  The town’s lawyer and optometrist had offices in the Norshor.  Also my dentist. Occasionally, the building boasted a beauty parlor.

No need for these small business persons to worry that non-client young people were going to clog their hallways.  Instead of going in the main entrance that faced Outer Drive, a sign directed all Malt Shoppers to a side door. From that entry we walked down a half-flight of stairs to the partly underground, lower floor of the building.

A wall divided the Malt Shop into two halves.  Both rooms were floored, as was the rest of the building, in twelve-inch vinyl in swirled toffee and white. First you entered the room that had the soda fountain and a long counter with stools that were against the wall that bisected the space. There were also tables and chairs in the room, but Denise and I usually sat at the counter as we’d done at the Carmel House (in previous blog)

Denise and I, fifth-graders, gave up our Carmel House sundaes when the malt shop opened. On our first visit Denise recommended a strawberry phosphate — flavored syrup with charged water, and that became my usual.  If we heard one of our songs coming through the doorway of the other adjoining room, we downed our fizzy concoctions like thirsty fishermen with a cooler of cold ones.     

A quarter in the juke box bought three songs.  If I still had a quarter after buying my phosphate, I would pick Dion’s “The Wanderer, “Travelin’ Man” by Ricky Nelson and something with twist or twistin’ in the title. 

The teens on the dance floor had more change in their pockets than those of us still in grade school. They kept the music going. Before long one of them would  select Chubby Checker’s “Limbo Rock.”   Two kids would pick up a broom that was always nearby and hold it horizontally, ever lower, above the floor.  Kelley High students didn’t even object when Campton kids joined the limbo line and took our turn bending underneath. “How low can you go…?”  In my case not too low, and was quickly eliminated.  I preferred to “…twist again like we did last summer.”

The Malt Shop in the Norshor Building closed about two years after it had opened.  A second malt shop on Outer Drive, newly-constructed, one-room affair was built next to the outdoor skating rink mostly as a hang-out for people to warm up and order a bowl of chili or a cup of cocoa.

I rarely visited this new place. With its windows overlooking the rink, it was bright on a sunny day.  On gloomy days, or at night, it was lit-up by overhead fluorescent. There wasn’t a whit of danger – not like the dim dance floor of the Norshor basement.

Something about the Silver Bay Carmel House

Denise Manzer and I were great friends during fifth grade, both in Mrs. Jauhola's class at Campton.

Denise Manzer

Mrs. Jauhola's Fifth Grade, Campton School

I mostly remember cleaning out the sink in the back of the room, near the lockers. Seems we had a lot of messy art projects in Mrs. J's class.  Most of her students would probably remember a long, long project involving papier mache and dinosaurs.

But, on to the Carmel House.... Sometimes on Saturdays, after watching SKY KING and ROY ROGERS, I'd go down to Denise Manzer's house on Charles Circle. (Across Banks and only a few houses away since I was on Banks near the corner of Charles.)  Denise and I would walk uptown and mosey into the Carmel House.  We'd sit at the counter. When the waitress came, one of us would say, “A hot fudge sundae, please."  The other girl would say, “I’ll have the same.  With a glass of water, please.” Then, first girl, "I'll have a glass of water, too."  Our ice cream would come in stemmed tulip-shaped, parfait glasses with  whipped cream (Reddi-whip?) and a maraschino cherry on top. Denise and I would plop down a whole quarter - each - to pay for the treats.  I'm guessing this ritual lasted for maybe five or six Saturdays.  And then… the Silver Bay Malt Shop opened!  And I'm talking 'bout the first one, in the Norshor Building... "I'll have a strawberry phosphate, please."

Blue Jeans on the Campton Stage

Oh, to find the perfect pair of jeans.  Just when I find a style that is at least almost perfect the company decides to make something new and improved.  

But to think that I never owned a pair of jeans until 5th grade - bought my first pair of jeans when I needed them for a talent show. Our quartet agreed that the right costumes would make all the difference. That's picture I wish I had.

After convincing Mom to give me enough money I walked to Toback’s Department Store at the Shopping Center, the only place in Silver Bay where they sold jeans, and bought a pair of stiff, deep blue Wranglers.

Standing up there on the Campton stage we crooned Oh Bury Me Not on the Lone Prairie and The Streets of Laredo in two-part harmony loudly and with feeling.  We didn’t know much about cowboys except what we’d learned from watching Rawhide and Wagon Train, and I certainly couldn't find Loredo on a map, but I loved those mournful tunes.  And, we looked good.  The legs of our jeans were rolled into wide cuffs.  On top we wore plain white blouses with collars.  Around our necks we had tied red bandannas.  We pushed the square knots and the tails of our scarves jauntily to one side.

About that time I was reading a novel called Sierra Summer, an adventure about a dude ranch vacation - starring Annette Funicello.

Up there singing on that stage I knew we belonged right there on that ranch - with Annette.  

My Journey from Frail Girl to Lady Golfer

Writing brings awareness - I'm not the first person to think, say or write this.  However... after dealing with my girlish fear of the trampoline in a previous post, I now realize that too often I still see myself as that weak little girl being teased by boys on the playground and in gym class.

Before the Dance

The photo above was taken a few years earlier than the trampoline horrors. I'm standing in a hallway at Campton Elementary prior to a dance recital in the gym - same gymnasium that would provide great cultural experiences but frightful phy ed classes.

Now this is how I prefer to think of myself - hitting one of my best tee shots ever.  Photo was taken by my nephew Erik at a course at Camarillo, CA, towards the coast, about 50 minutes away from our house in Hollywood. 

 

It's only when it comes to my athletic abilities, or lack thereof, that I wish that I had brothers and/or gone to school after 1972's Title IX.    Golf was the first sport I ever tried except for a few months of tennis one summer in high school.  To take up your first sport in your forties has been a challenge - physically, yes, but the mental image of becoming an athlete may be the greatest hurdle.

 

The Campton Gym and the Virginia Reel

So in my previous blog I admitted my horror at seeing the trampoline set up in the Campton Gymnasium.  And I admitted my ineptitude and looking like a fool.  However... the boys also faced days of fear and loathing in gym class.  For making fun of poor little men on the trampoline, they met their nemesis and it was called the Virginia Reel.

Oh, what sad male faces I witnessed those days when we walked into the gym to discover the record player plugged into an electrical socket and the boys learned we weren't going to be running around the perimeter of the gym with Chicken Fat on the turntable.  Oh, no.  We were about to tackle the basics of folk dancing.   On those days the boys, forced to touch and maybe even hold hands with girls, were miserable indeed.  Ah, for me, who loved dancing, revenge was sweet.

My Name is Miss Chicken: Gym Classes in the Campton Gym (continued)

I confess I hated gym class.  If I was sent to the library instead I would have been happier.  However.  Human beings are animals and need to move.  But all those games of dodge ball in the Campton Gym?  I was soooo miserable.  But not as miserable as the days I walked into the Campton Gymnasium and sniffed the smell of dank white canvas.  Sure enough.  There was the torture rack, more commonly known as a trampoline, sitting there.  After we unlaced our tennis shoes and threw them in a pile near the door, we moved to the contraption and surrounded it.  My hands felt like I’d been throwing snowballs without wearing mittens.  My feet were cold and numb as if I’d been night skating in January.

As we stood around the circumference of the trampoline, waiting our turn, I feared for my life... and for the life of others. Mr Gere had explained we were spotters.  I quivered to think I was responsible for keep my classmates from popping off onto the gym floor and breaking their necks. I was so weak.  So puny.  I'd never be able to stop anyone hurtling toward me after a bad bounce.

The line moved me ever closer to the end of the trampoline, the end where a three-step, movable stair unit led up to the bouncy platform of peril.  Soon I would be forced onto the trampoline to demonstrate my inability to accomplish even the simplest of skills, the seat drop.

I had barely enough bend in the knees to walk myself to the middle of the canvas.  As I timidly attempted to create some air between my feet and the surface of the trampoline one of the boys noticed my feet.  “Look at her toes.  They point up.”  Someone called them Turkish toes. The laughter rippled around me.  They weren’t lying, my toes did point upwards. If my cotton socks were golden instead of white they’d have fit right into the world of Aladdin or any other story about exotic lands in the East.  But I was no Aladdin.  A more appropriate name was Miss Chicken.

The Campton Gym and Phy Ed Class

This morning's paper prompted my returning to that micro universe of my young life - the Campton Gym.  In the past I've chatted about events in that gym: a dance recital, seeing the movie Hemo the Magnificent, a shot clinic.  Today today I'll actually talk about the gym as a place for physical education classes.

In today's Los Angeles Times, page 7, I read this headline: "American just keeps getting fatter, new study says."

This is not a new concern.  In the 1950s President Eisenhower established the President's Council on American Fitness. The next president, John Kennedy, also a veteran, was a big supporter of this council. For those of you in gym class in the early 60s, you may remember a song with the lyrics, "Go Chicken Go."  Sometimes Mr. Gere our teacher would plop the Chicken Fat Song onto the turntable in the Campton Gym.  This song was written as part of the presidential program to get kids moving. Kennedy believed it American children should compete with the Soviets in physical strength as well as science.  

Above is from the cover of a booklet providing guidance for fitness. I found the picture on a website for JFK's Presidential Library.


I hope to write more about gym class in the future - the good, the bad and the ugly.  But for now, I'll leave you with lyrics from Meredith Willson's song, "Push ups, every morning.  Ten times.  Not just, now and then...  Go you chicken fat, go..."

My Poor, Lonely Violin

Last blog was about music and I'll stay with that subject today.

In fourth grade I began violin lessons.  Ah, here my memory fails.  I can't remember my string teacher's name.  But I was in Mrs. Mattson's class.  Here's a photo I posted in a previous blog.

(That's me in the middle of the first row, between Terry Skog and Harold Varney. )

My first string recital was another Campton Gym experience.  The old Campton Gym -  I realize now that in my childlife the Campton Gymnasium was a universe unto itself. There on one end of the gym was the raised stage where I saw my first play, PINOCCHIO.    And there I danced with other little girls who were students of Mrs. Baum (a topic of previous blog entry). For this string recital of beginning players I believe we joined with string students of Mary MacDonald.   I still possess music from the recital - hand-written and then run off a ditto machine.  So faded that I can't scan, still readable although about 50 years old.  The music on this sheet music includes Aunt Julida's Polka and the Merry Widow Waltz. 

My first violin was a small one, a 3/4 size.  Before long I was ready for a full-sized violin.
And here it is, my second violin, newly stringed, but lonely indeed.

I played violin from 4th grade until the final week of senior year.  That was it.  I stopped. Now I long to play it again.  Playing again, even minimally, will require time, practice, dedication, probably lessons and also enormous patience.   In short, it will be a challenge, and one I'm sure to write about another day.

Music Matters

I suspect this is the first of many essays about music experiences in Silver Bay. 


First of all, I'll start with the music classes we had in elementary school because the other day I found myself singing Sweet Low, Sweet Chariot while doing dishes.  No idea why that popped into my head.  But I do know when and where it came from - classes with Miss Godich (or Goddich?) at Campton Elementary School.  How lucky that we had vocal music classes in elementary school - maybe 2 or 3 sessions a week. And music books.  Besides a handful of old spirituals like Chariot I recall learning folk songs about the Erie Canal and that sweet gal Betsy from Pike.


But one of the first songs I remember learning from Miss Godich was "You'll Never Walk Alone" from the musical CAROUSEL.  "When you walk through a storm hold your head up high..."  Do you think we realized we were singing about more than a winter blizzard?  Maybe we did.  Miss G. was an awfully good teacher. About that same time she taught us a three-part round with three simple words - in Latin.  Dona Nobis Pacem. 

Until next time... give us peace.

A Bit about Julie London

So when the alarm rang a few mornings ago at 6:30A - the alarm being an I-pod set to shuffle - we woke to Holly Cole singing "Don't Smoke in Bed" from her album of the same title.  Ms. Cole is a Canadian chanteuse - kind of jazzy a times, sings with a small combo, a song stylist.

Anyway, what does Holly Cole have to do with Julie London?  Both are singers let's start with that.  Some people may only know Julie London as Dixie McCall on the TV series EMERGENCY, 1972-76.  I didn't see many episodes of that show.  As far as TV,  I remember her television commercials for cigarettes. Thanks to my 8th grade English teacher, Mr. F., I gleaned that the lady had, let us say, sex appeal!

In 1964-65, eighth grade for me, cigarettes were still advertised on TV.  Memory failure here - I recall Miss London wearing a long, satin gown and standing by a piano.  Internet research tells me she was wearing a tight sweater and standing by beside a warm, inviting fireplace.  Anyway, she was a curvaceous beauty with an ample bust line.  In a low, breathy voice she pitched the glamour of Marlboro (quite a contrast to the Marlboro man).

Now to my eighth grade English teacher.  Mr. F. was an ex-marine (a veteran of Korean war maybe?), a football coach and a very big man.  On occasion he'd reveal his softer side.  He'd perch on the front edge of his teacher's desk and, propping his feet on the seat of a chair which he'd pulled there for that reason, share anecdotes.  He was relaxed and chatted as if talking to his buddies.  Sometimes the stories were about his days as a Marine. Occasionally these stories led to him murmuring... "Julie London..." as we students of English sat there rapt and engaged.  A vibration filtered through the classroom.  "Julie London...," he'd repeat and then draw imaginary smoke into his lungs from a cigarette I could almost believe was in his hand.  "Julie London... what a babe."

At some point we had a music cassette of one of her albums.  And on it was "Don't Smoke in Bed" which always evoked the memory of Mr. F.  Alas, the cassette melted in a glove compartment.  But I learned today that the song is available for download on her album Around Midnight and feel compelled to buy it.  The song was written by Willard Robison and has been recorded by many a songstress including KD Lang, Peggy Lee, Liza Minelli and Nina Simone.

Other trivia I gleaned from internet search: 
Miss London's work included 32 albums.
She died in 2000 in Encino, northern part of Los Angeles, and is buried in Forest Lawn next to her musician husband Bobby Troup (he wrote the fabulous and famous song Route 66).  Ms. London and Troup were both cast members on EMERGENCY!  The show was produced by Jack Webb (of Dragnet fame), Julie London's first husband.

Oh, and don't smoke in bed.  Don't smoke at all!

HEMO THE MAGNIFICENT

Awhile ago I wrote about my hometown not having a movie theatre and that sometimes we watched old movies at the Kelley High auditorium on weekends - sponsored by the Letterman's club, the Science Club, Future Teachers, etc. to raise money.

Today I'll write a few words about  Hemo the Magnificent.   After a too-large meal, or when I'm over-tired by too much exercise (a rare experience), or when I'm just trying to do to many things at one time - I flash on the picture of a frantic telephone switchboard operator in my brain.  The image comes from Hemo.  Each year - 4th, 5th and 6th grades (early 1960s) we sat on the polished floor of the Campton Gym to view this movie.  For those who haven't seen it, it's a funny and educational film about the working of the human body - particularly the heart.  It's a combination of live action and animation - I would say a film way ahead of its time. 

A few years ago I put the title into the Amazon search site.  I learned it was released on videotape in 1991.   Reading some of the reviews that had been posted on the site, I  learned that  Campton was not alone in showing this movie so often - that baby boomers across the country viewed Hemo the Magnificent at their schools multiple times - and loved it.  


 

A Bit about Moving and Memory

Memory.  A few folks have commented on my ability to remember so many things from past decades.   I credit much of it to circumstances that let me link time and place together so often  Why?  Because from birth to age 17, I called many places home.  Until I was nearly 5 I lived on our family's Harris farm.  Then we moved to Silver Bay where we first lived in the trailer park, in two different cabins.  Not sure why we moved but I think the second one was larger.  I do remember it was nearer the laundry center.

After the trailer court we moved to our first house on Charles Circle.  In 1959, because of the national steel strike, we moved back to Harris for the summer.  In the fall, back to S.B., I began third grade at Campton.  Then, we moved back to the farm again, this time presumably forever.  But, instead, we returned to Silver Bay after only a few months and I returned to Mrs. Lyson's third grade class at Campton.  {I will someday write an essay on the whys and whats and the family angst during this move back to the farm.  Also about my months going to school in North Branch as the "new girl" - I'm convinced I was on my way to becoming a juvenile delinquent.}

But in winter 1960, with Daddy back working at Reserve, we lived in a Beaver Bay trailer for perhaps a month. My memories of that Beaver Bay trailer include its location -  down a short unpaved road on the side towards the lake, and watching the winter Olympics in black and white on a TV affixed high in a corner of the kitchen area. After the trailer we moved to a three-bedroom slab on Banks Boulevard, across from Campton.  I lived on Banks the rest of third grade through seventh.  Then Mom said she'd rather have a basement house than a slab so we moved to Gibson Road.   I also suspect she wanted me to live nearer the high school - she always worried I'd get hit by a car on that busy road called Banks.

I think living in so many homes, unless you're with a nomadic tribe or in the military, is unusual.  I also think it helped me organize my own internal memory files. At least that's my theory.

About a Mongoose Named Mr. Magoo

It's been awhile since my last blog.  Been on a week's vacation in Maui where, on my last day, I saw dozens of mongoose (mongeese?) scampering amidst lava formations on a golf course. I couldn't help but think of Mr. Magoo.  No, not the nearly blind cartoon character voiced by Jim Backus, who also played Thurston Howell III on Gilligan's Island.  I refer instead to the Indian mongoose that arrived in Duluth, mid-60s, aboard a foreign ship.  As an illegal immigrant, the arrival of this weasel-like carnivore was a big story on KDAL and WDSM.  It was going to be killed but after legal wrangling the Duluth Zoo was allowed to keep the varmint after President Kennedy granted Mr. Magoo an official pardon.  According to my research Mr. M. lived at the zoo until its death in 1968. During a 6th grade field trip that included the zoo I remember seeing the mongoose.

Hawaii is extremely wary of people bringing animals onto the islands now.  Before arrival everyone must fill out a form listing any animals - including any protozoans - you've included in your luggage. After some more quick research via the web I learned that decades ago mongoose were intentionally imported into the islands by sugar cane growers.  They thought it would be a good idea to help protect their cane from the rat population.  Unfortunately these mongoose eat everything including eggs of birds and turtles.  The mongoose population has soared.  Native species of animals are becoming extinct on the islands because of the mongoose population.

That's it for today.  Maybe I'll write more about that same Duluth field trip another time, and I will pose this question:  Is it a good idea to bring six graders to a slaughter and meat packing house?

Another Vacation in Minnesota

In the last blog I wrote about Brainerd and its park devoted to lumberjack Paul Bunyan. I wish I had a photo of my mom during our visit to Brainerd.  She probably wore a dress.  I think the picture below was taken on a vacation only a few years earlier.

We were at a gift shop - a Trading Post - somewhere near Aitken or Deerwood.  I would guess my youngest sister snapped the photo which would date it in the spring or summer of 1959, before or just after Karen graduated and moved to Minneapolis.

I think this was the place where Mom suddenly caught sight of a ceramic ashtray souvenir - it was shaped like a coiled rattlesnake.  Like Indiana Jones, Mom has phobia when it comes to snakes (ophidiophobia).   Seeing this "snake" Mom let out a scream.  Karen and I were in another aisle of the gift shop at the time. Leaving Mom in the care of my dad, we aimed straight for the door and went outside, pretending not to know that crazy lady.


Now back to the dress.  It wasn't just June Cleaver.  Moms wore dresses back then.  A photo in an earlier blog shows my mom on our Harris Farm, in a dress while wrangling some goats.

Paul Bunyan, a Ghost of Minnesota Travels Past

Weather's in the 80s this week.  The tomatoes are planted in our little patch.  So I decided to take a memory trip to  summers past.

I do believe the old Paul Bunyan Amusement park has come and gone.  Relocated elsewhere in or near Brainerd, I believe.  Can it be as wonderful as the park I remember?  I don't know how he did it, but Paul B. actually knew me by name!! And me with such an unusual name, too.  But then, he was the hero of tall tales.

Here I am on a statue of Mr. Bunyan's dog.  The dog obviously got in the way of some tree felling and was unluckily sewn together by someone who needed to pay more attention in Home Ec class.

I would guess the photo was taken in the summer of 1960 or 61.

Besides Paul's hearty welcome, my strongest memory regards a talented chicken.  It shared its cage with a tiny piano. If you put a nickel in a slot, corn was released through a shoot into the pen.  The chicken, now paid, would play for you.  Nothing fancy, of course.  The hen's repertoire, no doubt, was small.

By the way, can anyone tell me the name of Paul's doggie???

A Bit of History - 1966

Looking through my scrapbook and box of memorabilia for a blog topic I came across a photo torn from an issue of the Silver Bay News.  What I found interesting, though, was not the picture. (It was a photo of my United Protestant youth group).  Because of all the attention on Medicare this year, what caught  my attention was the news article on the reverse side of the paper.

I folded the paper to include a scan of date but it's hard to read.  It's March 16, 1966.  Basically it's an article to inform people over 65 that they can sign up for the new Medicare program in Two Harbors, at the Iron Dock Hall.  The official beginning of Medicare: July 1, 1966.

The Class of 1969 was in 9th grade.  My classmates will remember that few people in Silver Bay at that time who were over 65.  My dad was older than many fathers in our class, 40 when I was born, and only 54 in 1966.

After a few minutes of historical research I can offer you a few other 1966 tidbits:

Oscar for Best Picture:  SOUND OF MUSIC

Grammy for Best Record:  A TASTE OF HONEY/Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass

First Episode of STAR TREK: September 8
(This same year CBS decided to pull a broadcast of Hitchcock's film PSYCHO because of excessive violence)

Boston defeated the LA Lakers. (I rarely watch basketball but I do live in L.A. and it's NBA playoff time. The Lakers won last night.  I saw some of the second half of the fourth quarter.)

All for today.  Next time: articles from another newspaper, the SILVER SCROLL.

An Orphaned Owl in our Hollywood Hills Neighborhood

Last week we saw a baby owl - actually a truck driver from city sanitation pointed it out to us. He was delivering new garbage bins for a new neighbor who was moving in soon.  The worker was trying not to disturb the baby bird which looked like a ball of fluffy yarn with eyes.  After two days of seeing and then not seeing the little owl, hoping that the mother owl had found it, we saw it again, tight against the foundation of the neighbor's house and between garbage bins.  This is coyote country - last summer another neighbor's dog, a Chihuahua named Pedro, was attacked and nearly killed by a coyote in the same property's carport. So, Bill went home to get gloves and carried the owlet to our carport.  We put the bird inside a plastic container that held a cherry tomato plant on our deck last year - on the bottom some leaves and toweling for nest and for protection covered the bin with a dome of wire mesh that we used last year over the same planter to keep squirrels from eating fruit from the tomato bush.

Either a Screech Owl or a Great Horned Owl because of its yellow eyes, but I'm guessing Horned Owl after looking at photos of baby owls on the web.

I don't know the end of the story yet.  After a day and a half with us the bird is now in the hands of Valley Wildlife Care. I  hope to hear from the organization's director this week about the owlet's health.  If so I will write more about this adventure.

Something about the Silver Bay Laundromat

I realized yesterday that I had this photo saved in my cell phone memory.

Yes, it's an old vending machine.  I saw it at Famous Dave's in St. Paul, not far from the airport.  Bill and I were stopping by last summer for food to take to my mom's.   I am almost sure it's the same candy machine that was in the S.B. laundromat.  In seventh grade, when I lived on Banks Blvd., I was two doors away from Sue Elam. The two of us would walk together most days, up to Kelley and back. After school we often strolled into Malmo's Drug to buy penny candy (2 pieces of licorice for 1 cent).  For a nickel that spring of 1964 we could buy bubble gum that had a Beatles card inside the wrapper (still have those cards).

But, occasionally, Susie and Narta would go to the laundromat instead of Malmo's.  The candy vending machine there sometimes had Forever Yours as one of the selections - a candy bar only available at Malmo's or grocery stores in the 6-bar variety pack (with Snickers and Milky Way?).  But more exciting were those afternoon visits to the laundromat when, in one of the little windows of that vending machine, we saw a piece of paper with a hand-written note that said:  "TAKE A CHANCE."  Some days, willing to live with risk, one of us would drop a whole dime into the machine and take that chance.  And, with luck, we'd get a stack of Rollos!

Update:  Sue has reminded me of our other favorite "take a chance" candy bar, ZERO.  Read her comment below.

Fall 1968 - Kelley High School's Cross Country Champs

In previous blog I wrote that I have in my possession a scrapbook of senior year, 1968-1969.  Here's a scan from a Duluth newspaper article I saved dated Sunday, Sept. 22, 1968.

From left toe right:  Ron Rude, Mike Hanson, Randy Rolando, Larry Sornberger, Jim Koehler, Bob Fedderly and Steve Whittaker.

More about Movies at Kelley

I wish I could include a visual aid here.  In my senior scrapbook (yes, I kept and still have a senior scrapbook) I possess a piece of paper that advertises the showing of "Forbidden Planet" on Saturday, April 19, 8PM in the Kelley auditorium.  The ad was printed by hand except for a paragraph at the bottom which was photocopied from the film catalog.  The single sheet was then copied on a ditto machine. Ah, the fresh ditto paper.  I can almost smell it.  Anyway, the print is so light purple now I can't do a readable scan.  The film's stars are Walter Pidgeon, Anne Francis and Leslie Nielsen.

The question is why would I keep such an item?  On the top I have handwritten a message to myself:  "Have this... WHY?"  No idea when I might have penciled this note. I would guess at least 3 decades ago. Haven't looked at this scrapbook in at least that long.

I have a dim memory of seeing "Forbidden Planet" at Kelley. Here are some other films I remember seeing there:

THE TIME MACHINE (Rod Taylor and Yvette Mimeux. Must have been popular.  Seems like I saw it at least 3 times at Kelley.)

WHERE THE BOYS ARE (A favorite. Also with Ms. Mimeux, I think. It's still not available on Netflix and I don't think copies are available.  I wonder why. Summer break in Florida.  Some funny stuff and also very serious.  Paulette Prentiss is in it.  I loved her.  The lead actress later gave up Hollywood and became a nun.)

BUTTERFIELD 8 (with Elizabeth Taylor. Mentioned that in previous post)

FLUFFY (Comedy with Tony Randall before the Odd Couple.  He has a pet lion that scares everybody.)


OPERATION PETTICOAT (I still like this Cary Grant movie.  All those bras being stuffed into torpedoes, remember?)

To my fellow S.B. graduates:  if you remember seeing any other movies, please leave a comment!  I do realize we weren't always there to watch the movies. When you're a teenager there's nothing like a dark theater... even if it is the school auditorium.

Silver Bay and Movies

I think it's funny that I ended up living close to the Hollywood sign in the movie capital of the world when we didn't have a movie theatre in Silver Bay. Someone told me once that Silver Bay planners considering building a cinema but eventually decided it might corrupt the youth of the town.  I wonder if that's true.

We saw a couple of films in the auditorium during school hours and many on weekends so that students organizations could earn money.

I remember seeing A TALE OF TWO CITIES during junior or senior year and being totally confused. Eventually I realized that the film canisters had been projected out of order - seems to me we saw Reel 1, then 3, then 2, then 4.  Now that's an unintentional flashback narrative style for sure.  Bill remembers it, too.  We've laughed about it many times, thinking it strange that no English teachers realized that the story was out of sequence.  Maybe they were all in the faculty room smoking??!

Remembering Elizabeth Taylor... one weekend we saw BUTTERFIELD 8 on Kelley's movie night.  I wonder who didn't realize what that was about.  Speaking of confused... this naive teen was not at all sure how Taylor's character earned that fur coat... 

First Day and Last Day of School - Silver Bay - 1956 and 1969

September 1956:

Place:  Our cabin in Silver Bay Trailer Court.
Event:  Ready for my first day of kindergarten, Campton.  Mom made my dress.  The white "thing" she called a pinafore.  It had pockets. The dog is Boots.  I've written about him in other blogs.

And this is Bill - first day of school. Edison Blvd. Silver Bay.   My future mother-in-law, Ruby, kept a very organized album with many of his childhood pics.  The date on the photo is Nov. '56, but she wrote in the album that the first day of kindergarten was September 4.  His teacher was Mrs. Backlund.

June 1969:
Must have taken a camera to school the last day at Kelley High.  Bill took this photo.  "Narta at her empty locker."  Sigh.  I cried many tears at graduation. I recall only a few days when I did not want to go to school. 

And I wonder who took this photo with both of us in the Kelley cafeteria.

Cafeteria food: Remember tomato soup?  Grilled cheese sandwiches? Bean burgers?  And mashed potatoes with huge dollops of butter and a rectangle of "meat something" that pretended to be Spam?

I decided to abandon my Campton experiences for a bit and write about Kelley - in honor of my friends who went to Mary Mac and/or Kelley for first grade through sixth.

Fifth Grade Memories - Campton School

I wanted to find my fifth grade picture of Denise Manzer.  She was in Mrs. Jauhola's class with me and a close neighbor - she on the upper end of Charles, me on Banks across from her end of Charles.  I will write about Deenie once I find that photo.  Meanwhile, here's a pictures of Mrs. J:

I thought Mrs. Jauhola was a real stylish lady.  I believe the ensemble in the pic was robin's egg blue - a matching skirt and sweater.

Mrs. J. absolutely loved art.  We spent hours and hours for weeks and months constructing paper mache dinosaurs or, in my case, an extinct mammal, the woolly rhinoceros.  The project never seemed to end.  On the last day of school before the Christmas break Denise and I carried home quart jars of gooey paste used for the project.  We buried the jars of goo under the snow in our backyards. If left in the classroom it would have rotted during vacation.  Once vacation was over Denise and I carried the jars back to the classroom and the art project continued.

Fifth Grade: A World Outside Silver Bay Intrudes

The Japanese earthquake, the tsunami and the nuclear reactor crisis all bring up memories of fifth grade, the year I learned the term radiation. Mrs. Jauhola's class.  Campton Elementary.  Silver Bay, Minnesota. School year 1961-62, during the Cold War.

Here we are:   Mrs. Jauhola and her Fifth Graders, living in the safety and comfort of Silver Bay and reading about bomb shelters in the Weekly Reader.  One day Mrs. Jauhola warned us about snow.  We should not lift our heads to let the soft white flakes fall onto our tongues.  The snow might contain radioactive particles.  We could die.   The world, suddenly, was a more dangerous place.

Two Young Neighbors on Charles Circle

This photo is taken in the backyard of 37 Charles Circle in Silver Bay.  That's where my family moved after leaving the Silver Bay Trailer Court (photos of trailer court are included in a previous blog post).

I'm almost positive that the taller, shirtless young man is our neighbor James Tweeto - now with a TV show on the Discovery Channel - FLYING WILD ALASKA. The Kelley Class of 1969 includes his eldest sibling, Bruce.  The young man with the striped shirt may be a younger brother.
.

At the point where the lawn seems to end there's actually a long slope that goes down to the woods and the "crick."  After reading Laura Ingalls Wilder's On the Banks of Plum Creek, I thought, "Hey, maybe what my family and neighbors call a 'crick' is also known as 'creek.' "  This same ribbon of water ran behind Campton School. 

The expression on my face in the pic is not a smile. I had run and jumped - too exuberantly - into the pool and sprained my ankle.  The onset of pain and the click of the camera were simultaneous. No doubt I was showing off for the family member who held the camera.  

Silver Bay and the Dog Named Boots - Conclusion

So, brought up on episodes of LASSIE  - during which I had to hide behind a chair during the climax of the show, not knowing if Lassie and/or Timmy would survive or die - and episodes of RIN TIN TIN, a super dog that could leap and fly across canyons and rivers to "get her man," when the judge of the dog competition in Silver Bay asked if Boots knew any tricks I shook my head and mumbled "no."

Daddy, behind me, whispered, "He knows how to shake hands."  Oh, Daddy, I thought, all dogs can do that.  But the judge smiled at me and said, "Oh, let me see."   I told Boots to sit as I bent down and put out my hand.  Boots lifted a paw and I shook it. The judge nodded, made a note of this event in her judging book, smiled at me again and moved on to the next dog.

The judge's smile stayed in my mind.  Boots was handsome, well-behaved and wearing a bright red bow.  Why shouldn't he win a prize? 

Time for the announcement of winners.  When it came to the canine category I held my breath. When Boots did not win third place or second place, my heart beat so quickly... Then first place was announced. Boots did not win that, either. I was stunned.  All our hard work for nothing.  Well, what could I expect from a dog that couldn't even jump out of a shallow cardboard box?  But wait....   

Another prize was going to be awarded - the dog that knew the most tricks.  And there you have it.  Boots won and Daddy and I brought home a croquet set, courtesy of S & Q Hardware. So don't underestimate your dog's abilities. And remember, when in competition, it doesn't hurt if one of the judges was your Sunday School teacher.

Silver Bay and a Dog Named Boots, Part 3

So back to the competition.  Mrs. R., the judge, finally got to me as stood there on the pavement in front of the Rexall store. Daddy was slightly behind me. The Pomeranian named Boots was next to me on a leash.  The dog was on his best behavior and very patient as the judge petted him and looked him over.

At the big New York dog show I've seen on television a judge always watches the dogs trot around a circuit.  But in Silver Bay, there was none of this.  All the people stood in line with their pets and the judge came by, looked at the animals and asked some questions.  When Mrs. R. (Romer? Reemer?) came to me she asked me the dog's name and maybe how old he was.  I probably explained that actually he was my sister Karen's dog.

But there was one question I know she asked:  Does Boots know any tricks?  I shook my head.  Mom, Daddy, Karen and I all agreed the Boots was kinda dopey - he couldn't even jump out of his very low cardboard box.  Tricks?  No, he didn't know any tricks, I said.  Then, Daddy whispered from behind me.  "He can shake hands."

Shake hands?  Didn't all dogs know how to do that?  I'd seen Lassie and Rin Tin Tin on TV.  Now
those dogs knew how to do tricks.... (to be concluded soon).

Silver Bay and a Dog Named Boots, Part 2

Certainly someone else in the Kelley Class of 1969 remembers this grand event held in the Silver Bay Shopping Center, 1958 or 1959.  (If it was in 1959, perhaps businessmen or the City council or a group of Silver Bay citizens were trying to take our minds off the Steelworker's strike that seemed to go on forever and sent my family back to the farm.  I will certainly write about that later.)

As far as this animal contest - Daddy convinced me to take Boots.  And we spent the morning of the competition making the Pomeranian look as beautiful as possible.  We bathed him and brushed him and he actually seemed to like all the attention. Mom did a lot of sewing, in fact she was apprenticed to a dressmaker in Minneapolis in her teen, so she had all kinds of ribbons in a sewing basket. We we chose red and tied a big bow around his neck so you could barely see his collar.Boots was as handsome as I'd ever seen him.

We lived on Charles at the corner of Banks so the Shopping Center was just up the hill, past the woods and the green steel municipal building.  I think we may have walked up to the event for I recall walking through the parking lot that was nearly full.  There were a lot people with their pets. There were probably cats. Maybe rabbits, too?  Hamsters? Tropical fish?  Turtles? But I only remember dogs. There were so many of them.  And this sense of hopelessness came over me.  Boots would never win a prize. Not with this many dogs competing for a prize. 

The judging took place on the cement walkway in front of the line of shops.  I stood with Boots on this sidewalk, near the entrance of the Rexall store.  There were many dogs on either side of me.  Most were with adults owners.  Daddy stood behind me.  The judge was a lady I knew.  She was one of my Sunday school or Bible school teachers.  Her name started with an R.  Maybe Mrs. Reimer?  Roemer?  She went down the line of dogs, slowly, looking at each carefully and asking questions... (to be continued)

Silver Bay and a Dog Named Boots, Part 1

This is my sister Karen's dog, a Pomeranian named Boots.  He's the second dog in my life, the first dog was a working Shepherd mix that herded cows and lived in our barn in Harris, Minnesota.

I don't think people bought beds for dogs then.  We couldn't just go to a Walmart or Target and buy one, spending time deciding the size, color, softness, etc. Boots napped and slept in a cardboard box.  When he was bad, someone would say, "go to your box" and he obeyed.  He weighed no more than fifteen pounds.  The box was maybe 14"X 24".  The important detail was the depth, the cardboard sides were no more than 7 inches high.  He would jump into the box on command or on his own.  But when he wanted to get out?  Someone would have to lift him out. 

He's not much to look at in this photo - it's cropped from another photo and the only one I could find of Boots. But in the spring or summer of 1958 or 1958, the Silver Bay Shopping Center hosted a "Best in Show" animal competition. Entering Boots in this contest was Daddy's idea... (to be continued)

In Hollywood Thinking about Silver Bay, Writing, and Life

Just feel like writing something on the blog even though I don't have any Silver Bay stuff on my mind.  Went to BevMo today to look for soda chargers - we like fizzy water but not the idea of transporting all that glass and plastic around the globe.  Anyway, we bought a soda siphon awhile ago and we're almost out of soda chargers.  While waiting in the check-out line I was reading the walls  - the store is decorated with quotes about eating and drinking and its joys.  Have to look at Ecclesiastes as they had a quote there about enjoying life - that sounds upbeat compared to much of the Bible quoting I hear these days.  But I digress.

It was a Kierkegaard quote that jumped out at me from that wall.  The computer couldn't read the scan on the box of my soda chargers so I had time to read that quote a few times and think about it - "We must live forward."  Wow, I thought.  And here I am spending hours thinking and writing about my childhood.  Somewhere I have to reconcile that - I do not want to live in the past as that's... well, it's past, isn't it?  But, then, should I trust the graphics on a BevMo wall?  And is that really what Kierkegaard said?  Maybe the translation is a bit dicey.

I remember another quote which I cannot credit as I don't remember where I heard it or read it or who said it.  "The past isn't over.  The past isn't even past."  Interesting. After all, our backgrounds are who we are - using background as a HUGE thing that includes who we know, have known, where we live, have lived, what we've seen, read, done, etc. etc. etc.  So maybe memoir is about the past and also about the future.

And then, what about "living in the now?"  Eckhart Tolle's  The Power of Now is a best-seller. I'm guessing he's sold more books than the Dane I mentioned above.  I've read most of Tolle's book and it's easy going compared to Fear and Trembling.  

Good grief.  And to think I was planning to write about a stray dog that was wandering in my neighborhood on Wednesday.  But here's the photo I took with my phone camera so I could post notices on the telephone poles.
(Updated 8/15 - Below WAS a photo.  No idea what happened to it or why)

She had a collar but no name tag. But her name, Luna - I wouldn't know this except the story has a happy ending.  My neighbor's vet discovered she had a chip and the owner was contacted.  Yes, he'd lost his dog. Until then, I was wondering and worrying - should we, could we keep her?  Did I know anyone that might want her?  For a day and a half I could barely think of anything else. I was, I think, living forward.

An Autograph Book...

The pic of an autographed baseball is in my last posting.. I must say I long to still possess the pink vinyl autograph book that one of my three sisters gave me.  Inside was a slip of paper with the autograph of Frank Camacho.

So many of us had parents and grandparents that were European, mostly Scandinavian, that when I saw a photo of Frank Comacho - I think he was the high school's first exchange student - when I saw his picture in the Silver Bay News I thought, "what a dreamy guy."  I believe he was from Guam.  I know he was a basketball player because that's the reason I have his autograph - or, I should say HAD his autograph.

It was a tournament game, probably on a Saturday afternoon. And for those of us who went to Campton Elementary, attending an event at Kelley High was more of a big deal than for those who went to Mary Mac and Kelley during grade school.

In any case I went to this game - and most likely with my friend Susie.  And Frank must have played a heck of a game  (also don't forget his dreamy looks and those short-legged uniforms the guys used to wear.)   We asked him for his autograph.  To me he was a celebrity - even more than Duluth's Dottie Becker! My little heart pounded as we walked up to him. He signed his name on a slip of paper, he smiled.  Ahhh...

It was after that game that I yearned for an autograph book.  No doubt I assumed that in the future I might need one.The only autographs actually on the pages were written by my girlfriends after I brought the book to a couple of slumber parties.  Some wrote little verses.  I just flashed on one that Carla Schultz wrote:

"On your wedding day,
It's going to snow.
And don't tell me
I didn't tell you so."   

And she was right.  There was an enormous snowstorm on the weekend of our wedding.

If  I could find that autograph book again... I'm sure the folded slip of paper would still be in there. But, alas, the book's gone missing. The memento is only tucked within my childhood memories.

A Toy Bought in Silver Bay... and Made in the U.S.A.

One of my first days in Silver Bay I took my first trip to the Silver Bay shopping center!  Daddy needed something at the hardware store and I went with him.  This was late August or early September, 1956.  At that time the shopping center included S & Q Hardware - on the end farthest from the I.G.A. Foodliner. Later Rexall Drug store knocked out a wall and expanded into this S & Q space.  But on that day there was no post office yet and no famous Rocky Taconite statue.  While we were in the store Daddy said I could pick out a toy.  Either he told me or I knew that it couldn't anything too big or expensive.  In any case I chose the policeman on motorcycle below:

The policeman and his motorcycle is made of hard rubber so it's got some weight to it. It's durable or it would have broken many decades ago. The wheels actually roll on steel axles. But what's interesting to me and puts the toy in a particular time:  it's stamped Made in USA, Auburn Rubber Company.   In a previous blog I wrote that our Silver Bay Class of 1969 witnessed the change in America from farm to industry to service economy and I use this as a personal example.

I keep the motorcycle on one of our bookshelves. Just for the photo I moved a baseball from a different shelf so you get the idea of scale. (The ball is on our shelf because it was autographed for Bill by former Dodger Steve Garvey one day when Garvey visited the "Young and Restless" stage at CBS.) The toy is front of a class photo, Mrs. Jauhola's fifth grade at Campton.


Perhaps it's strange that a four-year-old girl would pick out this toy and not something cute or cuddly but I loved playing with cars and trucks. I think it's because, until I landed in Silver Bay, the only children I'd played with were boys - cousin Jeff from Minneapolis and a boy named Dean who lived on a nearby Harris farm.  The first Christmas in Silver Bay I asked Santa for a gas station.

The Campton Gym - Shot Clinic and Dance Recital

Good, Bad and Ugly - the Campton Gym was a universe in itself.  One memory - lining up in kindergarten to enter the gym at Campton.  Then, smelling something strange - alcohol fumes.  It was a shot clinic - maybe booster shots for whooping cough and diphtheria or possibly polio shots - before it was oral vaccine.  In any case I had forgotten about that slip of paper pinned to the front of my dress, a permission slip signed by my mother that I could receive the vaccine.  I had no idea why we were going to the gym that day.  But I felt bamboozled.  I hated shots.

One of my better memories of Campton is a dance recital, first or second grade.

Cheryl Thompson is at the left of the photo, I'm next to her.  We must be figuring out what we're supposed to do next.  The girl next to me appears confident, that she knows exactly what she's doing.

Our dance teacher was Mrs. Baum.  She lived on Horn Blvd., I think.  Mrs. Baum put an ad in the Silver Bay Shopper.  She taught gymnastics, tap and ballet.  In the photo above we younger students are doing a dance with an Asian theme - our mothers made black pants and the shirts were blue - both of a shiny acetate I believe - something to give a hint of silk.  Our fans were cardboard, covered with the same fabric as our mandarin-collared shirts.  We wear white socks.

Mrs. Baum only taught for a few year, then became ill.  I think she died very young.

I want to express my gratitude that she shared her joy of the dance to young girls in Silver Bay.  I used what I learned from Mrs. Baum when I was in my twenties and a chorus girl in Moorhead State's GUYS AND DOLLS.  One of our Moorhead friends recently mailed us a CD with some of Bill's sets and a few of my stage pics. This photo has both - Bill's set of the musical and me, standing far right.

Flap, flap, flap, ball-change, Hop, shuffle, step, flap, ball-change. Those tap combinations were still in my muscle memory all those years later.. "I love you a bushel and a peck... " Hey, they're still with me today.

Charles Circle, NBC and the Three Stooges

Today - a little more about watching TV oh so many years ago.  In the last blog I wrote about my first color TV experience. My family lived on Banks.  Now, I'll go back to second grade when we lived on Charles Circle, our first house in  Silver Bay after leaving the trailer court.  (I will no doubt write in the future about why I lived in not one but three Silver Bay houses.)  Oh, how joyful it felt to be in an exclusive club because I had watched the Cartwright family in color.  Oh, but when you're not in the TV club.. what sorrow!

Now I'll take you back to 1959-1960. Here is one of the few pics I can find that shows our home at 37 Charles.  It was located - and I assume still is - at the corner of Banks and Charles nearest the shopping center.  The other end of Charles was nearest Campton.

The Tweeto family lived next door and the Varneys were across the street.  I think that Harold Varney (my class) or his brother Mark (one year older?) might be the boy on the bicycle.

But back to my sad story about television at 37 Charles. No matter how many times Daddy adjusted the aerial on the roof, we could not get reception from Channel 6, the NBC affiliate in Duluth.  We only had two stations in Silver Bay then.  The WDIO tower in Duluth wasn't built until later.

So, I would go to second grade, Mrs. Sarf's class.  And my classmates, especially the boys, would be goofing around like the Stooges and I did not know who these Stooges were!  Captain Q. included short films with the Stooges on his show - and this was on Channel 6 which we did not get at my house.  Of course I pretended to know all about the Stooges.  I did not know how to put it then, but certainly I felt culturally deprived. Simply put - I was out of the club. And when you're seven, it feels awful. Which Stooge is your favorite? someone asked me. I could barely swallow from fear that the truth of my Stooge ignorance would be revealed. I think I said Moe because it was the only Stooge name I could remember.

That's all for today.  Cheers to all and a special thanks to Silver Bay friends who have e-mailed.