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Tommy Voore was indeed the kid to know. Very wise for his years. There was an immediate bonding between him and my brother. I think for Lowell's part, Tommy took the place of friend Jimmy in California.
One of the first things brother and me learned was where all the neighborhood kids went during the day. Summer School!! It was a program set up by the parks and recreation department. Every elementary school in town was open and had softball teams and other things for the kids. This was a good deal for everyone but especially for kids that came from families where both parents worked or single parent families.
The nearest school to us was McConnell elementary about five blocks away. Built in nineteen twenty one, it was a friendly old building that smelled like old books and sweeping compound.
Pontiac was a true to form "factory town". Everything revolved around the G.M. plants in the city. Rightly so when you consider that most of the G.M. workers lived in the immediate area and spent their wages at local businesses. These families and their off springs would account for nearly all of the workers at the local G.M. facilities. These people paid taxes to support the Federal government and all its social and infra-structure programs as well. Its sad to see these same people "demonized by the present day media and blamed for the failure of the Detroit auto makers. It was a kind and gentle place to live .
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Well so here we are , strangers in a strange land.
Lowell and I stayed in our own backyard. The Michigan weather was great. Of course early summer is always nicer than the hot humid weather that follows. Me and brother hung out in the yard or watched television. Detroit had four stations plus CKLW in Windsor Ontario. Be that as it may, Lowell and I wanted to fit in a little better. Truth of the matter was that there didn't seem like there was that many kids around. Summer vacation had started with the closing of the schools but the neighborhood was pretty much deserted. We had nearly new Shwinn bicycles but we were forbidden to leave the yard. I mention these bikes because they would play a part in my future. There is a pretty neat story about these Schwinn's that happened before our move north.
One nice morning brother and me are in the backyard making at mowing the almost non-existent grass. We heard a voice that said, "That's so dumb". I looked around but failed to find the source of the comment. Went back to cutting the grass. This time a really worn soft ball comes bouncing across the yard. Little brother grabbed the ball and pitched to me. "I'll tell my big brother if you don't give my ball back" yelled the mystery voice. Lowell tells the faceless voice that maybe he will get the ball back if we can see him.
Our back yard had a fence separating it from the yard behind our house. I guess the desire for more privacy had caused the neighbor behind us to allow natural barrier of brush to grow up between our fence and his yard. Our mystery kid had been hiding in this green maze of scrub brush and Dutch Elm saplings along with the ever present wild Rhubarb. His first appearance was when he came crawling through a hole under the fence and into our backyard.
He was a small kid, probably Lowell's age if not younger. Dressed in old over sized clothes, he put me in mind of Emmitt Kelly the clown. A heavy winter toboggan cap, dirty sweat shirt and old denim pants with a belt that was far and away to big. The unused part hung limply to his knee's. I suppose it would have been an almost vulgar appearance except for the overall comical appearance of this kid. The "Crowning Touch" was his shoes. They were old worn out U.S. Keds high top "Tenny Shoes" as they were known back then. All together to many clothes for a warm June day.
In my most "Yankee" sounding voice I said my name is Kenny and this is my brother Lowell. I thought using my first name might be more impressive. The stranger offered back that he had a older brother named Kenny and he had just got married cause his girl friend was "Knocked Up". That revelation sort of rattled me seeing as how I was still learning about such things. He then offered up that his name was Tommy Voore with two "O"s. He asked if we were "Hillbillies", before either of us could answer, he said he was in the fourth grade. So me and Lowell had broke the ice with a new neighborhood kid. Things were starting to look up for us. Tommy for what ever reason took to calling my brother Low instead of Lowell. It was a nick name and a friendship that would last for the next several years.
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Our apartment was on Osmun street. I'd venture to say that Osmun was one of the longest streets in the whole city. It ran from Woodward Avenue going east until it ended up as a dirt road at a small lake known unofficially as Bare Ass Beach. Just south of B.A.B was a city park known as Murphy Park. The park was mainly a hang-out for drunks and kids skipping school. The city had several nice parks but Murphy was I guess what you'd call a "Stepchild" because of it's location.
Pontiac, society wise, was divided up along invisible boundaries according to income and profession. Blue collar factory workers occupied the east and south side. The west side was mostly professional people. North side was where the Pontiac Motors complex was located .This was a big place covering many acres, There was a large residential area that butted right up against the Pontiac plant. This part of town was growing and spreading further north toward Lapeer county. Mainly caused by people that were moving from the south and east sides of town as their financial fortunes improved.
The Osmun street area intermixed with several industrial sites, the biggest was the GMC Truck Plant. In fact there was three small factories near our home. One place was owned by the Webb Coal and Lumber Company. Webb made cement blocks at a site on the corner of Osmun and Paddock streets. They also had a coal yard at the same location. Berry Garage Door Company had a plant on Allen street just off the intersection of Osmun and Jessie. The demand for garage doors and cement blocks must have been pretty high because both places ran twenty four hours a day and six days a week. I would learn to tune the Barry plant noise out because it was pretty bad during warm weather with all the plant doors open.
If I'd be asked what plant I liked considering the negative impact of the noise and smoke not to mention the extra traffic in the neighborhood, it would be the Whizzer plant. Whizzer built a varity of motor bikes. Little two and three horsepower jewell's that set your imagination and day dreaming machinery to running at a terrific pace. A mental state that would get me in a bit of trouble before my first summer in Pontiac was over.
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The move to Michigan was nothing like the cross country trek to California. The Ford truck was replaced by a nineteen thirty nine Chevy Deluxe. Like all of Bert's cars it was spotless and like new. The little in-line six cylinder engine ran like a fine watch. We made the trip at night so I didn't see much of the country.
We arrived at our new home early Monday morning. Everyone just got out of the car and went inside, laid down on the living room floor and went to sleep.
My dad had rented half of a duplex that had originally been a store front for an outfit called the American News Company. The place was located in a "Blue collar" residential neighborhood. A bunch of well kept older houses on one hundred by fifty foot lots.
Lowell and I had finished out the school year in Alabama but Michigan schools were still in session so the neighborhood was deserted during most of the day. Of course being new kids on the block kind of put us at a disadvantage any how.
I don't know why but every "Hillbilly"seemed to think Detroit was the only city in the state of Michigan. Trying to tell them otherwise was just a waste of time. Anyway, we had moved to a town called Pontiac and it was about as nice a place as you could ask for. Actually Pontiac was a pretty good sized city of about eighty thousand people. Strictly a General Motors town. The home of the Pontiac car and the G.M.C Truck and Bus Division. My dad worked at the latter. He earned forty five dollars a week. A pretty decent wage at that time.
The first thing I noticed about Pontiac was that the air had a smell unlike anything I'd ever smelled before. It was awful. As time passed you got to where you didn't notice the odor. At times there would be a smokey haze that just hung low to the ground especially on cold sunny winter days. all this of course was the price you paid for having all the factories in the area. Bear in mind that this was the early nineteen fifties. There wasn't much concern about what the pollution was doing to the air or the people that had to breath it.
So once again my family and I were having to learn how to fit into a different society and culture. There was at the time an open prejudice against southern whites. Something I learned to live with but never except.
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Well, I've been "tied up" with bad health not to mention some other problems that have prevented me from being able to really apply myself to writing anything meaningful. Lately I've been able to spent some time planing my next move.
Before stepping back to the past I want to comment on our present political dilemma. We have a woman that is so consumed by herself and the desire for greatness that she has become a laughing stock. We have a black man that has come from "nowhere" but has risen to a position of great power all of which is based on skin color more than actual experience. I wont vote for him or his female adversary. Then there is the offering of the other party. A demented old man. A hero that scares me to death. I wont be voting for him either. Why have we the people allowed this to happen. Even more important is how do we stop it?
Anyway, My dad was working in Michigan. The rest of us were still in Alabama. Eisenhower was running for president. I watched both party conventions on our seventeen inch black and white Philco television. Actually there wasn't much of a choice because we only got one channel out of Birmingham. That channel was number four, an NBC affiliate, call letters WBRC. Television was pretty good on the weekends. Lots of good shows such as Sid Caesar and Imogene Coca. The list is pretty long so I can't really list them all but if you were around back then you can recall your favorites I'm sure.
My dad found us a place to live in Michigan and moved us up north in the spring of 1953. Nothing at all like the California move. Didn't take long to see that Michigan was totally different than either California or Alabama.
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Been a hell of a year past. Hoping this new one opens up a little and brings better things. I'm amazed when I realize that I may see history made in the coming presidential election. Its possible that we may elect our first woman president or we may elect our first Black president. I'm not really impressed by any of the front runners on either side. Seems like we have got to the point that our political leaders are not all that special.
I note that this is entry one hundred. My story is at the point where My family leaves Alabama behind once again. I've been "dogged " by indecision as to whether or not to continue on any farther.
My last year in Alabama was one of the best times in my life. As much as I had loved California there was something about my home state that seemed so "at ease". I have never been able to find that feeling again. I don't know if I can convey the feeling and sights of that time or not.
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After working in California and living the new life that Shelia and Bob had shown him, my dad never re-adjusted to the low pay for hard work that was the "norm" in Alabama. Bert's experience in California had opened his eye's. In the spring of my twelfth year he left us to take a job in Clawson Michigan as a lath operator. My dad had only a fifth grade education but he was one of those people that could do about anything.
Ironically it was Shela's brother Jim that got my dad to come to Michigan. Jim because of a "bad" eye wasn't able to join the Army during world war two. He relocated to Pontiac Michigan and got a job working for General Motors. Jim got my dad a job at Brigg's in Clawson, Michigan while waiting for an opening at the General Motor's plant in Pontiac.
Bert left for Michigan like so many Southerner's before him. We were still living in the Prima Shear house. Everything pointed to a good year except for dads absence. Mom, me and Lowell along with a fiest dog named Black Boy aka BB and a cat named Geraldine. Summer was coming but mornings were sharp and cold. Mom always got up before me and Lowell and fixed our breakfast and lunches. I loved the smell of her cooking. Something about it made home complete.
It was pretty much a given that we'd relocate if my dad found a decent paying job. The family being "split up" didn't appeal to any of us but for now our choices were pretty limited. My mom planned out the year as if it were any other.
Momma believed in raising a good garden. She had Ellis Lee to come by and plow a piece of ground for her so she could get started planting. Ellis and his family were our neighbors. They were about as good a neighbor as you could ask for.
Ellis was a resourceful man. Besides keeping up his farm he also worked at a local coal mine. My family looked out for his family at night while Ellis was at work. There were no phones or 911. I don't ever recall seeing a sheriff's car in our neck of the woods but then we never really had need for one. There was one exception to that statement. Love triangles!! Old affairs from when "Hubby" was off to war seemed to surface now and again. Sometimes these "affairs" resulted in some pretty drastic conclusions.
Now these many years later I realize that I was seeing the "Golden Age" of the working man coming about. The old south was being replaced by the new. A lot of folks fought the change even though it was hopeless.
Life was unaffected by the problems of today. My mom took Lowell and me to church and pretty much let us be kid's growing up in the rural south. Not a bad thing by any means.
Turns out that this would be my last summer in Alabama as a full time resident. Life was good. All my people including my grandparents were alive and well.
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Turn the page is a Bob Seger song that is one of my favorites. I'm borrowing the title and the sentiment because like most of Seger's work its very good and very appropriate. I've been a fan for years and his music has actually at times lifted me out of depression and added to my general well being.
Bob, I've counted the years since I first saw you at Pine Knob in Clarkston Michigan. A lot of years have passed and I've concluded that we both qualify as "Old Farts". Thanks for telling about life and how it is and how it was.
I've spent a lot of time describing the early years of my life. Even with all the tales I still left out many parts that may have added to the overall picture. I reserve the right to add more and to modify whats been done. Everything has been from memory and recording those memories causes other memories to surface.
My life, young as I was, experienced some really unique changes in our society and culture. I'm really happy that I was there to see it all transpire. Lots of people today are very critical of this nation and it's government. That feeling, as critical as some are is a right granted to every citizen. I hope none of us never forget what we have in this nation and the price paid by many to insure these rights and freedom's.
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The Meskelly family winds it's way through my story for several reasons. I guess the main reason was the number of them. Two girls and eleven boys. The old man and the boys worked the land and kept the wolf out of the house. The oldest boy, James, slipped off and joined the Army. This event almost killed the old man. He blamed himself for the impending demise of his first born. Not so. Old James just grabbed death by the ears and spit in its eye. To make matters even worse, James became a paratrooper. He liked it and decided to become a "lifer". In a round about way I reckon it was James that put me and the old red Meskelly mule on a collision course with that damned old surplus Army parachute.
James sent home a parachute because his mom had heard about but never seen any Nylon fabric. Being a woman that still made most of the clothes for her daughters and herself, she was curios about this new fangled stuff.
James must of got his hands on a bunch of the "things" because they begin to show up pretty regular for a while. Our rural mail carrier was a man named Joe Manasco. Joe had a hell of a time getting the packages containing the parachutes delivered. However as legend has it, nothing stops the US mail. Wasn't long until the Meskelly family had cornered the parachute market in Walker County.
Meanwhile!
My cousin Charles ,the thinker in our "bunch", had come across an ad in the Sunday edition of the Birmingham News. The ad showed happy half naked young ladies being towed behind powerful speed boats. The girls were not water skiing but instead were hanging beneath a parachute. Charlie figured it was a neat way to fly once you mastered it. His ultimate aim was to sneak out his dads nineteen forty nine Ford "V-Eight" and tow the parachute down the Cedrum Road ,but for now, he needed to train a pilot. Lucky me would be that pilot. One of the Meskelly mules would tow me and the parachute. The reason for picking those mules was that the pasture where they stayed was composed of about twelve acres of flat grassy ground with few tree's not to mention the fact that the parachute was close at hand.
The big day finally came. It was a pretty and sunny Saturday about the middle of October. Most of the adults were gone to town. We had the field all to ourselves literally. I believe every kid in our rural community was there. The Meskelly boys harnessed up a big red "Jack" Mule that had been picked to be the power source. I was dressed in a long sleeve jacket and a old coal miners safety helmet. We was ready by gosh.
"Old Cuz" had come up with darn near one hundred feet of rope to use for tying the parachute and yours truly to the mule. Once everything was attached it was lift-off time.
Charlies original plan had been to ride his old "Roll Fast" bicycle and lead the mule by a rope tied to the harness. We never gave any thought to what to do if things didn't go as expected. Murphy's law you know!
Our first two attempts were pretty much what you'd expect. I've always felt that on that day the" Good Lord" was watching us. I can just imagine him getting a "chuckle" out of the show we were putting on. I figure he turned to Saint Peter and sad "Pete lets have a little fun with these kids. Watch this. He snapped his fingers and wind started to blow.
We in our haste had missed the point that most all flying machines need to take off into the wind. The parachute was no exception. As we turned around to try again the wind caught the chute and filled it with air. It bloomed into a great cloud like pillow. Charles started peddling the bike faster and leading the mule into the wind. I ran after them dragging the parachute behind me. Once the tow line tightened up I noticed that my feet were skipping across the ground just barely making contact and then they weren't touching the ground at all.
The transition to flight was scary as you can imagine. I didn't have a clue about how I should try to keep this contraption stable and not go crashing into the ground that was now several feet below. No one knew the exact altitude I reach but all agreed it was "way up yonder". Of course the faster the mule walked the higher I soared and there in laid fertile ground for Mister Murphy's law to kick my hind end. As I climbed higher the shadow of me and the "chute" over took the mule and cast our dark image on him.
Mules are intelligent animals, as a rule always aware of whats going on around them. This old red mule was no exception. When the dark shadow swept across his back he naturally glanced over his shoulder to see what was happening. That was about the time that Murphy pointed out to the mule that he was being followed by a "Booger" of some sort. The mules reaction was immediate and natural. He took off running. Charlie and the bicycle fell by the way side. Me and the mule and the chute head for the other end of the pasture.
I figure this was about the time that Saint Peter said "Hey Boss maybe you better check on this crazy hillbilly kid". Suddenly the mule decided to turn around and head toward the barn. As the mule came around the parachute began to collapse into itself and I hit the ground with a thud. It was about here that the Lord told Murphy to "beat it". Charlie had attached the rope to a "D"ring on my chute harness. He'd used a knot that he thought would hold but release fast in case I needed to get free of the mule. I couldn't get hold of the rope end that I needed to pull to free myself. The old mule was running and I had a major problem. All of a sudden the rope tightened up like a "bow string" and snapped. It had tangle in a small stump and broke. The free end shot forward and smack that old mule on his behind which only scared him more. He let out a loud "heehaw" and hid in the barn. As for me, I vowed to never let Charles talk me into such craziness again. Of course that didn't work out to be the case. I mean who's gonna believe a story about mule powered flight. If a feller intends to become a legend he's gonna have to do better than that.
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I wanted so bad to just roll up in a tight ball and sleep. Except for an insistent "flat" voice, off at a distance, all was peaceful and quite. The voice had the sound of a far away helicopter that was more distinct the closer it got. The flat female voice asked over and over if I could hear her and if I knew what year it was? Sort of a ridiculous choice of words? If I couldn't hear her how could I answer her question. I acknowledged that the year was 2007. When asked the day of the week I replied Tuesday, July 17. Well not quite. How about Friday, July 20? Hence begins a new phase of my struggle with the illness that seems intent on putting me down.
I had spent the better part of three days in a "coma". Aw the much heralded "Twilight Zone". A strange experience. A place where reality and fantasy pop in like the changing of channels on your television.
I don't really want to go into a long discussion of what or who I saw during my little foray across the line. I guess I'll get where I'm going soon enough.
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