'Mick' Back When

‘Mick’ Back When

Captain Harry ‘Mick’ Grigsby

iUniverse, Inc.

Bloomington

‘Mick’ Back When

Copyright © 2011 by Captain Harry ‘Mick’ Grigsby.

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ISBN: 978-1-4620-2886-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4620-2887-0 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

iUniverse rev. date: 08/10/2011

Contents

1   GRANDPARENTS

2   MY ENTRANCE

3   GLOUSTER

4   LIMA

5   THE TRAP

6   EASY MONEY

7   CLOVER LEAF SALVE

8   FAUROT SCHOOL

9   STANTON

10   FISHING

11   GRANDMA’S HOUSE

12   UNCLE BILL

13   PETEY

14   UNCLE JOE

15   JUNIOR HIGH

16   NYE STREET

17   RALPH

18   RABBITS

19   PONY ISLAND

20   MAITLAND

21   STOVER

22   ACES WIRED

23   JOHN

24   BOXING

25   TABLE TENNIS

26   THE SKUNK

27   THE FLYING SQUIRREL

28   STEINER

29   LOBO GOLO

30   NORM

31   THE WRECK

32   IGNORED

33   THE ANSWER

34   ST. LOUIS

35   THE TALL MAN

36   DIES IRAE

37   BOB ALLEN

38   KNOXVILLE

39   THE HOBO

40   RAILROAD BULLS

41   SOMERSET

42   SOMERSET

43   ROSELLA

44   BETTY

45   TRAPPING

46   LIMA LOCOMOTIVE

47   TED

48   LAST DAY

49   WILLIAMSTOWN

50   NEW YEARS EVE

51   THE TOURNAMENT

52   JIMMY

53   EUREKA STREET

54   CHICK

55   THE CASTLE

56   WESTINGHOUSE

57   MUSHROOMS

58   HOWARD

59   LITTLE CHICAGO

60   RILEY CREEK

61   BAER FIELD

62   OHIO STEEL FOUNDRY

63   TANK DEPOT

64   PARADISE CLUB

65   OAK GROVE

66   MICHIGAN

67   ED LINCOLN

68   UNION LAKE

69   CURLY

70   HERMAN

71   CHOCOLATE CAKE

72   WILD GEESE

73   TEACHING

74   FINDING WATER

75   TOWN BULLY

76   WHITE SAND

77   THE MIXER

78   BROWNY

79   BRYAN, OHIO

80   THE TRIAL

81   BACK TO LIMA

82   HORN COVERS

83   ERIEO BAY

84   THE ‘HEAD’

85   CRANBERRY

86   THE TRAPSHOOT

87   CANADIAN POKER

88   WALLY

89   THE CHIPPEWAS

90   THE KEWPEE

91   BILLY

92   TEX

93   BUCKY

94   ROCKY

95   BOY-CHIK

96   MOOSE

97   COCHRANE

98   ABITIBI

99   NORTHERN LODGE

100   THE MOOSE HORN

101   THE FOREST

102   SUCCESS

103   PETE HUGHES

104   AGNES

105   THE BUSH PLANE

106   WOODY’S

107   THE ‘HIT MAN’

108   SPRINGBROOK

109   THE HORSE BOOK

110   BONDANO

111   RIDGE SUPPER CLUB

112   ROMICK

113   ‘RETIRED’

114   OLD GROUNDHOGS

115   PHIL

116   MAXIMLIAN

117   CARL

118   PESO

119   FRANK

120   NOAH

121   VEGETABLES

122   GYPSY

123   LEWIS

124   FISTICUFFS

125   ‘FOSTORIA’

126   CHARLES

127   SAGINAW

128   DUKE

129   GUN-SHY

130   I WAS WRONG

131   CHAMPION

132   ‘DUKE’S OFFSPRING’

133   TAKEN BY STORM

134   ‘DRAY’S HUNTING CLUB’

135   ‘THE PLAINS’

136   ‘JUPER’

137   THE WRONG POINT

138   ‘FRED’

139   THE GROUSE HUNT

140   THE FARMER

141   THE PORCUPINE

142   SEDATED

143   LIMA HOUSE HOTEL

144   TRUCKERS HAVEN

145   THE AGENT

146   ‘HOMER"

147   ‘LITTLE JOE’

148   ‘HENNY’

149   ‘JINX’

150   ‘CHARLEY’

151   WHITE HOUSE

PREFACE

This chronicle is kind of a homespun story; I’m not an author per se, one who could cleverly create and compose literary work.

I’m truly envious of those gifted writers who can artfully spin and weave a fantastic tale, as they pen their story; somehow, with words they paint; there is a visible picture, they craftily describe the environs—making you feel, you are there.

You get well acquainted with the book’s characters: the way they are built; their facial features and their peculiar traits.

Their descriptions and characterizations, bring them to life, as if you know them; some of them you’ll love—others you’ll hate.

Then, the author’s invented fabrication, literally gets you so entangled in the fiction, you live the story.

Ah, to be that gifted! Alas, I’m not one of those learned and scholarly writers.

I’m just a common person, who wants to tell some stories, about the many events that have transpired, as I wended my way down the capricious and erratic path, of my life.

You will meet a lot of characters; some of them good and some of them bad.

The stories, in this narrative, are all true and I’ve related them to the best of my ability: some of the speech may be a little rough, but this way you get the facts as they really were.

Addendum:

The title of this book ‘MICK’—BACK WHEN, means to convey or inform the reader that the following stories encompass, to a certain extent, the first forty five years of my life.

They will take you up to the time; I leave Ohio and move to the sunny state of Florida.

Then hopefully, if I can peddle enough of these books and they are fairly well received, it will enable me to produce another book. The title of my sequel will be, ‘KEY LARGO ADVENTURES’

I’ve been a ‘Charter Boat Captain’ in Key Largo, ever since I’ve resided in Florida and the following narratives, in the new book, will be about Key Largo, in the early days and my fishing experiences, on the Atlantic Ocean and the backcountry, of the ‘Everglades National Park’.

1   GRANDPARENTS

I don’t know a whole lot, about my fore bearers; only what my brother related to me.

He said that my Great-Grandfather James Griggsby had been a soldier in Virginia, where he met Rebecca, the beautiful daughter of a plantation owner; the two fell madly in love with each other, but her father vehemently disapproved, of the match; issuing some dire threats to both of them, if they didn’t stop seeing each other.

Then, as matters began to get unpleasant, they decided to take action; they were deeply in love and determined to spend the rest of their days together, so they decided to elope, because Rebecca’s father was getting more and more hostile.

One day, the two lovers resolved to start making plans, for a quick getaway; holding each other tightly, absorbed in deep thought, they mused.

Suddenly, Rebecca snapped her fingers, and cried out, I know what we’ll do—dad’s having a formal ‘Ball’ tomorrow night; let’s take off, in the night, right after the ‘Ball’.

James quickly agreed, saying, with a big grin, That’s a great idea honey—they’ll all be three-sheets-in-the-wind and won’t know what’s going on, after they load up, on all of that bourbon and those ‘mint juleps’.

Beauregarde, the pompous plantation owner, invited guests from far and near, to attend the ‘Ball’, in honor of his daughter Rebecca; probably, he just wanted to ‘put on the dog’, in an attempt to maintain his lofty reputation and prestige, in the community.

The ‘Ritzy’ get together and formal dance, was well attended; Rebecca was the ‘Belle’ of the Ball; gaily chatting, with all of the ladies and coquettishly, dancing with the young men.

This bold front, in reality, was just a put on or masquerade, on her part, to allay any suspicions, her father might have.

Beauregarde was pleasantly elated and more than proud of his vivacious daughter Rebecca, who was artfully, making his ‘Ball’ a great success; firmly establishing their standing, in high society.

Derek Robertson, the biggest landowner. in the whole area, was contentedly sipping on a glass of bourbon and chatting with Beauregarde, as they watched the happy attendants, of the ‘Ball’.

The revelers were dancing, to the delightful strains of music, played by the best group of instrumentalists, to be found in Virginia.

Derek was unmarried, though he was in his late forties; he lived with his mother and her sister, in a large white pillared house that overlooked the Shenandoah River.

Over the years, Derek had watched Rebecca grow into a beautiful young lady and he was quite covetous of her.

He had decided, he would take Rebecca for his wife and he was quite sure Beauregarde would agree, to the marriage.

Especially, since Beauregarde was always entreating. or begging for favors, from Derek.

Rebecca, acting to the hilt, swooped down, on her father and Derek, where they stood by the dance floor, holding their glasses of bourbon.

Rebecca’s beautiful silver gown swirled enticingly, around her petite body; producing a vision of loveliness, as she gracefully arrived, at their position.

The stately Derek was at a loss for words, when Rebecca made her grand entrance; her momentum, caused her to lightly bump her hip against his, as she stopped, beside him.

Quickly recovering his composure, Derek took Rebecca’s hand and raised it to his lips, where he bestowed a brief kiss, murmuring, Ah, my lovely Rebecca.

Rebecca fluttered her long dark eyelashes and then lowered her pretty head, in a servile manner.

Derek, performed a semi-bow, then graciously said, ‘‘Rebecca, I’ll be honored, if you and your father will be my guests tomorrow afternoon, for tea?"

Rebecca, with a sweet smile on her lovely lips, softly said, Derek, you can count on it; we’ll be there.

Just then, a young man, who was a neighbor, ran up to them and grabbed Rebecca’s arm, saying, Come on Rebecca—I’m claiming the dance, you promised me!

Rebecca laughed gaily and accompanied her admirer, to the dance floor, but as she turned to leave, she looked at Derek and her left eyelid drooped, in what could have been construed, as a suggestive wink.

Derek Robertson’s face, turned a bit red, but he wore a huge smile that stretched from ear to ear, as Beauregarde pressed a fresh glass of bourbon, into his hand.

By midnight, the gala Ball was over and the guests had all left. Beauregarde hugged his daughter, in a show of affection, saying, Rebecca my dear, you did me proud; I’ve never seen you lovelier, than you were tonight.

Rebecca smiled and demurely, cast her eyes down, in a gesture of shyness, then said, Thank you father, you’re a dear.

Then, with a quick kiss, to her father’s cheek, she said, Goodnight daddy, I’m tired and I’m going to bed.

Beauregarde was glowing with pride, as he watched his lovely daughter run up the winding staircase.

He then picked up the decanter of bourbon and poured himself a huge ‘night cap’, in smug satisfaction.

Rebecca hurried to her bedroom and entered; locking the door, she divested her ballroom accouterments and donned more sensible clothing.

Reaching under her bed, she pulled out a small black valise, in which she had stored the basic essentials; she would need, in the coming days.

Then, after a while, when Rebecca was sure, her father and all of the servants had gone to bed, she stealthily descended the stairs and slipped out the back door, where she ‘hot-footed’ it, down the long lane, toward the main road.

The plethora of blooming lilacs, exuded sweet fragrance into the warm night air and the delightful scent, quickened Rebecca’s desire, to be with her lover.

The distance, down the lane, seemed longer than ever, but eventually, she came to the main road.

The night was very dark; the only light was from the flickering silver stars that reposed, in their heavenly bed; a velvet garden that covered the paradise on high.

Hurrying along, in the darkness, Rebecca suddenly bumped into someone and gasped in fear, but then, her fears were quickly allayed, as her captor gathered her, in his strong arms and smothered her with impassioned kisses.

Rebecca’s fright lasted only for an instant, as she realized her captor was James; then, she fervently, returned his warm kisses, with ardor.

Reluctantly, James, my great grandfather, released Rebecca, his true love, and said. We’d best be on our way, we need to put a lot of miles behind us, by daylight.

James had a sturdy mule, tethered to a roadside fence post; untying the mule, James lifted Rebecca up, onto the animal’s back, where he had fashioned a seat, out of an army blanket and then, he pulled himself up, in the saddle.

Turning, part way around, he leaned back and bestowed a warm kiss on Rebecca’s lips, but then, as he started to turn, Rebecca quickly threw her arms around him, saying fervently, Sweetheart, if perchance they catch us and take your life, I will kill myself; I cannot live without you!

James cradled Rebecca’s lovely head, in his two hands and kissed away the tears that coursed, down her cheeks, as he echoed her emotional sentiments, Rebecca my love, I too will take my life, if you are harmed; there would be no life for me, without you!

Then, with a quick kiss, to seal their ‘Death Pact’, James gathered up the reins and they were off; heading west, with no particular destination in mind; they just wanted to get away and start a new life, together.

The next day, when Beauregard awoke, to learn of the ‘lover’s’ escape and his daughter’s betrayal, he was enraged; how could his precious daughter, who was all he had, commit such perfidy, to her father and above all, run away, with a common soldier?

The irate ‘Land Baron’ vehemently declared, he would severally punish his daughter and hang the dastardly soldier, to a limb, on the nearest tree, when he caught them.

There was a great ‘hue and cry’ for their capture, as Beauregard and his men set out, to run them down, using a pack of eager, yelping and bawling bloodhounds, to follow their scent.

Luckily, James and Rebbeca had a good head start, so they gamely pushed ahead, without any rest; heading in a westerly direction, they crossed the Allegheny Mountains, into West Virginia, where they successfully eluded, their savage pursuers.

The irate father’s mad chase, was to no avail, the two lovers made good their escape and thank heavens, for that!

If their pursuers had been successful, in capturing the two lovers, I wouldn’t be here now, ‘penning’ this story.

The two ecstatic sweethearts, finally made their way, to the state of Kentucky, where they happily settled, near the Ohio River. Great-grandpa Griggsby (They spelled the name with two g’s, back then) worked hard, to get ahead.

His efforts paid off, when in later years, he started an iron and steel mill, which soon flourished, making them, rich and affluent.

James and Rebecca had one child, a son they named John, who was my grandfather.

John was the only child, so he inherited everything, when his parents passed away.

Then, John took over the reins of the iron and steel business, but his heart wasn’t in it.

He just couldn’t keep his mind, on the management, because he had a bad problem; he was an alcoholic.

Along the way, John became acquainted with a nice lady, by the name of Bess and then, after a short courtship, they were married.

Bess did her best, to help John, with his drinking problem and the business, but eventually, he squandered away, their fortune and the steel mill.

Then, with the little amount of money they had left, John and Bess packed, up and moved across the Ohio River, to the adjoining state of Ohio, where they spent the rest, of their days.

John, first settled, in a little southern Ohio town, called Chapel Hill, which wasn’t anymore than a small hamlet, where the area coal miners resided; my father Patrick was born there, in 1880.

John worked, for a bit, in the local coal mines, but later, took a job with the railroad company, where he worked as a switchman, in the railroad yards.

Then, to be closer to the railroad, where he worked, grandpa moved, to Rendville, a small town, nearby.

There, John and his wife Bess raised their two boys, Patrick and James.

Grandpa John was a big strong fellow and a hard worker, but he couldn’t whip ‘John Barleycorn’; the evil liquor, plagued him, his entire life.

Grandpa’s retirement, came unexpectedly and tragically. Checking the undercarriage, of a slow moving passenger train, he tripped and his right leg, slipped under, the train’s steel wheel, which severely, broke the bone and horribly tore, the flesh.

My brother Francis was there at the time, when they carried grandpa off, to the side of the tracks.

Grandpa was in terrible pain, so the men, who were helping him, ordered my brother, to hurry to the nearby saloon and fetch a bottle of whiskey, which would help ease the pain.

When the doctor arrived, he examined the injured leg and declared the leg would have to be removed; it was beyond repair.

The small town doctor didn’t have the necessary skill or means, to performing such surgery, so John would have to be sent to a hospital, in Columbus, where they had able surgeons and the necessary facilities, to perform the task.

Grandpa John rested on a cot; they placed, in the nearby saloon, where, he nursed a bottle of hard liquor, which acted as a sedative, until the next train heading north, came through.

Then, he was loaded, on the train and transported, to a hospital in Columbus, where they amputated his leg.

After Grandpa lost his leg, he couldn’t work anymore, so he and his wife Bess, lived off of a small pension and the little compensation, they received from the railroad, because he lost his leg, while working for them.

They bought a small, frame house that was situated on the side of a hill, overlooking a valley and there, they spent the rest of their days.

When grandma Bess, passed away, dad took us to my Uncle Jim’s place, where we spent a few days, while we attended the ‘Wake’.

I was pretty small then, but I remember, playing out in the yard; there was no grass, just hard packed dirt; we played tag, shot marbles and other games; hollering and having a great time.

I thought at first, it was a little strange, under the circumstances; Grandma was dead!

Grandpa’s house was small and up on a hill, so they held the ‘Wake’ at Uncle Jim’s home, where grandma was in the front room; lying in her casket.

All of us kids were playing and yelling, out in the front yard. The men were sitting on the front porch; loudly carrying on a conversation, as they freely lubricated their throats, with bootleg whiskey.

The ladies, were all in the kitchen, laughing and talking, while they cooked food that sent wonderfully delicious aromas, wafting through the house

We were still playing, when the balmy air began to cool, with the advent of darkness, so we quit playing our games and began the pursuit, of twinkling fire flies, which we called ‘Lightning Bugs’.

This little night flying beetle, produces flashes of light, for courtship purposes.

Aunt Lena equipped us, with glass fruit jars and we had a ball, chasing the phosphorescent bugs; when we caught enough of them, we stuffed them, in the glass jars and quickly closed the lid.

Then, we pretended, we had lanterns, while the little bugs flicked their luminous lights, off and on.

Finally, we were rounded up and shooed off to bed; we didn’t complain, because we were all tuckered out, from the long day of playing.

Lena put all of us kids, in the back bedroom and as I laid there in bed, I glanced out, of a nearby window, where the light from the adjoining kitchen window gave a faint glow, to the rear of the house.

This small amount of light provided me with a view, of a perpendicular wall, of black, mica like rock that was perhaps five or six feet, from the back, of the house.

Then, while I reposed there, wondering about this strange rock formation, a light rain began to fall, on the tin roof, overhead; the soft, incessant, patter of raindrops quickly lulled me, into a blessed sleep.

Later on, as I looked back, in time and dredged up, the picture of grandma’s wake, I thought it was awfully strange, at the time.

But now, it makes more sense, than the ceremony and burial, they have today; now, they have a big showing, in an expensive casket, in a funeral home; a long parade, of limousines, to the grave yard and finally the eulogy; and then, after the solemn words of praise, the body is lowered, into the ground; everyone is crying their eyes out; feeling bad; some of them fainting.

Me, I’ll take the old fashion method; cremation, it’s so much cheaper, simpler and no one’s fainting or even crying. Makes sense; don’t you think?

When my father Patrick and his brother James, became old enough, they both struck out, on their own.

James or Jim, as they called him, seemed to take after his father, in size; he was six feet tall, a lean, rawboned man, who always appeared the same; he never seemed to gain or lose a pound.

Jim never finished school and married early, to a childhood sweetheart and then, he went to work in the coal mines and raised a family, with his wife Lena.

Their modest home was on the outskirts of Rendville, where they spent their whole life.

They had three sons and a daughter; the first son was named Johnny, and when he grew up, he settled nearby and worked as an automobile mechanic.

The next boy studied hard and went away, for his schooling; he became a bishop, in Youngstown, Ohio; his name was ‘Father Henry’.

The youngest boy was Eddie, who moved to Columbus, where he managed a large restaurant.

The daughter Marie, who was a beautiful brown eyed girl with black curly hair, left the hill country too, and moved to Columbus, where she obtained a high position, in a bank.

My father Patrick, who they called Pat, was shorter in stature, than Jim by five inches, but he was built, much more solidly. Dad was more like my great grandfather, James.

Dad worked in the coal mines too, but only, until he could do better.

He met a pretty girl, at a dance one night and fell in love, then after a brief courtship, he married my mother Stella; they set up housekeeping in Glouster, which was a small town, midway between Rendville and Athens.

My Mother was born and raised in New Lexington, which lies a short distance, north and west of Glouster.

Dad worked for a long while, in the coal mines, but he had good schooling and was very well educated, so he worked his way up, to where he was a boss, in the mine and showed the owner’s, ways to operate their mines, with more efficiency.

When dad quit the coal mining job, to take up other work, the mine owner’s begged him to stay, with lucrative offers, but he wanted to forge ahead and be something more than a coal miner.

Dad taught school, in Terra Haute, Indiana for a while and he wrote script, for the ‘Hollywood Picture Industry’, during the silent movie era.

Then finally, he was offered the position of District Examiner of Stationary Engineers for the State of Ohio, which he accepted; his office was in Lima and he held the job, until the day he retired.

2   MY ENTRANCE

All night long, the bitter cold wind blew from the north; blustering and howling, as it drove icy white globules of snow that drifted and piled up, over the hilly countryside, of southern Ohio.

Temperatures plunged into the low digits and the roads became impassable, due to the white blanket, of snow and huge snowdrifts.

Our modest little wood framed house, bravely withstood a terrible beating; fighting stoically, to endure the screeching winds that powerfully buffeted its trembling sides.

The pot bellied, wood burning stove that furnished our heat; glowing a bright cherry red, it did it’s best, to ward off the icy chill, which continually seeped in, as the strong winds, rocked the small house.

Then finally, as morning came, the cold gray dawn began to replace the night’s blackness.

The powerful winds, with the swirling snow, came to a sudden halt and everyone, in the little house, gave a great sigh of relief.

This sense of comfort and well being was short lived, for my mother; through the long night, had slept fitfully and with the advent of dawn, she began to have severe labor pains; evidently, I wanted out!

My sister Helen, who was eleven years old, at the time, ran to mom’s bedside, to give her whatever aid she could.

Dad realized, my mother’s time was getting near and they’d better get busy.

Mom needed help, right away and the roads were all snowed under and it was impossible to get a doctor, so my father turned to my brother, and said, Francis, go down to Gertrude’s house and fetch her up here, right away!

Gertrude was the local ‘Midwife’, who lived nearby; my family knew her, quite well.

My brother Francis, who was nine years old, sensed the urgency, in my father’s voice, so he hurriedly grabbed his high top leather boots and quickly laced them up.

Then, he donned the warmest clothes, he owned and bravely shoved open the front door.

Getting the door open, wasn’t too easy, because the swirling and drifting snow had piled up, on the small porch.

This didn’t deter Francis, as he snatched up the coal shovel and cleared the porch of snow, to where he could open the door.

Then, Francis gamely, started wading through the cold deep snow, to the ‘Midwife’s’ home.

This event was always vivid, in my brother’s memory; it took place, on the morning of March the 1st, in the year 1917.

I well know, what rigors my brother suffered, on that trek, to fetch the ‘Midwife’ that brought me, into this world.

The Lord only knows; I heard the story from my brother, many a time.

My wonderful brother passed away, quite a few years ago, so I don’t imagine, he’ll be reading this story

But, just in case; if there’s something out there, beyond our ‘Ken’—out of our range of vision or understanding, I want to say with all my heart: Thank you Francis—I really do appreciate it.

3   GLOUSTER

My memory of ‘Life’ was a complete blank, until I reached the age of five years, so I’ll start the chronicle, from there.

This narrative begins in a small coal mining town, located in southern Ohio; it is a story of my life and the adventures, I have experienced, along the way; where it will all end, only heaven knows.

The little village, where I was born, was named Glouster and it had a small population, but boasted of a theater and a very nice grocery store, called Strawn’s.

I was born there March the first, nineteen seventeen and lived there, ’till I reached the age of five, when we migrated, to the north central region, of the state.

My father’s first name was Patrick, my mother’s Stella, my sister’s Helen, my brother’s was Francis and mine Harry, but they all called me Mick, probably due to the bit of Irish in me, not to mention the Blarney.

This moniker, has stuck, for my whole life, but I’ve been called other names, mostly behind my back.

My father was well educated, but started out as a coal miner. He also taught school and wrote script, for the movie industry, during the silent movie era.

As a side line, my father bred fighting game cocks, for the entrepreneur’s and devotees, of this bloody sport.

These birds were trained to fight and be exceedingly aggressive; ready to kill their adversary, at the drop of a hat.

The handlers would carry the fighting cocks, into the fighting ring, where they would have them peck at each other, while being held.

This was to get them as angry, as possible and in a killing mode, before they were pitted, against each other, in the arena.

Then, as they excited the roosters, reached a feverish pitch; the fanatical fans laid down their wagers, betting on their favorite contestant.

When the angry birds were finally pitted, the action was hot and heavy; feathers and blood would fly, as the birds leaped into the air, at each other; striking down swiftly, with their attached steel spurs, attempting to pierce the body, of their opponent.

Some of the contests were short lived, but others, might last for quite some time; these fights were usually a gory mess; a sickening sight, to see.

Back in those days, it was a favorite sport, preferred by a great many, wagering sportsmen.

There was a great demand, for well trained ‘fighting roosters’, so dad picked up a few extra bucks, for his expertise; raising and training the birds, to be vicious and aggressive fighters.

At the age of five, when my memory kicked into gear, there were three events that were outstanding:

Event number one, was when dad took me out to the coal mine, where he worked; there, he hoisted me to the back of a horse, called Old Doc and then, while he led the horse around the field, I had the ride of my life, I was in Seventh Heaven!

This faithful old nag was used to pull loads of coal, in a tram, from the mine, up to the surface; but to me, this was a ‘Valiant Steed’ and I was a ‘Knight’ in shining armor! Really a big day, for me to remember!

Event number two was hilarious; my brother Francis and I were in the back yard, by the chicken coops; curiously ogling the fighting cocks, when suddenly, Francis emitted a startled and piercing scream, as he turned and hurriedly lit out, for the house!

He was shrieking in pain and crying his eyes out; I was bewildered, as I watched him running and crying, until I realized what took place.

It seems, when we leaned up against the wire, of the chicken cages, one of the big, aggressive roosters spied Jim’s fly ajar and mistakenly thought, he was nabbing, a fat worm.

Event number three, the last but not least, was one that turned out, to be anything but funny, for me; you might call it a lesson, well learned.

I was sitting on our front porch one day, with nothing to do, so I thought, ‘I’ll make something happen.’

Strawn’s grocery store, delivered their groceries, each day, in a small open truck and they were very punctual; you could count on them.

I knew precisely, when their grocery truck would come barreling, around the corner, where we resided, so, I formulated an idiotic idea, in my young mind.

It was certainly a foolhardy venture, but it seemed real important at the time, so I hurriedly put the foolish idea into effect.

I ran around the house, to dad’s work shed and purloined a box of his roofing nails; that’s all I needed, to put the plan into effect, so I quickly headed, for the street corner.

When I reached the corner, I knelt down, in the fine dust that was piled up there, along the curb.

Then, with great care, I carefully and strategically, placed the roofing nails; with their large flat heads down and sharp points up.

When this chore was done, I took a moment to survey my work and realized something was wrong?

Then, it came to me, the nails weren’t hidden, so I quickly gathered hands full of dust, which was plentiful and completely covered and hid the sharp points that would patiently wait, for their unsuspecting victim.

My well engineered trap, was now set, so I retired, to the steps of the front porch, which were only a short distance away.

Here, I could watch my brilliant coup enfold.

Sure enough, in due time, Strawn’s truck rounded the nearby corner; blowing both of the tires that were on the inside, towards the curb.

My well engineered plan was a great success; it passed with flying colors!

But alas, my triumph was short lived—my pants came down and my little ass, was damn well blistered!

Those lessons, you sure as hell, will remember, as well you should.

4   LIMA

When we lived in Glouster, Ohio my father received two job offers, one in Lima, Ohio and the other in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

Dad opted for the job in Philly’, but after a long wait at the railroad station, the train that was to take him there, never arrived; the train to Lima did come, so he took that the one instead.

There in Lima, he accepted the job of ‘District Examiner of Stationary Engineers’ for the state of Ohio.

Dad held this job, from then, until the day he retired, through both Republican and Democrat administrations.

My father, then moved our family, to Lima; my mother Stella, my sister Helen, my brother Francis and of course me.

He rented a house in Lima, at 211 West Elm Street; I was five years old at the time.

My family never moved again, they made Lima their permanent home and stayed there, the rest of their lives.

For some reason, I was different; I always had the wanderlust! Something, was ever beckoning me; I was like the bear that crossed the mountain; ‘he wanted to see the other side’.

I’d hear of other places and then, I’d get restless; ready to move on, perhaps to greener fields o’er the hill, where I’d meet and make new friends.

Then maybe, just maybe, I might find that mythical ‘pot of gold’, we dreamer’s seek.

Later, when I grew up, I moved to the great state of Michigan, where I experienced many happy years.

Then back to Ohio, for quite some time; finally, I moved to the sunshine state of Florida, where I still reside.

At our first house, on 211 West Elm, our next door neighbor, to the west of us was the Rhine family.

The head of the family, Mr. Rhine, was a ‘City Fireman’, along with his wife; they had five children; three boys and two girls.

Ed was the youngest boy and he was five years old, the same age, I was, when we first met; we grew up together and remained life long friends.

When we first moved, into our house, I was outside playing; sitting atop the wooden rail, on a tall wooden fence that surrounded our property.

Where I was sitting, I was directly opposite the Rhine’s kitchen, where Mrs. Rhine was doing some cooking.

Mrs. Rhine happened to look over, towards our house and noticed me, sitting on the fence. In a friendly manner, she said, Whose little boy are you?

To which I insolently, replied, Who the hell wants to know?

Once again, I felt the ‘smarting sting’, of my father’s calloused hand, on my bare butt.

You’d think, I’d learn!"

5   THE TRAP

It seems like; I was always getting into some kind of trouble; nothing real bad, just enough to get my rear end spanked, every now and then.

One time, when I did something wrong, dad took after me, with a switch.

We lived in a two story house, so to escape punishment, I bounded up the staircase and ran into the bathroom, where I hurriedly slammed the door shut and shot the bolt, locking the door

Dad was right behind me, but the locked door stopped him; he started pounding on the door, hollering, Mick, open this door—NOW!

I wasn’t about to open the door and get my ass whipped, so I opened the bathroom window and climbed out, onto the rear roof, which was fairly flat, but gently sloped, towards a small tree; I could easily reach.

I grabbed a limb and quickly climbed down the tree, making good my escape, while my father continued to yell at me, through the bathroom door.

He had no idea; I had ‘flew the coop’, as it were.

Well, I was lucky enough, to be spared that switching, dad cooled down and let me off the hook.

Perhaps, it was because he was too big, to climb the little tree and no one could use the bathroom, until I climbed up and unlocked the door.

Another time, I pulled a stupid trick and I ended up the victim, of the mischievous action.

Next door to us, on the east side, behind the corner ‘Filling Station’, there was a large white house, where the ‘Red Cross’ was located.

We had a tall board fence that surrounded our lot and came to an end, about two feet, from the rear corner, of the ‘Red Cross’ building.

One afternoon, when I didn’t have anything else to do, I stood looking, at the narrow opening, between the ‘Red Cross’ building and the corner, of our fence

Then, for some reason, I got to imagining, this little aperture was an escape hatch, for thieves.

‘They would run through there, to make their ‘get-away’, after robbing our house!’

I was ‘racking’ my brain’, trying to figure some way, to entrap them; some sort of snare that would stop them, in their tracks.

After quite a bit, of deliberate thought, I came up, with a great plan, then, I proceeded to put the notion, into effect; I searched around, a pile of old boards and found what I needed; a wood slat, which was two inches, in width and a bit over two feet, in length. The board was perfect, for nailing across the bottom opening, of the narrow pathway

I took great care, in the measurements; I made sure, the strong wooden slat, was fastened at the right height, to catch the crook’s foot and disable him; after robbing our house and endeavoring, to make good, his get-away.

That night, when I crawled in bed and laid there, thinking about the trap, I’d perfected, I was proud of my ‘robber-catching-design’; maybe, I could start selling them, I hazily thought, as my notions faded away; gently drifting, into the waiting arms, of ‘Morpheus’.

The next morning, I was up early, as always; I had my breakfast and then tore out of the house, heading over, to see my friend Paul, whose house, was directly behind ours.

I had to go through the narrow passage way, to reach Paul’s yard and all my previous thoughts from the day before, were erased; with the solace, of a comfortable night’s slumber.

As I raced across our backyard, I was thinking of the super good fudge, Paul’s mother made, to sell and supplement their meager income; once in a while, Paul would have a few pieces that were left over; my mouth watered, with the thought.

Suddenly, I tripped and fell, landing heavily, on the rock strewn ground, where I deeply skinned my arm and severely bruised my shoulder.

For a few seconds, I was stunned, with the impact; colliding with the hard ground!

Then, when I regained my senses, I realized what had happened; I had fell victim, to my own trap!

With my mind somewhere else, I wasn’t watching where I was going and ‘presto’, I had sprung the trap!

Well, I was all ‘banged up’ and it hurt like hell, but my trap was a success, although my father, made me removes it.

6   EASY MONEY

On the southwest corner of Elm and Elizabeth streets, which was next door, to our house, there was a Filling Station; the small station, only merchandised automobile supplies, such as gasoline, oil, tires, etc., but it did a good business.

The owner of the ‘Gas Station’ was Ted Riley, who was a very nice and well liked man; the name of the station was, ‘Riley’s Service’.

Mr. and Mrs. Riley had two children; a boy my age named Kevin and a girl called Betsy, who was youngest.

The Riley’s lived four blocks to the south of us, so we didn’t get together too often, but we were close friends.

Very often, Kevin’s dad would bring Kevin to the station and we would play together while they were there.

One day, when the filling station was closed, for a couple of days, while Mr. Riley was out of town, there was a knock, at our back door.

Mom had gone to the grocery and I was there by myself, so I ran over and opened the door.

There stood Kevin, with a cardboard box, under his arm; Kevin had a big smile, lighting up his freckled face and he seemed to be excited.

I was glad to see him, and shouted, Come on in, Kevin!

Then, as Kevin stepped into our kitchen, he held out the cardboard box and blurted out, Mick, were gonna be rich!

Well, I’ll tell you, I was all for that, so I excitedly asked, How are we going to do that?

Kevin stopped talking and furtively looked around, saying in a hushed voice, Are we alone, Mick?

Yeah Kevin—there’s no one here.

After one more searching look, around, Kevin was finally satisfied, we were alone and then he laid his mysterious burden, on our kitchen table.

With his gleeful eyes, searching my eager face, he quickly opened the cover, of the cardboard box, as he shouted, Look in here, Mick!

I stared down, in the open box, to see it nearly half full of checks and then, when I looked up, at Kevin, he said importantly, Reach in there and take a look at ’em, Mick.

I reached in the box and picked up a handful, of the checks and to my dumbfounded delight, they ranged in value, from five to fifty dollars and the box was half full!

I just couldn’t believe it; so much money! Kevin, where did you find all of this money?

I found it at our house, in our spare bedroom! Kevin replied. His eyes were all aglow and his small chest was swollen with the importance, of his great discovery.

We were only nine years old, at the time; just a couple of ‘innocents’; not worldly enough, to know, these were canceled checks from Mr. Riley’s business.

Floating on air; all pumped up and excited, with our bonanza, we hurried down town, to Lima’s ‘Public Square’, where the ‘National Bank’, was located.

This big bank was a new building and it towered, over the surrounding structures and this, all added up, to make us feel real important, as we marched directly up, to the ‘Bank Teller’s’ window.

Kevin, with a display of significance, hoisted the cardboard box of canceled checks up, to the ‘Teller’s’ marble station, saying, Cash these—please!

Well, to make a long story short—the teller called the manager—the manager called the police, and would you believe it, we didn’t go to prison.

We did get our asses whipped though, learning a bitter lesson, the hard way.

7   CLOVER LEAF SALVE

Back in the days, of our childhood, when we were growing up, the times were tough.

If you wanted anything, you worked for it; no one was going to give you anything.

When I was a little kid, in knee high pants, I worked hard; pulling a little wagon that had a washtub sitting in it; the tub was filled with soda pop and covered with ice.

There were quite a number of garages and other businesses around Lima, where I would peddle, the cold drinks, during the hot summer months.

Other times, I would load my little wagon, with a cooler that held frozen ‘Eskimo’ bars, which were delicious ice cream bars, covered with chocolate.

I would pull my wagon, into a garage, yelling, Ice cold Eskimos—freeze your teeth and give your tongue a sleigh ride!

This wasn’t easy work and the profits were slim; a few cents on each sale, but I was earning money, albeit a small amount and I was ever so proud, of my earning capabilities.

I also worked at selling magazines and newspapers; the newspapers were the easiest, to sell; whenever there was a disaster or tragedy, the local newspaper would rush to print a paper, with details of the event; these papers were called ‘Extra’s’ and we would peddle them, downtown, on the street corners.

Holding a bundle of the papers, under my left arm, I would hold one aloft, with my right; waving it back and forth, shouting, Extra—Extra—get the latest news here!

Again, the benefits were only pennies, but I was working and earning.

Then, one time, I noticed an ad, in the back section, of a magazine and it really turned me on.

The advertisement showed a picture, of a beautiful ‘Shetland Pony’; the ad went on to say, this handsome pony, could easily be yours, by selling their product, which was called ‘Clover Leaf’ Salve’.

The ointment came in a small white tin can that had green lettering on it and sold for twenty five cents per can; back then, this was somewhat expensive.

I was bound and determined to get one of those wonderful ‘Shetland’ ponies, so I started hawking ‘Clover Leaf Salve’; begging my family and friends, to purchase this wonderful balm.

I was selling quite a bit of their product, so I was positive, in my mind; they were going to present me, with a pony; this was a big mistake;’ I jumped the gun’ and I bought a bale of hay!

Naive me! Perhaps like thousands of other youngsters, who were still ‘untried’ and ‘wet behind the ears’, I found to my sorrow, I wasn’t going to get a pony; no matter how much of their salve, I sold. It just wasn’t going to happen; the whole scheme was just a ‘come on’; one of their sales gimmicks, another ruse, for gullible suckers, like us poor kids; live and learn!

MICK—Grade School

8   FAUROT SCHOOL

A year after we moved to Lima, at 211 West Elm, I reached the age of six, so I started my schooling, at Faurot Grade School, which was in the five hundred block, of West Elm Street.

The Faurot family had generously donated their huge house, for the school.

The new school, covered half a block on the south side of Elm Street and it was spacious enough, to furnish room, for teaching grades from one to six, plus a large playground

It wasn’t too long, after I started to school there, perhaps two years, or so, they tore down the stately old house and erected a large brick edifice; the school is still in use, as I write this.

On the east side, of Faurot School, along McDonel Street, there was a small store, called ‘Knowles’s Candy Store’.

This little store was the only business of any kind near the school, so it was a favorite ‘hang-out’ for all, of the Faurot school kids.

All of the local children that hung-out there were my friends, but a ‘new kid on the block’, so to speak, was quite a ‘bully’.

The newcomer was a Russian, by the name of Boris.

Boris was much bigger than me and the other kids, which allowed him, to be very cocky and domineering.

Most of the kids, gave the mean boy, a wide berth.

One day, when I walked out the front door, of Knowles’s store, for an unknown reason, Boris socked me.

The blow, was so sudden and unexpected; without thinking, I retaliated, with a bone-jarring punch, to his jaw, which knocked Boris backwards, through the big plate glass window, of the store

I never had any more trouble, with Boris, but my father had to pay for the store’s broken window, hence, I got my ass blistered, once again!

Another bitter lesson well learned!

9   STANTON

Ever since I can remember, dad took me fishing; we made many a trip to Indian Lake, which was about twenty five miles southeast of Lima, where we fished for bluegills and other fish along the edge of the lake or the canals, which interlaced the lake.

These areas were bordered with reeds and in some places lily pads, which gave shade and cover for bluegills, crappies and bass.

Back then, we mostly used light cane poles with a small bobber; set just the right depth; the line terminated with a small hook, which was festooned with a succulent earthworm that actively writhed, to lure the unwary fish.

The small earth worms, we spaded up, in the garden, but if we were after large bass or catfish, we went out in our yards after dark with flashlights, to capture the large slimy ‘night crawlers’; these large (delectable—to the fish) worms were found on any of the lawns, in our neighborhood, where they abounded.

Then, at times, we used crickets and grasshoppers; they too were excellent bait.

One fishing trip, to Indian Lake stands out, in my memory; Stanton Stewart, who was the same age as my brother and his best buddy, was invited by dad, to come along on a fishing excursion.

Stanton happily agreed to go along, then said, Pat, would you mind if I bring my girl friend along?

Dad grinned and replied. Sure Stanton, there’s plenty of room?

The bluegill fishing was exceptionally good and we had a lot of fun pulling the fish in; then, as Stanton and I wandered some distance away from dad and Stanton’s girl friend, I timidly asked, in a hushed voice, Stanton, where did you get such an ugly girl friend?

Now mind you, at that time, I was just ten years old and quite naïve; it was a big new world out there, I hadn’t been around much, you might say.

Stanton looked all around, in a covert way, making sure that no one was near, to hear his reply, then, in a sage voice, answered my stupid question. Mick, that’s why they wear a dress, it’s to pull it up over their face.

When you’re young—you learn something new, every day !

10   FISHING

My father was a great bass fisherman; he fished the lakes and rivers and also some of the stone quarry’s that were prevalent, in our area; our favorite river, was the Auglaize, which was nearby.

When we went to the Auglaize River, to fish for bass we would stop at some of the small creeks, to seine for crawfish.

The soft shell craws were super bait and the bass loved them; crawfish periodically shed their shells, which leaves them very vulnerable, until their new shell hardens.

Fishing the hard shell craws; we would peel the shell off of the tail and use the white meat for bait; at times, we would boil the white meat, because when cooked, the crawfish are delectable eating.

Reaching the Auglaize River, with our freshly seined bait, dad and I had a long hike down the creek, to a hidden spot, dad called a ‘Drift’

The ‘Drift’ was near a bend in the creek and consisted of a large fallen tree, where floating limbs and other debris had caught and clung, to the downed tree’s branches, thereby creating a natural assembly region, for the wily small mouth bass and other denizens, of the fish laden waters.

We would usually catch a nice bass or two, along with a stringer of goggle eyes and sunfish; the angling day was usually quite productive, but most of all, was the joy, of being there, with dad and preserving new memories, was fortune enough.

Other times, we would fish strictly for largemouth bass, so then, on the way to the river, we would stop at a small creek, where we would seine large minnows.

Then, while the minnows were fresh and lively, we would hurry to a nearby lake that had abundance of old stumps, rising up, out of the water.

I would carefully and quietly row the boat, to where dad, using his long cane pole, could reach way out and drop a large minnow, on the shaded side, of the stump.

Here, the large mouth bass liked to lie in wait; to ambush an unsuspecting minnow that might swim by.

Dad paid me, the princely sum of five cents per stump, which was good pay, for me, back in those days; I loved the bays that had a profusion of old stumps that kept us both busy; Dad had a productive day and I had a profitable one.

We would also fish Ft. Amanda Lake and St. Mary’s Lake; these two lakes were to the west of us and somewhat more distant, than Indian Lake.

These two bodies of sparkling blue water were also very good for the crappies and channel cats.

The whole east side of St.