I lied. Not going to tell you about my time in Flow Rida just yet. Important lessons learned in Flow Rida, including the first and only time I had a gun pointed at me, but that story comes later. I realized the time when my roots in small town started to grow, and that's an important part of this story, so we need to visit this first.
I'm not exactly sure why we moved from Circle Dr in "The City" to Small Town. The first of my memories of this move were, again my Dad and I go figure, on a dark snowy night. Not really sure why we were going to the new farm house, but we were. Driving along minding our own business and Dad pulled over in the middle of nowhere, right past a small creek type bridge. I was 7 or 8 years old at the time.
"Why are we stopping Dad?"
"The car behind us just went off the road. Sit tight, stay in the truck, DO NOT get out!"
All of a sudden, Dad gets out and RUNS behind the truck. Not sure what happened at the time. But pretty soon there were fire trucks and an ambulance, more red lights than you could count. This was pre cell phone days, so I have no idea how Dad called for help, but he did. Pretty sure this is when my young mind embraced the fire service and the desire to help others. I found out a few day later what had happened. Roads were horrible, I had no idea because my Dad was a race car driver, and we were in a truck. Lady behind us lost control and went off the road right before the bridge and ended up in the water. My Dad, was waist deep in the creek holding her head above water, literally until help arrived. I didn't realize it until decades later, that this is what I would do for a living. I remember the first time I was allowed in Small Town's firetruck in a parade with my Dad driving!
Years later, as my Dad was ending his career as a Volunteer Firefighter with Small Town FD, and I was just beginning mine as a Union firefighter in Big City, it worked out that we fought a grass fire together. I was literally hanging on the back bumper of a fire truck with my Dad. Just a grass fire, but that was a highlight of my life that I will take to my grave. I was old school on the back of a fire truck with the man that taught me so much. I can still smell the smoke, the truck exhaust, the "smell" of a grass fire. Not to mention, that particular fire truck would become famous!
Shortly after this my next memories are again of my Dad. We bought an old farm house on "Peace" Rd. We actually had to use the outhouse! My Dad busted his ass to bring that farm house up to speed, and eventually we had indoor plumbing, a new second floor, and a place to call home. We soon added a garden, farm animals once pens were built, and new friends. This is where I laid the foundation of who I am now, although I didn't realize it at the time.
I soon made quick friends on the "block" which was literally 1 mile long. Mike lived next to my real grandparents, Kerry, Dan and Dave lived in between. What an adventure we were about to have.
We bought dirt bikes, built a baseball field, played war in the woods, and even built a "luge" run in the woods behind Dan & Dave's house in the winter. We explored every inch of those woods, and shot at each other with BB guns while playing "war." We learned what wrenches were for, we learned what friends were, we learned how to take care of ourselves and each other. We learned that Dad not being home simply meant that he was busting his ass at work to provide for his family.
When Dad WAS home, he was teaching us to take care of ourselves. How else would Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn learn how to hunt/fish/trap, fix tractors, build go karts, rafts and models of famous roller coasters? We worked hard, that's what we learned from our parents. We bailed hay. We bailed hay for neighbors for a small fee of $20 and a tall glass if iced tea.
We did "OK" in school, but those few hours after the homework was done is when we learned about life, and how to be good men.
Monday, April 27, 2015
Wednesday, April 22, 2015
Small Town: Dirt and Immigrants
This is the first of my Small Town Series. I'm guessing I'll have regular blogs in between these stories, as this is a loooooong tale. For that reason, I'll title these "Small Town: blah blah"
I guess I should start my Small Town series at the beginning. My earliest memories, although few, are of when we lived on "Circle" Dr in Small Town. Circle Dr was literally that, a giant circle with only two roads leading in. Well, Circle Dr was more of an oval with the long sides on the east and west. Entry roads were one to the south, and another to the west. That was a long time ago, and the memories are very few, and seem to be simple mundane things, not life events that at the time I thought would stick with me forever. It was the mid to late 1970's, I remember dressing up (Thanks Mom!) for the nation's bicentennial parade, the GIANT (It wasn't that big, we were just little) dirt pile in the vacant lot next door. That mountain of dirt got me into more trouble than almost anything I have ever encountered, until I learned how much fun girls were. "Jr, DO NOT get dirty! We're going to Grandma's for dinner. Go outside and wait for us." Yeah, that didn't quite work out in my favor. I do remember my left hand in my Mom's left hand, Dad's belt in her right hand, me running around in circles in the kitchen, and a sore ass! We literally had roads built on that dirt pile with our toy construction equipment. The local contractor made that mountain of dirt, built all these houses. We fought over who would get to be "Dave" and be in charge of the dirt pile, sometimes I won, sometimes I lost and had to be his brother "Ron". But that dirt pile was always a well functioning construction site! Had to be 1978 or 1979, "Dave" bought a new backhoe in real life. My dad who worked as a heavy equipment mechanic, brought home a model of "Dave's" new backhoe. From that day forward, on the dirt pile, I was Dave!
I remember the first time I was allowed to make a complete circuit around Circle Dr on my bike! Wow! FREEDOM! This was also the time I remember developing my own personality, and laying the foundation of a network of friends that would forever change my life, because they literally changed who I was, and who I would become. Little did we know...
A very important part of my life happened back then on Circle Dr. Friends of our family (from a time Pre-Bill) had parents living a few doors down from us. They were Immigrants from Germany. I went to visit every chance I had, I considered them my own grandparents. They were the first to teach me about my German heritage. Up until this point, my 5 year old brain thought everyone was American. They taught me about German culture, food, language. They actually taught me how my great grandparents were born in other countries, the main one being Germany. And what a difficult time it must have been for them. I really don't remember actual stories, but I do remember my German Grandparents telling me stories about their struggles to get to America. Eventually "Grandpa" wouldn't let me in the house unless I told "Grandma" Guten Tag, Guten Morgen or the appropriate response in German. "Grandma" would always tell me "Ich liebe dich" when I saw her. It wasn't until years later, when Opa told me what she was saying. Then I would reply "Ich liebe dich auch Oma" I love you too Grandma! I was too young to realize what I lost when they passed away. Sourball candies and liverwurst sandwiches. To this day I miss my "Opa" and "Oma." I loved them dearly, and now I realize how much they loved me.
My Dad worked hard. I never considered him my "father," he was just Dad. He wasn't around much in my early years, he went to work to make sure we had everything we needed. We weren't rich, we weren't poor. We got by. I'm sure there were struggles he and my mother went through, but my sister's and I never knew about them. We moved around quite a bit, Dad went where the work was. We lived in MANY places in Small Town, OH, Brunswick Oh, and Cape Coral Florida.
Brunswick OH taught me how to get what I wanted. When we moved there I owned a Z-50 Honda, when we left I owned a YZ-80 Yamaha. Dad was at work, but taught me how to use a wrench because that's what he did. I would fix dirt bikes for the neighbors, save money, trade and buy and ended up with a much newer and faster dirt bike. The only other story I remember from Brunswick was my Dad and I leaving the house on a Saturday, and leaving his stick shift Volkswagen Rabbit with Mom and my middle sister. They wanted to go shopping, but neither could drive stick shift. Dad simply said, "Jr and I have things to do, if you want to go bad enough, you're smart! You'll figure it out!" When Dad and I got home, the Rabbit had logged 1/10th of a mile. They didn't go shopping!
The next blog is going to be about my time in Florida. I came of age, had a two fantastic jobs. Probably two of the most fantastic years of my life. Those two years set me up for what really mattered. And so the story continues.....
I guess I should start my Small Town series at the beginning. My earliest memories, although few, are of when we lived on "Circle" Dr in Small Town. Circle Dr was literally that, a giant circle with only two roads leading in. Well, Circle Dr was more of an oval with the long sides on the east and west. Entry roads were one to the south, and another to the west. That was a long time ago, and the memories are very few, and seem to be simple mundane things, not life events that at the time I thought would stick with me forever. It was the mid to late 1970's, I remember dressing up (Thanks Mom!) for the nation's bicentennial parade, the GIANT (It wasn't that big, we were just little) dirt pile in the vacant lot next door. That mountain of dirt got me into more trouble than almost anything I have ever encountered, until I learned how much fun girls were. "Jr, DO NOT get dirty! We're going to Grandma's for dinner. Go outside and wait for us." Yeah, that didn't quite work out in my favor. I do remember my left hand in my Mom's left hand, Dad's belt in her right hand, me running around in circles in the kitchen, and a sore ass! We literally had roads built on that dirt pile with our toy construction equipment. The local contractor made that mountain of dirt, built all these houses. We fought over who would get to be "Dave" and be in charge of the dirt pile, sometimes I won, sometimes I lost and had to be his brother "Ron". But that dirt pile was always a well functioning construction site! Had to be 1978 or 1979, "Dave" bought a new backhoe in real life. My dad who worked as a heavy equipment mechanic, brought home a model of "Dave's" new backhoe. From that day forward, on the dirt pile, I was Dave!
I remember the first time I was allowed to make a complete circuit around Circle Dr on my bike! Wow! FREEDOM! This was also the time I remember developing my own personality, and laying the foundation of a network of friends that would forever change my life, because they literally changed who I was, and who I would become. Little did we know...
A very important part of my life happened back then on Circle Dr. Friends of our family (from a time Pre-Bill) had parents living a few doors down from us. They were Immigrants from Germany. I went to visit every chance I had, I considered them my own grandparents. They were the first to teach me about my German heritage. Up until this point, my 5 year old brain thought everyone was American. They taught me about German culture, food, language. They actually taught me how my great grandparents were born in other countries, the main one being Germany. And what a difficult time it must have been for them. I really don't remember actual stories, but I do remember my German Grandparents telling me stories about their struggles to get to America. Eventually "Grandpa" wouldn't let me in the house unless I told "Grandma" Guten Tag, Guten Morgen or the appropriate response in German. "Grandma" would always tell me "Ich liebe dich" when I saw her. It wasn't until years later, when Opa told me what she was saying. Then I would reply "Ich liebe dich auch Oma" I love you too Grandma! I was too young to realize what I lost when they passed away. Sourball candies and liverwurst sandwiches. To this day I miss my "Opa" and "Oma." I loved them dearly, and now I realize how much they loved me.
My Dad worked hard. I never considered him my "father," he was just Dad. He wasn't around much in my early years, he went to work to make sure we had everything we needed. We weren't rich, we weren't poor. We got by. I'm sure there were struggles he and my mother went through, but my sister's and I never knew about them. We moved around quite a bit, Dad went where the work was. We lived in MANY places in Small Town, OH, Brunswick Oh, and Cape Coral Florida.
Brunswick OH taught me how to get what I wanted. When we moved there I owned a Z-50 Honda, when we left I owned a YZ-80 Yamaha. Dad was at work, but taught me how to use a wrench because that's what he did. I would fix dirt bikes for the neighbors, save money, trade and buy and ended up with a much newer and faster dirt bike. The only other story I remember from Brunswick was my Dad and I leaving the house on a Saturday, and leaving his stick shift Volkswagen Rabbit with Mom and my middle sister. They wanted to go shopping, but neither could drive stick shift. Dad simply said, "Jr and I have things to do, if you want to go bad enough, you're smart! You'll figure it out!" When Dad and I got home, the Rabbit had logged 1/10th of a mile. They didn't go shopping!
The next blog is going to be about my time in Florida. I came of age, had a two fantastic jobs. Probably two of the most fantastic years of my life. Those two years set me up for what really mattered. And so the story continues.....
Sunday, April 19, 2015
Small Town
For the first time in the history of this blog, I don't have a title first. Normally I have a "thought" in mind, a theme if you will, and the Title follows. I go pick out a song to go with my blog, and the title just appears to me. Then I write. Not this time. The blog idea was brought to me by a friend, he wants me to tell a story. A long story.
While writing that fist paragraph, I came up with the title. Let's do this first:
Small Town <-- CLICK!!!
I am 45 years old now, and I live in the city. Literally half of my life has been dedicated to helping others. I've been a career firefighter since 1990, and recently attacked the world of Emergency Medicine. That's a whole different story, and not what this blog is about.
The first half of my life was quite different!
I grew up in Small Town, OHIO. I went to school and studied hard. I wasn't popular. But I wouldn't change any of it for the world.
Growing up on a farm, and having a buddy next door on a farm was never easy. Waking up 3 hours before school to go check Muskrat traps, getting the cows where they needed to be. Then off to class.
Even after school we had chores! We were "latch key kids" our parents weren't home, but we knew what had to be done, There was no alarm on our iPhone, no note from our parents, nothing. But we knew! The chores that were left for us took about 2 hours after school. Cows, tractors, and family always came first. Throw the homework down if we felt like it, but we knew there would be time later when Dad was watching the 6:00 news.
If you leave Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer to their own devices for two-three hours on a daily basis, some interesting things are going to happen! THAT is what this blog is about, and I apologize now. this story is going to be in several parts.
It seems to me now, that back then girls weren't all that important. We had snowmobiles, dune buggys, go karts. NOW they tell us that tractors are cool. We missed that!
This blog is going to be 1 our of X. I'm just going to keep typing the story of growing up in Small Town, Ohio.
You let me know when you get tired of reading..... More feedback = the longer I keep telling this story.
While writing that fist paragraph, I came up with the title. Let's do this first:
Small Town <-- CLICK!!!
I am 45 years old now, and I live in the city. Literally half of my life has been dedicated to helping others. I've been a career firefighter since 1990, and recently attacked the world of Emergency Medicine. That's a whole different story, and not what this blog is about.
The first half of my life was quite different!
I grew up in Small Town, OHIO. I went to school and studied hard. I wasn't popular. But I wouldn't change any of it for the world.
Growing up on a farm, and having a buddy next door on a farm was never easy. Waking up 3 hours before school to go check Muskrat traps, getting the cows where they needed to be. Then off to class.
Even after school we had chores! We were "latch key kids" our parents weren't home, but we knew what had to be done, There was no alarm on our iPhone, no note from our parents, nothing. But we knew! The chores that were left for us took about 2 hours after school. Cows, tractors, and family always came first. Throw the homework down if we felt like it, but we knew there would be time later when Dad was watching the 6:00 news.
If you leave Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer to their own devices for two-three hours on a daily basis, some interesting things are going to happen! THAT is what this blog is about, and I apologize now. this story is going to be in several parts.
It seems to me now, that back then girls weren't all that important. We had snowmobiles, dune buggys, go karts. NOW they tell us that tractors are cool. We missed that!
This blog is going to be 1 our of X. I'm just going to keep typing the story of growing up in Small Town, Ohio.
You let me know when you get tired of reading..... More feedback = the longer I keep telling this story.
Thursday, April 16, 2015
Here in Youngstown......
Here in Youngstown
The History of Youngstown has been a topic of conversation between my friends, coworkers and I lately, it's been a hobby of mine since I learned what history was. After some considerable thought on my part, I agree, Bruce Springsteen was right, Youngstown built cannon balls for the civil war, tanks for WWII, and everything in between. Youngstown and its suburbs were a deep, dark, dank nasty place to live. Bruce said "A little bit of everything you could have, if you played by the rules."
The #1 rule was steel.
WE BUILT STEEL. All of us.
The Mafia was in town for sure, they made the rules. The Yo was corrupt in the eyes of some, but if you played by the rules....Soot filled the skies, "Mill Dust" covered the dishes. A constant "orange glow" over the city, even in the daylight. Traffic, pedestrians, city bustle; it was horrible. According to my father: "You could not drive through downtown Stuthers at 3:00 PM because of all the workers crossing the street." We were building houses, businesses and services to accommodate the influx of people. The people that WANTED to be IN Youngstown.
Everyone had a job. Everyone had money. Crime was at an all time low, except for "Organized Crime" that was running rampant. But if you went to work, and kept your nose clean they would never mess with you. The EPA was not happy with us, but we sure were! From the guy tapping the furnace to make sure we built quality steel, to the guy at the car wash cleaning your brand new car.
The locomotive engineer hauling iron ore into town, to the jeweler building his pocket watch to make sure that ore was on time. The men and women of the train yards to make it all happen, to the seamstresses that made the uniforms. And yes, the bars that cashed the paychecks, because we all had a paycheck. And a check actually meant a man's word that the funds were there. We worked hard and we were proud. Car dealers up and down Wick Ave instead of out in Boardman. Christmas shopping on West Federal St instead of the mall. Movie theaters downtown. All roads led IN to Youngstown.
We didn't leave Youngstown because we didn't have to. We made Steel, bread, milk, cheese, ice cream, cars, electronics, trains, clothes, hospitals, and an amusement park. Right here in Youngstown.
We took care of each other. Not because we had to, but because we wanted to, it was the right thing to do. We knew our neighbor's kids and watched for them to walk home from school, we called their parents when they were goofing off a bit too much because we KNEW their parents. I got my ass beat on a regular basis because of a phone call from a neighbor. We saw them at church, and the corner store. We knew where they worked, lived and spent leisure time. We were a community.
What the hell happened? We now seem to need a psychiatric hospital (Which we had, but closed) The entire city and surrounding areas are "medicated" either from a doctor, or a dirty needle on the street corner. Depression, Anxiety, ADD, ADHD, PTSD and whatever newest "syndrome" the pharmaceutical companies can talk you into believing you have, Fibro-Mialgia so they can sell you this new drug they made but have no use for. Invent a disease to match our new drug! Everyone seems to feel "entitled" to something from someone else. You owe me!
I don't owe you a God Damn thing. If you want to know what PTSD REALLY is, just walk to your closest Fire or Police Station. ALL of these men and women can be diagnosed with PTSD, yet each and everyone of them goes to work. To help you. To help a stranger. We fight our personal demons, put them at bay, to fight your demons. We're from Youngstown, that's what we do!
Right, wrong or indifferent, None of us are Youngstown Natives, that generation has passed away a century ago. We are ALL "Imports" from other lands. But we are all here as a direct result of our grandparent's dreams and hopes. Are we living up to them? Are we striving to make Youngstown, yes I said YOUNGSTOWN, not "YO" all that it can be? For whatever reason, we are all here from different places of birth, and different cultures, but for the same purpose that I believe we lost track of.
Different cultures came together in the early 1900's to build Youngstown, Ohio. One hundred years later, we seem to be focusing on "different" instead of "culture" and destroying Youngstown.
I'm not willing to sit by and watch this city die, are you?
The History of Youngstown has been a topic of conversation between my friends, coworkers and I lately, it's been a hobby of mine since I learned what history was. After some considerable thought on my part, I agree, Bruce Springsteen was right, Youngstown built cannon balls for the civil war, tanks for WWII, and everything in between. Youngstown and its suburbs were a deep, dark, dank nasty place to live. Bruce said "A little bit of everything you could have, if you played by the rules."
The #1 rule was steel.
WE BUILT STEEL. All of us.
The Mafia was in town for sure, they made the rules. The Yo was corrupt in the eyes of some, but if you played by the rules....Soot filled the skies, "Mill Dust" covered the dishes. A constant "orange glow" over the city, even in the daylight. Traffic, pedestrians, city bustle; it was horrible. According to my father: "You could not drive through downtown Stuthers at 3:00 PM because of all the workers crossing the street." We were building houses, businesses and services to accommodate the influx of people. The people that WANTED to be IN Youngstown.
"Them smokestacks reaching like the arms of God into the beautiful skies of soot and clay.."
Everyone had a job. Everyone had money. Crime was at an all time low, except for "Organized Crime" that was running rampant. But if you went to work, and kept your nose clean they would never mess with you. The EPA was not happy with us, but we sure were! From the guy tapping the furnace to make sure we built quality steel, to the guy at the car wash cleaning your brand new car.
"Well my daddy worked them furnaces, he kept them hotter than hell..."
The locomotive engineer hauling iron ore into town, to the jeweler building his pocket watch to make sure that ore was on time. The men and women of the train yards to make it all happen, to the seamstresses that made the uniforms. And yes, the bars that cashed the paychecks, because we all had a paycheck. And a check actually meant a man's word that the funds were there. We worked hard and we were proud. Car dealers up and down Wick Ave instead of out in Boardman. Christmas shopping on West Federal St instead of the mall. Movie theaters downtown. All roads led IN to Youngstown.
"Taconite, coke and limestone fed my children...."
We didn't leave Youngstown because we didn't have to. We made Steel, bread, milk, cheese, ice cream, cars, electronics, trains, clothes, hospitals, and an amusement park. Right here in Youngstown.
We took care of each other. Not because we had to, but because we wanted to, it was the right thing to do. We knew our neighbor's kids and watched for them to walk home from school, we called their parents when they were goofing off a bit too much because we KNEW their parents. I got my ass beat on a regular basis because of a phone call from a neighbor. We saw them at church, and the corner store. We knew where they worked, lived and spent leisure time. We were a community.
"We gave our sons a 'career in Viet Nam' now we're wondering what they were dying for.."
What the hell happened? We now seem to need a psychiatric hospital (Which we had, but closed) The entire city and surrounding areas are "medicated" either from a doctor, or a dirty needle on the street corner. Depression, Anxiety, ADD, ADHD, PTSD and whatever newest "syndrome" the pharmaceutical companies can talk you into believing you have, Fibro-Mialgia so they can sell you this new drug they made but have no use for. Invent a disease to match our new drug! Everyone seems to feel "entitled" to something from someone else. You owe me!
I don't owe you a God Damn thing. If you want to know what PTSD REALLY is, just walk to your closest Fire or Police Station. ALL of these men and women can be diagnosed with PTSD, yet each and everyone of them goes to work. To help you. To help a stranger. We fight our personal demons, put them at bay, to fight your demons. We're from Youngstown, that's what we do!
Right, wrong or indifferent, None of us are Youngstown Natives, that generation has passed away a century ago. We are ALL "Imports" from other lands. But we are all here as a direct result of our grandparent's dreams and hopes. Are we living up to them? Are we striving to make Youngstown, yes I said YOUNGSTOWN, not "YO" all that it can be? For whatever reason, we are all here from different places of birth, and different cultures, but for the same purpose that I believe we lost track of.
Different cultures came together in the early 1900's to build Youngstown, Ohio. One hundred years later, we seem to be focusing on "different" instead of "culture" and destroying Youngstown.
I'm not willing to sit by and watch this city die, are you?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)