A friend of mine, Mike, died on Thursday. Cancer, of course.  He was only 48 years old.  He wasn’t a real close friend. I was closer to his wife who I worked with for many years.  Over the years I became a friend of the entire family. Our families did many things together.  I admired him as a solid family man and, when my own life was filled with chaos,  envied his relatively stable life. Stable, at least, until cancer showed up with its powerful, determined agenda.

Of course, when someone we know dies it makes us think. We think about that person.  We think about his survivors. We think about how lives will change. We think about our own mortality. With this death, I have been thinking mostly about what he will miss as his two daughters are so close to becoming wonderful young women with lives of their own.  Those thoughts bring me back to a consistent theme of my blog…everything has a lifespan, so savor every day.  Tell and show the people that you love, that you love them. Pay attention to the little things… small kindnesses, heat waves, a delicious peach, a handmade gift from a child. Stop at that lemonade stand. Say good morning to people. Get up in the middle of the night to see a meteor shower. These are the things that make up a life. A life that has an end.

Which brings me back to Mike and the title of this blogpost. Last winter, our families went together to see Holiday Lights at LV Zoo. The night started with a Mexican meal in Schnecksville.  We had a good time seeing the zoo lights but it was cold and we all had seen enough and were ready to go home. Moving toward the exit, Mike stopped. Mike stopped to make a little snowman on a fencepost.

That’s what I am talking about! Take the time to make a little snowman. Be like Mike.

 

 

 

I was never much for wearing jewelry. I don’t wear any except maybe a watch on occasion. That’s only to track time in my counseling sessions. I don’t have any piercings, though I do have one small tattoo. I don’t like wearing rings. Maybe that is the reason for my divorces…I just couldn’t stand the rings! Yeah. Probably not.

But there was a time when rings were important to me. Friendship rings! Remember them?  I’m thinking junior high (middle school for my younger readers) and early high school.  My memory says, though, that we didn’t use them to declare a friendship with a girl. We used them to declare our undying love and devotion! At least I did. But I admit, I am a bit of a romantic.

So Slatington, 1966. We had two hardware stores, two shoe stores, two pharmacies, but only one jewelry store. Mack Jewelers was located in the middle of the business block on Main Street. It was manned by the husband and wife owners. They were always there! His name was Capty. I would love to know why. I don’t remember her name. Perhaps it was Tenille!

You would go in to the store and you would ask to see the friendship rings. The wife, Tenille, would tease you a little bit and finally bring out the velvet tray with about a dozen rings with different designs. They were a little wider than a wedding ring and they were always etched with some design of stars or hearts or flowers.  At the time, they were beautiful.

So you buy your ring for about a buck and then it was time to give it to the love of your life. Nervous and sweaty palmed you finally present the token of your passion. Good times! I remember giving my first one to Jane Correll on the back of Charlie Carlton’s dump truck during a UCC Youth Group paper drive. I told you I was a romantic!

So that is what I was thinking about on this gorgeous Sunday morning. Can I get in a pet peeve on the same topic? Yes I can! It’s my blog! In radio and TV ads they often pronounce jewelry as if it is…jewlery. They reverse the e and the l and it drives me nuts! As long as that continues, they will never get a friendship ring from me.

Every generation thinks its music is the best. Well, they are all wrong! The music of the sixties and early seventies was beyond compare with any music that came before or after.  Am I biased? Sure!  Am I close minded about this? Absolutely! Am I correct? Without a doubt!

So where is this coming from on a quiet summer Sunday? Last night I saw the movie “Echo in the Canyon” at Civic Theater in Allentown.  The canyon is Laurel Canyon outside of LA. It’s about all of the artists, writers, and mostly musicians that lived here in the sixties. The film focused on a few. You know all the names. The Mamas and the Papas, the Beach Boys, The Byrds, Buffalo Springfield, and the Association.  Interviews with Tom Petty and Stephen Stills and Roger McGuinn and Michelle Phillips intersperse the great music. The host was Jakob Dylan and the movie was dedicated to the memory of Tom Petty.

The creativity. The cross pollination. The competition with the British Invasion. Brian Wilson heard The Beatles’ Rubber Soul album and it made him write the Beach Boys’ classic album Pet Sounds. Paul McCartney heard Pet Sounds and Sgt. Pepper was born. Wow!

My own forays into music have been pretty disappointing. A flutophone concert in fourth grade was my high point. That was followed by playing the cornet for Mr. Scarseletti. A stint on the St. John’s UCC Confirmation Choir followed that. Two failed attempts to learn guitar haunt me still.

I guess what I am saying is that I love and admire creativity and wish that I had more of it. Writing is as close as I get. I am still working on that. But wait! I did write a song once!

It’s called “Sweet Potato”. I wrote it while attempting to get baby Emma to eat her Gerber’s sweet potato baby food. For the music, think of maybe a sea chantey or a folky melody. Here is the chorus:

“They call them sweet potatoes in the north. They call them yams  in the South. I don’t care what you call them. Just stick them in my mouth!”.  Hahaha. My musical claim to fame. Hardly California Dreaming, but I like it. For What Its Worth.

Enjoy what’s left of your Independence Day Weekend. Be creative! The world needs more of that. And don’t forget to look for “Sweet Potato” on Spotify! You won’t find it, but look at all the good music you will uncover on your search.

 

Don’t worry. I’m fine. My family is fine.  The emotions I am talking about run the gamut from happiness to sadness and from contentment to fear.  Let me explain what I am talking about. I am sure you are totally confused by now.

This weekend the arts have once again did what they are supposed to do. They are supposed to make us feel things and they are supposed to make us think.  The arts I am referencing are writing and movie making and music.

First, I read a wonderful book “The Tao of Muhammad Ali” by Davis Miller. It was written around the time that Ali’s health was beginning to fade. Muhammad Ali was always one of my idols. This book by Miller, a friend of Ali’s, taught me so much more than I already knew about the man.  It made me idolize him even more. It made me happy to recollect all of fights and the hoopla and the controversies that made him the most famous face on the planet. It made me sad to read about his decline. His decline, though hastened by too many punches to the head, is the decline that we all face as we age.  My contentment comes from the fact that my decline has not shown any major signs of an imminent appearance. My fear is that it is just around the corner. Scary stuff!

Second, I saw the movie “Yesterday”. It is a feel good fantasy about a world blackout making everyone not knowing about nor never having heard of the Beatles. All except one man, who uses their songs as his own. I don’t want to be a ruiner, so that’s all I will say about the movie. But wow! So happy just being reminded of the wonderful music and how much influence The Beatles have had on my world. Sad to think there are only two Beatles left and they  are both in their late seventies.  Contentment comes from knowing that I will always have their music. If you come to my memorial service, some thirty years from now, expect to hear John, Paul George and Ringo… a lot.  The fear, after seeing this movie, is wondering what I have done in my life that will leave a legacy.  My kids for sure, but did I waste an opportunity to do more? Who knows?

So now it is Monday. The emotional weekend is over. Back to the everyday routine. But you know what? There is a lot to be said for that too! Happy that I have my health and family and friends and a career I love.  Sad that time is growing shorter and moving way too fast.  Contentment comes from knowing that, for the most part, I have control of my life and the way I choose to live it.  Fear of the fact that that could change in an instant.

Well, that was quite the philosophical post! Time to treat myself to a butter pecan iced coffee from Dunkin!  Ahh Dunkin’.  It’s great to be alive at the same time as the Dunkin Corporation! I kid. I kid.

This is the story of a lawless town in a lawless summer. The lawless town was Slatington. The lawless summer was in the early sixties. I want to say 1962-63. I am not certain of the exact years. Maybe my Slatington readers can help me out.   I apologize in advance for my lack of clarity on individual events. This is more of a general memory of a very scary time for a child, this child. I would have been ten or eleven.

There were bombings. There was gunplay.  There were curfews put in place.  This had nothing to do with civil rights, nor Vietnam protest. This was not a time of protest for MLK and RFK assassinations. That came years later, and not to Slatington.

This was just a perfect storm of a criminal element taking over a town of four thousand using terroristic tactics and fear. The police were outmanned and out armed. The State Police became involved and a state trooper was shot. Sounds hard to believe, I know. Little Slatington.

I lived right in the center of the worst of it. I lived on Dowell Street a half block off of Main. I can remember a fight involving at least a dozen young men, right outside of my house. I watched from my upstairs bedroom window. I don’t know why, but my parents didn’t call the police. Maybe they were scared too. The gas station right down the street was the scene of a shootout. I seem to remember that the state trooper was shot across the street outside of Rice and Evans Bar.

Curfews were put in place for Slatington’s youth.   My memory says that a siren would sound at 8:30 giving us a half hour to get home. Another siren would sound at 9. We had better be home and safe. Eventually all of this subsided and we were no longer on the front page of The Morning Call every single day. It lasted a few weeks.

I was reminded of this time by reading, on Facebook, stories of the town today. The drugs, the vandalism, and the ineffectual police.  Everything old is new again.

If any of my readers have any specific memories, of this crazy time years ago, I would love to hear your comments.

“Hot town, summer in the city. Back of my neck gettin’ dirty and gritty. Bend down, isn’t it a pity. Doesn’t seem to be a shadow in the city!”. Maybe the Lovin’ Spoonful were really singing about Slatington! Yeah. Probably not.

 

Yesterday my daughter, Emma, passed her driver’s license exam! I had very little doubt that she would pass the test. She is a good driver. I knew that if anything would screw it up, it would be her anxiety getting her flustered. Didn’t happen!!

The day before the exam and the morning of the exam two weird things happened that, if I were superstitious, could have been omens of portending doom.  I’m not and they weren’t!  The night before the exam, I got out of work at 7 I decided to give Emma one more chance to practice parallel parking at the exam site. She got in the car to drive there, pulled onto 22 at Cedar Crest, and immediately the car started smoking out the back so much so that we could have caused accidents because of low visibility.  We got off the next exit and got it checked out. No one could find anything wrong. By then it was too late for more practice. Nothing has happened with the car since.

The day of the exam, we got there early. That’s what I do!  The examiner approaches and introduces himself. We sign the necessary forms. Emma is pumped to get this over with. It’s raining. He asks Emma to turn on the signals, blow the horn, use the wipers etc.  Then he calls me over. Uh oh. This can’t be good. My brake light is out! What are the chances?! Exam on hold. Have to fix the brake light. Emma was devastated, understandably, and upset.  An Auto Zone up the road bailed us out. Back to the exam site. Pass!!

A big milestone in Emma’s life, and in mine as well.  I didn’t expect to be having these types of milestones at my age, 67. Been there, done that, with my two older kids.  But you know what? It’s awesome!  I can’t wait for the next milestone, most likely graduation. After that engagement, first real job, wedding, children.  Wow!  Life stuff! And I get to go through it all again with a front row seat.

Rose Kennedy famously said, “Life isn’t a matter of milestones, but of moments.”   I get that Rose, but I am going to savor this milestone for a bit longer.  The moments will come day in and day out.  Milestones or moments? I don’t care if you call them Bob! Just let them keep coming. Life is pretty wonderful!

Quite the name, huh? That’s my dad! Of course, his last name is George. The middle name Kernechel, was his mom’s maiden name. His nickname was Wimp and if anyone asked him his name he would say Bill George. I’m thinking about him this Fathers Day morning as  I sit here with a swollen face and an abscessed tooth!

Speaking of teeth, my dad had dentures as I long as I’ve known him. But I don’t recall ever seeing him without them.  I do remember him always cutting the kernels off a corn cob instead of diving in head first like we all did.

My dad was born in 1910. He was an only child, but did have a sister who, I think, died at childbirth. He had four children right before WWII, so he did not serve in that war. Instead, he was an air raid warden for Slatington. Yeah, I can’t figure out either why the Nazis would bomb the little bucolic borough of Slatington.  He had baby boomer me after the war, in 1952. He was an older father, 42 when I was born. I topped that one, dad!! 50 here!

He died in 1983 from emphysema, a three pack a day smoker!

I was a daddy’s boy, to use the vernacular of the day. I looked up to him and loved spending time with him. He introduced me to fishing and hunting and pool. He was a pool hustler in the bars and clubs around Slatington.  He was a Yankees fan and we went once or twice to Yankee Stadium. He was always my biggest supporter in whatever I wanted to do.  My mom died when I was fifteen and for a little while he tried his best to be dad and mom to me.  That, in spite of the fact that the only thing he could cook was eggs. We both eventually moved in with my brother Jim. My dad and I shared a room in the attic.

My dad had his flaws. He was a door to door salesman, working strictly on commission. We did not have a lot of money. I can remember times when there was not enough money to buy oil for the house and we would freeze in the dead of winter.  He was impulsive. He once cashed in his entire retirement savings to pay for a trip to see his oldest son in California.  I think that trip was the highlight of his life.

My dad taught me compassion and empathy. He taught me to always stick up  for the little guy. He’s the reason I’m a Democrat!  He didn’t like people who were arrogant or haughty. He must be rolling over in his grave with Trump as president. He could be a little non-conformist at times. I can remember him telling an inappropriate joke at the first dinner meeting with my soon to be in-laws.  Dad!

So that’s my dad on this Fathers Day. Flaws and all, I love him dearly and I think of him often. There are so many good remembrances I left out of this post. But, those are for me to savor, today and every day.  One thing I am glad my dad didn’t give me…his name! Just think, I could be Winfield Kernechel George, Jr.!!!

 

 

Forty nine years ago this month, I experienced one of the most important milestones of my life. In June of 1970, I graduated from Slatington High School.  The thing is, after four high school years with one goal in mind, I don’t remember much about that day.  I’m not sure why.

Here is what I do remember. I remember arriving at the school maybe two hours before the ceremony. I remember hanging out with friends, some for the very last time.  I remember the gown and the cap and arguing which side the tassel starts and ends on. Yeah…important stuff.

It was a hot day. A very hot day. Our graduation ceremony was held in our football stadium, Alumni Field. I don’t remember the valedictory nor salutatory speeches. Sorry Mary Ann and Patty!  I don’t remember who the keynote speaker was. But I do remember what he talked about. I guess I was actually listening. He talked about the lyrics of a song that was very popular at the time. The song was called Reflections of My Life by Marmalade (no, not Lady Marmalade). Listen to these depressing lyrics:  “The world is, a bad place, a bad place, a terrible place to live, Oh. but I don’t want to die.” The speaker, whoever he was, pleaded with us not to take that attitude into our adulthood. He tried convincing us that the world is not a bad place. I don’t know any of my classmates who felt that the world was a bad place!  C’mon man, lighten up! It’s our graduation day!

We got our diplomas from Principal Kemp. We stood as a class one last time and tossed our hats into the Slatington sky.  And just like that. Just like that. It was over. Thirteen years of our lives, over in a flash. Adulthood awaited. What a journey it was that ended that night! What a journey it is that had just begun!

Our night ended with a dance at the local Moose Home hosted by the Slatington Junior Womans Club.  Thank you, Junior Women!  Here is a picture of me at that dance.  Do I look scared about the future? Do I look sad that high school was over? Do I look like someone who is just in awe about life and the wonderful world we live in? Choose number three!

“And what is so rare as a day in June?” – James Russell Lowell.  Today is the first day of June. I was reminded of that famous line, from a less famous poem, when I opened my bedroom blinds this morning. The sun was rising behind the tree line, an orange yellow glow extending into the grass. It is going to be a beauiful day. A rare day.

What do you think of when you hear the word June? A first day of summer, if you think of summer as June, July, and August? Do you think of school endings and graduations?  Do you think of June brides and June weddings?  Is it time to start vacation planning and thoughts of the shore?  If you prefer the mountains, do you think about long days in the woods or by the lake? Do you remember that June 21st is the longest day of sun in the entire year?  Do June memories take you back to picnics and pool parties?  Or, like me, do they take you back to playing outside with your friends, catching lightning bugs in jars and staring at them in awe?  Staring at the lightning bugs….not the friends!  That would be rude!

I love June. I love summer. June holds such promise. The start of a hundred days of t-shirts and shorts and lemonade and iced tea!  As you all know I have been married more than once!  I have two June wedding anniversaries, June 19 and June 28. Interestingly ( at least to me!), my longest marriage began in April! So much for June weddings!

Can you tell that I had no specific intent with this post?  I thought I might write about my high school graduation or why it is so hard to be bald in the summertime. But, alas, one look outside and my mind filled with June musings.  So let me end, like I started, with another June quote: “If a June night could talk, it would probably boast it invented romance.” – Bernard Williams.

In case I whet your appetite for a post on what it’s like to be bald in the summertime…I’ll get right on that, like a duck on a June bug!

 

 

 

 

Today is the day we remember and thank those men and women who gave their lives for our great nation. I salute them as well. I don’t come from a military family. My oldest brother served in the Marine Corps during peacetime following WWII. A great-great grandfather was wounded in the Civil War. He was shot in the abdomen during the Siege of Fort Wagner in South Carolina. That is the battle featured in the movie Glory, with Denzel Washington. I have all of that great-great-grandfather’s military records.

The only other military connection I can think of, from my family, is a different great-great-grandfather. Elias Kernechel. Below you can see his draft notice for the Civil War. Also below, you can see how he avoided service in that war.  Back in that day, if your family had money, you could pay for a substitute to take your place. That’s exactly what Elias did.

I don’t know enough about that time to say this was an example of cowardice. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. I don’t know if they had draft deferments. I don’t know the circumstances of his life. I know you could pay for a replacement soldier. No need to fake bone spurs back then. Just pay some poor family to sacrifice a son for you. I will never know the details of the life of Elias Kernechel. His last name lived on as my dad’s middle name. I am thankful it stopped there!

So, again my thanks to all who sacrificed their lives so I have the freedoms I have today.  Take a look at my draft dodging great-great grandfather’s records below.