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Buds-Life.html
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Buds-Life.html
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<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<title>Bud's Life</title>
<style>
.page-break {
page-break-before: always;
}
blockquote {
font-style: italic;
}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1 class="page-break">Bud's Life</h1>
<p>Some Memories of Maurice James Mueller, Jr.
<p>Especially for Kathy,
and<br>
The great supporting cast of<br>
Laurie, Patrick, Tom, Dan,<br>
Julie, Peter, Sam, Gretchen, Hannah, Noah, Beck, Mia<br>
<p>All of you have made my life unbelievably rich!
<!-- ===================================================================== -->
<h1 class="page-break">Introduction</h1>
<p>"I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth." -- Lou Gerhig,
July 4, 1939.
<p>The great New York Yankee first baseman Lou Gerhig has always been my hero.
I watch the movie of his life story, "Pride of the Yankees" whenever I get the
chance. He held the major league record for consecutive games played at 2130,
for over 60 years, earning the nickname "Iron Horse." He had great ability,
stamina, courage, and was an all-around good guy. He retired from baseball
after being diagnosed with ALS, Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, an illness
which paralyzes and kills within 3 years. Lou died on June 2, 1941, and ALS
has come to be known as "Lou Gerhig's Disease. The slugger faced and fought it
in the same courageous way he played baseball and lived his life. In spite of
his awful illness, he still considered himself very lucky. For various
multiple reasons, especially minimal athletic ability, my own career as an
athlete never remotely approached that of Gerhig's. But I have been lucky in
somewhat different ways, such as getting out of various jams by the skin of my
teeth. There have been lots of close calls, narrow escapes, near misses of
mine, especially early in life.
<!-- ===================================================================== -->
<h1 class="page-break">Chapter I. Starting out</h1>
<p>NEW YEAR'S EVE , December 31, 1935
<p>Dr. Cyril Savage had just finished getting into the tuxedo which he wore,
reluctantly, once yearly, to the Delphos Club's New Year's Eve party. The
telephone rang, and the operator gave him a call from one his obstetric
patients, Vi Mueller. She thought she might be in early labor, and wanted him
to be aware of this possibility, hoping to keep his celebrating to a minimum.
He reassured her, stating that she was still a good friend, one of his
favorite patients, as well as a great public health nurse.
<p>Sure enough, shortly after midnight on New Year's Day 1936, Dr. Savage was
called to the Mueller home on West Second Street. Most Delphos babies were
born at home in those days, the nearest hospital being 15 miles away, and many
families, including ours, had no car. At 4:15 AM, Maurice James Mueller, Jr.
entered the world, after an apparently uneventful labor and delivery. Dr.
Savage eventually left General Practice to become a proctologist. However,
there is no evidence that he decided on this specialty as a result of
delivering me.
<p>THE NAME
<p>My parents were going to name me either Walter or Raymond. But what else do
you call a kid who is born on his father's birthday, which happened to be New
Years Day at that? The pronunciation of my name was always "Mawr-us," not
"Mawr-eece." It is my understanding that "Mawr-us" is Irish, which reflects my
Irish grandmother's heritage. And "Mawr-eece" just sounded too French for the
German side of the family, who most likely never had a great love for that
nation or its people. I also have never especially liked the French -- maybe
this has been somehow genetically ingrained into my brain. That having been
said, when introducing myself, I sometimes use the French pronunciation -
"Mawr-eece", since it appears to be the most common one, and which most people
seem to understand.
<p>Not many kids are named after both of their parents. But I was also named
after my mother. Her friends called her "Bud," or "Buddy," apparently because
her dad wanted a boy. (She was second born). So, when I was a kid, it was a
natural to nickname me "Buddy." Maybe the folks thought "Maurie" or "Moe"
sounded too Jewish. Although there were no Jews in Delphos at the time, these
names probably would have been politically incorrect for our town.
<p>We always pronounced the family name with a hard "U": "Mew-ler," and not
the softened "U" as in "Muller." The hard pronunciation is more Germanic. Our
family apparently never felt threatened by their German heritage. Or perhaps
they just couldn't afford the 50 bucks needed to officially change the name.
Delphos was over 75% German at the time, so that likely wasn't much of a
problem. The softer pronunciation was an attempt at Anglicization. During
World War II, some German-American families were often ostracized just for
having a German name. These Muellers wanted their name to sound more English,
and went either with the softer form, or changed it entirely, to "Miller."
<p>FAMILY TREE
<p>My dad's father was John, his father Nicholas, whose father was Peter
Mueller. The latter emigrated from Germany. I don't know the exact location,
but most people came to Delphos from Northern Germany, many from the Hanover
area. Helen Moloney, my dad's mother, was the daughter of Michael Moloney. He
was born in County Cork, Ireland, and came to the U.S. during the Great Potato
famine of the 1840s. My grandparents had four children: Cyril, the oldest,
then my dad, followed by Catherine and then Lucille. Granpa Mueller was a
railroader for the Pennsylvania Railroad; Grandma worked in the Cigar Factory
in Delphos, and was said to be a union activist and generally a rabble rouser.
They divorced when my dad was a teenager. Although a really good guy, he never
had many good things to say about his mother. Unfortunately, his attitude
affected me, and I always had a negative attitude toward her.
<p>My mom's parents were Frank and Lauretta Reinemeyer. Frank was a cabinet
maker who also sold Oldsmobiles. He died before I was born, of "double
pneumonia" during a Flu epidemic in 1930. His parents were Ferd and Pauline
(Polly). Ferd was the first white baby boy baptized in Delphos, Ohio. ("White"
as opposed to American Indian). Grandma's father was Joseph Lang, who was born
in Germany - Alsacs-Lorrain in 1858. Rumor has it that Joseph left for the
U.S. to avoid being conscripted into the French army during the
Franco-Prussion War. Maybe this provided more reasons for the family to
dislike the French. Joseph Lang's wife was Agnes Schmidt. My Grandparents
Frank and Lauretta had 7 children in this order: Agnes, then my mom Viola
Lauretta, then Mary (Fuzzy), followed by Charles (Punk), Francis (Petey), John
(Tom), and Bob.
<!-- ===================================================================== -->
<h1 class="page-break">Chapter II. Preschool Years</h1>
<p>West First Street
<p>We lived in several different locations before I started school. Sometime
during my first few years of life, we moved one street over, to West First
Street. Most of what I know of this house is from photos and family
conversations. I recall a picture of my sister Sue sitting in our outhouse
with her dog, Tawsey. The faithful dog often accompanied her there for visits
during the day, apparently concerned that she might fall in. There is a vague
memory of our next door neighbor, Wendell Davis, whom I was told occasionally
baby sat for my sister and me. I remember him as being a WW I veteran, having
a wooden leg, and a very happy and friendly guy.
<p>North Jefferson Street
<p>When I was 3 years old, we moved down to North Jefferson Street, not far
from the city swimming pool. Our next door neighbors were the Paul family:
Boots and his wife Audrey, their kids Billy, and JoAnn. During the summer, it
was said that Audrey did her ironing in the nude, but I never saw her in
action. Billy was a playmate of mine, two years older and usually had a snotty
nose or some kind of sinus condition. I recall at age 4 being the first one to
report a fire on the roof of the Clossen house down the street. They owned
Clossen Electric in Delphos, and were very thankful to me for telling them
about the fire.
<p>One of my Christmas presents during this time was an electric train. I was
too young to operate it, and my dad and his cronies played with it mostly. One
of these was Bill Wilcox, who was also known to eat dog biscuits when
provoked.
<p>There was some kind of family party at our house one Sunday. My sister and
my cousins, the Meekins girls JoAnn and Nancy conducted some sort of ceremony
or ritual. We had cousin Francis ("Beaver" or "Eenie") Ditto get into the
chest of drawers, closed the lid, and "offered him up as a sacrifice."
Fortunately, we did not lock him in, and there was no permanent brain damage
(as far as I know).
<p>The most vivid memory during this time period was of my sister's bout with
Scarlet Fever. This was before World War II, and prior to widespread
penicillin use. Standard treatment at the time was bed rest and quarantine . I
can remember a man coming to the house and nailing a red "quarantine" sign on
the front door. This meant that we could not leave the house and could not
have visitors for one month. The highly contagious Streptococcus was greatly
feared as the source of the dangerous rheumatic fever. My dad stayed at his
father's house during this time, so he could go to work.
<p>Sue survived Scarlet Fever and the quarantine without complications. But
the inactivity left her in less than optimum physical condition, and the
doctor recommended an exercise program. Someone suggested tap dancing, and
soon both she and I were enrolled in the Lima School of Tap. I was included
because no one volunteered to babysit with me while Mom and Sue went to Lima
for the tap lessons. Getting there was a grind -- there was no family car, and I
began my lifetime battle with motion sickness on the 30 minute Greyhound bus
rides. We took lessons for two years, performing in several recitals as a duet
and also individually. At one program at Lima Memorial Auditorium, I had a
solo routine. But I developed severe stage fright just before making my
entrance, and had to be pushed out onto the stage. I did all of my routine,
but this was to be one of my last public performances as a tap dancer.
However, a special routine would be done much later in Nashville Tennessee by
request of my college roommate Matt Gorham's friends during a visit in early
1955.
<p>Another medical footnote from this house was a bout with severe impetigo.
This skin infection affected my face and scalp. The treatment at the time was
gentian violet applications at night, followed by removal of the scabs the
next morning -- OUCH!! The medication burned like fire, and the torture
continued when the scabs were picked off. As I remember, my mom had to do this
task. She did a good job, as I have no obvious scars from the ordeal.
<p>Also during this time, I was briefly hospitalized at St.Rita's one Sunday
night with possible appendicitis. There is a vivid memory of the painful
finger stick for the blood count, especially the glass slide on my finger for
the white cell differential test. (I did not know what this was at the time).
By the time the test came back normal, my belly pain was almost gone, most
likely the result of gorging myself with dried peaches at the West Side
Grocery Store where my dad worked.
<p>One other "medical emergency" occurred one morning when I shoved a "Kix"
cereal up my nose. Although a skilled nose picker by that time, I couldn't
retrieve it. No one suggested that I simply blow my nose real hard, and I was
again taken to the doctor's office for a very uncomfortable removal of the
foreign body.
<p>Our house was near the city baseball field, and Dad took me to a ball game
one Sunday afternoon. The game must have been exciting, because at one point,
I stood up and yelled: "Son of a Bitch!" It's often funny to see a little kid
swear, but my folks didn't think so -- mom washed my mouth out with soap. I
never swore again in front of my parents.
<p>I was apparently not a very nice kid at that time, and did not get along
well with my sister. I recall hitting her in the head with my toy handgun, for
some reason. With my bad temper, I probably didn't need much of a reason.
Fortunately, she was not seriously injured.
<p>I'm not sure if I was a very happy kid back then or not, but I used to sing
my favorite song a lot - You Are My Sunshine :
<blockquote>
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.<br>
You make me happy, when skies are gray.<br>
You'll never know dear, how much I love you,<br>
Please don't take my sunshine from me."<br>
</blockquote>
<p>North Canal Street
<p>In the early 40's, we moved again. This house was even closer to the pool.
My buddy at that time was Donnie Williams, who later died of polio during the
awful epidemics of the 50's. My own major medical event of this era was a
tonsillectomy. This was done in Dr. Shapiro's office, who was a GP who did
just about everything. I remember being in his office, on the operating table,
when he came at me with a mask. He said "take a deep breath -- this will smell
very sweet." It didn't -- it was the ether mask for my anesthetic, and I fought
the awful-smelling stuff. Later, I woke up with an extremely sore throat, and
demanded the ice cream that had been promised before surgery.
<p>This house was not far from Main Street in Delphos, which hosted the Allen
County Fair each year. For one week, 12 straight blocks were cordoned off for
animal exhibits and various rides like the ferris wheel. We used to watch the
workers set up all of this stuff on early Monday morning. Every day we would
spend most of the day at the Fair. For some reason I would go on many of the
rides and almost always got very motion-sick. Especially bad were the
"Octopus," and the "Whip," but I could even get sick on the "Merry-Go Round."
I just never seemed to learn not to go on the rides.
<!-- ===================================================================== -->
<h1 class="page-break">Chapter III. Starting School</h1>
<p>West State St. 1941-42 .
<p>After one year at North Canal Street, we moved to Grandma Reinemeyer's
house at the end of State Street, next to the railroad tracks. For one year,
our family shared this tiny house with Grandma Reinemeyer, the four Meekins:
My mom's sister Aunt Mary and Uncle Fay Meekins and their three kids: JoAnn,
Nancy, and Mike, plus dog Daisy May. Later, there would be two more
Meekins -- Mary Alice (Cookie), and Tom. This was plenty of people for this
little house, but after my Uncle Pete Reinemeyer left for the army, his wife
Donna and there three kids, Frank, Judy, and Donny Kay also moved into the
house. We did have some good times, especially with the Meekins, and they
would ride us around in their very old jalopy -- "Old Bessy." My closest
cousin-pal was JoAnn Meekins. Although she was five years older, for some
reason we connected, and would communicate for several years. There was only
one bathroom in the house, so all of us required lots of patience - or some
other virtue, to survive.
<p>Like my other grandparents, Grandma Reinemeyer was not a very likable
person, Maybe the presence 10 kids in the hours made it worse. We kids were
not allowed to go into her living room or open the refrigerator. She was
probably around the same age as I am now, and memories of her hatefulness have
probably influenced me to try very hard not to be an old crank in my old age -
At least I'm trying!
<p>At age 5, I had the measles. Uncle Tom Reinemeyer, my mom's brother and
always my favorite uncle, woke me up one morning early in '42, to say goodbye
before he left for the army and World War II. The other Reinemeyer uncles were
also army men. Uncle Charles spent most of his time in the South after he
broke his leg. Ironically, Uncle Pete, the only married brother at the time,
saw the most combat. He landed in Sicily and fought in the Battle of the
Bulge. He also had a hemorrhoidectomy, won the Bronze Star and Purple Heart
(Not for the hemorrhoids). Uncle Tom was in the South Pacific, mostly in
Hawaii, and Uncle Bob was in the medical corps and spent time in Germany.
During this War, most men were away from home for three or four years, without
furlough, and my uncles were no exception. They didn't get home until 1945,
and I missed them a lot. The big thing for kids back then was to play "army,"
and we had lots of play guns, toy airplanes, and all the war stuff. For me
back then, war was fun.
<p>My career as a lifetime student had begun in 1941. Very few kids went to
kindergarten at the time. My parents tried to start me in school in first
grade at St. Johns probably earlier than I should have. At the time, a kid was
supposed to be age 6 by December 31. My birthday being January 1, I missed the
deadline by one day. I don't recall being terribly anxious to start school at
the time. But my parents apparently were -- I suspect they just wanted to get me
the hell out of the house. I was permitted a trial at first grade, but the
first day was a disaster. When I came home after class, mom asked me how it
went. I said ok, but I felt sorry for this one kid, who didn't even know his
name. Mom asked what his name was, and I said it was something like " Mawreece
Mueller." I knew my first name, but only when pronounced " Mawruss ," not the
other way. Maybe this was the start of a lifelong habit of exactitude,
definitional clarity, and compulsiveness. But it may just have indicated that
back then, I was just a simple-minded little kid. My Uncle Pete Reinemeyer,
among others, never let me forget that story. The name saga continued when I
really did start school.
<p>I did not go back to school that year after the first day flunk out. The
extra year allowed time to mature somewhat and learn how to read. Mom always
encouraged us to read, and we usually received books for Christmas gifts. This
was a major advantage when I successfully started first grade in '42, and I
finished the year in a tie with Mickey Wulfhorst for top grades. Our teacher,
Sr. Pancratius told me that I would have been "highest boy" if I hadn't hit
Roger Wilhelm with a stone during recess in the spring of '43. St. John's
school and church were about one mile from our house, and there being no
family car, we walked to school every day.
<p>My parents had a 7th birthday party for me on New Year's Day of '43. It was
at my Aunt "Duchy's" house (dad's sister Lucille Miller). I was told that the
party wasn't at our own house because it was so small. All the boys in my
first grade section were there: Micky Wulfhorst, Zeno Post, Roger Wilhelm,
Tommy Weger, Tommy Ricker, Jimmy Ridenour, Hubey Warnecke, and Kenny Siefker.
One of the poorest kids, George Schabbing, did not attend. I'm not sure if he
was invited or not. He was considered to be a not very "nice" boy, and he also
usually stunk to high heaven. He either wet his pants, never bathed, or both.
We called him "Sweater-Boy," because he wore 3 or 4 sweaters at one time when
it was cold. Maybe they couldn't afford to buy him a winter coat. In any
event, the future would bring me more than a few conflicts with George.
<p>Some other memorable sensations include those of disagreeable tastes, as
well as some very pleasant odors. We did not have a refrigerator at the time,
and I can still remember taking milk for lunch in my thermos bottle. After
discovering the milk to be sour a few times, I refused to drink any milk at
all for many years. But the wonderful aroma of freshly baked bread lingers in
my senses. One of our neighbors baked bread, and I enjoyed eating it with hot
tea. My heightened sense of smell is probably inherited. Most of the family
had it, except for Aunt Aggie - Mom's older sister, Agnes Ditto. As mom
described it, "Aggie just didn't smell very good."
<!-- ===================================================================== -->
<h1 class="page-break">West Fourth St. 1943-44 -- 2nd grade</h1>
<p>Things were apparently getting out of hand with the crowd at Grandma's
house, and during the summer of '43, we moved. This time was to a tiny little
house not too far from Grandma's. We were close to the swimming pool, and I
spent a lot of time getting sunburned and learning how to swim. There were no
swimming lessons available, so everyone just taught themselves. That summer, I
came close to drowning when I went out over my head toward the deep area. I
was too embarrassed to yell for help, and luckily, my rudimentary dog paddling
saved me.
<p>Everyone was gung-ho for The War back then, and "Victory gardens" were
popular. We did our share with a huge garden and potato patch in the back
yard. My dad quartered the potatoes, and we dug the holes and dropped them in.
I tried growing a watermelon for myself, but ended up with only a tiny one.
<p>Summer sensory memories recalled are the taste of my mom's great home-made
iced tea, with fruit floating in it. She was not an accomplished cook, but
made some first class deserts - bread pudding, rice pudding, tapioca, and
pineapple upside down cake were her specialties.
<p>One memory of unpleasant sensations from back then is the odor of raw
sewage. During that year, our toilet backed up - it wasn't my fault! The sewer
pipes were ancient, cracked, and we were all up s--t creek, with around 4
inches of raw sewage covering the floor of the entire house. What a mess!
<p>Speaking of odors, one of our neighbors on Fourth Street were the
Schabbings. My classmate George had failed the first grade and was one year
older. He picked on me a lot, and made fun of my name. He and some of the
other not-so-nice boys would call me "Moron" or "Maur-ass." The name was a
burden for a little kid. But it may have worked like Johnny Cash's "A Boy Named
Sue," a song about a kid who was beaten up all the time because of his strange
name. But he compensated for it, and eventually became a very good fighter and
was able to survive. Maybe I compensated for being called "Moron" by working
extra hard to do well in school.
<p>George also beat me up regularly after school. Mom finally told me to
defend myself, and not to come beat up and dirty, and getting my clothes
ruined. This was a good idea, if for no other reason that George's stench was
so bad, it was terrible to smell him when he had me down and was punching me.
Some of my pals also helped me out, and we would often chase him home after
school. This exercise may have helped develop his endurance as a sprinter. On
the last day of school, he ran all the way home to tell my mom that I was
"highest boy" academically in the second grade. Sr. Leonardo apparently liked
me.
<p>A highlight of second grade was First Communion. First confession was one
week before, and I worried about telling all of my sins. (I was 8 years old).
After first communion, I then worried that I might have committed a sacrilege
because I had not confessed all of the mortal sins. (Did this experience screw
me up psychologically?) The first communion ceremony itself was traumatic
enough -- the boys wore short white pants, and long white hose held up by a
garter belt. My partner during the mass was Tommy Ricker, another future
fighting partner. Before we went into church, he whispered to me, quite
seriously and piously, recognizing the enormity of the day ritual: "Here we
go -- This is it!" That afternoon, we had a huge party for me at home. There
were many drunken people, including both of my parents.
<p>The second grade also brought a new classmate who became a lifelong friend
- Bob Holden, who moved to Delphos from Indianapolis in '43. He was quite
popular and was considered hot stuff, possibly because he had already made his
first confession and communion. He received every day, almost a whole year
before any of us. I am not sure how often he went to confession, but I suspect
frequently.
<p>In spite of all of our prayers, and even with God on our side, THE WAR was
continuing. I really missed my four uncles. I enjoyed climbing trees and up
onto rooftops, and one evening climbed up on the roof at home and cried while
I was thinking about the war. This was not unusual, since some people accused
me of being a "crybaby" at the time.
<!-- ===================================================================== -->
<h1 class="page-break">Canal Street. 1944-49. 3rd Grade -- 7th Grade</h1>
<p>(Third-fourth grades, '44, '45, '46):
<p>During the summer of '44, we moved away from the Demon Toilet on West 4th
St. This time it was to Canal Street, between 2nd and 3rd streets. It was
closer to downtown Delphos than our previous Canal Street house. The street's
name was appropriate -- it was a mere 100 yards away from the Miami and Erie
Canal, which runs through the center of town.
<p>Ours was an interesting neighborhood, with lots of attractions. It was only
a one block walk for my Dad to his job at Schmidt's West Side Grocery Store.
He had awful foot problems -- painful bunions and callouses, and flat feet. The
feet and hypertension had kept him out of military service. But two Schmidt
boys, Jerome and Alfred did go into the Army, leaving Dad and 19 year old Bob
Schmidt to run the store for three years.
<p>Across the street from the house was Raabe's Ford. Since no new civilian
cars were made between 1941-45 because of The War, they sold only used cars.
Two doors down from us was the telephone company, and the nice looking young
lady telephone operators would walk past our front door. Adjacent to our back
yard was Harder's Funeral Home. Across the street from the telephone office
was the town bowling alley, site of my first paying job. Across from it was
Dr. Scherger's office, a G.P. who had gone to Xavier University and then St.
Louis U. Medical School.
<p>Across the street from him was a veterinarian's office, Dr. Lehman. One day
I say him cut open a female pig and remove the baby pigs? a Cesarean
Section. He did not sew up the sow, and it obviously died. I never quite
figured that one out.
<p>Our next door neighbors were Kahle's on one side, and the Swartz's on the
other. Marc Kahle ran a bakery in Delphos. He was a nice enough guy, but did
not give us any free cookies, pies, or creme puffs. Carol Kahle was his pretty
daughter, and one of my first girl friends, but "pal" Mike Wulfhorst came
around to "play" , and was a serious competitor. But the Kahles moved to
Toledo, and that ended my budding romance. The Swartz's were an old man and
woman who lived together. Story had it that they were not married, but I never
quite understood the relationship. They were mean to kids -- we were not allowed
to walk on the sidewalk in front of their house! What was wrong with all of
these Old Farts!
<p>Next to the Swartzes were the Fetzers, a large family of pretty good
people. Orby Fetzer was a classmate and we were big buddies, and his brother
Wayne was my sister's age. We all had some great times together, and often
went fishing in the canal. My mom's favorite of the family was little Paulie.
At age 3, he would entertain with his salty language, like calling someone a
"dirty backud" (bastard).
<p>There was an empty lot across the street, big enough for softball and
football, and kids from other neighborhoods came over to play. At the end of
the lot were tunnels under the sidewalk which made it great for our war games.
We played army, air force, and navy. I dreamed of being a navy or air force
pilot, and weirdly hoped that the war lasted long enough for us to get into
it. Fortunately, it didn't.
<p>The summer of '45 brought a glorious V-J Day and the end to World War II. I
was 9 years old, and celebrated by sneaking out two cans of beer and drinking
them in the huge cardboard box which served as my play
airplane-destroyer-tank-bunker. The beer tasted bitter, but I slugged it down
in the spirit of celebration, imitating adults who did the same thing when
they were happy about important events.
<p>My four Uncles came home from the army soon after. Favorite Uncle Tom
appeared one day in his officer's uniform, and had been doing a lot of
celebrating. But it was still good to see him and he brought me his old-style
battle helmet, a knapsack, a holster, and a cartage belt.
<p>Uncle Tom was instrumental in my development as a boxer. At the time The
War ended, I was still not defending myself too well, maybe even somewhat
sissified. In 3rd and 4th grade, the nuns at St.John's made a big deal of the
Saints and martyrs. They encouraged vocations to the priesthood, and at one
point, I thought a lot about going to the seminary. The martyrs were my
heroes, so that when some kid had me down and was beating the hell out of me,
I would "offer it up to God" like the martyrs, and take it. Wisely, my parents
did not think this was a great idea, and they gave me boxing gloves for a
Christmas gift.
<p>Uncle Tom was sparring with me, and gave me a jab in the nose. My nose was
always very sensitive, and when I got hit there, I would then usually lose
control and really start swinging my fists at whomever was in front of me. At
a Knights of Columbus picnic, I was in a boxing match. I was mostly just
dancing around until my opponent hit me in the nose. I lost control, and
really started swing away. They finally had to pull me off before I really
hurt him. ((This would be the first of many other childhood scraps)), but I
was very much into boxing at the time. I enjoyed practicing on my punching bag
at home. I was finally defending myself.
<p>Maybe too much self defense. For some reason, I got into a lot of fights
during 4th and 5th grade, mainly with Orby Fetzer and my first communion
partner Tom Ricker. This was mostly wrestling and body punching, as it hurt
too much to punch someone in the face without the cushion of boxing gloves.
Tom and I would sometimes have continuous fights over several days at a time.
One of the last ones was at a basketball game. We fought in public right
inside the school, before the game, at halftime, and afterwards. This was to
be one of my last fights, and it must have terribly embarrassed my Dad who
attended the game and watched me perform.
<p>Grandma Reinemeyer had a debilitating stroke in 1946, and moved in with us so
my mom could take care of her. Grandma was confined to bed most of the time,
could barely walk with help, had slurred speech, was incontinent, and stayed
in my parent's bedroom. She was still not too likable, and I sometimes
resented her for being there. I especially did not like it when she was given
the last doughnut that would have ordinarily been mine to eat.
<!-- ===================================================================== -->
<h1 class="page-break">1947: 5th Grade</h1>
<p>Grandma died in 1947 when I was in the 5th grade. One morning my mom took
in breakfast as usual, and found her unresponsive. I knew she had died when my
mom screamed "Mom!" Grandma's death marked the time of a drastic change in my
attitude and performance in school. I was just learning to serve mass, having
memorized most of the Latin responses. It seemed natural for me to be a server
at Grandma's funeral. Up to that time, I had never missed a day in 5 years of
school. For some reason, my fifth grade nun counted me absent from school for
the entire day, even though I had missed only morning class for the funeral
mass. This may have been one of the beginnings of my "very long memory," in
which I never forget getting the shaft. I not only did not forget this, but it
changed my attitude toward school -- I soon became discouraged, and lost a lot
of interest.
<p>Although not spending a great deal of time on school work back then, I did
compose my first letter to an editor. The "Safety Legion" company made school
clothes for boys, such as corduroy pants and coats. They emphasized safety in
traffic and other life situations, and published a monthly magazine, "The
Pilot." The magazine featured letters and stories about events related to
various safety features. I sent in a story about a neighbor women, Emma
Metzger, who had become permanently "hunch-backed" from being hit in the back
with a snowball containing a large rock. Fortunately, the story was not
published, and I discovered later that the entire sequence of events had been
fabricated by one of our gossipy neighbors.
<p>Our family summer vacations during 5th-8th grades were spent in Detroit.
The four of us would take the base, staying with Aunt Mary, Uncle Fay, and the
5 Meekins kids in their tiny house in River Rouge, Michigan. My dad and I
would go to the Tigers' games every day, and we got to see stars like the
Yankees' Joe Dimaggio, Mickey Mantle, and Yogi Berra, and my favorite, Ted
Williams of the Red Sox.
<!-- ===================================================================== -->
<h1 class="page-break">6th-7th Grade</h1>
<p>In 1948-49, I was busy with the Boy Scouts and sports. During this time, at
age 11, several of us started going to boy scout meetings. I loved the scouts,
even when we got soaked with rain on our first camp out at Cascade Park,
around 30 miles from home. I had several tents, and usually had one set up in
our front yard all summer long, where we would sleep out frequently. "We"
included Barney Altman and Dan Maloney. Troop 48 had a very progressive
scoutmaster, Ted Grewe, who kept saying that the age for becoming scouts was
going to be lowered from age 12 to 11. This did not happen while I was 11. But
I was very much into the scouts, and at age 11, 1947, received an award. This
was Jack London's book "Call of the Wild," given for most rapid advancement in
rank. I went from tenderfoot to first class at age 11, too young to be a boy
scout at that time.
<p>In the 8th grade, I made Life Scout, with 18 merit badges, 3 short of Eagle
rank, needing Camping, Pioneering, and Bird Study. Some of the merit badges I
earned were Swimming, Life Saving, Athletics, Personal Health, Public Health,
First Aid, Pathfinding, Cooking, Photography, Safety, Pathfinding, Reading,
Scholarship. I'm not sure how I got the Pathfinding badge, since my sense of
direction was just as bad back then as it is now.
<p>Every summer for four years, our troop went to Shawnee Camp in Defiance,
Ohio. Canoeing was especially fun, and the first few years at camp were very
wholesome. But the last year, was not too scout-like. By that time, we were
smoking a lot, and the Maloney boys even brought a fifth of whiskey and buried
it in the ground inside our tent. It was not too unusual to skip swimming and
play poker and smoke all afternoon. Unfortunately, we were caught smoking, and
our troop was not allowed to have a candidate for the coveted Order of the
Arrow award, which I was hoping to get. My bad feet were keeping me from doing
a lot of long-distance hiking at the time, and I even had to bring callous
plasters for them.
<p>During this last year, the guys in our troop made friends with some black
scouts from Lima who were good guys, and especially knowledgeable about snake
lore. There were no black families in Delphos then, but we could not
understand why they were not permitted to go to the swimming pool in
Defiance -- it did not seem very scout-like.
<p>Our "gang" at the time -- Barney Altman, Dan Maloney, Mike Wulforst, Bill
Marquard -- also did some very unscoutmanship stuff. After troop meetings in the
fall, we would sometimes go "halloweening." A lot of this was mean and
destructive, like throwing tomatoes at front porches, pitching garbage cans
onto porches, kicking cabbages out of gardens like footballs, and pushing over
an outhouse. I really felt bad about doing all of this, especially the
outhouse caper. I worried that the old women who had the outhouse would go out
in the middle of the night, not see the hole, and fall into the cesspool and
drown in poop. Luckily for her and us, someone was nice enough to put the
outhouse back where it belonged. Unluckily for me, this violent behavior would
come back to haunt me in future years - what goes around comes around.
<p>Other boy scout activities included skinny dipping at "Bare Butt Beach" and
at the abandoned stone quarry near Grandma Reinemeyer's old house. The quarry
contained a huge swimming hole, roughly 200 yards across, and around 90 feet
deep. A bunch of us even went there at night one time. The trip out to the
quarry was often exciting. Our hangout, the "Chew-Chew Inn" was next to the
Nickle Plate Railroad. In the springtime we would hop the train when it was
moving slowly through town, and then jump off as it went past the quarry. At
that point, the train was starting to pick up steam, and if we did not get
off, the next stop was 50 miles away, in Ft. Wayne, Indiana. My parents were
never aware of our train-hopping activities.
<p>One of my last overnight scouting trips was to Stallkamp's Woods near
Delphos. Our adult leaders had left early, and for some reason, someone was
chasing a goofy kid, "Popeye" Warnecke. He climbed up one of the tall pine
trees and wouldn't come down. So some other "scouts" chopped the tree down
with Popeye in it. This looked like great fun, so the rest of us also chopped
down a bunch of trees. We did not get a merit badge for this. In fact, when
our troop chaplain, Fr. Ottenweller (Later Bishop of Steubenville) came out to
The Woods, he really chewed us out, and things were never quite the same for
Troop 48.
<p>During the Scouting Years, we hitch-hiked a lot, most often to Lima, for
various reasons. We usually went in 2s or 3s, and generally had no fear of any
violence. This activity gave me some "valuable" experience for future travel.
<p>I was a big sports nut. My Dad and I sat up late every night talking about
sports of all sorts. During the summer, baseball was the main interest. We
followed the Cleveland Indians closely, as well as home run races of Ralph
Kiner and Johnny Mize. I was allowed to have 1 or 2 beers, (age 11), depending
on whether Mom was still awake. Dad also took me to Jefferson football games,
where I learned to appreciate the aroma and taste of coffee.
<p>Football was a big attraction for me, and I thought I was pretty good at
it. Even though St. John's did not have football at the time, we played a lot
of sandlot ball. We were actually pretty good, our 8th grade St. John's team
playing the Jefferson junior high team to a tie in one game. I enjoyed it more
than basketball, and dreamed of playing football at Notre Dame, as a running
back. At one point, I considered transferring to Delphos Jefferson, just to
play football, but this idea was quickly vetoed by my parents. On Saturday
afternoons, I listened to Bill Stern broadcast the Notre Dame games, dreaming
to go there to play. This was before the TV era, at least in Delphos, Ohio.
<p>I never quite found a niche in track and field events. Although making the
elementary track team as a broad jumper, I did not do well in the one meet we
went to in the spring of '47. My old nemesis, George Schabbing was easily the
fastest kid in the class, and was to go in two events. We were to leave for
the event on a Saturday at 7 AM, but George never showed up. He said later
that he wasn't sure whether to be there at 7 AM or 7 PM, so he came at 7 PM.
We all joked about him being so dumb. Maybe he was just too poor to own an
alarm clock.
<p>In 6th grade, I was on the four boy shuttle relay team, but we did not get
past the prelims. In 7th grade, Barney Altman and I were to go in the 80 yard
low hurdles. But at the last minute, Coach Don Patthoff replaced me with Roger
Guise, who won the event. I did go as an alternate, but did not compete. There
would be future dealings and setbacks from Coach Patthoff. For my track
finale, I went as a high- jumper. Despite training diligently by not smoking
the week before the meet, I managed to finish 6th, just one place shy of
getting a ribbon. There were no individual trophies in those days.
<p>I enjoyed playing baseball and softball. In the 7th grade, there were
organized softball games in the AM, and baseball in the afternoon. I was an
awful hitter in baseball, getting only two hits the entire season, including
one home run. But softball was completely different. Apparently, I could see
the larger softball well enough to get a lot of hits. I finished second in the
league in batting with an average of .406, and managed two hits in our
All-Star game, including a triple.
<p>Basketball would be my main attraction for the next several years.In
1949-50, our junior high team was predominantly 7th graders -- Barney, Red
Elwer, Ronnie Wagner and I started the first game with Delphos Jefferson. I
did not last long as a starter, being very nervous during the games. This was
evidenced in my tendency to miss easy lay-up shots. Years later, I would blame
the nervousness on my life style -- not eating well-balanced meals, drinking
coffee, lack of sleep, smoking, and sometimes hangovers from booze. But Bill
Honingford would wisely dismiss these excuses as simply "a bunch of medical
reasons for being no damn good!" Patthoff was also our basketball coach, and
could often be heard yelling during practice: "Mueller! Stop that g-- d-----
dribbling!"
<p>A few years later, Patthoff became director of the "Delphos Youth Center."
As a somewhat smart ass freshman, I made the following remark to him:
"Patthoff, that's a nice looking tie -- it goes with your hair." Coach Patthoff
was very bald and did not appreciate these remarks. He gave me a very hard
slap in the face, saying "That's Coach Patthoff to you, Mueller!" The slap
probably helped, and I would be much less of a wise guy in the future.
<p>I have few memories of classroom activities during this time, but I did not
do well academically in 7th or 8th grade. One recollection is of Bob Holden
coming to school one day with glasses. He showed me how he could read the
blackboard from the back of the room. I said "What blackboard?" He let me try
the glasses on, and I could actually see writing on the board. I was badly
near-sighted, got my own glasses soon after, but did not wear them full time
until senior year. I was very self-conscious about it. The discovery of the
vision problem also provided a good medical explanation for my inability to
hit a baseball -- I just couldn't see it!
<p>The summer of '49 was awful. Because of the polio epidemic, the swimming
pool closed early, and the movie theatre, the "Capitol" also closed for one
month. Two friends developed bad cases of this dangerous disease. Donnie
Williams, my little preschool pal died. Neil Wilhelm, a great kid athlete one
year older than me, also was stricken. He survived after being in an iron lung
for several months, but both legs were paralyzed from the waist down. We would
carry him and his wheelchair up to our freshman biology class. All of this
occurred many years before polio vaccine became available in 1959.
<p>Many of my buddies had paper routes, but I never did get my own. I subbed
for some guys, went with them to collect, and helped pass the Sunday papers.
We folded them into a huge canvas bag, put the bag on our handle bars, and did
the route. One time, the bag was so heavy from the large Sunday edition, that
my handlebars turned around and dumped all of the papers into the snow. This
was all very frustrating.
<p>While we were living on Canal Street, when I was in the 6th grade, Sue was
dating a guy from Middlepoint. She was talking to him and some of his friends
in front of the house, and I thought I'd show them what a funny guy I was. At
the time, there was a popular song called "Feuding, Fussing, and a Fighting."
I sang the first line, but substituted the "F-word" for "Fussing." I did not
even know what the "F-word" meant. My sister was terribly embarrassed. The
guys thought it was pretty funny, but my parents did not. They thought I had
picked up the foul language from my neighborhood pal Wayne Fetzer, and forbad
me to associate with him. A few days later, my "mentor" and big brother figure
Barney Altman brought me up to date on the meaning of this forbidden word.
<p>During 6th grade at age 11, I was smoking with my cousin Frank Reinemeyer
when I was home alone. My parents kept a glass case full of cigs -- Pall Malls,
so it was easy to smoke. Did not inhale until 7th or 8th grade -- I was almost
always "in training" for some athletic activities.
<!-- ===================================================================== -->
<h1 class="page-break">521 East Jackson Street</h1>
<p>Early in 1948, Grandpa Mueller died, apparently from some kind of "kidney
disease" which was treated with "Old Mister Boston" gin. Dad bought his house,
and we moved to Jackson Street later in the year. I remember some previous
overnight stays there, and especially some bouts of really bad bedbug bites
(fleabites). This was a very old house, complete with a barn -- not a garage,
which was having a hard time not falling over. My "gang" often hung out up in
the loft, mainly smoking and telling raunchy stories. We were very hard-up for
cigs, so used a cigarette roller, "recycling" old butts for more smoking
pleasure. My Mom was to be instrumental in getting me several jobs, the first
at the local bowling alley in the Fall of '48 -- 6th grade. She knew Louie
Rimer, owner of the local alleys. The work was hard, before automatic
pinsetting machines, and I worked several nights each week. It was good
exercise, especially when setting two alleys at one time. But I countered this
with my smoking on the job a lot. I was still getting into fights, such as
with Gene Siefker, a bigger and holder kid. One time, I hit him with an empty
wooden coke case -- no serious damage, since he took it with his head. At age
12, I had my Social Security card, but worked only until Christmas time. Two
priests from St.John's, Fr. Ottenweller, and Fr. Lemkuhl bowled in the KC
League on Wednesday nights, and I tried to keep them from seeing me. But they
apparently got to my folks, who realized that the job was interfering with my
school work -- I often did not get home until 1 AM. The work usually ended by
midnight, but we would usually stop at the Chew Chew Inn for burgers, fries,
and milk shakes. We would also blow a lot of our pay on the pin ball machine.
<p>My own first drunken party would be at the Jackson St. house. The occasion
was my folks' 25th wedding anniversary, and Barney and I got plastered on
beer. My Aunt Katy made Barney drink lots of milk, and he barfed all over the
place.
<p>In '49, St. John's won the state championship in basketball; our junior
high team "vowed" to do the same, and would almost pull it off in '54.
<p>EIGHTH GRADE - '49-'50. Basketball dominated my life. Our new basketball
coach was Frank Sowecke, who had coached all-American and Heisman Trophy
winner Vic Janowicz at Elyria high School. Unlike my other coaches, Sowecke
liked me, and I started several games for our junior high basketball team. I
did fairly well on defense, getting a lot of steals, but often ended the play
by missing the lay-up shot.
<p>A new friend, William (Mopey) Gillon arrived from Indiana that year. His
parents were very friendly, seemed to be well-off, and they had one of the
first TVs in town. Mopey was a very bright guy with a college-level
vocabulary, but like most of us, didn't do that well in school. I may have
"taught"him to smoke and drink, and this would return to haunt both of us. He
would later be the only team manager to ever get kicked off the team for
smoking, and would eventually die an alcoholic death.
<p>By the 8th grade, I was smoking regularly, inhaling every puff, and also
shaving my mustache twice weekly. I was maturing fairly quickly, but social
skills were not keeping pace. At a class dance, cousin Dan Maloney got out of
the partners lineup, and I ended up paired with Nancy (Moe) Murray, one of the
least attractive and most repulsive girls in the class. Dan ran out of the
dance, and I followed him. Nancy left in tears, and I eventually felt very
badly for her. I had always been a very shy kid, and this episode may have set
my social clock back by at least two years.
<!-- ===================================================================== -->
<h1 class="page-break">High School</h1>
<p>When freshman year started, I also began my first regular job, as stock boy
and sometimes salesman at The Lion Clothing Store. My boss was Dewey Steinle,
the first of a long line of silver-haired father figures. (See my letter to
Jim Steinle))
<p>Another mentor entered my life during that year -- Fr. Ed Herr, St. John's
principle. He would be a constant stimulus and guidance for many years to
come. He gave a lot of good advice, and got me started in good reading habits.
He encourage me to take the pre-college course, aiming eventually for pre-med.
I really enjoyed biology, but got only B's in it -- never studied. My sister,
then a senior, was also in the class, but we did not really speak to each
other that much, and never discussed biology class. I was apparently kind of a
rebel, once wearing a full uniform of army fatigues to school.
<p>The Korean War was raging. Like a lot of the kids my age who remembered WW
II, I was very gun-ho at the time, hoping the conflict would last long enough
for me to get into it. Lucky for me, it ended during my junior year, and I
would quickly lose my interest in the military with future exposure to ROTC
courses at XU. Later, reading David Halberstam's history of the war, "The
Coldest Winter", I realized just how awful that war really was, and how lucky
I was to miss it.
<p>As a freshman, I played JV basketball, but didn't get in many games. My big
supporter Coach Sowecke had been fired, and replaced by Bob Arnzen, who was
not especially impressed by my style. I didn't even get into the first
freshman tournament game at Lima, and we were beaten out in the first game.
<p>During freshman year, the gang (Barney, Red, Mike, Holden, Butch Granger,
Dan Maloney, Mopey) often played "slips" at night, an elaborate form of hide
and seek. The last time we played, the cops caught some of the guys in a
freight car, and took us all down to jail for trespassing. They threatened to
lock us up. But Chief of Police Sam Link left us off with a warning never to
walk in any alleys in Delphos, during our entire lifetimes. Sam was not well
educated, as seen in the following story. He arrested a guy for disorderly
conduct. The judge asked if the man was drugged. Sam answered: "Hell yes, he
wouldn't walk, so I drugged him all the way to the station."
<p>In the summer of 1951, I was in an auto accident with Percy Lemkuhle,
grandson of the Delphos mayor, John Lemkuhle. On a rainy Friday the 13th, we
got Johnny (Governor) Bricker to buy 2 cases of beer and a fifth of whiskey,
and sped off in Percy's souped-up heap. But even before we had anything to
drink, Percy missed a curve on the way to Ottoville, hitting a telephone pole
and ending up in a ditch. Luckily, injuries were minor -- Bob Holden needed some
stitches in the head, and we all had some minor aches. But our main concern
was getting rid of the "evidence": 24 broken beer bottles. I was physically
uninjured, but two weeks later in a ride with Percy, I shook like a leaf
during the entire half mile trip to the pool. He was as reckless as ever, and
I never rode with him again.
<p>In sophomore year, basketball continued as my main interest. I again made
the JV team, but still wasn't playing much. After the first few games, Barney,
Red, Mike, and I were kicked off the team for 3 games for smoking. I had not
been caught, but did admit to smoking at our team meeting with Fr. Herr. A few
weeks later, Barney, Red, Holden, and Louie Bockey were kicked off for the
rest of the season, having been reported by some snitch. Although these guys
knew I also was still smoking, they told me to deny it to Fr. Herr. This
seemed to be good advice, since I would most likely never play again if I got
kicked off for the year. And I figured it would probably give me a chance to
show Arnzen my stuff, which as it turned out, was not that much, So I stayed
on the team. But the lie lingered in my conscience, and many years later, I
confessed it Fr. Herr, who good-naturedly bugged me about it. I did get the
chance to play regularly that year as a starter on the JV team. My high game
was 16 points against Fr. Jennings, despite playing the entire second half
with a nasal packing, after taking an elbow to the face in the first half. My
dad was very concerned about my smoking, and made me promise not to smoke
while I was on the team. I tried very hard to quit smoking, but had a severe
nicotine addiction. I felt bad about deceiving him about this, but couldn't
help it.
<p>Also that year, Sue got married, and I was best man. Surprising everyone, I
actually stayed sober at the reception. Maybe I was ill or something.
<p>Junior year, I had my first regular girlfriend - classmate Mary Ann Etgen.
We went steady for 6 months, but I broke it off on Valentine's Day, 1953. I
had become smitten by Sandy Stallkamp, a very nice babe living in Lima. But
dating her was tough since I had no car. That year, I struggled with Chemistry
classes getting mostly C's, probably from minimal studying. At one point, Fr.
Herr warned me that I would not have to worry about medical school, since with
those grades, I would not get even get into college. That year I also took a
required typing course. The class was hilarious, since I was sitting between
Butch Granger and Ronnie Yoakem, two of the funniest guys in school. I did not
do too well, especially after accidentally knocking my typewriter off the
desk.
<p>I was on the varsity basketball team as a rarely-playing sub, but got 6
points in the New Knoxville game. In this "finest hour" of my varsity career,
I hit a crazy hook shot from the key, and also purposely missed a free throw
in the final seconds. This last effort allowed Bob Kill to tip in a field
goal, giving us 100 points for the first time. Unfortunately, no one but Bob
believes I deliberately missed that foul shot.
<!-- ===================================================================== -->
<h1 class="page-break">July 15, 1953: My Dad Dies</h1>
<p>Dad developed a strangulated hernia with a bowel obstruction, needed
emergency surgery at Lima St. Ritas, and had a heart attack during the
procedure That night, while sedated, he raised his hands and smiled, like he
knew where he was going - maybe a near death experience. Dad died the next
day. He was in very bad shape with severe hypertension, an enlarged heart, and
was very heavy -- weighed 220 at 5'6'', wearing size 44 short stout suits. Like
most men in those days, he never saw a doctor. We were crushed by his death,
and my life changed forever. I got lots of support at the time from Fr. Herr
and my Uncle Charles Reinemeyer, who described Dad as someone with a lot of
character. I missed him terribly, and still think of him often. He was a truly
a great guy, very friendly, had a wonderful sense of humor, and was religious
in a quiet way. He would make daily visits to church on the way home from
work. Years later,talking to Bob Holden about Dad, I was wondering what he was
praying for. Bob said, without hesitation, "He was praying for you, you jerk!"
Without doubt, the way my life was going, I really needed the prayers!
<p>I probably disappointed Dad a lot, with smoking, being a jerk, etc. We did
not have many father-son talks, but at one during my freshman year, we sat
down for a session on the "facts of life." He started off saying "You probably
know more about this than I do." That's all I remember of the chat. I often
wonder how things would have turned out if he had lived longer -- would I have
worked as hard as to get into medicine? With more funds available, would I
have partied and drank more?
<p>Mom bravely went back to work at age 45, as an RN at Lima St. Rita's, on
the 3-11 shift. She had not worked since the end of WW II in 1945, and it was
tough for her going back. But she liked nursing, and it helped with the
finances. She missed Dad terribly, brought in some money, and it kept her
busy.
<p>The Korean War ended July 27, 1953. Growing up during World War II, I had
been a gung-ho hawk, and was actually hoping the War would last long enough
for me to get into and be a hero like the marines at Iwo Jima. I also wanted
to get some GI Bill money for college.
<p>Beginning senior year, I went out for the basketball team, knowing Dad
would have wanted me to play. I even managed to quit smoking briefly, but
after a few practice games, it became obvious that I would not play much, so I
quit. The team went to the state finals and lost by 4 points. Bob Holden also
quit, and we always claimed that St. John's would have won the state title
with us on the team. (An obvious joke)! I concentrated on school work that
year, and for the first time in high school, actually took books home.
Although studying of any kind was frowned upon by my classmates, I needed to
really hit the books if I was going to get into medicine.
<p>Despite the new emphasis on studies, there were a few memorable parties,
such as one on New Year's Eve 1953, at Mopey Gillon's. His parents were away
for the holiday, and he would be staying at my house. We started the night in
a hurry, with Butch Granger and Bill Honingford getting very drunk very
quickly. I got a message that my flame Sandy Stallkamp had called from Lima to
wish me a Happy New Year. Her call saved me from getting drunk, but some of my
buddies were not so lucky. After I went home to return Sandy's call, Holden
called from Gillon's to tell me that Honingford had locked himself in the
bathroom at Mopey's house, and was vomiting all over the place. I went over,
talked him out, we cleaned up the place, and my Mom insisted that everyone go
back to my house. She promised not to "squeal" to Gillon's parents about the
drunken party,. Mom did insist on all of us going to the 7 AM New Years Day
mass at St. John's, which was being said in memory of my Dad's birthday. I
wonder what Fr. Herr thought when he saw all of us sitting out there,
bleary-eyed but barely being kept awake by the awful hangovers we all had from
the night before.. Mopey's parents later discovered a small quantity of
Honingford's barf on the bathroom window sill, so they found out anyway.
Looking back on OUR BIG PARTY brings out memories of our attitudes and
behavior at the time. First: the only drugs we could get were bourbon, beer,
and nicotine - no illegal substances available at the time. As far as I know,
there were no women present at the party - Fr. Herr always dictated: boys play
with boys, girls play with girls. I will always appreciate the loyalty and
friendship of my pals in getting up early and going to my Dad's mass.
<p>In the spring of '54, I got a half-tuition scholarship at Xavier University
for freshman year, and Red Elwer was being recruited for a full athletic
scholarship at XU. I always suspected that Fr. Herr might have made some kind
of a deal whereby Red would agree to go to XU if I were also given a
scholarship. Or maybe Red went there to help me out. I applied to only 2
colleges - Dayton and XU, but never visited XU before I started there in the
fall of '54.
<p>Every year, St. Johns seniors presented a class play, produced and directed
by Fr. Herr, who bragged about his M.A. in English from Columbia U. Our
production was "Rose Marie," and Barney Altman and I "competed" for the role
of Royal Canadian Mounty Sgt. Malone. Even though Rose Fast, the Musical
Director kept raving about my "great voice," Barney got the part. I did play
Sgt. Mulroney, and for awhile was going to sing a solo of "Here Comes the
Mounties." But Fr. Herr kept cutting the piece, getting down to me solo
singing only one sentence -- He said I was shouting instead of singing. It
seemed ridiculous, so I finally begged off singing any solo parts. I did do a
somewhat out of place waltz with Lois Richey, the female lead, and we were
given a nice write-up in the Delphos Herald. Some people had recognized my
dancing skills.
<p>In the summer of '54, I worked at Davidson Enamel Co. commuting to Lima