Archive for the 'Life' Category

Rudy Glover

Published
by
Papa Joe
on June 8, 2009
in Chicago, Family Stories, Life and The Good Guys
. 7 Comments

In the early sixties I worked for a company in Chicago “Recording & Statistical”.  Our company provided business data processing services to companies in the Chicago area.  We had just gotten our new mainframe computer, a Burroughs computer.  Our software consultant from Burroughs was a man named Rudy Glover.  I was one of the project managers /programmers and had several clients that my staff and I were converting to the new computer.  Rudy guided me through the maze that always is new hardware/software and in the process, we became close friends.

For the better part of the next 15 years, our lives were almost a mirror parallel of each other.  Rudy got married, I got married, Phyllis & I had a baby girl, Rudy & Audrey had a baby girl, Rudy bought a house, I bought a house, Phyllis & I adopted a son, so did the Glovers, Randy, etc. etc. etc.  We celebrated birthdays, holidays and we were at each others homes on a regular basis.  My kids and their kids saw each other more often then many of their cousins.  I got so I could drive to their home at 8000 South Euclid on automatic pilot and my family and I were as comfortable there as at our own home.  I think the same was true for them.

Early in April of 1968 Rudy was on business for his company in Detroit.  On the 4th, Audrey brought Coco to the far north side where we lived for a visit.  We were enjoying a very pleasant visit when the news came that Dr. King had been assassinated.  Chicago, Detroit and cities across America erupted.  We spoke with Rudy, he was in his hotel and was not leaving.  At that time I did not have a car, so in Rudy’s absence I became Audrey’s escort home.  We went to the elevated station near our apartment and took the train all the way to the far south side where they lived.  Audrey was smart, when we passed through the center of the city she passed Coco over to me and said she was getting heavy.  I carried her from that point.  Later Rudy told me that was her way of showing anyone that might take offence to me that I was okay.  We got off of the train and walked the nearly 3 blocks to their apartment where she promptly called several neighborhood young men we had met at their home before.  Larry, Michael and Shell came and accompanied me back to the el station and made sure I was safely on the train back home.

In 1970 Phyllis & I adopted a son of mixed ancestry, Jason.  For the lily white suburb we lived in this was a shock and we had crosses burnt on our lawn.  When Rudy heard this, he brought his entire family including all of the young men we knew.  They and my two wonderful neighbors played catch football out on the front lawn all afternoon in a show of solidarity.  These also neighbors walked the entire circle of 30 homes where we lived and told everyone there of the burnt crosses and that they would be watching and protecting us from any further incidents.  We were never bothered there again.

In the early 70’s Phyllis & I divorced.  I still continued to see Rudy and his family on a regular basis.  In !978 I married Anita and Rudy came to my wedding. Rudy Vince Max Ron Here are Rudy, Anita’s father Vince, My brother Max and I at our house in Skokie following the ceremony. 

A year later I moved to southern California.  In the years following whenever I was in or passing through Chicago I would meet with Rudy.  Sometime I had time and drove to his house and got to see the family, but that happened less and less as my visits became short and sporadic.  Rudy came to Los Angeles several times and I also got to see him there.  By this time although our affection for each other had not changed, we seemed to only share the surface details of work and family.  The intimate details of feelings, emotions, problems and issues were glossed over.  I missed that part of our relationship.

In the 80’s Rudy and Audrey went to Las Vegas several times for New Year’s.  Anita & I joined them and had a great time.Rudy

Here are Rudy & Audrey at the party!

In the 1993 my son Jason was murdered.  I returned to Chicago for the funeral and again for the subsequent trial of his murderer.  Each time I got to visit with with Rudy & Audrey.  I think the last time I saw Audrey was at the funeral, but I was so traumatized that I really can’t remember much.

Years later, I was in Mesa, visiting mom when she was in the hospital.  Checking my phone messages at home, I had a message from two days earlier from Rudy, he wanted me to call back because he had a favor to ask.  When I called the next morning, I found out he had committed suicide. I still have enormous guilt from that.  I feel that had I been there at that time he would still be with us.  I sill bawl like a baby when I recall all that.

Rudy will always be in my heart.   He was a brother in life and a dear and cherished friend.

Patriotism

Published
by
Papa Joe
on February 5, 2009
in Life and Opinion
. 0 Comments

Recently I encountered an interesting blog post titled Patriotism, Conservative and Liberal. The post was accompanied by a host of comments, many of them also interesting, some not.  All of this has prompted me to try and understand my own feelings of patriotism and to write about them.

First, a bit of personal history.  I spent the first 8-9 years of my life in Chicago and then I grew up in Wabeno Wisconsin, a small town about 100 miles north of Green Bay.  There I was largely sheltered from the second world war and received a very general and probably typical small town education. Years later I liked to quip that in Wabeno they taught a little of the 3 R’s and a lot of the 3 F’s (farming, farming and forestry).  That is hardly true, but does reflect the isolation of a small town. Everyone knew everyone else and their business. Kids acting up were quickly disciplined by the nearest adult. If they were inclined to do that with a slap or a boot in the rear, no one thought to complain.  People cared about other people and that was all that mattered.  I and my peers were indeed raised by a village.

I left home after high school and moved to Chicago.  It was only a short time before I was married, had three kids, got divorced and raised my son and two daughters myself. Work and the family had largely kept my mind away from the Korean war and the onset of the Vietnam war.  But I was now in my mid twenties and much more aware of world events.  After six years of single life I had remarried and had inherited two more young daughters. I had always been a voracious reader and had become much more aware of the world, social issues, well as the issues surrounding the Vietnam war. I also was a follower of Dr. King and I and the family had marched with him in Chicago. I became quite active in the civil rights movement.

My job had enabled me to become a data processing consultant and I traveled the country teaching and advising clients.  Eventually, my travels brought me to Washington D.C. where I took the time to visit every museum on the mall as well as the capital building.  On a hot, humid Sunday in early July I drove up to Arlington National Cemetery. I had expected huge crowds but for some reason, maybe the weather, I was almost alone at Arlington that day.

For a long time I just wandered around reading grave markers and enjoying the solitude of the day. I visited the Custis-Lee Mansion which has an interesting history of its own.  Eventually I found myself at the President Kennedy Memorial where sat nearby and mourned brooded contemplated for nearly an hour. Then I wandered to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and then in a short time witnessed the impressive and emotional Changing of the Guard. After that I walked to my car and drove out of the Cemetery. As I passed the exit gate, I said aloud in a somewhat surprised voice; “I didn’t know I was patriotic”.

In the years following that experience I have also learned that my loyalty and patriotism has many variations. I have allegiance to the companies where I have worked but these are easily superseded by those I have for the various cities and states where I have lived. But I will quickly defer those to my allegiance to what I perceive as best for my country. But what has been a surprise to me is that I have come to see that I love our world even more than my country.  I want our country to be successful but not at the extreme expense of the rest of the world.  All things being somewhat equal, I will place myself firmly with my country, but in much of my adult life things have been far from equal.  I suspect that in this century that will change.  I can only hope that change will be for the better of the world.

There are those that blindly reject the world beyond our country and demand unthinking patriotism to our country and only our country at all times and all situations.  I see these individuals as similar to the schoolyard bully that demands your lunch money, they are sick, demented and psychologically twisted human beings.  They should be ignored, shunned and broadly denounced by the rest of us.

The First Real Money I Ever Earned

Published
by
Papa Joe
on December 27, 2008
in Adventure, Family Stories, Life and Wabeno
. 0 Comments

When I was in 6th grade we lived in the “Frog Town” part of Wabeno.  This was a small street that bordered the Oconto River than runs through Wabeno.  My uncle, Mitchell Neuville, owned his home there. My aunt Josie had died recently and Mitchell rented the 1st floor of the house to my mom.  At the other end of town was my uncle Curt’s Chevrolet dealership.  Across the street from it was the Green Lantern Bar.  Typical of many bars in Wisconsin at that time, there was a small bowling alley in an adjacent room.  There were, if my memory serves me correctly, only 4 bowling lanes there.

It was summer vacation and I had been down at Range Line Creek near the Green Lantern and had wandered in to the bowling alley to see if I could pick up some pocket change setting pins.  I had done this once or twice before and had been rewarded by the bowlers with a quarter or two for setting their pins.  In those days a quarter was all I needed to see a double bill at the movie theater and get a bag of popcorn too.

The way that pins were set was totally manual. At the end of the lane, between the gutters there was a machine with openings for each of the pins. After putting a pin in each of the openings I would jump up on and pull down with all of my strength a lever at the rear of this device.  This would lower the device and stand the pins up on their  proper position. Releasing this lever would cause the machine to return to its raised position and would be the signal to the bowler that they could now throw the next bowling ball. There was a small pit in back of the machine that would receive the pins that the bowler hit with the ball they threw.  The ball also landed in this little pit.  Adjacent to the pit was a raised platform for the pin setter to jump up on, lift their legs out of the way before the next ball arrived and pins were hit with a resounding crash. Occasionally a pin would ricochet off of the side of the pit and bounce up and hit the pin setter.  Bruises were a frequent occupational hazard.

On this day, Abe Estreen came in with some friends and he asked me to set pins for them.  There were 4 people, so I worked two lanes, jumping back and forth to set the pins. They came in early in the afternoon and bowled and bowled and drank and drank.  Abe was a huge man and his hands were so big that he put his thumb in the thumb hole of a ball and then wrapped his hand around the ball without using the finger holes. When a ball he threw arrived, pins flew everywhere.  The more alcohol he drank the harder he would throw the ball.  He even cracked a pin in two and I had to replace it with a new one.  Every so often at the end of a game he or another of his people would put a dollar bill in the thumb hole of a ball and roll it down the gutter and that would be my tip. The last time they did that there were 2 balls each with a $5 bill in the thumb hole. I was in heaven, I had earned exactly $20!  Exhausted, I looked at the clock and it was after 8pm at night and I was hours overdue at home.

Oh boy!   I feared I was in trouble with my mom. But then I remembered “money”.  I exchanged all of the bills the bowlers had given me for a $20 bill and headed home.  When I got to the front porch I took the $20 and held it in my hand so it was easy to see and extended my arm completely in front of me. Two more steps and mom was at the door with a ferocious look on her face.  But her view of me was almost completely blocked by the $20 bill. I said, “I was setting pins at the Green Lantern for Abe Estreen”. Then her expression eased and she opened the door took the money and said “go wash up and I will fix dinner for you”.  What a relief – she didn’t toss me across the room!

I later learned that the $20 I had earned was equal to a weeks wages for her. No wonder I was greeted so warmly.

My Visit To A Hutterite Commune

Published
by
Papa Joe
on October 24, 2008
in Adventure, Family Stories, Life and Wabeno
. 2 Comments

When Walt, my step father, died, my mother accompanied his body back to Wabeno, Wisconsin for burial and I drove mom’s car from Phoenix to Wabeno so she could stay the summer and have transportation. She stayed with my sister and was very much herself which was not a good thing because mom had a penchant for driving other women stark raving mad, well almost that is. Regardless of how a woman might decide to arrange her own household, mother always had a “better” way and the instant the woman would leave the house, mom would immediately set about to, in her mind, completely restore order where none had previously existed. She had done that to all of her daughters in law as well as her own daughter just about every time she came to visit. And it went well beyond that, with how to raise your children, how to comb their hair, how much grounds to put in the coffee pot, which direction the handle of the pot on the stove should face, etc, etc, etc. I loved my mom and so did my siblings and we were really happy to see her when she arrived but it was always a true delight when she finally left and we got our homes back.

At the end of what had to be a very long summer for my sister, I took a week’s vacation and drove mom from Wabeno back to Phoenix. She had the entire itinerary planned. Not on paper where I could study it and get mentally prepared but in her mind and everyday she would tell me where we were going that day and with whom we would be staying that night. There was one place she had told me about from the beginning and that was the Hutterite Commune in South Dakota.

For years mom had been in communication with a lady in the commune named Becky. She had told us stories about her letters to and from Becky and about their relationship. Becky knitted and crocheted  items for mom and mom sent Becky money, coupons, books, magazines, chocolate, and other items that Becky was unable to obtain from the commune.  All of this was under the table so to speak.  The elders of the commune did not approve of many of these items and so mom mailed the items to a lady in a town near to the commune and the lady would mail Becky’s letters and packages to mom. Sometimes several months would pass without any mail and then mom would receive a number of items all at one time.  Becky would say that she had been unable to leave the commune and mom suspected that she was somehow being kept under a tight rein by the elders of the commune. I never did learn how this complicated relationship came about.

After a few days on the road and stops along the way, we arrived at the commune in South Dakota. We met Becky and her husband and their son. The son had to be in his mid 40’s and so Becky and her husband were well beyond retirement age. Their home almost identical to those around it. It was a small 2 story house and had no kitchen because everyone in the commune ate at the common building. We arrived midmorning, spent a night and left the following noon.  While there the family gave us a nice tour of the farm and a number of buildings. They took us to a huge building about a 1/2 mile from the homes where the commune raised turkeys.  There were 8,000 turkeys in that building they said. The noise level and the odor were both overpowering. We did not spend much time there.

We also got to see Becky’s husband’s shop.  It was a small 10×10 building adjacent to their house where he made brooms. Out in the fields he had an area planted with broom corn that he harvested and then turned into brooms and whiskbrooms. He made several hundred each year and he demonstrated this to us and made a small broom. This provided income for the benefit of the commune.

Their son Ernie was the pig farmer. He had three barns for his pigs. A big fancy barn with heated concrete floors that had slots in it to drain the pig poop and urine. In that barn there were only sows on the verge of giving birth or those with nursing piglets. Each sow had a comfortable cubicle with ample food and water and each cubicle was hosed down daily. There were hundreds of sows there many with lots of little piglets. That barn had been constructed so the poop and urine was collected on the floor below where tractors hauled the putrid mixture out into the fields for fertilizer etc. There were plans for the future to build a processing plant that would reclaim methane and market the dried material somehow.

There was a second barn that contained sows that had been recently bred and they were being fed special foods to ensure their little piglets would be healthy and strong. That barn was very old and looked to be on its last legs. The last barn was where all the sows were sent to recover from birthing and nursing their young. Ernie took us in there in the middle of the day and we entered a completely dark room. He then hit a switch and turned on the lights.  There were pigs everywhere, 3,000 in all he said. They kept the room dark to keep the pigs calm and nonaggressive.

We had arrived during tomato harvest and for lunch we all enjoyed tomato sandwiches. On fresh baked bread from their own ovens that was a delicious sandwich. Becky and her husband did not impose on us the communal meals and the accompanying scripture lesson and prayers. They had food brought from the commissary and fed us in their home which I, being an atheist, very much appreciated.  Not wanting to upset our hosts neither mom or I mentioned my atheism.

The most pleasant part of our visit, for me, was that after dinner a dozen or more of the girls in commune came to the house and sang traditional songs for us. Then we all sat and talked for another hour. We exchanged stories about our lives and how different they were. They were amazed that I worked on the 25th floor of a building.  That I would willingly go up that high on a daily basis was astonishing to them. One of the girls, probably in her late teens, was albino and had vision problems as a result.  Although very attractive, she was very frustrated with her appearance and recently had obtained some dye and had darkened her hair color.  She told us that this had resulted in her being severely restricted.  She was not allowed to leave the commune at all and she thought that the elders were going to transfer her to another commune in Manitoba Canada.  I asked if her parents opposed this and she said they did not want her to leave, but would not oppose the elders.  She also seemed resigned to this and spoke of it in a matter of fact voice.

Everyone we met spoke English but with a strong Germanic accent.  When speaking to each other they generally spoke in a Germanic tongue.  I later learned that this was a language variation of their own. I enjoyed my visit, but was very happy to leave and be back in the free world.

Absolutely An Inhumane Way To Treat A Person.

Published
by
Papa Joe
on October 22, 2008
in Family Stories and Life
. 0 Comments

On Saint Patrick’s Day in 1977 my step father Walter Niermann came down with Guillain Barre Syndrome. Walt and mom were living on 1st street in Mesa, Arizona. They had just watched the Saint Patrick’s Day parade which had marched down the street in front of their apartment.  Mom went in the kitchen to prepare lunch and Walt went and sat in the living room to read the newspaper.  When lunch was ready mom called him and after a few minutes called him again. After a few more minutes he called her and asked her to come help him.  She went in the living room and he was rubbing the calves of his legs and had a puzzled expression on his face.  “I can’t feel my feet” he said, “Help me stand up”. But she did not have the strength to help him. “I don’t have any feeling below my knees” he said. So she ran next door and got the barber from the barber shop to come and help. But that was of no use either, so she called for an ambulance. By the time the ambulance arrived, the paralysis had reached to Walt’s hips and he had no feeling or movement in any part of his legs. The ambulance rushed him to a nearby hospital, along the way they paramedics had to give Walt a tracheotomy and assist his breathing. Within a short time after arriving he was heavily sedated and on a respirator. Within a week or so he had been transferred to the Phoenix veteran’s hospital where he remained until April 29th.  

Walter William Neirmann

Walter William Niermann

 

On April 29th I flew to Phoenix, got a rental car and drove to mom’s place. She and I then drove to the veteran’s hospital where we saw Walt.  Seeing Walt and his condition was extremely disturbing. He had been a large robust strong man who now had remained on life support for 43 days. He had lost well over a hundred pounds and was a shell of his former self and almost unrecognizable. He also was totally unresponsive and had been for the entire time. For all of these long weeks my brother, sister and I had been urging mom to discontinue life support. She had declined at the advice of her minister. I have had a grudge against him ever since.

We had his doctor paged and sat with him.  I asked him if my father was dead or alive. He said he had no idea. Startled by that response I asked him why he didn’t know. And he responded that it was impossible for him to tell because of all of the machines that he was on and in order to determine if he was dead or alive the machines would need to be turned off. My Mother, finally and to my relief, immediately said, “Then I give you permission to turn the machines off and find out”.

The doctor entered the cubicle where Walt was and closed the curtain surrounding it. A minute or two later he parted the curtain and walked toward us. Turning to my mother he said he was sorry but that Walt was dead.  Filled with the emotions of both grief and anger I wanted to ask him how long Walt had been dead, but decided against that since that would be an accusation against my mother and her minister more than the doctor and it would serve no useful purpose.

My step father was a wonderful man. He was a veteran of both World War I and World War II. He had remained a bachelor his entire life until he met, courted and married my mother. Since their marriage occurred after I graduated high school and left home, he and I were never very close. But I had the utmost respect and affection for this soft spoken and kindhearted giant of a man. Our society and its inhuman religious culture of life support at all times and at all costs did a monumental disservice to this fine man. They desecrated his body and mutilated it just to support an ignorant religious belief.

Who Says I don’t Have Faith?

Published
by
Papa Joe
on September 30, 2007
in Family Stories and Life
. 0 Comments

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I am an atheist.  From the time I was sixteen years old I have been slowly evolving from an agnostic to an atheist.  Actually it all started back when I was 6 years old.  It was then that I discovered that the Tooth Fairy was just one of my family members.  Then about a year later when my belief in the Easter Bunny was shattered I was beginning to be suspicious of all of my beliefs.  It didn’t take more than a year for my belief in Santa Claus to be erased.  Continue reading ‘Who Says I don’t Have Faith?’

Lynn’s Dog

Published
by
Papa Joe
on June 4, 2007
in Adventure, Animals, Family Stories, Life and Nature
. 0 Comments

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Friday night, close to ten PM, I was on the computer when all of a sudden Billy began barking in a very aggressive manner. I shouted for him to shut up, but it didn’t work so I got up and checked the back porch, the front porch and the yard. I saw nothing and told him to relax. Continue reading ‘Lynn’s Dog’

Oregon governor signs LGBT rights bills

Published
by
Papa Joe
on May 9, 2007
in Civil Rights, Life and The Good Guys
. 0 Comments

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Oregon on Wednesday joined a growing list of states prepared to offer same-sex couples at least some of the benefits of marriage. Continue reading ‘Oregon governor signs LGBT rights bills’

Using a Dog to Mess With Dad’s Mind

Published
by
Papa Joe
on April 13, 2007
in Animals, Family Stories, Life and Nature
. 0 Comments

My kids think they have out foxed their dad, but I am on to them.  For the last several years they have been nagging me that I am turning more and more into a hermit, that I don’t get enough exercise, and that I need something to keep me active. Continue reading ‘Using a Dog to Mess With Dad’s Mind’

What Is this Spiritual Crap?

Published
by
Papa Joe
on April 11, 2007
in Life and Nature
. 0 Comments

I had a very good friend, Susie, that frequently said, “I am so spiritual!”.

Because she was such a good friend and I don’t want to challenge her, I never commented.  But because I admire much about her I would really like to understand this spiritual crap.  So I looked on the web. Continue reading ‘What Is this Spiritual Crap?’