An Old Friend Died

Years ago, perhaps 1960 or 61 our high school football team began two a day practice in mid-August. Fuzzy Boyak, a fellow student and a year ahead of me in school came out for the football team. Fuzzy had not participated in sports, although I think his family had an athletic history. Fuzzy was a student, I do not know if he was a scholarly type student or what school social group he fit into. I know he was personable, he was known around school, but in my circles he was pretty much nondescript. Yet he came out for football, but wasn't a jock. Fuzzy was a year ahead of me, I graduated in 1962, Fuzzy graduated in 1961. I think he was a Junior when he came out for football.

I think he and I touched on his motivation, but I'm not sure I remember what it was. I believe he felt his high school years were passing without his making a mark. I think we talked about his concern about not participating, not trying, or some reasoning similar to that.

For whatever reason I took a shine to Fuzzy and it was reciprocated. Years later he would tell me that he appreciated my reaching out because he wasn't in the "in" crowd, not even in his same grade.

One thing I do remember is we walked down to "Mary's Grill" after practice every afternoon and had a hot fudge sundae. It became a daily routine, I honestly don't know if we did that every day because I'm not sure I had the money to afford a hot fudge sundae every day. It seemed like it. We are talking about 48 years ago or there abouts. Regardless, for years I would recall this time, as brief as it may have been, as a time I came to support a person for their effort simply because they made the effort. Fuzzy didn't last, he got knocked around, he was not athletic, he tried, but I think he gave up. I don't think his giving up effected him that much, I think he satisfied himself that he made the attempt and at least had the courage to do that.

This evening, April 9, 2008 I received an email from a man in my home town telling a group of us on his mailing list that Fuzzy had passed away. Apparently it happened Monday evening, cause unknown at this time. Now, here I sit, wondering about our friendship all those years ago.

Fuzzy went to college, I think Northern Michigan University in Marquette, but until I read his obituary I won't know. He moved away and became active in banking, and eventually ended up back in Munising working at the First National Bank. Fuzzy eventually became the President and CEO of the bank and a "mover and shaker" in our small home town. The last time I saw Fuzzy was last summer when I went back north for the 4th of July celebration. Fuzzy was driving the vehicle pulling the bank's float and I yelled at him and got a small wave back. I don't think he recognized me because I was a face in a group of people and he was concentrating on the task at hand. That is the last time I saw him alive.

The last talk I had with Fuzzy was perhaps 5 or 6 years ago. I had stopped in at the First National Bank and went back to his office to sit and visit with him. We talked for perhaps a half an hour. Our conversation centered around hot fudge sundaes at Ma's Lunch. Then we talked about the condition of Munising, of the loss of tax base because of the Pictured Rocks National Park, of the economy of Munising, and of the depth of feelings Fuzzy had for the Nebel family. The Nebel family owned the bank and had been an old family name in Munising since the 1930's. One of the last statements I made to Fuzzy was about my desire to own a piece of property in Munising, and he said that if that ever came my way that the bank would work with me on a loan if I needed it. We parted company, old comrades, with not too much in common anymore accept for our memories of a football season many years before and a common love of our hometown.

I think Fuzzy had just retired from the First National Bank. I know he had either retired or was going to retire. He and I had talked about that event and I think he said that he and his wife were thinking of moving to Arizona. He never made it. If he did retire he didn't even get a year in before he passed away.

Apparently his passing has touched me at some level. I'm sitting here, late at night, recalling a brief friendship, a lasting memory, and wishing he had more time to enjoy his well earned respite from work. I am dealing with many of the same issues, should I retire, when, and what for? I am also sure that he and I shared the same thoughts about death, not me, not my time, I've got years left. Bullshit, Fuzzy has no more years. He leaves friends, memories, and activities that he participated in, but he also leaves a legacy that will be remembered by many for a number of years. For me, he leaves a memory of hot fudge sundaes at Mary's Grill some 48 years ago. Thanks for the memories, Fuzzy!

An Old Friend Called

It was Friday morning, 3/21/08 and I was home with our Grandson Sam sitting at the computer enjoying a cup of coffee while Sam and I whiled away some time. The phone rang and when I answered a voice on the other end said, Tom ------, Joe ----. Instant transport to a land of memory. Joe and I grew up two houses apart in Munising, MI. Joe is a little older than I, which is part of a different story, but we ended up in the same grade and are classmates from high school. More than that, we are like brothers. I was the youngest of four and for the most part my siblings were gone in my childhood years, Joe was an only child. So, we played together, not so much when were were toddlers, but perhaps around the age of 4 or 5 we came together. From there on it was one childhood experience after another.

Joe and I talked for about an hour. I cannot tell you how many memories came flooding back as we visited. Joe was in DePere, WI with his daughter Kerry who had major let surgery to repair her patella tendon and had been in a cast for two months. Joe stayed with her during her recuperation and part of her rehab, he is close to going back to Munising. He said he was thinking of me and wanted to know how I was doing after my cancer surgery. Fine, then on to the memories.

The old hill next to St. Martin's store, Bob Oas eventually built a home there, but we made the slope into a ski hill and I fell trying to jump really hard, hit my tail bone and disappeared home with a broken ski and tears in my eyes. Then the hill where the old West Ward school was, it was before Bob Gauthier build a home on the property. It was a much larger hill and Joe held the hill record at 30'. The "U" hill up above the town out by St. Martin's farm. The walk to the old golf course, Joe said it is now a forest. Perch Lake, we walked there a few times to fish, now it is the site of some gorgeous homes of Munising residents that sport some cash. The Annie River, still a good little trout stream. Chipmunk valley on the far west end where we used to dig up worms, and someone had left a "tarzan," a rope tied to a heavy limb that swung out over a deep valley. Brown's Addition and the commercial fishing fleet that used to dock there, fishing from the piers and watching the fishing tugs come in with catches of Whitefish, and Lake Trout. There still is one commercial fisherman left there, VanLandshoots, and it is still one of the families that fished out of Brown's Addition. Swimming down near the site of the current high school by the old lumber dock pilings. The Davis's, the Jaspers, the Pond's, my my, the memories were a feast for the old mind.

We ended up the conversation talking about seeing one another this coming summer and walking again those streets we prowled as youngsters. We shall visit old haunts, old ski hills, and old memories. It will be nice to be together in that setting. We can never go back, but we are now two older men who have fond memories of growing up together and look forward to spending some time together.

An Old Time Elixer

I think that I have written about this before, but it comes to mind this morning some thoughts about coffee. Years ago in Munising, MI we had an IGA store. IGA stood for Independent Grocers Association, I really know nothing of its roots although I take it to mean that each store was locally owned and joined a group of grocers who through their collective size could buy in quantities that would give them some price breaks. The IGA was on Elm Street in Munising and was actually quite small compared to the Red Owl store. Like the Red Owl it had its own coffee grinding machine. A device where patrons could purchase whole bean roast coffee and grind it to a setting they desired for their own pleasure.

I loved the smell of ground coffee. To this day when I get a whiff of the aroma of freshly ground coffee it takes me to small homes, older couples arising and brewing coffee to be sipped as they listened to radios, read a paper, or just shook off the effects of sleep and prepared to transition into the activity of day.

For some reason I associate fresh ground coffee with older folks. I do not remember any young people grinding coffee at these commercial grinders although I am sure they did. Perhaps as we grow older we learn to be a little more patient and take some time to savor the odors of the morning, or the tastes of the day. I conjure up fantasies of an older woman brewing coffee in some ancient pot, or some old home style that requires time and steeping to bring out the full flavor of the bean. I feel like there are old people who sit around their small breakfast table, a hot cup of coffee to warm their bones and small conversation over what chores, events, or scenes will play out on that day. It feels good to have these thoughts, I have a pot of fresh ground coffee brewing as I write this, and now shall end the writing to begin the day.

Lake Superior Hockey

When I was a kid living in Munising, MI Lake Superior was part of our playground. In the winter the city crews used to come around town and flood a few vacant fields in various part of the city for a skating rink. However, the big skating rink lay a quarter mile north, it was approximately 2.5 miles by 2.5 miles. Much of the time Munising Bay was covered with ice that had a snow cover on it. I lived on what was known as the West End of Munising and we had easy access to the woods on the west end and the bay to the north of us. So we kids would take a couple of shovels and our skates and head down to the bay and the ice. Shoveling an area we could get down to the ice layer, then if we chopped a hole in the ice water would come up the hole and flood the area giving us a nice rink. We would play hockey out on the bay day after day until the next snow storm then we'd be back to shoveling.

One year we encountered a cold snap with strong northwesterly winds. The wind was so strong it scoured the ice until the snow layer was gone and we were left with miles of clear ice. The "Westenders" had never seen such a thing. Down to the bay, on with the skates and we could skate anyplace we wanted to. It didn't take too long to figure out that if you got a bed sheet you could fashion your own personal sail and use the wind to propel yourself for long distances. I got a sheet and sailed from out by Brown's Addition to the city dock, that is a distance of over a mile. It was tough skating back into the wind, but the ride was worth it.

One problem I ran into at that age was weak ankles. I had hockey skates but I couldn't stand on the edges. My ankles would flop down like a drugged pigeon's wings. I actually started wearing out the leather sides of the skates from scrapping the edges on the ice. It was a problem I was never able to overcome as a young man. Of course you don't play hockey in figure skates which probably would've provided me with sufficient support for my ankles. Oh well, Gordy Howe I'm not.

So those days were in the 1950's and it was a great place to play winter sports. Nature provided us with spectacular amphitheaters. We were not limited by artificial structures, but often could ski or skate with complete abandon. What a way to grow up.

The In's are Ahead of the Out's.

I think of my Dad quite often. He grew up in an era two generations removed from me, he was 43 years of age when I was born. Children and people amused each other instead of being amused by things like TV and the radio. It seems to me that wit, and creative humor are slowly disappearing from our human scene. With the advent of indoor/outdoor thermometers the game of Ins vs Outs was born. Ins being the temperature of the dwelling, Outs being the ambient temperature outside. So, Dad would solemnly announce to those about that the Ins were ahead of the Outs during the winter, and of course in the summer the reverse was often true where the Outs were ahead of the Ins.

It was a simple play on words. I am sure to many today it would be "corny." I have decided that "corny" is also a definition for something silly, for a thought process that exists outside of the box. It seems to me we don't have enough silliness in our lives today. I like talking with my sisters, they have a sharp wit and a highly creative imagination. In the wake of yet another killing spree on a college campus it seems to me that perhaps we should take a little refuge from time to time in whether or not the Ins or the Outs are ahead.

Once upon a fishing trip!

Years ago, I don't know how many now, but many, perhaps 30+ years. My first wife, Bonnie, and I took a fishing trip with her Mother (Glady) and her Father (Tom) on the Forest Lake Reservoir south of Munising, MI. It was one of those beautiful summer days, we had two boats, Bonnie and I in one and Glady and Tom in the other.

We fished the weed beds, the shallow, the old river bed. We cast, we drift fished, we fished with worms, minnows, and artificial lures. I don't even remember if we caught many fish, but we must've caught some.

We saw numerous Sandhill Cranes. Sandhill Cranes were an endangered species at the time and it was magnificent to see so many. They are a huge bird with a six or eight foot wingspan. When excited they make some God awful noise. We saw them wading in the shallows as we fished the shore, we saw them take off and land flying with long slow wing strokes moving quietly on the summer air.

We had a shore lunch and walked the small sand island we landed on looking at empty clam shells gathered on the shoreline. We watched large long-range SAC bombers flying out of Sawyer Air Force Base near Gwinn, MI. The takeoff and landing routes often took these large aircraft over the dense woods of the central Upper Peninsula, much to the consternation of the wildlife.

It was a grand day to be alive in the native out doors of my home land. I was with people I cared deeply about, and found comfort and assurance in there presence. Nothing was wrong with the world, and everything was right. It was a glorious day.

Marching Through Time

For our family the end of an era occurred recently. My Uncle Hollis passed away. He died in a manner I guess we all wish for, he laid down to take a nap and slipped away. He was in his early 90's. He had lived an active work filled life. He owned and managed rental property around Traverse City, MI, ran paper routes, worked as a handyman, just about anything to provide for his family.

Hollis was my mother's brother-in-law, and as much a part of the larger family as anyone. He was quite a bit younger than my parents, but lived in there generation as a young boy. He knew both my parents when he was a little boy and could tell us stories of the early history of my parents.

Now, there are no more of that generation. My parents are dead, their brothers and sisters are dead, and their extended spouses are dead. There is no one left of the original generation. A new line of older family members take that senior place. Of that number, I believe there are 15 offspring from the first generation, about 11 are left. The oldest members are in my direct family, then the age drops off somewhat. But it seems to me it is like a line of soldiers marching through life, as we grow older we take our places in the front line and eventually are eliminated. Then the next group and so on. Kind of chilling, but that's life. Life is a terminal condition, we will not survive it. So, I resolve to make good use of the time I have left. I resolve to stay in contact with my family members, to share the joys of our time together, to listen to their fears, and to reassure that in the good graces of life we number well.