Junior Year-Missing the Ball or Hitting the Net

Posted on 29/05/2011 by Grumpa Joe

 After spending a year convalescing from the polio my being thirsted for involvement in everything that I could get into at Mendel.  I needed to make up for lost time.  Although the polio kept me from playing football I participated by going to the games.  During the second half of sophomore year I became buddies with Stan Kantor, an old rival from Burnside. Stan is one of the tough guys from Avalon Avenue who went to Perry School. He and his neighbors liked to think they were meaner and tougher than the rest of us on Avalon. We were about the same height and weight.  At Mendel, I learned that Stan was one of the nicest guys I ever met. He played quarterback position on the football team.

Father Theis started a booster club which I joined.  We designed and painted posters advertising the football games.  We hung the posters all around school to promote attendance at the games.  Some of my posters were good enough to hang in places where the hall traffic was the heaviest all day long.

My ability to do the posters got me recognized in the school club scene, and Father O’Neil invited me to join the year book staff as art editor.  On the yearbook I met some really nice guys who became great friends.  One of them is Jim Geil.  He and I became inseparable for several years after. Jim and I still correspond regularly by e-mail. because there are eighteen hundred miles between us.

The school dedicated a new chapel and monastery in time for the start of Junior year.  The monastery led me into a new opportunity.  One day, an announcement came over the PA about a job.  I applied, and got the job as the monastery phone receptionist.

In the new monastery, each priest had a room with a pager.  All of the calls came to a single phone in a small cell at the front door. The cell had a desk, a chair, a phone and a large light board on the wall. Each priest’s name was on the board.  If the priest was in, and the light next to his name was on, he took calls.  When the phone rang, I answered it, and determined who the caller wanted.  I placed the caller on hold, and buzzed the priest.  He answered and I announced which line his call was on. The priests let me know when they left the building, and I took messages.   The job required that I be on duty four hours a day from four until eight.  This meant that I got to screw-off after class until four.  Sometimes I walked up to Michigan Avenue.  Most of the time, I did homework, worked on a poster, or the year book.

In the spring, I tried out for baseball and made the fourth string.  Father Burns placed me at third base.  Throughout the time I played sandlot baseball, I always played second base. Third base was never my position but I was happy to play.  I fielded the ball very well; in fact, I robbed some hot-shot hitters of line drives by spearing the ball on the fly.  My reactions were very good.  unfortunately for me, I didn’t have the strength to throw the ball to first base on the fly.

I also tried out for the tennis and made that.  I often played against myself by stroking the ball against the wall of the handball court at Palmer Park. It was another way  to fill time after school before answering phones.  I never played a real game of tennis with anyone so when I joined the team I had to learn the rules as well as the strokes and the serve. That is when I met Jim Murphy.  We became lifetime friends, and roomed together in college. Jim also stood up at my wedding.

Although I played tennis well in practice I never won a match in competition. Years later I realized why.  During a match, I was so worried about making a mistake, I kept seeing myself missing the ball or hitting it into the net.  That problem stayed with me until my forties when I finally realized the power of positive visualization, that is, “see it in your mind and believe it”.  Why did it take me so long to realize that?

By the end of Junior year things were starting to come together for me.  The effects of the polio were still there, but my sports and weight lifting helped me overcome any handicap that I had.  Life was good.

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Life Can Change in a Moment

Posted on 07/04/2011 by Grumpa Joe

The summer after freshman year in high school was one of my best. My level of activity was high. I had achieved a new level of ability and confidence. I filled the days with activity that involved my grammar school friends. During the school year we were not able to spend time with each other as before because of all our school activities. Some of my friends got jobs that kept them from hanging around as much. My own job was becoming more a part of my life. Mr. Tumey increased my hours, so I worked several days during the week, and on Saturday too. In between all the grocery work, I caddied at Ravisloe Country Club as often as I could. In spite of all the activities, the old gang met in the evenings after supper. We hung out at each other’s homes, at the corner store, or at the soda fountain. On most nights, I got home by 10 p.m. After ten we collected on someone’s front porch for a while. I played golf often with Joe Barath, Rich Makowski and Jack Adams. Most of the time, we rode to Jackson Park golf course on the street car; clubs and all.

The newspapers headlined stories about the polio epidemic almost daily. Mom kept me away from the beaches and crowded places where I might come in contact with the virus. Our gang wasn’t big for beaches anyway, although we did occasionally take the streetcar to Rainbow Beach near 75th Street.

The summer of 1953 was hot and dry. I rode my bike to and from Tumey’s, and pedaled anywhere I needed to go in the neighborhood. If a friend was with me I let him sit on the top tube while I pedaled. The big basket hanging off the front made it impossible to ride someone on the handlebars.

In August, I celebrated my fifteenth birthday. School was only a few weeks away and I dreamed about trying out for football. A lot of my friends were going to do the same at their schools. On the Monday after my birthday, I remember playing eighteen holes of golf with my buddies in the morning. We got home by noon. After lunch, I rode to Tumey’s on an intensely hot sunny afternoon, and delivered groceries until closing. The temperature was in the ninety’s during the ride home. After supper I went to hang with my friends. That night we had a great time socializing, and stayed out on the porch until eleven. Finally, I went to bed. The next day was another work day.

I slept late, and woke up with a giant headache. My throat hurt so bad it hurt to swallow. When I rolled out of bed, my neck was stiff, and so sore I couldn’t move my head. Mom came to check on me. She felt my forehead and declared that I had a fever. I went back to sleep. When I didn’t get out of bed at noon she checked my temp with the glass thermometer. She called Dr. Horner to ask for advice. He said he would come over after his office hours.

Dr. Horner’s office was on 79th and Cottage Grove Avenue so it wasn’t far for him to come by car. My neck kept getting stiffer and stiffer, my throat was on fire, and I ached from head to toe with the fever. Bright light from the window made my head hurt more. I slept most of the day. The doctor arrived around supper and examined me. He took Mom outside to talk. He told her that I had polio and needed to be hospitalized immediately. It took a couple of hours, but that night an ambulance took me to Contagious Disease Hospital at 26th and California.

By the time I got my ride in the ambulance, I didn’t care what was happening. The fever made me delirious. Visions of football tryout looped continuously through my mind . . .

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Dancing on Wheels

Posted on 23/03/2011 by Grumpa Joe
Boys rollerskating. "i took a lot of pann...

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SWANK

“There will be a skating party this Thursday night at the “Swank Roller Rink”, came the announcement over the P.A. during Mr. Mills’ class.

What is a skating Party? I wondered to myself. I had to find out. During the lunch break, my friends told me about roller skating.  It seems I was living in a cocoon all by myself.  Most of the kids knew of the Swank Roller Rink, they knew where it was, and they had been there before.  I never heard of indoor roller skating before.

The rink was at 111th and Western.  It was one bus ride down 111th to get there from Roseland.  Many of the boys who attended Mendel lived in Roseland.  I made up my mind to go just to find out what it was all about.  For me, the trip to 111th & Western Avenue seemed like the end of the world.  After all, Western Avenue was the West border of the city.  From my house the total distance was seven miles and three streetcars.  It took me an hour to get there with waiting and all.

The cost to get into the party was 50 cents, plus skate rental.  When I arrived, a big crowd of kids were already there. The girls surprised me the most, I didn’t expect that.  It was a mob scene with kids lined up to rent skates; others were already skating on the big open floor.  They skated in a big circle around the outside walls of the ring.

I got my shoe skates and sat on a bench to put them on.  For a long while, I just sat there afraid to get up.  Finally, one of my buddies saw me and coaxed me to stand up and try.  Whenever I clamped my steel wheel skates to my shoes, I was stable, and when I had my ice skates on I was great, but these shoe skates were different.  Shoe skates had wide wooden wheels and the rink floor was super smooth.  The combination just looked too slippery.

I sat there watching other kids like me get up and fall on their asses.  Others were walking on the skates, holding onto the rails or whatever was near by.  It was hard to look ‘cool’ when your legs were slipping out from under you and you were on your backside every few steps.

I finally got up enough nerve to get out into the action.  At first, I stayed around the edges to be close to a grab point.  The good skaters stayed away from the outside, so it seemed safer there.  It wasn’t too long before I felt comfortable and was skating with ease.  Then I noticed some of my buddies going around backwards.  They could switch back and forth from forward to backward and look good doing it.  Where was I all these years while these guys were skating at the Swank?

A whistle blew and the music stopped.  “Clear the Floor” came the announcement.  Thank God, I thought, “couples only”.  Bunches of couples stayed on the floor.  I was amazed at their ability.  Some of the girls wore short skating skirts.  The organist, who sat in one corner of the room, played a waltz.  The lights dimmed and the couples got to have fun.  I never saw so many talented people gliding around in total synchronization to the music.  It was impressed by the beauty of it al.  At the same time, I was thinking that I’d never be able to do that.

The dancers flowed around the floor to the music.  Guys moving forward, girls backward with spins that ended in a side-by-side swinging glide.  It was fun just watching.  Soon the music ended and the lights came up and the “All Skate” announcement came.

The traffic on the floor during an all skate was thick.  Some were skating backward, couples were dancing, some were racing and then there were guys like me all holding on for dear life trying not to fall down and get run over.  The idea of falling down and getting my hands run over by skaters kept me concentrating on my balance.  Skaters did fall, but when that happened a safety marshal blew his whistle and skated to where you were to help you up.  At least three of these guys skated in the center of the oval waiting for an accident to happen.  They also made sure that skaters weren’t doing things to make it unsafe for others.  Just like a cop in a squad car, the Marshal came to get you if you were skating too fast, playing tag, weaving, or just being a jerk.  It was their job to keep things fun, without injury.

I really enjoyed the dances and looked forward to the chance to sit and watch.  The fox trot was a cool dance, as was the jitterbug.  By the end of the night I was wishing that I could dance and look cool too, not to mention having a girl partner to skate with.

At 10:00 the party ended and the rush to get out began.  The trip home took longer because the street cars didn’t run as often that late.  I’d get home around 11:30; Mom waiting for me, and Dad snored away.

The next day, at school, everyone had a great time talking about each other’s ungraceful falls and their awkward attempts to make contact with girls.

Mendel scheduled skating parties twice a year, but announcements for parties sponsored by other schools came often.

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Chasing Basketballs and Sweaty Towels

Posted on 04/03/2011 by Grumpa Joe
Basketball article stub icon

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BASKETBALL

High school was loaded with activities.  Everyday there were announcements about new ones.  One day, it was about basketball and decided to check it out.  I never played basketball formally.  None of the kids I knew owned a basket ball.  The playground at OLH didn’t have a backboard or a hoop.  One kid did nail a bushel basket that he cut the bottom out of to a telephone pole.  There was no backboard at all.  He used to shoot baskets that way.  It  was my only contact with basketball at that point.

The Mendel gym was on the second floor of the west wing.  It was short and the roof trusses were low to the floor.  Anyone trying to take a long shot had a good chance of hitting a truss with the ball.  Mr. DiGiovanni, a short and stocky man with a full head of back hair combed straight back coached the team.  His voice was soft and calm except when he was shouting directions to the players.

The day I went to tryout the team was there practicing.  I was amazed at how tall they were.  I hadn’t started growing yet and was very short.  Mr. D was nice to me and let me down gently, but he offered me the position of team manager.  I accepted immediately because I wanted to be part of the team.  The job involved keeping the equipment organized and ready.  I had to make sure a dozen balls were ready for practice and properly inflated. There were a bunch of sweaty white towels to handle too.

The sessions lasted from 4 to 6 p.m.  By the time I put everything away and caught the streetcar home, it was seven o’clock.  During the practice I sat on the sidelines and did homework.  I learned a lot about basketball that year because Mr. D was always teaching fundamentals.  Today, when I watch NBA games, I see violations of the basic rules at every game. NBA players are a big offenders of the palming rule.  Palming is holding and rolling  the ball over from underneath while dribbling.  Dribbling is supposed to be done by the pushing on top of the ball.  Palming allows the player to carry the ball in between dribbles. Palming goes in tandem with another NBA violation; walking.

I learned strategy, too, like zone defense and man to man, or a pick.  It was fascinating.  I can’t play the game, but I could probably coach it.

I went with the team to all games and kept the equipment, uniforms and towels straight at host gyms. I usually rode with Mr. D in his old Plymouth. During the games, I kept stats. It was important for the coach to know who scored baskets and free throws. He analyzed the stats during and after every game. If a player missed free throws Coach made him practice 50-100 throws. I would stand under the basket and return the ball to him.

Near Christmas break I got the flu and couldn’t go to school so I missed the instructions for what goes on with the team during the time off at Christmas.  Throughout the holiday season I kept thinking I should check with Mr. D to see if I should be doing something.  I didn’t even know if they practiced or not.

After the break, when school started again, I showed up for practice.  Mr. D really let me know how upset he was with me.  The team played in a tournament during the holidays and they practiced too.  I missed all of the fun of going to the games and let the team down.  I never missed another practice or game after that.

One thing I learned about athletes during that season is that they are aloof.  Although they were friends among themselves, I never became part of their clique.  I did become a part of the coach’s life though, and the priests who ran the sports program.

I finished out the season and earned my letter in basketball even though I didn’t play on the team.  I never received the award in person because I didn’t make the award banquet in the fall of the sophomore year. That is another story.

I loved being manager and I loved the sport.  I looked forward to the next season as manager provided that I didn’t make one of the other sports teams, like football.

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Pep Rally

Posted on 02/03/2011 by Grumpa Joe

PEP RALLY


After a couple of weeks of getting acclimated to the school, the announcements during home room began to include social items.  One of the first I can remember is the announcement for the Friday night pep rally and bon fire.  Wow! All of that in one night!  The big game against St. Rita was on Saturday.  Mendel was run by the Augustinian Order of priests, and so was St. Rita.  A lot of the brothers and priests were betting on the outcome of the game.  Most of the priests that taught at Mendel had been re-assigned from Rita.

I never head of a pep rally before so I asked Mom if I could go out after supper to the rally and come home late.  Surprisingly, she said yes.  Perhaps my brother Bill had paved the way by going to activities like that at Leo.  He turned out okay, so why not let Jun do the same?

After an early supper, I took the streetcar back to school.  I was an old pro at this now.  The rally began on the field behind the school where a giant pile of wood was stacked into a teepee shape.  The pile was at least twelve feet high.

A sophomore came out with a Mendel sweater, white pants, white shoes, and a big megaphone.  He led us in a series of cheers.  I should say, he taught us the cheers.  He told us he would lead us in the same cheers during the game tomorrow.  After the cheering, Coach Mills gave us his talk. He was followed by Father Seary, the Principal. He could have been a stand up comedian he was so funny.  All of them spoke positively, and left us wanting to go to the game.  I always felt pumped after a pep rally.

Finally, when the rally part was over, the bonfire was lit and we watched the wood burn down to the ground.  The next day we lost our game to St. Rita.

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