MY LOVE AFFAIR WITH HALLOWEEN

It's nearly October 31st. Soon it will be time to hear the immortal words, “Trick or treat smell my feet!”

Whether you call it Halloween or Trick or Treat. It is an American tradition that has morphed into something completely different than it was when I was a child. Back then, it meant one thing--lots of goodies.

Being a TV generation kid, naturally I dragged my parents to Kmart or Kresge and purchase a Ben Cooper (store bought) costume. Even then I loved playing dress up. My costumes included Dale Evans, Shirley Temple, Rocky the Flying Squirrel and Woody Woodpecker. The masks with these where almost impossible to see or breathe while wearing.

I was blessed to grow up in a neighborhood where EVERYONE celebrated the night! Not in a weird creepy way like some do now. There were no zombies or unattached dolls heads. No blood dripping hands rising up from lawn and no faux gravestones. Most of what we did then was harmless. More innocent and fun-loving back then. Our objective was to make a lot of noise, eat a lot of candy and try not to vomit. Reminder: This was in a time just before Detroit became known for “Devil’s night.”

The festivities would begin at school with homemade treats and dress up. Of coarse, we were scrutinized carefully as I attended Catholic school. In fact, my “go to” gypsy costume was frowned upon as it included makeup and a 1940s off-the-shoulder peasant blouse. Even the cold stares of Sister Kathleen did not deter me. The following day, November 1st, was a Holy Day and it meant no school. So I could stay out a bit later than usual.

Quite a few of our neighbors would hold open house which included homemade candy apples, cookies and cakes. They would giggle and guffaw over our costumes and take lots of photos. This all took place before our quest.

Our journey always started at my house on Edgevale Street. (The house no longer stands). the  crew usually included my friends Robin, Teresa, her sister Debbie and stray children who abandoned their parents along the way. My mother insisted on accompanying us on our hunt. She would not let us eat any candy and made us say, “Thank you.” This is why we would always ditch her.

We would traverse 3 or 4 blocks and quickly had our paper grocery sacks filled. When Mom got tired, I would send her home with the booty and then the real fun would begin. We would chart anywhere from  5 to 8 more blocks. As not to miss out on the guy who worked at Better Made Potato Chips and the lady who gave out small cartons of chocolate milk or cups of ice cream that her husband who worked for Twin Pines Dairy would obtain. I would usually not return home til 10pm.

The year I was in 8th grade, my mother deemed me “too old” to go trick or treating. I was in Girl Scouts and we participated in a scavenger hunt. It was not much fun and most of the girls disappeared to smoke or make out with boyfriends. The following year I attended a party where I played “7 minutes in Heaven” with a guy who did not like me. He said I was not funny enough.

My night would usually end up at home with mom administering liberal amounts of Ponds cold cream (to remove makeup) and Pepto Bismol. We would carefully sort the candy and goodies. Mom would quickly pilfer any Black Jack gum, peanut butter kisses or Mary Janes she found.

I have compiled a list of Best & Worst treats from back in the day.  Do you agree?

Worst  Treats

• Necco Wafers--very dry like communion wafers
• Milk duds--these pull your fillings out  
• Peanut butter kisses--these do not taste like peanut butter 
• Kraft caramels--not bad candy--too small and they always melted quickly 
• Black jack (gum)--BLAH!!

Best Treats

• Candy cigarettes--not really candy but VERY cool!
• Wax lips/fangs--again not candy but COOL!
• Any regular size chocolate bar--I hate those fun size bars!!
• Cracker jack--always got a prize
• Toy--some were better than others

Summer of Hate 1967

The following epistle took over a year for me to finish. It was written with anger, remorse, and sadness. Death is always difficult to witness. Whether, a person or a city.

 
Sunday, July 23, 1967, Detroit, Michigan. The weather was a very warm 86°. What began that day and lasted until the following Thursday would forever change the face of my 
beloved city and indeed, the entire country‘s view of it. In particular, it transformed my safe secure neighborhood to a environment of mistrust, bigotry and fear.

I had a ringside seat to the Detroit riots in 1967. The Summer of Love became the Summer of Hate. Gone were the days when I could walk the 7 blocks to the Wanda Drugs to pick up a copy of 16 magazine. Those few days between Sunday, July 23rd and Thursday, July 27 put an end to the security that I had known as a child.

Our northeast side Detroit neighborhood consisted of Whites, Blacks, Jews, Hispanics, Germans, Italians, Russians and Greeks. That was the first time I stopped thinking of them as neighbors and started thinking of them as DIFFERENT. We all had various religions and beliefs, but this seemed to not only amplify the disparity, but also to segregate.  I literally felt the community die.

Although the Detroit Free Press won a Pulitzer Prize for its reporting, I believe the journalists missed the underlying issues. In actuality, just as many whites participated in the looting and violence as the blacks. However, the media took great pains to present the dissenters only as blacks. The Media’s reasons were insidious. This was my first, certainly not my last, realization of how manipulative and deceptive the media could be.

Many have declared the cause of the riots as tensions between blacks and whites, police brutality,  lack of affordable housing, lack of good paying jobs, the list is very long. Whatever the cause or causes, it seemed unavoidable.  I witnessed the beginning of the end of my city. Nothing would ever be the same after those days.

There were several documented incidents of police brutality. One example the “Algiers Motel Incident”, which involved 2 white teen-aged girls from Ohio who were staying at the motel with 2 black men. The men and women were tortured and eventually the men were shot (by Detroit Police officers) and their bodies left at the motel.

The local television stations were asked to “tone down” coverage of the violence and especially looting that was going on in the 12th street area. Still, the rumors were rampant and the more it was suppressed, the more fearful citizens became.

My father was an employee of the City of Detroit. He worked in the 12th street area. He was told not to report to work until he was called.  This was the first time I remember seeing my father afraid. Although, being a good-ole country boy from Alabama and decorated combat veteran,  he did not balk at the idea of defending our home and family.

I watched my father and the man next door, a retired navy seaman,  as they prepared for their nightly vigil. They each sat on their own front porches with a shotgun laid across their laps. We had a finished basement and my mother and I were sternly told to stay there overnight.

I watched as one by one the garages of neighbors were burned to the ground. I listen to gunshots and loud voices and screams. I listened in horror as fights broke out between people who had lived side-by-side pretty much in harmony for 20 or more years. Tensions were high.

The mayor of Detroit at that time, Jerome Cavanagh, was at odds with George Romney (Father of Mitt Romney) and was reluctant to ask for and/or accept for federal help. Cavanagh, who prided himself on good race-relations, contacted US Representative John Conyers, who visited the heated area on Monday. Conyers attempted to sway the crowd as he stood on the hood of his car and used a bull horn to plead with the people, his people. He begged them, “This is not the way to go!”. He and his car were pelted with rocks and bottles. He returned to Washington shortly there after.

In retrospect most agree that the police commissioner, Ray Girardin, did an adequate job keeping a lid on the situation. He did have the assistance of National Guard troops. On Monday, Federal troops were dispatched by President Lyndon Johnson. This seemed to escalate the problem regarding race, as most of the National Guard Troops were white and from rural areas.

In the end disturbances were reported in more than two dozen Michigan cities.

• 45 people died in those 5 days
• 10,000 people participated
• 2509 stores looted or burned
• 7231 people arrested
• 40-80 million dollars in damages

Mayor Jerome Cavanagh himself had to admit in July 1967, "Today we stand amidst the ashes of our hopes. We hoped against hope that what we had been doing was enough to prevent a riot. It was not enough."
 
Cavanagh's political career was ruined. He did not seek re-election. It is said that he never forgave himself for the destruction the riots wrought.

I also hope against hope that the once great City of Detroit will become a place where each citizen will be happy, safe and proud to be neighbors.

Its One o’clock…

I am a child of the television revolution. I spent most of my free waking, childhood moments watching movies, cartoons, sit-coms, game shows and anything else that was of interest to a young mind. Now, mind you, there were only 4 channels available at the time. One of my favorites was a local movie and commentary show hosted by Mr. Bill Kennedy.

At 1’ O clock his theme song “Just in Time” would play and Mr. Kennedy would introduce the movie. The show aired on  our Canadian border station of CKLW on weekdays and Sunday afternoons.

Bill Kennedy would present movies and interject comments and insights. Some of the “pictures” as he called them, were horrible and he never hesitated for a moment to warn the viewers. Going as far as putting clothes pins on his nose and calling the movie “a real dog….woof!”

He would also often do “live” interviews with local and visiting celebrities. His most well known being a phone interview with John Wayne in 1976 while he was finishing the movie “The Shootist.“ There was also an infamous Frank Sinatra Jr.  phone conversation that ended quite abruptly. I remember chats with comedians, singers, and other performers as well.

Williard Kennedy was born June 27th 1908. He had been  an actor in Hollywood and in the 1940’s was under contract to Warner Brothers. In 1956 he left Hollywood and returned to the Detroit area to begin Bill Kennedy at the Movies. In an 1975 article in Cream magazine he said “I’m not an actor and I have 60 movies to prove it.”

In 1948, he appeared with Ingrid Bergman in the movie  “Joan Of Arc” as one of her executioners. Where he uttered the immortal line, “we need some more faggots!” A line over which he argued against. Kennedy also performed with Cary Grant in “Destination Tokyo.” However, he is best known as the announcer at the beginning of the Superman Television show. “Yes, it’s Superman…”

I directly relate my love of old movies and “old Hollywood” to his commentaries. If callers asked a question that he could not answer, he would refer to his “Fabulous Files.”  His wit was legendary and I believe he coined the phrase, “Behind every great man, there’s a woman with a great behind!” His collection of files were donated to the Detroit Institute of Art in 1987.

Bill Kennedy retired to Florida in 1983 and passed away in 1997. He will always have a special place in the vast Broadcasting history of Detroit. Having met him once or twice, he was always a gentleman. I know I have great reverence and respect for his unique style and panache. 

Some links you might enjoy...

Bill Kennedy at the Movies 

News Article

Detroit Memories 

Kennedy Video

 

Leap of Faith

Have you ever taken a “leap of faith?“ Recently my husband and I had toyed with the idea of opening up our own shop. I had been gathering fixtures and even went so far as to share a space with another gal in her shop.

My husband looked at me very seriously one evening and asked, “Why don’t you just open up a shop of your own?” I threw my head back and laughed. I used the excuse that it would be too much work, too expensive, etc. I came up with a million excuses, which he shot down, one by one.

I had been looking for buildings in and around the small southern town I live, with the intention of opening a small ladies consignment shop for quite sometime. I have been selling vintage jewelry online for many years and had recently begun to include vintage clothing.

In one of our meetings with a local realtor, she expressed that owning and running my own shop was a “dream”. Again, I laughed. At my advanced age I have had to let go of many, many dreams.

I am not afraid of a little hard work, and certainly have a lot of experience on the selling floor. I had actually begun my journey into the exciting world of retail in 1968. I lived across the street from an actual five-and-dime store. For you “young-uns” Yes, there were really item for sale at that price.

When I got out of high school I got a job offer for the very first job I applied for at JL Hudson’s at Northland shopping center. Thus began my illustrious career in retailing. I have since worked for JC Penneys, Sears, Kmart, AAFES, and many other companies. In fact, I have served the public for over 30 years.

Soon we found a building, which was actually located in the same shopping center as another consignment shop. We discussed the location and decided that JC Penney and Sears often locate in a center where each is a pull for the other. I did not seem an issue in the beginning. It became a bit sticky later on.

My hubby spent his weekends working tirelessly on fixtures and displays. He built fitting room out of cedar wood, in keeping with our cedar “theme.”

The day before we opened, I looked around the little shop and realized, this was my dream. I also realized that the very act of actually opening up the doors of my own shop, meant I was a huge success. Every other moment after would only be gravy. As I stood there with tears in my eyes, I felt a very different kind of security. We had built a business, but much more. We had built a dream.

We have come a very long way from the first day we started to where we are today, but it is definitely full circle. We have created a comfortable, and pleasant place to shop and my customers are very pleased to have me in the town.

GREENSTAMP REDEMPTION

I guess I’m really showing my age here. I remember S&H Green Stamps. For all the younger crowd out there, S & H (Sperry and Hutchinson) Green Stamps were given out at your local grocery, department store or gas station as a bonus. The stores purchased the stamps from S&H and used them to build customer loyalty. I believe you received one stamp for every 10 cents you spent. Of coarse, that was when a loaf of bread was 20 cents. You would then paste them in books and redeem the books for items in a catalog. In the early 1960s S &H distributed more stamps than the United States Post Office.

Saturday afternoon around 4 pm--somewhere between American Bandstand and Speed Racer, my mother’s radar told her it was time to come into my room, turn off my Sears Silvertone TV, dump the shoebox full of stamps on desk and tell me to “earn my keep.”  I hated this job. I prayed for a baby brother to come along so it would be his job.

The necessary tools for the job included a damp sponge on a plate to moisten the backs of the stamps. I almost always got them too wet. After an hour or so of the tedium, I would announce that I was finished by yelling,“I’m done!“ Invariably, there would be a vacant spot of 2-3 stamps in a book. I was thusly dispatched to the nearest store to buy a case of Faygo.

Filling the books was a chore, but nothing compared to the civil war that erupted when deciding what to redeem them on. Even the Brady kids had a problem regarding that expenditure.

I remember my mother being the authorized decision maker regarding the stamp books. She would almost always decide that she could not make a decision until she saw the item “in person.” We drove from 6 mile road to 26 mile road to the center. It was huge and in the middle of nowhere. It smelled like a new car.

My father pointed out that we needed a new carpet sweeper. My mother had her eye on an  Italian pottery lazy-susan. Mother dutifully tried out the carpet sweeper on the small piece of carpet laid out for demos. She decided to “look around.” Her eye then caught the object of her lust. The lovely Italian pottery lazy-susan she had seen in the full color catalog.  It was shinny and brightly painted with its round faux fruit bowl in the center. Dad knew he was out of luck. For weeks to follow friends and neighbors came to view the divine new centerpiece on the kitchen table. It was never used for food service, but it made a great catch all.

A  series of recessions during the 1970s decreased sales of green stamps and the stamp programs of their competitors.It was the end of an era. An end of dreams of possibilities.

THE END OF THE RIGHT STUFF

On July 20, 1969 Astronaut Neil Armstrong was the first man to set foot on the surface of the moon. I remember sitting in my living room in Detroit with my parents, watching on TV, along with almost every American. My father scoffed and believed it was a total waste of tax dollars. My mother thought it was faked and said it could not possibly be happening. That was 42 years ago. It was a time in our county when Americans had big dreams. It was a time when we truly asked, “Why not?” We did aim high and we made it happen.

There are many conspiracy theories surrounding the moon landing. It has been said that the whole thing was produced on a Hollywood soundstage. Having participated in the Space Program and interacting with numerous technicians. I actually met many of  the astronauts. I have to declare that, without a doubt, it did occur.

I was lucky to have witnessed the first landing of the Space Shuttle Columbia at Edwards Air Force base in 1981. I still remember that day as a highlight of my life. It is reported that there were 200,000 people there on that day. When the Air Force Band stuck up the Star Spangled Banner, everyone present was overcome by tears, pride, and relief simultaneously.

I understand a lot of Americans believe the space program is an enormous waste of time and money, but I must respectfully disagree. The technology that had to be formulated to make the moon landing possible has completely changed our daily lives. Because of NASA research and developments we have smoke detectors, cordless tools, laptop computers, cell phones, MRI machines, and microwave ovens.

As a child I was lucky to have seen the birth of NASA and the Space Program. I watched as, in 1961, Alan Shepard piloted Freedom 7. I witnessed, in 1986, the terrible heartbreak of the Challenger tragedy. Now, as an adult, in 2011, I am witnessing the end of not only the Space Program, but America’s future. It feels to me like the end of a dream.