Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in C# Minor

Mom played the piano quite well, and when the spirit moved her, she would play great classical pieces such as Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in C# Minor…..Dum….Dum….Dum….three chords in low octaves to start the piece. All of us could hum the first bars to this piece in our sleep. I think this was her concession to being a secret “pinko” given that he was a Russian composer. I was going to do my 5th grade composition on Rachmaninoff’s life, but switched at the last moment to Felix Mendelssohn, for whom I found a nice reference in the World Book Encyclopedia. It was a time when I was flexing my literary muscle.

Mom also played more "contemporary" tunes (and I use the term loosely) whenever uncles Harold or Derald came over. They would sing and she would accompany them on the piano. Most of these were church tunes or show tunes from the 40s. Her mastery of the keyboard was an inspiration to Ron who, after 3 years of technical lessons, was able to master “Old Black Joe” for a recital….nowadays quite politically incorrect! I think that was the pinnacle of Ron’s musical career. What a pity! Such talent lost.

Springfield- Summer-Illinois State Fair

What would summer in Springfield be without a trip to the Illinois State Fair. Dad, being raised on a farm, had a natural attraction. As kids, we would pile in the car on a weekend day and head about 10 miles to the fairgrounds.

After parking, we would all just hang around with mom and dad for a while visiting the various stables, crafts, food exhibits and then go to watch the prime entertainment at the racecourse. After this, we would break up and go out own way..... usually to the Midway!!!!

The Midway was fascinating. No, no, not just your routine fair rides, but they had exotic shows! Hey, I mean, really exotic..... As you passed by the siamese twin boys, they brought them out and here were two young boys conjoined at the hip...awesome. Then there was the bearded lady, but I always doubted that one. And, of course, the guy that turned into an ape, but you had to pay to go into the tent to see him transform.

But the best was all the way at the end of the Midway... the burlesque show. As young boys, we only went down that far if we were with our buddies on a day trip to the fair. The barker would bring a lady out on stage in front of the tent and she would shake a bit then go back in. All the time the music "WIPEOUT" was blaring as she wiggled and paraded in front of us.

To this day, when I hear that song, I don't think of some surfer boys in Hawaii, but the Illinois State Fair and that great Midway.

Nana's Glasses

Nana's Glasses

Growing up we did not get to see our grandparents on my dad's side very often because they lived in California and we were planted in Illinois. California, in the pre-interstate days, was a very long, hot, crowded car trip away and plane rides were really not an option. My grandparents did come to visit us in Illinois on a few occasions. They would travel by train and we would pick them up in Galesburg for their week stay. Mom would always be in a cleaning frenzy the week before and we were all expected to be on our very best behavior while they were visiting. There was a lot of pressure not to bicker with your siblings and mind your manners and act like the "Father Knows Best" family, not our family. There was always a list of Illinois tourist hotspots to take them. Lincoln's Tomb, Lincoln's House, and New Salem were the Springfield favorites.

We had a guest room in our house in Springfield and my Bob Bob and Nana would spend time away from the chaos of the house relaxing in their room. My bedroom was next to theirs, so I used to wander into their room and yak their ears off. The main reason I would wander in was to see Nana's jewelry and her case with her extra glasses pieces. She had frames that had removable top pieces. She could change the color of her frames to match her dress. THIS WAS COOL. The frames top piece was a hard plastic in blue or green or black with little flecks of silver glitter. I loved watching her change the color by snapping on and off the top piece. The color of her glasses frame was the first thing I focused on every time I saw my grandmother. Unlike today where people get new frames every few years, I never remember seeing my Nana with any other glasses the entire time I knew her. My fascination with her glasses was the glue to my relationship with my grandmother. She taught me some Danish, the name for your fingers (Tumble Tot, Schlik-a-pot, Long mon, Gulda bron, and Lille pate spille mon) and knit us wonderful slippers or sweaters for Christmas, but the glasses, for me, was what was special. Her glasses were the constant, the one thing that did not change and the one thing that we connected on that brought us together.

Halloween- Minneapolis Surprise!!!

DJ hit the nail on the head.. Halloween ranked right up there with birthdays, Christmas and the last day of school as a "look forward" date.

I recall one year that mom and dad asked us if we would like to go to Minneapolis and trick or treat. Minneapolis, home to Auntie Nell, Auntie Mae and "Uncle" Bud. We loved going to Minneapolis because it was where we always went for Christmas, so how could Halloween not be awesome. However, there was one thing tied to this trip, it was to be a surprise. the aunties did not know we were coming.

Dad timed the 9 hour or so trip from Rockford to Minneapolis to get us there just in time for normal trick or treating. We were very excited to pull one over on the aunties.

It was already dark by the time we parked a house away from 4608 Ewing. Hastily, we put on our costumes and yanked out our paper/pillow case bags and the four of us clambered up the walkway to the door. We rang the familiar doorbell while singing out, "trick or treat!". Auntie Mae came to the door and gave each of the four masked young people a treat and graciously closed the door. Hmm, she didn't recognize us, so moments later, we rang the bell again. Auntie Mae came back to the door and was obviously perplexed and a bit "put out", from the stern expression, that we were back. That is when we said ( in unison),"We get better treats than this in Rockford!" It took a moment, but as we removed our masks and screamed "trick or treat" again, Nellie came running to the door. Both were shocked and overwhelmed. It was great and we all laughed over the prank as Uncle Bud unloaded and put his WWI carbine back in the closet muttering something about how much he wanted to use it again and this was a missed opportunity. This was truly the beginning of many more Jensen kid pranks to come.

Halloween in Rockford circa 1957

Booo! Ah yes, memories of Halloween in Rockford.....where to start? Costumes were always homemade and a bit cheesy as we got older. Being a "Bum" was a popular outfit....old, torn clothes, cork-blackened face, and an old broom handle over the shoulder with a bag on the end. A "ghost" was another easy costume...sheet over head with holes cut for eyes...voila! Soldiers and sailors were also popular since everyone's dad had an old uniform...a bit baggy, but who cared?

In those days we didn't have any fancy-schmancy bags or pails for our loot, just sturdy paper grocery bags. We'd put our name on it just in case.....but we never really had to worry as it was never out of sight. RJ and I would be running from house to house....no walking, not time....we were on a mission to collect the most candy we could in the 3-4 hours allotted. Heck, we would still be trick or treating at midnight if we could. In addition to the usual candy bars, we'd get the occasional popcorn ball, apple or orange (yuk!), or homemade cookie. No one worried about peanut allergies, razor blades or poisoned food, and we never heard of anyone having problems like that. The candy would last for days....neigh, weeks if properly rationed and if mom didn't raid it while we were at school.....hmmm

As we got older, we did less treating and more "tricking".....soaping car windows, throwing eggs at houses, and my personal favorite: the bag of dog poop on the porch, then lit on fire, ring the doorbell, and run like hell! Beautifully creative and it always worked like a charm!

Ahhhh, today's kids don't know what they missed......

Brookfield Zoo

Donna and I went to Brookfield Zoo today – a gorgeous warm October Sunday without a Bears game. Everyone else within a 3 state area must have had the same idea. It has been 2 years since we last went there and there have been changes…..mostly for the better, but we reminisced about what is no longer there.
THE BAD:
• Long gone is the great steam train that used to run a circuit around the park
• The Reptile House is now the Swamp House, but still has the crocs and alligators and same pungent aroma
THE GOOD:
• More and better food concessions and picnic areas. This is a big plus.
• Moving the polar bears and grizzlies to their own more spacious area (Bear Wilderness)
• A new nature trail around Indian Lake near the Salt Creek
• The carousel is still there and is beautiful……. By the way, who are the people that wait to get on a carousel and then ride in the stationary seats or the horses that don’t go up and down? I never could understand that. It’s one of the first things you learn as a kid: look for the horse with the pole that goes up and down and race like hell to get there first.

Sundays and football

Fall Sundays meant football...always have...always will! We'd watch the Bears on our B&W TV....Bill Wade throwing to Harlan Hill. We didn't care much about defense, just hold them so we'd get the ball back. After the game, we suit up in helmets and shoulder pads and head across the street to Mike Carey's back yard. We'd imagine we were Wade or Hill throwing and catching TD passes. Of course, someone almost always got hurt, but mostly games were called by darkness or dinner. Then home to dinner in front of Sunday night TV and Disney's Wonderful World of Color (or black and white...).

Lake Geneva- Weekends

Lake Geneva was the " family" weekend destination. Each Staurday morning, we would pile into the station wagon and head out on out for an a hour plus trip to Lake Geneva. Bob Bob and Gram had a beautiful home right on the lake. Uncle Derald was up the road and Uncle Harold ( time tested the right spot- across the lake). Weekends in the early 60's were spent fishing, water skiing or just chilling.. it was a wonderful location and we had great time there. I most remember Bob Bob 's worm farm in an old wheel barrow.. looking back many years and many horror films, this was creepy.... hey, ..."where did Uncle Bob disappear to?" AROUND HERE? Well, the worms were great for fishing and always a source for our efforts to bring in the "big one". RJ, I think did just that when we sent a hook into the leg (?) maybe shoulder? of a friend he brought up for the day. I guess that tells you a lot about this family.... watch more about us on SYFY TV's Truth or Fiction Families..

The Trip to Paradise..... or ASU.. same difference

Oh, let's really get to the guts of this family.....the best of times and the worst of times were a trip back when DJ and KJ decided to join efforts and dual purpose.... DJ needed to interview with hospitals in the Southwest and KJ just needed a ride back to ASU. Well, as it turned out the routine interviews en route were pretty much routine... 15 minutes or less--- but that is by my estimate. .. anyhow, got DJ to PHX and ASU...As we walked in, there was a "balcony test", meaning something of value was being dropped off the second story balcony to great applause.... DJ's welcome to Sigma Chi- ASU... Well, we continued to enjoy the nightlife of Scottsdale- at the hosting of a number of fraternity brothers who were bar tenders= we came out pretty cheap. Next day- MEXICO I had lost my contact down the drain in the sink the night before- but- what the hell- road trip.. and found some of my puke- actually an undigested cherry - in the rocker panel of the car....( sorry to those reader with a sensitive reading stomach) but what the hell......that's all I remember.......................................................................................I think we had a good time.... at least DJ is till speaking to me............ today.....

Lake Powell

The idea of a multi-family vacation is always a bit terrifying. It’s challenging enough managing a single family vacation, what with mood swings, conflicting itineraries, museum ‘speed-walkers’ vs. ‘museum ‘read everythings’, and ‘early risers’ vs. ‘late nighters’….to mention just a few. However, throwing good sense to the wind in favor of family togetherness, we planned a Jensen family vacation to Lake Powell in 1993 (I believe).

We reserved a large houseboat (sleeps 12+) plus a small speedboat for water skiing that we towed behind. The Florida Jensens could not attend, but that left Mike, Eileen, Captain Ron, Don, Donna, Colin, Emily, Rick, Lou, Kelly, Kris and Brandon. It was loaded with food, beer, water toys, and a 6-person tent that we set up on the top deck. A secret weapon smuggled on board was a water balloon ‘sling shot’ that could launch a water balloon 400 feet! Lou got a hand water pump from REI and we assembled about 500 ecologically-correct, biodegradable, water balloons. An hour into our journey, the launcher was brought out and water balloons filled….much to Mike’s horror. He was still new to the Jensen clan!

Our first targets were other houseboats. As our accuracy improved our reputation on the high seas deteriorated. One time, we came along side another house boat and launched our balloons only to have them fire back at us with a water cannon!  Great fun!!   Once, we saw a houseboat coming up behind us, so we slowed to let it get in range. “Oh boy! An easy target!” We let fly a couple water balloons that fell just short of the boat when Ron noticed that it was actually a Police Launch! We received a mild warning and they sailed off. Mike was not happy! We put the launcher away….but only temporarily.

On our third day, we found a great cove to anchor for the night and had just tied up when two other houseboats came in and anchored right across the bay from us. It was a wedding party, and they were noisy and loud late into the night. They ignored our requests to hold it down since we had youngsters trying to sleep. They finally passed out asleep on the upper decks of their boats around 2 am. They were clearly ignorant of our reputation as pirates, and had no idea of our secret weapon!

In the early morning hours, we made water balloons, started our engines and circled our boat around so that we came across their bow and launched balloon after balloon in high arching patterns that rained down upon the sleeping enemy. They were screaming and swearing and yelling for us to stop, but we kept on firing. “Paybacks are hell!” (Jensen Family motto....or is it "Bump Nana!"). Mike was hiding below deck.....

A Gin Memory....

It’s a warm summer late afternoon, and I notice the bottles of tonic water sitting on the floor by the fridge. They’ve been there untouched since Emily came home last Thanksgiving, the thought of a cold G&T sounds pretty good right now – particularly with vacation starting tomorrow. Even more important, Donna picked up some fresh limes at Whole Foods. As I’m pouring the jigger of gin into the glass with ice cubes, I catch the distinctive smell of gin, and I’m transported back to an earlier time. Funny how those olfactory memories are so deeply imprinted…..

It’s the summer of 1962 and four of us are piled into John Prillaman’s Ford and heading to the Drive-in movie on old Route 66 just outside Springfield. Three of us hide in the trunk so we only pay admission for one car and one adult. John stole a fifth of gin from his dad’s stash (Gilbey’s), but we had no mixer. I went to the concession stand and brought an extra large orange drink. We couldn’t mix all the gin and all the orange drink, so we’d each take a swig of gin and “chase it” with a swig of orange drink. Yummm!! Well, an empty stomach, 5’7” and 115 lbs, and a short hitter anyway, I was the first one roaring drunk…but kept my turn in line. Finally, it started to rain and we decided to head home. We had been sitting on the hood of the car, and I decided that I could be better windshield wipers than the blades, so positioned myself on the roof using my arms as wipers as we exited the lot. Down MacArthur Boulevard, there I was on the roof and totally drunk. A future organ donor if there ever was one! And I was getting the whirlies. My friends dropped me off in the front yard of our house (2112 Westview drive) and luckily Merle and Eileen were already asleep. I stumbled down to my bedroom and laid down on my bed, but every time I closed my eyes, the room spun around and I got nauseated. Finally, I thought the best place to be would be in the bathroom close to the porcelain “god”. Soon, I was tossing my cookies and was none too quiet about it…waking Ron. He saw the fix I was in and promptly did the brotherly thing of waking dad and telling him I was sick (duh!). Dad saw my predicament and instantly diagnosed the condition. “What were you drinking tonight?” he asked. “Nuffing…” I said, “Just orange drink. Must not have agreed with me.” He threw me in the shower and turned on cold water, toweled me off, and put me to bed.

In the morning, dad woke me at 6 am and suggested I do some weed pulling in the yard before breakfast. I was INCREDIBLY hungover!! I also realized I was in deep shit, so I did it. At 7, he called me in for breakfast. There at my place was a plate of eggs and bacon and toast, and….. a large glass of orange juice. I was soooo thirsty, I guzzled the OJ straight down, only to discover a millisecond later that he had mixed my OJ 50:50 with GIN!!! OMG! I raced to the bathroom and started throwing up all over again…and again smelled and tasted gin! He was chuckling and clearly enjoying his devilish sadism. “Hope you learned a lesson,” he said. Boy, did I! It was at least 25 years before I could even think about drinking gin… in any form.

Well, that last gin and tonic was so good, I think I’ll make another….hope Donna gets home soon.

EUROPE!! LOOK OUT!! PART 3

You missed me didn't you. OK, well here we go. After the beers in our room in Luxembourg, Stan and I decided to canvass the town- you know-a sweep of opportunities. We were 16 and we were "HOT"- kinda... Well, we went into a restaurant in the city center- where we expected the action to be. Well, turns out, there is a multi national summit in Luxembourg. Sixteen year old boys were nothing more than street refuse. Well, we met a nice guy who, interestingly was an American. We had a great conversation with him. He was with Dean Rusk, Sec. of State of the U.S. and here for the "whatever they called them then"meetings. We pretended to be nonplussed by this and hoped him the best. Tomorrow, Belgium.... little did we know we would be sleeping on a park bench in Antwerp. How the high and mighty can fall.....

Homemade Ice Cream

Yesterday, Donna made ice cream in our Krups Automatic Ice Cream Maker. Not like the old style bucket with ice and rock salt variety, but easy, clean and noiseless (almost). The container must not have been cooled sufficiently because the ice cream came out too slushy, so we put it in a Tupperware and put it in the freezer. Today, that ice cream is like a brick....tasty, but still the consistency of concrete. It brought back memories of homemade ice cream from childhood....ah yes.....reliving the delight of rock hard vanilla ice cream!

Making vanilla ice cream (was there ever another flavor?) in the crank style freezer was a summertime high point growing up. We may have skimped a bit on the heavy cream, but not the sugar! We would all take a turn cranking the handle for what seemed like hours. Adding ice, adding rock salt, draining some water, adding ice, adding rock salt....you get the idea. All of us, mom included, were a bit over-anxious for the taste of that frozen delight, to actually wait until the cranking got real difficult. Just a bit harder was enough for us! We'd bring the metal container out of the icy brine and pop off the lid, and each would take a spoonful of pure vanilla heaven....a bit like grainy/gritty soft-serve. We would fight for who got to lick the beater. Then mom would put the container in the freezer to let it "finish". By the next day, the ice cream would be like a rock! We'd almost need a chisle and sledge to chip off a few flakes of the golden delight. It didn't deter us, however, and I think we assumed this was how it was supposed to be. The added energy expenditure, I think, kept us slim (?skinny) in spite of the calories consumed. (Well, maybe not EVERYONE). It probably lasted longer that way as well. We'd chip and dig until we would get a small bowl full, and then add the topping of choice - which in our house was Nesquik powder. We never had REAL chocolate syrup, although we would occasionally have butterscotch because it was dad's favorite. Sliced bananas and a little whipped cream from the spritzer can, and we had a banana split!

Summer jobs - part deux

Ken's post reminded me of one of my summer jobs - warehouse and loading dock hand at a company in Elk Grove that manufactured aluminum siding, soffit and shutters. They hired lots of college kids...cheap labor ($2.00/hr). Most, like myself, worked the loading dock and filled orders - loading 30 lb (or more) boxes onto a skid and then loading them into the hold of semi trailers that had been sitting in the hot sun in order to get the inside up to a toasty 110F. However, one kid, Billy, who went to Tulane and whose parents knew one of the owners, was assigned a cushy job making shutters. He got to sit down and never got hot and sweaty....he was a little nuts and bragged about his status at every opportunity. Two memorable things happened to Billy that summer.

Billy always had the same thing for lunch - hot dog and a Mountain Dew -and as he was gulping his drink one day he gagged and reached into his mouth and pulled out a used condom! In those days the drinks were in glass bottles that were reused after sterilizing, so the condom must have passed by the inspection. While Billy was throwing up, we were rolling with laughter.

The other Billy event occurred later that summer. During a break, we were gathered around his work station chatting with him when he pressed the foot pedal on his machine and it made a little tink-tink sound as it bent the aluminum. He said there was no way this was a one ton press making such a wimpy sound, and before we could even react, he put his index finger tip in the press and pressed the pedal. Tink-tink! ...and Viola! a perfectly flattened fingertip! At first he was so surprised he didn't say a word...just stared at it. Then the pain came. He was taken to the hospital and he never came back. Glad I was on the loading dock.......

Summer Jobs

This blog title did not come as a deja vu concept, rather a current situation has dredged up ong forgotten and buried memories.

Growing up Jensen meant that somehow, some way, you spent time in economic activity, i.e. summer jobs. Well, we all had them. Some were good, some, not so good. RJ lucked out with the lifeguard jobs. DJ did a myriad of warehouse and office type work. Lou was involve in retail- but I could be very mistaken here.

Me? Well, as indicated before, I worked ramp at O'Hare Airport, but also dabbled in painting addresses on curbs, camp counselor for the YMCA, but the most poignant job- an likely not equalled- was the summer I worked for Louie Frappier Construction. "Construction" , I found out too late, is a loosely termed word meaning : sewer and septic service. Yep, you got it. Like the kids in Ollie Hopnoodle's Haven of Bliss movie, this was the job to propel me into the mega body I wanted- abs, .. well, you get the picture- manly stuff for the summer. Instead, being rather slight of build, I was the perfect hire to go down into septic tanks. Also, as the "grunt", I was the guy they left at a job site for a day to dig out and replace old septic tile fields. Mom would make me a bag lunch that I could only eat by taking the external side of the bag and hopefully chew through any wrappings to the food. All day, I was alone with my thoughts while plowing through my work. Everytime I ran into a broken pipe or a tough dig, I thought "Oh, crap" . Little did I know, my thoughts COULD became reality!

Character builder job? Nope, don't think so, except that I did spend a heck of a lot more time studying the next year at ASU for a "desk job".

To Grandmother's House We Go....

The house that Nana and Bubbub built for the family in Junction is a special place, a unique place.  I have always referred to it as where I would rather be more then anywhere other then the house I grew up in.  Driving up Tiara Drive, making the familiar turns, and seeing the monument for the first time evokes a feeling much stronger then what the idea of coming home is.  The ride is so much more exiting and anxiety ridden then the night before Christmas for a five year old.  It's a place of safety, of familiarity, and of love.  There's no place in this world that's more welcoming or serves as a center of being.  I know that no matter what growing pains or troubles I have, there is nothing that ginger snaps and biscotti with Nana over coffee can't fix.  The place is filled with history from Bubbub putting in a swimming pool before the house to Nana's 'rasberry' front door.  If chocolate ice cream is somewhere in the house, the place becomes that much better! 
EMILY

Jensen Firsts

Dad always taught us to be supportive of each other. That's why we were never competitive between ourselves, rather, supportive and coached each other to the next level. BUT, to set the record straight, I have some stats to present:

1. First out of country trip: KJ
2. First to Europe : KJ
3. First to ski with their own skis: KJ
4. First to dance with lady with boa: KJ- but this may be disputed
5. First to walk through a sewer after a great night at "Dirty Nellies": KJ
6. First to go to school out of state (Not a requirement of legal proceedings): KJ
7. First to marry an NFL cheerleader- let me redeem that to office personnel: KJ
8. This list could go on, but you get the gist.... there is always a trendsetter to each family................................

Camp Augustana Midnight Run

The Lutheran church in Rockford also had an affiliation with Camp Augustana in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. This meant that our church youth group would get to spend two weeks at “Auggie” every summer….boys and GIRLS! It was a blast! One camp experience, however, stands out above the rest.

The camp had a beautiful location on the shores of Lake Geneva. There was a large dining hall, an arts and crafts building, a chapel, and cabins. There were 8 cabins: 4 for boys and 4 for girls on either side of a large athletic field. My best friends, Gary Johnson, Terry Downey and I were in a cabin in which the senior boys included Ron and his friend John Cook. They took a perverse pleasure in lording over us at every opportunity, and punishing us when we screwed up….which was often. So we plotted our revenge.

We would wait until the last night of camp and then short-sheet their beds. This meant pulling the foot of their bottom sheet back up to look like it was the top sheet. They’d only discover this when went to slide in and their legs would only be able to go half way. The only way to fix it was to re-make your bed. We decided to embellish the trick by putting sawdust and some dirt in the bed at the same time……devilishly crafty!

So that night, after the final campfire, everyone went to their cabins. Gary, Terry and I got into our beds and were trying hard not to let anyone hear our giggles as the seniors got into beds. Suddenly, there was loud cursing and yelling, and we dug our heads beneath our pillows to squelch our body-jerking laughter. It didn’t take a Sherlock Holmes for them to figure out who did it, and they came over and literally rolled us out of our beds and tore our beds apart. Then they made us make their beds correctly. When we were almost done, they asked if we wanted to go for a little run. “What? It’s 11 o’clock at night”, we said. They told us to strip down to our underpants, and while one guarded us the other went across to the girls cabins to wake them up and tell them to watch from their porch while a couple of knuckleheads ran by.

Silhouetted by the full moon, we took off at full speed. I was fast, Terry next, but Gary was portly and slow, and took the majority of the abuse and catcalls from the girls as he lumbered by. For months, we were referred to as the “Midnight Raiders” or the “Midnight Streakers”. Ahhhh, adolescent humiliation.

The Acolyte Fiasco

Growing up in Rockford meant church every Sunday at First Lutheran. Kids went to Sunday school, adults to church. Giving up a few hours of your Sunday morning was painful, but not as painful being in Sunday school instead of the actual boring church service. When I turned 12, however, I was informed that I needed to take confirmation classes….every Saturday morning…for a FULL YEAR! No more lounging in my pajamas with a bowl of Frosted Flakes watching Tom&Jerry cartoons. Yikes!   If I was going to suffer, at least I would be doing it with my best friend, Gary Johnson. Confirmation classes also signaled the end to Sunday school, and we would now be attending the adult services in the youth choir (where, incidentally, I perfected the art of lip-syncing which was later used by many stage personalities). It also meant that every Sunday two of us would be selected to be acolytes during the main service - where we would get to light the altar candles at the start of the service and extinguish them at the end. This was a highly prized honor because not only did you get out of choir duties, but you also could make your parents proud seeing you in a position of authority at the altar with the pastor. Playing with fire was a secondary perk.

Around Christmas time, it finally happened that by chance my name and Gary’s came up on the same Sunday to be acolytes. We arrived early to get dressed in the white robes and reviewed the instructions from the pastor: we would be stationed behind the altar curtains and come out on each side at the start of the opening processional hymn to light the 15 or 20 candles on each side of the altar; and again at the sound of chimes just before the recessional hymn, to extinguish them. Pretty easy. During the rest of the service, we were to be seated behind the altar and follow the service with our programs. Gary, however, had other ideas.

Gary knew that the pastor’s private bathroom was also behind the altar next to his office, and that it had a tile floor which was perfect for pitching pennies – our gambling addiction. So, right after we lit the candles, we ditched our poles and headed to the bathroom for some serious gaming. We were having a blast and forgot about the time (as 12 year old boys are wont to do), when suddenly Gary said, “Was that the chimes?” In a moment of panic, we raced out of the bathroom in time to hear the start of a hymn, which we assumed was the recessional hymn, and which meant we were late to be out there putting out the candles. So we piously walked slowly out from either side of the altar…paused momentarily to signal each other with a slight nod…and proceeded to extinguish the candles. I glanced sideways to smile at the pastor and give a little wink when I noticed the look of surprise in his face. We finished our duty and retired behind the altar where we looked at our program just as the pastor was beginning his sermon. “Holy Crapola!” Gary said, “The service isn’t over!” In fact, there would be another 40 minutes of candle-less service before it would be over. We were both dead and we knew it! How could we be so irresponsible and stupid? We knew precisely what our parents would say, and how they were mortified and embarrassed by our behavior.

I don’t remember the exact punishment, but I’m sure it fit the crime. I also don’t remember being asked to acolyte again. This did have a silver lining, however, as it allowed me more choir time to perfect my lip-syncing.

My Favorite Meal

In my life - I have been lucky enough to travel the world and eat amazing food. I have had seafood both caught and grilled within the hour, I have sampled delicacies from the finest restaurants in Chicago, and I have a mother who is an amazing cook and chooses only fresh and organic ingredients to cook with. Through all of these experiences, I have acquired a very fine (some might say expensive) palate.

However, there is one delicacy that will always be number one on my list of best/favorite foods and, like the Bible on all the book bestseller lists, will always retain its position. The delicacy I am referring too? Nana's Chop Suey, of course!

Let it be known that there is only one way to cook Nana's Chop Suey (specifically, I am speaking to my mother) - by using the vegetables of LaChoy #2 which can be found in the foreign foods aisle of your grocery store.  There is nothing fresh in this renowned dish nor should there be.

Cousins needed

I think we should expand the blog to include more episodes involving the cousins: skiing, Grand Junction, Camp Nana Bob-Bob, Disney World, Lake Powell, Steamboat Christmas, etc., etc.... How about it?

Please, I can't keep making stuff up anymore!

Burt...............

Bros and Sistas...

OK, we may all have them, but can we live with them? Yes, brothers and sisters.

Based on what I have blogged, it may be questioned if I lived with humanoid family members. Yes.

I have to say, that despite our childish normal activities ( hey, PINK BOX train derailments, acorn fights, rubber band fights, etc).. oh well, we got over WWI, WWII and Korea so I am OK with how I deal with my siblings.

I do have to say that through the years, we are really closer now than we were as kids. Though we don't talk that much, we know we are there for each other and that is what counts. I recall a time when a paper boy was "after" our dog and I went ballisistic when he had teased our dog. He was much bigger, but logic was not part of the equation. While getting a whooping in the front yard, my brothers blew out of the house (Springfield) and totally defended their little brother. Needless to say, the paperboy was never a threat again. Thanks. guys...

Lou is always there for support. She is always the ballast of feminine sense and why we are a family and she pulls the "boys" together. Thanks.

Gardening 101

NO ONE knew gardening better than Auntie Nell, Auntie Mae and Uncle Bud. Living in Minneapolis, Minnesota, the growing season is always very short, but their garden always seemed as perfect and robust as any would find at EPCOT today. They were always particular where they bought their seeds and made sure they readied them for the soil long before it was time to plant.

They had a knack that is difficult to explain. I cannot remember anytime going to Minneapolis when the garden wasn't perfect. It was a perfect ORTHO garden, marigolds, hyacinths,etc.

They loved their garden and it showed. As I work my garden every day, I wonder why the gene pool stopped before it hit me!

Sock Hops

Well, I am venturing into dangerous waters with this title....sock hops were junior high school sponsored dances.. usually a Friday evening in the converted cafeteria. Eventually records were replaced by live bands with TONS of teachers with AK's at every exit and restroom. For once, the cafeteria was dark, or at least dim... so you could not see that the ugly girl was not so ugly and the ugly guy was not so - premonition of future beer induced states... or the short guy wasn't that short.... nope-still short regardless of amounts of beer- depth perception still worked.

Anyhow, you spruced up to your best and you got your pals together to "strategize" how to get to meet those girls you see everyday, ALL DAY.. but didn't have the guts to talk to. Hey, ask them to dance..any idea how many girls have a bad leg when you ask them to dance? Softball and girl's soccer are a killer sports on your love life!

As the last songs were being played and everyone was planning a post " sock hop" rendezvous, you always had to remember that mom or dad were picking you up and dropping you off at who's house for what and when are you coming home?

Hungry Jack Lake

For years, we regailed in Ron's scouting adventures in northern Minnesota's boundary waters. Canoeing, fishing , just living with nature in the wilds of the 'NORTH'.

One year, we decided that northern Minnesota would be the ideal place to take the "Aunties".

Similar to their youth in northern Michigan, wild and rugged.

When we sprang it on them, they were all a twitter. We selected Hungry Jack Lake Lodge on the Gunflint Trail as our target destination. Months of planning included stops at various waterfalls and gardens in Fort William/ Port Arthur (now Thunder Bay) before moving up the two track road for about a million miles. After hours of snaking our way through lakes and high timber, we reached Valhalla, Hungry Jack Lodge. The Bunn family had owned and ran the lodge for decades. It was perfect.

The cabins were clean yet you knew you were in nature's home.

The lodge was awesome, large fireplace, log paneling and a huge dining room where they would prepare the day's catch. Mother Bunn was advanced in years, but very spry. She cooked the meals, and made sure every guest was happy and welcome. A lady I will never forget.

Every morning, we would all have breakfast then dad and I would head off out on the lake, bait perch in hand, to catch the BIG one that we knew lurked just feet below us.

Those were the best hours....just talking about anything and everything. He knew me like a book after that week, as if he didn't have a clue before.

I recall on a subsequent trip to Hungry Jack, we were joined by family friends, the Schroeders. They were the consummate fishing family. Hot tackle, huge tackle box and lots of experience. Dad and I bought our stuff from Sears catalogue, but we thought it was cool. On the second

morning, dad and I took our boat out before breakfast for a bit of fishing. We latched on to one huge rainbow trout. Upon taking it back to the dock for cleaning and prep for that evening's dinner, the Schroeder's had a hard time believing their eyes and without finishing breakfast hightailed it to their boat, while dad and I leisurely enjoyed pancakes, maple syrup and eggs.......with a big smile and a twinkle in our eyes.

Rockford- Salesmanship -To The Victors, The Spoils!!!

In a February blog on Salesmanship, I relayed my experiences in the newspaper business by working, selling and winning a trip to Puerto Rico with 50 other newsboys in 1959. Imagine, 50 kids ages 9-13, in Puerto Rico, no sunscreen, for a week. The best part was that the hotel was across the street from the ballpark and an old fort next door. It was built in a triangle, so everyone could scream and what few other guests were there, could listen to the echo of 50 kids across the whole lobby-maybe even the street.

Well, the last day was a sun and fun day on the beach. We burned RAW!!! No not the first degree stuff, but RAW! I relate to desert movies of guys walking with blisters so big they look like warts. That was us. Since we returned to Chicago in January, we had heavy coats and, of course, sports jackets. World travelers, like us, had to dress the part- even though everyone did it back then. The next two weeks were pretty rough, but Lou gladly spent her idle time peeling skin in strips off my back. At first it feels good and the itchiness goes away, but as it dries, oh, SHIT!

Word spread around school and everywhere that I was back with a truckload of slides of the trip. Everyone wanted to see them. I made the tour at church, neighbors were invited over and the travelogue became a phenom. Even after moving to Springfield, the teachers at Hay-Edwards asked me to show the slides to the class. Well, it was strange that teachers would stop the show and ask me to start over as other teachers were invited in to see my slides then leave after a short period of time "

to get back to their class". My head was huge. I was a star and recognized by all of the teachers for my travel experiences.

Left: Only years later as I cruised through the slides of El Morro fortress did I really find the "true reason for my rock star sensation?"

Kid Forts

The other day, I passed some kids in the neighborhood with a play fort. Plastic, solid, impurvious to rubber bands and cost a pretty penny. Well, technological leaps of this dimension were unheard of when we were kids.

Our forts were makeshift. They were a cross between a bedoiun camp and laundry rack. Simply:

1. Place a certain number of chairs in a circle or square
2. Throw a blanket or sheet over it
3. Find rocks from the garden wall to hold down the edges ( be sure to leave room for an opening or you just wasted good play time and
4. Voila.... a fort.
5. For enhancing appeal and reducing bug bites, add a rug and a few magazines to justify spending time in a hot tent.

Even better was laundry day when the sheet were already on the line. Simply take the middle of the sheet and place it along the laundry line and go to step 3 and 4. This was the most expedient, but not popular with management.

Lincoln Jr High Swim Team

In those days, junior high in Rockford was grades 7-9. When I was still in 6th grade at Highland Elementary, I envied Ron when he joined the swim team at Lincoln Jr High and came home to dinner with bloodshot eyes and smelling of chlorine. Oddly enough, I never really inquired much about what he did there. I think in the back of my mind, knowing Ron, that it must have been some sort of water ballet or choreographed swimming. So next fall, I too signed up for the swim team. My friends were curious why I would go out for swimming when I was not a very good swimmer. Certainly a very reasonable question,...... but I was 12 or 13 and quite stupid.

I was a bit anxious going to the first practice with my pink nose clip and blue nylon suit. Our school had a small 20 yard pool with only 4 lanes. There must have been 50 people out for the team and Coach Stringer (EARL STRINGER: emblazoned in my memory) didn’t believe in cutting anybody…it was a little like natural selection…..the weak and infirm just drowned (or wished they did). After a brief introduction, he said “Everybody in the pool for a warm up circle swim.” I don’t think I swam more than 50 yards without stopping in my life, but suddenly I was in the cold water, dog-paddling, while the entire team of excellent swimmers swam over me, pushing me under. I grasped for the gutter, coughing water, when I could hear Coach Stringer yelling, “Keep swimming! No stopping!” To keep us all motivated, he had this 10 foot long metal pole with a rubber ball at the end that he would use to whack you if he thought you were loafing. What did I get myself into? Who was this sadist? And what’s he doing torturing children? For 10 minutes which seemed like an eternity, I tried to keep my head above water and at least look like I was moving. The next 2 hours are a blur in my memory – fear, anxiety, panic, exhaustion – I know how soldiers must feel landing on an enemy beachhead. All this time, I could also see Ron out of the corner of my eye, swimming with the elite and moving gracefully through the water. The stark contrast was humiliating.

I probably should have quit and taken up knitting or canasta, but in the Jensen household there was no such thing as quitting. So every day, as I sat in class and 3:30 approached, I would be overcome by this enormous sense of dread….a feeling of utter hopelessness and panic. And for three months, it never got any better….but I did become a better swimmer. That summer, every time we went to Lake Geneva, I practiced. The next year, I actually swam backstroke in a JV meet and finished 3rd out of 4 in my race (not last), and had a kickass flip turn! By 9th grade, although I wasn’t an elite swimmer, I also wasn’t a total embarrassment. To this day, I credit Coach Stringer with instilling in me a sense of hatred…scratch that…”anything’s possible.”

Please, don't let it be mice...............

The summer of 1969 -during my college years, I worked the ramp at O'Hare Airport, Chicago, for North Central Airlines. A small, but highly profitable carrier covering Illinois, Michigan, Wisconsin, Minnesota, the Dakota territories and Colorado. A regional carrier. Back in those days, our standard plane was a Convair 580, but we recently introduced DC-9's on our non-stop flights and exotic destinations in our route system like Duluth and Detroit.

Enough about equipment. I was a "ramp rat", meaning one day I would work the bag room and the next unload and load flights. Actually, I was pretty good at both and I loved airlines, so the 3:00PM to 11:30 PM during WEEKDAYS was OK by me.

Our flights handled a lot of stuff including caskets of Viet Nam soldiers to Bob Hope! Yes, I got his autograph and a few moments of his time while a Convair was revving it's engines. I am sure to this day that he remembered me.

We served MADISON, WISCONSIN. Well today, it is all about what goes on in their capitol, but back then it was what went on in their university. We carried lab mice to other colleges around the US. Well, on one shift, around 8:30 PM, I unloaded a flight from Madison. The mice had eaten through their cardboard cartons and were "living large" in the hold of the plane until I opened the door. For once, I felt fear and religious rejuvenation at the same time-like Moses. Once daylight sprung on those critters, they bailed for freedom. They ran right over me, my face, down my leg and flew over the guy next to me. American Airlines, alert, they are headed your way..

Well, since then, I have not had a great respect for these creatures. A recent life experience rehashed this past life changing situation and I think I am a better man by it. Kill em all!

Baseball in our Blood!!!

The Jensen "Boys of Summer" loved baseball. We collected baseball cards, played on various teams throughout our formative years and spent endless hours listening to the Chicago White Sox or Milwaukee Braves games on the radio. Editors note: TV did not carry baseball in those days. We had one channel, anyhow, and lucky to see anything through the snow. So wrapped up in baseball that one, only one of the brothers, created home and away uniforms from a set of blue pin stripe and red pin stripe pajamas with appropriate crayon color for numerals and team name across the chest. White socks with some type of striping added to the overall mystique as the PJ legs were tucked into the socks to give the target sock look. Downright authentic... and multi-functional.

The "heaven on earth" moments came when dad said we could pick out a game and he would take us all to a game. Mental gymnastics were at peak performance as we poured over the schedules and dates. Home game, afternoon game, any special events were all part of the planning process. It was either a Chicago White Sox road trip to the old and mystical Comiskey Park or the Braves at Milwaukee County Stadium near Lake Michigan in Milwaukee. The week ahead was total excitement as we projected lineups, batting order and analyzed stats of the players on the visiting team. On the night before, no one could sleep, because we had to get up early and hit the road! It was always a couple of hours or more just to get to the stadium. Then we had to arrive super early to pounce on unsuspecting players walking to the locker room to get autographs. Better be sure to call out the right name or everyone would look at you as subhuman.

Time for the gates to open, we would position at the right gate and take in the souvenir shops, food stalls and the dimly lit areas in the guts of the stadium. Then as we passed into the tunnel, bright sunshine and the greenest green I have ever seen meets you head on. Players in bright white and others in gray were spectacular contrasts in color and motion. The sounds of the dull roar of the fans and the crack of batting practice hits are embedded forever in my memory.

The games were exciting and we were rivetted to each play and inning. Mid way through the game, dad would give us money and we would hustle to the souvenir stand and buy team pictures, bat shaped pens and team pennants. These were treasured items and many of us still hold these in safekeeping today. Hey, we may have lost the house or car keys or family members on occasion over the years, but not our team pictures!!!

No one remembers much of the ride home. Exhausted and emotionally drained, we fell asleep with thoughts of the magic we had just witnessed. Tales to be told for weeks to jealous friends and bored neighbors.

Pets- But Mostly Dogs

Growing up in the Jensen household had one prerequisite, you had to love dogs. Oh, sure, we had the occasional parakeet, goldfish and turtle, but our lifelong companions were the dogs.

My earliest recollections were our cockers, Nickel and Penny. Always affectionate to everyone, even to the two human rug rats (Ken and Lou). When we moved to Rockford, we had a cocker collie. We had expected it to be small like Penny and Nickel, so dad "bobbed" the tail. Well, it didn't. It took on the size of the collie side of its family. To make matters worse, we chose the name, "Knucklehead." Well, you can imagine calling the dog to come home when strangers are walking up the sidewalk. More than one person may have been affronted, but heck, we were simply calling our dog- clueless of the negative mental impact on strangers. "Knuck" was lovable and was RJ's sidekick for years. He lived to forgive us for his lack of a tail.

Then we had Chang Wong, a Pekingese. Mom grew up with pekes and this was a natural. Over the years, we have had a number of these gentle creatures with long flowing locks that seemed to make everything in the house appear to be mohair. I don't know how mom came up with all of the names, but suffice it to say, my theory is she took names off of Chinese restaurant menus. I am still waiting for Moo Goo Gai Pan.

The real center of our dog world were our German Shephards. Rontu ( actually a Belgian Shepard RJ bought)was the first and most notorious. He could open doors, frequented neighborhood bar-b-ques, eat a dozen eggs out of the box and close it. If mom didn't hustle up, Rontu and Changy would take it upon themselves to hoof it two miles into town to meet dad at the train station. "Toozer" and dad were inseparable. With RJ in the Navy, Toozer Bud and dad would take their walks and share special times together. When dad repaired an Oldsmobile convertible, it was Toozer in the co pilots seat on one of the first test drives.

Years forward, great dogs have joined this family and we looked at them as an integral part. They will never be forgotten because they brought much love, joy, pleasure, friendship and laughs to a growing family.

'PINK BOX'- Rockford

If two words ever made my skin crawl, head twitch and immediately begin a seizure, this title did just that. The notorious Pink Box was a 4 ft.X 4 ft. X 4t. plywood box with a lid. It was painted pink by our beloved matriarch, which- BTW- everything in the house was purple with pink accents. But to add to the noxious state of this, the box held all, yes, ALL, of our sports equipment. Helmets, masks, cleats, gloves, skates, chest protectors...... well, this list goes on, but suffice it to say that as little kids, we had to "dumpster dive" to get what we needed. HOWEVER, the Pink box had an altogether second, and more disturbing, life. If you have been following this blog to any extent, you read the Rubber Band episode- if not, take a moment....... Bear in mind, this was the 1950's, no, not Summer of Love and Peace, we had barely been out of WWII. All of the movies in this era were around what went bad for our guys by those guys. Hence, the acorn fights, rubber band fights and these were all based on what we saw in the movies , heard from our uncles ( I will leave them out of this to protect the innocent )and read in the magazines. The Pink Box became the "sweatbox", "solitary" and all that could be bad to get you to in a 4x4 space. I arrived here often as the deposed, defeated and decimated. .......Thank god, you couldn't get bamboo slivers at Gyper Jack's! ......Thrown in, but first, ceremoniously removing my glasses -lest mom and dad get pissed if they came home to find they were broken... and slammed shut. The darkness coupled with the sensual feeling of cleats in your ribs and catcher's mask grill in your back were well remembered happy childhood experiences. Then, as a younger person, those who tended the "cell" were always cheerfully reminding me not to use my air too fast and I couldn't breath well under such circumstances. Very thoughtful of them to think of me! Hey, where are my glasses? silence...Seeing no light, who was I to question? Makes the imagination and claustrophobic in anyone kick into gear. Ah, great times! .............Better yet, these happy times occurred when mom and dad were out, so you would think I would be a bit more prepared, like oxygen tanks, flashlight and comic books. Heck, they wouldn't have hurt any more than the rest of the stuff. .... Looking at the photos on the right, would my complaining have sunk in? NEVER.. not against those two angels.......Looking back at those pristine moments of silence and self reflection were times that most hippies in the 60's were looking for, finding themselves. What is troubling, however, is what I found...... mask, helmet, chest protector, CLEATS AND DAMN, MAYBE THEY ARE RIGHT! I AM RUNNING OUT OF AIR!!!!!

EUROPE!!! LOOK OUT!! (VOL 1, CHAP 2)THE YANKS ARE COMING!

June 12, 1967- a day that will live in infamy.. or that is how the New York Times put it, but, hey, the press puts a twist on everything. With families in tow, Stan and I left Chicago O'Hare at about 9AM for NY JFKennedy International. Getting to Kennedy by 11 AM with our flights leaving at 9 and 10 PM left us plenty of time to check in and catch some food before our long overnight flights. We were certainly not going to risk hang ups and miss our flights. Extra time gave us the opportunity to make the rounds at Kennedy before settling in for our flights. By early evening- as we guessed by the position of the sun, I said good-by to Stan at the Pan Am terminal for his flight to London then Luxembourg. Me, it was time to amble back to the International Terminal and check-in at Icelandic for my flight to Iceland ( 24 hour stop over) then on to meet Stan in Luxembourg. I had two great days en route, Stan had two harrowing days en route. He met me at the airport in Luxembourg ( a dead giveaway that not all went well on his trip over) and we went back to our hotel right in the center of town for our FIRST NIGHT IN EUROPE!!! Stan had two beers in his room that he was saving for a special occasion, I guess this was it, since we had to leave tomorrow for Belgium. Over the next few weeks, we lay a path ( to now use a worn out phrase) of shock and awe - more shock than awe-through Belgium, Netherlands, Germany, Denmark, Norway, Sweden, back in to Germany. We were much surprised that we were allow a second chance to visit this country ( and others as we progressed). Following Germany, we explored Austria, Switzerland, Italy, Spain, France and lastly UK. In 1967, student travel, particularly high school age students were very rare. Even moreso, travelling solo and outside of a class group. We met dozens of people who warmly treated us and made us feel extremely welcome. The landmarks, historical locations and the awesome beauty were overwhelming and greeted us everyday. In Italy, we had the great opportunity to meet up with a foreign exchange student who spent a year at our high school, Fabrizio Corsini. "Fab" and I were on the cross country and track teams together and he showed us a fantastic time during our short visit to Reggio Emilia, Italy. In August, we hit the beaches in England where my distant relatives spent time to make us very welcome in Plymouth . They took us on a tour of the Hoe, at which Sir Francis Drake was bowling in some kind of tournament before "striking" out against the Spanish. They told us he had little time to "spare" or he could be "pinned" down. If that happened, his career would be in the "gutter." I have glossed over the entire trip to offer a flavor of locations and timing. Future blogs will deal with specific and more local "adventures" and mishaps. But for now, that's all I can divulge as of this moment, based on an agreement the State Department required we sign upon entering the US and allowed us to use new names, Clark Kent and Buzz Lightyear.

EUROPE!!! LOOK OUT!!! 1967 Vol I. Chapter 1 ( scared yet?)

To preface this title, I must add that I have been hit by the travel bug since learning to walk in La Grange, Ill. where I would see the Burlington Zephyr's race through town during mom's trips to the store. My love of trains and train travel (passenger type- not freight) were further impacted by Puerto Rico at 9 selling newspaper subscriptions ( if you have been following this blog, you know this timeline) introduced me to a world outside of the US and air travel on Eastern Airlines- three tail " Constellation"- a classic plane.... but a fuller story of that will come later..with pictures that sent teachers out of the room in total hysteria. But I digress.... again...

On weekends in the mid 60's ,when things were a bit dull around Hacienda Jensen, I would chirp up, "Hey, let's go to O'Hare ( International Airport - Chicago-for first readers) and watch the international flights arrive!" Wasn't hard to pull mom and dad to go and occassionally, Lou. Seeing as how I would sit on the roof of our house in Barrington for hours with binoculars and watch them on "final" for two great hours: Air France, Lufthansa, British, Aer Lingus, Olympic, KLM, SAS, Swissair, Sabena and lastly, Alitalia...it seemed a safer way to go. The insurance company loss prevention guy agreed.

Well, I needed to go there. I loved it's history, it's architecture, every and anything with Eurpoe was me. Months of watching travelogues at the high school- especially on Europe and taking NOTES!!! My teachers in attendance were very impressed.

I saved for two years, every dime, quarter and dollar I could make. I planned the trip from top to bottom. Where, when, how long, 3 month Eurailpass, Icelandic over, Cunard's Sylvania back. Thirteen countries, three months, $875. The CIA and GAO would have been impressed.

As the time grew closer, I could see apprehension in mom and dad as I was 16 and going alone. They suggested that maybe one of my (suckers) friends might be interested. My close friend, Stan Holzwart, was very interested, but his parents needed convincing. Stan was taking German and I was taking Spanish. PERFECT.. That should get us through Belgium, Netherlands, Germany, Switzerland, Italy (kinda), Spain and we can wing it in France. Well, we went before both of the "tribunals" with indisputable rationale. Stan's mom and dad thought they had an out- my parents had not indicated their OK. They were still unmoved until we went with Plan B- have them talk with mom and dad.

A swell dinner was arranged and a full review ensued. Yes, Stan and I were our MOST ADULT behavior that night- something that has yet to occur again in this universe. Well, it went well and his parent were OK. We would leave after school was out in June, 1967..... June 12, 1967 to be exact......................

LaGrange Park, 1951-1954: 3 Short Stories

Sometime in the early 1950s, we moved from Chicago to the suburb of LaGrange Park. I know we were there from my kindergarten through 2nd grade, so at least ‘51-’54. I have a few distinct memories of those days.

Story #1
There was a neighborhood bully by the name of Terry Gannon who lived at the corner and would terrorize us incessantly. I don’t recall ever being physically abused or beaten, but the threat was ever-present. One day, I was across the street examining the hole for the foundation of my grandparents future house when up walks Terry with a glint in his eye (a little like Scud Farkas). He asked if I wanted to see the foundation up real close and I said “No, this was fine.” He then made me climb down the ladder into the foundation and pulled the ladder out and laughed. He then left me there. Finally, when I thought he was gone, I started yelling and after quite awhile, someone came and rescued me. I never knew what happened to him after we moved, but I always felt that he must have become an ax murderer.

Story #2
Ron and I were WWAAAYYY into war stuff....World War II war stuff. We played army in the empty lot next door, assembled model warplanes and battleships, collected used army paraphernalia from the Army-Navy Store in town, had whole armies of toy soldiers, and most of all, were addicted to the television series, Victory at Sea! It was a weekly TV series on our 12 inch black&white TV on at 9 pm, way after our 8 pm bedtime. But we cajoled dad to wake us up to watch it…which we did with sleepy eyes. But as soon as that music started and the narrator’s voice began, we were on battle alert! Even today, the musical score from that series sends shivers down my spine as I recollect those late night viewings.

Story #3
Finally, there was a forest preserve entrance about a block from our house, and dad would walk the dog there every Saturday morning. We would tag along. It was exciting because we’d leave this suburban street and moments later be plunged into this jungle path. A branch of the Salt Creek was about a hundred yards down the trail, which we would walk to and then return home. Dad would tell us almost every time that we should never go near the creek when he wasn’t with us…….so of course we did...every chance we could! One time, Ron and I discovered a large cement mixing pan shaped a little like a flat-bottom boat. Ron took it out into the creek like a Davy Crockett river boat and polled it back to shore. I was scared shitless that he would drown and worried about how I would explain that at dinner that evening. “Where's Ron? You mean my brother, Ron? Oh, I think he may have drowned this afternoon in Salt Creek.”

Yes, we had adventures and lots of freedom for being boys of 6 or 7…..maybe too much!

Baseball sandlot style with a bit of Fenway

Now the “Circle” may have been the place to play football and baseball when we were little, but it was clearly too small for the big bats as we grew up. For that, we needed to go to Sinissippi Park about a mile away….past the golf course, past the flowers, past the “real” 90 ft base diamond, to the area just south of the tennis courts. It was perhaps 150 ft x 150 ft. The west and south sides were bordered by trees and the east side opened into left field of the ”real” diamond. The key feature, and the one that kept us coming back again and again, was the left field “wall” – a 12 foot high wire fence along the tennis court. It could easily have been Fenway! We loved playing left field and robbing someone of a double by leaping high off the fence for a catch (probably 3 inches). As a batter, hitting to left field was a bit of a fool’s paradise… an easy double, but very hard to hit it over for a HR. Hitting to right field, on the other hand, was where you made your money. Right field had the worst player, and if the ball got past him, it rolled forever – an easy inside the park homer! We were not skilled enough to use an “inside-out” swing to hit to right, so we all experimented with hitting lefty....and the embarassing, yet inevitable strike out.

Rules changed to fit the number of players – rarely more than 6 or 7. Pitcher’s hand was “out” if no first baseman. Right field could be “out” on some days and often a base runner had to score from first or second base on a grounder because he might be up next.

Of course we had only 2 or 3 “sacred” wooden bats. When they splintered or broke, we glued and screwed them back together. On rainy or wet days, our baseball (singular) would get water-logged and throwing it was like “putting the shot”. When the cover came off (as it almost always did eventually), we used electrical tape to bind it up. But we were a happy bunch. We would ride our bikes over in the morning (bat across the handlebars), home for a quick lunch, and then back again until it turned dark…….day after day after day.

When I went back to Rockford in 2009, I drove through the park looking for the tennis courts, but couldn’t find them. In a way, this was probably a good thing. I think the image in my mind is so much better than what it would look like today.

Brahms, Beethoven and Bach Don't Live Here!

Growing up in the Jensen household and not taking some musical lesson was like meeting the devil early. We all, with the exception of RJ I recall, had some musical training. No, not Carnegie type- routine band or hired hand piano teacher. Mom always had music playing in the house. The Hi-Fi was in fine tune by 9AM and worked well into the evening hours. South Pacific, Oklahoma, Mantovani and Shelley Berman and Bob Newhart were often guests in our home. As we got older, Kingston Trio and others also found their way to that turntable. (RJ's contribution to our musical history).

Family get to gethers would have mom at the piano and Uncle Harold and Uncle Derald singing along to old fight songs or nostalgic womanizer songs of the 40's. Dad, wisely, did not go along.

DJ was our clarinet player. Not quite ready for New Orleans, but good enough for Lincoln Jr. H.S. band. Sixth seat if memory serves. I recall him licking his clarinet and that little wood thingy before he had to play. I thought that was creepy, but hey, it was DJ.

Lou played the piano. She took piano lessons and actually became quite good, but other things were more important- like cleaning her room or washing the car.

Me, well, I took piano as well. I clearly recall my lack of practicing and the day came to take me to my lesson. A few miles away, mom dropped me off and in I went, music in hand to sit at the piano of my teacher with the tick-tock thingy knocking me off my timing. Within seconds, she said," You didn't practice did you." Busted. Nope- not a lick. "Well, then, you can practice that piece until your mom comes". IN AN HOUR!!!!! She began cooking her dinner while I pounded out some song that is still resting comfortably somewhere in Grand Junction.

My high point was grade school band, Hay-Edwards School. They needed musicians for certain instruments. What the heck- went in and they made me a baritone player. If you know anything about music, a baritone is a small tuba. We were supposed to practice at home and the band would meet during a class period and "gloss up" the music. Well, again, I hated the instrument. It was big, had a big case that the only decent thing it was good for was to use it as a slide. Hey, I did use it that way while waiting to go home from school. I was asked to leave because I was never, musically, with the rest of the band and very considerately asked to turn in my baritone. Bad day? Heck no.

The CIRCLE!

One can't go past Rockford without reflection on our sacred ground, " the Circle." The circle was really nothing more than a large round-a-bout a block from our house. It had a clump of small trees on one side, and open area anchored by a large oak tree. But, the CIRCLE, was our hideout, our stadium and where you could usually find the Jensen kids on a fall weekend.

The small clump of trees was a great fort during acorn fights. You had cover ( in my case THEY HAD COVER) and the other guys didn't. The trees were perfect for climbing because they were small and had lots of limbs for a few years. the great thing was, there was no one to tell you to get out because nobody owned it! Or so we thought.

The best part was the open area, the stadium. On a fall day, every walking capable kid in the neighborhood was there for a game. Usually, I came fully attired with full pads, home/or away jersey and a little oversized helmet, red with a white stripe. I recall one jersey I made. It was a red t-shirt with white numerals (#12) that I cut out of an old sheet and sewed to the shirt myself. RJ was in his Auburn Tiger helmet with full face guard- loved that helmet. We didn't know where Auburn was, but they were good and the stores sold their stuff. But, again, I digress.

Our field was as such: end zones- streets, out of bounds- clump of trees and opposite street. Thinking back, darn good thing we played on weekends or the long pass or high stepping in the end zone could have been very bad...

We had some tough games as we picked our favorite teams and that is who we were and certain players as well. Not sure why I was always told to be Beloit College.

Going To the MOVIES!!! Yahoo!

As far back as I can remember, movies were a special thing to do. Usually a Saturday event, this meant that all jobs had to be completed around the house and you had to have your good boy or good girl mojo working all day. The risk of falling short, liver and onions followed by a little TV then early bed time. Take your pick. You really worked at a good attitude. Bear in mind, we had only ONE, yes #1, TV station (WREX)to watch. So entertainment competition for theaters was limited.

Anyhow, movies in the "old days" started with music- forever- then the lights would dim ( time to make one last run to the snack counter for Juicy Fruit or Malted Milk Balls or... dare I say... POP CORN AND LOADS OF BUTTER!. Tah Dah: the curtains on the stage would open (yes curtains) black and white- news from around the world. Short clips of the events of the past week. Though not much sunk into the kid brains in the audience, it was the prelude of things to come. Then, a cartoon!!! Awesome! Loud, bright and funny.

Then the main event- the movie we came to see. We had been working up to this moment all day. Usually a western or Doris Day films were our standard fare. Afterward, dad would stop en route home for ice cream cones (or a sundae or banana split if you were a mom). I guess we all picked up some lingering habits from the old days.

Ah, those were great, but going to the drive-in movie was even more of an adventure. Living in the Midwest, you were seasonally challenged. We would always get to the drive in while it was still light. By doing so, we were able to reconnoiter the snack bar and all it had as well as walk around checking out to see if we knew anyone. When we were small (chronologically) mom usually brought along a pillow and blanket- you could even wear your PJ's, but this limited trips to the snack bar and surely made any trips to the "head" quick. She would also take the better part of an afternoon popping pop corn with tons of butter and putting it in a large grocery bag. In those days, it was considered a healthy snack when taken with small cubes fudge. It smelled great and you couldn't touch any til the movie started. Talk about dying a thousand deaths!

After the movie was over, the lines to get out of the lot was a nightmare- like football traffic- but without any rationale on escape. First to start your engine and drive with lights out wins...

Great times.

DJ Comment: A few small additions...... I remember seeing our first 3D movie at the State Theater in Rockford. It was western (what else) starring Guy Mitchell with the US Cavalry fighting the Indians at some river. The arrows would come right at us and we'd duck! Waaaayy too cool for words!

I also remember seeing The Wizard of Oz on a Saturday afternoon and having a huge crush on Judy Garland, only to learn later that she was then about 40 years old and an alcoholic. Devastating!

Finally, a slight correction. The drive-in movie theaters in Rockford at that time were referred to as the "Outdoors". Or possibly the Jensens referred to them as going to the "Outdoor".... In any case, I know this to be true because after we moved to culturally-emlightened Springfield, I made social blunder of referring to the Drive-in as the "Outdoor". After a moment of silence for my friends to grasp the magnitude of my moronic statement, there followed a peal of snot-blowing laughter which has scarred me to this day......needless to say.

1967 - The Summer of Love (and adventure)

After a little of reflection, I recall this photo from a Sunday afternoon in August 1967 – the infamous “Summer of Love”. It was named for the emerging hippie movement, the new access to birth control (12.5 million women worldwide), and the great music (Beatles, Jimi Hendrix, Aretha Franklin). It also had a dark side with the Vietnam War ramping up, some race riots in major cities, and baseball’s first American League free agent (Ken “the Hawk” Harrelson). This photo is important to me for several reasons. Ron was on leave from the Navy (or just finishing Boot Camp) and soon to ship out on the USS Franklin D. Roosevelt. I had finished my junior year at the University of Illinois in Urbana having just switched to pre-med, and just returned from an ill-fated hitchhiking expedition to San Francisco with my fraternity buddy, Ted Bayer (more about that later). And Ken must be junior at Barrington High School, where he was BMOC (pick your own abbreviation). This picture was taken in the backyard of our house in Barrington during a Sunday afternoon family get together.

It’s memorable to me because it’s one of the few times I saw daylight in August 1967. During the school year, Ted Bayer and I discussed the possibility of spending the summer working a tramp steamer to and from Australia, and spending a few weeks in between enjoying the topless beaches “down under”. We planned to hitchhike to San Francisco where we would enlist as deck crew on a steamer. Finally, the day to leave arrived. Toward the end of June, with one small suitcase and a cardboard sign that read “STUDENT”, mom gave me a ride to the junction of route 59 and interstate 55 (then just route 66). I hitchhiked from there to Lincoln, IL where I met Ted. Over the next 2-3 days, we had perhaps 20 different rides to Oklahoma where we were finally picked up by a sailor from Norfolk heading to San Diego to see his pregnant wife and he would then return to Norfolk. He’d been driving for 36 hours and needed us to keep him awake and share the driving. He had an old '59 Chevy with no A/C and a heater that stayed on all the time. Across the Mojave Desert we were toasted and kept drinking sodas like no tomorrow - tossing the cans out the window. One can hit the car windshield behind us and we spent 6 hours in the California State Police station in Bakersfield before finally being released because they "couldn’t prove it was our can". We then made great time to L.A. and stayed overnight with Nana Jensen in Santa Monica. After a day or two in LA seeing Disneyland and other sights, we walked to Highway 1 and immediately got a ride with a guy in a Corvair Spyder heading to Yosemite. It was dark when we arrived at the park but he was going pretty fast to meet his friends before it got too late, when “Wham!” a deer ran across the road and he totaled his car. We had some bumps and bruises but no serious injuries. He waited for the Park Police to come and we just said “so long” and walked into the campgrounds. We felt a little guilty just leaving him, but.... We didn’t have a tent or sleeping bags, so I think we must have just slept on a picnic table. The next morning we caught a ride into SF and were dropped off at the Haight-Ashbury YMCA, and got a room to share. Little did we know that this was a "gay" YMCA hotel, but we figured that out pretty quickly in the communal showers that they had. SF was an amazing place that summer…lots of marijuana and lots of hippies everywhere. We looked pretty straight by comparison.

The next day we went to a steamship office to “sign on” with our passports in hand. The burly guy at the counter asked if we’d ever worked on a dock or steamer before (answer: negative), and then asked if we had a letter from our local chief of police saying that we weren’t wanted for any crimes back home (answer: negative). He said that would be mandatory. Then, he asked if we knew that we would have to work a round trip and only get off in Sydney for the unloading and loading, and then return to SF. If we jumped ship, word would go out and no one else would hire us for the return trip. Damn! Lacking of proper planning killed us…again! We spent a several days enjoying the sights in SF and then headed back towards home with tails between our legs. It took us 5 days to get back to Illinois with one major adventure with a schizophrenic guy who drove us across Utah during the night and kept stopping every 50 miles to "check his tires" and he would also check the gun he had under the seat….scary!

I finally arrived home July 20 having earned no money for tuition to go back to school. I got my old job back on the loading dock at a factory in Elk Grove Village ($125 per week), but this would not be enough, so I got a second job at the 24 hour gas station in Barringtom working the 11-7 shift. So for the next 6 weeks, I pumped gas from 11 pm to 7 am, quickly had breakfast and drove to Elk Grove where I worked in the 100 degree loading dock until 4 pm at which time I would drag myself home, eat a quick bite of dinner and sleep until 10:30! Ugh!!

So this photo is one of the few really good memories of Barrington that summer…..not a summer of love for me, but certainly a summer of high adventure and lessons in the art of planning ahead.

Growing Up- Haircuts

Growing up with paper routes, we learned the value of money. One of the things mom and dad taught us was if you saved your money, you could buy something you REALLy wanted or put it away and invest it in a savings account for something in the future. Mom and dad practiced what they preached. If we saved on a few costs, we could take that trip to Colorado this summer or fishing in Minnesota.

This meant home haircuts. Since the beginning of our time on earth, dad was the master barber. When it came time to cut your hair, you would follow dad to the basement where a chair would be set up in the laundry room and a towel or old shirt for catching the clippings. You held it as tight as you could or you knew the consequences. I can still feel the tiny cuttings that fell down my neck and on my back after a moments distraction. You hung in there as still as possible till dad was done or you knew that his work of art could become "modern art". After, dad would brush you off and off you go as he cleaned up the salon. Dad was so good, that we carried on this tradition well into high school.

Now, when dad wasn't able and it was an emergency, mom would gladly jump at the chance to pinch hit. More than one occassion, we all had disagreements on hair styles. Hey, this was the 50's, 60's and 70's! Dad would generally follow our desires. Mom, on the other hand, knew she had you once you were strapped in. Before you knew it, she had her style in process before you could even wimper a challenge.

On the plus side, the old refrain of " Don't worry, it will grow out" was true. However, everyone at school knew when you had a good or no so great haircut in the Jensen barber chair, hence the coining of "bad hair day.".

Rockford-"Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory"

It might seem strange every year watching "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory" between Thanksgiving and Christmas that there is an element of reality.... at least for the Jensen kids.

I can't help but think back to the small store, much like the movie, that was next to Highland Elementary School. Store-bikeracks- school.... Walking in the squeaky door, there were cases of candies.. no, I mean everything! The movie IS that store! Jawbreakers, baseball cards, strips of paper with dots of flavored mints, lickamaid, straws with the most acidic flavors, bubble gum, canisters of sheer "JOY". For pennies, you were good to go on the walk home. A small bag could last til dinner.

But let me go back to baseball cards. This was the place to get Mickey Mantle or other scarce players you kept in a shoe box. Each team was separated and each box was the American or National Leagues. Scarce card duplicates were trades with a sellers advantage. Whole line ups were spread out on a table or the bare ground to find any lineup gaps to fill. Summers were occupied by listening to games with the player cards spread out like the game in progress. Imagination at work.

Then there was the "Corner." In today's speak, this means taking dogs out for a walk. Back in our day, it meant going through the backyard, down the hill to the corner store. It was a fantasy place that many called "Gyper Jack's." He had candy, toys and other kid stuff , basic home needs, but also candy. Rumor had it Jack was an ex con so we were all on guard. But hey, when it came to picking out candy, everyone is our friend.

It is burned into my memory a time I bought a toy pistol and put it on mom's "charge". Bad idea. Not only did I lose the pistol, I could not go to the Corner for a week or buy anything EVER on credit. Ah, the lessons I learn from my mom.



DJ comment: We were in Rockford in 2009 and I took this picture of "Gyper Jack's" as it looks today.........

Springfield.... Detention..........Yikes

A downside to being a student at U.S. Grant Jr. High was the strict controls over behavior. Bear in mind, U.S.Grant.....Springfield, Illinois, home of Lincoln. They played "Marching Through Georgia" before morning announcements!

Detention was for scofflaws, those students who couldn't cover their tracks or were too stupid to get caught.

Interestingly, after lunch, everyone went to the gym. DO NOT RUN UP AND DOWN THE STANDS. What did I and a friend do? Just that. In front of the gym teacher. we were showing off for the daughters of then- Governor Kerner, who, surprisingly also got detention.

Detention meant that 1 hour before school, 1 hour after school and all during lunch you were confined to a room lined with chairs. Hands on knees, look forward, backs straight- no talking. Lunch meant going after everyone else had gone through the lines and you and the rest of the inmates would walk "chain-gang" fashion through the lunch room and eat. How humiliating in front of the Gov's hottie daughters. Often your friends would say, "Hey, Ken, what did you do?" You would attempt to answer and POW! This lasted one week and was burned into kid memory.

Whatever happened to good old corporal punishment in schools?

Springfield- Campaign - Public Office

U.S. Grant Junior High School was the BIG step between grade school and high school. We had 7-9th grades. Seventh graders were expected to participate in all of the extra curricular activities. Well, Student Council was one of them. Each homeroom had a delegate to sit on the council. By process of elimination and willingness, I won. HOWEVER, that wasn't the best part. Seventh graders were required to nominate a student council treasurer. Eighth graders were expected to be secretary and ninth graders- president and VP. OK, you get the picture. Well, since we had four homerooms, we had four candidates for treasurer. Moreover, each candidate was required to give a speech on why they were the best candidate.... oh, god...write a speech.

I worked with dad on a speech where I highlighted "Honesty and Integrity "as the required moral bearing of a good treasurer for U.S. Grant Jr. High School. I felt my class would receive it pretty well.

The day came to give the speeches. They said we need to line up and go to the gym. IT WAS THE WHOLE DAMNED SCHOOL IN THE GYMNASIUM! Yep- you got it, every candidate had to give their speech to the student body and they would elect the best candidate. SURPRISE!

Seventh graders went first. The first speech was pretty good, but I was faint so I don't remember much. I was second. Oh, poop. We were asked to dress professionally, so I should have caught on, but a seventh grader has more important things occupying those areas of kid mind. I wore my trusty red blazer with a generic crest ( probably SEARS family) on the chest, clip on tie and dark trousers.

Well, up I go, with my 3x5 cards trembling, I headed to the podium (way too high for me so I went off to the side) and into the the speech. Looking back, it would have given me pretty good cover.

I understand from observers, I got louder as I travelled through the speech, giving emphasis to HONESTY and INTEGRITY, just as dad had suggested. What I did not realize was that my left arm was swinging wildly at my side. In retrospect, I must have looked like a Coldstream Guardsman on palace duty. The rest is a total blur.

As it turned out, I won. Again, I think the pathetic sales tactics I learned in Rockford were paying off dividends!!!! Public Office and wide acclaim as a "swinger."