'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.