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."

Springfield-WKMJ

One of my boyhood chums in Springfield invited me over to his house one saturday afternoon. He lived on McArthur Blvd., a nice area with large homes. Mom dropped me off and soon we were up in his second story bedroom with a great view of the neighborhood out the back. Better yet, he said he had his own radio station. Oh, yeah, right. Well- against the two big windows was a desk with gauges, a turntable and two microphones. I asked where and how he broadcast. His dad helped him set up a PA system on steroids. For the rest of the day, we played records, interviewed each other and just plain goofed off over the air. He had a record library and a reel-to-reel tape player all inter-connected. How cool. I had to have one too.
Never thinking about neighborhood impact studies.


Well, a few weeks later, I had a plan and dad was on board. He helped out with just about any hair-brained idea I came up with. I think just to keep me busy and hope that someday it may lead into a career. He got a kick out of some of the kid creativeness. I think he chuckled himself to sleep on more than one occasion.

Anyhow, an old black and white TV, whose usefulness was well past, was my speaker. With proceeds from my paper route, I bought a fantastic black and aluminum microphone and stand. Dad helped wire the microphone, through the TV to a speaker in the window well in the back of the house. ( Now it all makes sense why he didn't have too many objections) The mic, as we in the industry call it, was on my desk in my basement bedroom. WKMJ was on the air. For a few weeks after the paper route, WKMJ took to the airwaves playing old 45's dating to the 1950's and more recent stuff, but those were pretty few. Interviews were pretty limited to commentary, mostly about things at school and other topics of riveting interest to the neighbors.

I never received notice from the FCC of competition and regulatory concerns. Nor any fan mail, but with a limited platform, I was running out of program ideas. So I guess, it was time for the final sign off and farewell broadcast on a Saturday afternoon. WKMJ is now a memory and a part of Springfield media history forever as those programs are still out there in space, somewhere.

Merle "DAD" Jensen

Sitting back and reading the stories of “Growing up Jensen” I smile, chuckle a little, and think of my dear “Father-in-Law”, Merle Jensen. There are no two families alike, just as there are no two people alike. As I entered this new family, as in my own family, the one constant, and confidant had been my Father, and so it was in Family Jensen. Both fathers were the stabilizing force in these worlds. It was interesting as the outsider to sit back and view through the picture window this world of Jensen. Eileen was, and still needs to be the center of attention; just her personality. Merle on the other hand was the wing beneath her wings. He supported her, balanced her sometimes unorthodox logic, and gave total unconditional love. Merle always took second stage, not only to his wife, but to his children and grandchildren as well. He could fix anything from wiring on a stove that mice had decided to make a home in while stored in the garage, installing fencing, planting a garden, and working on car transmissions. He was a listener, a study in observance and then action. Never failing to call a son or daughter late in the afternoon as his work was winding down, just to see how the week had been, to find out how those special “someone’s” in their lives were doing. Ready at a moments notice to help move one of his kids from apartment to apartment or new house, to drive to kingdom come on a whim to see the Mississippi River, go to church on a Sunday morning 2 hours away or drive to Minneapolis to do whatever the dear “Deighton Girls” needed. He could pack a car or truck and get more in than any professional mover could ever dream of, and drive cross country on 2 hours sleep.

Dad sat back at family gatherings and took simple pleasure in watching his children, now all adults, joke, laugh, play practical jokes and laugh some more. He possessed a wonderfully dry sense of humor, a jovial belly laugh when something struck his funny bone, always ready to make the next Mai Tai, or grab a beer from the fridge, he was the perfect host. A small town farm kid that went to college, had a long successful career with IBM, a self made man of many attributes, but the most endearing was the love of his children. He glowed in their success, because it was his as well. Dad was the balancing scales in Family Jensen, a gentle and loving patriarch who could dish out discipline fitting the crime, but was also the guiding light by which all four children flourished in his love and respect. He was practical, logical, funny, caring, full of mischief when the time came, and most of all loving.

If nothing else Dad was a constant, so much like my own Father. The day that I became a Jensen my own Father was in the hospital waiting until I “became a married lady” to have surgery. Merle had called me two days prior and volunteered in his own sweet and sensitive way to walk me down the aisle. I was so shocked and surprised by his thoughtfulness. My brother walked me down the aisle, but it was Merle John Carl Jensen that was the first to take a small town country girl in his arms on her wedding day, give her a hug and kiss and proclaim, now I have a third daughter. Yes, this was a man of many attributes, depth of soul and heart, of love for his family, a constant in all our lives; and a man who loved his children more than life itself.