Ford Times: Special Issue on Environment, July 1970

The July 1970 issue of the Ford Times cover art is by Charlie Harper for the article "The Bald Eagle: America's Vanishing Symbol."

"He's in trouble because a good idea backfired," wrote author Boyce Rensberger.

I remember summer of 1963 listening to the radio and hearing a man discuss the eagle as endangered. This article discusses food chains, which Harper illustrated below, and how DDT in the food chain affected wildlife.

"In the Great Lakes states, where DDT level are high, only four percent of the nesting pairs are still able to reproduce," the author warns.

Luckily, DDT was banned and today in Michigan eagles are frequently seen. Just this week my brother, camping in the Upper Peninsula, caught this eagle in the middle of the road!

A

n article noted that in 1913 Henry Ford supported the migratory bird act, along with Theodore Roosevelt, Gifford Pinchot, and Thomas Edison. 

Ford's River Rouge complex was featured in an article on Ford's "battle against air pollution." By the 1960s, smog was affecting Dearborn neighborhoods. Ford spent $66 million to clean the air, but technology was limited. "300 engineers work full-time on the challenge," Frank Grady wrote. Ford only spent $50 million to develop the Mustang. 

"Everybody Loves Smokey the Bear" informs that Smokey getting 5,000 letters a week from fans.

Some of the letters are included. One reads,  "I would like to baby sit for Smokey. I am nine years old and I am not afraid of bears. your friend, Rhonda G."

Some of us Boomers remember the early 1970s and The Population Bomb scare that humanity was reproducing to levels that would cause mass destruction. "We're Running Out of Elbow Room!" is filled with warnings. First, the author claims that crime increases with population density because of psychological stress. The article concludes without answers, but says that one planner suggests better city planning.

"The Silent '70 Ford" had a muffler "improved with the addition of an asbestos wrapper."

 I noted the use of a black model in the article.

"Ford's Campaign to Control Auto Emissions" begins, "it would take three 1970 Ford cars to emit as much hydro-carbons and carbon monoxide" as was released by one 1960 model. Non-lead gas was "on the way" and research into alternatives to the internal combustion engine was noted to have been going on since 1952.

"National Parks are for People" included photographs by Bill Schmidt.

Cars + Parks = Camping.

"Camping....Why Do It?" is a humorous look at camping. Jean Riss writes,

"Sanitary facilities" Criminy! The simple problem of constructing a latrine in the wilderness tells more in half an hour about a man--his patience and ingenuity, his grasp of engineering principles, psychology, esthetics and the prevailing winds--that you could hope to learn on a world cruise."

 The issue ends with a Torino ad.

Ford Motor Company began publishing The Ford Times in 1908. The last issue came out in 1993. I was given a collection of copies from the 1960s and 1970s.

Fifty Years

our school newspaper, June 1970

Fifty years ago today, I graduated from Royal Oak Kimball High School. Our class reunion was cancelled due to covid-19 so a friend suggested we post photographs and memories on our class Facebook page.

I culled through my scrapbooks, mementos, school newspapers, and photographs to share.

Our Senior Class Trip

Classmates talked about the Senior Prom (which I did not attend), the senior float, school play, and our class trip.

We remembered people no longer with us, old girlfriends and boyfriends, good times.

My graduation photos. Lower left with our
exchange student from Finland, lower right
with my brother

Some admitted they couldn't participate in the class events because they worked to earn money for college, or were shy outsiders, or never found their place in the social network.

One girl, a fellow school paper staffer, wrote about the social and political conflicts that dominate her memories of 1966-1970.

My family moved after I had completed fifth grade. I was shy and had trouble assimilating into sixth grade, the highest class in my new elementary school. All the cliques had been formed. I had always had a best friend instead of belonging to a group.

I had sung in the school choir since Third Grade, taken piano lessons, and liked classical and musicals but disdained the Beatles. I was a big reader, bringing home classic children's literature I found in the school library filled with early 19th c books.

I still rejected the cool teen things in junior high, said I wanted to be a writer when I grew up, reading Jane Eyre and The Count of Monte Cristo. I liked to draw and make up stories. I wouldn't go to the school dances.

As a high school freshman, I was lonely and wanted to fit in. A friend took me up as a hobby and helped me change. I was silly, boy crazy. I listened to Simon and Garfunkel. I still played my classical music on the piano and read Les Miserables, but had expanded.

We didn't have a fancy house or a lot of money. Mom had serious health issues that sometimes left her bedridden or hospitalized.

I became totally enmeshed in high school activities, still an observer, but also finally participating. Four years of choir, from Girl's Choir to A Capella, three years of journalism, hosting an exchange student, attending all the plays and concerts, kept me busy. I read all the poetry books in the school library, wrote poetry, published some poems in the school newspaper. And every night I wrote about my day in a journal.

local moratorium protest in our school newspaper

I wanted to just be able to grow up, figure it all out, but the world infringed, as it does for every generation.

The assassination of Martin Luther King in the school newspaper

The Vietnam War, civil rights, 'generation gap', Detroit Rebellion, assassinations, the political activism going on, the body counts--it all impacted my generation. So much so, that in later years I hated to think about those teen days, it was too sad and conflicted. I even avoided the music.

Every generation has its inherited ills. Fifty years later, I feel for the 2020 graduates and the world they are facing. A pandemic threatens their economic, educational, and social future. The country is divided socially and politically, in a fight for democracy and freedom and equality being waged. Again. Still.

So much has changed in fifty years. And yet, so little.

Summer 1970: A Time of Transition

Me, June 1970, wearing a woven bark bead necklace from Finland
and a culotte dress in a very 1970s print.

Graduation was exciting. I wrote I had "reached success" because I had made so many friends and was "surrounded by love and friendship." The whirl of parties and people kept me high. I saw old friends and made new ones who I would never see again. There were guitars and singing, TPing trips, dancing, and swimming.

Everywhere I went I saw Kimball kids. Cars honked and hands waved. I had come to Royal Oak knowing no one. Now it was home.

I wrote free association in my diary, writing about feeling in limbo:

"I am held in mid-air,
not a part of  Kimball, the past
my loves and friends,
not a part of tomorrow and college.

I am ended.
I am waiting.
I will begin again,
seven weeks from now.

I must leave behind
my childhood."

And another time I wrote,

"I am leaving
torn again, part left behind
     part to travel onward—
I am pierced
       broken
        between time."

The summer of 1970 brought my first job, the loss of my exchange student sister, and a boy.

This magazine ad was my inspiration
I had it on my bedroom wall.

When I graduated from high school my mom was 38 years old. Dad was 39. My brother was 10. And I was still 17. We all had summer birthdays.

My family around Christmas 1969

On July 23 I helped Elina pack her suitcase. Uta and Elina's best friend Paula came to our house for dinner and then we went out for ice cream. The next day we drove Elina to Saginaw Valley College where all the Michigan exchange students were gathered before flying home. I wrote,

Mom teaching Paula to jitterbug

"July 24, 1970, Friday
We got up early— Went to Saginaw Valley College.  All night I had recalled waiting for Elina to arrive, her late plane; and now we walked in the fine rain under gray, crying skies, to take her on her way home.
The dorm room was nice—small but pleasant. Her roommate was a Swedish girl, peculiar, a hopeful writer, nice. We talked. They’ll be busy & have fun.
She [Elina] saw Hannah [another Finnish girl] and her girlfriend from Rovaniemi. The other girl turned, crying, her family moving off in a white car.
Mom said goodbye to Elina, then I. Elina was tearless, smiling, cheerful. We got in the car and drove off, waving.
Mom had her tears before we left, crying on Elina’s shoulder.
Dad later cried, on his bed.
Tom wouldn’t kiss her goodbye.
I walked into what had been Elina's room, opened the windows. I wondered what to do with the remnants, and then I cried."

Elina, Lancer 1970 photo

I needed to find a job. I first was hired for a job in telephone sales making $1.60 an hour but was looking for something better. I applied for jobs at the Main Theater and other places, but really wanted the job at Barney's, the Save-On drug store at Crooks and 13 Mile Road. I had often stopped there on my way home from school to buy a notebook, magazine, or paperback book.

I got the Barney's job as a cashier at the front register. Dad taught me how to count change back to the customer. One day a man pulled the old trick of trying to confuse the cashier. He gave me a twenty dollar bill and I gave him change. He then decided he wanted me to return the twenty and he'd return the change and asked me to give him different denominations back. I don't know if he was successful but I recall being confused.

On July 29 I wrote,

"I am officially 18, though, because of saying it’s my age for months—I feel like I’ve been 18 all year.
Uta’s leaving after tomorrow.  Alta’s coming over tonight.
I am sad—read many sad things today: Thomas Mann's Little Herr Friedemann, The Big Eye--sci-fi short stories, Mausappant. etc.
I am 18 & Mom says I’m 'on my own'. I miss Kimball. I’m anxious for Adrian."

My old beau contacted us to say he had married his girlfriend, the girl we had broken up over, several weeks previous.

On August 3 I wrote that Uta's American Mom said that Uta 'cried terribly' upon parting.

The upside of working at Barney's was seeing so many Kimball kids. But I felt I was living in a 'shadow land', with high school in my past and college in the future.

On August 15 I bought a new coat at Fields in Royal Oak. I was gathering what I needed for college.

There was a partial eclipse of the moon on August 16 and we saw the Northern Lights. Dad always knew about these things and made sure we saw them.

On August 18 I talked with my Adrian roommate on the phone. I was disappointed because she was interested only in coordinating the dorm room with matching bed spreads. I wanted to know if we had mutual interests and might be friends. The college 'matched' roommates, and in a superficial way we were 'compatible.' We were both active in school. I had been in journalism and choir and had an exchange student. She was class secretary and on Homecoming court. Quite different backgrounds!

On August 26 My friend Alta came to my house with her childhood friend, who was visiting the area with his friend Jim. I wrote that I had on bell bottom jeans, a flag t-shirt, bare feet, with my hair held back in a clip.

It appeared Alta had told Jim about me. We talked about authors and books. I was surprised when Jim started quoting from Romeo and Juliet, holding my hand, and then he kissed me. Things were going awfully fast for a first meeting. I was a little starry eyed but also suspicious.

He returned a few days later and had his brother take a photo of us together. He made it clear he wanted to have a long distance relationship. We had fun together and unlike any boy before, we did share a love of poetry, writing, and the arts. But I wondered if he was 'snowing' me. And why would someone settle for a long distance relationship?

So I went off to college with a 'boyfriend,' someone I barely knew, who had a girl in his hometown but was talking about plans for 'our future.' I was doubtful about the whole relationship. I warned that I was not going to be tied down, that in college I hoped to met many new people and expected he would date, too.

I kept in mind a line from a favorite poem by Robert Hillyer: “Illusion shatters, the idea is much more ruthless than the real." I did not want to jump into a relationship that was not based on really knowing each other. I'd been down that road before.

College represented a journey of growth and further knowledge of the world.

In my diary I quoted Ecclesiastes,

I have acquired great wisdom, surpassing all who were over Jerusalem before me; and my mind has had great experience of wisdom and knowledge, and I applied my mind to know wisdom and to know madness and folly. I perceived that this is also but a striving after wind.  For in much wisdom is much vexation, and he who increases wisdom, increases sorrow. (Ecclesiastes, 16-18).

Then I added, "It may be true, but such is my vanity that I want to obtain much knowledge and be wise, and discover much truth, and hence I’m off to college."

I had written on my college application that I wanted to understand the Big Picture, how history and the present, the physical world and the created world, all linked together. I had great curiosity. I applied as a teaching major, too unsure to say "writer." I had thought about teaching since junior high school when I was Mrs. Hayden's class. I had 'taught' my little brother, taught friends guitar chords and piano, and personally loved school. I liked understanding something and translating what I had learned to share with others.

In my diary I wrote, "I want to go to college for the potential friendships that may come in the small college atmosphere. I plan to meet and know many people, branding some with the name of 'friend'. I want to finish my learning and want nothing to hinder it. I have many football games and concerts to attend, and many friendships to establish and keep fueled, and much to learn and to become."

I bought this wristwatch. 

I had a Hot Pot, the plastic case 'Mustang' Hi-Fi my folks bought me at K-Mart for Christmas in 1967, a Love Story poster from Jim, my Kimball class ring and the gold cross from Confirmation, my Charlie the Tuna wristwatch, and my books including Pascal's Pensees, poetry books by Stephen Crane and Robert Hillyer, my leather bound Confirmation presentation Bible, and You Can't Go Home Again by Thomas Wolfe. I had my high school skirts and sweaters, the tiger stripe fur hat from Dorothy and Kathy, a poncho with Astrology signs, and bell bottom jeans.

Best of all I had confidence and hope.

Here I am out in the woods with Dad

"Ophelia Street was" : What Evil Lurks?

"Memory grows plump in youth and wastes away to skin and bone."

John Simmon's novel Leaves waited forty years to be published. The novel is set in North London in 1970, the year Simmons wrote the first draft. Simmons went on to forge a career teaching writing. Returning to his languishing novel after forty years Simmons rewrote it from the perspective of the narrator looking back to the events and people of Ophelia Street, a cul-de-sac of "pre-Raphaelite fancy" that had become a prison for occupants "straining to burst free from its hold."

The narrator is a London newcomer, a journalist starting his first job. Over the year he lived on Ophelia Street the narrator observed and recorded the people of the street. Now after thirty years passing he tells us the story of Ophelia Street and the events that gave him the story that made his career.

The inhabitants of the street seem ordinary at first glance. A young family, a brother and sister, grown men living with their mothers. A factory at the end of the street is owned by one family and employs others. There is a pub that brings men together and separates families. Children play on the streets. The street empties when summer vacations lure people to the sea shore.

The book opens with the death of a stray dog which brings three people together to check out what had happened and to deal with the body. Over the year, as the leaves change, we learn more about the inner lives of the inhabitants. There is the death of a marriage and of several elderly people, the conception of a child, the murder of small animals and the murder of a child. At the end of the year almost everyone has left Ophelia Street which is to be torn down and replaced with modern dwellings.

I had mixed feelings about the book as I read it. Early on it felt voyeuristic and recalled Rear Window by Alfred Hitchcock. The narrator tells us we are all being watched in the city. I also felt I understood the narrator and have been just as bad! My high school diary is full of observations about the people I knew, even down to my recording everything that happened during one study hour, who dropped a pencil, who passed notes, who set their head down and napped. The narrator justifies this as practicing journalistic observation. I will gladly accept that understanding!

The structure is complicated. The author has written a narrator whose story is told in both in real time (30 years later) and in real time (1970) with dialogue, action, and descriptions of people's inner thoughts and feelings (circa 1970).  It raises questions. Is the narrator a voice for the author? Is he a reliable narrator? How much has the narrator reconstructed the events of Ophelia Street based on imagination?

There are mysterious and dark goings on but the reader is left to connect the dots. I actually appreciate that belief in the intelligence of the reader, although some readers will grouse that the mysteries were not 'solved'.

Reviews talk about the beautiful writing and that is what drew me to request the book from NetGalley. Epigrams and quote-worthy sentences abound. "We all have a tendency to romanticise [sic: this is a British novel!] the past, particularly to romanticise our own past." "He suddenly realized how fragile was the glass of this friendship." And, "Ophelia Street was,"..."A place that had seen better and grander times. Like a once-fine ocean liner slumped on a deep sea bed, but breaking up, for better, for worse."

I do wonder about the title, based on the changing seasons, when I would have thought that "Ophelia Street" would have better suited.

I look around at my suburban street and wonder what secrets and horrors, loneliness and isolation, hopes and dreams reside in these houses? Is there a story to be told in every street? I sincerely hope we are quite boring.

I received a free ebook from the publisher through NetGalley in exchange for a fair and unbiased review.

Leaves by John Simmons
Urbane Publications
$14.95 soft cover, $2.49 Kindle
ISBN:978190927377

From My Files

I have been tossing and organizing. I found my high school newspapers. I was in journalism and the newspaper staff for three years. 

A great fashion ad! 

But also in these old school newspapers were articles about the social issues that had become youth culture issues.

 In 1970 Earth Day came to school. I still have my Give Earth a Chance button!

Anti-war demonstrations took place across the country on October 15, 1969. Including in the Royal Oak, MI Memorial Park.

 A special edition of the paper came out after on April 22, 1968 about the assassination of
 Rev. Martin Luther King.

 I had not remembered the hiring of the school's first African American teachers in 1969.

And I sure didn't recall writing this article on student's reaction to including minority studies in the curriculum. (Note: I had an elective history class in Modern History that included reading about the creation of Unions and on Civil Rights. Rad.)

An article that totally threw me was in the March, 1970 issue: The KKK had visited KHS! The student reporters, one of whom was a good friend, reported that the head of the Michigan KKK (who admitted to being a bigot) was promoting Gov. George Wallace for president in 1972. He said the American Independent Party was for the "white, lower-income, middle class American".

I had not realized when I picked up these papers that I would be gaining insight into the social issues of my high school years.