Nancy Writes a Story: Eighth Grade at Jane Addams

In 1965 I turned twelve years old. My homesickness was diminishing. My Eighth Grade school year was one of my best ever in terms of personal growth. Teachers exposed me to the arts, choral singing became a source of achievement, and I was writing my first stories.

Nancy in Eighth Grade sporting a 'flip'

The summer of 1965 included many visits with Tonawanda friends and family.

My Aunt Alice and Uncle Kenny and cousins Dave and Bev visited the summer before Eighth Grade. I wrote that I read The Adventures of Benjamin Pink by Garth Williams aloud to my cousins and brother. It was a book I read to my brother Tom many times; later my husband read it to our son.

In July we returned to Tonawanda. I documented the entire trip:

"4:20 here we go! We're on Main St. We are going to pass Gardenia now. We will be there in about 7 hours, 12 AM. Good luck.

"Woodward Ave ahead. We just passed B'wana Don's Pet Shop. Here's the start--Palmer's Park--and now the end. Turn left to Merrill Plaisance and then left again to Third. We've passed Ginera and Florence, Moss and Puritan, Pilgrim and Midland, Sear and La Bell, For and Pasadena, Grand W. and Davidson, Waverly, Tyler, Buena Vista, Avalon, to GLENDALE! (and those aren't all of the streets.)

"Now we're going down a ramp to the John C. Lodge highway. The speed limit is 44-55 so everyone is going 69-75. Then in the distance, above the trees, are the tops of the big buildings that make up the Detroit Skyline. Beautiful. Off a ramp to Vernor's highway, greeted by a sign with a giant tire about 10 feet high, turn off to Vendor. On the left is Tiger Stadium. Ahead is the Railroad station. 18th St now, left again to 22, and the Ambassador Bridge is towering up over us. Now we are towering over the Detroit River, full of boats. Goodbye, US. Goodbye Detroit. Goodbye Skyline. Hello, Canada. Hello, long ride."

The Giant Tire

We visited my Guenther cousins for a picnic on Sunday. The next day we visited the Levant Becker family. My cousin Debbie took me to visit Myra and Larry Peterson, whom I had met on another visit. I wrote, "I used that name for a fictitious character in one of my stories." The story was a mystery with Mr. Robinson, Jay Robinson, and Larry Robinson. It was only in my head, but I drew pictures of the scenes and characters.

drawing of character Larry Peterson

characters from my story

In August our Rosemont friends the Randalls visited us. They came in a camper and slept in it in our backyard. We went to Greenfield Village. The oldest boy and Mike went to the Henry Ford Museum, but the rest of us were tired and went for a ride and waited in the car. I was too shy to talk to Mike, although as kids we played together. I wrote, "I'll miss them."

When school began in the fall I was feeling more at home. Mrs. Hayden was my Eighth Grade homeblock teacher for English, Social Studies, and Communication. Mrs. Hayden saw my strengths. She encouraged my writing and art instead of making me feel bad for being introverted and shy.

I wrote my first story, The Saucer in Her Yard during Seventh Grade. I worked on it all year, adding to it and rewriting it. It was inspired by Star Girl, a book I'd read at Philip Sheridan Elementary school.

Janiel Corniel Zwiskan, an explorer and prince from the planet Prism, is stranded on Earth and needs to refuel his spaceship. He is discovered by children when he is filling his fuel container with water from their backyard hose. Once back home, Janiel is court marshaled for breaking the no-contact rule, not knowing he was set up by enemies plotting a power takeover.

my space ship

Janiel bravely stands trial knowing he faces a death sentence. But the king has arranged an escape: Janiel is provided a one-way ride back to Earth. I started Book Two of the story, entitled "Amnesia," with Janiel awakening on Earth with no memory. The children see and identify him as the man from the saucer.

I thought Janeil's homesickness and separation from his people were extraordinarily sad. But when I read my story out loud to my parents and grandparents there was laughter just when there should have been sighs and tears. I was mortified. I stopped sharing my stories with anyone.

Mrs. Hayden read aloud to class from The Hobbit and a book called Dorp Dead. The Hunter was a character in Dorp Dead and I was fascinated by the book.

The Hunter from Dorp Dead

Other books I read this year included The Great White North about the Scott expedition, Edgar Allan Poe's poems and stories, and Les Miserables. I read Les Miz over and over, as it was over my head, determined to understand the novel upon which my favorite Classics Illustrated Comic Book was based.

My entire homeblock class was in Glee Club. I had asked for Journalism as my elective; somebody told me that only the 'popular' kids got in. I was glad to be back with Mr. Henckel.

Mr Henckel and the Glee Club

That fall my childhood dog Pepper, who had lived with my grandparents, was old and cranky and suffering from tumors. I came home from school one day to learn that she had been euthanized. I was upset. My family wanted to spare me, but I never got to say 'goodbye'.

I discovered was that my friend Gail M.'s cousin Joe was in my class. I took out a church bulletin to fan myself during lunch and Joe, who was sitting near me, saw it and noted it was from his cousin's church. I told him she was my best friend. Gail and I went to youth group together a few times.

The Glee Club gave its first performance at a school assembly. I wrote, "We sat in the cafeteria until the orchestra was in the middle of the first piece. Over, up, onto the bleachers. Shaking, scared, nervous. The audience clapped. Mr. Martin announced us. The curtains opened. What a difference--same gym, only filled with people. It made it look larger. Mr. Henckel smiled; we began. I was shaking and smiling and singing. And that's hard to do all at once. Mr. Henkel kept making faces to make us smile. I almost broke out laughing. Silent Night, O Little Town of Bethlehem, Joy to the World. He told us it was our best performance ever."

Mrs Hayden and Mr Henckel arranged for our the class to experience the arts. It was the greatest experience for me! We visited the Detroit Institute of Art, saw a film with ballet stars Nureyev and Fonteyn, and visited the Detroit Symphony. It changed my life. I begged to go back to the art museum and finally, Dad took me.

Mimeographed letter from Mr Henckel and Mrs Hayden
asking parents to have their children to watch an opera on television

I was taking piano lessons. Along with classical pieces, I learned piano versions of Herb Alpert's Tijuana Brass hits and some pops pieces like Baby Elephant Walk.

I was listening to Motown hits on CKLW.

I went to church with my Grandfather Ramer. I knew a few of the kids in my Sunday School class.

I did not have a best friend like Nancy E. and I still felt different from the other girls. I had a few mild crushes on boys, nothing I talked about. It was more like 'noticing' them. Mom bought me white Go-Go boots that I would NOT wear. She hung Big Eye Children pictures on my bedroom wall.

my Big Eye kid drawings

I was already using writing to record my world and explore my inner life, and I dabbled in fiction. At the end of my diary for the year I wrote something that begins as self-exploration and a look at who I was after the move, but then turns into a fictionalized projection.

"She was in love, and she knew it. But with who, you ask? And here is the answer: with books. Peter Pan and Wendy, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court, Lord Jim. With people: Joan of Arc, Mark Twain, Nancy C. Ensminger, make-believe Red Scott Collie, Philip the boy from Mars, Homer the Ghost, and many others.

"She has many friends: Gail M, Janet L, Nancy E, Linda Guenther, but also enemies. Normal. She used to live in Kenmore, NY but now she lives in Royal Oak, MI. She would cry at night because there was not a person she could call a friend. Except for Gail.

"She wished she could be in NY again with Nancy E.

"She wished she had someone to walk to school with. It was a long walk. She would get four books out of the school library every Friday and Wednesday. She loved horse stories.

"Her greatest wish was she would become and author and be rich. She'd give lots of money to Care, Save the Children, and organizations to help needy people. She felt sad when she saw how some people live here and overseas.

"She wasn't prejudiced against people who were different. A person is human no matter what kind of person they are, they're all the same, she thought. What's the difference between a Japanese and an American? Color? Religion? So, they're still human and have should have the same equal rights.

"She thought it would be cruel to kill even an ant, a bee. To you, a tree in winter is bare and ugly, but to her, they looked like black lace against a white dress in the sky.

"She played a game: if she heard or saw a bird she would try to identify it. Her favorite bird was the Robin, which she considered good luck.

"She feels as if she isn't one person, but many. She acts one way at home, another at school, another when alone. She acts differently at with a friend than she does with a cousin.

"She was also afraid to grow up. She's afraid she will lose her imagination and ideas for stories. Maybe she would not face reality. She lived in a dream world.

"I know that girl. I am that girl. My name is Nancy Adair Ensminger. I can't get Peter Pan, Joan of Arc, Lord Jim, Hank Morgan out of my head. I am 11 years old. The End."

My idealism was already set. I spent my teen years endeavoring to live up to these ideals of loving and accepting everyone as they were, to do no harm, to encourage imagination, and to see beauty in nature.

1965 Newspaper article on Jane Addams School graffiti 

The Futures by Anna Pitoniak

Gambling on the future involves risk. Sometimes we win, sometimes we lose. Mostly, we make mistakes, restart, and move on. There are no guarantees in life. If we can learn from our errors, we improve our chance of success in the future.

The Futures is the story of young people growing up in a specific time in America, but the lessons are universal.

Julia and Evan meet at college. Their relationship is not perfect but they love each other. When Evan is offered a job too good to be true, working for a financial company in New York City, he imagines a glorious future with wealth, status, and success. Julia tags along, with no idea of what she wants to do with her life.

As Evan's work consumes his energy and soul, Julia feels neglected. At twenty-two, she thinks, she should have more than lonely evenings, a boyfriend too distracted and tired to even consider her needs, and a job she hates.

Communication, intimacy and mutual support compromised, each is drawn to other lovers. In anger, Julia betray's Evan's involvement in a bribery scandal in a futures trade for his boss.

I admit I passed on this book for quite a while because I thought I was too old. I have 60+ years of experience in relationships. I've made plenty of mistakes along the way. And I share some things with Julia and Evan: I moved as a young twenties to a big city, looked for work during the 1970s economic downturn, and ended up in a job I hated: customer service for an insurance company. Meantime, my husband's new career left him full of self-doubt and anxiety.

It turned out that I understood Julia and Evan much better than I thought I would.

Knowing who you are, choosing a career that maintains your integrity, and learning how to love is what being in one's twenties is all about. We must discard childish selfishness in relationships, and learn not to depend on the approval and affirmation from others. Emotional maturity involves forgiving ourselves, and those we love, for being merely human.

Anna Pitoniak has captured this aspect of the human experience.

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

The Futures
Anna Pitoniak
Little Brown
$26 hard cover
ISBN: 9780316354172

A Jamesean Portrait of a Typewriter

Michael Heyns' knowledge of Henry James is evident in The Typewriter's Tale. It is not biographical historical fiction as much as fiction inspired by The Master.

In 1907, twenty-three-year-old Frieda has finished typewriting school and is hired to work for the novelist Henry James. Frieda has literary aspirations and is familiar with James' work, but he does not hold it against her; a typewriter is expected to be a mere mechanic, a conduit between the dictator and the machine.

Life in Rye working for James is dull but agreeable. James is strapped for cash and working on a new issue of his work. Frieda waits as James composes in his head then dictates. He rewards her with chocolate bars left on her typewriter, which she connects with the biscuits James tosses to his dachshund Max.

A visitor arrives at Lamb House, a Mr. Fullerton whom James insists has been a friend for many year but only in letters. Fullerton is charming, handsome, and notices James' amanuensis. He arranges to meet the girl with a request: he wants to steal back letters he has sent to James, for fear of their discovery after his death. Fullerton also beds Frieda, who imagines a love affair.

Over the next two years, Frieda is a typewriter for her employer. She believes she is a spiritualist typewriter, transmitting messages from Fullerton.

James is visited by Mrs. Edith Wharton and a quiet man, Walpole, who asks Frieda to warn her employer about gossip concerning his involvement with illicit going-ons between Wharton and Fullerton. She stands up for James' privacy but secretly does not believe Fullerton could be involved with Wharton, sure he loves her.

Caught between her loyalty to James and her desire to be with Fullerton, Frieda comes to understand how the world works, the vagaries of love, and the trust of friendship.

The novel is written in the style of Henry James, which will delight his fans but may put off the general reader. Frieda's internal world and moral education about life and the climax of the book may lack the fireworks required by many but the book left me satisfied, contemplative, and eager to revisit the author's work.

The Typewriter's Tale
by Michael Heyns
St Martins Press
Publication Feb. 29, 2017
$25.99 hardcover
ISBN:9781250119001

A Talk with Philllip Lewis, Author of Debut Novel "The Barrowfields"

I was pleased on January 5, 2017 to talk to Phillip Lewis about his first book The Barrowfields.

The Barrowfields propagandist Henry escapes an unhappy home life with a distant, alcoholic father with failed literary aspirations. But Henry discovers that to be free of the past one much confront it.

The book is full of the presence of author and North Carolina native Thomas Wolfe, the father's idol.

Lewis grew up in Northwestern North Carolina, close to Virginia and Tennessee, but only a few hours away from Wolfe's hometown of Asheville. "I've spent a lot of time on Mr. Wolfe's porch, I can tell you," Lewis admitted.

We talked about Wolfe's fall from off the radar; the writer who influenced such diverse writers as Ray Bradbury, Maya Angelou, Pat Conroy, Betty Smith, Philip Roth, John Kerouac and Hunter S. Thompson (who lifted 'fear and loathing' from Wolfe) is rarely read today.

"I think Wolfe is difficult for a lot of people to read compared to most commercial fiction these days," Lewis commented, adding "I find that so often, but not always, the books I truly enjoy and want to return to are the more difficult, are challenging books. For example, Blood Meridian [by Cormac McCarthy] is a book that I am proud to have read and finished partly because it was so challenging to me...You really have to concentrate on what he's saying or you can miss so much. But you feel like you've grown somehow by the end of it. It's really and extraordinary book, but it's not an easy book."

I told Lewis that I had read that Wolfe commented that his books all were about the search for the father [http://ow.ly/QB6i307PQ6W] and I saw that theme in The Barrowfields.

Lewis: "That was definitely an important theme for me," he replied. "I had a very complicated relationship with my father, and still do. This was the genesis of much of the material in The Barrowfields. He has suffered from a combination of alcoholism and depression for a number of years. He is also quite a literary fellow himself...I think he is a true writer but his struggles with other things have made it difficult for him to do much with it (other than inspiring his children, perhaps.)"

Nancy: "This explains why Henry the father is such a vividly drawn character."

Lewis: "For me the goal was to address or exorcise certain demons and to do so in an emotionally honest way--without writing an autobiographical account. In other words, you take an experience or amalgamation of experiences and examine the emotional toll, and then try to articulate that in some way with the written word that accurately depicts the emotional toll but does not reflect actual experiences.

"So everything in the book comes from a very emotionally honest place, and it was extraordinarily difficult and often painful to write for that reason.

"It's always impossible to know how all of that is going to translate to readers--because I think it is easy to assume that you're reading a book that's just been written for commercial enjoyment. But so far I've seen a few reviews by people who seemed to find aspects of it resonant with their own emotions."

Nancy: "That's when a book really gets to you when the author says things you cannot put into words yourself. I'm pretty blown away right now. The courage, as a writer, to struggle with demons!"

Lewis: "It truly was a very difficult process for me. And of course, it is a very lonely process, too. You spend a hell of a lot of time sitting somewhere trying to write what it is that's inside of you, and all the while not having any idea whether anyone other than you is ever going to read what you've written!"

Nancy: "In your book the son escapes the past but realizes he must return and confront his past. Is that what your book is--confronting the past?"

Lewis: I think that is an accurate description. Henry, our narrator, is in large part coming to terms with all that has transpired. He's somewhat of an expert at repressing past events, I think.

Nancy: "Yes, even abandoning Threnody." [Henry's sister].

Lewis: "Exactly."

Nancy: "I was thinking about Poe being another of the father's favorite [authors]. I just read in Mary Oliver's Upstream her essay on Poe. She says "life grief was his earliest and deepest life experience" and it made me think about Henry's father and what ghosts he was struggling with."

Lewis: "I have the sense that certain people experience anguish and tragedy in a different way than perhaps others do."

Nancy: "I wanted to say that two scenes from The Barrowfields that stay with me are the book burning and Henry and Story and the horses at night."

Lewis: "Thank you. I think those were probably the scenes that took the longest to write, and required the most effort.

"In regard to the horse scene, we had horses growing up and we were fortunate enough to have a good-sized field for the horses to enjoy. And one of my favorite things was when all the horses would take off running through the field and thunder away and then come charging back up the hill. And so I had memories of that, and that is what I drew on to describe that scene."

Nancy: "So, putting a memory into words, getting it just right--it's a lot of pressure."

Lewis: "It really is. And imagine this: my mother had horses from the time she was a child, and still does. I was writing those scenes with the horses knowing that she would be reading it, and knowing that it had to be just exactly right.

"I think authenticity is so incredibly important when you are writing fiction. And above everything else, I wanted The Barrowfields to be authentic. I wanted the characters and the scenes and the events to be authentic and deeply real. The horse scene late in the book, in addition to the horses, was also partly for the purpose of describing that part of the country at night--which I believed was important, or even critical, for that sense of authenticity."

Nancy: "There is a strong sense of place in your book, whether the mansion on the hill, so Gothic and dark, or Henry's university days, where it felt so contemporary and modern."

Lewis: Sense of place has always been important to me as a reader. Have you ever read a book, and in the book is a scene, and you're reading along and you realize that you have no idea where the charterers are, or what it looks like?"

We chatted about books we had read or were planning to read. Lewis' TBR shelf includes The Nix by Nathan Hill, Marilynne Robinson's Gilead, A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles, and Everyone Brave is Forgiven by Chris Cleeve. Books he recommended to me include The Tinkers by Paul Harding, which won the Pulitzer Prize, and James Salter, "who has his own writing style." He also enjoys J. R. R. Tolkien and fantasy novels.

Lewis is a working dad who spent five years working on The Barrowfields which is coming out in March 2017.

Read more about Lewis at his website http://www.philliplewisauthor.com/

from the publisher:

The Barrowfields is a richly textured, deeply transporting novel that traces the fates and ambitions of a father and son across the decades, centered in the small Appalachian town that simultaneously defines them and drives then both away.

Just before Henry Aster's birth, his father--outsized literary ambition and pregnant wife in tow--reluctantly returns to the remote North Carolina town in which he was raised and installs his young family in an immense house of iron and glass perched high on the side of a mountain. There, Henry and his younger sister grow up in thrall to their fiercely brilliant, obsessive father, who spends his days as a lawyer in town and his nights writing in his library. But when tragedy tips his father toward a fearsome unraveling, Henry's youthful reverence is poisoned and he flees, resolving never to return.

During his time away at college and then law school, Henry meets a young woman whose family past is shrouded in mystery and who helps him grapple with his father's haunting legacy. He begins to realize that, try as he might, he, too, must go home again.

Mythic in its sweep and mesmeric in its prose, The Barrowfields is a breathtaking novel that explores the darker side of devotion, the limits of forgiveness, and the reparation power of shared pasts.

Nancy Goes to Junior High

My first year of school in Michigan came to an end. Summer was long and boring--no Day Camp at Herbert Hoover Junior High School, no kids gathering for games under the streetlights, no friends, no cousins seen regularly. While my little brother had lots of kids his age on our street, there were only a few my age and they were either a few years older or a few years younger. The lack of a shared history and mutual experiences made it hard to connect.

Dad and I shoveling snow

I did still bike over to see Gail, even after my grandparents moved to another house a few miles away in Berkley.

Gail M. and Me

I had cousins but they were all younger than me. My mother's sister and one of her brothers lived in Metro Detroit.

Me and my Ramer cousins. I am on the left and my brother is in blue.

Seventh Grade meant a new school, Jane Addams Junior High, over a mile's walk away. We had to wait in lines outside the building for the doors to open. It was there I experienced bullying, albeit a mild sort.

I wore a  Mod cap hat. There was a group of girls called "greasers," dressed in black leather coats and sporting dark eye liner and teased hair. One decided to take my hat and toss it. I got mad. So of course, she did it again the next day.

My teacher Mrs. Green liked outgoing kids and was concerned about my shyness. Even in elementary school my teachers would say I was "coming out of my shell," but with the move and school change I was even more shy. Mrs. Green told my parents there was something 'wrong' with me and Mom got pretty upset. Actually there was something 'wrong'; I was depressed and homesick for Tonawanda. In November I wrote, "I wish I could go back to Buffalo--I miss the street, the houses, the people, the friends."

I was lonely and made up a friend, Homer the Ghost, who kept me company on my long walks to school. I made up a whole ghost family. I knew he was imaginary. When others learned about Homer they were not so sure.

Homer the Ghost

The school had Friday night Boy-Girl dances. I did not (would not) like rock and roll, I was a klutz and had no interest in dancing, and I did not like boys "that way." No, Friday nights were for The Man From Uncle, and I was a card-carrying member of the fan club. I wrote about it here.

A teacher asked who was going to BOGI, the boy girl dance; my hand stayed down. She decided to have a boy ask me to the dance. I was outraged. He was popular so I knew he could not really like me, the weird, uncool kid. Girls encouraged me to go, that he meant it, but I did not believe it. He tried again the next day, too. I never forgave or forgot that experience.

Later when that same boy learned about Homer he asked our art teacher if my ghost was real. She said, "Nancy's pulling the wool over your eyes." I didn't know what that even meant, but until graduation day that boy would ask me, "How's Homer?" with a knowing gleam in his eye.

Mom, me, Dad, and Tom 

What did change my life were the electives classes: a quarter year spent in sewing class, cooking class, art class, and music class.

Drawing exercise in Art Class 

My grandmother bought me a piano that year and my lessons resumed. I discovered I liked to sew and was good at art, and I was thrilled to be in chorus again. I drew a lot and kids asked for my pictures.

My horse drawings

Imaginary friends

Mr. Russell Henckel was our choir teacher. He was fun, but strict when the boys acted up. There was a paddle in his office and he was not afraid to use it. We listened to Gilbert and Sullivan's operetta Iolanthe in class while the words were projected on a screen. One day we arrived in class to see projected a note: "Help! I'm being held prisoner in the projector!" The next day there was a picture of the captive. We also studied Mozart; I wrote that he had a sad life with only his dog at his funeral.

On November 20, 1964 I started to read Jane Eyre and liked it. That fall I wrote my first poem, a very lousy poem called The Bat, and later one called The Poem.

On the anniversary of the assassination of President Kennedy I wrote,

"A year ago today, President John F. Kennedy was assassinated. I remember walking down the hall and passing a class watching a TV--an educational channel. They were the first to know. Mr. Saffronoff and our class went to the library. Everyone was in a daze, no one knew really what happened. Only that the President was assassinated. Mr. S talked to us about how the President was assassinated and about the president. We couldn't accept the fact at first. I was confused. We went back to our room --Mr. S left us for a minute. Some didn't believe it--thinking it was a hoax. Others said the killer must be insane. I felt very sad, depressed, as I walked home alone; I cried. I didn't know much about him--I wasn't interested in politics. When I got home I acted naturally and all after that, like it seemed it didn't matter."

There was a Mock Election held at school. I was still clueless about politics. I was asked if I would vote for LBJ or Barry Goldwater. Then I was told about LBJ's Great Society and war on poverty. I decided to vote democrat. It was one of the few winning votes I have ever cast.

On November 25 I read The Lost Continent of MU, perhaps a book from my Grandfather Ramer, and Stop the Typewriters! about an eleven-year-old girl named Nancy who wants to be a writer.

Over Christmas break, my family returned to Tonawanda. We left December 31. I wrote it was a sunny, muddy day. I wrote about seeing a Glendale street and recalled the song 442 Glendale Ave. My brother said the twin Grand Island Bridges belonged in Ripley's Believe It Or Not.

We stayed with my Aunt Alice's family, which now included Grandma Gochenour. I have no idea how they fit us all in! We visited all our old friends and I saw all my cousins ("they act and mainly look the same but, boy, they have grown" I wrote) and we stopped at the Kuhn's house.

I spent a day with Nancy Ensminger and we had our photos taken in a photo both. Her mom fed us canned spaghetti.

Me and Nancy Ensminger

Nancy Ensminger, Christmas 1964

By spring I had made some friends, Dee and Diane, two girls whose families had moved from the South to Detroit for jobs. Dee and I just started talking on the long walk home from school. She lived a few blocks away. Diane lived next door to Dee.

I joined a Girl Scout troop, although I was disappointed the girls were more interested in watching Hullabaloo on television and talking about boys than scouting. But I was thrilled with our 'adventures,' like this one I wrote about in my diary:

"We sold calendars at Hollywood grocery. Betty Sue and Besty went to Edward's but were kicked out. The manager said they were bothering the customers. They went to Frentz & Sons Hardware, who bought two, one to hang in the store. At the Funeral Home--Spiller-Splater? Or is it Spitter-Splatter? Or Spiller-Splitter? Well, anyways, Betty Sue started to go in but Betsy said they'd better ring the door bell. Four or five rings later a very mad man answered. He took Betty by the collar and asked what she wanted. "I want to sell you a Girl Scouts Calendar," she said calmly. "I don't want any," was his answer and he turned away. Halfway, he came back. "OK--how much?" Betty Sue said he just didn't want the funeral home to have a bad reputation. At Rambler and Pontiac Betsy told a man that her brother bought a car from there and if he didn't buy a calendar he'd return it. "Get lost," was his affable answer. At Pontiac they were real nice and gave them some booklets, too. Lynn, Cherie, Cindy and me and Mrs. D stood at the entrance of Hollywood. One man said he'd buy one when he came out. We were there three hours and he never came back out! Another man answered no, but don't tell his wife he had a Playboy one already. A boy who worked there we asked every time he came by. Once, we didn't ask him and he looked surprised."

Already I was recording the life around me in detail.

I was invited to visit a church and saw an altar call. I saw people whose belief in God was so real they were crying. It made me consider issues of faith for the first time, and I committed to developing a believe in God.

My Grandfather Ramer took me with him to St. John's Episcopal Church.  Having grown up in the Broad Street Baptist Church in Tonawanda, with it's immersion Baptism and stained glass windows, being Episcopal was an adjustment. We genuflected, knelt, had responsive readings, plus the church was modern and huge. I had several schoolmates in the confirmation class, plus my friend Gail's family were members.  My first communion I sipped from the Communion cup as instructed. I hated the sour wine and I learned to dip my wafer into the wine!

St John's Episcopal Church, Royal Oak MI in the 1960s

I made friends in the neighborhood, including a boy named Mike D., a year younger than me. Mike and I took Dad's telescope into the back yard and looked at the moon and stars, making up stories about outer space. We enjoyed pretending stories about Homer the Ghost.

My imaginary gang, Homer the Ghost and friends

One day his younger sister asked if I would like her brother to be my boyfriend. I was upset. First, because I valued friendship above everything and had no interest in boys, and because, actually, I had a crush on him, too, but was not about to admit it. I alienated a friend, and then he and his siblings moved away. I was heart broken, having lost a true kindred spirit friend. But nobody knew.

I still listened to CKLW on the radio in bed at nights. In the spring of Seventh Grade I heard Stop! In the Name of Love by the Supremes. I liked it.

It was the beginning of the end of childhood. I liked a boy and I liked a rock and roll song. My long-held promise to my Grandmother Gochenour was being broken, for I was unable to be Peter Pan and avoid growing up.

Here I am at the end of Seventh Grade

Hidden Figures by Margot Lee Shetterly

Hidden Figures: The American Dream and the Untold Story of the Black Women Mathematicians Who Helped Win the Space Race by Margot Lee Shetterly
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I read Hidden Figures for a local book club. I was in the minority for having finished the book. Most of the ladies went to see the movie. I gave the book five stars for the importance of the subject, new information shared, and for the author's extensive research. As a reading experience, I rated the book three stars; I did not have an emotional connection that compelled me to read on.

I appreciate the author's bringing these women to public attention. I liked how their story is presented in the context of the prevailing racial attitudes of their time.

The book is not a biography of a few women, as in the movie. It is a study in culture.

The bulk of the book covers the massive need for computers--mathematicians--during WWII, offering women and people of color unique job opportunities working for NACA. There were at least 50 black women who worked at the Langley Memorial Aeronautical Laboratory between 1943 and 1980. President Roosevelt signed an executive order to desegregate the defense industry, creating the Fair Employment Practices Committee.

The African American women hired as computers were not only qualified, some had more education than their white counterparts. Their job opportunities and salary level had been limited, and landing a job at Langley allowed brilliant minds work equal to their ability. The women were dedicated, their high standards apparent in their dress and demeanor as well as in the excellence of their work. The high quality of their work brought respect from the engineers. At the same time, Virginia's segregation laws restricted the women to where they could live and what bathroom they could use.

The later part of the book covers the change of the NACA to NASA and the Space Race. I found it more compelling to read. The technology was changing to computers and the mathematicians had to retool their skills to keep up with the times.

My favorite story was about John Glenn's 1962 flight and how Glenn didn't trust computers to get him safely back to Earth; he said, "Get the girl to check the numbers. If she says the number are good, I'm ready to go." He trusted Kathryn Johnson, the human computer.


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Michigan Monsters and UFO Sightings in 1965

What was going on in 1965 that sent people off the deep end?

Sure, we had Vietnam, Civil Rights, and Gemini, The Cold War and "Unsafe at Any Speed" by Ralph Nader. We had The Sound of Music and Dr. Zhivago. President Johnson won the election. The Beatles were BIG.

And we had an obsession with UFOs and Bigfoot sightings.

The August 19, 1965, Royal Oak, MI Daily Tribune opinion page remarked, "This is flying saucer season, and the reports--along with those of a local "monster"--are coming in loud and clear." The writer believed that the Perseid meteor shower, aligned with the planet Jupiter, and compounded by atmospheric effects, were behind the sightings.

"Reports of Unidentified Flying Objects (UFOs) have been coming in from Oklahoma, Texas, and Kansas, which is par for the course. But this saucer season is something special. Further sightings have been reported in Nebraska, Minnesota, and Brazil." The latest report was from Hershey, PA; a man photographed the object but was afraid to show it for fear of being called "a nut." The writer reported that Carl Sagan dismissed such tales, but urged that myths and tales be reexamined for indications of visits from the past.

One news article reported that a man working at the Northville Ford generator plant decided to have some fun with a hoax photograph that earned a three column article. When he told his neighbor of his hoax, the neighbor "grew wildly indignant," crying, "I saw those saucers myself, plain as day!"

Stories came from around the world, A New Mexico policeman claimed to see a brilliant white object, marked with a red V with three lines through it, that had two figures in white overalls inside. The authorities found scorched grass and indentations where the policeman claimed to have seen it. Brits saw "the thing" several times, an orange cloud with a rising object, accompanied by a boom that broke windows. Four weeks of sightings were reported in Oklahoma. Meteors were sighted in Upstate Michigan.

And in Metro Detroit, a saucer landed near John R and Eleven Mile Road, near the Madison Heights' City Hall. "Apparently in search of our leaders, the glowing lights" disappeared just after midnight.

Flying Saucers were exciting! I loved the movie The Day the Earth Stood Stilll and was sure space aliens only brought good will.

Remember, 

Klaatu barada nikto

No---It was the monster sightings that scared me.

Dowagiac, Michigan reported the Monster of Sister Lake was on the prowl, a nine-foot tall, 500-pound creature covered in hair, with a leathery face and "banjo eyes like Eddie Cantor." Except these eyes shined.

Eddie Cantor eyes! I was scared silly. Who was Eddie Cantor? What were "banjo eyes"? I had no idea. I still don't know. (Time to Goggle Eddie...)

Eddie Cantor "Banjo Eyes"

Those are pretty creepy eyes.

They said the Monster whimpered, and when it walked, the earth trembled. The first reports were from several pre-teen girls, walking near a wooded road in Silver Lake Township, Cass County. The girls ran to a nearby house and the police were called. An armed search party went out but found nothing.

A later article reported, "Get Your Monster Kit $7.95."

It was thought the girls had seen a bear attracted to the fruit farms in the area.

Then came the Monroe Monster. It wore pants. "I knew it was a person with something like a fur coat drawn up over his head," the man reported. Then he said the monster "threw him around like a rag doll." A Monroe mother and her daughter also reported a monster attacked them in their car; they underwent a lie detector test.

Oakland County, MI then "built a better monster" by reporting an amphibious monster on Voorheis Lake, Orion Township. It looked like the Creature from the Black Lagoon.

An article reported that the Monroe Monster was "on the move," showing up in Gary Indiana, perhaps by hitchhiking on the Tri-State Highway. "Those truck drivers on I-94 are too friendly," one policeman said. "They'll give a ride to anybody--or anything." The police said the monster appeared in swampy areas where high weeds could "provide cover for any number of gorillas."

Monroe persisted that the monster had not left them. Coarse, dark hair was found on a car it had attacked. The car owner claimed to have been attacked by the monster when he and eight friends were in the car. "We all want to prove, once and for all, that there is no monster," stated the police. Another lie detector test was scheduled.

Apparently Michigan has a long history of Bigfoot sightings.

I eventually grew out of being afraid to look out the front door window at night, worried I would see "banjo eyes" looking in at me. I am still waiting for that space ship to come and save Earth from itself.