Saddles
By Darlene Glaze Jennings
When growing up, the two biggest things in our young lives were going to
school and summer vacation. We could not wait for that first day, and we
could not wait for that last day. We always got out sometime around the
first week of June, and went back in the first week of September. I can
still remember getting our school books and writing the date in them; maybe
September 8, and looking to see who had the books before me. In grade school
at Loos, the last day was a couple of long hours in the morning. I took my
younger brother Lloyd with me. He was five years younger, so this was a
thrill for me, especially in my younger years—to take him and “show him
off”—he was so cute!
The days of summer would begin with such excitement and anticipation; it
seemed we would have forever to do whatever we wanted. In the late 50’s and
early 60’s childhood was a lot different than now. Most of us had the run of
the whole neighborhood and beyond. Most of my friends, Carole, Glenda and
Sharon all lived a few blocks away. Walking or riding our bikes to each
others’ house was second nature to us. We could even go to Northtown
Shopping Center and Forest Park Plaza in the latter years. My Mother always
knew where I was going at all times, but there was never any concern if I
made it there or not. We all just knew when to be home, 5 o’clock for
dinner.
Girl’s lives were different from the boys in the neighborhood, a fact of
life. We were not trying to see what devilish things we could come up with,
we were not trying to set fire to or blow up something—or even hang out down
by the Stillwater River. Oh no, our lives were much tamer. Playing records,
playing duets on the piano, maybe learning a new dance, talking about boys,
walking around—trying to find out where those boys might be! A big treat was
walking up to Burger Chef behind Loos School and buying our lunch, feeling
so grown up and on our own at age 12 or 13! Which is just what we girls
wanted to do—grow up and have that teen life we had seen in those Gidget
movies.
Most of us got to go swimming, but only when our mothers could take us. I
went to Miller’s Grove with the freezing water and the bumpy cement bottom.
On certain summer holidays we would be taken to Trotwood…a million miles
away. Later in my young teen years I would go to Philips Pool, owned by Mike
Schmidt’s grandparents. So our summer days were long, it seemed. We had the
time to do whatever our hearts desired, with a few chores thrown in to keep
us “responsible” I guess. But then, after our long “languid” days of summer
passed, we began thinking of school again. We all knew who our teacher would
be, that info was given to us on the last day of school. The biggest thrill
was that our best friend would be with us—the deepest disappointment was
that they would not.
As the middle of August neared the excitement began to build for me, and I
am guessing for many other girls. It would soon be time for all of us to be
back together again uh, and yes to see those boys again, who had remained so
elusive all summer! The biggest back to school ritual for me in grade school
was going downtown to Rikes. Every August they would have their big “Back to
School” sale on Spalding shoes. Now I only wore these shoes in grade school;
high school was another story. I can remember walking up Carol Avenue to the
bus stop at Redwood and Kathleen, the mode of transportation to downtown
Dayton. I usually had a friend with me in the later years, my Mother when I
was younger. Yes, we all had the freedom to go downtown on our own. We would
be dropped off in front of Rikes, eight floors of merchandise wonder. I
think the Shoe Department was on the 4th or 6th floor, one would think I
could remember it better than my own name, but I don’t. Once I got to the
shoe department, there they were! Saddles, loafers and white bucks! Wow, so
beautiful, so perfect, would they have my size? I always HAD to get the
black and white saddles with red rubber sole, the staple of grade school
footwear. They would be brought out, tissue paper pulled aside to try on. I
would take a pair of bobby socks to try them on. Yes they were perfect, I’ll
take them! I would also get a pair of loafers, looking forward to actually
putting a penny in them. And yes, I’ll take a pair of white bucks with their
little powder Bunny bag to keep them white. So with purchases in hand,
school fever was taking over. Remember, Rikes would also deliver anything
you purchased if you wanted, and it would be the next day! I never wanted to
do that, they were mine now; I just had to carry them home!
Once home my shoes were put upstairs in a hallway closet, to await the first
day of school. At least once a day I would go up there and look at them; try
them on. This is the memory that is the most vivid to me: taking the boxes
off of the shelf, sitting down on the floor and opening them up. As I pulled
the tissue paper away I would get the wonderful smell of new leather, Mm,
Mm, Mm; I can smell it now. I would try them on and walk up and down the
hallway. Oh yes, can’t wait for school to begin!
When I entered Fairview High School, the saddles fashion faded away, we wore
hose and skirts every day! My gosh, I cannot believe it now. As I entered
Miami University, dress became a little more casual, didn’t go the Hippie
route, but more casual indeed. Then came the fall of my Sophomore year. Lo
and Behold, there sitting in a class with me was a girl wearing a pair of
Spalding saddles (yes I could spot them a mile away). She was wearing knee
socks and a short wool skirt. Wow, I thought, I want me some Spalding’s too,
once again! Shortly after that I went home for the weekend and headed down
to Rikes, 4th or 6th floor. There on display were my saddles. I was a bit
disappointed that they only had brown and white, but I took them. The
following Monday I was wearing my saddles, knee socks, John Meyer or
Villager wool skirt and sweater. Wow! The compliments were flying, the “Oh,
where did you get those?” the “Oh, I remember my saddles, I loved them.” My
accounting professor saying, “I like your Rah Rahs.” I think he meant my
shoes.
I wore my saddles to death, eventually just wearing them with jeans at
Miami, when I was becoming less concerned about my wardrobe and just
concerned about getting to class. Life moved fast after that; marriage,
kids, moving, at one point settling in Louisville, where our kids went to
high school. I was wearing my saddles to mow the lawn, paint the picket
fence, any labor that required a sturdy old shoe, an old friend. The soles
never wore down much, but the stitching began to come undone. I guess I
eventually threw them away. Still can’t believe I did. I can hardly ever
throw a pair of shoes away.
The years have passed, but not the memory of my saddles. Searching the
Internet for Spalding’s, contacting the company, going to EBay, but to no
avail. Maybe a few out there, size 6, but not an 8. There is a company
called Muffy’s Shoes that makes new shoes, a close second to Spalding’s, but
at $99. I didn’t think I could really do that one. I finally gave up the
obsession, only wishing I had not thrown my last pair away.
We have lived here, outside of Atlanta for more than 9 years. Most weekends
we head out on day trips to little towns within a 50 mile radius. One of our
favorite towns is Monroe, Georgia, 30 miles southwest of us. This town has
it all, a great restaurant, antique shops, a courthouse with the Confederate
Soldier out front. We feel we belong when we go there. One Saturday last
spring we headed into town, passing a sign that said “Church Sale.” We
passed by it when I said, “Hey, let’s check it out”, although not usually
going to those sales. As we pulled up into the parking lot, men were hauling
tables out of the building, the sale was ending. As we stopped I thought
maybe we should just forget it, but we got out and Marc started helping the
men move the tables. I walked into the building, seeing everything boxed up,
stuff that did not sell, maybe to be saved for the next one. “Come on in,”
they said, “see if you want anything.” I poked around, digging in the boxes,
finding a book and a vase. There just wasn’t much left, I thought. Marc was
still helping the men remove racks and tables so I continued to poke and
move things around in the boxes. Something caught my eye—could it be—red
soles, Yes! There in a box was a pair of nearly new, no, brand new brown and
tan saddles! I think they are called Soap and Saddle. I pulled them out,
staring at them, they looked small but I had to put my foot in one. Yes,
Cinderella, they fit! They were made by Striderite but as close to a
Spalding as I have seen in over 40 years. I tried them both on, they fit.
Here on my feet was what I had been looking for – forever! Marc walked in
and I showed them to him, he was stunned, too. He had done a lot of internet
searching too. “They fit, OMG,” I told him. We almost didn’t come here, we
almost didn’t get out of the car, and I almost did not bother to look
around. I took my 3 items up to the ladies taking the money, $1 for the book
and vase and 50 cents for the shoes—aghhhhhh! We gave them more; so thrilled
to have found my saddles.
I know to most of the guys reading this and maybe to some of the women, it
might not mean too much. But I just bet there are some of you reading this
who have that one favorite article of clothing you had, or shoes you wore,
that you wished you still had. All I can say is, don’t give up. This site is
about our memories, and this is one of my favorite ones, and yes—my shoe
obsession has only grown.
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Music Part II: Concerts
By Marc Jennings
As a teenager I was interested in all kinds of music, but I loved rock and
roll. One day during the summer before eighth grade I was looking at record
albums downtown, at Mayors, when I saw “Little Richard’s Greatest Hits”, and
bought it. I played this album for hours at a time. It was so raw, so wild;
the beat, the saxophones, the pounding piano, Little Richard crying,
“Lucille, please come back where you belong”, or “Good Golly, Miss Molly,
sure like to ball, when you’re rockin’ and rollin’, can’t hear your mama
call”. I knew every word and note of these songs. I wished I could dance to
them. I wished I could perform them. I wished I could see Little Richard
sing them in person.
My fascination with music continued throughout high school, and I was not
alone. We had a three person music fan club: Mike Overly, Dave Todd and me.
I guess you could say we were serious students of music. It was one thing
that bound us together. We studied it, we critiqued it, we marveled at it
when it was good and we mocked it when it didn’t meet our standards. We were
well informed and connoisseurs of the best music. When something new came
along we quickly evaluated it.
It was only natural that when an artist that we admired came to Dayton, we
went to see them. Our first opportunity to do this was probably the
strangest. In 1963, we saw an ad in the paper for an appearance of Jerry Lee
Lewis. In the early 60’s many of the best rock and roll performers of the
50’s were no longer popular. This included Little Richard and Jerry Lee
Lewis, “The Killer”. In addition to his music being out of style, Jerry Lee
had married his 13 year old cousin in 1957, after which he was pretty much
an outcast from the music business. But Mike, Dave and I loved his music and
didn’t much care who he was married to.
Jerry Lee was performing on a Sunday afternoon, at what turned out to be a
bar on West Third Street. I don’t remember how we got there, but we paid our
money and walked into the place. The bar was OK as a bar, I guess, but a
pretty strange place for a concert. Walking through the front door you saw a
very long and narrow room. The bar was on the left and the room was no wider
than fifteen feet. At the far end of the room, right next to the back door,
was a tiny stage with just enough room on it for an upright piano and a
chair.
Mike, Dave and I arrived early and we took seats right in front of the stage
so we could get a good view of the performance. This was almost a mistake.
It didn’t dawn on us at the time, since we had never seen a live performance
of a music celebrity, but there was no band to back up Jerry Lee. However,
they had managed to amplify this old piano somehow and the big speakers were
just a few feet from our faces. The crowd was hard to identify. There were
mostly people older than us, but it was a Sunday afternoon and there was no
drinking so it was pretty subdued. When Jerry Lee Lewis made his appearance,
he just walked in the front door and through the room like he was going back
to get a coke. The crowd just watched him; no applause, shouting or
anything. Either the crowd was very polite, or hung over from Saturday
night.
Jerry Lee walked to the stage, stepped up and sat on the chair in front of
the piano. He didn’t say a thing; no introduction, banter with the audience
or anything. He just put his hands on the keyboard, and instantly, that
weird Sunday afternoon in a bar on West Third Street became old-time rock
and roll hell on wheels:
“You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain,
too much love drives a man insane.
You broke my will, but what a thrill,
Goodness gracious, Great Balls of Fire!”
Today, I suppose we expect music to be really loud, even in our cars. But in
1963 it was a shock when Jerry Lee started pounding those 88 keys like they
were an ugly step-child. It was loud and it was rocking and we had never
heard anything like it. There was not a vinyl record in the universe that
could come anywhere close to duplicating the singing and music we were
hearing and feeling. It hurt my ears at first, but soon, the only sensation
was that pounding music. It was one hell of a show, and there weren’t any
lights or fireworks or smoke or big screens or rain coming down on the stage
or any other show business effects. It was just Jerry Lee Lewis, singing and
playing his piano, one song after another. He did them all and when it was
over he thanked the audience, got up and walked out. We were all stunned,
like shell-shocked. He had left us floating down from rock and roll land and
by the time we came to, he was gone. Never in my life, before or since, have
I experienced a music event quite like that. We were so close we could have
leaned over and taken Jerry Lee’s wallet from his pocket, yet we didn’t say
a word to him, didn’t ask him for an autograph. By the time we thought of
it, he was probably back in Ferriday, Louisiana.....Click here
to continue reading
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NO SOAP
By Ed Stout
Halloween is approaching and it has caused me to think back on my glory
Halloween days. In other words, this was a 3-year span between the time when
I was 10 until I was 13 years old. During these years, I had reached the
point where I was fully into the spirit of the season and had come up with
some ideas on how to maximize its benefits. The Halloween season was all
about two things: candy and trickery.
October 30, the night before Halloween, was referred to as “beggar’s night,”
a term that as far as I know was unique to Dayton, Ohio. That of course was
the night that all of us goblins went from door to door in an effort to
garner as much candy as possible in a two hour or so time span. My motto was
start early and finish late.
In order to fully participate in beggar’s night, one had to have some type
of costume. I always wore the same one: old clothes and hat and black face.
Old clothes weren’t a problem and since men wore hats in those days, one
could always come up with an old brim hat. The only expense involved in my
costume was the black face. This was solved by shoe polish. If we didn’t
have any at the house, I had to fork over 29 cents for a can of Kiwi or
Esquire. Then I’d apply generous portions to my face, wash my hands and I
was on my way. The area I covered was either side of North Main Street near
the North Town Shopping Center. I did not use a “trick or treat bag.”
Instead, my mother was kind enough to give me one of her pillow cases.
Again, my goal was to maximize benefits and a pillow case could hold a lot
of candy.
We did not walk from door to door, we ran, in an effort to cover the most
ground in the shortest possible time. There were some apartment complexes in
the area and one would think that these would be a great way to maximize
efforts. Maybe yes, and maybe no. Some apartment dwellers were either not
home or refused to answer the door. In such cases, the regular single family
house neighborhoods were the places to be. I do, however, remember one
apartment complex that I got to a little after 6 p.m. One of the residents
had placed a big bag of Butterfingers next to the apartment door. On the bag
they had painted a sign that read, “Take one.” That year I finished my last
Butterfinger while watching the Cotton Bowl on New Year’s Day.
During that three year, four Halloween span, I never did fill one of my
mother’s pillow cases with candy but I came close. I carried some pretty
heavy loads of candy back to our house after I’d finished my beggar’s night
spree. Looking back on it, I’m pretty sure my dentist is happy about my
diligent Halloween efforts (I think I’ve put at least one or perhaps both of
his daughters through the University of Tennessee). My mouth is filled with
caps, bridges and root canals which are, no doubt, directly related to
consuming mass quantities of candy during the months of November, December
and January each year.
The other thing about Halloween is the “trick” element. We could talk about
papering, egging and flaming bags, filled with who knows what, thrown onto
porches. Instead, I’d like to say a word or two about soaping windows.
First, however, I must ask when was the last time you saw any soaped
windows? I can’t really remember seeing any in the last few decades. It must
be a lost art. I wonder, what’s wrong with kids today? Apparently they don’t
have any initiative. To be sure, back in the late 50s and early 60s, one did
not have to look far to see soaped windows in Dayton, Ohio.
I won’t admit to being a chronic window soaper, but I will confess that I
did engage in this aspect of Halloween trickery. The first thing one must do
in order to properly soap a window is choose the right soap. To anyone with
any experience, however, this is a no-brainer. Ivory soap was by far the
best. In claiming the title for best soap, Ivory had several things going
for it. The two main things were that it was cheap and it left a bold mark
on any window it encountered. The fact that it was able to float was not
relevant. The only down side to Ivory was that it was a bit large to fit
“just right” in a young boy’s hand. You could quickly turn this deficit into
an asset by breaking the bar in half (two for the price of one). During this
time we’re talking about, Dial was the most popular soap. (“Aren’t you glad
you use Dial? Don’t you wish everyone did?”) But it was a poor choice for
soaping windows. While its smaller size fit nicely in the hand, it was
yellow and consequently, it left a very faint mark on any window it was
applied to. Dial was not the worst soap choice, though. That distinction
belonged to Lava, the hand soap. Lava had a sand-like component to it and it
was impossible to leave a bold, consistent mark on any window. So, if you
were carrying a bar of Lava you could never be a top flight soaper.
Thus, with a bar of Ivory in hand, the soaper went about his business.
Soaping season generally began two weeks before Halloween. Anyone soaping
before this time was deemed to be a chronic soaper who was acting in bad
taste. There were three possible soaping targets: stores, cars and house
windows. Stores were the easiest because it could be done after hours. Some,
though, would do it during the time the store was open. I’ve seen expert
soapers carrying a bar of soap at his side, walking closely to the store
window and soaping while he walked without anyone really noticing it. When
you saw something like that, you knew you were watching a true artist
practicing his craft. Cars were also a target. Many were parked on the
street in the dark and a sneaky soaper would walk by and scribble a few
marks on the passenger windows. Houses, however, were a different subject
altogether. It was indeed a brave soaper who would walk up to somebody’s
house and soap a picture window, for example. Such people were crazy and I
tried to avoid them at all costs.
These are some of my Halloween memories. Generally, they are positive ones.
I do have some regrets. I regret that soaping has become a lost art.
Although I will confess I would not be a happy camper if some young
gentleman soaped my windows. I also regret the amount of candy I consumed
and the long term effect that consumption has had. Nevertheless, given the
option, I’d probably do the same thing again.
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Best
Teachers
By Tom Kender
I'm thinking I should have entitled this "Most
Memorable Teachers" but we'll leave it like this.
Naturally, we all had our favorites but I can easily decide which teachers
made an impact on me. I don't know if it was necessarily because I enjoyed
the subject matter more or if it was the way they presented the material,
all I know when I think of Fairview and the faculty I think of these
people first.
Looking through my dog-eared yearbook Mrs. Rowe always comes to mind. I
find it interesting that our creamy white faculty and our creamy white
student body was fortunate to have a dedicated teacher at a time when it
was probably very difficult for a woman of color to find a position in an
upscale high school. I mean this was the 60's. But never once in mind did
I ever think of her as being black, I only thought of her as being so
conscious of who we were, our confusion at a time of global responsibility
and our difficulty in setting our compasses in the right direction. She
set the course for me when I asked a question about the looming Vietnam
War.
Although we were still a couple of years away from finding out what our
future might bring and our responsibilities, I asked "what if I don't want
to go to war, what if I want to move away to Canada". She responded by
explaining the legal obligations of what was the edict at that time.
Following the laws of the land. But then she explained we had a moral
obligation as well. If we felt in our hearts that there were injustices in
the world, then we should stand up and express those opinions. It scared
me to think about the repercussions that might result. I'm guessing her
comments were more directed to the race wars that were slowly brewing but
it still gave me the help in deciding about my service to the country.
Ironically, a couple of years later after college, I decided to serve in
the Air Force. Not necessary in favor of the War but still be willing to
stand up and express my opinion if injustices needed to be corrected.
On a lighter side, or maybe a more institutional perspective, my ability
to cipher' is through the teachings of Charles Mumma. Ask me any math
question and I'll solve it for you. Hell, I can even give you the correct
Lotto numbers, it may not be on the same day that they pick them, but they
will be the right numbers?? Mr. Mumma was a no-nonsense teacher who
treated you like a good ole' yellow dog. When you did good, he praised
you, when you screwed up he made sure you didn't make the same mistake
again. To this day I love math, algebra, geometry, statistics, calculus
anything to do with numbers. Maybe it is the one science where 2 plus 2
always equaled 4. You can always find the answer. Rest assured, I didn't
later become a rocket scientist but I still get a little buzz when a math
problem shows up in Marilyn Vos Savant's column in Parade magazine. And
Sudoku....give me a break...I was doing Sudoku when Sudoku wasn't cool.
"Every grain of sand effects the
tide"
If you ever had the chance to take Dorothy Herbst's English class, or
maybe it was called Humanities or something like that...the above sentence
still stands in your mind.
I had a sole purpose or maybe a soul purpose in enrolling in Ms. Herbst
class. ..To go to New York City...but I'll leave that story for a later
date because I really need to pay her a much-deserved due.
I had already wasted 3 years of idiocracy in my antics at Fairview....and
yes, if I had to do it all over again, I would have certainly studied
harder, became more involved in other activities like theater, or
art......but then I guess I wouldn't be what I am today....and to some,
who believe in me, that's not so bad.
But, I had a chance to maybe find my creativity with Dorothy and I blew
it. She so much loved what she did. She lived in the moment and could look
into one's eyes and see that beautiful sculpture that lay enclosed in a
block of marble and I just let her down.
She knew better than to struggle with me while I stole her time from much
more deserving students. She knew I had some kind of a gift, and she told
me so.....but that layer of protection that surrounded me, those
insecurities of fear of success that I misinterpreted as fear of failure,
prevented me finding my passion until years later.
Today, as I visit art museums or take in a play or relish in musicals, I
sometimes think what it would have been like if instead of trying to be
cool I would have tried to explore a deeper, a more intense, an exposure
of the soul type dedication to expressing emotion or feelings other than
just getting by for another semester in order to just have fun.
Yes, Ms. Herbst, I waisted your time and my time back then but perhaps
these little acts that I perform now in this blog as I strut and fret my
hour upon the stage I can repay you for your devotion to bringing out the
best in us.
And speaking of those who believed I had or have something to offer is
Barbara Minton.
I remember her as fresh out of college wanting to teach and share her
passion for the written word as she was thrown into a class occupied by my
"Spagnola-type" behavior. A couple of years ago as I contemplated reaching
for my quill and parchment that I had so long ago set aside in search for
a more profitable career, she came across my earlier bloggings and we
began to correspond as I asked for direction and criticism as I pursued my
longing to be a writer. Through no fault of her own, I ran from our talks,
scared once again of that fear of success of wanting that passion for
telling my stories. Barbara, thanks for your help and I hope you can once
again enjoy my musings as I try to bring a laugh and a smile to everyone's
face.
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