"The Boys of Spring"

               All of my teammates either went on to Fairview, Chaminade or Colonel White.

As Winter fades into Spring, you can see the daffodils and tulips as they begin to push through the snow covered gardens.  And as the trees begin to show their buds ,  yet a new scent begins to waft it's way through the basements and garages as young boys and now young girls begin to massage their dried out leather ball gloves with oil, making the gloves flexible and able to scoop up that ground ball in the coming days.

The father/coaches begin to dust off their rosters from the previous season lamenting the loss of their number four hitter who has moved on to the next older division. But this will be the year. ...This will be the championship year as they plot each inning, each pitch, each decision,  long before the first pitch will be thrown.

Coaches are born, not made...just like the young charges that will come before them. Good coaches have the gift of compassion, the wisdom of Solomon and the patience of Job.......they have to be...they will leave an imprint in the lives of the innocent followers for the rest of their lives.

My close friend while growing up, Eddie,  retells the story of a coach that he and I had when we first started our careers in baseball. Although he was our coach, he was also my dad. I didn't witness the conversation, but if Eddie says it happened...you can bet your Willie Mays baseball card it happened.

Our official baseball world took place at Triangle Park in Dayton, Ohio. There were three small fields that bordered the Stillwater River and we would practice on the dirt fields and play our games on Friday nights. There were six teams in the league, and as Eddie likes to remember, the kids that played for Inland Mfg. all had beards and probably drove their own cars to the game.

One sunny afternoon during practice while we were catchin' fly balls or tryin' to field that hot grounder apparently, one of our teammates had an "accident" in his britches and the tears began to roll down his cheeks. He was embarrassed beyond belief and knew he would be labeled for the rest of his life.

Our coach (my dad) walked over to the young boy and asked why he was crying...The boy whimpered as he tried to tell my dad what had happened.

Dad was simply a hard working man without any formal education but he was a father of 3 boys...so he knew what to do.

As Eddie recounts the story...in  my Dad's Stengalese wisdom,  he proceeded to  put his arm around the young soul and said..."Son. all of us have accidents....all of us  make mistakes....I'm a man, I'm married and even I have crapped in my pants......but what you do from then on is what is important....you wipe your butt  off....you wash away the tears and you go out and try harder".

It wasn't profound but Eddie says the scene stayed with him over the years and he remembered how important coaches can be in our lives.

So here's to the lads who will wait for the snow to melt away....wait for the grass to begin to sprout and listen for the sound of "Play Ball" as yet another season begins.

A Christmas I will always remember...

One of the problems with writing and telling stories is that often times one tends to lose touch with what is fiction and what is reality.....I know when growing up my Mom always would remind me of the adage " Tommy, if you cry wolf too many times, no one will believe you"....but I always wanted to tell stories.....granted, as a young Skeeter boy the stories I made up were to keep me from getting into trouble....but I would enjoy going to my special head brain place where I could be whomever I wanted to be and make up stories and retell them to my friends....a true Walter Mitty

So now ....I have to confess.....maybe the previous Thanksgiving and Christmas stories on this blog were embellished a little......ok....maybe they were embellished a lot....BUT... this next story is all fact....and I have a newspaper clipping to go along with it.

It was a Christmas story I'll always remember and one I enjoy telling.

Forty seven years ago tomorrow, December 11,  our house on Sandhurst Drive in Dayton, Ohio burned. 

 I was a senior in high school and had been down at the Univ. of Cincinnati for the day with a couple of friends who were going to enroll there the following Fall.  We had just pulled up to the house and I saw my home in flames. The fire trucks had just arrived and my Dad and his friend were trying to back some cars that had caught fire out of the driveway .

 Dad and his friend had bought this ambulance/hearse and were torch-cutting the rear end off of it in hopes of making it a camper...I still don't know why...Dad never went camping....I guess it was just another of his projects.

He and his friend somehow ignited some gasoline on fire and the heat and flames from the torch set the Cadillac hearse on fire....then the gas tank exploded followed by the oxygen tanks for the cutting torch...it was hot!.....um....yes, alcohol was involved.

 My brother, Rick, who was home for Christmas from Ohio Univ., heroically, saved Dad from going back into the flames. 
                                                                                                 Click here for an enlarged picture
                                                                                  

I watched as the flames subsided after thousands of gallons of water  poured down on the only home I had ever known and I wondered what Christmas would be like in the coming weeks and more importantly, where on earth would we celebrate it.

It was a depressing thought.... All the presents that had been under the tree were water or smoke damaged....Hell, the only clothes I had were the ones on my back. My aunt who lived just up the street immediately said we would move in with her. 

So, I got Mom's credit card to Elder Beerman's and got a set of clothes for the night ....I went to my aunt's house and showered and went out later.

When Christmas came, we celebrated as always (I didn't sing the Ave Maria that year) all of us packed in tight in my aunt's small white clapboard home and tried to be as positive as we could be under the conditions.

But you know what.....it was actually one of the best Christmas's that I can remember. ...We had our family.  We had each other....Everything that was lost in the fire could be replaced and we would eventually move back in to our home in the Spring......We learned that Christmas isn't about the gifts...it's about your faith, your friends and your family. 

Merry Christmas you' all

A Kender Family Christmas Tradition

One of the earliest Christmas traditions in the Kender household that I can vaguely remember was the singing of Ave Maria right before we would open presents on Christmas Eve.

This all started in my youngest of days, when our family would visit the various Hungarian Gypsy tribes that populated the West End of Dayton, Ohio. My Dad, would seek out the elders of the camps and attempt to citify them by bringing them text books and hiring them to work in his machine shop on West 4th St. 

I would wander around the camp fires and watch the gypsy women twirl in their dresses with scarves wrapped around their bodies, sometimes showing a little thigh when the dresses would spin way up high. You can imagine me as a little Skeeter boy staring at those white, fleshy legs, albeit unshaven, but at least it was exciting.

Sometimes Dad would invite members of the tribe or clan, to visit our home. He always asked that they come after dark so as not to alarm the neighbors thinking they might be there to kidnap any young children in the neighborhood.

Dad had converted the basement into a combination dance hall/root garden. He and mom would teach Hungarian folk songs and dances and Mom used the root cellar to store all of the needed vegetables to make our weekly Hungarian dishes.

My two older brothers, David and Ricky, I think both named after the Ozzie and Harriet children, didn't participate much in the singing and dancing. Dave, the genius of the family,  was always inventin' things and readin' school books. He would later go on to attend the University of Chicago and later graduate summa cum laude from Miami University. Ricky, on the other hand was more into the social scene. His good looks and taste for expensive clothes, made him quite the catch for the catholic girls in the neighborhood.

I was fortunate to inherit not only the genius head brain characteristics, but the looks and charm as well. So it was only natural that I was always on hand to sing and dance and entertain everyone...especially at Christmas.

Back to that tradition of singing Ave Maria.    It was my Dad's favorite song. And one day, after getting kicked accidentally in the testicles by my friend, "The Jer"...my voice suddenly changed and what had been a normally young boy's voice....had now reached soprano level....but the odd thing was it only happened when I sang....So here I was joining my family and some other Hungarian friends singing Ave Maria and I was hitting high "C". 

Dad was so excited that from then on....every Christmas Eve...I was asked to sing for the family and friends. Although it's been 43 years now since I have spent Christmas with my brothers....I still sing Ave Maria here in Dallas and of course...I can still do it in my soprano voice.....and I thought I would share it with you.....Merry Christmas everyone.

 

A Thanksgiving Memory

One of the wonderful memories I have of Thanksgiving as a young kid growing up in Dayton, Ohio is when my Dad sent me and my two friends Eddie and "The Jer", downtown to buy a live turkey.

 

It was kind of a passed down tradition I guess... My two older brothers, Dave and Ricky,  always got the dreaded chore of picking out the live turkey...and they seemed to hate it....but when it came my time..I couldn't wait.....I looked forward to the day when I would have a chance to ride the bus downtown, go to the Arcade and look at all of the plump birds and decide which one would feed our family on Thanksgiving.

 

The year was 1958 and I had just turned ten years old. It wasn't any big deal back then riding the bus from my house into downtown Dayton. The neat part was it stopped right in front of my house and sometimes the driver would sit there for a few minutes to either take a smoke break or adjust his schedule if he was runnin' ahead of time.

 

I called Eddie and "The Jer" and told them, "Today is the day...we're going turkey huntin".

 

About 10 minutes later, I heard the familiar sound outside my window  of what sounded like a hoot owl......it was "The Jers" way of signalin' me that he was outside and waitin' on me....We both would do it at each other's houses...3 loud Hoo Hoo Hoos...followed by  another phrase...."Oh Skeeter" or "Oh Jerry"..dependin' on who was callin' who.

 

"The Jer" never really liked comin' in my house....although he was always welcomed....my brothers would kinda stare at him and wonder why he was so odd....Ricky would do the fake punch-like thing  and make "The Jer" flinch and then laugh at him.

 

 

We went outside and just then Eddie showed up on his Schwinn bike that had been put together with spare parts...Eddie was limpin' a little when he got off the bike from a slight injury he had the previous day when he got his pant leg caught in the bicycle chain and it flipped him over the handlebars and he scraped his leg.

 

We were in luck and didn't have to wait long for the bus......a lot of people from the neighborhood would walk to our house and stand there and wait on the bus...in the summertime, it was a great place to sell Kool Aid for ten cents....but a lot of the little girls in the neighborhood, particularly a little Asian girl from two blocks away,  were forbidden to walk near "The Kender Boy's House"....in case one of us was out there throwin' water balloons or in some cases...shootin' a moon....but for the most part it was a safe neighborhood.

 

We climbed on what we referred to the electric bus as the "yellow banana" and proceeded to walk to the rear...Back then, we never had a problem about going to the rear of the bus...heck, it was where you could do stuff and not get caught. "The Jer" started to look around for any loose change and Eddie stared out the window lookin' for that little Asian girl.

 

Around Helena Street, a couple of greasers got on board  and walked back our way....one of them, with his duck tail haircut all slicked down, gave us one of the fake punch things and made us jump...and he laughed with his yellow teeth showin and then did it two more times. His buddy proceeded to carve his initials with his switchblade in the back of the bus seat metal brace and we kinda kept our heads down and didn't watch..but I saw "The Jer" lookin and I could tell he was wantin' to do the same thing.

 

We got off the bus, just before we got downtown...and right before the bus crossed the Little Miami River. This river was one of several in the Dayton area that some how, some way, found it's waters eventually pouring into the great Ohio River...we always dreamed about takin a raft down the Little Miami but that day the only thing on our mind was gettin' that turkey.

 

After we got off the bus, we walked to the bridge...it was kind of a routine we had always done....we got off the bus...crossed halfway over the bridge and stood there and spit for about 10 minutes. "The Jer" was real good at spittin' and he also could let his spit hang down for almost a foot and then let it go....sometimes he would even suck it back into his mouth and we would all just about gag watchin' him.

 

We crossed the river and headed down Main Street...It was Saturday morning and as usual  Jack Wymer from WING, a local radio station, was doin his Saturday morning, "Man on the Street Show".....we stood there and watched and made some loud bird noises in hopes that we could disrupt the show...."The Jer" even tried to make fart sounds with his hand in his armpit  and see if the microphone could pick up the sound....the assistant ran us off after a few minutes.

 

A few blocks later, we got to the Arcade....the giant tall glass doors reflected our images as we walked in and we all made faces at ourselves.....The Arcade was host for a number of businesses including the best soft pretzels in the world....Also, it was the first place I ever had a hot pastrami on an onion roll which today still is my favorite sandwich. We looked all around , eatin' free samples and would stop to watch as the butcher would chop off the heads of big glassy eyed fish with one whack of his cleaver.

 

We headed over to the live turkey and chicken area. The place kinda had the birds outside because the poop smell was so horrible...you would look around at which bird you wanted being careful not to let one peck at you or get his spurs in you. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a big ole Tom and I thought.."Yep, that's the one".

 

The shopkeeper grabbed him by his neck and said..."Do you want me to dress him here?".....Well, "The Jer" he just started laughin and almost spittin his one fake false tooth out and me and Eddie stared in bewilderment not knowin what in the heck the guy meant....I mean was he gonna put clothes on this turkey? ...He just stared at us and said "$2.00" and began helping the next customer.

 

I grabbed the turkey by the legs and stuffed him in a gunny sack that I had thought to bring with me. I had never gone with my brothers, but at least I knew I had to carry him somehow. He was a floppin all around and makin' kind of a racket and "The Jer" banged the sack on the cement floor and he kinda quieted down. 

 

After payin' for the turkey, our bus fare (10 cents each) down, and allowing for 30 cents to get back home....I had enough money to buy a bag of popcorn that we all shared and a coke with 3 straws.

 

We went out of the Arcade and got on the east side of Main Street and waited for the next bus that said "Redwood" in the sign on top. The ole Tom started flappin again when we got on the bus and the driver gave us a eagle-eye glare and asked what was in the bag......"The Jer", who was always quick on his feet with a good lie, said...."Oh, it's my accordion, I think I forgot to turn it off".....we headed to the back of the bus and on our way home with "The Jer" lookin for more loose change and Eddie and I starin out the window and wonderin' if the gum underneath the seat had been any of ours from the trip down......not that we would eat it or nuthin'.

 

After we got home...Eddie got on his bike, but first strappin' his pants to his leg and dreadin' the pump up Wampler Drive, one of the steepest hills in the world....."The Jer" came inside and we used the bathroom together tryin to cross our pee streams and at the same time tryin' to sink my Dad's cigarette butts that he had flipped in there. "The Jer headed home after Ricky gave him a fake-punch and made him flinch again and I went in and watched television on our little yellow screen Zenith.

 

A little while later Dad hollered..."Tommy, where's that turkey I sent you to get?".......I had left it outside cuz it was startin' to smell read bad from all of the turkey poop it was makin.

 

I hollered back "He's in the garage"......Dad came in and said..."Why in the world didn't you put him in the refrigerator?..."

I laughed and said "He woulda pecked me to pieces"

Dad said, "Is he alive?"

I said, "Well, he was last time I checked"

Dad shook his head and said something about him needin to go to confession for the cuss words he was thinkin'

Mom came in and tried to console me and said..."Tommy, I think when your Dad sent you for the live turkey, he wanted you to get it dressed afterwards"..."Didn't the butcher ask you that?"........I looked bewildered again and she just smiled......that was Mom. 

I looked at her and said......."Dang it Mom...how come growin' up is so hard."

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

Are you, your brother's keeper?

 Editor's note: My neighbor, Adolph Enthoven,  has since passed away. ( UT Dallas Mourns Accounting Expert ) He died on  Mar. 15 as a result of complications from his fall and UTD will have a memorial service for him on Apr. 24th. I've been asked to say a few words since I was his neighbor. As I wrote last year in the below blog, I guess I wasn't much of a neighbor...but perhaps it's a way for Adolph to continue teaching certain lessons even in the afterlife....

Today I had a message on the recorder from a woman at nearby University of Texas at Dallas (UTD). There was some anxiety in her voice yet she was determined to find some needed help. She said she was the assistant to a professor who happens to be a neighbor of mine....She was concerned about his well being and asked if I could help her.

Adolph, my neighbor, has lived in his home for over 25 years. He does in fact teach at UTD, but I couldn't tell you what subject. He has been our neighbor on two different occasions. but I couldn't tell you his last name  I've known the man for some time...and yet, as I said, I am ashamed to say I knew very little about him. .Previously, we lived two doors away from him  and since then,  we have moved back to the neighborhood. .... now he lives only 7 or 8 doors away.  Adolph is part of the 28 home owner membership in our Home Owner's Association. He is quiet but friendly. He is distant, yet gracious. In all of these years, I have never seen any visitors at his home. He minds his own business and we mind ours.

Anyone who has been around me actually knows that I know too much about their lives. It's not that I'm being nosy, I guess it just goes back to my newspaperin' days...Get the facts.....Yet, I know little of Adolph

But today, I had to enter into his world.

For years, I would see him push a manual lawn mower, the old kind without an engine as he labored to mow his lawn. I remember when we were two doors down I had offered to mow his yard but he was content with his method. A month or two ago, some workers in the neighborhood found Adolph slumped in his yard. They alerted a neighbor and the firemen came and revived him. The firemen also finished mowing his yard.



Donna, the assistant, was concerned because she had not heard from Adolph. for two days. He had gone home sick on Tuesday and said he would call on Wednesday and let her know how he was doing. He never called. Today, Thursday, she tried to call him again like she had done the day before....nothing.....no emails, no phone calls. She became very concerned and yet as we had discussed on the phone, she knows he is a very private person and although she has worked for him for 15 years, she knew which lines she could and couldn't cross. But as I said, she was determined.

Apparently Adolph had our phone number either as an emergency contact, although we barely know him or it could be the assistant had our number since Pattye, my wife,  is president of the HOA. Regardless, I returned the call. She asked if I could go and check on him.

I have to be honest.....I knew what I would find. I knew I would find his body and I would be frightened.I knew I would do whatever had to be done if he was still alive...but I was scared as hell.

I saw two newspapers in the driveway. I saw a mailbox full of mail..I knew what I would find next. I was ashamed I hadn't noticed these things earlier.

I knocked and then banged on the door..I hollered his name. I checked the windows....I noticed the AC wasn't running and yet it was 94 degrees. Adolph is known to be frugal... I prayed that he hadn't suffered a heat stroke by not keeping his house cool.

I knew I had to call the police and get in the house. They came as soon as they could and after several minutes of questions and phone calls...they broke open the door.

Adolph was in there. He was on the floor upstairs where he had lain for 2 days..... .But he was breathing. Paramedics arrived immediately and Adolph was taken to the local hospital..... I'll see him tomorrow.

I felt some shame because I hadn't been a better neighbor. I hadn't noticed the papers in his driveway. I felt blessed that I had been asked to check on him and was able to help in some little way to save his life. Although I had failed miserably at being my brother's keeper, I resolved to do better in the future.

If you've gotten to this point in this story, then I'll ask you to do one thing for me...for your neighbors sake, take a little time and check on them....none of us have such a busy day or a crowded schedule that we can't just call a neighbor, knock on a door and see how they are doing.

Growing up this was just the norm. We knew our neighbors. We took care of each other. We were our brother's keeper. Now our 8-foot fences separate our homes. Our lives have become private. We ask for nothing, we expect nothing. That's not right...Sometimes people need our care and watchful eye.

Thanks for listening.