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- 22. July 2009: Pilgrimage to South Carolina
- 22. July 2009: Julio Day 2009
- 22. July 2009: 3 Rivers=4 Stops
- 26. June 2009: "Spring Training"
- 26. June 2009: "The Not-so Clean Assassination of Robodeer"
- 26. June 2009: July 2008 Holistay Adventure
- 26. June 2009: Mr. Bradley's 'Jerry Maguire-like' Manifesto on the Archaic Study of Archaic Things
Pilgrimage to South Carolina
22. July 2009 by admin.
The pilgrimage story is forthcoming.
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Julio Day 2009
22. July 2009 by admin.
Julio Day write up is forthcoming.
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3 Rivers=4 Stops
22. July 2009 by admin.
June 27, 2009
Quick recap of our Saturday: Tina and I raced to Winston Morgan Park in Edwardsville because of an appearance by Izzy the Grizzly, the mascot of the Gateway Grizzlies. Beneath the smelly, sweat-soaked exterior of Izzy was one Caitlin Diesen. We arrived to see about 25 people moving around the park and not one grizzly bear. As it turned out we missed Izzy the female grizzly by about one-half hour.
It was around noon on a hot and sunny Saturday. What to do? We grabbed the ‘Get Out’ section of the newspaper and chose Florissant’s Hispanic Festival. We crossed the Mississippi River on I-270 and entered Florissant. The festival was in a park next to a church and was comprised of a stage/pavilion and a U-shaped perimeter of vendor tents. One of which was a tent that sold fishbowl Margaritas. We signed up for one of those and 2 straws: A $10.00 value! I chose an Argentinian snack tent and then a Peruvian sandwich. Tina like the Argentinian food. We listened to Latin music, watched dancers, and sipped tequila drinks in the shade on the warm afternoon. It was very nice.
We left Florissant; crossed the Missouri River and headed towards Grafton for the Tugboat Festival. There were many details left out of the description in the ‘Get Out’ section. The biggest being where the festival was and what times the tugboat tours and riverboat tours took place. As we found out later, the Loading Dock was the site of the festival and it ended at 4:00. We made it to the Loading Dock at 3:50 or so to discover that the last tours were over. We would have made it had we not stopped at Grafton’s newest winery, the cleverly named Grafton Winery.
The winery is in the newly constructed condominium complex built where Grafton Elementary School was once located. It overlooks the newly constructed marina on the Illinois River. The winery lacks ambience. It lacks character. It lacks a good selection of beer. It also has its own gift shop. Yuk!
Two things about the winery intrigued us. One is that on two sides the walls are actually glass garage doors complete with garage door openers. All one has to do was to push a button to make the winery an open air bar. The other was that the banquet section was all decorated to host a wedding. We didn’t know if that was the way they always kept it or if there was to be a wedding later. This question was answered when we were driving away because the wedding party was making its way up the street.
Our next stop was less of a stop than it was a pause. We went to the Loading Dock. We missed the tugboat tours and went to the flea market instead. We found no fleas that caught our fancy so we soon left.
We headed down the Great River Road to Alton and made our way to Fast Eddie’s Bon Air. It was–gasp–crowded! We walked a quarter of mile before we found two stools next to ledge bar in the far corner of the bar. We wedged our way in and proceeded to hydrate ourselves. We listened in to the conversations around us and discovered we were sitting on the edge of a birthday party. They were in various states of inebriation and most left when the ‘Scooter Guy’ that had been hired came and drove them home.
Tina got hungry and stood in line 30 minutes to order me a ‘Big Elwood on a Stick’ and some chicken thing for her. After the line wait we waited another hour on our number to be called. When we polished off the food we decided to head home.
At some point our plans changed and we stopped in at Michaels. I had Spaten on my mind and a night out in Highland always means entertainment for Tina since she knows everyone. We quickly discovered that there was an engagement party in progress in which we happened to know just about everyone in attendance. Sitting at the bar gave us access to those that would occasionally step out to get some air. The party was being held for the youngest of the three Plocher girls–Abbey and the youngest of the three McGinley boys–Kevin. Seeing former students always bring us great pleasure. We soon determined it was time to head home and sleep off our decadence. All in all, it was a nice way to spend a summer day and about a $100.
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“Spring Training”
26. June 2009 by admin.
From March 15, 2009
We left early on Thursday after Drew had the flu all day on Tuesday. He was feeling a bit better when we left on Thursday but didn’t eat well until Friday night. We arrived to late to make the Cards/Red Sox game on Thursday. The game was already sold out. We went to the beach–by request of Joel–which isn’t my cup of tea. It was alright, I guess. Sand, water, sun–so predictable. We drove south that evening for a rendevous with a sports bar but we struck out and ended up a crowded, dirty, pizza joint. Just after the pizza arrived, Joel announced he was feeling nauseous. We bolted and got back to the motel where we watched a 6 OT basketball game.
On Friday morning I let the boys sleep since I was afraid they were both sick. When I finally stirred them up we drove south to watch the Cardinals at the Orioles spring training stadium in Ft. Lauderdale. It was old, cheap, and popular with Florida’s octagenerians. I would guess that a number of fans over the years have died in their seats. The seats had a ton of leg room–in fact, enough for the elderly to have enough space to park their walkers in front of them and still enough room for a vendor pass by without disturbing the fans. The three of us loved the leg room.
It was a ’split-squad’ game with only a few regulars from each team. We watched McClellan pitch. Pujols, Schumaker, Greene, and Rasmus all played. The two teams were going to play later that evening back in Jupiter. We were close to the action and enjoyed watching until the substitutions were made in the late evenings. The guys that came in had ridiculously high numbers on their uniforms and no names on their backs. We left and drove south. (The Cards did win.)
We went to South Beach in Miami in which we saw a guy pull his Cadillac off the road and relieve himself right along the causeway from mainland Florida to South Beach. We walked forever and saw only a few of the bare breasts that helps make South Beach famous. We left a few hours later with the intention of finding the Illini v. Michigan game. However, we soon learned that the Big Ten Network is not easy to find in south Florida.
After a brief stop at a casino, I had the directions to a nearby commerical area that might have a sports bar. As we ambled from establishment to establishment in an old town central business district we found the International Bar and Grill. You pony-tailed Mediterranean guy stood out front and invited us in. When he answered “yes” to my question about DirecTV we went in. We were the only customers. There was one foreign-looking guy behind the bar. Our pony-tailed recruiter found the game on the biggest TV they had and also gave us the game audio. Wouldn’t this bother the other customers? No. There were no other customers. The guy behind the bar took and prepared our order and we watched basketball. Joel and I enjoyed ourselves enough that Drew–the only one not ablel to legally drive the rental car–became the driver the rest of the night. The International Bar and Grill was operated by a French man who had been in the states for 17 years. He took great care of us and we were his only customers during the game. It was nice to see the Illini win.
After the game we traveled south to the casino because it had greyhound racing. I gave the boys gambling money. Drew blew his and I blew mine on the dogs. Joel blew his on the suds. I crashed in the back of the car and Joel napped too. Drew got us back safely.
Needless to say the boys were difficult to wake the next morning. We arrived at Roger Dean Stadium two hours prior to game time. We walked around and saw that the Cards/Marlins complex is huge, but we didn’t have access to it. At 11:30 they opened the gates. We watched the Braves take batting price for over an hour. We didn’t see a Cardinal until 15 min before game time. We were disappointed. The Cards were winning when they made the late inning substitutions. I made an effort to get on TV and received phone verification from my brother. I had to walk behind the Frank Cusamano-Rob Raines interview to become a TV celeb.
The stadium was hot and sunny and was packed. Not nearly the older clientele we saw in Ft. Lauderdale. It was also a lot more expensive.
After the game we went back to the motel to watch the Illini. They made us feel sick. I couldn’t even watch the whole thing. We went out to eat at Duffy’s (second trip) and returned for early night. The flight out the next morning came quickly. We went from West Palm Beach to Atlanta to Detroit to St. Louis to Highland by car. The boys had the longer day as they had to make on to central Illinois after a brief stopover in Highland.
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“The Not-so Clean Assassination of Robodeer”
26. June 2009 by admin.
From January 20, 2009
The last Sunday of the last season of deer hunting arrived and if it weren’t for Free Frank, I wouldn’t have fired a shot. Sure, I had launched a few arching bombs during the first season and even tried to dial up a miracle shot on the Saturday of the third season, but none of those were enough to trigger an elevated pulse rate. I had hunted for nearly nine days (and three afternoons of bow hunting) and nothing had got within shouting distance of me. Just as I had nearly given up, my luck and the luck of the group changed. The “Curse of Free Frank” had been broken and the deer would be falling like fall leaves that afternoon.
After an uneventful morning in which I hunted the north edge of the Griggsville property, we decided at lunch to head to Perry. The Perry property is about 80 acres with a real deep draw slicing through the middle of it. The draw, of course, is paralleled by timber. I was assigned to be the “dog” which meant I would be walking. We had ran it the day before and I walked that day too. In fact, I was about the only one that didn’t get a decent shot at a deer. It was a shootout at the Perry corral and I wasn’t a participant. That was going to change on this Sunday.
Harv took the south side and I took the north. The north side of the timber has an additional finger that reaches into the bigger draw. I walked that first and cut off the last 50 yards are because if there were any deer in there they must have been deaf. I cut through the finger and evened up with Harv on the opposite side of the timber. I could see his blaze orange through the leaf-less trees about every 10th step. The nearest shooter was my nephew Corey. He was up on the ridge to my right about 200 yards. Suddenly, the silence was pierced by Corey’s hoarse shout of my name. I turned but saw nothing and then, “Boom!,” the sound of a shotgun coming from Corey’s direction. Then I saw it. It was a huge, but antler-less, deer running at full speed straight from the finger I had walked earlier and towards the timber. How dumb was this deer? He must have been deaf and blind to run towards a “dog” and a shooter.
The big deer was running in front of me about 25-30 yards at full speed. I fired once just as the deer got to the timber. I quickly chucked the empty shotgun shell and fired another into the timber towards the deer. He still had the afterburners on when I fired my final shot. He then seemed to fly through the air over the creek bed. He had just crossed the draw with a gargantuan jump. When he landed, he crashed to the ground. “Had I hit him?,” I wondered. “No, he didn’t even seem to slow down after the fall.” Doggone it! I had missed a great opportunity.
He kept running south and that would put him in Harv’s territory. “Wow,” this deer was really messed up. If he turned east and followed the draw out he would have cover and would easily make it off the property all together. He decided to go towards the side with Harv dogging and BG shooting so I screamed “Harv!” across the woods. No sound came back to me, just silence.
Corey and I consoled each other about the missed opportunity. He was certain he had missed and I had no confidence in my shots either. I was still sold on the idea that the deer’s fall was a result of the jump, not my shot. Just as we were preparing ourselves for the ridicule we would earn from our fellow hunting party, three more shots rang out. “Was it the same deer?,” I mumbled to Corey.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I quickly answered the call from my brother Donny. He answered my question. It was the same deer and BG had just killed it. My brother drove over and Corey and I jumped on to his tailgate and we rode around to check out the kill. We soon learned that it was a shed buck–it had shed it’s antlers–and that it had a 12-gauge hole in it on the side I was shooting at. It also had one leg that been shot off right at the knee. That was the condition it was in when BG finished it off. To make the kill even more enjoyable BG almost had it completely field-dressed when we arrived. I didn’t even have to bloody my hands, yet.
While we were all basking in the joy of a freshly downed deer, a friendly man who many of us has visited with over the years was driving across the field to talk to us. He has some property and livestock nearby and he is also curious about the successes and failures of hunting excursions in the Perry area. He proposed that we run his property before it got dark. We were more than happy to oblige.
BG, Harv, and Alec were in the lead vehicle on the way to the next hunt and Corey and I followed behind in my truck. Donny and Rambo headed back to the Deer Depo to hang the fresh kill. When Corey and I began to pull into the lane on the property we were about to hunt, Alec was halfway out of BG’s truck. Like a policeman directing traffic he threw up his right hand with the open palm towards us. It was clear he wanted us to stop. The then moved that right hand back to the trigger of his now aimed gun. He fired once, twice, and then three times. He quickly reloaded and let another one fly. The deer in the pasture about 120 yards away was dead. Alec, the slayer of Free Frank, had just taken a deer on the last day of the season.
After Alec and Harv had gutted the shed buck, we loaded into BG’s truck. We then plotted out a plan to walk the property. BG and Alec would walk the timber. Harv would take the high ridge just out of the timber and Corey and I would set up on the hills that formed the bluffs over the creek bed. Our locations were very much in the timber.
I hadn’t taken my third step in the timber to find my spot when I saw that familiar white flag (whitetail flag) flying about 40 yards away from me. The deer quickly turned and started heading towards Corey. I looked over to see if I could see him. Corey was sitting calmly on a tree limb like he didn’t have a care in the world. He clearly didn’t see the deer so I put my coaching whistle in my mouth and blew. The deer stopped. As he was trying to ascertain where the noise came from, I blew again. I had Corey’s attention. He was on the lookout for the deer. It looked like the deer was going to land in Corey’s lap when he abruptly turned away from him. I blew again and then I lost sight of both Corey and the deer.
I assumed it was another opportunity missed when the blast of Corey’s shotgun echoed through the timber. Another shot followed almost a minute later, then another. I probably heard seven more shots over the next ten minutes. Then, my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was Corey. “Doug, I have a deer down, could you bring the truck to help me get her out?,” he asked.
“Sure. Give me a few minutes,” I suggested. He then started talking like he was in a conversation other than the one I was having with him. I quickly deduced that somewhere else was near him. After some questioning I learned that he found his way onto someone else’s property in pursuit of the deer. The proprietor of the property didn’t sound overly pleased by the turn of events. Corey put him on the phone and I gathered the driving instructions I would need to execute the deer pickup on the man’s property.
I waited several minutes before leaving my post. I would hate for BG or Alec to run a deer my way and then not have me there to do my job. After I saw Alec walking through the thick brush I decided it was time for me to leave. I phone BG and told him about the situation. He thought it may be best for him and others to leave as to not rile the adjacent property owner up any more. I agreed.
I got in my truck and drove up to the top of the next hill and picked up Harv. The next stop was at the bottom of the hill again to pick up BG and Alec. I took them to BG’s truck at the top of the hill and they were on their way to their next hunting adventure. I then drove back down the hill to the gated lane which I would have to drive up to find Corey and his deer. The gate was open and I met Corey and Mr. Mountain (really his name) at the bottom of the steep hill. I introduced myself and apologized for the inconvenience. I also thanked him for his patience and understanding in this situation. He told me where the deer was “sitting” and how I could get back there and then he drove up the steep hill to his hunting lodge. Corey hopped in the truck and told me had received the guy’s business card and a quick tour of the lodge. Mr. Mountain, it seems, rents it out to hunters for $5,000 a shotgun (deer) season.
Corey and I followed the path to the creek. It was frozen over and I wasn’t about to drive across it as Mr. Mountain had suggested. We parked and skated across the ice. In a small food plot pasture of oats I could see the deer’s ears propped up at the same height as the oats. She was sitting down and on alert. We decided to wait things out and let the blood run out of her some more. After nearly 15 minutes Corey attempted to slip around the deer so he could approach her from the backside. The backside of the food plot was hilly timber. In front of her was a creek and a nearly impossible incline with a hunting lodge on top.
As Corey was circling around to the back of the deer she jumped up again. She was a mess. The area below her abdomen showed a glob of her insides hanging out and nearly dragging on the ground. I quickly fired three shots. I was pretty confident I had hit her and yet she headed right for the hilly timber. She scrambled a few feet up and crawled into some underbrush. I could see her with my binoculars but neither of us could see her without them. We waited some more.
We waited until darkness started to make it’s way to the creek bed. We were both fearing the endless ridicule we would take from Rambo, Donny, and BG if we somehow screwed this up. But, at the same time, we were enjoying a great time. We talked, we laughed, and we taunted the deer we were now calling “Robodeer.”
With darkness almost on us I did the circling this time. Corey could no longer see the deer with binoculars but he poised himself for a shot in her direction if she could find the strength to stand. I climbed the hill and nearly reached the top before I circled and started straight down to the brushy area I anticipated that she would be in. It was thick and dangerous territory for a carrying a shotgun, but I had it nonetheless. As I got close to where I thought she would be I yelled to Corey to see if I was on the right path to reach her. He say he couldn’t tell. It was too dark.
Just as I reached the thickest brush, something to my left started to move. It was her. I could only see her head so I shouted to Corey to stay back and I fired two shots. “Robodeer” was done. In the darkness we drug her out and started the sloppy process of gutting a deer with six slug holes in her. Corey did an admirable job on the field dressing and we took turns dragging her back across the oats, the frozen creek, and finally to the truck. We lifted her up and into the back. We had almost forgot to apply the leg tag in our hurry to get off Mr. Mountain’s property. Just as he was driving up to ask me to lock his gate, Corey remembered that the tag had to be applied. As he was notching her leg he somehow jabbed the side of his hand with his knife. As Robodeer shed her remaining blood in the back of my truck, my nephew Corey shed some of his on the inside. We were were exhausted but fully realized we were about to get ten months to rest up for our next hunting adventure.
“The Saga of Free Frank”
The results of the final hunt of the 2008-09 season will cause the reader to have to remember the story of the first season in November. During that hunt, I took a great deal of abuse for not shooting a pig. During the second season I learned that the hog is a Griggsville-Perry grade school legend. The youngsters have even named it “Free Frank.” After the final gun season, Free Frank’s legendary flight for freedom ended in a similar manner to that of Bonnie and Clyde. Here’s the story:
It was late Saturday morning and BG, Donny, Harv, Alec, and I mapped out a plan to “run” deer out of a piece of land called the “Two-tree patch.” The Two-Tree Patch is pretty much as described by its name. It was on the same piece of real-estate that I had seen Free Frank back in November. Alec, Harv’s thirteen year-old boy, wrote about my misadventures in his English class at Griggsville-Perry Jr. High and he learned of multiple sightings of the nearly famous hog. His teacher reported that the barrow had earned the nickname, “Free Frank.” I was determined to return to the same spot I always guard during a deer run at the Two-tree patch. I grabbed Alec and we jumped in my truck and took a path to the southeast corner of the property. The the route took us across acres of corn stubble. No sooner had we peaked the first ridge and I thought I saw something out in the field. Was it a pig? I grabbed the binoculars and hadn’t got them up to my eyes when Alec barked “It’s Free Frank, let’s go!”
I tromped the accelerator to the floor and headed right for the frightened pig. At about a hundred yards away Alec could wait no more.
“This is good,” he yelled. I stopped the truck and was not completely surprised that Alec’s gun was already loaded. He threw the door open and with the window down used the door as a shooting brace as he unloaded his gun in the direction of Free Frank. I can’t say how many times he shot but probably at least six. None of the shots seemed to have much effect on Free Frank. There was one that sounded different than the others. I figured it was a direct hit on ol’ Frank. I decided to toss one slug at Frank since my gun slings a larger wad of lead. I was pretty confident that it hit but based on Free Frank’s reaction to the shot, I wasn’t overly sure.
Frank turned and went back to the tiny timber. We could have easily given chase but I thought it was best for Frank to go lay down. I assumed he had a slug or two in him. I phone the guy the rest of the group and explained the situation.
“Be on the lookout for Frank,” I told them.
Alec and I returned to our shooting positions and waited things out while the walkers did their thing. It was all pretty quiet until about 15 minutes had passed by. The silence was butchered by several pistol shots. After the shots, the silence returned. I sent a text of inquiry to Donny on the opposite high ground and he replied “No idea.”
I waited a bit before returning to the truck and then picking up Alec. We decided to roll along the timber line and see if we saw anything. It wasn’t long before Alec shouted, “Stop!”
Alec had seen the nearly 250 pound hog lying in the grass surrounded by blood. BG had ran across the hobbled Frank and officially ended his quest for freedom. It was time for this pig to go to market.
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July 2008 Holistay Adventure
26. June 2009 by admin.
From July 2008 in 12 chapters. Pull up a chair.
CHAPTER ONE
Bradley Holistay
Category: Travel and Places
July, the month that neither Tina nor I work, provides the opportunity for our first “holistay” (I’m rejecting ’staycation’ and adopting Stephen Colbert’s version of vacationing no where.)
Our adventure began in the afternoon of July 3rd in the most northern community of the Highland school district. Tina and I started the day by touring a couple of log cabins for sale in the New Douglas area. To talk about the homes we had viewed we stopped at the ‘Dawg House’ in downtown New Douglas. Shirley was behind the bar and kindly filled our order. Sitting down at a rear table afforded us the opportunity to investigate the setting. The Dawg House is a rectangular old building with a beautiful metal ceiling and a great deal of space. There were a couple of customers inside enjoying cold beverages, watching television and an illegal smoke.
It was at the Dawg House that we hatched our holistay plan. We would visit every establishment in the school district that served adult beverages in open containers. The list is possibly incomplete because we keep adding to it. We suspect that the number is over 30 and it is our goal to visit each within the month of July. (The list can be viewed in the next blog.)
We soon departed the Dawg House and proceeded to ‘Mossie’s’ just a few blocks to the west. I’m not sure if Mossie’s has a slogan but I would offer these: “Have a beer and a breakfast at Mossie’s,” or “The Mall of New Douglas.” Mossie’s is a slice of Americana that everyone should visit. It is a restaurant and starts serving breakfast at 7:00 A.M. It is also a grocery store. Need cereal? Salad dressing? Toothpaste? They all can be found at Mossie’s. Mossie, the owner, also has many knick-knacks for sale but I was shot down in my attempt to by a New Douglas postcard by the bartender, cook, and grocer: Melissa. Melissa, a former cross country runner that I coached, takes care of the lunch and dinner crowd and she was tending to a couple of regulars when Tina and I walked in. In the front near the knick-knack section was a family tree mural interlaced with photographs that comprise what must be the closet thing to a shrine that New Douglas has. Tina and I were able to identify several of the people in the pictures.
We found the place to be incredibly clean and the many tables were all ready prepared for a dinner crowd that hopefully would be showing up later. We wished it wasn’t the middle of the afternoon because we really would have liked to eat there too but it was off to Alhambra for us.
Lutz’s Tavern has been in Alhambra forever, I understand. Which came first the town or the tavern? We walked in late on a Thursday afternoon and the entire clientele, like the bartender, was male. Each client was also enjoying a cigarette. Tina and I didn’t enjoy the smoke quite so much. The bartender offered us our own ashtray but we passed. Lutz’s is small. Very small. The pool table is a curiosity. The felt isn’t green. It’s a felt of Busch Stadium. The bar top also has some character. It involves photographs, baseball cards, etc. that provides the customer a glimpse into the historic bar.
Our next stop was at the KY Galaxy a few blocks east of Lutz’s. I’m not sure what the KY stands for but that’s what was on the sign. It used to be called the Galaxy and was noted for some pretty good food. It was 4:52 on my watch. The sign on the flashing marquee said it opened at 5:00 but I parked and went to the door where the sign said it opened at 4:30. We were in luck! I tugged on the door and it was still locked. Then I saw the handwritten sign, “Closed July 3 and 4.”
Our next stop would be Two Tall’s in Granfork. Also closed. Apparently closed two or three years ago due to the owner’s failure to pay back taxes. Who knew? By the way, the building is for sale if anyone would like to pay the state of Illinois some tax money.
We headed a half a block east to the Grantfork Bowl. We pushed the saloon doors open to find a pretty good crowd getting warmed up for the holiday weekend. No one was bowling but the bowl had the smell of alley oil and cigarettes. The place has changed little since I first sailed there on the S.S. Marsha with Admiral Steve. Sailed there? That’s right! We put the Marsha in at Silver Lake and voyaged across the lake, under the interstate, up Silver Creek and to the Grantfork Bridge where we disembarked. From there it is a short hike to the Bowl.
The Bowl had some acquaintances in it so I wasn’t really able to assess my surroundings. We enjoyed a nice visit and that is what probably most notable about the Bowl. It is where friends meet and have a good time.
Our next move was a short trip to Diamond Mineral Springs. There we ran into Natalie. She’s a sweetheart that welcomes many to the “Hill” which is a historic icon for family dining in the region. It also was a terrific refuge from a summer thunderstorm that hit just as we arrived. The setting was rustic and homey, the selections numerous and the hospitality genuine. It caused us to wonder why we hadn’t made more trips to Diamond Mineral Springs over the years.
We headed south to hit the Poplar Junction Bowling Alley in Highland as our last stop of the evening. We found it to be quite closed. The construction on the roundabout took us west down Cypress Street. We decided to make the subterranean pub our final destination for the evening. It is called The Cellar.
Walking into the Cellar made me feel a bit like Obi Won Knobi walking into the cantina. There was, however, no music playing at the time. There was also no daylight. The well-lubricated patrons checked the rain by opening the door. I was less than enamored by the young father that came in from the rain carrying his 4 or 5 year-old daughter to the bar. He was the only loser in the place, I’m afraid. One of my former students even counseled me that I was in a ‘hell hole’ and that she was only there to visit a friend working there.
The friend, Madonna, was our bartender and treated us to even longer stay than we anticipated by sending us a freeby. She was happy to see us and suggested that this was only a night job to supplement her real job. Given the smoke and atmosphere it must pay a lot.
Until next time.
CHAPTER TWO
July Holistay List
NEW DOUGLAS
1. Dawg Haus
2. Mossie’s
ALHAMBRA
3. Lutz’s
4. Maedge’s Bar & Grill
GRANTFORK
5. Grantfork Bowl
6. Diamond Mineral Springs
PIERRON
7. Smokehouse
8. Blue Springs Cafe
9. Highland Country Club
HIGHLAND
10. House of Plenty
11. Poplar Junction Bowling Alley
12. Hi-Top Bowling Alley
13. Pizza Hut
14. Mazzio’s Italian Eatery
15. Farmer’s Restaurant
16. Phyllis’s Railshake Inn
17. Jody’s Sport Stop
18. P.J.’s Lounge
19. Broadway
20. Cypress Restaurant and Lounge
21. The Cellar
22. Yogi’s
23. Marx Brothers
24. Ed and Millie’s
25. Ethel’s
26. Kickin’ Wings
27. E.L. Flanagan’s
28. China Restaurant
29. DiMaggio’s
30. Fiesta Brava
31. Michaels
32. Freddy’s
33. VFW
34. KofC Hall
CHAPTER THREE
For whatever reason Tina twisted my arm to begin our next holistay adventure on Saturday afternoon at about 3:00pm. Her rationale was to hit some of the more popular nightspots during the day when crowds might be smaller. It was also a Saturday and everyone in the area knows that means race night so we thought we might be able to visit some of the more popular race crowd hang-outs while the races were in action.
Our first stop (#7) was E.L. Flanagan’s. It might be the most popular bar and grill in Highland these days. In its previous life it was called Kick’s and it was almost a well-kept secret. Now, it targets a much younger crowd with the lure of both live music and sand volleyball.
E.L. Flanagan’s seems to be torn between it’s desire to be both Irish and sporty. The color green jumps out at you as enter and look around. I kept waiting for the Lucky Charm’s elf to jump out from behind a mushroom and declare that the fare was “magically delicious.” I would more likely buy into the sports theme since the owner’s of Flanagan’s have a name that sounds quite German to me. Highland is clearly losing its Swiss/German heritage and I propose an establishment called G. B. Heimerdinger’s. The bands would all be required to have at least one accordion. (If you’re gonna play in Highland, ya gotta have an accordion in the band.) As far as the beach volleyball goes it would be replaced by bobsledding.
Melissa, the bartender and a former student, caused me to break out of the normal scheme and order draught for a change. Tina commented that the one thing to remember about Flanagan’s is that they keep their drinks nearly ice cold. There you have it.
From there we went to the other establishment in town that stresses the sports theme: Jody’s Sport Stop (#8). Jody’s welcomes its customers with a bucket of sand at the door for cigarette butts. It is no cigar store Indian, but it is charming. It might actually give prospective customers an idea of whether or not people are smoking on the inside. A bucket outside=no smoking.
Jody’s is often busy with horseshoes or washers behind the building for those wanting an active sport experience. For those on the inside the sport’s environment is centered round the TV. There are six TV’s in Jody’s. Six! Curiously, the Cards-Cubs game that we had been watching at E.L. Flanagan’s was not on any of the six televisions at Jody’s. This frustration greatly smeared my opinion of Jody’s SPORT Stop.
Jody and Casey, a former student, already had cleaned up after the lunch crowd and had the tables set for the pre-race fans. I’ve stopped in over the years a few times for lunch but haven’t for quite awhile because I hated smelling like smoke when I returned to work. Now that they have a bucket outside the door again, it is safe to return—as long as it isn’t during a Cards-Cubs game.
Tina and I took an afternoon pause so I could get some work done and she could watch the Cardinal game. She cheered excitedly when Rick Ankiel got a walk-off hit to win the game for the Birds. I hadn’t even realized it due to all of the work I was doing.
Holistays, like all holidays, are times that should be spent with friends and family. (Remind me next time to invite friends. They might actually share the cost.) We reconvened at the Smokehouse with our only legal (and broke) children: Megan and Joel. They encountered a former classmate of theirs in Danielle who was tending bar.
The Smokehouse (#9), which is nestled between the Railroad tracks and Baumann Road in scenic downtown Pierron, is the most recent reincarnation of the bar made famous by Gretchen Wilson. When I moved to Pierron in 1990 the bar/restaurant had a reputation as a tavern with some terrific food but it changed ownership and eventually became the Big O’s. The ‘Big O’ himself hired Gretchen to work there if I have the story right. It was a fairly rough environment. That is why I went across the highway to another establishment that had 10 names (before it burned to the ground). That is where I met Gretchen Wilson. I talked with her a few times and one time actually asked her out. She said she didn’t know me well enough and I should keep coming back so she could get to know me better (the oldest ‘get more tips’ trick in the book). I never saw her again until she was in the local newspaper. I didn’t know she could sing, I liked the way she looked in her sweater.
Gretchen Wilson took Ed Bradley (of 60 Minutes) to the bar to show him where she used to work. I took Joel Bradley to the bar and asked him why he wasn’t at work. It isn’t the same, is it?
The first thing one notices about the Smokehouse is there is no sign that says “Smokehouse.” I had to ask Danielle the name of the place. There is a sign that says something like, “C’mon in. We only look expensive.” I appreciate that kind of sarcasm and a place that doesn’t take itself too seriously.
Once inside I found the place to be much cleaner and brighter than I remember it from the 1990s. The windows were letting in light and we could easily see through the cigarette smoke that a group of golfers were at the bar, a few of which we recognized. The dartboards looked better than a typical bar might have and Joel said that the Smokehouse hosts a dart-throwing league. Back in the day, I remember that horseshoe throwing was a big deal too but I didn’t go out and look at the “courtyard” to see if the horseshoe pits were still in place. The flat area between the building and RR tracks is surrounded by a six-foot high fence, which leads one to believe that the Smokehouse looks like an “expensive” place.
From the Smokehouse we would travel to the place with the best chili in town: Ed and Millie’s Tavern. Joel and Megan were the first to reach the locked door and see the sign: “Closed for Vacation through July 13th”, or something like that. It isn’t chili season anyway. We then called an audible and went to P.J.’s 19th Hole Lounge (#10).
P.J.’s has a golf motif and might be about as close to a golf museum as one might find in these parts. I think they have a pretty ol’ bar that one could see himself getting comfortable in. Strangely, though, they had no customers. The bartender wasn’t the chatty type but she also didn’t seem like the type that would run people off. A couple came in from the smoking lounge outside but only one was a customer, the other was another bartender. So, when we left P.J.’s on a Saturday night at about 7:30 there were two boyfriends and two female bartenders. Hmmm. I would say that P.J.’s makes personal service a real priority. I guess it is important to keep in mind that if a place doesn’t serve food (food shouldn’t drink anyway) then the clientele that will show up will be show up late and young.
Wanting to avoid the dinner hour customers we headed to another non-cooking establishment: Ethel’s (#11). Ethel’s is amazing. The new manager, Susie, has the place hopping these days. At one table next to us was Trent and a bunch of his buddies from his college days who were drinking from Ethel’s famous buckets and at the table behind us was a group who had just left their 40th class reunion. That’s the great thing about Ethel’s: the young and old can gather under the same roof and enjoy the same experience.
I remember Ethel’s as a place with uncomfortable seating and poor lighting. Those issues have been fixed. Customers can sit inside and watch the foot and auto traffic passing by beyond the in-bar palm tree that sits next to the window. Very cool.
As we enjoyed the atmosphere Susie came by with a bottle of Apple Pie, liquid apple pie, that is. She poured four shots of the stuff and we all enjoyed. Joel, not an adventurous eater, asked, “Is that what real apple pie tastes like?” The answer is yes. The stuff tastes like real apple pie and I realized that all of my efforts to get my oldest son to try new foods, etc. was flawed and the solution might be alcohol. Just think, if there was a type of alcohol that tasted like every kind of food? Then, finicky drunks like Joel could drink the menu before they ordered off of it. “Should I order the mushroom sauce baked pork chops? Do you have it in shot form? Great! Bottom’s up! Yuk! Could I try the chicken Cordon-Bleau, please?
I announced to the old guy (Mark) at the barely legal table near us that we were all headed to Phyllis’s Railshake Inn (#12) and he commented that we might be big enough to go in there but he was too small. That is the reputation that the Railshake has. Bikers, roughnecks, brawlers, and axe murderers must have all had the same night off we soon discovered. The Railshake was wild all right. They were getting ready to bust out the karaoke machine. The group that had just left Saturday night bingo was thirsty and looking for T-R-O-U-B-L-E as sang by Elvis, which is on page 73 of the karaoke book.
The Railshake had the bingo crowd, a few young people at the bar and Wayne and J.R. from the American Legion baseball tournament. I could have done without the smoking, of course, but we found the place to be clean and quite safe. Joel and I found the men’s room somewhat interesting. It is a three-holer but has room for only one person and a lock on the door. Does one lock the door and then play a game of “musical urinals” (using the karaoke music) to determine which one to use?
I posed the question, “How many people ever leave the Railshake and go right to Michael’s?” We thought we might be the first (until we saw Wayne W. at the bar) to ever make that trip and headed off to Michael’s (#13). Scott, a former student who had no idea who I was, became the first bartender on the holistay list to wear a uniform. The white shirt and black tie suggested that we might be seeing a little different clientele than we had seen at our earlier haunts. A glance around the place certainly solidified that belief.
Michael’s is a landmark and Tina and I are always treated magnificently when we are there. Danny was on his way home when we arrived and he stopped to chat with us and then Gaye helped our cause by supplying us with a couple of drinks when we changed venues later in the evening. Brad, the owner of Diamond Mineral Springs (#5), has also been very generous to Tina and the girls. Sue, the lone she-Michael (and non-restaurateur) grew up with Tina and they are good friends to this day.
Michael’s has a cozy feel and what I think is the best bar TV in the city. (I hope they get the Big Ten Channel soon, however.) While there we ran into Mike, the father of Highland’s newest celebrity baseball player. He is anxiously anticipating his trip to Arizona to watch young Jake pitch, but it doesn’t sound like Jake will get to throw much in July. He threw too many innings this spring and the Brewers are hoping to give his arm some rest.
It was late and our stomachs were all begging for attention when we walked about 100 feet to another’s Michael’s barroom: Freddy’s (#14). Freddy’s, an outdoor bar and grill, is a great idea, in theory. Geography can be cruel. Wind, heat, rain, cold, and bugs sort of hamper the idea. So, put in screens, then a roof, windows, a heater, you get the idea. I spent many Friday evenings there a couple of summers ago. It was the last thing they added to the equation that spoiled the experience for me: Pizza. Nothing against pizza except it heats the place up in the summertime. Pizza is still found inside but Sam, the guy who dished it out, has moved downtown again.
We entered Freddy’s hungry and Chuck was behind the bar. Chuck was the hero of one of my favorite moments in Highland High School basketball history. Chuck knocked down a perimeter shot to knock off Edwardsville at Lucco Gymansium back in 1989.
We took a corner seat an ordered up a couple of pizzas. Trent and his college friends showed up from Ethel’s. It was almost cool outside so the pizza ovens were providing a service. It also seemed more relaxed without Sam the pizza man lording over the place.
Gaye sent over a couple of drinks for the young’uns, which was great because I was about broke. We took down those two pizzas and two of us knew we had had enough. Tina and I headed home. There are only twenty grogshops to go.
CHAPTER FOUR
Tuesday, July 8th seemed like a wonderful day to visit some of those grogshops. As the lunch hour approached Tina suggested China Restaurant (#15). We headed to the square and entered at about noon. There were only two other booths that had customers, which is a shame because the place has good food. Nenda—which is what her name sounded like—was our waitress. She recommended the 青岛啤酒厂 (Tsingtao for those that can’t read simplified Chinese). Tsingtao is pronounced ‘ching-dow,’ which is the pronunciation of the city where the brewery was established by . . . GERMANS! Isn’t that appropriate for Highland? Tsingtao is a capitalist beer in a communist country and the Qingdao locals were all quite upset when it was the subject of a corporate takeover by an American brewery called . . . Anheuser Busch.
Nenda brought me Szechuan chicken was quite tasty but also somewhat spicy and this required me to order another Tsingtao. Of course I had to stop after two because of the Chinese government’s strict two-beverage policy. The government found that if they allowed couples to share more than two drinks the population went way up. Tina and I certainly didn’t need to become victims of this circumstance. We agreed to respect these Chinese traditions and not get caught up in the spirit of the holistay.
After a trip to Edwardsville we were planning on stopping at Marx Brothers (#16). Along the way I received a call (typically I don’t answer my phone when I’m away on holistay) from Jeff, a friend of ours. He had just been notified of a promotion and had that new salary increase burning a hole in his pocket. Never one to turn down a friend who can actually afford to buy a round, I enthusiastically invited him to join Tina, me, and the two octogenarians at the bar having a beverage on a Tuesday evening. It was about 5:30 and the place was pretty much empty. Jeff looked hungry so I bought him an apple pie, which I learned (who knew?) has Everclear in it. It wasn’t as good as the free apple pie at Ethel’s but it quenched the appetite.
We were at the downstairs bar on the corner of Main and Laurel. My favorite bar in Marx Brothers is the upstairs bar. They also have a pretty good kitchen. Two of my former students cook there, I believe. Chip was the one coming in to get the grill going on this night. The upstairs is difficult to get to but well worth the trip. There is also an upstairs open-air balcony, which provides a great view of the square and fountain.
The retirees at the bar were watching the evening news on TV. I’m not sure that makes Marx Brothers a ‘news’ bar but given the number of baby boomers that are at or near retirement this might be a marketable idea. Perhaps the idea popped into my head when another guy showed up and drank three Busch NA’s (non-alcoholici) during the 5:30 news. Rather than NASCAR memorabilia on the wall a news bar could have signed 8”X10” glossies of Huntley, Brinkley, Murrow, and Cronkite, etc. To make it seem more like a bar maybe some swimsuit shots of Connie Chung, Katie Couric, and Babara Walters in a 1970s Farrah Fawcett pose. The nightly drink specials, of course, would need to be written in large, readable fonts.
The three of us exited the business on the northwest corner of the square and headed to the southeast corner of the square. The destination was Yogi’s (#17). The trip from one corner of the square to the other can be grueling. There are a few physical barriers that must be navigated like the fountain and bandstand obviously. There also can be human barriers like the Peanut Butter and Jam Festival (though only on Fridays) or the teenaged square squirrels who perch on the benches and bide their time as they await their 15 minutes of fame in the News Leader Police Blotter. On this evening there were no human logjams, which was great because we are all aware of what can happen one when one is crossing the massive square and Mother Nature begins to call. There are no longer any restrooms located on the square! How discomforting this can be! Fortunately the city council was able to negotiate a deal with the Chamber of Commerce to have public bathrooms placed just a few hundred feet from the northern edge of the square. Imagine having to relieve oneself while in the middle of the square and then discovering that the nearest bathrooms are located so far away. I greatly respect those that invested some much time and monies to solve this local crisis.
Yogi’s is a bar and grill that is peddling $1.00 burgers as an anniversary special. I’m not sure what anniversary they are celebrating. It seems like it opened and then closed and then reopened in the past 7 or 8 years. I can’t remember. I do remember that it was once an Imo’s. When it was an Imo’s it was a Friday lunch stop for a group of ‘Dudes’ who worked at 1600 Lindenthal. I was one of one those in the group. And, so was Jeff. Today’s group included the two of us, Tina, and Megan (freeloader) again.
We began with a traditional toast to the number that the establishment represents on our holistay (#17). Megan pointed out that this is not a tradition because we didn’t do it on Saturday night. Tina noted that it became a tradition earlier in the day at the China Restaurant (#15) and that we could make up whatever traditions we wanted since this is our holistay.
We didn’t order any food (though I’m sure my former student Zach is a good cook) and we continued the tradition that started earlier on Highland Square Day: ordering a second drink. I would regret this decision later.
Jeff updated us on the non-staycation his wife and youngest daughter are experiencing half-a-world away. They will be home on the 13th of July. Sometime soon after we are hoping to toast their return with a Stag draught at Ed and Millie’s which, in honor of their return, will be re-opening after a brief break.
I’m pretty certain we were the first customer’s to enter Yogi’s on this evening. We showed up before a few of the employees. One of things I think makes sense at Yogi’s is the absence of menus (I assume they are still doing this). Let’s face it, a menu is a bacteria trap and most restaurants should issue a set of latex clothes to every customer who is about to touch one. I like the menu on the wall. (This, of course, would not work in a ‘news’ bar because it would be difficult for the near-sighted to read a menu on the wall.)
I have been in Yogi’s though at a time that wasn’t so pleasant. It was live band night. The place isn’t very big. I remember people trying to dance and a band wedged between the bar and the upper dining area. The experience was one that caused me to realize I had perhaps entered the ‘news’ bar generation. We found that we were practically screaming at each other so that we could hear over the music. Tina and I can certainly enjoy yelling at each other in the privacy of our own home but public yellification (kudos to President Bush who probably invented this word) isn’t for us.
For Tina and I this had completed our ‘Square triangle’ Saturday: China Restaurant (#15), Marx Brothers (#16), and Yogi’s (#17). I’ve encountered friends and acquaintances around the state that recognize Highland as a town that has “a bar on every corner.” This isn’t true I tell them. However, it is easy to see where the reputation comes from. From Cypress Street on the east to Laurel Street on the west there is a distance of 5 blocks, which is just over ¼ of a mile and from Broadway on the south to 9th Street on the north there is only two blocks or 1/8 of a mile. This is an area of 10 blocks. In the 10 blocks are: (1) Cypress Restaurant (2) The Cellar (3) Jody’s Sport Stop (4) Ed and Millie’s (5) Broadway (6) P.J.’s (7) Yogi’s (8) Marx Brothers and (9) China Restaurant. That is 9 places to get a drink in 10 blocks. Keep in mind that Kickin’ Wings, DiMaggio’s and Ethel’s aren’t too far away (12 grogshops in 13 blocks) and, as Jeff pointed out, that the new Sam’s Pizza which is opening next to Broadway is going to be called something like Sam’s Pub and Pizza.
Jeff had to leave us but Megan, Tina, and I traveled to Northtown to experience Mazzio’s Italian Eatery (#18). Drew, who had just got off work, and had brought his appetite with him, joined us. Drew isn’t old enough to participate in all aspects of the holistray adventure but he would happily consume pizza at every possible venue. I haven’t been into Mazzio’s (I prefer delivery) since it became an Italian eatery. I remembered it as a pizza place. When it was a pizza place it had a TV, I recall. It doesn’t have one anymore (at least I didn’t see one.) I guess, other than paint, this is the biggest change between a pizza place and an Italian eatery. Another big difference is at a pizza place one could order a ‘pitcher’ of lager. No longer. At an Italian eatery one can order a bucket of bottles. While Tina and Megan admired this change, I was greatly disappointed. The words “pizza and a pitcher” go together like “wine and cheese.”
One thing that certainly hasn’t changed is the average age of the employees. Going to Mazzio’s is like going to work for me. It is full of kids. In this case though they are expected to serve me. I have to give the owner and fellow Optimist, Phil, credit, however, because he hires good kids. Courtney took our order, which, I’m guessing, wasn’t easy because she commented when it was complete that it was the most exhausting order she had ever taken. (I had completed the Square-triangle—cut me some slack!) Chelsey delivered the silverware and chastised me for forgetting her last name. Aaron delivered the drinks which is a job he trained for by being the only 18 year-old employee at the time. And Drew ate.
At some point I realized that I should go home and I was entitled because it was, after all, my birthday. Specifically it was my “Richard Petty” birthday according to Jeff since the previous year was my Jackie Robinson” birthday. Richard Petty seemed appropriate because I was feeling like I had been speeding around in circles. It was nice of Tina and Megan to grant me permission to leave and for Drew to see that I got there.
Only 16 more places to get a drink!!
CHAPTER FIVE
I am probably the only person in the world that celebrates Julio Day. Most people hit some sort of Mexican Restaurant for the Cinco de Mayo holiday but I put more emphasis on Julio Day. Julio Day started for me way back in 1990. I was at a seminar in Virginia’s William and Mary College. The group I was with stayed in the campus dorms for a few nights and the campus is quite isolated. Our abilities to travel while there were pretty limited. There apparently was a guy who had no such difficulties: Julio. Everywhere we walked on campus there were paper signs posted that said: “NO PARKING JULIO.” This Julio guy became a legend among our group. We speculated that he was the Robin Hood of parking on the hoity-toity campus. Julio didn’t care that most William and Mary students drove BMW’s, we conjectured, “He parked wherever he wanted to.” “Good for him,” we thought. Imagine how cool it would be to have an entire campus security department posting signs with our name on them! Go Julio!
That’s the reason I celebrate Julio Day. How did I determine to celebrate Julio Day on the 10th of July. Simple. That was the day the mystery of Julio was revealed. It was our last day on campus. Getting around on campus that day was even worse than usual due to the oiling of all campus streets. The sign that said: “NO PARKING JULIO” really meant that there was no parking on JUL 10 due to the oiling of the streets. Go Julio!
Tina and I donned our traditional Julio Day apparel and headed to Highland’s only Mexican Restaurant: Fiesta Brava (#19). I’ve eaten at a few restaurants in Mexico and they really aren’t like Mexican restaurants in the Estados Unidos. The one thing I look for in a good Mexican restaurant is that the operators be Mexican (or Dominican, or Guatemalan, etc.). I strongly believe they shouldn’t be citizens of this country. Even a green card somehow diminishes one’s ability to slap beans on a tortilla. I love Mexican food (as prepared in the Estados Unidos) so much that I believe we should allow every illegal alien trying to cross our southern borders free passage if they state their desire to operate a Mexican Restaurant.
Back in the days when I could afford a real holiday, I found one of the best-named Mexican restaurants ever: Pepe’s North of the Border in Barrow, Alaska. Barrow, Alaska is on Alaska’s northern slope (I went there to go swimming in the Arctic Ocean) and only a couple of hundred miles from the North Pole and it has only a few restaurants. However, the Inupiat Indians that enjoy whale blubber most of the year realize that their lives would somehow be incomplete without a good Mexican Restaurant. Do you think Pepe’s is ran by Inupiat Indians? I don’t think so. It is ran, I’m sure, by some of the most resourceful illegals in the history of illegals. They had to cross ‘north of the border” how many times to get to Barrow? If their sign were bigger they would have named the place: Pepe’s North of the Border North of the Border Restaurant.
Did I mention that Fiesta Brava is Highland’s best Mexican restaurant. I can’t think of another place that merits a second-best ranking. Fiesta Brava (Brave Celebration, in English) is a great location for Julio Day. Tina toasted Julio Day with her $2.75 Margarita and then I toasted #19 with a $2.75 Carta Blanca (unlimited power, in English). Our waiter spoke perfect Spanish and understood less English than our Chinese waitress of a few days earlier. We eat at Fiesta Brava so much that Tina didn’t even look at the menu. We munched away on our chips and salsa and basked in the sounds of Latin music and watched futbol on the television. Muy grande! Solamente quince más lugares para conseguir una cerveza!
CHAPTER SIX
Saturday, July 12th was a beautiful day except for the rain and the clouds. We left home around 5:00 in the evening and headed to the 130 years being celebrated by our friends Carl and Cheryl. The 130 years involve birthdays and a wedding anniversary. Using the same math Tina and I would be celebrating 100 years! We had a good time and would like to wish Carl and Cheryl a very happy 130!
Our next destination was Farmer’s Restaurant (#20). Farmer’s has been around for 5 years or so and is aptly named. Located near the Holiday Inn Express it attracts some overnighters and many, many over-the-hillers. It isn’t true that every parking space is a handicapped spot. That is just a clever marketing ploy used by the restaurant to attract more cash-carrying customers. The truth is, Farmer’s has good food and is ran by nice people. It does have some issues. The tile floor and high ceilings make it an acoustical nightmare. One has to have lived a long life and damaged eardrums to not be annoyed by the perpetual roar inside.
Cuteney (Courtney) showed us to our table and another former student, Robert, took our order and educated us a bit about the owner’s plan to add another restaurant in O’Fallon called “Outlaw Blues.” We ordered the appetizer sampler. It was a good choice and was quickly consumed, as were our beverages. Number twenty on our list was a thing of the past.
We decided to make our next trip a party-crashing. We went to the Highland Knights of Columbus (#21) hall. The parking lot was packed and a few well-dressed people were enjoying a smoke outside when we pulled up. We guessed that a wedding reception was in progress but we had no idea whose it might be. We entered and had a seat at the bar. The big screen TV had attracted a crowd as the Cardinals were trying to hold on to a 10-6 lead in the 9th inning. Tina saw a familiar face and quickly solved the “who” mystery as well as correcting our “what” assumption. We were at a 50th wedding anniversary for Pete and Jane. We know them!! The Cardinals surrendered a 3 run homer and the crowd grew even larger.
I’m a fan of pre-1980 country music. It took me a while but at some point during the band’s painful performance I recognized Ray Price’s “For the Good Times.” It was horrible. It was worse than horrible. The Cardinals gave up another run. Extra innings. The main hall is separated from the bar by a wall. The wall has a window with a blind that blocks the view of those at the bar. The awful music piqued my curiosity and I separated the blinds so I could see this train wreck in action. Inaction was more like it. These guys were fossils. Was that really an accordion player? Unbelievable. The Cardinals hit a home run to lead by one.
Bob, a Cardinal fan, and his wife, Tracy, a NASCAR fan were splitting time watching each event on the two TVs available. They informed us that the band played at Pete and Jane’s wedding reception back in 1958! Incredible! Were these guys always tone deaf or did that just happen in the last twenty-five years? I was so relieved when they paused to take a nap . . . er, break. The Cardinals gave up a two run homer and the game was over.
There are thirteen stops left to make and only 16 days left in July. Our holistay is beyond the halfway point.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Monday, July 14th (Bastille Day in France) was a great day to visit a French restaurant in Highland. Highland, it turns out, doesn’t have a French Restaurant but Italy, France’s southeastern neighbor, is well represented. Tina and I decided to visit Dimaggio’s. It proved to be a poor choice since it isn’t open on Monday. We randomly chose to go to the Blue Springs Café (#22) just off interstate 70 at the Highland/Pierron exit.
Blue Springs is a restaurant in an old Stuckey’s building along the interstate. It, I assume, gets quite a bit of its business from I-70 travelers who read the billboards about ‘foot-high’ pies. Tina and I hadn’t been there since 2004. We showed up around 7:00 and I chose a seat by the window so I could see traffic rolling carelessly off into the horizon. A few things stand out at Blue Springs. It has wood floors, checkerboard (blue and white) tablecloths and menus on the walls. The entry way is even kind of cool and has a Route 66 feel.
Sarah, one of my former track stars, waited on us and filled the mugs to the top. She allowed Tina and I to order only one meal off the menu, which still entitled us to beets, cole slaw, applesauce, green beans, potatoes, milk gravy, and biscuits (apple butter too). We had the shrimp and relaxed as car after car rolled on down the highway.
Our next stop wasn’t at a holistay destination. We had to make at stop at CVS and visit Julie, our favorite drug peddler. In the parking lot of CVS we saw some cars across the street at Hi-Top Bowl (#23). “Let’s do it,” we decided. This would be awkward. We aren’t bowling alley regulars. I’ve personally boycotted the place since I dropped my oldest son and nephew off to bowl one Saturday. I had called ahead and was told that they did have a free lane or two for young kids to bowl. The boys were around 11 or 12 at the time. They soon called to have me pick them up and were waiting for me in the parking lot when I arrived. The owner had shouted at them and made some disparaging remarks about how their parents had raised them after one of them had spilled a soda. “Great way to build your business,” I thought. I didn’t bother to go inside and figured I would just never go back. Well, here I was. I told Tina, as we exited the vehicle, that she would probably know somebody and find someone to talk to right away but I would just have to suffer through it.
We walked into the bowling alley door (not the bar door) and some youngsters bowling. “Be careful with those drinks,” I thought. One of the bowlers was Kailah, a recent high school graduate, who was bowling from her wheel chair. She threw a strike! Very impressive!
We entered the bar and there were guys all over the place. Were they playing cards? No. They were eating. There were no women in the place. What was going on? As I headed to the bar I looked back towards Tina and she was already visiting with a group of guys at a table. I ordered up a couple of drinks from a guy that looks like Doug Hefernon (on the King of Queens) and looked around the place. It is a very nice bar with a large TV where the All-star home run derby was airing. Tina inched closer to the bar and a guy named Dave got up and called attention to all of the men in bar. “Fellow Moose lodge members,” he shouted. “I’d like to have your attention.” All of the men in the Hi-Top Bowl stared toward Dave who now had his arm around Tina. Huh?
“I would like to present this Moose Lodge Certificate of Appreciation to Tina Bradley for all of the work she does at the high school to get our scholarship applications filled out, “ Dave continued. “Thank you, Tina. Thank you for all that you do for area youth.” He then presented her with a framed certificate. What? Was this pre-planned? No! It wasn’t. We just decided to visit this place on a whim and Tina gets a certificate of appreciation! Is this what happens if you don’t spill your drink?
We then headed to the old Amoco station. Oops, that’s not right, it is Wings To Go. No, that’s not right either. It is now Kickin’ Wings Bar and Grill (#24). It is a renovated gas station with limited parking. How many successful bars are there in Highland that used to be gas stations? How many successful gas stations used to be bars? There are, however, successful bars and successful gas stations. A creative entrepreneur would have figured out how to combine both ventures. It might be called “Fill ‘er up! And Your Car Too!” or something similar. Nightly specials could be kind of fun: “Get Gas and Gassed! Every Thursday get a bottle of gas for every bottle of beer you drink!”.
A few years ago my brother chewed out the help when it was still Wings To Go. He was a few hours behind me after we departed a Cardinals game. He called me from whatever bar in the St. Louis area he was at and asked me to order up some food for him. I called Ponderosa and ordered 50 chicken wings and then relayed the message to him. In his post-baseball game state of inebriation, he only heard “wings.” I told him to pick the wings up when he arrived in town. He drove right to Wings To Go and was greatly bothered by their negligence in not having his wings ready. He chastised the young employees and through my name around (which didn’t speed things up, I’m sure). Eventually he showed up at my house with his wings from Wings To Go. We had eaten half of them when I realized that we weren’t eating the Ponderosa wings I ordered.
Inside Kickin’ Wings on this night was a group of guys watching the home run derby. They were quite loud and seemed to be surprised each time a ball cleared the fence. A home run in a home run derby is really quite rare, right? There was also a notorious long-talking mother who pretty much has to be avoided at all costs. She turns every conversation into one about her kids.
Me: “What did you think about those potholes in the parking lot, Mrs. X?”
Mrs. X: I once saw my youngest daughter ride her tricycle into a pothole. Have you seen my youngest daughter lately? You would be very proud of her.” Yada, yada yada.
Mrs. X can ramble on for 15 minutes without taking a breath. Also on hand was Jenna and her fiancé’ Ryan. Jenna, one of my former track-sters and Ryan, one of my former track-sters have officially engaged and it was nice to see them.
Next up on our holistay was a trip to the south edge of town. It was league night for the over-40 lady softballers at the Highland VFW (#25). We had discussed earlier in the day whether or not we should go to the outside VFW bar or the inside VFW bar. The inside bar is small and homey. It is also well lit. Most bars try to get the lights dimmed a little bit but that won’t happen at the VFW. One doesn’t have to worry about the jukebox either. The only sound that might be heard is a snore from the guy sitting down the bar. Going to the inside bar at the VFW bar is a little like voting. You step up to the first lady and tell her your order and she starts looking through the coolers for the brand you’ve ordered. While she is looking she makes small talk about when she cast her first vote for Herbert Hoover, then she finds your brand. She hands it to the next lady who is a couple of years younger and still strong enough to remove the cap. Finally, she hands it to the guy bartender who is strong enough to lift the bottle up to the bar. You take your beverage and head to a booth.
Since it was softball night, we decided to go to the outdoor bar. The STAG sign is as regal as it was when it was first hung on the pavilion structure back in 1967. The bottle lifter-guy was the only working on this night. He proudly proclaimed that he had 14 different brands of ales and lagers in his coolers. He also had draughts. We chose a can of a familiar lager and made a beeline for the bleachers. The visiting team was ahead 6-0 in the bottom of the first. In the top of the second we could easily see why they were winning: the other team was awful. One lady actually fielded a ground ball at shortstop and we should have known something was up when her teammates started applauding the pick-up. Her throw, however, dampened the enthusiasm. The ball traveled about 20 feet and fell to the diamond and rolled another 10.
There were hardly any fans at the game: a couple of gentleman in lawn chairs (paramedics?), a pair of teenage girls playing games on their cell phones, and a male softball player bragging about his hitting skills to anyone would listen. Where were the kids of these ladies? Grandkids? It was late (just after 9) but not that late for a summertime game. After I watched a little more, I understood the lack of fans. Who would want to see their mother spitting in the on-deck circle? Who would want to see their mom wagging their elbow Joe Morgan-style in the batter’s box? But the biggest tragedy for a kid would be watching their mom run the bases? C’mon VFW league! You should require sports bras! In fact, each player should have to wear two.
One, two, three strikes your out at the ol’ ball game. Actually there are nine strikes left for us to make.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I have two bonus (step) daughters in my life. They have taught me so much over the years and I am very lucky to be a part of their life. Today is a very sad day for them. Their father, Rick Diesen, fell victim to cancer this morning. He was a gentle man and deeply loved by his daughters. Throughout the entire ordeal they have been so strong and supportive and I am sure, if he was able to express his feelings in his final days, he would have told them how proud he was of them and how much he loved them. Thank you Megan and Caitlin.
A couple of hours removed from making funeral arrangements for her father, Megan wanted to get out of the house. We talked it over and decided that we would get an appetizer and a frosty beverage at Cypress Restaurant and Lounge and then head west on Broadway to DiMaggio’s for some Italian fare.
We entered the Cypress (#26) through the front door, which opens up into a very small dining room. We opted to sit at a dining room table rather going through the passage way to a small bar in the back. We ordered up appetizers and sat alone in the dining room the entire time. There were a couple of people at the bar but we really couldn’t see them (I did see an 8 or 9 year old boy sitting at the bar). I got the feeling that someone lives in the back of the building. It smelled like cigarette smoke and cats. I’m especially sensitive to such odors but maybe I was imagining it. I certainly wasn’t imagining the lack of customers.
We discussed future holistay stops and decided that we would try to complete the holistay adventure at Rick’s favorite establishment: Broadway Tavern. Hopefully, we decided, Caitlin could join the three of us and we could toast Rick in our final stop of the adventure.
Megan called her good friend Breanne, who was returning from work in West County, to join us at DiMaggio’s (#27). She is always a welcome sight and it was nice of her to spend some time with Megan on this difficult day. We chose the biggest table in the tiny restaurant. Next to the big table is maybe one of the best pieces of art that I’ve seen on the holistay. It is perspective painting of a window with, what appears to be, Venice, Italy and one of its canals outside. I think if one looks close, they might even see an occasional bird flying by the window.
Tina and I toasted #27, Megan toasted #10, and Breanne toasted #1. I enjoyed a Birra Moretti and Breanne ordered the first soft drink on the holistay (to each his/her own). We gobbled down some Italian food while I continued to look out the window. How come the gondolas don’t ever seem to move?
Only seven more lounges to lounge in.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The stress of our July holistay finally caught up with us. The daily grind, the constant pressure, and the rising bar bills forced us to take a holiday from our holistay. We chose a Caribbean cruise as our ‘stress reliever.’ Tina and I headed to Ft. Lauderdale on July 20th and boarded the ship the next day. From Ft. Lauderdale we traveled to Key West, Cozumel, and Belize. The return trip was more our style. We flew from Ft. Lauderdale to Minneapolis where we sat at the airport for 3 hours and then we flew to St. Louis. In St. Louis only one of our checked bags showed up and we are still waiting for Northwest Airlines to find our bag and return it to us. I’m not optimistic considering Northwest is an airline that flew us from Ft. Lauderdale to Minneapolis to get us to St. Louis. My navigationally-impaired bonus daughters, Megan (Lewis) and Caitlin (Clark) could do better than this.
CHAPTER NINE
We are finally back in the holistay spirits. The brief break reinvigorated us and we are ready to hit the circuit. Where should we resuscitate our holistay adventure? What would make a dynamic impact statement to the rest of the world that we are back for some exciting experiences? Pizza Hut™ (#28). I know, I know, if you’ve been to one Pizza Hut you’ve been to them all, right? Wrong!
Highland’s Pizza Hut is unique depending on the time of day and the seat location. We chose a Sunday afternoon on the restaurant’s north side next to the window overlooking O’Reilly Autoparts™. That is the precise location for people watching and automotive repair diagnosing. Automotive repair diagnosing is something done by automotive technicians to determine what course of action needs to be taken by an amateur automotive technician. It can be observed from the windows of Highland Pizza Hut. It is immensely exciting and requires nothing more than an imagination. The first guy pulls up in a 2002 Chrysler Concorde. What was the issue? A battery, perhaps? Wheel? Ignition? Spark plug? Nope. My guesses were all wrong. The O’Reilly auto consultant helped him with a new headlight.
If I had a white board on an easel, I would be like the Dr. House of automotive technicians. In this case, all I had was my imagination, Tina, and pizza brought over by my former student, Brandy.
Next into the parking lot was a couple of kids in 1995 Pontiac Grand Am. Interior problem I assumed by the anticipatory looks on their faces. Probably looking for a bigger sub-woofer for the stereo. Wrong, again. They replaced the windshield wiper blade. My skills need to be honed a little.
The next stop on our return to the holistay was Poplar Junction Bowl (#29). We had had a pretty tough time finding it open but Sunday afternoons are Special Olympic bowling days. Only a few lanes were busy when we walked in which isn’t surprising considering bowling is NOT a summer sport.
That topic is what I brought up with the “retiring” manager and “new” manager of Poplar Junction. The former is my neighbor Keith and the latter is his nephew and my former student, Shawn. For them the summer has been salvaged greatly by the addition of a high school bowling team. The high school kids come in once a week and work on their game. If not for the high school kids and the special Olympic bowlers the alley would be completely vacant during the summer.
Learning that bowling was just a summer sport got my enterprising juices flowing. How about turning the empty lanes into indoor washer courts. Wouldn’t washers be a lot more fun with no bugs and air conditioning? How about horseshoes? There would even be less mopping of oil, I thought. This idea went south when Sean pointed out that they have a machine that oils the lanes automatically (and evenly) and that mops aren’t needed any more. “
What else has changed about bowling?,” I asked.
“The balls,” Sean replied. He brought a bowling ball catalog that was 1000 pages thick. Different weights, different weight distributions, balls for breaking late, balls for breaking early, balls for taller bowlers, balls for shorter bowlers, etc. At that moment I noticed a kid dragging his bowling ball in a bag with a handle. What? Bowlers don’t even have to carry their own ball anymore. If it keeps getting easier, I might even be able to do it.
Poplar Junction has a nice bar and lots of tables in front of the big screen TV. We felt comfortable there and would have liked to stay longer but the crowd was leaving and drinking at a bowling alley is NOT a summer sport.
Then, there were five.
CHAPTER TEN
Tuesday, July 28th is here and we still have places to go. We were returning from Springfield and such a trip puts us right in downtown Alhambra. We hoped to stop out the two businesses on our list in Alhambra that we had yet to visit this July. One, the Galaxy isn’t going to happen apparently. It is never open. We’ve been told, by the locals that the proprietor of the Galaxy tries to open it at least one night a week. The trick, they say, is to figure out what night that might be. We received information too that they are out of business. So, we have given up on the Galaxy unless they call us.
We were able to stop at Maedge’s Mini Mart Restaurant, Laundromat, Car Wash, Bar and Grill (#30). This is the newest and most curious of all the stops we’ve made. Alhambra, a town of around 900 or so is rural America at its best. It has a real small town feel and was served for years by what I called Gehrig’s Mall. Gehrig’s didn’t have a restaurant, bar, or gas station but one could buy chewing gum and a refrigerator. When Gehrig’s was finally brought to its knees by the Wal-mart’s and Amazon.com’s of the world, it created a real void in Alhambra. Lost was the social center of a close-knit community.
That’s where Mike saw an opportunity. He had built the convenience store in the neighboring town of Marine several years earlier and hoped a similar facility would work in Alhambra. He didn’t stop there. He added the town’s only Laundromat to the gas station convenience store. He then added a car wash, restaurant and then a bar. Why not a banquet hall? Yep, he added that too. His business has 31 employees and, hopefully, a bright future.
To help fill that missing social link that Gehrig’s provided Mike had a friend make large wood chairs under the awning in front of the restaurant (ala Cracker Barrel) which turned into a sizable gathering place while we there. Smokers and coffee drinkers tend to migrate out there every day according to Mike.
Inside Maedge’s Bar and Grill it is sort of a surreal experience. Imagine if Wal-mart were to open a bar next to the automotive department. The bright lights, tile floor, giant windows tend to send your body signals that you should be ordering coffee, not alcohol. Perhaps the environment feels differently at night.
As we left Alhambra I couldn’t help but think the other things Alhambra is missing that Mike might add to his mega-mall. Here is my short list: hair salon, cell phone kiosk, chiropractic, motel, ice cream, car rental, off track betting, roller coaster, and movie theater.
Four to go.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Many swanky, upscale communities have a yacht club or polo club. Highland has the Highland Country Club (#31). Tina and I are former members. Tina, more accurately, is a former member. Her dad, Dr. Carl Rogers, was among the founding members, I understand. That entitles us, of course, to absolutely nothing, which is fine because I don’t see myself as a country club type. However, the Highland Country Club isn’t your typical country club.
We went on a Wednesday night (July 30). Wednesday is, of course, ladies night. One of the first things I ever learned about the HCC is the ongoing gender equality issue. I went out to do some maintenance on our golf cart on a Wednesday afternoon. Big mistake. Some old bag made some comment after I passed by about it being “Ladie’s Day.” The women, it seems, are very protective of their day because the men officially claim that at least one day is to be woman-free but in actuality take 1.5 more days that that. In fact, there is one long time member who has been known to mimic ironing motions whenever he happens to see a woman on the golf course. Great fun!
With only two days, Wednesday and Thursday, left in July. I could integrate “Ladie’s Night” on Wednesday or Tina could integrate “Men’s Night” on Thursday. I was told that the infiltration would be done by me. I was under duress all day on Wednesday thinking about an old bag once again reminding me that is was “Ladie’s Day.” What might a female version of the ‘ironing guy’ do if she saw me? I guess she could act like she’s scratching herself.
Tina and I, as non-members, practiced our “story” for going into the club and worked on getting my courage up. When we entered at about 9:00PM on the rainy night there wasn’t a customer in site. Dusty, my former student and athlete, was working the bar that evening. He indicated that there were only a few women around and they were all outside on the deck. Perfect. There would be no old bag to chastise me.
Dusty and I talked football and baseball and the women chatted outside. Faye and Linda even invited me outside but I liked catching up with Dusty. It helped me realize I missed being a member of the club. It is peaceful and a great place to watch a game (Cards won). Tina also reminded me on the way home why the HCC is different than most country clubs. One of the ladies out on the deck that night was agonizing over breaking some news to her husband. It seems that the new golf cart he had bought (and not yet used) had been damaged while in the cart shed. An ornery raccoon in the cart shed had attacked the driver’s seat. She returned the missing foam back into the seat and used duct tape to cover the wound. The raccoon retaliated and opened up a new gash and created another crater in the same seat. Something tells me that this doesn’t happen at the Ft. Lauderdale Yacht Club.
Twenty fours left and we have three more stops to make.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Two nights before the last day in July we learned that the House of Plenty restaurant has a liquor license. This was a real surprise but it would work out well since we were not able to get into The Galaxy. The only other place we could think of that served open alcohol that we didn’t make it to is the Pierron Improvement Club (PIC) softball league.
On the last day of the holistay adventure we started the day with three stops to make to complete the adventure. We decided to have lunch at the famed House of Plenty (#32). The House of Plenty is a place that caters to a primarily female clientele. It is especially popular among the Purple Hat Society. For people like me, there is something quite intriguing about House of Plenty and that is its reputation as the most haunted house in Highland.
The house, among the first on the Highland Historical Society’s Historical Home list, was built in the mid-1800s. It was the site of a bon voyage party held by Timothy Gruaz for many of his Swiss-American friends before some of them left the next day for a trip back to Switzerland. The ship (Schiller) that carried those travelers sank off the coast of Europe and nearly 300 passengers died. Some suggest that it is the ghost of one of those unfortunate travelers that haunts the house.
According to a physic the ghost’s name is Stephen and he would be a better fit in a Casper movie then he would in a Poltergeist movie. Stephen, according to those that have lived and worked in the house, likes to turn lights off and on, mess with silverware and generally commit random acts of mischief. He may not be the only ghost at the property, however. Allegedly there is a young, female ghost that paces on the porch of the house. She wrings her hands and anxiously awaits something. Some believe that she is awaiting news or the return of a loved one who went down with the Schiller.
Tina and I didn’t spend much time on the porch when we reached the House of Plenty. I had forgot about the ghost that walked the creaky boards of the porch. Once inside one certainly feels like they are in a house that is old and haunting. The waitresses, including my former student Keaton, wear clothing of the period. Tina and I ordered up our lunch in front of an old fireplace (Stephen’s favorite hangout) and 19th century windows. It is a place with a lot of character, which explains how it is has lasted as a successful lunch restaurant for over twenty years.
Stephen made no appearances while we there but I did have a frightening experience. Tina told me she was thinking of taking the month of August off from work too. Ahhhh! We’ve just spent a whole month together and the thought of another month together is downright scary.
On Thursday evening, July 31st, Tina and I stopped in at Ed and Millie’s (#33). Ed and Millie’s doesn’t attract a young crowd. The night we were there the crowd was quite small. There was one guy playing a video game. Tina’s friend Cindy had just left the place and she reported that the place was packed when she was there. “Packed” is a relative term because Ed and Millie’s doesn’t have much space. It is located in the heart of Highland’s hair cutting industry. In fact, the proprietor reported that Tina’s brother had recently stopped in Ed and Millie’s and he called next door for a hair cut while he was there.
I think I’ve been in Ed and Millie’s only a handful to times. Those visits were during the daytime with a singular purpose: Chili. Padré Steve had introduced me to the chili at some point in the 1990s. Unfortunately, it was not (and is not) a good place to stop during the workweek because of the cigarette smoke, but it is a stop I wish I had made more often over the years. Kevin, the owner and son of the deceased Ed and Millie, begins chili-making in October and continues through the end of March. He sells over 40 gallons a week. His chili makes his business somewhat seasonal but he doesn’t mind. In fact, the two weeks he closes down in July is primarily for cleaning and maintenance.
We left Ed and Millie’s and walked 50 or so yards to the entrance of Broadway (#34). Broadway is a classic early 20th Century bar. Its tall ceilings, massive wooden bar, equally long mirror, and open front give it a saloon-feel. I’m not sure what is upstairs of the old building but I’m confident it had to have once housed a brothel (bordell in German). I regret that I don’t know much about the history of the building. I’m confident it has a colorful one.
Tina and I perched on two barstools and discussed the end of the holistay. We visited 34 businesses from July 3rd to July 31st. We ate at twelve of our stops: Diamond Mineral Springs, Freddy’s, China Restaurant, Mazzio’s, Fiesta Brava, Blue Springs, Farmer’s Restaurant, Cypress Lounge, DiMaggio’s, China Restaurant, Pizza Hut, and House of Plenty. We figured the average cost of those meals (not including the feeding our kids, guests) was about $25 with a tip. The prices we paid for beverages at the other twenty-two stops were typically $6 including a tip. If my math is correct the holistay refreshments cost $432. Tina, ever the optimist and the grocery-buyer in our household, pointed out that she didn’t go grocery shopping in July and therefore the cost was a wash. I didn’t remind her that our kids ate (and drank) with us at a number of locations and we took friends out to Michael’s at one “off night” during July. The cruise we took for seven days also included a $400+ plus bar bill. The conclusion I reached long ago about free time is that it is costly. The more one works the less the one spends.
In addition to the holistay and the cruise was the loss of the girls’ father. Broadway was his dying wish. His body was riddled with cancer when he was discharged from the hospital in early July. He didn’t want to go home. He wanted to go to Broadway. His loyal friends made his wish a reality. He got to drink one last drink at Broadway. That is why Tina and I saved it for the end of the holistay. We wanted to drink the last drink of our journey where Rick had enjoyed his last drink. Bon Voyage!
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Mr. Bradley’s ‘Jerry Maguire-like’ Manifesto on the Archaic Study of Archaic Things
26. June 2009 by admin.
Actually written on October 8, 2007
I would like to think that the teaching of social studies is in need of a major overhaul. I’ve reached this conclusion after reflecting on my twenty years of teaching and the learning experiences of my own children. The routine of the social sciences includes the presentation of facts, the quasi-memorization of facts, the regurgitation of facts, and then repeat process with new facts. Ugh! I hate it as a teacher and as a parent. It is, as a kid recently told me, “lame.”
My first mission would be to eliminate the teaching of historical monotonous facts and non-relevant information that is, quite frankly, useless to today’s digital learner. Unfortunately, this type of teaching/learning is fueled by insanely large class sizes and “required” sequential classes in social studies. At Highland High School we have two such courses, World History and American History, and only one of these is really mandated by the state. My remedy would be to use the social sciences as tools to help students think through social dilemmas and challenge them to be thinkers instead of memorizers. Rather than listening to a teacher drone on about the sinking of the Lusitania and then forgetting all about it a month later, wouldn’t it be more beneficial to investigate the Lusitania historically and then compare and contrast it to the attack on the World Trade Center in 2001? Mention to my students the word “slavery” and they quickly historically connect that term to blacks, the Civil War, Abraham Lincoln, and the American South. Human bondage definitely has a history. It also has a present. It is a current event in several countries in today’s world. As teachers of social sciences, shouldn’t we be connecting the past to the present and challenging students to use that knowledge to plan for a better future? Instead, I have to make sure that I get through Chapter 12 of the textbook by Christmas or I’m going to have students who might be behind their peers at the semester when they are allowed to change teachers. Why do textbooks get to determine our curriculum? Am I not qualified?
Additionally, our system of tracking learners in the social studies is inherently flawed. Does the real world divide people according to their ability? Is it possible that the class valedictorian may work stocking shelves at the same grocery store the village nitwit is employed by? Heaven forbid if the two have to team up on some endeavor at work. As lower-tracked students reach their upper-class years, the fishbowl that they’ve been kept in for the previous years grows crowded. They have been sent the message repeatedly that they are inferior. They are taught by the least experienced educators, subject to the greatest number of classmates who are at-risk, and generally sick and tired of sitting next to the same people who have populated their core classes since their first year of high school. If we continue to handicap our students by following the “track” system of education, should we consider putting the “required” courses earlier in the students’ four-year curriculum? By putting the core classes earlier it seems logical that the at-risk student who doesn’t function well in the traditional school setting might have added incentive to attend school if the courses they are taking are the classes that they chose to take.
Another major drawback to social science education is large class sizes. Large class sizes make it nearly impossible to manage kids doing research and teacher-facilitated (not led) learning. Last year I had four World History classes over 30 students and things are better this year, but that is cyclical. I’ve taught with as little as 18 and as many as 36. The only truth to the equation is that it will always change because no school board will ever put a permanent cap on class size. So, most teachers assume a high number because the methods used to teach a high number of kids also works in years when the numbers are ideal. The reverse of this, unfortunately, is not true.
My second mission would be to put secondary teachers on a path towards developing an area of expertise. My field of training and interest is, of course, geography and that is why I teach world history, government, and American history, right? Well, not exactly. I’m at the bottom of the seniority pole and if I were at the top of that pole I may feel much differently about the whole situation. However, I would like to believe that regardless of my position on the pole, I would still put the needs of students first. I think a student’s bill of rights should include having only teachers that are (1) interested in what they are teaching and (2) have a strong knowledge of the subject they are teaching. The idea of a field of concentration takes a back seat at Highland High School to a concentration on a type of student. We take our required social science classes and segregate our kids according to ability. This concept has been used for years in the math department. As a teacher in the social sciences I tend to lean against same-ability grouping. Does the real world cause one to avoid people from a different ability group or should we all learn from and even celebrate differences? The math department also has pretty clear tests to determine who fits in which group. There is no way to test the affective objectives one should include in the social studies. (I’ve seen many smart kids with a narrow view of the world.) With this type of social engineering at work in our school we’ve created a social studies department that includes the traditional corridors for each field of social studies including American history, world history, geography, economics, government, sociology, etc. but also levels (or, metaphorically, floors) that are designed for certain types of students. For example, Advance Placement (AP) Government can be found in the government wing of the building on the 4th floor. There are no discipline problems (or facsimiles of reality) on the fourth floor. The students with individualized learning programs (IEP) all live on the 1st floor and fortunately for them there is an American history corridor and a world history corridor on that floor. They shouldn’t ever have to run into an AP student on their way to class nor will they ever run into a teacher that is high on the seniority totem pole. The more experienced, wiser educator won’t be wasted on the at-risk kid here. They take the elevator to class but still have to change corridors occasionally because when a choice is to be made about courses taught, Highland High School values the ability of the student more than the subject. The younger teacher who is trying to find his or her way isn’t allowed to develop that area of expertise because they are changing floors and hallways in a maze of education that only presents a clearer path when a vacancy occurs in some other part of the department.
Currently there are seven social studies teachers at Highland High School. One teacher is teaching a course during their planning period and another is teaching only two sections so from an administrative view point there are 6.5 teachers in the department. Our current hierarchical system includes each teacher preparing (preps) for three different courses. If this number were reduced to two, I believe our teachers could foster a passion for their subject and expand their knowledge of those fields. Currently, we have a different textbook for basic world history, regular world history, and honors world history. Isn’t world history still world history? Each of these three are consider a prep for those that teach them. My thought is that only one textbook is needed and the teacher uses his/her training and planning time to develop strategies for adapting difficult material or enriching easier material. This would make world history—regardless of its level—one prep. A teacher whose area of expertise is world history could invest himself into that field and work towards perfecting curriculum that challenges kids of all levels. The closest to this ideal that we might attain, due to the number of courses we have, is for each teacher to have a second prep and preferably one that is not ability-grouped. Based on the courses that we have now, a possible schedule would look something like this:
| Teacher A | Teacher B | Teacher C | Teacher D | Teacher E | Teacher F | Teacher G |
| US | US | US | US | World History | World History | World History |
| US | US | US | US | World History | World History | World History |
| US | US | Soc/Psych | Economics | World History | World History | World History |
| US | US | Soc/Psych | Economics | World History | European Hist | |
| Government | Topic in Hist. | Soc/Psych | Economics | Geography | European Hist | |
| Government | Topic in Hist. | Soc/Psych | Economics | Geography | European Hist | |
| Expert in: | Expert in: | Expert in: | Expert in: | Expert in: | Expert in: | Expert in: |
| US History | US History | US History | US History | World History | World History | World History |
| Government | Topics | Soc/Psych | Economics | Geography | European Hist |
Using our current schedule this is what our schedule looks like:
| Teacher 1 | Teacher 2 | Teacher 3 | Teacher 4 | Teacher 5 | Teacher 6 | Teacher 7 |
| Geography | Government | US History | Topic in Hist. | Soc/Psych | US History | US History |
| World History | US History | Economics | US History | Soc/Psych | US History | US History |
| Geography | World History | Economics | European Hist | World History | US History | |
| World History | World History | Economics | US History | Soc/Psych | Government | |
| World History | World History | US History | European Hist | World History | World History | |
| World History | US History | Economics | European Hist | Soc/Psych | US History | |
| Topic in Hist. | ||||||
| Expert in: | Expert in: | Expert in: | Expert in: | Expert in: | Expert in: | Expert in: |
| World History | US History | US History | US History | Soc/Pysch | US History | US History |
| Geography | Topic in Hist. | Economics | European Hist | World History | Government | |
| Government | Topic in Hist. | World History | ||||
| World History |
Notice that teacher 2 and teacher 6 both have more than two areas of expertise in this current structure. It is in this environment that teachers are set up to fail their students. They are pulled in too many directions and become frustrated with the lack of time and energy to concentrate on an area of expertise. Further, which teachers get those assignments? You guessed it! Those are the two newest members of the department and between the two of them handle three of the four sections of “basic” classes offered by the department. With time they can work themselves up the seniority pole and perhaps find an area of concentration and their ideal type of student. By the time they reach that level what will their state of mind be? Will the frustration of trying to teach too many different courses wear them down? How about the challenge of teaching at-risk students several times a day?
Social studies have a lot to offer today’s students but there is a long way to go to meet those needs. If social science instruction and structures remain tied to the past, it is possible that the curriculum of tomorrow won’t have a need for it at all. That, in my opinion, would be quite lame.
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