May 4, 1970
Filed in: Schools
A pivotal point in my life
The bucolic campus was far different from when I left only two days before. On the streets were military tanks, soldiers marching, and later that night, there were helicopters patrolling the night sky with searchlights. My nightmare as a five-year-old that our army would shoot its own citizens was about to become real.
In 1954 I had awakened from a nap sobbing hysterically. My mother had assured me that what I dreamed could never, ever happen. And yet, fifteen years later, in May 1970, it was most certainly happening.
I was 20, in my junior year at Kent State University in Ohio. On Friday there had been a demonstration on The Commons outside my dorm, Engleman Hall, to protest Nixon’s decision to enter Cambodia. On Sunday, May 3, I’d returned to my dorm from Niagara Falls, New York where I’d spent the weekend.
I was terrified. I found my friends who filled me in on the events. There had been riots in the town: people damaging and looting stores, and the ROTC building, a wooden structure near my dorm on front campus, had burned to the ground.
Had I been on campus that weekend I would have had more time to process all those events. I couldn't stop crying; I was again that terrified five-year-old.
We were under Martial Law, which meant students could walk with only one other person, no more. A loud speaker warned the three of us going to the dining hall that we were breaking Martial Law. I felt I was living in an Aldous Huxley novel.
I had an organic chemistry midterm the next morning. I had grave concerns I would fail the test, given our frightening environment. I went to class, but I remember nothing of the test. After, I walked back across campus, in the direction of my dorm, to meet my friends for lunch. A large crowd was gathering on The Commons, certainly breaking Martial Law once again. The line of soldiers along the perimeter of my dorm all carried rifles and blocked all entrances to my dorm. Unable to go anywhere, I stayed at the back of the growing crowd. At one point I was interviewed on camera by CBS TV News. (It’s possible my comments were aired on national TV that night but I never got to see it. My first national TV appearance. Gone.)
I moved closer to Johnson Hall and Don Fickenscher appeared beside me. (I knew Don from Erie, our hometown, where I’d had a crush on him years before. I’d seen his photo in a friend’s yearbook and knew I had to meet him and did.) Around noon, the troops started advancing and throwing canisters of tear gas in an attempt to disperse the crowd. I experienced difficulty breathing and tears wetting my face.
I don’t recall if Don pushed me to the ground to get me below the acrid smoke, or if I tripped and fell. I badly hurt my left knee, but knew we had to run to stay ahead of the advancing troops. Don and I were separated because I couldn’t keep up with him. I was able to limp uphill to safety. About 12:04 there was a 13-second volley of gunfire. Those around me looked at each other in disbelief. We never thought the guns were loaded with bullets. Moments later I saw a soldier hobbling toward us, assisted by two others on either side of him, whose foot was bleeding badly. Later I understood that either he or another soldier had aimed at the ground, not at students.
Eventually I made my way to my dorm by a very wide route. Without knowing it, my route avoided the bloody carnage of dead and wounded students. When I did return to the dorm the residents who were in the lobby were surprised to see me. I learned my mother had called in my absence and someone had told her I was dead. My nickname at the time was Ande. News reports said that Allison and Sandy had died, not Ande, causing the confusion. (Allison’s room was directly above mine. No longer would I hear her footsteps above me.) My mother’s calm reply was that I was not dead. The phone lines were cut then so there was no way to tell family I was OK.
The university was closing. We all had to leave Kent, so I began to pack a suitcase. Suddenly Don was at my door, sobbing. I sat with him until he could tell me what he knew. His roommate, Barry Levine, was Allison Krause’s boyfriend and Don knew her well.
I had a 1964 Plymouth Belvedere, so I drove my friends to their homes in the Cleveland area. They and their luggage filled my car so I had little room for my own things. I stopped at a Cleveland hospital to have my eyes and knee checked. X-Rays showed no fracture. I don’t recall ever receiving a bill.
By nightfall I was mentally shattered so I drove to Hiram College where I had spent the first 18 months of my college days. The dorm mother insisted I stay overnight and her husband made a bed for me in his radio room. My “psychic” mother somehow knew where I was and magically knew the right phone number to dial.
My memory of the following days was hazy. I returned to Erie, and my mother decided we should drive to Lily Dale, a spiritualist colony in New York State, for a reading. I was first. The woman looked at me with surprise, and said: “I’m so glad you made it out alive.”
I stayed at my father’s house in Erie until school reopened in September, finishing my courses by correspondence. When I arrived, my father said something that changed forever how I felt about him.
“They should have shot you all.”
___________________________
This snippet is brought to you by: "Ohio" David Crosby and Venice
https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=share&v=kInBqFUNnow&fbclid=IwAR2VBOJZDcaFYftgz6m2wMJdqPX1Xe7ul4yFlyfMWRkB5BDEHjRbQSjgl1I&app=desktop
The bucolic campus was far different from when I left only two days before. On the streets were military tanks, soldiers marching, and later that night, there were helicopters patrolling the night sky with searchlights. My nightmare as a five-year-old that our army would shoot its own citizens was about to become real.
In 1954 I had awakened from a nap sobbing hysterically. My mother had assured me that what I dreamed could never, ever happen. And yet, fifteen years later, in May 1970, it was most certainly happening.
I was 20, in my junior year at Kent State University in Ohio. On Friday there had been a demonstration on The Commons outside my dorm, Engleman Hall, to protest Nixon’s decision to enter Cambodia. On Sunday, May 3, I’d returned to my dorm from Niagara Falls, New York where I’d spent the weekend.
I was terrified. I found my friends who filled me in on the events. There had been riots in the town: people damaging and looting stores, and the ROTC building, a wooden structure near my dorm on front campus, had burned to the ground.
Had I been on campus that weekend I would have had more time to process all those events. I couldn't stop crying; I was again that terrified five-year-old.
We were under Martial Law, which meant students could walk with only one other person, no more. A loud speaker warned the three of us going to the dining hall that we were breaking Martial Law. I felt I was living in an Aldous Huxley novel.
I had an organic chemistry midterm the next morning. I had grave concerns I would fail the test, given our frightening environment. I went to class, but I remember nothing of the test. After, I walked back across campus, in the direction of my dorm, to meet my friends for lunch. A large crowd was gathering on The Commons, certainly breaking Martial Law once again. The line of soldiers along the perimeter of my dorm all carried rifles and blocked all entrances to my dorm. Unable to go anywhere, I stayed at the back of the growing crowd. At one point I was interviewed on camera by CBS TV News. (It’s possible my comments were aired on national TV that night but I never got to see it. My first national TV appearance. Gone.)
I moved closer to Johnson Hall and Don Fickenscher appeared beside me. (I knew Don from Erie, our hometown, where I’d had a crush on him years before. I’d seen his photo in a friend’s yearbook and knew I had to meet him and did.) Around noon, the troops started advancing and throwing canisters of tear gas in an attempt to disperse the crowd. I experienced difficulty breathing and tears wetting my face.
I don’t recall if Don pushed me to the ground to get me below the acrid smoke, or if I tripped and fell. I badly hurt my left knee, but knew we had to run to stay ahead of the advancing troops. Don and I were separated because I couldn’t keep up with him. I was able to limp uphill to safety. About 12:04 there was a 13-second volley of gunfire. Those around me looked at each other in disbelief. We never thought the guns were loaded with bullets. Moments later I saw a soldier hobbling toward us, assisted by two others on either side of him, whose foot was bleeding badly. Later I understood that either he or another soldier had aimed at the ground, not at students.
Eventually I made my way to my dorm by a very wide route. Without knowing it, my route avoided the bloody carnage of dead and wounded students. When I did return to the dorm the residents who were in the lobby were surprised to see me. I learned my mother had called in my absence and someone had told her I was dead. My nickname at the time was Ande. News reports said that Allison and Sandy had died, not Ande, causing the confusion. (Allison’s room was directly above mine. No longer would I hear her footsteps above me.) My mother’s calm reply was that I was not dead. The phone lines were cut then so there was no way to tell family I was OK.
The university was closing. We all had to leave Kent, so I began to pack a suitcase. Suddenly Don was at my door, sobbing. I sat with him until he could tell me what he knew. His roommate, Barry Levine, was Allison Krause’s boyfriend and Don knew her well.
I had a 1964 Plymouth Belvedere, so I drove my friends to their homes in the Cleveland area. They and their luggage filled my car so I had little room for my own things. I stopped at a Cleveland hospital to have my eyes and knee checked. X-Rays showed no fracture. I don’t recall ever receiving a bill.
By nightfall I was mentally shattered so I drove to Hiram College where I had spent the first 18 months of my college days. The dorm mother insisted I stay overnight and her husband made a bed for me in his radio room. My “psychic” mother somehow knew where I was and magically knew the right phone number to dial.
My memory of the following days was hazy. I returned to Erie, and my mother decided we should drive to Lily Dale, a spiritualist colony in New York State, for a reading. I was first. The woman looked at me with surprise, and said: “I’m so glad you made it out alive.”
I stayed at my father’s house in Erie until school reopened in September, finishing my courses by correspondence. When I arrived, my father said something that changed forever how I felt about him.
“They should have shot you all.”
___________________________
This snippet is brought to you by: "Ohio" David Crosby and Venice
https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=share&v=kInBqFUNnow&fbclid=IwAR2VBOJZDcaFYftgz6m2wMJdqPX1Xe7ul4yFlyfMWRkB5BDEHjRbQSjgl1I&app=desktop
Simpson's Piccadilly
Filed in: Work
In the spring of 1973, I was waiting for Canada to approve my immigration papers, so I used the time to return to England to work in a prestigious fashion store in London. (My semester abroad was at the University of Oxford, two years prior.)
I had a visa to work at Simpsons-Piccadilly near Piccadilly Circus. If you ever watched the British TV comedy, Are You Being Served?, the store location was modeled after Simpsons.
At Kent State I'd studied fashion merchandising so it was pretty easy to qualify for the position of sales assistant. Back then, "shop girls" were not very respected. But I made 21 pounds a week which paid for my room and board at John Adams Hall.
Many famous people like Diana Rigg would come to shop in the store. Once I held the credit card of a female customer who had dated Prince Charles, Lady Jane Wellesley. The address on her card? Windsor Castle.
A year ago I came across an old journal from that period that I hadn't read in more than 45 years. At the top of one page were two names of women I had served that day. Maggie Fitzgibbon was an Australian stage actress who was well known for her character in a TV series, The Newcomers. The other name: Lady Bowles. To be exact, Lady Camilla Parker Bowles. It didn't dawn on me until 2019 that I'd had a brief conversation with Prince Charles' future wife. I must have helped her buy clothes.
I had a visa to work at Simpsons-Piccadilly near Piccadilly Circus. If you ever watched the British TV comedy, Are You Being Served?, the store location was modeled after Simpsons.
At Kent State I'd studied fashion merchandising so it was pretty easy to qualify for the position of sales assistant. Back then, "shop girls" were not very respected. But I made 21 pounds a week which paid for my room and board at John Adams Hall.
Many famous people like Diana Rigg would come to shop in the store. Once I held the credit card of a female customer who had dated Prince Charles, Lady Jane Wellesley. The address on her card? Windsor Castle.
A year ago I came across an old journal from that period that I hadn't read in more than 45 years. At the top of one page were two names of women I had served that day. Maggie Fitzgibbon was an Australian stage actress who was well known for her character in a TV series, The Newcomers. The other name: Lady Bowles. To be exact, Lady Camilla Parker Bowles. It didn't dawn on me until 2019 that I'd had a brief conversation with Prince Charles' future wife. I must have helped her buy clothes.
There's a little more to the story that will appear in the completed book.
___________________________
This snippet is brought to you by: My article on efficient wardrobe planning, Nine Pieces Will Give You Thirty Outfits. For order details click on the graphic: (PDF, $1.00) Wardrobe Planning: How to Make 9 Pieces Stretch to 30 Outfits
I took Joe Walsh for a ride
Filed in: Schools
It was likely 1971 because I'd already returned to school after the shooting and left the house where my 3 housemates made my life miserable. I was now living in Rhodes Road apartments and Joe was visiting Craig Morgan who was the Student President at that time. Craig lived across the hall from me.
I don't remember if Joe and I encountered each other in the hallway or if he knocked on my door. I had a car, a Chrysler Belvedere, and he needed a ride to his gig that night. So we walked to my car in the parking lot, got in, and I drove him to one of the local bars where he was going to play.
I doubt if we spoke much during that ride. He has a rather intimidating look about him. He wasn't well known at that time, although he had been a member of a local Kent Ohio group called the James Gang (Funk #49, Walk Away). He split from the James Gang in 1971, so this may have been the start of his solo career.
Jim (James) Fox started the group in 1966, and Jim dated one of my dorm mates, Bonnie Greenbaum. I did some alterations for her. She was in a band as well, and I believe her cousin was Norman Greenbaum (Spirit in the Sky).
I never heard from Joe again.
___________________________
This snippet is brought to you by my e-booklet, Jump-Start Your Creative Genius to Generate Ideas Answers, Solutions (PDF, $5.95).
I don't remember if Joe and I encountered each other in the hallway or if he knocked on my door. I had a car, a Chrysler Belvedere, and he needed a ride to his gig that night. So we walked to my car in the parking lot, got in, and I drove him to one of the local bars where he was going to play.
I doubt if we spoke much during that ride. He has a rather intimidating look about him. He wasn't well known at that time, although he had been a member of a local Kent Ohio group called the James Gang (Funk #49, Walk Away). He split from the James Gang in 1971, so this may have been the start of his solo career.
Jim (James) Fox started the group in 1966, and Jim dated one of my dorm mates, Bonnie Greenbaum. I did some alterations for her. She was in a band as well, and I believe her cousin was Norman Greenbaum (Spirit in the Sky).
I never heard from Joe again.
___________________________
This snippet is brought to you by my e-booklet, Jump-Start Your Creative Genius to Generate Ideas Answers, Solutions (PDF, $5.95).
Phil Collins Peed in My Toilet
Filed in: Home
(There's more to this story which will appear in the book.)
When I was 40 I lived in a house in the Cabbagetown area of Toronto with the strange address of 11 1/2 Rose Avenue. There was an 11 Rose Avenue, and a 12 Rose Avenue. So somebody in City Hall's street department must have decided to give this house a half-number in the middle. Looking back, I think the house should be renumbered as 11.5.
After I moved in, I found, among things left in the house, evidence that Phil Collins had likely stayed there. One was the check (below) he endorsed. Then I started receiving his mail. (See post card below.)
When I was 40 I lived in a house in the Cabbagetown area of Toronto with the strange address of 11 1/2 Rose Avenue. There was an 11 Rose Avenue, and a 12 Rose Avenue. So somebody in City Hall's street department must have decided to give this house a half-number in the middle. Looking back, I think the house should be renumbered as 11.5.
After I moved in, I found, among things left in the house, evidence that Phil Collins had likely stayed there. One was the check (below) he endorsed. Then I started receiving his mail. (See post card below.)
When I had a chance to talk to the previous owner of the house, Tony Mendez, I asked him about Phil. As there was a recording studio in the lower level under my Apartment #1, it made sense that Phil may have been there to record something. Tony entertained people at this house so I asked the dumb question, "Did Phil ever pee in my toilet?" His answer was yes.
Phil never came to pick up his mail.
___________________________
This snippet is brought to you by: My mother's unpublished novel, being distributed in chapter installments as I copy edit them (32 chapters for $6.00): The Inheritance
Reunited
Filed in: Parents
Here's the story of my parents' wedding gift. It was a set: a wine bottle holder and 4 wine glass coasters.
These two are what remain. They are crystal and Sterling Silver, at least 75 years old. The other three wine glass coasters are gone... they got "damaged" in one of my parents' heated arguments when I was about 3 year old toddler. Yes, I remember.
Both of my parents passed away in 2011, and I inherited some of their things. One of these (pictured above) came from my father in Pennsylvania, the other from my mother in Texas. They were divorced in 1953. In the divorce they split everything down the middle. If there were two matching dressers, they each took one. They split these two Sterling and crystal pieces which came back together 65 years after being separated. I saw that as a fitting denouement.
The almost-invisible text on the larger piece says: "Frank M Whiting and Co. Sterling 06 Pat Pending."
It's time for me to let them go to someone who will enjoy them. To purchase them, the 7" wine bottle holder is $50, and the 3" wine glass coaster is $20, or $65 for both. They are quite hefty, but I can ship them. You pay the cost of mailing by USPS. Use my contact form to claim them.
They are rare to find, but hopefully not because so many others were flung at a person and hit a wall!
___________________________
This snippet is brought to you by: Andrea Reynolds' 3 Most Requested Recipes (PDF: $1.99)
