10.26.2024 – high school I went to

high school I went to
does not exist any more …
but it is still there

Grand Rapids Creston – 1968? (note the Christmas Tree Lot)

Came across this old photo and as I remember it, Grand Rapids Creston High School was built in 1927 as the City of Grand Rapids, Michigan, spread north and started to wrap around the far away from downtown, Kent Country Club.

Enough families now lived north of Leonard Street a new high school was needed.

A community effort was made to choose a suitable mascot for the new high school and as it was on the North End of the city, the community picked out Polar Bears and the Creston Polar Bears joined the Grand Rapids City League Athletic Conference.

When opened, there were classes from 7th to 12th grade in the new high school.

My Dad grew up on the North End and graduated from Creston in 1936.

He had been bumped up two grades along the way at Plainfield Elementary and was only 16 years old and had been moved up into the same class has his sister, Marion.

For the rest of his life, my Dad was against any kid being bumped up a grade or two.

For sure, it guaranteed he was the smallest kid in class, which was something most of us Hoffmans did not need any help understanding.

But it also meant that he graduated from Dental School in Ann Arbor in the Spring of 1942 (he was on a fast track of two years at Grand Rapids Junior College and then three years in Dental School without needing an undergraduate degree).

Which made him available for service in the Army of the United States.

He always thought that had he not been bumped ahead in elementary school, he might have been allowed a deferent to finish Dental school and entered the army later or maybe have missed all of WW2 which would have suited him just fine.

My Dad had a pretty good WW2, being the Dental Officer in a headquarters unit in Europe for 3 years but for the rest of his life, camping or spending time in a tent held no attraction for him.

After the war, my Dad returned to the North End, moved his practice from Leonard Street, to Plainfield Ave. and set up housekeeping with my Mom just east of Riverside Park.

They had 11 kids and all of us went to Creston.

By the time I started at Creston, it was a HIGH school of 10th to 12th grade and there were four city high schools, Central, Creston, Ottawa and Union, in Grand Rapids.

My Dad’s office was just down the street so we had a ride to school but a long walk home.

I remember once being in the car with my sister, Lisa, with my Dad driving and he says all of sudden to my sister, “Is it your birthday?”

Lisa said yes it was.

Dad then said, “The sun was in my eyes just like this that day when I drove Mom to the hospital when you were born.

As little kids we would go to events at Creston starring our big brothers and sisters in plays and choir concerts, so we were familiar with the building.

Most of my brothers and sisters where in the Creston Choir or Madrigals and back then, the thing to do was make a record that they could sell to raise money for who knows what.

I remember this as we at least two of each album in our stacks of records because we usually had at least two kids in the choir at any time so my Mom had to buy two albums.

Every Christmas, a forest appeared in front of the high school for the Athletic Club Christmas Tree Sale fund raiser.

We got our Christmas trees there for years and as a little kid, I thought they grew there.

Creston was a building built like they built buildings in 1927.

Designed to be bright inside, there were lots of windows in the classrooms and hallways.

Tall, tall ceilings in the hall ways.

Tall, tall wood framed windows that magically slid in and up and over so that the top and bottom of the windows were open for air flow.

The floors were hardwood and each room had a built in closet for the teacher.

Some rooms had little platforms for the teachers desks.

By the time I got there I knew my way around pretty good but I learned more.

In my junior year I was on the school paper but due to scheduling conflict, Mr. Eikenhout, the teacher in charge, let me work by myself during 1st hour, in the newspaper office while the rest of the class met during 4th hour.

I would often have to seek him out before class and find him in the teachers lounge and he would throw me his keys and I would let myself in.

So there I was with keys and all by myself.

I took it upon myself to really search out Creston High School.

I found my way into the 4th floor attic.

I found my way into the storage rooms behind the auditorium stage that could only be reached by a ladder bolted to the wall that went past interior windows on the air shaft so I could look down in the metal shop.

I found my way into the old coal bins under the gym and back parking lot from the days when Creston had a coal fired furnace.

I ran around so much that a security guard grabbed me one day and asked, “Just who are you anyway?”

I even got an A in Newspaper.

I was smart enough to not do anything stupid.

Well, too stupid anyway.

I admit dumping the bucket of water out the third floor window when the band was marching up the driveway was stupid.

Especially 5 minutes later when the Band teacher kicked the door of the Newspaper room open and demanded to know who did that … and I was the only one in there.

The gym was small and cramped and had to be shared between boys and girls.

The gym was so small that league basketball games were played at North East Jr. High.

The locker rooms were small and cramped (about 7 feet of brick vaulted clearance as I remember.

And there was no swimming pool for athletics.

Back then, the folks of the North End had some clout and the decision was to modernize and enlarge Creston.

A new gym and pool complex was planned and the old neighborhood next door was bought out and demolished.

One of my odder assignments came when I was called into the Principals office along with Mr. Eikenhout and I was told to go through the old neighbor and take photographs to show what it looked like.

With the Principals assignment in my pocket, I walked through the now abandoned neighborhood and went in and out of all those homes and took several rolls of film of streets and rooms and views out windows.

I gave the film to the Principal and never saw them again.

Years later, married with children, I moved back to the North End.

My oldest two boys went to Creston.

There were a little bit surprised how well I knew my way around.

But it wasn’t the same.

Sure there was the huge gym and pool but there were other changes.

Due to risk of fire, the big stairwells were all enclosed with fire doors.

The ceilings in the hallways had been lowered and most of the light from the interior air shafts was cut off making the hallways gloomy.

The floors were all carpeted and you couldn’t run and slide in your socks any more.

Instead of smelling of floor wax, the rooms and halls smelled of carpet disinfectant.

The rooms had modern tables and teachers had been supplied with new cabinets that, sadly, were made of particle board and most were chipped with doors hanging at odd angles.

The windows were sealed as a modern HVAC system had been installed.

They had modernized all the charm, for what it was, out of the place.

Just a few years later, as online education came into play and more and more people moved out the North End and the City overall, Grand Rapids no longer needed 4 high schools and the decision was made to close Creston High School.

The building and grounds had somewhat of a re-birth as Grand Rapids City High and Middle School but Polar Bears no longer.

But the name lives on.

A few years ago I was locked out of my online banking and I called customer service to restore access.

“No problem”, she said, “just let me ask you a few security questions.”

What was your high school mascot?”

POLAR BEARS,” I answered proudly.

There was a long pause.

“I don’t think I ever heard that one before,” she said.

And most likely, never will again.

10.24.2024 – growing up with my

growing up with my
sister Mary, hey do you …
remember Freddie?

I grew up in a group.

I have 10 brothers and sisters, though the last brother showed up after the first brother got married so there were never more than 10 kids in the house at one time.

And it was a big house.

We evolved into two groups of siblings.

The first five and the second five with one brother kind of lost in the middle.

I have memories of being a little kid but there are jumbled altogether with those ‘big’ kids in the first five.

They were ones who went everywhere on family trips.

They went to Disneyland and Yosemite and the Grand Canyon and New Orleans.

Then they went off to college and we in the second five wondered who those people were.

They would be around in the summer and then leave in the fall but be back at Thanksgiving (when we would all watch the Michigan-Ohio State and scream at the TV) and then back at Christmas (when we would all watch Michigan in the Rose Bowl and scream at the TV).

Christmas also had the added attraction of the first family bringing back germs from college and we all got, in succession, the dread stomach virus or winter vomiting as the brits call it.

Through it all strode the indomitable force that was my big sister Mary.

Determined to be all she could be.

Determined to make us all be all we could be if we would just listen.

Before she left for college, her room was on the 2nd floor (or 4th floor … it was a split level) right over the room I shared with my brother Tim.

We had bunk beds and could knock on the ceiling to bug her and she would bang the floor.

We would knock again.

She would bang again.

We would keep this up until we would hear her get out bed, slam open her door, and stomp down the stairs.

We would dive under the covers and pretend to be asleep and she would kick our door open and yell , “KNOCK IT OFF – I KNOW YOU’RE NOT SLEEPING.”

And we had balanced a cup full of water on top of the door.

Even when she was off at college, Mary would reach out to us.

She wrote a letter to my brother Pete with a sketch of her finger on the paper.

She said her hand had been asleep on the page and she didn’t want to move her finger, so she drew it into the letter.

We read that over and over and just laughed and laughed.

She would put her return address on her letters as ME.

What else would the return address be but return it to ME and of course ME meant our sister Mary!

Which we thought was so cool … until she told us it was her initials (Mary Elizabeth).

About this time my brother Peter brought the word Freddie home from school.

We would be watching TV or in the car or anywhere doing nothing and Pete would say, “Freddie” and we would all crack up.

So Mary picked up on it.

She would write and at the end of her letters include, PS: Freddie.

And we would laugh and laugh.

Mom would call her long distance from time to time and Mary would ask to talk to us kids and Mom would hold the phone out to us and Mary would say ‘Freddie’ and we would fall on the floor laughing and laughing.

They thing is we never told Mary what Freddie meant.

We never told anyone what Freddie meant.

My Mom got upset at being left out of the joke and started guessing at what ‘Freddie’ meant and she really fell off the deep end with her off color guesses which made us laugh harder and made Mom madder.

So today, on my sister’s Mary’s birthday, I have to ask?

Do you remember Freddie?

Me and Mary … about 1962?

10.20.2024 – looking out the car

looking out the car
grandson said to just himself …
the best day ever

“It seemed to me, as I kept remembering all this, that those times and those summers had been infinitely precious and worth saving. There had been jollity and peace and goodness. ”

Excerpt From The Essays of E. B. White by E. B. White.

Had the pleasure … let me repeat that … had the pleasure of a visit from grandkids this weekend.

We went to the beach.

We went to dinner.

We played games.

We made and ate breakfast together.

And we talked in the tones of little kids to whom so much is so much more important.

I loved every minute of it.

I am not responsible for the daily maintenance and upkeep of my grand kids which lets me focus on the finer points like saying there is nothing wrong with waffles with chocolate chips and syrup and a powered sugar doughnuts and coffee for breakfast.

We spent the day at the beach and while 20 mph northerly breezes and 70 degree temps kept me out of the water, the grands spent the day in the Atlantic Ocean.

We had a picnic lunch.

We had boogie boards and sand toys and on the way home stopped at a local park known for its alligators and we were rewarded with a large prehistoric monsters lying just off shore.

As we drove back gone and went over the bridge to the mainland, I heard my grandson say to himself … “this been the best day ever!“

“It seemed to me, as I kept remembering all this, that those times and those summers had been infinitely precious and worth saving. There had been jollity and peace and goodness. ”

I repeated this passage on purpose.

10.19.204 – make managers bit

make managers bit
less uptight – something silly
but acceptable

“I never thought anyone would want to do a book about the madness of the 1970s and 1980s. I had no idea people even remembered our Newton’s cradle,” said Loncraine, 78. “It was something to make bank managers a bit less uptight – something silly but acceptable to have on your desk.”

From the article, “‘It was to make bank managers less uptight’: the toy that put Newton’s law on executive desks by Alice Fisher. Lifestyle editor, in the Guardian.

Growing up in the 70’s … the 1970’s, we had one of these at home.

Everyone did.

We knew it by another name though.

We called it ‘Newton’s Balls’ not Newton’s Cradle and it made a big difference.

Especially when you let the two hanging balls on the ends go at the same time and they slammed into the other three over an over again.

You felt it in … well …

One of my older brothers was studying to be a math teacher.

At one point in his life he had a pet cat named Newton.

He would explain how the action of the steel balls demonstrated conservation of momentum and conservation of energy in physics.

I had just read a book about Robert H Goddard and how he had studied Newton’s laws of physics.

As a kid (the book I had read was a young readers life of Robert H Goddard) the book said Goddard had sent away for multi volume sets of books that he read to learn all he could about Newton and this somehow led him to design rockets and rocket engines.

I thought about that.

I thought about what my brother told me.

And I watched Newton’s balls slowly slow down.

And I realized I was not destined for a career in mathematics.

Understand this was not in the family genes.

There were 11 of us and over time we all attended the same high school.

Every year, Grand Rapids Creston would recognize its top students and one of the awards was the math trophy.

My family brought that trophy home 4 times.

But not me.

Years later there was a family get together at my mom’s house.

I was running late and got there after dinner to find most of my brothers and sisters and a lot of my niece’s and nephews all sitting around the dining room table starring at pieces of paper with pencils in hand.

My brother the math teacher looked up and said, ‘Grab a pencil, we working on quadratic equations.”

I figured these were people who needed something silly but acceptable to have on their desk to help them seem bit less uptight.

9.24.2024 – Mr. Baan’s Bar and

Mr. Baan’s Bar and
Mookata Noori Pocha
Fikscue Azizam

Jenny Lawson, in her book, “Furiously Happy: A Funny Book About Horrible Things” , writes that sometimes she needs ‘a word that I just made up for words that you have to invent because they didn’t yet exist.’

With today’s haiku, you might think I am indulging myself with words I had to invent but they didn’t exist.

But you would be wrong.

Today’s haiku is made of names of restaurant’s from the article, “The Restaurant List: Our 50 favorite places in America right now,” in the New York Times.

In the movie, The Natural, baseball player Roy Hobbs, played by Robert Redford, goes out to dinner with an old coach played by Richard Farnsworth who takes him to an Italian restaurant.

The coach starts eating as says something along the lines of, “… you can’t pronounce it, but it sure does eat good.”

I like that line and how it applies to Italian food (and I always have to ask what was Italian food like before Columbus brought tomatoes back from the new world – there was no saucy pizza before 1492 so maybe that is were Neapolitans got the idea … but I digress ) but I am not sure how it applies to restaurant names.

Noori Pocha?

Fikscue?

Azizam?

You can’t pronounce it but it sure does eat good?

Maybe – but I will know never know as I am pretty sure I will never eat in any of these places.

Growing up in a family with 11 kids and a Dad who liked to eat out, eating out was interesting.

Like my own family when we got to seven kids, we didn’t so much go to a restaurant as much as we invaded it.

There was a cafeteria on the North End of Grand Rapids, Michigan were we lived that my Dad enjoyed named Schenshul’s and when Mom needed a break for Sunday Dinner we would all pile in the car and drive up there after church and pile out of the car.

We drove around in what today is called a Van but we called it bus.

In front it had a drivers sear and a passenger seat with the engine … yes the engine … between the two seats.

It had double doors on the passenger side and the last one in sat on a four legged wooden stool that my Dad would place just behind the front seat.

That was with one kid seating on that engine.

In the summer time that engine block would get HOT so my Dad had a couple of wool army blankets that he would set on top of the engine and you would sit on that.

A little kid in summer, wearing shorts, sitting on itchy wool blankets on top of a motor.

No air conditioning back then either.

Don’t even ask me about seat belts.

That was just the transportation.

I am not sure what folks thought watching us all pile out.

I know what they thought of the bus though.

One time there was dent in a door and for reason known but to my Dad, he covered the dent with a stick-on fluorescent flower.

On a trip somewhere at a stop, me and my brothers were wondering around the parking lot waiting for the rest of the family and we heard these two old guys point out the bus and the flower and said, “Stupid Hippies.”

Oh did we laugh and laugh and couldn’t wait to tell Dad when we all got in the car.

No sure what he thought but he left the flower.

Back to Schenshul’s, one time I remember we came through the doors and someone on the restaurant crew looked up and saw us in the line and yelled out, “IT’S THE HOFFMANS! BREAK OUT THE WHITE MILK.”

There were several layers of ‘rites of passage’ when dining at Shenschul’s.

The age when you got your own tray.

The age when you got to push your own tray.

The age when you to order for yourself.

The age when you got to reach over the edge of the cafeteria line and help yourself to a dessert.

The age when you got to CARRY your own tray to the table. This was a biggie and one that my parents were reluctant to okay as there were many close calls.

I myself don’t remember that I or anyone in my family ever dropped or tipped a tray so everything slid off but we saw it often enough.

The final passage was where you got to sit.

Those folks at Schenshul’s would often pull together tables so we could sit in one long group but just as often my Dad would let us take a cluster of tables and we could sit away from our parents.

To sit with the big kids at Schenshul’s.

That’s when you arrived.