Jim Pics

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Detroit, Michigan, 1947

I was born on my mother's birthday in 1947. She was born in 1915. Her

grandparents were born in <st1:country-region><st1:place>Germany</st1:place></st1:country-region>.

My father was born in <st1:country-region><st1:place>England</st1:place></st1:country-region>

in February, 1894. I was always younger than my parents. I think it's

better

that way.

This web page bounces around too much and will be fixed someday. I tend to

be a little "preachy," especially after <st1:time Minute="0" Hour="0">midnight</st1:time>,

when much of this fabrication takes place. Please skip the paragraphs that have

sentences with more than five words. It's mostly me scolding someone, or some

group, or some country; or me lamenting my misfortunes. I really have no

complaints so far. I've had a blonde wife, a red-headed wife (I can not

recommend this to anyone!), and <!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75"

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src="JimPics/New%20Photos/BevYoung2.jpg" align=right v:shapes="_x0000_s1026"><![endif]><st1:City><st1:place>Beverly</st1:place></st1:City>

is taking me through the browns and all the shades of grey.

<o:p></o:p>

<st1:City><st1:place>Beverly</st1:place></st1:City>

started life as a curly-haired blonde and cross-eyed; the slanted head and

pasted on smile were her own invention. Later, when being photographed or when

ordering fast food at a counter, she would lean forward and point her left cheek

at whomever (one can see an early form of this peculiar behavior in the small

portrait shown). <o:p></o:p>

</blockquote>

<!--

<tr><td>Sister of "Chucky?"<td>Chucky

</table></center>

-->If you have a

paragraph or two of your own that might fit somewhere in this story, send

them and supporting images to me at: <a

href="mailto:turner@umich.edu">turner@umich.edu</a>

I was followed by Ron, Andy and Jeannie - "The Ambassador Lane's

Bowling

Queen." My mother had trouble with pregnancies and was afraid I would

perish; she pampered me. It's with great relief I report that I have

survived. I was married to Rebecca Sweet (1969), Nancy Cottingham

(1992), and Beverly Brockman(2000). Rebecca and I had one daughter,

Summer Alexis Sweet (June 21, 1977).

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My father paddling

My father was much older than my mother which was news to me when I finally

realized the obvious. It was strange having a father who was born in a

different century and in a different country, although we spoke his language

the best we could (given the fundamentally poor language preparation taught in

the 1950s in <st1:City><st1:place>Detroit</st1:place></st1:City>). I was so

under-trained that when I arrived in high school, I was tested and placed in a

"dummy's" English curriculum. I couldn't put together two sentences

on a single topic and make them appear to be related - that would come later.

But I could think and dream and make stuff up.

I blame poor Walled Lake public school education for not encouraging

me, much as I blame the poor <st1:City><st1:place>Ann

Arbor</st1:place></st1:City> public schools for my daughter's string of

unsuccessful attempts to "restart" her required education. Her

advisor was a nitwit. Alexis is bright. At least she wasn't stuck in a

three-year reading and writing program that does nothing but make you

wonder

how your fellow classmates could be so ill-prepared for the inevitable

"compare and contrast" writing assignment. I'm sure they thought the

same about me. In retrospect, worrying about public education is moronic! It

wasn't until many years later, that I discovered that I could actually write,

at least fundamentally funny stuff like faculty minutes - a real hoot; and rife

with possibilities. I took my lead in faculty meeting interpretation from my

predecessor, J. Sterling Crandall; a twisted scribe in his own right!

My mother and grandmother

Stoepel Park, Detroit

The initial reason for creating these pages was to record my life for

my daughter. As a result, it is

probably

more than you care to

see and read about my family and me. I apologize for the diatribes,

especially

those that hint at a political or social view. My opinions are slightly

to the

left of brother Ron. In every presidential election I cancel his vote by

voting

Democratic. The way I see it, he might as well not vote.

<img width=250 height=165 src="JimPics/JimToilet49.jpg"

border=0>

Post Dump Syndrome (PDS),

<st1:City><st1:place>Detroit</st1:place></st1:City>,

1949

As I said, I am putting this page together so that my daughter will

remember me, at

least my interpretation of the series of mostly minor events that, when put

head to tail, become my history. I have a few hidden images accessible from

very small links. I will add more. I enjoy working on this, and what the hell,

it's my life, and my pages.

Somewhere along the way I realized I never want to be in the audience.

Instead, I'm driven to participate. This has forced me to learn new things, to

practice, to race and to buy

proper outfits. I also must have the necessary

equipment. Over the years I've spent tuition money on electric pianos, racing

bicycles from Mike Walden's shop, XC skis, a couple of small racing boats

(I470, Finn), saxophones and sewing machines.

I used to love hanging

around the cutting table discussing

pattern selection and notions with other lonely hearts.

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Where are the babes?

Ron and Jim, Hubbell,

<st1:City><st1:place>Detroit</st1:place></st1:City>

<h3>Detroit, Michigan, 1950s</h3>

I'm usually a better than average participant, never wining a race, but

always finishing; always following the changes, but never creating a solo that

is too exciting. I'm happiest when I'm playing music, either at the piano, or

as part of a sax section. I love to play big band music. Then, I'm very happy.

I also love to write code and work on geometric problems. I think these are

called "methods" these days. My daughter makes me very happy.

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Linda Michaels <st1:City><st1:place>Detroit</st1:place></st1:City>,

1952

<img width=242 height=160

src="JimPics/LindaMichael52.jpg" border=0

v:shapes="_x0000_s1031"><![endif]>

Linda

was a BABE. I wonder if she still is? Yo, Linda! Call me!

The spontaneous "Jim doing the jig" photo above shares the thrill

of the movement and portends the chill of the future. I celebrated in 1949, as

I celebrate now: There is nothing quite like a day with dry diapers. Diapers

are my future!

Although we (the "Brothers" + Jeannie) did not realize it at the

time, the house at 14408 Hubbell was not nice. We would never consider living

in such a place today. The house burned in 2007.

This was our first house. <st1:place>Northwest Detroit</st1:place> was a

good, safe area. Our frame of reference for many years was on Hubbell from

Lyndon to Grand River/Schoolcraft. We watched as the new traffic light was

installed at the busy intersection of Lyndon and Hubbell. We still talk about

it today. Traffic control is the cornerstone of all great civilizations.

We watched our cousins on Hubbell in 1956 head west to <st1:State><st1:place>California</st1:place></st1:State>;

they stopped to say goodbye, but mostly they were saying goodbye to <st1:City><st1:place>Detroit</st1:place></st1:City>,

to <st1:State><st1:place>Michigan</st1:place></st1:State>, to

the <st1:place>Midwest</st1:place> and to the future they

wanted to avoid. That very brief moment after their car disappeared down the

street transformed ours to a cold, distant relationship. It was, of course a

long way to <st1:State><st1:place>California</st1:place></st1:State>,

but their journey began many months earlier perhaps with grown-ups discussing

grown-up things across the dinner table. This would not become clear until a

few decades later.<o:p></o:p>

</blockquote>

We all had friends up and down the street. I had to venture beyond the

"hood" (no such concept in the 1950s) to attend <st1:place><st1:PlaceName>Robert</st1:PlaceName>

<st1:PlaceName>Burns</st1:PlaceName> <st1:PlaceType>Elementary School</st1:PlaceType></st1:place>.

In 1968, I returned to Burns school to vote for the losing presidential

candidate, Hubert H. Humphrey. It was my first important act as an adult, which

I wasn't.

The house was actually a duplex but I don't remember anyone living in the

back apartment. Ron recently reminded me of a family named Oickles(sp), so I

guess I do remember. There were a couple of scary doorways and stairways, a

"<st1:State><st1:place>Michigan</st1:place></st1:State>" basement

with a spot where coal was stored before it was shoveled into a frightening

furnace. With all the coal dust, radon, paint fumes, natural gas, bad vibes,

and republican ranting I was exposed to, I feel lucky to only have a slowly

progressing, debilitating, neurological disease. Man, I'm lucky!

My favorite subject in elementary school was music. I learned about music

and wondered why the teacher could play better without any sheet music than my

father could with lots of the stuff. We sang songs everyday such as: "The

Happy Wanderer:"

This lad is not a member of our family

<img border=0 width=200 height=222 id="_x0000_i1025"

src="JimPics/WilliamHenryBakke13.jpg"><o:p></o:p>

I love to go a-wandering,

Along the mountain track,

And as I go, I love to sing,

'My knapsack on my back'.<o:p></o:p>

</blockquote>

Or as we sang at the Kriedeman's:<o:p></o:p>

Faleri falera faleri

falera ha ha ha ha ha ha

Faleri falera

Und schwenke meinen Hut

Das Wandern schafft stets frische Lust

Erhlt das Herz gesund

Frei atmet drauCen meine Brust

Froh singet stets mein Mund

Faleri falera faleri falera ha ha ha ha ha ha

Faleri falera

Froh singet stets mein Mund<o:p></o:p>

</blockquote>

To this day, I'm not sure if the song is named "The happy

wanderer" or "My knapsack on my back?" That type of question

bothered me until I was in my teens. <o:p></o:p>

<h3>Walled <st1:place>Lake</st1:place> Junior High

1959-1962</h3>

Boberg bustin' out

Mr. Boberg, my junior high music teacher, added his

own

musical mystery when he danced fluidly around the room, locked solidly in

another world and perfectly in step with either "June is Bustin' Out All

Over," or "The Toreador Song." As my high school math teacher

would say: “You will not understand … until graduate school."

<o:p> </o:p>

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src="JimPics/molly1.jpg">

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And what about the misrepresentation of Molly Malone? I

loved that simple song we sang in Robert Burns Elementary School; but years

later I learned that it was actually a very sad song. You be the judge: <o:p></o:p>

<o:p> </o:p>

In

Dublin's fair city,

Where the girls are so pretty,

I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone

As she wheeled her wheelbarrow

Through streets broad and narrow,

Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive oh" <o:p></o:p>

Chorus:

Alive, alive oh! alive, alive oh!

Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive oh"!

Now she was a fishmonger,

And sure twas no wonder,

For so were her mother and father before,

And they each wheeled their barrow,

Through streets broad and narrow,

Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive oh"! <o:p></o:p>

Chorus:

She died of a fever,

And no one could save her,

And that was the end of sweet Molly Malone.

Now her ghost wheels her barrow,

Through streets broad and narrow,

Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive oh"! <o:p></o:p>

Died of a fever! No one could save her? Ghost? I don't remember singing that

verse. Today, A teacher would be fired for bringing such words to the lips our

vulnerable children. I remember Burns Elementary only in black and white. <span

style='font-size:12.0pt'><o:p></o:p>

Life gets tougher. Hubbell Ave., Detroit, MI - 1952

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As

you can see, I felt very comfortable on a real horse. Compare this to the

following picture taken only a year earlier. I remember being in a "cowboy

trance" for a summer or two

Soon after, I learned a song about an old grey mare ... " she ain't what

she used to be! Ain't what she used to be. Ain't what she used to be ...

." I suppose that had another meaning similar to the intended repeat of

the very famous (among teenage girls) poem by Bobby Frost: "... and miles

to go before I sleep; and miles to go before I sleep."

<h3>Robert Burns Elementary School 1952-1958</h3>

Mr. Hagen, Shop Nazi and Safety Patrol Boss

I'll keep this short and there are currently no images of this fellow. Mr.

Hagen was the shop teacher and in charge of the "Safety Boys."

Apparently, I was a joiner even then and I did time patrolling the dangerous

crossing at Marlowe and Lyndon. No problem; until I learned the sacred art of

"shagging" cars. Here's the scoop: after a good snow, when the roads

are covered and kind of smooth, grab onto the bumpers of a car that has just

turned onto the side street. It's like water skiing, only without the water,

boat, ski and rope. Instead, you have slick snow, a car with a big chrome

bumper, smooth-soled boots (no rugged, "he-man" treads in those days)

and your arms. You also had angry motorists and nasty exhaust fumes. Of course,

you had an extremely dangerous situation, as pointed out by Mr. Hagen during

the lecture he gave me when I was dismissed from the corner of Marlowe and

Lyndon. I eventually stopped shagging way before "shagging" was used

to describe another more pleasant activity. <span style='mso-bidi-font-size:

11.0pt'><o:p></o:p>

SHAGGING

Man hung onto to stolen car at 80mph.

Some interesting snippets found on the www: <o:p></o:p>

<span style='font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Symbol;mso-ascii-font-family:

"Times New Roman"'>·<span

style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  When I was a kid growing up in old

Detroit, we did this every day on the way to school, back when bumpers were big

enough to get a good handle on. We called it "shagging cars".

In Chicago we called it "Skitching". <o:p></o:p>

<span style='font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Symbol;mso-ascii-font-family:

"Times New Roman"'>·<span

style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  Why don't you practice "skitching"

- holding on to the back of a car bumper and getting towed through the snow,

skiing on your feet. It's good to start of on a friend4s car at about 10 mph,

then as you get better you can skitch on strangers cars as you stagger out of

the bar at <st1:time Minute="0" Hour="4">4am</st1:time><span

style='font-size:10.0pt'>. <o:p></o:p>

<span style='font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Symbol;mso-ascii-font-family:

"Times New Roman"'>·<span

style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  Skitching (i.e. "ski-hitching"

or "skate-hitching") is the act of hitching a ride on the rear

bumper of a car when there is ice or slick snow on the roads. This can also be

done with a skateboard in urban areas where there is no ice or snow. However,

this activity can be dangerous, so caution is advised. (Is this guy joking?) <o:p></o:p>

<span style='font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Symbol;mso-ascii-font-family:

"Times New Roman"'>·<span

style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  Growing up in snowland, the activity of

the day was "skitching," where a kid would grab onto a bus bumper

and get tugged along a snow-slick street. When Johnny Skitcher would inevitably

die an awful death, teachers would scold us. One kid would be scared straight,

half of the others would yawn, and the rest would think: "Why didn't I

think of that? Sounds cool." Tight, even. <o:p></o:p>

<span style='font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Symbol;mso-ascii-font-family:

"Times New Roman"'>·<span

style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  Well I spent a lot of time outside this

weekend and was reminded of all the fun things you can do in the snow. Some,

unfortunately, are very dangerous though. Take for example, "hookey

bobbing." For those who don't know what that is, allow me to explain. Hooky

bobbing is when you grab onto the backside of a moving car so that it pulls

you along in the snow. Not for the very smart. <o:p></o:p>

<span style='font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Symbol;mso-ascii-font-family:

"Times New Roman"'>·<span

style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  I'd love to know where the term "hookey-bobbing"

originated! We used to call it skeetching (or skitching) also,

and it is quite stupid. The other day I saw a gigantic SUV flying down my

street with a rope tied to the bumper and two kids on a plastic saucer at the

other end of the rope. I'd like to know where they thought those kids would end

up if that SUV had to make a sudden stop or turn, God forbid with another SUV

coming the opposite direction. <o:p></o:p>

<span style='font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Symbol;mso-ascii-font-family:

"Times New Roman"'>·<span

style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  Skitching: The dangerous act of

hitching a ride on the rear bumper of a car when there's ice or slick snow. Do

not attempt to do this potentially fatal act. Southsiders may pronounce the

word as "skeetching." (A little objectivity please!) <o:p></o:p>

<span style='font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Symbol;mso-ascii-font-family:

"Times New Roman"'>·<span

style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  Snagging was my favorite and I

plan a post soon just on the art of snagging. In other parts of the country

snagging was also known as "skitching" or bumper riding.

Basically, you would sneak behind a car, crouch down and grab the bumper and

then ski away as the car pulled off. It was great! Snagging is one of those

activities that most of the people from my generation and geography did but

that is no longer done by today's generation (lots of reasons that I'll

probably address in a longer post). I'll suffice it to say that I loved

snagging <o:p></o:p>

<span style='font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Symbol;mso-ascii-font-family:

"Times New Roman"'>·<span

style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  "There ought to be a song about

tobogganing. Drinking beer and bombing down hills out into traffic, through

hedgerows and into creeks. -- Should

'beerbogganing' be a real word?? -- Oh and please include some of the

fringe sledding activities like bumper shining/skiing/shagging -what

jackets, smokes and Kodiak boots getting dragged through the snow holding on to

a bumper. BTW - what rhymes with tobogganing? <o:p></o:p>

</blockquote>

</list>

<!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="_x0000_s1035" type="#_x0000_t75" alt=""

style='position:absolute;margin-left:1327.5pt;margin-top:0;width:187.5pt;

height:152.25pt;z-index:8;mso-wrap-distance-left:0;mso-wrap-distance-right:0;

mso-position-horizontal:right;mso-position-vertical-relative:line'

o:allowoverlap="f">

<v:imagedata src="JimPics/New%20Photos/Lake1.jpg"/>

<w:wrap type="square"/>

</v:shape><![endif]--><![if !vml]><img width=250 height=203

src="JimPics/New%20Photos/Lake1.jpg" align=right v:shapes="_x0000_s1035"><![endif]>

The Teubner's at Graybill's, <st1:place><st1:PlaceName>Wolverine</st1:PlaceName>

<st1:PlaceType>Lake</st1:PlaceType></st1:place>

I don't see Jeannie in this picture. She was either 1) not born yet, 2) not in

the water, or 3) being held under water by me, Ron or Andy. You be the judge! <span

style='font-size:12.0pt'><o:p></o:p>

Icicles - the perfect weapon!

Mr. Hagen was also the shop teacher. One day while making icicles from long

strands of tin (we put one end in a vise, grabbed onto the other end with

pliers and twisted) I grabbed the piece and was cut on my hand between my index

finger and thumb. Mr. Hagen was standing near me when it happened -

Coincidence? Maybe. Over the years, as I have grown, I watched the scar move so

that it is now on the top of my hand, at the base of my index finger.

<img width=450 height=275

src="JimPics_April05_files/image001.jpg">

have met only one person who attended <st1:place><st1:PlaceName>Robert</st1:PlaceName>

<st1:PlaceName>Burns</st1:PlaceName> <st1:PlaceType>Elementary School</st1:PlaceType></st1:place>

- our realtor, Jack Mercer. Jack has promised to provide me with pictures. On <st1:date

Year="2005" Day="15" Month="1">January 15, 2005</st1:date>, Jack came through

with the pictures

<![if !supportLineBreakNewLine]>

<![endif]>

Jack the Realtor

The early years...

Unknown to all but those of us who care enough to alter the truth, is the

story of young Jack Mercer, and a chance encounter with his first mentor; the

legendary realtor, Fred Ward Sr.

Hey kid! What's it gonna take to put you in that condo?

But Mr. Realtor, that’s not a condo, that's <st1:place><st1:PlaceName>Robert</st1:PlaceName>

<st1:PlaceName>Burns</st1:PlaceName> <st1:PlaceType>Elementary School</st1:PlaceType></st1:place>.

And besides, I don't have any money. And what's a "condo?"

Kid. You have been pre-approved for a 1.99 APR, interest-only, mortgage

from Rock Financial. I can schedule a Radon test for early next week.

But Mr. Realtor, sir. Isn't Mr. David Hall Sr. the Cooley High School

basketball coach? ... and what's a "Radon?" And does it have anything

to do with Flash Gordon? ... and why do you wear that plaid jacket? ...and,

say, this feels like an anachronism

Kid. Don't interrupt me again. Remember, I'm an "Real-A-Tour,"

and I'm here to help you

But, sir. My dad says those principle-only, short term rates will eventually

push most interest rates higher, including the rates charged to the banks, and

this type of "quick fix" loan appeals mostly to those who can least

afford to not reduce their principle.

UPDATE October, 2008: World economy near collapse. Notice there are

more Rock Financial commericals and no more soft sell by Michigan graduate

David Hall.

Kid. Don't you throw those double-negatives at

me!

This is the view I remember best, along Terry, just south of Lyndon. I'm

sure you're familiar with that intersection. Remove that silly canary yellow,

unisex, politically correct play thing and what's left is pretty much how it

looked in the 1950s. This was a typical neighborhood school. There was no

bussing.

<!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="_x0000_s1037" type="#_x0000_t75" alt=""

style='position:absolute;margin-left:0;margin-top:0;width:93pt;height:166.5pt;

z-index:10;mso-wrap-distance-left:0;mso-wrap-distance-right:0;

mso-position-horizontal:left;mso-position-vertical-relative:line'

o:allowoverlap="f">

<v:imagedata src="JimPics/MiltPappas2.jpg"/>

<w:wrap type="square"/>

</v:shape><![endif]--><![if !vml]><img width=124 height=222

src="JimPics/MiltPappas2.jpg" align=left v:shapes="_x0000_s1037"><![endif]>Gimpy?

We played baseball in the evenings and on weekends and we even had an almost

direct connection to the major leagues: A few blocks from the school lived the

family of Milt "Gimpy" Pappas who pitched for Thomas Cooley High

School and then the Baltimore Orioles. His 1958 Topps rookie card was blue and

he looked at least 16 (he was 20). His wife, sadly, disappeared on September

11, 1982. He was the first pitcher to win 200 games without having a 20 win

season. A Detroit boy in the Majors! WOW!

I saw a short movie when I was about seven or eight called

"Billie’s' Bump." It was about a young boy who had a strange

bump on his arm that allowed him to throw a baseball very far, and very fast.

When the WWW came along, I was able to "search" and find a copy. I

have not ordered it. I think some things from the past should be left as

memories where they can be remembered and adjusted to fit our needs: malleable

- like brass - and made shiny, when we need a little polish. Note: The movie

may have been called "Roogies Bump."

14408 <st1:place><st1:City>Hubbell

Detroit</st1:City>, <st1:State>MI</st1:State></st1:place>

Zone 27,

<st1:State><st1:place>Vermont</st1:place></st1:State> 56772

<!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="_x0000_s1038" type="#_x0000_t75" alt=""

style='position:absolute;margin-left:0;margin-top:0;width:325.6pt;height:248.25pt;

z-index:11;mso-wrap-distance-left:0;mso-wrap-distance-right:0;

mso-position-horizontal:left;mso-position-vertical:top;

mso-position-vertical-relative:line' o:allowoverlap="f">

<v:imagedata src="JimPics/Hubbell.jpg"/>

<w:wrap type="square"/>

</v:shape><![endif]--><![if !vml]><img width=434 height=331

src="JimPics/Hubbell.jpg" align=left v:shapes="_x0000_s1038"><![endif]>For

those

who have had issues with Mapquest.com, I present the exact way NOT to walk to <st1:place><st1:PlaceName>Robert</st1:PlaceName>

<st1:PlaceName>Burns</st1:PlaceName> <st1:PlaceType>Elementary school</st1:PlaceType></st1:place>

(notice the spelling of "Burns" from Mapquest) from our house:

<li class=MsoNormal style='mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto;

mso-list:l0 level1 lfo3;tab-stops:list .5in'>Start

out going SOUTH on <st1:Street><st1:address><span style='font-size:

10.0pt'>HUBBELL ST</st1:address></st1:Street><span

style='font-size:10.0pt'> toward <st1:Street><st1:address><span

style='font-size:10.0pt'>INTERVALE ST.</st1:address></st1:Street><span

style='font-size:10.0pt'> 0.1 miles <o:p></o:p></li>

<li class=MsoNormal style='mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto;

mso-list:l0 level1 lfo3;tab-stops:list .5in'>Turn

RIGHT onto <st1:Street><st1:address>INTERVALE

ST.</st1:address></st1:Street> 0.1

miles <o:p></o:p></li>

<li class=MsoNormal style='mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto;

mso-list:l0 level1 lfo3;tab-stops:list .5in'>Turn

RIGHT onto <st1:Street><st1:address>TERRY

ST.</st1:address></st1:Street> 0.1

miles <o:p></o:p></li>

<li class=MsoNormal style='mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto;

mso-list:l0 level1 lfo3;tab-stops:list .5in'>End

at Burnes Elementary School 14350 <st1:address><st1:Street><span

style='font-size:10.0pt'>Terry St</st1:Street><span

style='font-size:10.0pt'>, <st1:City>Detroit</st1:City><span

style='font-size:10.0pt'>, <st1:State>MI</st1:State><span

style='font-size:10.0pt'> <st1:PostalCode><span style='font-size:

10.0pt'>48227</st1:PostalCode></st1:address><span

style='font-size:12.0pt'><o:p></o:p></li>

</ol>

<st1:place><st1:PlaceName>Burns</st1:PlaceName> <st1:PlaceType>School</st1:PlaceType></st1:place>

Stage, <st1:place><st1:City>Detroit</st1:City>, <st1:State>MI</st1:State></st1:place>

1954

I love a good uniform and a combat-ready cohort.

This is the <st1:place><st1:PlaceName>Burns</st1:PlaceName> <st1:PlaceType>School</st1:PlaceType></st1:place>

stage in the auditorium. I was a Cub Scout and we made these figures on a stick

that would dance about when the thin board they were resting on was thumped by

a Cub Scout. I remember this very well. David Urton, to my right, looked <!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape

id="_x0000_s1039" type="#_x0000_t75" alt="" style='position:absolute;

margin-left:1488.75pt;margin-top:0;width:225pt;height:159.75pt;z-index:12;

mso-wrap-distance-left:0;mso-wrap-distance-right:0;mso-position-horizontal:right;

mso-position-horizontal-relative:text;mso-position-vertical:top;

mso-position-vertical-relative:line' o:allowoverlap="f">

<v:imagedata src="JimPics/JimBurnsStage.GIF"/>

<w:wrap type="square"/>

</v:shape><![endif]--><![if !vml]><img width=300 height=213

src="JimPics/JimBurnsStage.GIF" align=right border=0

v:shapes="_x0000_s1039"><![endif]>good

and <!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="_x0000_s1040" type="#_x0000_t75" alt=""

style='position:absolute;margin-left:0;margin-top:0;width:187.5pt;height:185.25pt;

z-index:13;mso-wrap-distance-left:0;mso-wrap-distance-right:0;

mso-position-horizontal:left;mso-position-horizontal-relative:text;

mso-position-vertical:top;mso-position-vertical-relative:line' o:allowoverlap="f">

<v:imagedata src="JimPics/New%20Photos/Cubs1958.jpg"/>

<w:wrap type="square"/>

</v:shape><![endif]--><![if !vml]><img width=250 height=247

src="JimPics/New%20Photos/Cubs1958.jpg" align=left v:shapes="_x0000_s1040"><![endif]>appears

to me "working" the audience, but couldn't get the thing to dance;

the kid who was two scouts to port, was cheating; Roger McCoy (who thought he

was Superman), couldn't do anything; and the others were failing miserably. It

was my first stage experience and, to be honest, I could stop this nonsensical

story right here!

The rest of my life has been episodes all based on this little scene, with

minor transformations from music to sports to school to teaching, .... I am

always able to produce a mediocre performance because I follow the suggestions

of my mentors. Replace my scout master, or den mother with Mike Walden, Harold

Borkin, Norm Barnett, John E. Lawrence, Morris Lawrence; replace the Scouts

with bicycle racers, architecture students, architecture faculty, musicians;

change the stage to a bike track, a classroom, a lecture hall, a laboratory, a

music room...

Now it's the same old song... Ah,

Jim Bursick's Recollections

October 16, 2008

I am not sure what prompted my to search for Burns Elementary School but

among the listings was your web page. My family lived on Mark Twain near

Chalfont. I attended Burns from 1948 to 1955. The following year,

the family escaped to the suburbs of Farmington.

The school photograph triggered a mixed bag of memories. Mrs. Eisenberg

was my kindergarten teacher; Mrs. Chadwick, my first grade teacher. I

dont

remember all of the "home room" teachers, but Miss Bodie and Mrs. McMann

were two of them.

The auditorium teachers were Mrs. Moran and Mrs. Granger, one of whom was

nicknamed "liver lips." The social studies/history teacher was Miss

Johnson, memorable because she always showed movies [instead of teaching]

and

sported a full-length mink coat [on a teacher's salary]. The science

teacher was Miss Fletcher. The science room had a green house attached

[visible in your photo of the school]. I seem to remember Mrs. Riddell

as the library teacher.

We didn't learn much about the library and how to use it but she did read

stories. There were two gym teachersa Mutt and Jeff team. The mutt was

Miss Mauser.

I have saved the music teacher and the shop teacher for last. Miss

McGregor was the music teacher. She is memorable because she had a

shy kid [me] stand up and sing. Following my off-key rendition,

she proceeded to ridicule me in front

of the class. Some things last a lifetime and I haven't sung since.

The attached photo taken around 1954 shows the Burns Elementary safety

boys and its leader, Mr. Hagen. Your story about him reminded of my own

drumming out of the corps. I was "on duty" at Lyndon and Lauder and heard

the "all clear" call. I left my post and the next thing I knew, I was

being confronted by Mr. Hagen and the school principal,

Mrs. Rudduck, aka "rubberduck." It seems that some kid was hurt at the

crossing I was patrolling and I was accused of leaving

my post early. I did my best to defend myself [no lawyers in those days]

but lost. Punishment ensued. I was banned from attending a Tiger's game

with the rest of the safety boys, and subsequently was dismissed from the

corps. My mother no

longer had to bleach and starch the belt. I never liked the hot

chocolate.

Ron's recollection:

This is what I remember about Burns.

It looked a lot smaller when I walked through it about 15 years ago, especially

the gym. Miss Eisenberg was my kindergarten teacher who had a remarkable

memory. I was walking across Lauder one day with Roy Wise and she was at the

corner in her car. I hadn't seen her since 1956 or so and she rolled her window

down and asked if I was Ron Turner. I couldn't believe it. Very good teacher.

There was a teacher named Mrs. King. She was a grumpy old thing. Same with Mrs.

Moran who was in the auditorium. Mrs. Fletcher, who slapped me up side the head

for spitting on the tables. That's where one of the teachers read us Mrs.

Pickerel books. That is also the place I first voted (for Nixon, of course) It

was that day that I saw Mrs. Hornberger and found out that John had died during

an operation when he was 31.

We moved to Walled Lake permanently when I [Ron] was in 3rd grade (1958) and

moved back into Detroit in November of 1964. We moved to Mark Twain in June of

1966.

Karen Powell's fond memories of Burns school:

That photo of Burns school really jolted me. I can pick out the spot on the

playground where I got beat up by a greaser chick who was hired by another girl

to hit me. Actually I dodged and she hit the brick building with her fist. So

to placate her, I had to let her hit me once. She said it was only business and

she really liked me. Ron and I had all the same teachers. Mrs. King once

dragged me to the office by my ear for talking in class. She was the proverbial

battle axe.

I went to Burn's School too!

At the end of September, 2006, I received an e-mail from a woman who

saw this web page and also attended Burn's Elementary in the 1950s. I

include portions of her memories.

I couldn't believe it when I saw your website. The picture of Burns

School brought back so many memories. I started Kindergarten in 1956

and was in Mrs. Eisenberg's class in the morning. My poor mother had

to leave me on the first day of school as I cried my eyes out in her

classroom. Mrs. Eisenberg was a very understanding, wonderful

teacher who helped me to adjust before the end of the first grade.

In the beginning of first grade, on September 26, 1957, I was met on the

walk home with Ridgeway Burns by my brother, Gary. He had raced home

and then quickly retraced his steps to inform me that our

father had died at home at about 1:30 P.M. I, of course, told Gary

that he was a meany for saying such a thing and then hurried home to

make sure it was a lie. Unfortunately, I entered my house on Marlowe

only to discover that Gary had told me in a very blunt manner that

our dad really had died.

The whole neighborhood tried to help my

mother, but it was tough after that day. My mother tried to

work, but in those days, it was practically unheard of to do such a

thing. In fact, Mr. Gayle the assistant principal, told my mother to

quit the part time job she had begun, because it had caused me to faint in

the auditorium while I was waiting to go into the

lunchroom.

My favorite teacher was Mrs. Marks. She was my seventh

grade teacher and was always very nice. I think she understood me as

well as Mrs. Eisenberg. I wonder sometimes what happened to the

group of kids who were in my class. It was such a long time ago. I

left Burns to go to Cadillac Junior High in 1964.

Bette Jayne (Eppolito) Williams

p>More about Burns Elementary from C. N. Horn

A former student (1960-66)

Burns School and Cooley and memories down the lane

Miss Cecelia Moran (Auditorium),

Miss Susie Ganger (Auditorium),

Miss Margaret Fletcher (Science),

Miss Alice Andre/Science (still living!),

Mrs. Chadwick, Mrs. Maud King,

Mrs. Bertha Wilbur/gym,

Mrs. Mauser/gym

Miss Bode was a sub when I was there, as was Miss McGregor.

Gwen Morrow was my initial music teacher.

I had Riddell but she must have retired during my stay.

I remember Miss Johnston.

I remember Mrs. Eisenberg/KDG (or was she a Miss?)

Mrs. Blakely, Mrs. Virginia Davis (Fifth/Sixth Grade),

Mrs. Nanes (Fourth Grade).

Mrs. Horn (Home Econonmics).

Mr. Olberg Hagen, shop and safeties!

What about Mrs. Mary Marks??

Miss Lassaline! I had her for a part of possibly first grade, then again later when she switched to Art.

Miss Campbell!

The courtyard in the center of the school.

I took two tours of the school recently: November 2008 and May, 2009: WONDERful memories -- and the school bell sounds the same . . . they wrecked the ambiance of the Auditorium by raising the floor to stage-height and making it into an extended lunchroom from "The Little Gym."

More about Burns Elementary from C. N. Horn

Miss Cecelia Moran (Auditorium),
Miss Susie Ganger (Auditorium),
Miss Margaret Fletcher (Science),
Miss Alice Andre/Science (still living!),
Mrs. Chadwick, Mrs. Maud King,
Mrs. Bertha Wilbur/gym,
Mrs. Mauser/gym
Miss Bode was a sub when I was there, as was Miss McGregor.
Gwen Morrow was my initial music teacher.
I had Riddell but she must have retired during my stay.
I remember Miss Johnston.
I remember Mrs. Eisenberg/KDG (or was she a Miss?)
Mrs. Blakely, Mrs. Virginia Davis (Fifth/Sixth Grade),
Mrs. Nanes (Fourth Grade).
Mrs. Horn (Home Econonmics).
Mr. Olberg Hagen, shop and safeties!
What about Mrs. Mary Marks??
Miss Lassaline! I had her for a part of possibly first grade, then again later when she switched to Art.
Miss Campbell!

The courtyard in the center of the school.

Took two tours of the school recently: November 2008 and May, 2009: WONDERful memories -- and the school bell sounds the same . . . they wrecked the ambiance of the Auditorium by raising the floor to stage-height and making it into an extended lunchroom from "The Little Gym."

<h3>What? The Earth is Not Flat? </h3>

<img border=0 width=200 height=213 id="_x0000_i1027"

src="JimPics/Cowboy51.jpg">

Small boy, small horse. Cowboy, Detroit 1951

Luckily, I had the requisite skills to stay atop that galloping solid spruce

steed! I would face a disturbing conundrum a few years later, while living on

Hubbell.

Transcendental issues

(As opposed to "Quincy Dental", where <st1:City><st1:place>Beverly</st1:place></st1:City>

worked as an assistant.)

It happened when I let myself think too deeply about the improbable frame of

reference of our planet. I was comfortable working with points in space and

their various names relative to different sets of base vectors (Cartesian

coordinate system, for one). I was okay with angular momentum, and the concept

of various proposed relationships between space and time; and the conservation

of energy, and inertia, and coefficients of static and dynamic friction, and

the marginal propensity to spend and save. <o:p></o:p>

<o:p> </o:p>

Later in life, I understood why my

high school math teacher responded the way she did when asked, "What are

matrices for?" "It's something you will not understand until you have

taken graduate-level math courses." I did, and I do. During my dark

periods now, I try to remember as much as I can about that teacher, who I

danced with at the prom, who elevated my thirst for math to an uneasy level.

That's Mrs. Rodgers pointing to the chalkboard. "Skaggy" by

teenage standards, but rather "Sensational" by current measures.

Walled <st1:place><st1:PlaceType>Lake</st1:PlaceType> <st1:PlaceType>Senior

High School</st1:PlaceType></st1:place>, Walled Lake, MI, 1962-1965

But, when I tried to logically place our planet in some realistic

physical context, my mind would short out. I was very scared. There is no

plausible context. We learn in the classroom that parallel lines either: 1)

never intersect, no matter how far out you go; or 2) intersect at infinity (is

that infinity to the right or infinity to the left? Another stinking

conundrum); or 3) intersect in N+1 space; that is, in 3-space, parallel lines

never intersect, but in 4-space we can easily determine an intersection

(matrices again). Very interesting for a grown-up trying to solve some weird

problem, but for a young boy drifting off to sleep while trying to imagine a

physical reference for his neighborhood, it's very frightening.

Later, I convinced myself that the answer can not be found in conventional

mathematics, physics or astronomy. Answers are available to those who

understand way beyond transformation matrices, and really way beyond Mrs.

Rodgers. (Maybe I should have followed the teachings of Mr. Rogers instead?)

This remains my foremost disturbing conundrum, one I prefer not to think about.

<img border=0 width=250 height=214 id="_x0000_i1029"

src="JimPics/LincolnLogs54.jpg">

Architecture

14408 Hubbell, <st1:City><st1:place>Detroit</st1:place></st1:City>

1954

If architecture had been Lincoln Logs, I would have been Frank Lloyd Wright

<img border=0 width=250 height=275 id="_x0000_i1030"

src="JimPics/KnottsBerry1960.jpg">

Knott's <st1:State><st1:place>Berry</st1:place></st1:State>

Farm, <st1:place>Southern CA</st1:place>, 1960

This is an extended family photo taken just before we headed back home to <st1:place><st1:PlaceName>Walled</st1:PlaceName>

<st1:PlaceType>Lake</st1:PlaceType></st1:place> after a 9 month stay in <st1:City><st1:place>Riverside</st1:place></st1:City>.

This photo does not show a "blended" family. My mother and her

sister, Louise, were quite different; and, of course, so were the husbands and

kids. Ron, Andy, Jean and I had a good time. Going to <st1:place>Europe</st1:place>

later in my life was far less culture shock than the out and back, Route 66

trip in 1959-60.

<img border=0 width=250 height=246 id="_x0000_i1031"

src="JimPics/Dane1956.jpg">

Step Brother Dane

Much older and never paid much attention to our father. Currently, MIA. He did,

however, fly up from Florida for my Mother's funeral in September, 1984 and

carry with him an old set of hockey goalie pads. My career as a

"sieve" began. The rest is part of <st1:City><st1:place>Ann Arbor</st1:place></st1:City>

hockey history.

<img border=0 width=250 height=239 id="_x0000_i1032"

src="JimPics/RonStab1968.jpg">

<h3>Detroit, Michigan + Ann Arbor + Walled Lake 1960s</h3>

Karen Powell, Hubbell Detroit

No one mentioned to us as we were growing up on Hubbell that our distant

neighbor (more than one block), Karen Powell, would one day be beautiful,

shapely, intelligent, clever, creative, and a bunch of other good qualities.

Now that I look carefully at the pictures, I can easily see the beginnings of

such a person. So, why didn't one of us marry her? Have you ever kissed your

sister? Yuck!

The Sorrento Incident.

The group shot was taken in 1968, the same night Ron and Bill Sweet and Manos

Armstrong and I had a little tussle with some creeps from another neighborhood.

I remember running after them, but I cannot remember why. A few days later, we

took Bill's VW to their street and for no apparent reason knocked on the perp's

door. He wasn't home, but his mother graciously made some phone calls and let

her son know that we had come calling. Of course, we didn't know she had

called, but as we walked to the car a stampede of about a dozen neighborhood

punks - one with a baseball bat - came running towards us. Why we went there, I

cannot remember. I place that event near the top of the list of stupid things I

have done in my life. (Perhaps, in second place, behind marrying a redhead)

As I look back at that potentially dangerous situation, I now know that we

were lucky to arrive home with only a nasty dent and broken windshield in

Bill's car. A baseball bat is not a gun, but the thought of one of those

socially inept, inbred punks pummeling one of us, frightens me to this day.

What were we thinking? We weren't.

Karen Powell at Calvary EUB Church, Detroit, 1967

<img border=0 width=175 height=186 id="_x0000_i1033"

src="JimPics/KarenCalvary.jpg">

We attended the church on Hubbell near Fenkell (Five Mile Road), across from

Cooley High School. Ron and I went because most of the neighborhood girls also

attended, at least the ones who were not Catholic. I don't go to church now and

haven't since the Calvary days. I do not understand why there are churches.

Churches were built many years after the Jesus incident to provide a place for

worshippers to wait for his return. I guess people are still waiting; but how

did the Catholic church get so big and so wealthy? Why do we still have

religions that send recruiters to our houses? Will this ever go away? In my

opinion, the dude isn't coming back.

<img border=0 width=200 height=278 id="_x0000_i1034"

src="JimPics/KarenCar.jpg">

Check the first picture; look at the smile and look at the bone structure.

Top notch stuff! It would take a good deal of extrapolation to morph from that

young girl in at the kitchen table to the stunningly beautiful 20ish woman

leaning on that lucky car.

<img border=0 width=250 height=133 id="_x0000_i1035"

src="JimPics/KarenKids.jpg">

And after two kids, things got even better (other than the fact that she had

moved away, gotten married to a nice fellow from Ohio - What's "rOund on

the outside and HI in the middle? - wrote poems and screenplays, became a

probation officer and survived cancer.

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</v:shape><![endif]--><![if !vml]><img border=0 width=314 height=255

src="JimPics_April05_files/image002.jpg" v:shapes="_x0000_i1036"><![endif]>

This is Ron and John McGee and Bob Sweet in our basement. This was the

genesis of the famous band, "The Ants." I guess it wasn't that

famous, but it was good enough to have our cousin, Jack (of clowning fame),

grab a tambourine and beg to join.

Ambassador Lanes, Fenkell, <st1:City><st1:place>Detroit</st1:place></st1:City>,

1950s-60s

<img border=0 width=450 height=357 id="_x0000_i1101"

src="JimPics/Bowling.jpg">

Can you find me and Ron in this amalgam of late night men of the tenpin? The fellow

directly behind Ron is not really caressing his head; he is not a pedophile. He

is caressing his Brunswick Black Beauty bowling ball (some would consider that

an equal offense).

<img

border=0 width=208 height=138 id="_x0000_i1037" src="JimPics/RonHeadBowling.jpg">.<o:p></o:p>

Many days and nights watching bowling turned me into a

masterful scorekeeper (but not a masterful bowler). My ability to keep score

properly led to a disturbing incident in 1966 that involved vomit and death. I

will add that story soon.

. <o:p></o:p>

<img border=0 width=217 height=404 id="_x0000_i1038"

src="JimPics/WKNR1967.jpg">

WKNR Music Guide.

Pictured is Dick Purtan, radio personality. Note: Dick is

still working the morning shift at WOMC.

That Strawberry Alarm Clock could really smoke! <span

style='mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;font-style:normal'><o:p></o:p>

The Mother's Truck

<st1:City><st1:place>Ann Arbor</st1:place></st1:City>,

1968-1970

Playing the bass guitar with Mother's Truck, singing on the far right. At <st1:place><st1:PlaceType>Lake</st1:PlaceType>

<st1:PlaceName>Orion</st1:PlaceName> <st1:PlaceType>High School</st1:PlaceType></st1:place>,

1968, homecoming. A fight broke out and lasted a short time. We went right on

playing afterwards. We returned for homecoming, 1969. After a couple of years

the band broke up and I flunked out of architecture school.

<img border=0 width=250 height=187 id="_x0000_i1040"

src="JimPics/MusicRoom1.jpg">

Music

Did I mention that this jumps around too much? Fast forward to 1985.

Alexis decided to play saxophone as her 5th grade instrument. She stopped at

the end of the school year, and I started. I enrolled in a beginning sax and

flute class at Washtenaw Community College along with a music theory class. I

have played on and off in WCC's various combos and orchestras ever since. I

play piano and saxophone, both moderately well. Jump to the late 1990s.

<img border=0 width=250 height=187 id="_x0000_i1041"

src="JimPics/DSC00053.JPG">

After a four year hiatus (1997-2000), I started playing again. As usual, I was

a bit over the edge. I bought two baris, neither of which I play very well, but

I can handle alto and tenor. After almost twenty years, I have finally found

mpc/reed combos that suit me: for alto, a Bob Ackerman Meyer 5m with a Hemke

2.5 reed, on a Mk VII; for tenor, either a Couf stock mpc, a NY Meyer 5m, and a

soft reed (1.5-2.5), almost any brand, on a Couf Superba I. As of this writing,

<img border=0 width=250 height=333 id="_x0000_i1042"

src="JimPics/DSC00054.JPG">

I still have way too many horns and a complete woodwind repair shop in my

basement. This is all very odd since, given the chance, I would rather play

piano in the Monday WCC Jazz Orchestra, and in the Tuesday jazz combo. I love

moving ever so slightly from chord to chord: ii-V7-I, no problem!

Improvisation; big problem, although I practice every day, and it's coming

along.

Xmas day, 2004. My health has gone south again. There is a sense of urgency

to sell our house (that has been on the market for 8 months), and buy a

cheaper, smaller, ranch house. <st1:City><st1:place>Beverly</st1:place></st1:City>

is reveling in the leasing of a storage bin. I can no longer play piano or

shave. I have<s> 28</s> 30 horns and many more tools, and a shrinking interest

in everything. It’s time to re-mold myself. How long until I can do

nothing? That's an ugly thought.

February, 2008. My health is stable but I no longer play saxophone.

Recently, my saxophone tally was over 50 and my skill at removing dents

and relacquering was much improved. I still have a dozen horns that I

will soon advertise. I am still playing piano but that may end soon.

Lake Orion High School, 1968 homecoming dance.

Me thumping the bass.

<img border=0 width=250

height=167 id="_x0000_i1043" src="JimPics/JimBass1970.gif">

Do you need a saxophone? Call!

<img border=0 width=250 height=242 id="_x0000_i1044"

src="JimPics/Drafting1964.jpg">

Drafting on Mother's cutting board, 1962.

I drafted many mechanical parts. There was an architectural

"drafting" class and I took it, but I was never guided in that

direction by lousy <st1:place><st1:PlaceName>Walled</st1:PlaceName> <st1:PlaceType>Lake</st1:PlaceType></st1:place>

advisors.

<h3>Ann Arbor, 1980-90s</h3>

AutoCAD and <st1:place><st1:PlaceName>Washtenaw</st1:PlaceName>

<st1:PlaceType>Community College</st1:PlaceType></st1:place>,

1994

I decided to learn AutoCAD at our community college so that I could create an

AutoCAD course at <st1:State><st1:place>Michigan</st1:place></st1:State>. I

enrolled and found myself sitting with 15 cohorts as the instructor asked each

of us about the prerequisites. The instructor (a moron) had a list of students

and the courses they had taken before; I would have no problem. "You

haven't taken the required course." "No sir." "You have to

leave." "But, sir - I have a degree in architecture from a reputable

school." "You will not be able to do the work." It went like

that for a few rounds, and I decided to play my trump card." "I saw

you running around campus last night in high heels." "Fair enough!

Let's move on to the next person..." Of course the last exchange only

happened in my mind. He wanted me out, so I was forced to play the

"P" card:

"I'm a full professor of architecture at the

University of Michigan and I teach computer-aided-design and computer

programming and I'm here because we are in the process of dumbing down our

course offerings and it was suggested that I search community colleges until I

find an idiot such as yourself who can teach me what I expect is a rather

simple application but make it seem complicated so that he can go home at night

and down a few brewski's while watching endless hours of television and fall

asleep knowing that his life is full and he is an important member of the

academic brotherhood."

</blockquote>

I earned an "A' in the course and felt good, since AutoCAD began with

the letter "A." I remembered a few years earlier that I attempted to

earn a "C" from the same community college in a C Language programming

class. I screwed up and was given a "B." I was pissed since I had

done everything right. I lambasted the instructor for not recognizing FORTRAN

as the future. The final exam was on my 40th birthday and I boldly announced

during class that I never take exams on my 40th birthday and I was sorry that I

could not participate. The problem was that I was a very good programmer. I

thought I was an equally talented asshole (and I think I was), but I could

program circles around the class and the teacher and that was rewarded with a

better than average grade.

<img border=0 width=200 height=200 id="_x0000_i1045"

src="JimPics/SueTerry1965.jpg">

Only picture of Susan Lee Terry 1965<o:p></o:p>

This was a rare visit to my family's house on <st1:place><st1:PlaceName>Wolverine</st1:PlaceName>

<st1:PlaceType>Lake</st1:PlaceType></st1:place>.

<img border=0 width=149 height=209 id="_x0000_i1046"

src="JimPics/New%20Photos/XmasCard.jpg">

<st1:place><st1:PlaceName>Abbot</st1:PlaceName> <st1:PlaceType>Elementary

School</st1:PlaceType></st1:place> Capitalism and Craft Fair

Alexis and I made Xmas cards by carving a potato so that it worked like a

rubber stamp - one potato equals two potato halves equals two stamps. This

produced some very nice cards that she sold at the <st1:place><st1:PlaceName>Abbott</st1:PlaceName>

<st1:PlaceType>Elementary School</st1:PlaceType></st1:place> craft fair. It

was actually a letdown from the previous year when we had a line of customers

undulating out the door and down the hall. We made "refrigerator

magnets" and sold about 100. This was a good lesson in capitalism. We had

a better product in the cards, but we personalized the magnets.

With Fritz Paper, Al Feldt, Ken Thomas, Earl Holbrook. 1990s I played with

Fritz, Al, Dave Chapman and Bill Jaissle, Ralph Cobb and Kathy West for most of

the late 1980s and 1990s. I also played with the Ypsi Community and the

Riverside Big Band. My thigh is bigger than Earl's waist. How can that be?

<o:p> </o:p>

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</v:shape><![endif]--><![if !vml]><img width=517 height=388

src="JimPics/WCCBand2005.jpg" align=left hspace=12 border=0 v:shapes="_x0000_s1066"><![endif]>April

2005, Glacier Hills

It doesn't get much better than these two images!

This is our WCC Saturday afternoon little big band under the direction of

Duane DeButts, my friend and fellow saxophone player. We played a bunch of

charts and a few lead sheets. I was there to play alto and to check out the hot

older babes.

The band: Tom Silvia on electric bass, standing to the left and jumping out

in front when his number is called for a solo. He is a very talented

singer/songwriter.  He is also an

attorney.  Standing in the back is

Steve Poma, our drummer. Steve has lots of stories to tell and is a good

drummer.  The woman next to Steve is

Sharon Scott who plays tuba.  She

and husband Martin, who plays trombone, are from another county.

Their goal is to play on a softball team with their grandchildren.

<span

style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  <st1:City><st1:place>Sharon</st1:place></st1:City>

is an historian.  Next to Marty is

Matt Reed, a very good guitarist who plays a Heritage guitar.

Matt was sporting a new haircut.<span

style='mso-spacerun:yes'>

Sitting at the piano is David Hanna who plays so quietly that he can’t

even hear himself.  He promises that

by this time next year he will attempt a solo. (Dave made that promise in a

very soft voice much like his aviator predecessor, Charles Lindbergh, whose

solo across the Atlantic will be considered chopped liver when Dave lays down

that first evocative and massive cluster chord followed by brilliant fingers

racing across ebony and ivory. Only Steveland Hardaway and Dave will

understand; we will only listen and enjoy.)

To my right is Duane DeButts who put the band together in the fall of

2004.  “<st1:place>Dee</st1:place>”

plays baritone sax and also has many stories to tell.<span

style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  Dee and I try to out-illness each

other.  I think he is winning at

present. The fellow with the white beard is trumpeter Ralph Cobb.<span

style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  I played with Ralph in many bands, most

recently the Eclectics. Next to Ralph is Bill Hagel who has played in some

very

good big bands.  Next to Bill is

Stan Sekerka who plays violin and plays whenever he thinks a piece needs a

few

screechy notes. I especially liked his response to the explicit note I added to

his music for a song that <st1:City><st1:place>Sharon</st1:place></st1:City>

was to sing. It read: “VOCAL – DO NOT PLAY!”<span

style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  It was comforting to barely hear

Sharon’s words as Stan cranked out note after note on his fiddle.<span

style='mso-spacerun:yes'>

To my left is Jim Cochran, a very nice person and a very good tenor sax

player.  He offered me a ten-spot to

cork Dee after Dee forgot to call on him for a solo late in the program.<span

style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  (Well, that’s not true but it

could have happened.) Next to Jim is Fred Steingold who also plays tenor

sax.  Fred is very enthusiastic

about keeping this band going.  Fred

is the other attorney in the band.

I believe it’s a tort to have more than one member of the bar in a

thirteen-tet.  (I take liberty here

in my interpretation of local legalities since my first wife is an

attorney.  I really don’t know

what a “tort” is; I will make a few calls.)<span

style='mso-spacerun:yes'>

February, 2008 update. We lost Tom Silvia in July and Ben Creech (not

pictured) a few months earlier. This was a great loss for me and I'm

still get upset when I see these images.

Acousti-Chapeau: A good idea and a bad solution

<img border=0 width=300 height=225 id="_x0000_i1048"

src="JimPics/BadHatDay2005.jpg">

I thought this would block most of the annoying

ambient sound from reaching my ears.

It does succeed, but not enough to justify how incredibly stupid it

looks.  I only wear it when I think life

can get no worse!

Matt is Ron's son.

<img border=0 width=150 height=234 id="_x0000_i1050"

src="JimPics/EricFireman.jpg">

Eric is Jeanette's son. He's not quite as idiotic looking these days. This was

our latest exchange and it demonstrates how sensitive he has become since

graduating from high school: <o:p></o:p>

Me: No, I haven't... (seen that movie, read that book, whatever)

Eric: What! Have you been living under a rock?

I think that says it all.

(Of course, Eric taught me and Beverly the significance of

"Sponge Bob Square Pants.")

<img border=0 width=300 height=290 id="_x0000_i1051"

src="JimPics/Ron'sWedding.jpeg">

With Alexis at Ron and Anne's wedding My frozen countenance in contrast to

Alexis' natural "Shirley Smile." I take 1100 pills per month to get a

blank expression like that!

Royal Oak, MI - September 2001

<img border=0 width=300 height=190 id="_x0000_i1052"

src="JimPics/TwoChairs.jpg">

Home by Craig Borum/Ply Architects

Jim and Beverly donated the two Charles Eames shell chairs

<img border=0 width=198 height=265 id="_x0000_i1053" src="JimPics/Yellow.jpg"><img

border=0 width=198 height=265 id="_x0000_i1054" src="JimPics/BlueChairs.jpg"><img

border=0 width=198 height=265 id="_x0000_i1055" src="JimPics/BlueShell.jpg"><img

border=0 width=198 height=265 id="_x0000_i1056" src="JimPics/SoftPad.jpg">

I like chairs. These are my favorites. I may unload the saxophones to buy more

chairs.

<img border=0 width=266 height=200 id="_x0000_i1057" src="JimPics/Clock1.jpg"><img

border=0 width=266 height=200 id="_x0000_i1058" src="JimPics/Clock2.jpg"><img

border=0 width=266 height=200 id="_x0000_i1059" src="JimPics/StarClock1.jpg"><img

border=0 width=266 height=200 id="_x0000_i1060" src="JimPics/StarClock2.jpg"><img

border=0 width=266 height=200 id="_x0000_i1061" src="JimPics/Movado.jpg"><img

border=0 width=266 height=200 id="_x0000_i1062" src="JimPics/HaroldClock.jpg"><img

border=0 width=266 height=200 id="_x0000_i1063" src="JimPics/RussellClocks.jpg">

I like clocks

Dear Prof Turner,

I'm writing on behalf of the Chartered Institute of Library & Information

Professionals in London, UK - I'm the Production/Design Editor for our

member's magazine. I'm interested in making use of an image from your

personal pages of the University of Michigan website

(www-personal.umich.edu/~turner/JimPics_April05.html). It's a picture of

four clocks receding into the middle-distance. This would be ideal in

illustrating an article about librarianship working hours etc. in our

next issue.

Let me know if you are happy to give permission for its use (it would be

used as a watermark image, full page, behind the text of the article). We

would be happy to send you a copy of the magazine on publication, next

month.

I look forward to hearing from you.

With best wishes,

<o>David.

</blockquote>

George Nelson's Spike Clock and

Atomic Ball Clock; typical

"sunburst" wall clocks 1950s; Movado Museum Clock, George Nelson

clock, original, very rare; distributed by Howard Miller. A gift from Harold

Borkin.

Russell Wright's ceramic kitchen clocks in all available colors. I paid 4x

as much for the black one as I did for each of the others. These are cool, but

will fall off the wall if you attempt to put them on display.

<img border=0 width=216 height=300 id="_x0000_i1064" src="JimPics/Keys2.jpg"><img

border=0 width=400 height=300 id="_x0000_i1065" src="JimPics/SaxGold.jpg">

I like to play piano and saxophone

No guns! I do not select the service at this time!

Draft card - received a high draft number did not have to move to Canada. I

would have refused to learn how to shoot a gun. Maybe I would have preferred

jail to Windsor.

<img border=0 width=250 height=196 id="_x0000_i1067"

src="JimPics/Zamboni.jpg">

Frank and his Zamboni.

One sweet ride!

<img border=0 width=250 height=193 id="_x0000_i1068"

src="JimPics/Michigander1995.jpg">

Michigander 1995

I rode with Ron Peludat, Rich

Bondie and Gary Wollerman. We didn't smell good at this water stop.

These protracted summer rides were the pinnacle of my pedal pushing prowess.

(I find sophomoric alliteration refreshing.) I learned how to train for bike

racing from Mike Walden from 1970-1975, and from Mike Kolan (Does anyone

remember Denise DeLaRosa?) from 1975-1977). I wasn't a very good road racer,

but on a mountain bike, pedaling down hard-pack or single-track, I was very

good. In my un-humble opinion, I was the best male rider on at least three

Michiganders from 1994-1999. I was in terrific shape and could handle a bike

well. My father was an endurance athlete and so was I.

In 12th grade, I made 18 lay-ups in 30 seconds, which was better than the

rest of the school. I also did 660 sit-ups in one class period and would have done

many more if the period had not ended. That effort was good enough for 2nd

place. My strangest athletic-flavored incident occurred in 1963. I decided to

run cross-country (I cannot remember why. There were no girls on the team, so

it must have been something else). I dressed with the others and trotted out to

a spot in front of the football field. We jogged around the field at a rather

fast clip, but I kept up and then we did it again (without a break!). I amazed

myself at the finish, and was still upright when a very strange thing happened.

Instead of heading to the showers for a session of boy-talk and comparative

anatomy, the group headed towards Commerce road. I followed, and then something

even more bizarre happened: the pack turned left and headed into town.

My high school cross-country career began and ended that day. Many years

later, I saw Frank Zilm running from main campus to North Campus, and found out

later that he ran right past our building for a total of five miles. Man! FIVE

miles! This is a strange memory considering I eventually ran many marathons

while training 30-60 miles each week.

<img border=0 width=250 height=200 id="_x0000_i1069"

src="JimPics/Michigander1999.jpg">

1998 Michigander with Beverly Brockman

<img border=0 width=350 height=262 id="_x0000_i1070"

src="JimPics/DSC00097.JPG" color=red>

April, 2004. This picture shows Beverly choosing our next house on Fred Ward's

real estate site. We are looking for a smaller house, with fewer stairs (my

wish), and a smaller mortgage and less property taxes. Beverly loves the hunt

and the Sunday open houses. We may move every couple of years just to have

something to do.

<img border=0 width=250 height=307 id="_x0000_i1071"

src="JimPics/Scampy1.jpg">

Scampy the Clown, 1970s

This is really cousin Jack (aka, "Worthless") who has been clowning

for many years.

This image from the "Lost Clown Collection."

<img border=0 width=250 height=253 id="_x0000_i1072"

src="JimPics/Jeanette1968.jpg">

Jeanette - Ambassador Lanes Bowling

Princess - 1969

Our family bowled too much. Jean has moved to Texas and subscribes to Southern

Woman and Southern Living Lost forever, I'm afraid.

<img border=0 width=300 height=452 id="_x0000_i1073"

src="JimPics/AlexisHome02.jpg">

Alexis at Becca's home on Huron River Drive.

Alexis moved to Columbus in 2000. I miss her terribly although I have trouble

expressing it. She has her own life and I'm sure she would rather not watch me

slide into incapacity as she did her grandfather.

<img border=0 width=100 height=130 id="_x0000_i1074"

src="JimPics/JimFace.gif">

Detroit, MI - 1952

On Hubbell in Detroit. I wasn't shaving yet

My last smile. <!--

Let's try a table! This is really stupid.

Places I have lived:

<ul>

<li>1947-1959 14408 Hubbell, Detroit

<li>2476 Oakview Drive, Walled Lake, MI

<li>5745 Arlington Ave, Riverside, CA

<li>14542 Mark Twain, Detoit, MI

<li>1965-1969, various dormitories - East Quad, Bursley

<li>1969-1977, various apartments in and around Ann Arbor

<li>1982 Lynchburg, VA

</ul>

<tr>

<td>Houses I have owned in Ann Arbor:

<ul>

<li>813 Pauline Blvd w/Becca

<li>626 Duane Ct

<li> Pine Valley w/Nancy

<li>800 Princeton

<li>2930 Pebble Creek

<li>1584 Marian Ave w/Beverly

<li>1906 Dunmore

</ul>

<tr>

<td>Some very bad dates in my life:

<ul>

<li>April 22, 1977

<li>August 22, 1977 JDW departed

<li>September 18, 1984

<li>September 7, 1997

</ul>

<tr>

<td>Some really good dates in my life:

<ul>

<li>Fall, 1973 JDW arrived

<li>June 21, 1977 SAS arrived

<li>April 7, 2000 Married BJB

<li>Fall 2001, JDW returned

</ul>

</table>

-->

<img border=0 width=300 height=297 id="_x0000_i1075"

src="JimPics/JimGlengaryYankee2.GIF">

Glengary Yankees Wolverine Lake, MI 1959.

I had about as much aptitude for baseball as I have for architecture

<img border=0 width=200 height=305 id="_x0000_i1076"

src="JimPics/Beverly.gif">

Beverly, Quincy, MI, 1968

Married, first floor, east hallway, April 7, 2000 Beverly was married before

her 50th birthday. What chance did she have for that to happen!

<img border=0 width=250 height=350 id="_x0000_i1077"

src="JimPics/YoungBeverly.jpg">

Beverly, really young

<img border=0 width=250 height=274 id="_x0000_i1078"

src="JimPics/BeulahBeverly.jpg">

Beverly and Beulah

At Beulah's 90th birthday she asked me if she was supposed to know any of these

people. The house was filled with her children, grandchildren, and other old

friends. I said no.

Beulah passed away on July 4th, 2004.

<img border=0 width=263 height=250 id="_x0000_i1079"

src="JimPics/BeverlyCat1988.jpg">

Beverly and Tosha at Beulah's house, Coldwater, MI 1988

At work, a long time ago<a href="Jean.jpg" width=150><span

style='color:black'>.</a>

<span

style='mso-spacerun:yes'>

I liked to keep life simple: a fresh stack of Penney's white tee shirts and

a couple of pairs of Levis'. That wardrobe and a stupid smile will get you a

good wife. <o:p></o:p>

<img border=0 width=250 height=250 id="_x0000_i1081"

src="JimPics/FlipBird69.jpg">

These people all have real jobs today

With my sister (the bowling queen), brother and the Sweet boys 1969. That's me

with the stiff finger. We were so mature. Bob graduated from UM in Information

Science, works in Ann Arbor, has written a book and plays music; Bill is an

attorney; Jean is climbing the corporate ladder and living in Houston - in a

state that prides itself on having a city named "Corpus Christi" and

providing my second wife; Ron is a real estate wheeler dealer and is married to

Anne; and I've had the same stinking job for over 30 years. Why couldn't life

leave us alone?

<img border=0 width=500 height=375 id="_x0000_i1082"

src="JimPics/DSC00106.JPG">

My saxophone shop. <st1:City><st1:place>Ann Arbor</st1:place></st1:City>,

2004

I'm now looking for a summer course in woodwind repair so that I can learn

to use the tools. I love the dent rods and dent balls. Gary Ferree tried to

teach me how to use them, but I needed to go through a bunch of practice horns

to really understand that brass is very liquid and malleable. You can dent it

and smooth it, and dent it and smooth it, and it seems to respond quite well<a

href="JDW2.jpg">.</a>

<img border=0 width=250 height=283 id="_x0000_i1083"

src="JimPics/Hartwell58.jpg">

At grandparents in Detroit 1958.

Andy, Jeannette, me, Jayne Our grandparents, like us, lived in northwest

Detroit, near Five Mile Road and Greenfield. Ron and I went to Robert Burns

Elementary school. We spent summers in a cottage on Wolverine Lake, moving

there permanently upon returning from a 9 month stay in California (in 1959-60,

via Route 66 and AAA Trip Ticks). Our family eventually moved back to Detroit

(a few blocks from our last house) in 1965. I continued to attend Walled Lake

HS even though we no longer lived in the area.

<img border=0 width=300 height=202 id="_x0000_i1084"

src="JimPics/Band.jpeg">

Riverside Big Band, <st1:City><st1:place><i

style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'>Ann Arbor</st1:place></st1:City><i

style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'>, 1999

I enjoyed my role as a regular sub in the sax section. At one time I had 17

saxes, including two baritones. <o:p></o:p>

Summer 2004 Update: I'm back in the game and have 26+

saxophones - All for sale. This photo was the publicity shot for the band. My

mother would have been so proud. I think I was the only UM professor to have a

picture in the Yellow Pages!

<o:p> </o:p>

<img border=0 width=250 height=173 id="_x0000_i1085"

src="JimPics/Alexis1997.jpg">

Alexis, Mackinac Island 1997

After a one-week adult band camp at Blue Lake, MI, I headed to Mackinac to pick

up Alexis. She slept almost all the way home. The next week, I woke up one

morning and was very uncoordinated. I've been that way ever since. I don't

remember being normal. Perhaps I never was.

<a href="JimPics/Alexis1997.jpg"></a><span

class=MsoHyperlink><o:p></o:p>

I feel sick most afternoons, and am heading towards

retirement in August 2009. I'm not sure how much longer I will be able to get

out of bed. Of course, I will fight the progression of the inevitable. I am

still strong, but I am a pill-head. I am forgetful. Most days the drugs leave

me in a hyper-stupid state that causes me to blabber and act badly.

<o:p> </o:p>

I am no longer a good teacher although my winter term 2005

students were very nice to me. I will always remember the kindness of Paul and

Karen; and students like Jenn Zaucha, who made me feel like coming to work each

day; and Roger Lamp, whose mother graduated from Walled Lake high school in

1966 (Roger hadn't handed in a single assignment, but he assured me he was

registered for the class; and Zain, who sent me at least 100 e-mails during the

last ten days of the term.

<o:p> </o:p>

To those who come across this page in the future: Thank you

for letting me crawl to the end with dignity. And, please. If you see me in a bad

way, stiff and sitting in a chair, with an unnatural countenance, unable to

speak clearly - please say hello. I will remember you. I had a good past; I

have no future. I will always remember my daughter, but she is far away. I'm

slipping and I cannot stop. I am depressed most evenings and when that becomes

unbearable, I will find a cure.

<o:p> </o:p>

And a special thanks to those who blindly followed a

juvenile president who made my health a political issue; who found it necessary

to link abortion and stem cell research; to remove a last hope of possibly

finding remedies in time to make a difference.

<img border=0 width=300 height=394 id="_x0000_i1086"

src="JimPics/Bike62.jpg">

Andy with bike Wolverine Lake,

1962

I won a bike competition and gave the prize to Andy. I'm sure he'll return the

favor some day

<img border=0 width=300 height=245 id="_x0000_i1087"

src="JimPics/FolkBand67.jpg">

Belle Isle. Detroit,

MI, 1967

Dave and Miriam Godoshian, Coleen Burcar,

Jim Stewart on gut bucket, Ron Turner faking it on the banjo. This was called

"Senior's Day" and was a lot of fun. I took Coleen to her prom and

didn't see much of her after that. She ended up as a radio personality on Dick

Purtan's morning show.

<a href="JimPics/Alexis1997.jpg"></a><span

class=MsoHyperlink><o:p></o:p>

<img border=0 width=250 height=174 id="_x0000_i1088"

src="JimPics/Bike1971.jpg">

Ann Arbor, 1971

Bike race with fellow architecture students: Tim Smith, Rich Henes and some

other guy. A little different than the bike races at Chandler Park in the

1970s. Tim died and I see Rich occasionally.

<a href="JimPics/Bike62.jpg"></a><span

style='color:black'><o:p></o:p>

<img border=0 width=250 height=248 id="_x0000_i1089"

src="JimPics/BoyScouts58.jpg">

Para-Military phase

Boy Scout, Detroit 1958

<a href="JimPics/FolkBand67.jpg"></a><span

class=MsoHyperlink><o:p></o:p>

<img border=0 width=250 height=298 id="_x0000_i1090"

src="JimPics/JimBec75.jpg">

Becca Sweet Belle Isle 1975

The annual Wolverine Sports Club bike marathon on Belle Isle. I think it was a

drag for everyone but me. It was a chance to ride a couple hundred early season

miles.

<a href="JimPics/JimBec75.jpg"></a><span

style='color:black'><o:p></o:p>

August, 2004. Becca e-mailed me after seeing this picture.

She claims her butt still looks that good. Doubtful.

<a href="JimPics/JimBec75.jpg"></a><span

style='color:black'><o:p></o:p>

<img border=0

width=250 height=174 id="_x0000_i1091" src="JimPics/AlexisFred83.jpg">

Alexis with Fred Ann Arbor, 1983

She

is sitting on the same Eames shell chair seen in an earlier photo. We bought

the chairs at a Herman Miller designer's sale in Zeeland, MI in 1975. <o:p></o:p>

<img border=0 width=250 height=363 id="_x0000_i1092"

src="JimPics/AlexisFred2_83.jpg">

Alexis with Fred Ann Arbor, 1983

Fred was amazingly patient with Alexis, but check out his "body

English."

<img border=0 width=250 height=142 id="_x0000_i1093"

src="JimPics/MothersTruck68.jpg">

Rock and Roll Bursley Hall Ann Arbor,

1968-1970

The two consecutive phone numbers on the card are Tim's and Garf's dorm room

numbers. We were so cool! Garf died in a recording studio in the late 1970s of

smoke inhalation as the result of a fire. He was a very talented musician and a

bit of a jerk.

<o:p> </o:p>

<a href="JimPics/AlexisFred2_83.jpg"><span

style='mso-field-code:" HYPERLINK \0022JimPics\/MothersTruck68\.jpg\0022 "'></a><img

border=0 width=250 height=339 id="_x0000_i1094" src="JimPics/RonTunaCan52.jpg">

Ron with tuna can Detroit 1952

He was told many times, "No tuna can." He didn't listen.

<o:p> </o:p>

<a href="JimPics/MothersTruck68.jpg"><span

style='mso-field-code:" HYPERLINK \0022JimPics\/MothersTruck68\.jpg\0022 "'></a><img

border=0 width=350 height=290 id="_x0000_i1095" src="JimPics/Sailboats77.jpg">

Sailboats Chelsea, Michigan 1977

At one time we owned an International 470 and a Finn. I enjoyed sailing each

alone although the 470 handled better with two. They also both had planing

hulls, that allowed them to lift out of the water if the wind was strong enough

(and you were not pointed too high). They actually would "plane" and

become very unstable. "Reckless" is my middle name.

<o:p> </o:p>

<img border=0 width=250 height=416 id="_x0000_i1096"

src="JimPics/Skateboard65.jpg">

Skateboard Detroit, Michigan 1965

Skateboards were not as good as they became in the 1990's. I, of course, was a

top-notch performer. If life could have been all yo-yos and skateboards, I

would have been King

<o:p> </o:p>

<a href="JimPics/MothersTruck68.jpg"><span

style='mso-field-code:" HYPERLINK \0022JimPics\/Skateboard65\.jpg\0022 "'></a><img

border=0 width=200 height=352 id="_x0000_i1097" src="JimPics/Twins56.jpg">

Teubner twins Detroit 1956

My aunt had two twin girls who didn't look or act alike and weren't connected

at the hip like some of those twins seen on TV. Might as well not be sisters! This

picture also proves that my world has always been slightly askew. Instead of me

taking all those pills so that I can straighten a surrealistic existence, I

think the rest of the world should up their meds so that they can align with

me!

<o:p> </o:p>

<a href="JimPics/Skateboard65.jpg"><span

style='mso-field-code:" HYPERLINK \0022JimPics\/Skateboard65\.jpg\0022 "'></a><img

border=0 width=350 height=220 id="_x0000_i1098"

src="JimPics/ParentsWolverineLake46.jpg">

Parents Wolverine Lake, Michigan 1946

My father built the house we lived in. The first house he built (next door)

burned. The second - and our family home until 1965 - came down in the mid

1990s. As you can see in this picture, he was the "Indiana Jones" of

Wolverine Lake. He was actually born in England in 1894. That made him pretty

old, but he fathered my sister, Jean "the bowling queen" at age 62.

His sons, of course, are also quite studly!

<a href="JimPics/Skateboard65.jpg"></a><img

border=0 width=250 height=246 id="_x0000_i1099" src="JimPics/Bursley68.jpg">

Bursley Hall Ann Arbor, 1967-68

Flunked out of architecture school 1968 I spent one whole day in my dorm room

with a large, open bottle of rubber cement. working on a 2D graphic assignment.

By morning I was very sick. Professor Lee kept my work - it was a nice project

- and I stopped going to class. At the end of the term I was placed on

"FEW" (further enrollment withheld). I now chair the Committee on

Academic Standing and routinely, without sympathy, place students on FEW.

<o:p> </o:p>

It's funny how things work out.

<o:p> </o:p>

<a href="JimPics/Skateboard65.jpg"><span

style='mso-field-code:" HYPERLINK \0022JimPics\/Skateboard65\.jpg\0022 "'><span

style='color:black;text-decoration:none;text-underline:none'><img border=0

width=45 height=17 id="_x0000_i1100"

src="http://cgi.www.umich.edu/counter?link=http://www.umich.edu/~turner/JimPics_April05.html"></a>

<o:p> </o:p>

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