Detroit, Michigan, 1947

I was born on my mother's birthday in 1947. She was born in 1915. Her grandparents were born in Germany. My father was born in England 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 midnight, 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 Beverly is taking me through the browns and all the shades of grey.

Beverly 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).

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: turner@umich.edu

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).

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 Detroit). 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 Ann Arbor 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.

Post Dump Syndrome (PDS), Detroit, 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.

Where are the babes?
Ron and Jim, Hubbell, Detroit

Detroit, Michigan, 1950s

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.

Linda Michaels Detroit, 1952

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. Northwest Detroit 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 California; they stopped to say goodbye, but mostly they were saying goodbye to Detroit, to Michigan, to the Midwest 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 California, 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.

We all had friends up and down the street. I had to venture beyond the "hood" (no such concept in the 1950s) to attend Robert Burns Elementary School. 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 "Michigan" 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

I love to go a-wandering,
Along the mountain track,
And as I go, I love to sing,
'My knapsack on my back'.

Or as we sang at the Kriedeman's:

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

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.

Walled Lake Junior High 1959-1962

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."

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:

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"

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"!

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"!

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.

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

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."

Robert Burns Elementary School 1952-1958

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.

SHAGGING
Man hung onto to stolen car at 80mph.
Some interesting snippets found on the www:

· 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".

· 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 4am.

· 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?)

· 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.

· 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.

· 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.

· 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!)

· 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

· "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?

The Teubner's at Graybill's, Wolverine Lake
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!

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.

I have met only one person who attended Robert Burns Elementary School - our realtor, Jack Mercer. Jack has promised to provide me with pictures. On January 15, 2005, Jack came through with the pictures

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 Robert Burns Elementary School. 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 no 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.

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 Hubbell
Detroit, MI Zone 27,
Vermont 56772

For those who have had issues with Mapquest.com, I present the exact way NOT to walk to Robert Burns Elementary school (notice the spelling of "Burns" from Mapquest) from our house:

1. Start out going SOUTH on HUBBELL ST toward INTERVALE ST. 0.1 miles
2. Turn RIGHT onto INTERVALE ST. 0.1 miles
3. Turn RIGHT onto TERRY ST. 0.1 miles
4. End at Burnes Elementary School 14350 Terry St, Detroit, MI 48227

Burns School Stage, Detroit, MI 1954

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

This is the Burns School 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 good and 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

What? The Earth is Not Flat?

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 Beverly 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.

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 Lake Senior High School, 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.

Architecture
14408 Hubbell, Detroit 1954
If architecture had been Lincoln Logs, I would have been Frank Lloyd Wright

Knott's Berry Farm, Southern CA, 1960
This is an extended family photo taken just before we headed back home to Walled Lake after a 9 month stay in Riverside. 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 Europe later in my life was far less culture shock than the out and back, Route 66 trip in 1959-60.

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 Ann Arbor hockey history.

Detroit, Michigan + Ann Arbor + Walled Lake 1960s

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

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.

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.

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.

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, Detroit, 1950s-60s

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).

.

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.
.

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!

The Mother's Truck

Ann Arbor, 1968-1970
Playing the bass guitar with Mother's Truck, singing on the far right. At Lake Orion High School, 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.

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.

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,

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. Beverly is reveling in the leasing of a storage bin. I can no longer play piano or shave. I have 28 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.

Do you need a saxophone? Call!

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 Walled Lake advisors.

Ann Arbor, 1980-90s

AutoCAD and Washtenaw Community College, 1994
I decided to learn AutoCAD at our community college so that I could create an AutoCAD course at Michigan. 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."

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.

Only picture of Susan Lee Terry 1965

This was a rare visit to my family's house on Wolverine Lake.

Abbot Elementary School 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 Abbott Elementary School 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?

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. Sharon is an historian. Next to Marty is Matt Reed, a very good guitarist who plays a Heritage guitar. Matt was sporting a new haircut.

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. “Dee” plays baritone sax and also has many stories to tell. 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. 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 Sharon was to sing. It read: “VOCAL – DO NOT PLAY!” It was comforting to barely hear Sharon’s words as Stan cranked out note after note on his fiddle.

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. (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.)

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

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.

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:

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.")

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

Home by Craig Borum/Ply Architects

Jim and Beverly donated the two Charles Eames shell chairs

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

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, David.

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.

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.

Frank and his Zamboni.
One sweet ride!

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.

1998 Michigander with Beverly Brockman

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.

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."

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.

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.

Detroit, MI - 1952
On Hubbell in Detroit. I wasn't shaving yet
My last smile.

Glengary Yankees Wolverine Lake, MI 1959.
I had about as much aptitude for baseball as I have for architecture

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!

Beverly, really young

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.

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

At work, a long time ago.

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.

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?

My saxophone shop. Ann Arbor, 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.

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.

Riverside Big Band, Ann Arbor, 1999
I enjoyed my role as a regular sub in the sax section. At one time I had 17 saxes, including two baritones.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

Para-Military phase
Boy Scout, Detroit 1958

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.

August, 2004. Becca e-mailed me after seeing this picture. She claims her butt still looks that good. Doubtful.

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.

Alexis with Fred Ann Arbor, 1983
Fred was amazingly patient with Alexis, but check out his "body English."

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.

Ron with tuna can Detroit 1952
He was told many times, "No tuna can." He didn't listen.

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.

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

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!

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!

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.

It's funny how things work out.