BACK TO KINNEY SHOES chapter 51

I worked full time at the shoe store the summer after graduation (1960). I had learned to sell shoes the last Saturday before school began in 1959. That was always the stores busiest day of the year – back to school shoes. I was in the back stocking shelves when Jim, men and children’s floor manager, told me to go out and ask someone if I could help them. The floor was jammed, and I didn’t want to but I did. I chose a man holding a very small child in his arms, asked what he wanted, asked if he knew the size. He didn’t and the kid was so squirmy I doubted he would hold his foot still enough for me to measure it, besides I didn’t know how that stick worked. So I took a look at the foot and figured I could get close. When I returned with shoes, they were clearly too big. The father explained he had been waiting a long time and then he got stuck with a salesman who knew nothing about shoes saying, “What is this, your first day?” Well actually, it was.

I was so embarrassed I disappeared into a back shelving area with winter boots (called goulashes) where were stored. I figure no one would find me there. It was too hot outside to want boots. After while, Jim came lurking around the corner pretending he was looking for some shoes (duh!) and said, “Don’t worry about it. My first customer threw the shoes at me. Now get back out there.” While still nervous, the rest of the day was much more successful. I even figure out how the measuring stick worked. At the end of the day Jim said, “Stick with me kid and I’ll teach you how to be a better salesman that I am. That was saying a lot, as he was usually the top salesman of each week. He did what he promised and I have always loved him for it.

He was clearly training me to move up to women’s shoes. More lucrative and the place were all the younger, flirty, goof looking guys went. That was not company policy, but the was the practice. Jim said flirt with them, tell them how nice the shoes look on them and keep complimenting and smiling. It will work wonders. It did and I began to have weeks I would beat Jim.

The work place gradually became the center of my existence. I was good-friends with Chet and his brother Donald, both salesmen near my age. They wanted me to move in with them so I spent a few nights at their apartment to check it out. It might have been tolerable, but neither of them could cook and I sure couldn’t. I could not live on burgers alone, nor did I want to eat out every day.

I did join a bowling league with Chet, Donald and Rick who was the assistant manager. Rick was our best bowler. He had his own ball and glove. Chet and I battled back and forth for second and third. We bowled once a week after work. We also hug out at times getting something to eat or going to a beach.

Chet and Donald were cousins who grew up in an unorganized religious sect where his father was the pastor. They did not go to doctors, the hospital or take pills. Chet has a useable but twisted right hand from a fall out of a tree as a child. He lived with the pain and agony for weeks while it healed. Once he was old enough and realized that most people saw doctors or went to the hospital to fix these things, he began to hate his father. He ran away at 16 and came to work at the shoe store at 18. I don’t know where he was for the two years between. A year later his cousin, who also came to work at the shoe store, joined him.

All three guys were great fun, and all were looking for a woman. The four of us worked the floor beautifully and flirted with all the women and tried to get dates with some of the younger ones. Both Rick and Chet succeeded. I had opportunities, but was still only interested in “churched” girls. Rick saw his date several more times. Chet’s ended after one night.

One day Rick returned from lunch and shopping at Brandies (Omaha’s biggest department store). He was wearing a beautiful tan and brown plaid sports coat that he purchased for $6. He encouraged Chet and I to buy one as well. They were all identical and all size 42 (Donald was to short, right size, but wrong length). Rick had a plan that turned into a great game on a slow day. It helped that we were all close to the same height, hair color and build. We traded off on one customer. One would welcome the customer and get the sale started. While in the back getting the shoes, he passed them off to one of the other of us. If she wanted to see more shoes the third salesman brought them out. All we wanted to know was if the customer ever noticed she didn’t always have the same salesman. A few did – but very few. The ones who caught on had a good laugh. The starting salesman always finalized the sale. We worked on commission. I really thought more would notice. We may have appeared similar, but we all sounded quit different. The boss let it happen a few times, but finally put a stop to it, instead we went out together after work and got heads to turn.

We were all very competitive and the quickest and most profitable way increase sales was to sell sponge rubber arch supports. They cost $1.25, you made a regular commission and the manufacture offered a 25¢ refund for every sale you made. We had the carious sizes of those things stuck in every pocket. When removing a ladies shoe, we placed our fingers under the ball of her foot and gently pressed up while asking, “Doesn’t that feel better?” then tried to convince them that these wonderful, incredible cheap (economical) supports will give them that same relief. Then we would slip them in the shoes and have them walk. “Woo, that does feel better.” Another satisfied customer, at least for the next 30 minutes before the support flattened out. This only worked on high heals. Nearly every woman coming in wore them with their toes jammed into the pointy shoe toes. Most also had corns and bunions. The shoes did nothing for the feet – but ruin them. Why wear them? Fashion I guess. Silly people.

On the last Saturday before fall school began (our busiest of the year) I split my pants an hour after we opened. Not a small split but from the center all the way to the waistband. No extra pants, too busy to go home and a hot day when all the salesmen had their jackets off. Not me, I kept mine on all day and did all I could to keep my back from the many mirrors of the store. The sales crew never noticed until I told them at the end of the day. Beige pants and white underwear helped. If a customer noticed they were gracious enough to say nothing.

When college began I worked every Saturday, Monday and Thursday – those evening we were open late. Then I worked afternoons after classes when I could. I enjoyed the work and got plenty of exercise bending up and down and running for shoes all day.

It’s a little hard for an old shoe salesman to visit self-serve stores of today. All you can find is a cashier, but then they get paid a minimum wage to stand around. We earned minimum wage plus commission and there were some great weeks. I had weeks I earned more than my dad at Union Pacific Railroad. When I found that out, I never mentioned my income again.

OKOBOJI chapter 50

After graduation I enjoyed the summer with friends and took my second trip to Okoboji. Our church had summer camp meetings there every year since 1935. Named after the Okoboji Lakes region of northern Iowa, the camp was located in Arnolds Park, Iowa, a town with an amusement park, rental cabins, boat rentals and nice beaches. To attend camp, you found your own accommodation and made your own meals or mooched off some kind family,

The camp had a huge tabernacle with garage doors on both sides to be opened on beautiful nights. They rented a church across the street where youth meetings were held. Most of my friends went to the youth meetings, but I don’t recall I ever went. I did go to the evening meetings. There was always a big emphasis on missions.

There were too many distractions in the area. The biggest was the Amusement Park. There was the Legends roller coaster, a wooden structure still in operation. I liked the Tipsy House with the rolling barrel exit. It took time, but I eventually learned to get out of there without falling. The Ferris wheel was fun just for the view. It was a great place to hang out and meet girls. It seemed we wandered down there after most evening services just to be in the glow of bright lights

The board wall was definitely a tourist trap for teens. I really didn’t need to ride that much, I just enjoyed being there and because of the shoe store I had extra money. Both years I was in a rental cabin with some of the boys from the church. I seemed to remember a kitchen, but don’t remember making many meals. I know I didn’t cook. Seems like we often ate with different parents.

I don’t remember all the guys I stayed with, but I was getting closer to Al. One night we were walking past some cabins and one of the guys found an unopened can of beer. It got passed around. I doubt many had tasted beer. Not everyone had a taste. Many of us were still caught up in the “don’t” factor of the church of the day. I was shocked that the one guy who was my Christian model had a taste. It shook my cozy little world. You see I was a believer in the doctrine of sinless perfection. I didn’t believe that doctrine applied to me, just to everyone else. I knew I couldn’t stop sinning.

I laugh at those feeling now. Teens experiment and perfection on this earth is not possible. I didn’t take a sip, as I was a prude in that regard. There were some big sins for which I was certain that if I participated Jesus would return to earth and I would go straight to hell. That was one of them.

In the summer of 1960 I met a red headed freckled boy named Roger from Lincoln. We hung out together but he really had to watch the sun that he didn’t become a lobster. I liked Roger and he wanted to show me a trick he learned. So one night after the amusement park closed we went to the boardwalk with two straws. There was a case style pop dispenser with the top lid where bottles were removed by sliding them along a track to the first stop where they could be removed, after you paid your 10¢. We opened the lid, used a bottle opener, popped the lids inserted the straws and emptied the 6oz bottles. I felt evil, but enjoyed the sensation.

There was another night when several of us tried to stay up all night on the beach. Some propped out along the way. I stayed but had to sleep when everyone went to the morning meetings.

The big conflict my last summer at Okoboji was that I met Beth. It was created because I had mostly been dating the same girl for a while and went off with Beth without saying a thing. I was definitely sneaking around. I don’t know that she ever saw me, but all of Arnold Park was close to everything else and many friends did see me. As always happens with teens, everyone found out. I got negative comments and nasty looks from nearly everyone, especially the girls. “How could you?” I actually never gave it much thought. After so many comments I faced the fact that I had hurt a friend I cared for very deeply. We talked, resolved little and as we returned home I began to drift away for the old gang. I have no idea how others felt about that event, but I felt horrible and began to avoid everyone. The looks and comments did not end with the camp.

It wasn’t long after getting back to Omaha, that I stopped going to church. I still got up each Sunday morning and walked out the door to go to church when the rest of my family left, but after a few blocks I returned home. It was always OK to be back before them after church, as I had always been home first. I didn’t want my parents to know.

Similar cabins to the left. Boardwalk much the same, newer places and considerably cleaned up.

New entrance  to the roller coaster. The same roller coaster from the 50's minus the fence.

WINONA LAKE, IN chapter 49

(This story should have appeared before Graduation, but its a good one and needs to be included. So better late than never - I guess.)

The summer before my senior year I was encouraged to attend the National Youth for Christ conference held at Winona Lake, Indiana. About 10,000 were in attendance. I was one lost little puppy.

Our YFC director packed three of us in his VW bug and off we went to the middle of the country. The place was huge. The center had a huge auditorium and houses with rental rooms as far as the eye could see. Rusty, John and I found a room on the second floor with a porch like affair out front. Pete warned us to keep enough money set aside to buy bus fare back home. I found out the cost and put that away immediately. Pete left after getting us settled.

The three of us mostly went our separate ways. Rusty chased women and John, well John… I don’t know. I was pretty committed to finding out what was going on, but O dod meet a girl, Beth from Chattanooga, TN. This was the first camp/conference I attended and actually went to most of the meetings. The energy was overwhelming. It was hard not to be excited.

I watched a lot of the Bible quizzing and got hooked. What we did in Omaha was kids stuff compared to the quizzers on this level. They were up and ready to answer almost before there was a question. I wanted to be able to do that.

The Palarmo Brothers, an Italian American accordion players and singers were the entertainment. They were very funny and mixed with the crowd. Speakers were the best the nation had to offer. I left the conference walking on air, mostly.

The night before we were to leave the three of us sat down to make sure we had enough money to get home. I had enough for my ticket and some food along the way. The bus trip was going to take two days. My buddy’s didn’t have enough for one ticket between them. All for one and one for all. Great, but how do we get home.

Rusty at met a girl headed with her brother to Kansas City so he talked them into taking us east until they turned south. When they pulled up to load us in, they had a VW Bug and their stuff filled the trunk. I still don’t know how we got us and out things in that bug, but we sat on and held the luggage we had. The ride was dreadfully uncomfortable, but off we went.

They took as us far east as Bloomington, Illinois. We arrived in time to pool what little money we had and buy three tickets on to Omaha. Virtually nothing was left for food. Where were we going to stay? Maybe in the local jail! It was a thought so we found the police station and asked. The Sergeant smiled and grinned and said he was sorry, but couldn’t do that. Instead he gave us three tickets for entrance to Home Sweet Home Gospel Mission.

We were disappointed, but had no intention of staying at a mission with all those drunks and stinky men. I’m pretty sure we didn’t smell like roses. We walked around the block, parked our luggage in front of a jewelry store and left John standing guard. Rusty and I went in search of a park.

About half a block away from John, we saw a huge tractor tire leaning against the wall of a dead-end alley. The tire was crying out to be rolled. We did and then walked on trying to find a park. We didn’t get very far when a taxi came screeching around the corner, slammed on his breaks near us and screamed, “Did you roll that tire down the alley?” “What tire down what alley?" “The tractor tire down that alley just a few feet behind you.”

Oh no, what had we done? “Get in my cab.” As stupid as that was, we got in and he drove up to the police station right past John who saw us waving at him. He looked bewildered. The Sergeant said, “Weren’t you guys just in here?" “Well, yes.” The cab driver explained what happened and demanded that we be put in jail until we paid for the repair of his cab. The entire back door on the driver side was caved in. The policeman said, “I’m not going to put them in jail. They look like nice boys, (adjust halo) I’m sure they will send you the money for the cab — won’t you?” “Yes sir.” “Look they have no place to stay so pick up their buddy and take them to the mission.”

We picked up John telling him we would explain later. We were told there was no park with benches and the best outdoor spot to sleep would be at the bus station. He took us there and we tried to settle in for the night.

An hour or so later, the car driver had turned in his cab, which was right across from the depot. We watched him get in his car and rive over to where we were. “Get in the car.” Huh! We were bewildered. “I’ll take you home and you can sleep on the floor. At least it will be warm.” We slept on the floor woke up to the most wonderful breakfast ever. Of course we were starved. The last time we ate was at breakfast the day before. We had at least an 8-hour bus ride before us, and insufficient funds for travel food. He took us back to the depot and made sure we got on the bus and handed us sack lunches his wife had made.

That rolled tired was certainly worth the repair costs. Neither Rusty nor my parents were very happy with us and we both paid the repair cost out of our own earned money (32.50 each).

GRADUATION chapter 48

Graduation. A time of excitement as we move on to achieve our goals. I had already been accepted at the University of Omaha (now Nebraska U. at Omaha), I was about to embark on my great dream of becoming an architect. I had not given up on the dream that began at age 12. All these years I continued to buy house plan books and doodle on the side. I was looking forward to the day my visions would go from paper to construction.

It is also a time of great fear. What will happen? What does my future hold? Will I finish college? Will I be drafted? Should I join the army? Will I find the right girl to marry? Will I still have many of these friends? Several of my buddies were also going to the U of O so I was sure I would see them around campus. I had several friends from different high schools and some of them would also be at the U of O. Would it be some extension of high school? Can I get a deferment?

I’ve recently spent some time reading through the notes scribbled in my yearbook by friends. Looking these some 50 years later makes you wonder what we were thinking. Some wrote the same thing in every yearbook: “It’s been great knowing you,” clearly a goodbye. Our ways would be parting. Lots of variations on “We had fun together,” another form of goodbye.” Then there are the relationship comments about personality: nice, great fun, swell guy, good guy, flattop, (I had one), cute (ah shucks). We are given advice and encouragement for the future: stay true, good luck, stay the same as you are (impossible – no one does that).

We hope some will remain friends for life, but we were to be flung around the world in just a few years. We drifted apart. Some came back together in later years.

A few weeks before the school year ended my friend Gene announced that he and Carolyn had already got married. Their marriage seemed inevitable. They said they had run off to Missouri and done the deed. Because their parents didn’t know they had done this, they would live at home until graduation. Of course, none of this was true, but it took time to get it out of them.

I wondered about our spiritual lives. I knew I was slipping away from God and I could see it in some of the others. There was very little rebellion in us during our high school days, but a day of testing our faith was coming. It had already come for some. The Christian gang was slitting up and not all would stay faithful.

I worried if I would make it as an architect. Mr. Franklin had praised me often in all four years of mechanical drawing. I did the work well, but that was high school. If I graduated from college would I be hired?

Graduation day was coming. Yearbook picture had been taken in the fall. Class rings had been ordered and were on our fingers. We had been fitted for caps and gowns. The event was held at the Civic Center. We were permitted four tickets for friends and family. It would be a tight squeeze. Our class at Central High had 484 students.  The whole event seemed to drag at the time. Many people spoke from the podium. Then it takes a long time to hand out diploma's to all those people. I remember none of it. I just wanted it to be over.

We left the building, had some pictures taken in our cap and gowns, turned them in and a new adventure lay ahead. Lets get to it.

This is my yearbook photo with eyebrows straight across, that is if I didn't pluck them. No break from one to the other. I hated that so much I plucked them beginning in high school. I didn’t know you could get the roots out, but eventually they stopped growing together

We call the look “the walker scowl.” That came in handy later in life.

This is a snapshot that appeared in the yearbook. I was surprised. It looks like it was taken in front of Betty's house. Betty and I are in the gowns.

BANQUETS AND DANCES chapter 47

 Youth for Christ sponsored a few banquets in some pretty nice venues. Until I attended these functions, I had never eaten a meal that some relative had not prepared. I always thought the food was wonderful, but most of it I had never tasted before. We were pretty much meat and potatoes family, never had a green salad.

Pete showed a film made at his college and he was in (a Roman soldier). I was so impressed I considered giving up my dream of architecture and going to Bob Jones University to learn filming. I’m glad that didn’t happen. I would never have survived.

Many YFC banquets were held as an alternative to a school dance or some other religiously unacceptable school sponsored activity. We were always encouraged to dress up. This turned out to be the perfect cover for purchasing a white sports coat with appropriate black slacks, cummerbund and bow tie. As far as my parent knew I went to an awful lot of YFC banquets. Yes, I lied. The sports coat was for the formal dances, but I got some of use out of it at YFC.

Way before I bought the dinner jacket, I had learned that very few of the kids from YFC had hang ups about dances. For a while I thought they were all as deceptive as I was but in reality most went to churches without the “no dance” restriction. It was news to me that there were any churches that danced, except maybe the Catholics. Come to find out many of their churches had no objection to dancing or movies either. I wanted to be a Presbyterian.

I also wanted to learn to dance. Gene helped me out on that point. He received an invitation for three free lessons at an Arthur Murray Dance Studio and he asked me come along. The first lesson was pretty good. We got the full hour promised plus a good half an hour of  a high pressured sales pitch. The first day the pitch to buy lessons was together. When we returned for lesson two, the lesson was shorten - a lot and we were divided for the sale pitch that went on and on and on. If Gene hadn’t been there, I’m sure I would have given in. After lesson two we were told not to come back for lesson three if we were not going to buy the lessons. Gene tore into them showing them the advertisement he got in the mail that promised three FREE lessons and we wanted all three. We went back, but we were not very popular. I think the lessons lasted about 20 minutes and our teachers were certainly disgusted with us. I could hardly wait to get out of there. Gene thought it was great fun. After a few days, I agreed. They promise three free dances and we got them – sort of. At least I learned to ballroom dance.

When Gene and I went to first dance without dates, I was pleasantly surprised to see several YFC club members. I liked this group more and more. Friends to run with at an event I wanted to attend. We both hung out with this group and enjoyed the dance.

I remember going our senior prom with two other couples (Gene and Carolyn were one of them) and we all agreed we would go to a steakhouse before the dance. Sounded fun, but the only restaurant I had ever been in was a burger shack. The food is quite different. It was fun until it came time to order.

The steakhouse was gorgeous. They took our salad order. I was used to eating what was ser before me. “What kind of dressing would you like on your salad?” I knew I was in trouble as soon as I heard that question. What was a dressing? What kinds are there? Betty, my date ordered oil and vinegar so I ordered the same (wish Ranch had been invented back then). It was awful. I thought I was going to gag, but I downed most of it and plodded on. “How would you like my steak cooked?” Huh? Completely, I thought. I requested it to be medium (as my date did). That turned out to be perfect.

Our prom was held at Aksarben Ballroom, a beautiful and large 40’s style ballroom with a spinning mirrored ball. It was two steps down to the dance floor with plenty of tables and seating on two sides and the full orchestra at the front. The ballroom was on the grounds of the Aksarben (Nebraska spelled backwards) Racetrack. The building was built in 1928 for the coronation of the King and Queen of Aksarben. Central High Hussars performed at this event.

I have no photos of the ballroom. I found a few online, but none showed the room off as beautiful as it was, sorry.

Me and Betty, my good friend and prom date.

FRIENDS ARE FRIENDS FOREVER – SORT OF… chapter 46

I don’t know how any kid gets through high school without good friends. Many don’t I guess, but I did and my friends had a great deal to do with my survival.

If is hard to look back and remember how fearful, nervous and insecure I was in high school, at least on the inside. My friends were essential to me continuing my journey toward God. I don’t know any other word for my walk toward God than fickled.  I was on again, off again. What my friends did (often without knowing) was to keep my on track on my ongoing search for God. They got me though high school with at least an interest in faith. That changed after graduation. I walked away from the church for nearly a year. That also meant I walked away from my friends. I was on my own and spiritually rebelling.

But those four years were full of wonderful adventures and great fun. The group was all good kids. How they all fared into adulthood, I do not know, but their support got me to where I flourished – eventually.

While the group hit the drive-ins and eat-ins, the parks, miniature golf, Playland and more, we spent much of out time at people’s homes. It was a different day. We talked, laughed, plotted, organized and entertained one another. We went to YFC and church together. Not all the talk was about God, but who we were was centered on God.

I couldn’t begin to name them all. Some I can no longer even remember their names, but I remember the joy they brought to me. I'm sure we thought this would last forever. It didn't.

This shot of Rusty and Gerry Ann is my all time favorite casual photo. Since nearly everything I took was black and white, I doctored this a bit so we could see Rusty's pajama top and the cool Pepsi bottle. I always thought it would have made a great ad.

The next photo shows how much the girls really loved me. Bev modeled it perfectly. "Don't touch me." "Get away from me." "Help!" This was most likely said with other more appropriate comments.

Gerry Ann and Kathy just being well… Gerry Ann and Kathy

Feeding our faces for nothing better to do. A normal sight.

Harriet: "Not you again. Get outta here."

Maybe it was funny. They thought so.

PLAYLAND was across the Missouri River in Council Bluffs, Iowa. Besides the wooden roller coaster there was all the typical fair games like: knock the milk bottles over, land a nickel on a plate, ring the gong with the mallet, squeeze the handle to determine your strength, etc. There were plenty of other side events like the tunnel of love, the haunted walk, the crazy house (I could not get through the revolving exit without falling) and many others I cannot remember.

SAFE HOUSE chapter 45

There was a safe house only half a block from the north side of Central High. We would exit by the gym and head down a steep hill, cut into the alley and walk right up to Betty’s place.

I have no idea how Gene and I ever got started walking to her place after school, but it happened often. I suspect Gene and I began as a means of waiting out the fights and other problems out the west door of the school. On the other hand, we made have done it just because we had all become good friends and it was something to do after school.

Betty was the one who drew me into Youth for Christ. I convinced Gene to come with us to the Saturday night YFC rallies. Gene folded right into the larger group of friends, but he was my best friend. He loved all the activities the group did and had access to a car before I did.

I remember a time Gene was driving with Betty and I in the car and we were very far north on 30^th Street. Why, I don’t know. Betty yelled some comment out the window as a response to a car that had made some threatening comments. A few blocks later they were joined by another car with six boys looking for a fight. The first car was behind us and the car full of boys was on our left side trying to push us to the curb. Gene took off as fast as he could drive through red lights as we all prayed for a cop. There was none to be found. When he finally got far enough ahead and into an area where he was familiar he made some quick turns left and right and right and left and finally pulled into an alley and then up in his own back yard. We sat there awhile slinked down and breathing heavy until we were sure we were safe. The wait was long.

In warm weather we often sat at the top of the steps leading to Betty’s place from 19^th Street. We talked. About what, I could never speculate at this point in life. I suppose it was just about life, maybe our problems (of course teens have problems even if they are only their own mind), definitely school, our friends, what to do, where to go. We may have gone bowling. I don’t think we ever when bowling after school, but there was a bowling alley a short distance down the hill from Betty’s house, and we did bowl. Betty really liked beating the boys, which she did often.

After high school I joined a bowling league with some of the salesmen from Kenny Shoes. I would love to report I bowled a perfect game, but about the closest I ever got was about a 220, maybe 240.

I remember a time when there had been a murder reported on the campus of Creighton University. Since Gene and I usually walked through their campus to get home, there were many nights after events when we ran through the campus. The whole thing seems funny now. Yes, there had been a murder, but it wasn’t random. Besides, like we would say, why would anyone want to kill silly high school boys? We never stopped cutting through the campus and only felt somewhat secure after we passed St. John’s Cathedral. We never saw anything, but we heard enough noises to scare the wits out of us. 

This is St. John's Cathedral as it looked in the late 50's when Gene and I were running down 30th Street as fast as we could (not that fast). I got to see the campus a few years back. It is beautiful and their school of dentistry sits where my house use to sit and some of their student housing sits where Gene once lived. By the way, Gene went on to become a dentist and we only had contact once more and that was only a few years before he passed away.

HIGH SCHOOL MILITARY chapter 44

In the 1950’s the military was a very big deal. The Korean War was winding down. We were in a cold war with communist countries, lead by Russia and we were expecting them to attack at any time. They had promised to annihilate America or at the least make us a communist country. China was rising and there was a strong movement to restore Chiang Kai-shek to power .The Vietnam War had begun November 1, 1955, just as I was beginning high school. There was a threat of was over the heads of all high school boys. They would turn 18 during that was, register for the draft and… many feared they would be sent to the Orient and not for a vacation.

The USA had used the Atomic bomb and now believed in atomic power at a deterrent to conflict. The administration increased the number of nuclear warheads from 1,000 in 1953 to 18,000 by early 1961.

The Soviets produced the first intercontinental ballistic missile (1957), first satellite (Sputnik-1 1957), first animal in space (the dog Laika on Sputnik 2 1957), were working on putting the first human in space and Earth orbit (cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin on Vostok 1 1961), The USA had entered the space race late and were playing catch-up.

To begin to complete in this new world order, the Russian language was taught and we were encouraged to learn it, science classes were beefed up and young men were compelled to register for the draft. War was coming.

To that end, many schools had Reserved Office Training Corp (ROTC). It was a large and respected program in my high school. Our 1959 yearbook dedicated twelve pages in a section entitled “Military.” Besides the officers and cadets, there were honorary officers (girls selected to these positions). There were several military sub-groups. The Kings and Queens Hussars (two separate groups) who served at the coronation of the king and queen of Aksarben (Nebraska spelled backwards). There was a rifle team, a crack squad, a military band, a commissioned officers club, a Non-Commissioned officers club, a color guard, and the military police. I don’t know where the brig was, but I had been on the rifle range.

The numbers enrolled in ROTC were huge. Since most of us were sure we would be headed to war, becoming an officer was appealing. To achieve that would require four years in high school, four in college and officers training school. Being a grunt was quicker and easier, but more likely to put you in the front line.

I have often wondered how many of my classmates served in the military, how many went to Vietnam, and how many came home. Central was a top academic school ranked 20^th in the nation. The school was loaded with very bright, intelligent students the majority of whom would go on to college. Very few were drafted out of college. Fewer upper class, white boys were called to report. Did we go, were we called, were we conscripted?

The poor also attended Central. They lived all around the neighborhood, but there were not many of them compared our neighbor school, Tech.

The conscientious objectors, the draft dodgers, and the infirm kept quiet. To speak up was to make a defense for not going. We were obligated to go. Those who just plain hated the war were just beginning to voice an opinion. They didn’t get loud until the 1960’s, but the rumbling was beginning to be heard even though the group determined to shit them up was larger. That would change.

Forgive me, but I went to Canada in 1962. It was totally unplanned and not to escape Vietnam. That story comes up after the high school stories.

The Kings Hussars - wish they were in color. Striking.

The Queens Hussars all dressed in white.

There were many in ROTC and they had their own ball.

Hussars is a Hungarian Mounted Military term used throughout Europe and 

England where they serve the Queen. 

A HALLOWEEN PARTY chapter 43

The high school years are a time of self-discovery for everyone. I felt like the last two years of HS were where I learned the most about myself. L learned to good, the bad and the ugly. I understood my fears better, and was beginning to discover some skills I might have. I learned new things about myself all the time. I was in the process of becoming the person I would – er… become.

I credit YFC director, Pete, for guiding me in the discovery of another skill or gift. Frankly, I have never really figured out the difference between these two. He put me on a citywide planning committee for the 1959 YFC Halloween party. I learned I liked planning and organizing things and the wilder and more creative it got, the more fun I had.

I don’t know how often we met, but even the meetings were fun. The committee was expected to be there early for the sent up and each of us had a portion to direct and explain. I didn’t even mind that. I guess my fear of large groups was dissipating. The party was a blast. I must have had plenty of time, or I recently got a brownie camera, because I took a lot of photos, at least a lot for me.

I’m sure we did many of the things typical of the day. We were encouraged to come in costumes or the theme was “country.” There were a lot of farmer outfits. Maybe those were just the costumes we had readily at hand. We had sack races, bobbed for apples, a pie eating contest and for some reason someone threw a pie. I have the pictures, but don’t know why we did it.

I so request not putting names on the back of all my photos. Fifty years later, I recognize people and would know them right away, if they hadn’t changed, but for the life of me I am not even sure some had names.

A few photos will tell this story the best.

Let to right: Tom Scott, unknown, Chuck Davis, Terry Porter

Gerry Ann most likely winning the race.

Kathy is dressed and ready to receive a pie — why?

A NEW CHURCH chapter 42

A NEW CHURCH chapter 42

It was late in my sophomore year when I asked Dad if I could change churches. I had my doubts that he would allow it, but I could no longer tolerate the one in which I had been reared. My involvement in Youth For Christ introduced me to a group of kids living for God and the church many of them attended. Not everyone I met attended the Tabernacle, but it was interesting to see how many of us gravitated there over the years, if not permanently, at least for visits.

I was rather anxious about approaching dad on the subject of a new church, but it was change or quit as far as I was concerned. If I was going to grow closer to God, it was unlikely that it was be in my home church. I believe my dad also has a sense it was decision time for him as well.

The pastor of the new church was fairly well known in Omaha. He had been the radio pastor for WOW radio for years. He broadcast on Sunday mornings, but I am not sure my father ever heard of him. However, dad remembered him from the great flood of 1952.

The flood of April 1952, still stands as the flood-of-record for the Missouri at Omaha. The river over flowed its banks and thousands were at the waters edge piling sand bags as fast as they could be filled. Dr. Brown and his congregation were noted for providing coffee and food for the workers. A team from the church was there day and night. Dad remembered that and admired the pastor for that act of service. He consented.

I was somewhat familiar with the church building, at least the main entrance. Our weekly Youth For Christ club had moved from the covenant church to the Tabernacle. It was one block east of Central high, a longer walk for me.

The sanctuary was much larger (about 1000). Public prayer was a shocker. It was so quiet. Only the one leading prayer prayed out loud. I had to look around to see what was going on. They clapped at the singing, but not like my Pentecostal church. The new church clapped with the beat. The old one clapped on the offbeat, much more rhythmic I thought. I have never really adjusted to that.

On Wednesday night everyone would gather in the sanctuary for a brief talk, and then divide into smaller groups for prayer. The teens met in a room off the stage and I could not believe they kneeled to pray, and what prayers they were. They were sincere, honest, heart grabbing desires for God to intervene in life. These moments more than any other drew me along in what was becoming a growing faith.

The church was a good fit. I stayed with the Tabernacle, went off to one of their Bible colleges and worked in their churches for 37 years. I guess you could say I found my place — or God placed me where He wanted.

Missouri River flood 1952, Omaha, NB

THE GIFT THAT KEEPS ON GIVING chapter 41

It was only a few months after the infamous “placing a VW Bug between two tress” incident that the first serious down payment was made on what would become on going payments.

I was beginning to walk around like a crippled old man — hunched over and limping. The pain in my groin was irritating. The doctor said I had a hernia, whatever that was. All I was sure of was that it hurt. It turns out that it was only going to get worse unless I had surgery, but the sooner the better.

I chose mid January of my senior year. Of course, I had planned on healing very quickly. That didn’t happen.

I checked into the hospital on a Sunday night with surgery scheduled for 7:00 the next morning. This was my first stay in the hospital so I didn’t really know what to expect. It was a little disconcerting when some guy walked in with a pan of warm water, a razor and shaving cream telling me he was going to shave me, ahem, down there. WHAT! Yes, sir, that is right where the incision is going. It must be done. After adjusting to my embarrassment and accepting the inevitable, I prepared myself emotionally for him and the surgery.

I think they came along about 6:30 a.m. to wheel me upstairs. The ride was pleasant with a friendly driver. He pushed me through the double doors and right along side a cart with enough shiny silver instruments to take on the entire Omaha stockyards. Someone adjusted a light over me and another person took my right arm and gave me a shot. I was told, “This will relax you.” I hoped so, as tension was mounting.

I didn’t hear anything for a few minutes and when I looked around there was no one in the room. To my left were all the knives up close and personal and the room was getting cold. They did not put a blanket over me and I didn’t know where everyone had gone or why they left. I wasn’t even sure that if I shouted anyone would answer.

It felt like it had been an hour before anyone returned and then if was a lone nurse who walked in, ignored me and went to my left doing something along a counter. I gave her a few moments to determine I was here before I called out, “Nurse.” “Yes.” She turned and came over near me. “What is going on?” “Didn’t anyone tell you/” “Tell me what?” “Did you know it snowed during the night?" “No.” “Well apparently, the doctor scheduled to do your surgery is stuck in the snow in his driveway and when he gets dug out he will be here.” “You’re kidding, why am I here in this freezing cold room?” “Would you like a blanket?” I would if I’m going to be here much longer.” “They want you ready to go when the doctor arrives.” “How long will that be?” “I wish I could tell you.”

I think it was another half an hour before the doctor arrived. Someone mentioned that I have been in the operating room over an hour. I also think the nurse was feeling sorry for me. She stayed to talk until the doctor was ready. I learned she was a graduate of Central high and that her younger brother was a student there now. Worse yet, I knew him. I turned red just knowing this girl, the sister of a friend, was about to see me lying stark naked in just a few moments. I wished we had never talked.

The surgery went well and family and friends began arriving that evening. I wanted Tom banned from my room. He was determined to tell one joke after the other and every laugh pulled on the newly acquired stitches. It hurt like… (I don’t say that word). He was funny and I couldn’t help but laugh, but I didn’t want to.

That was the only surgery I had for that one act of stupidity, but I have seen chiropractors hundreds of times and certainly more than paid of any one of their Mercedes.

THE FOREVER RETREAT chapter 40

I had gone to camp as a kid. I remember very little except that it was not a very good experience. I could hardly wait for the week to be over and I could go home. I remember feeling alone. I am not sure why as I was with some kids form my own church, but we never were the best of friends. Most of the guys in my cabin were from another church and they were close friends. I felt excluded.

It was fall when my Youth for Christ club began promoting a fall retreat for all the schools. Previous experiences told me I should stay home. I certainly had more friends that I had at the last camp, but what if it sucked. (I don’t believe we were used that word, but it fits.)

Gerry-Ann had brought Steven around YFC. As I recall he was a foster kid and my heart was already reaching out to those hurting and rejected. He was certainly included and we became casual friends. He asked if I was going to go and I told him I doubted it (I was developing the practice of indirect answers). He didn’t quite bed me to go, but did at one point threaten to stay home if I didn’t go. How to you reject that. I packed up my things to join the migration.

I have no idea where the camp was or its name, but I knew it was fall and the weather was cool. The first evening was fine. There was some music, some games, some snacks and lots of laughter.

I wish I could remember how we were assigned cabins for the night, but Steven, another guy and myself were in a cabin with no supervision. That was not the issue. There was no heat and it was cold. All three of us were shivering and could not get warm. We put on every piece of clothing we had. It didn’t help. I think it was Steven who suggested we put a couple of mattresses on top trying to block out the wind. That didn’t work. Eventually we put several mattresses on the floor and all crowed together and piled more mattresses on top. That helped some.

No one really believed: 1) there were only three in our cabin. 2) There was no heat. 3) We crowded together, and 4) we hated how comfortable everyone else seemed to be.

It was definitely better at breakfast and for all the indoor activities in the heated room. I remember hanging out by the heat source. The rest of the day went well. If I could remember who talked me into this next stunt, I would send them my doctor’s bills. There have been hundreds.

“Come on, it will be fun” Well, it sounded fun. The plan was that four of us would lift the directors VW bug and place it between two closely placed trees. We succeeded. He never saw us, but dud fund out who did it.

Everything was fine. No problems at first, and then — that's the next blog, and after three years and I pulled a muscle working as a summer dairyman in distant Red Deer, Alberta, Canada. I was trying to life and eight gallon can of ice cream mix while bent over in an Econoline Van. It was more than a muscle and I have seen a chiropractor off and on to this day. Just saw one on Monday. 

I "NEED" TO DRIVE chapter 39

I wanted a car; even a driver license would have been nice. I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea about my dad as he was a wonderful and Godly man, but (there’s always a but) he did not believe teenagers should drive and he was determined that I be 20 before getting on the road. That hurt.

All my friends were driving. Some even had their own cars. It was during my junior year when my dad bought a car. It was the first one I ever recalled we had.

I plotted several ways to get my drivers license. Dad worked at the Union Pacific repair yard, a short walking distance from Central High School (about 13^th Street). I also knew where the extra car key was kept. It was hanging on a hook on the back porch. I reasoned I could take the key on a given day, leave school early for work, get Dad’s car, drive to the examination office, write the exam, take the driving test and be back, work a bit and still be home before dad so I could return the key. I couldn’t let mom see what I was doing.

A great many things would have to align properly to pull this off. I got the drivers manual and studied it thoroughly. Since I had never driven a car, I was a little concerned about that, but figured if I could get to the exam location without an accident, I had a chance.

It all worked like a charm. I passed the written test and took the driving exam and then at the end he asked me to parallel-park. Oh no! I had no idea how to do that, but I tried and screwed it up. Not bad, but enough to fail. Of course, then I had to get out of the lot without the examiner seeing me driving away.

I would have to try again a week later, which I did. This time I practiced parking several times before arriving. This time I passed got my license and legally drove away. Next, get a car. I had a job and some money, but did not know how I would put this off and had no ideas.

Early in the fall we went to southern Nebraska to visit my brother David (my favorite brother) and his family. During the visit David asked me if I had my drivers license yet. I explained the whole story. When he got done laughing he asks, “Are you going to get a car?” “I want to but don’t know how I’ll pull that off.” “Come with me.” We went to an old garage in which he had stored at 1949 Pontiac Coupe Deville. “I’ll sell it to you for $50. After gasping and sputtering and spewing out gratitude, I told him I had no idea how I would ever be able to convince Dad to let me have it especially since he doesn’t even know I have a license.

David, being the aggressive, bold and confident guy that he is, went over to dad sitting in his swing. “Dad, I’ve got an old Pontiac sittin’ in the garage that I will sell to Clyde. It runs great. Doesn’t need anything done and is going to rust out if it don’t get used.” “Well, I don’t know” dad said. “I’ll let him drive it back to Omaha and he can send a check when he gets home. It will be easy since he already has a license.”

I thought I would die right on the spot. I gasp and waited for my dad to throw a temper tantrum. All he said was, “He’s got a license, huh? I guess that would be OK.”

I was excited but waited for the other shoe to drop. It never did. I had my very own car and for only $50. The first gas I brought was 19¢ a gallon and remember paying only 11¢ during a gasoline war. Now those were the days.

Of course I felt guilty for all my deception, but I had a car and could drive. That was a tough joy to squelch.

1949 Pontiac Coupe, black (repainted metallic blue - another story) with sun visor. 

I NEED MONEY chapter 38

It wasn’t a universal rule, but most business’ wanted teens to be at least 16 before they would hire them. I had some limitations. Any job I got had to be near a bus stop or close enough that I could walk or bike. So, after turning sixteen and with only a couple months of school left, I set out to find a job. I had no idea what I could do. The primary goal was just getting money.

The first week I looked in the paper Kinney Shoes advertized for a part-time salesman. I had my doubts, but kept it on the back burner. After about a week of finding nothing of interest to me, I noticed the Kinney’s ad was still running.

Monday after school I walked down the hill from Central to 16^th and Dodge to check out the store. J.C. Penny’s was on one side of the street, a hole in the wall greasy spoon was directly across the street and Kinney’s next-door to the eatery. I sat on the bus bench in front of Penny’s and watched. The store was busy. I could see at least four, maybe five salesmen hustling around. I knew the inside look of the store. That’s where we bought shoes. The more I looked the more threatening it became. After an hour, I went home. However, I came back the next day and the next day and waited an hour both days.

Finally summing up the courage I walked into the store and asked to see the manager. I was startled that I did that as I was scared. I don’t what why I was scared, but I was.

I was taken through a back maze of shelves and shoes, up a steep narrow staircase to a long narrow room (if you could call it that) the width of the tore and with a ceiling so low everyone entering was bent over. The room had one-way windows that over looked the sales floor. Mr. Lause looked out one of those windows.

I sat next to his desk and he asked what he could do for me. I told him I was here to apply for the part-time sales position. He looked seriously at me and laughed. It wasn’t a mean laugh, more of a surprised laugh. “I doubt you would make much of a salesman.” My heart fell to the floor. He went on, “But I do need a stock boy. If you comeback Monday at 3:30 I’ll give you a try.”

I had no idea what a stock boy was, but it was a possible job so I was there on Monday. When I checked in he had two other boys and we were going to compete for one job. We were to “run” stock and flatten empty show boxes. How hard could that be?

He spread us into three separate areas so we would have no contact with one another. Running stock meant moving the shoe boxes close together and leaving no empty holes. He wanted the front to look like the store had plenty of shoes no matter what the back looked like. Flattening boxes destroyed the hands. Every shoebox had a string running around the top edge of both the box and the lid. Ripping each corner dug into my hands.

I was determined to beat the other guys and do a great job. I wanted the work. When the day was done, I learned the other boys had left sometime ago and I was to come back Thursday after school. I would be working Monday, Thursday and part of Saturdays. I was walking on air. My first job, that is if you don’t count the one day my neighbor tried to get me to sell Watkins door-to-door or the occasional weekend unpaid job I had helping my brother-in-law make donuts in what I thought was the middle of the night. I hated donuts after that.

My connection with Kinney’s was to last four years.

The interior view looks identical to the store where I worked. The exterior view had just been changed before I applied. It had a full glass front allowing one to see the entire store from the outside. The sign is correct, however the "open to 9" portion was an addition to the stand alone stores they were just beginning to build at I left for Canada. Kinney's operated from 1894-1998. Foot Locker began in 1974 as a division of Kinney's. On September 16, 1998 the Venator Group, Woolworth's successor, announced that Kinney's 467 shoe stores and 103 Footquarters stores would close. The Foot Locker division, started in 1974, continues to this day, with Venator changing its name in 2001 to Foot Locker. If you even owned a pair of Buster Brown shoes they were made my Kinney's.

THEATER, OR AT LEAST SKITS chapter 37

 Somewhere along in my high school career I developed an interest in theater. It seems strange, as I was always terrified of being in front of any group of people. I am still not sure how he did it, but my Youth For Christ Director, Pete, was the first get me in front of anyone one.

I hated public speaking. I only passed a speech class because of the paper work. I never appeared at school to give a single speech. I got physically ill. I could even make myself throw-up. I was terrified. Part of it was that I never believed I had anything worth saying or that anyone would benefit by from hearing me speak. I was terrified of being laughed at. Those concerns make my entering the ministry even stranger.

What Pete did was ask me to make announcements at our YFC club with a supportive audience of only 18-20. He handed me this book of humorous skits to use to present announcements. I usually had a partner so was not facing everyone alone. Practice helped especially with someone saying we were doing it right. In time it got to be fun and practice ended.

I loved the school plays and musicals. I thought they were all spectacular. The acting was incredible and the sets amazing. I had a hard time believing the stage could look so good. I heard the set designer had worked on Broadway stages. It looked professional to me. I wanted to do that, but knew I could never get on that stage.

       Two of CHS Shows 

Mr. Murray, my English teacher, was also an influence. We would read Shakespeare in class while verbally acting out the various parts. Since good ole’ “Shake” wrote like they did in the Bible, I could read it with a degree of ease. That didn’t mean I understood it any better. It was just as confusing as the Bible. Rather than coming out of the class with a love for Shakespeare, I was beginning to think acting was cool.

When Pete showed a film at an YFC banquet that had been filmed and produced at his college, I was willing to give up becoming an architect and wanted to go to Bob Jones University to learn filming. That didn’t happen.

The outcome of all of this was the beginning of a love for theater. I reached the point that I could not only do the announcement skits, I looked forward to doing them and got confident enough to do them on my own adlib and write my own. The thought of tackling a serious subject in front of a crowd, never improved, but acting and writing got better,