Christmas Eve Shopping 2015

As the oldest of seven and the first to get his drivers license, I was often called upon by my panicked parents to make emergency runs to the grocery store the day before a major holiday; 
Dad: Judas priest Ginger! How could you forget the rye bread and Usingers?! 
Mom: Seven kids?

The famous VW bus

This meant me getting the dog (because the dog always went), throwing jackets on a random assortment of siblings and piling into our blue VW Bus and negotiating the wild wild west that was
the parking lot of our Kohl's grocery store.  

Early on I was intimidated and pushed around by babushka wearing Milwaukee hausfraus who elbowed me aside digging for fresh Usinger liver sausage.  And at the bakery, I had to say it exactly so; “I’d like one loaf of the seeded, light rye bread, sliced, and one regular cruller, please”  (for sharing with the dog of course!). It was in those early days that I began formulating my Rules for Shopping On Christmas Eve. 

Kohl's back in the day

And the tradition continues today – Christmas Eve day 2015: 

The Wife: For the love of God! How could you forget the Pepperidge Farm crackers & Kaukauna?!
Me: Uhh...I dunno
So it’s out to the car, in the pouring rain, sans dog, to confront the barbarian hordes at Publix.  And the rules?  They’re codified now, and you should review them before YOU go out!   

1) The white lines in the parking lot weren't painted at random. You're supposed to park between them. 
2) Make a list. If you don't have one, stay in your car until you do. Need time to think? There isn’t time to think! Your single job is to load up your cart, pay and leave without setting off a chain reaction of shopper wrath. 

The Barbarian Horde @ Publix Fairview Rd

3) You say you "hardly ever" do the grocery shopping, but your wife's home with sick kiddos so what’s a guy to do? I’ll tell you what to do: Leave. Go out the door and head to Food Lion. This is no time or place for rookies!
4) Absolutely NO U-turns in the aisle! You walked by the taco shells? Malos ratos!  Keep going and come back round again. Never, ever go in reverse
5) Ten means 10. You have 11? Either off-load something into the candy rack, or get out of the Express Lane
6) You bumped into an old pal and you’d like to chat? Great. Go stand in front of the fresh sea food.
7) NEVER leave your cart unattended, blocking the aisle. I will push it out of the way like an old Camry stuck in a snow storm. 
8) At the Deli counter; state your order in a clear distinct voice and in half-pound increments only!  If you order a quarter pound of Boars Head Olive Loaf I'll have you'll banned for life. PS: Only cretins take samples. This isn't COSTCO for god's sake! 

9) You know the frequent flyer’s unspoken rule about carry on luggage? If you can’t lift it up and put it in the overhead bin, neither can I, so don’t ask. Same thing in Publix: If you can’t lift that 25# bag of Dog Chow off the shelf and put it in your cart, neither can I. Buy a couple of cans of Alpo instead (Merry XMAS Fido!)
10) You’re writing a check!? The horror…the horror

Merry Christmas shoppers!

The Long Bus Ride Home

It's all just one long ride Originally published December 14, 2015

Last week the University of Kentucky football team suffered a humiliating loss to their cross state rivals, The Louisville Cardinals. The line score tells the tale. Up 24-7 at halftime, the Cats managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.  I started thinking about their bus ride home after a loss like that. Yes, the long, somber ride home with nothing to do but think about how badly you'd stunk it up.  My mind wandered back decades to the many, many nights I sat on the losing bus. And one night stood out above all other others. I've kept this incident quiet over the years -- and I know one man who even took it to his grave: Bob Schmitz. He was the last kid in the locker room that night --  he knew what really happened.

So as through a glass and darkly

It was a Friday night in early November, 1968.  It was the night our football coach erupted into his infamous 'Party Boys' hysterics. Bill McDonough was there and of course Kerry DeChant, Chris Spahn, John Wamser, Mark Rukavina, Charlie Schumacher -- well  the entire football team really.  The night a very large man had an explosive meltdown. Instinctively, most of us put our helmets on - unusual inasmuch as we were inside the locker room.

You see, it was our last game of the season and Mike Piotrowski's father had bought bags of McDonald's burgers and fries for the team to enjoy after the game. I had just stashed a bag with a couple of cheeseburgers in my locker. I thought I'd eat them in the bus on the way home. And it was just as I was doing this figurin’, that Coach, with his assistant in tow, came storming out of their office.  He stomped up to the blackboard, grabbed a fistful of chalk and hurled it at us! Kids ducked as shards of chalk ricocheted off  the lockers.  That was when we put our helmets on. The erasers were next.  Look out!  Rukavina's been hit!  MEDIC!!

FUTURE WALL ST. MANIPULATOR


SHREDS WHITE KNIGHTS IN OPENER

Here’s a rich kid from University School looking tough.

Watching from the sidelines, sensing the humiliation

and futility of their upcoming season are:

#21 Kerry DeChant, #70 Hugh Murphy 

and  #40 Dave Rinehart.

To put things in perspective, our football team was inept. Not bad - INEPT. We lost all eight of our conference games, plus one non-conference game!  We were shut out four times and scored a mere thirty-one points the entire season!  Not a typo: 31 points in 9 games! A record unequaled in the history of the Milwaukee Catholic Conference!

Our coah, Mezzy, had been a decent college lineman, turned incompetent high school coach. 

Coach Mezzy
"Youse guys open yer books to 'dat page - 
'da one wit doz pitchers."

Make no mistake; We knew we were hopeless two games into the season.  And you remember Denny Sweeney?  What a character he was!   During games, he'd saunter back into the huddle and complain that he was wide open on a pass route, but wouldn't get the ball thrown to him.  I remember it was during the Messmer game when Bill McDonough finally had enough of his BS and said, "Shut the hell up you wiener!!"  So naturally from that day on, every chance we could, we called Denny, "Wiener".  He hated it.  In the afternoon PA announcements I'd always add something like, "Will Dennis D. Wiener please report to Mr. Synold's office? Thank you!" 
Synold's office was in the boiler room. He couldn't hear the announcements. He always wondered why Denny would show up some days at 3:30!

I mentioned Bob Schmitz earlier.  Schmitz was one loony SOB.  He also happened to be  the football team’s student-manager.  He was the kid responsible for taking care of salt tablets, footballs, tape, whistles, chin straps and uniforms. You needed a Band-Aid? You went to Schmitz. You wanted an extra towel?

BOB SCHMITZ
Note: this isn't Bob Schmitz.
It's Pete Walthers.
I lost Schmitz's picture.
I think he'd approve though

You were nice to Schmitz.  He also brought treats for the bus rides to games; candy bars, oranges and towards the end of the season...a little something extra!

Contrary to urban legend, it was Schmitz, not Joe LaGalbo who brought the bota bag onto the bus (though you can't be faulted for thinking it was Joe!) Once our season was kaput there was no rule worth following. You wouldn’t think a Catholic high school football team needed a “No Drinking Wine On The Bus” rule. But ours did. And by the time we were 0-5 that unwritten rule was ripe for the breaking.  There was a small group of  players who always sat in the back of the bus when we traveled. Head Coach Mezzy and his Assistant always sat in the front row. Nice guys like Sweeney also sat up front – close to the coaches.  On the way home from the last few games, Schmitz would sit with us in the back and we'd pass around his bota bag.  When we sang "Moon River", you could be certain of two things: the Mateus Rose had kicked in and someone had pressed ham against the window of the bus!

All of this really bothered Mr. Wiener, who wasn't welcomed in the back.  Denny would be a real pain in the ass about it. He’d walk up the aisle, glaring at me, chastising us, threatening to tell, etc. etc.  Words were passed like, "You're gonna get it!" All this led up to the last game of the season, which we lost -- big surprise.  We lost them all that year!  Oh well, no scholarship to St. Norbert’s for me!  So down the road back home we go, bouncing around in the big, yellow school bus, laughing and ducking down behind the back seats to squeeze off long gulps of wine from Schmitz’s bota bag. Mr. Wiener was not pleased.

When at last we arrived back at Dominican there was Mr. Piotrowski with the bags of burgers and fries. We had just finished a humiliating season, but this night just kept getting better!  

Did Denny go into Mezzy’s office and cry the blues about the bota bag?  I don’t know for certain. What I DO know is a few minutes later we were ducking chunks of chalk! Mezzy was jumping up and down, the  veins in his neck popping out screaming, “YOU COST ME MY JOB YOU PARTY BOYS!!”  Then he singled me out. Moi?  Yes me!  OK, it’s true: On the last play of the game, with us leading by one point, I blocked the wrong way, letting my man waltz right in and flatten our QB, Chris Spahn in the end zone for a safety, resulting in a cosmic, soul crushing, one point loss – a loss which did, in fact, cost Coach his job (lol!)  
Here's what really happened: Since it was the last game, Schmitz snuck the bota bag onto the sidelines and we’d been taking big slurps on the bench, hidden under our 

giant, hooded football capes!  I never expected to play. I was shocked when I heard my name called in the final minutes of the second half!  The problem was…the wine had worked its way through my system. What I really needed to do was take a leak.  Oh well, no time for that now!  I grabbed my helmet and ran onto the field.  We were on our own 3 yard line leading by one point. All we, ( I ), had to do was not fuck up, time would run out and we’d win! 

So I huddled up, listening to Chris call the play. I tried to focus, but all I could think about was how badly I had to go!  Plus, it really bothered me that my uniform didn't have any grass stains, or good game-dirt on it. Now I'd stand out too much. When we broke the huddle and walked up to the line, (I played left guard), it dawned on me that I had absolutely no idea what the play was, or my blocking assignment. I looked back at Chris to ask, but his glasses were getting all foggy and he looked kinda freaky -- forget that idea!  Taking my official three-point stance, I figured I had two options: A) pull around right end and lay a crushing block on someone, which would look good to the fans, or B) pull around right end and just run out of bounds towards the desperately needed porta-potty.  I chose A.  Turns out neither of those options was correct. Oops!  Who knew?!  Game over...we lose! Looks like no scholarship to UW Platteville for me!  But at least now I really could run to the porta-potty. After which, like I already told you, there was the bus ride home, more bota bag, the sacks of burgers and fries and then the chalk throwing incident.

So, after his meltdown, Coach and his assistant holed up in the coaches office, never to be seen again that night. I was feeling pretty damn low about being singled out. I just sat in front of my locker for a long while. In the chaos, Mr. Piotrowski and the bags of food disappeared. That didn't help my attitude because I really wanted some of those fries.  The other guys were already coming out of the showers and hurriedly dressing by the time I took off my game uniform and tossed it to Schmitz in the equipment room.  I showered and dressed slowly. It didn't matter. My teammates, my amigos, had all left in a big rush -- too embarrassed I guessed, to be seen with me after my bonehead play.  [ NOTE: I found out days later they just wanted to get to this huge party, they forgot to tell me about, before the beer ran out.  It had nothing at all  to do with my  play -- phew!]

Nice play, Murph.
And do me a favor? Don't call me for 30 years.

Nice play BF.
Do you have practices to be that bad??
Luv you!

Schmitz had the radio on in the equipment room, “Those were the days my friends, we thought they’d never end…”.  I tied the laces on my desert boots and put on my letterman's jacket. I grabbed the sack of cheeseburgers I’d hidden in my locker, waved at Schmitz and began to walk out. I paused when I got to the coaches office. Still feeling rotten, I thought I'd knock on the door and say I was sorry for screwing up.  But then, from behind the closed door, I could hear the two of them cussing about us – and I clearly heard my name!  
Really?! Being very quiet, I set the McDonald’s bag down in front of their office door. I  took out my Zippo lighter and put it up to the bag. Slowly at first and then, WHOOSH!  Up in flames it went!  I pounded on the door as hard as I could and hollered, "WHITEFISH BAY POLICE!  OPEN UP ASSHOLES!!"  Annnd out the door I flew!  

I ran across Silver Spring Drive and into Golden Chicken where Wheeler was working. Gasping for breath, I told Wheels about the Party Boys incident. I knew he’d hide me in the storeroom if the cops came.  He had the Bucks game on the radio. We cooked up some chicken and I munched on a couple of tasty pieces while we listened to the game.

When we figured the coast was clear, I ordered a bag of crinkle cut fries for the road and headed out into the cool Fall night.  Walking east down Silver Spring Dr., I passed the Fox Bay Theatre. They had a double feature all lit up on the marquee; "Thunderball" and “From Russia with Love”.  Inside the lobby there was a big cardboard cut-out of Sean Connery.

 I got to Winkie's just as the #15 bus was pulling up.  I hopped on and casually flipped open my billfold, showing the bus driver my official bus pass - yeah that’s right; I had a bus pass, so what?! He gave me a look like he smelled the fries stashed in the pocket of my letterman's jacket. 
I settled in and watched the lights of the suburban houses pass by my window. The crazy events of the evening and what I'd done kept running through my mind and I thought, “That’s exactly how 007 would’ve handled things!”  

The bus passed Connie Browne’s house, so I knew it was about time to transfer. There may be some sort of reckoning come Monday morning, but for now there were fries to finish…relaxing in the back of the bus.

THE END

********************************************

The Author, (upper left) dropped out of UWM and moved to Florida when told by a Gypsy fortune teller at Sumerfest, "Your future life partner is on your yearbook page."

***********************************************************************
1968 Dominican High School Football Team

Bill Crowley Teacher Appreciation

Originally published May 15, 2015

Dear Reader: Please read the footnotes as they occur in the text. TY

Dear Mr. Crowley,                                                                                                                                                                                         

You know that Sinatra song, “My Way”?  The part where he sings, "Regrets, I've had a few, but then again, too few to mention”.  Well, that’s not true for me.

On the occasion of Teacher Appreciation Day, I hope you’ll indulge me as I share with you a few regrets from my years as a student at Dominican High School.

§ I regret that I wasn’t there to help you when school hoodlums chained all the second floor hallway doors together.  On that particular day I was in Mrs. Ash’s Physical Science class at the DHS field next to Bay Shore. We launched our class-project rocket. It crash landed on the Kohl’s roof.  Oops! Class dismissed!! 

§ I regret falling in with the wrong crowd in my World Problems class in senior year. As a result, I became the first student in the history of DHS to be petitioned OUT of a class, (a ruling I always suspected you presided over). The only upside to being reassigned to the Typing Class is that I can type this today with just a minimum of Wite-Out and eroes errors. (SEE  [1]  below)

§ I regret I didn’t attend the gala Sports Banquet my senior year. Of course, there really wasn’t much to celebrate. We lost every single football game. I think Bob Trussell won something for high jumping. Kerry DeChant won an award just for surviving the year. And Sphanie won everything else. I would’ve cheered their accomplishments, if I had attended, but I had other commitments. [2]

§ I regret that after four years and pretty good attendance, the only college letter of recommendation I received from Dominican and the faculty, came from Mr. Synold.[3]

What the hell are you doing Ms. Lechmaier?? I said PITH the frog, not KISS the frog!

But most of all, I regret I wasn’t in your class the day you created Kinetic Boy.  That’s right.  It was in your class -- and I wasn’t there to see it! I should’ve been, but again,  I had commitments. [4]

Kinetic Boy.  That’s all you heard around school. Mike Fetherston told me he was in the Girls Locker Room when he first heard about Kinetic Boy. He couldn't say for sure who said it as he was hiding under a pile of towels in a laundry cart.

Rumor had it, Bill, you hurt your leg earlier that day and couldn’t demonstrate the Theories of Energy as you usually did.[5]  So that day in class, you asked for a volunteer to help. Bob Hoeller jumped out of his seat and raced to the front of the room. With your blessing, he climbed up on top of the lab table and stood motionless. Classmates remember you saying, "There it is people!  That's Potential Energy!"  You thanked Bob for helping and asked the class to open their books to, “Mitosis: A House Divided.”

[1] Mary Andrews was also tossed out of class. It haunts her to this day.

[2] I needed to make it up to Mary for getting her kicked out of World Problems, so I asked her to be my date at a small dinner party hosted by Tom O’Leary at Miss Prange’s apartment. I brought a bottle of Mateus Rosé.

[3] I  also regret that after receiving that letter, I repeatedly snuck into the PA room and for several days used it to repeatedly announce, “Mr. Synold, please call 1-0”

[4] As punishment for my Fr. Richards Kumbaya Incident on the PA system, (“Sing with me…Someone’s limpin’ Lord, kumbaya”), I was banished to the 3^rd floor, to spend the rest of the semester in the DHS Scholastic Gulag known as “Business Law” taught by Jeff Messerknecht -- who already hated me for losing the last football game of the year, (a transfer I  suspected you engineered).

[5] While enjoying your luncheon sandwich in the Faculty Dining Room, you looked out the window and saw Bob Steggert sneaking around the side of the convent, trying to crawl in through an open window. You dashed out and chased him away, pulling your hamstring in the process.

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PAGE TWO

But Bob didn’t get off the table and go back to his seat as you asked, did he?  No he didn’t. To make matters worse there was an aquarium on the table holding a harmless, innocent frog.[1]  (see below) Bob spied the frog and...oh-oh.  Classmates speak of an of eerie, unnatural look that came over him.[2] (see below)

Bob grabbed the frog and began signing Surfin’ Bird:

“A-well-a, everybody's heard about the bird. 
Bird, bird, bird, b-bird's the word,
A-well-a, bird, bird, bird, the bird is the word,
A-well-a, bird, bird, bird, well, the bird is the word!”  

Then he started tap dancing right there on the lab table while waving the frog around and singing to it! Others picked up the tune, further encouraging Hoeller, all to the accompaniment of howls and cat-calls from the class!

One look in his eyes and you could tell that inside the containment vessel of his head, billions of neurons were smashing around.  No one could control that chain reaction! [3]  This was your China Syndrome, Bill.  An event like this could melt through to the floors below, wiping out Dora, Antoine, and even Gerard in that basement bunker of hers.  But sometimes the good guys get lucky and today was your day.  In the middle of his frog-crazed song and dance, Bob slipped and fell off the table, (look out!!), landing onto the students in the front row...crash!!  Plaid kiltie skirts went flying as bodies tumbled together onto the floor.

So, what makes a great teacher?  Someone who recognizes a Teachable Moment when he sees one. Ignoring the pain in your hamstring, you jumped up on the lab table, pointed down at the tangled mess of arms and legs on the floor and announced in a loud voice, “OK people…that was Kinetic Energy!”

Suddenly from the pile of bodies there was a SCREAM, followed by a loud SLAP!! and then a girl screeching at the top of her lungs, “Get your damn hands off me, Kinetic Boy!” [4]

Yes; I really, truly regret not being in your class that day! [5]  You were, (and still are!), a great teacher Bill.  And I regret not having you for more classes. 

Murph

---

[1] This would be the greatest day of your frog’s life!  Interestingly, according to your lesson plan, it was also the second to last day of his life.

[2] Classmates: Cathy Lechmaier, Pat Hardin, Debby Catalano, Mike Caravella, Mike Tank, Charlie Schumacher, Roberta Hanus, Jim Blumberg, Pattie Striepling, Suzi Stipich, Linda Melacher, Mary Ann DiMaggio, Phil Ott, Frank Biancuzo, Katie Fischer, Patty Larkin and Jim Sweeny.

[3] You prevailed at the trial: Crowley & The Sinsinawans vs. Hoeller. The court agreed with your argument that, “no one man can stop a demonic possession.”  They did however, admonish you for, “Enjoying such a hearty laugh at Mr. Hoeller’s expense.”

[4] In February 1970, I took a Greyhound Bus to Boulder, Colorado for a long ski weekend with Cathy Lechmaier. I arrived at the Kappa House and found her balled up on a couch in the den. After lighting a fire and getting cozy over glasses of Mateus Rosé, she told me it was Debby Catalano who coined the phrase, Kinetic Boy; 

“After Bob fell off the table, we were all tangled up, laughing together on the floor. The frog slipped out of his hand and it hopped up Debby’s skirt (SCREAM!). I saw Bob grab for it. What he got was, well…let’s just say that what he got, wasn’t the frog (SLAP!!). And then Deb started screaming at him. Is there another bottle of Mateus??” 

[5] Years later, relaxing on the veranda at Ozaukee CC, sipping an Old Fashioned and recalling his fall onto that front row of Debby, Katie, Suzi, Mary Ann and Cathy, Mr. Hoeller was heard to say, “All the doubts I had about my sexual orientation were resolved that day thanks to Bill Crowley and his frog.”