Memory Lane

It's been fun so far, writing about the simple pleasures of my life - music, books, baseball, "up north", and the rest.  But there was another reason I started this blog.  That was to fulfill my obligation to document the family history.  True, a lot of my posts so far have included memories of a specific nature.  What I'm referring to now is a more orderly narration of life in the Burk family over the last 30 years plus.  And perhaps even a little further back into earlier Burk and LeRoy family history. 

In recent years Nancy has actually taken the lead on this quest with her own blog and her growing interest in digital photography.  But for many years, what I call the 35mm era, it was mainly my job to take pictures of family vacations, cottage visits, birthdays, and other special occasions.  As a result, I have a little over 7000 slides and several boxes of prints to review, remember, share and write about.  I am in possession of much of the photographic history of previous generations as well.  So this may take a while. But as I have often said, we have all the time there is.  I plan to take it in small chunks, mixing in the formal trip down Memory Lane with other posts on topics of interest on the order of what you have seen so far.  Wish me luck.

As an initial offering, I'd like to start at the beginning of the Burk/LeRoy branch of the family - the wedding of Charles Edward and Nancy Louise in June of 1980.  It was a grand affair, held with all the pomp and regalia that the judge's chambers of the Grosse Pointe Woods City Hall could offer.  Okay, so the pomp came later.  It was a small ceremony with only immediate family in attendance.  Small, but graceful, and memorable.  Here are a couple of shots of the moment of truth.  The handsome dude standing next to the other handsome dude is my best man, Bob, an old army buddy.  The matron of honor is Barbara, the Bride's sister-in-law.  The gent in the robes is the judge.  More about him later.  And the pensive observers in the first shot are Rae and Marge, the parents of the Bride.

This is a shot of the happy mothers greeting their new "children" immediately upon completion of the vows, with appropriate levels of enthusiasm.

And here is the first picture taken of the new couple.  Odd how the Bride looks timeless in her pretty dress, but the groom is, well, caught in the penumbra of the late 70s and early 80s, some would say to this day.  Nice hair.

And the wedding party later that day at the post-ceremony gathering at our first home on Huntington in Harper Woods.

 



A little later we held a dinner at a local restaurant attended by all the principals of the newly-formed Burk/LeRoy clan.  Here are a couple of shots of this august group, before dinner but after at least one glass of wine each.  This first one is of several from the Burk side, from left to right my baby sister Cindy, my parents Wendell and Dolores, my sister-in-law Sue and my brother Jeff.

Here we have my sister Wendy with Rae and Marge (who is gleefully contemplating having me as her son-in-law - for life).

Missing from the montage is Nancy's brother David who was behind the camera that day.  David will make his inaugural appearance in this blog a little further down the road.

Also you may have noticed that my best man had sort of a glow this day.  He claimed it was because of an especially sunny outing to Point Pelee the day before.  But I have another theory.  Just before the ceremony Bob gave me a bottle of Johnny Walker Red as a wedding present which I paid little attention to at the time as we were heading out the door.  The next day as I was putting the wedding presents away, I noticed that the Johnny Walker was only half full. Check it out.  He seems just a little too happy, don't you think?

And to wrap up this first step on the road to what is now 32 years plus, a final shot of me and my Bride, blissfully processing just what has happened on this day and feeling very good about the future. 

And now back to the judge. Apparently he was a chronic gambler whose addiction was slowly creeping into his personal and professional lives. About a year after our wedding the poor fellow committed suicide in his chambers. For years after that at family gatherings Rae would take me aside and mention that he was pretty sure there was a local ordinance that nullified all official acts performed by a city official who subsequently took his own life on city property. Being only freshly admitted to membership in the Pointes, I was initially concerned that there might be something to this. After all, to a Bay City boy Grosse Pointe can at times be a little weird (no socks, gated parks, special permits for operating a motor vehicle without an interior trim package, stuff like that). Over time, as I adjusted to Rae's dry sense of humor, my concern eventually faded. But I have to admit, I've never actually looked it up.

And for those of you who liked the Lunch Poetry post, here are a couple more invitations from the archives.

This one from April of 1997 is set to the tune of the song America.  I call it  My Taco, Tis of Thee.

We come each week, and see

Meals handled service free,

Our fears we bring.

Oh, God, the food we've tried,

Great globs of beans refried,

We co-ome de-ee-spite our pride,

We-ee need the fling.

 

And this selection from the same month is a rewrite of three popular nursery rhymes.  The first one features my partner in lunch-poetry management and delivery - Ms. Laura.  And in case you're a little rusty in this area, the second one is set to Rock-a-bye Baby.  I call the collection Father Goose.

 

Quite Contrary

Mistress Laura, see your aura,

How do you keep your glow?

With taco shells and "What the Hell"s

And lotsa friends in tow.

 

Rock-a-bye Paradigm

Rock the boat, maybe, you'll move to the top.

When the change grows, resistance will stop.

When the change takes, old thinkers will fall,

And down will come paradigms harmful to all.

Flocking Habits

Birds of a feather, flock together,

Especially men (what swine!)

But with steady voice, I make my choice.

You all and the Bell suit me fine.

 

Until next time.

     

Baseball

I have sort of a love/hate relationship with baseball, and its little cousin softball. The love part is the Tigers. The hate part is that baseball is the only sport that I've ever given the old college try and was just never any good at. It's even harder than golf.

I had some noteworthy successes with organized basketball, football and tennis in my school years, and have always been a slightly above average bowler. With the addition of my new big-honkin' driver my golf game is even coming around. But aside from being able to hold my own in a backyard game of catch, my baseball skills are abysmal. Ground balls scare the life out of me, any fly ball over 20 feet high will likely land at my feet, my throwing arm is wimpy, and for me the thought of standing in a batter's box waiting for someone to throw a small, dense object as hard as they can at a target a few feet from my head makes no sense at all.

Actually, I'm not even that good. My only real baseball experience was trying out for Little League, after which a well-meaning parent-coach suggested I try softball where the ball is twice as big and the pitcher has to throw underhand. Now true, top-of-the line fast pitch softball is as or even more difficult than almost any form of baseball other than college or pro. But that's not where I'm going. I'm talking slow pitch.

After failing to distinguish myself while playing on intramural slow pitch teams in college and in the Army, I was relegated in my adult life to the lowest form of the sport - blooperball - whose only similarity to baseball is that there are three bases and something that serves as home plate but looks much more like the flip side of a car mat. And I was even mediocre at that despite the fact that the ball is nearly the size of a cantaloupe. My lifetime batting average in the men's blooperball league I played in during my 20s was about .300 - impressive until you realize that most blooperball players hit about .800. Pathetic.

But enough of the dark side, which is immensely overshadowed by the upside - the Tigers. I have been a Tigers fan all my life. As a kid I remember listening from my bedroom window in Bay City as the play by play of Tigers games wafted through my window from the back porch next door, where the neighbors often listened to the radio broadcasts and played cards. Later when I received my first transistor radio, its most important job was bringing me AM 790, the local Tigers affiliate.

Now we have digital hi-def cable, XM radio, pod-casts, Game Day, Orb or Slingbox (Internet services that can send your home cable signal anywhere) and MLB.com. My offspring in Austin and Hoboken as well as my parents in Florida can and do follow the Tigers' every move with ease. But despite the geometric improvements in technology, the essential experience remains the same - waiting for and learning what happens on the next pitch.

The guessing game between the pitcher and the batter is the crux of baseball. This happens with each pitch (almost three hundred times in a typical game) and in my opinion offers more excitement and demands more of the serious fan than any other sport. When is the batter likely to swing based on his history? What pitches are working for the pitcher tonight and how is his control? What's the ball and strike count on the batter?  Where is the pitcher in his total pitch count? Will the runners be moving? Is the defense positioned correctly for the situation? All these questions are asked and answered for every pitch, decisions are made, and the pitcher goes into his wind-up or into the stretch if there are runners on base.  Will it be a 95 mile an hour fast ball on the outside corner (virtually unhittable), a nasty slider in the dirt that induces a swing that misses by a foot, or a 75 mile an hour hanging curve in the middle of the plate that ends up in the left-field bleachers.  For Tigers fans, picture Jose Valverde in the bottom of the ninth with a two-run lead, going into his goofy motion with runners at second and third and a 3-2 count on the batter (sound familar?)  I get goosebumps just thinking about it.

Then there is the righty-lefty thing. Conventional wisdom is that right-handed batters do better against left-handed pitchers, and vice versa, because they can see the in-coming pitch better and make better swings. And there is a vast body of statistical information (thank the advent of the personal computer) to support the theory. This leads to periodic fits of player substitutions and counter-substitutions in critical game situations that drive fans nuts. However, it also means that among major spectator sports, baseball is one of if not the most dependent on situational analysis and strategy, which for the knowledgeable fan can be mesmerizing.

But the beauty of the game is that it can also be enjoyed casually, just enjoying (or lamenting over) the results and ignoring all this thinking and plotting among the players. And the fact that there are so many games in a season (162) means that the value of each individual game is less than in any other team sport. Indeed, even a successful team can lose over 70 times in a season. So you can have a good time taking in a baseball game even if your team loses, knowing that they can make it up tomorrow. This may be a bit of sports heresy, but being able to enjoy the game regardless of outcome has a value. And it's easiest to do in baseball.

Of course all the warm and fuzzy stuff goes out the window if you make the playoffs. The post-season comes with all the angst of the Super Bowl or the Final Four, as the Tigers learned once again this week. The agony of blowing a two-run lead in the bottom of the ninth on Wednesday - and failing to put the Athletics away - was replaced with the ecstasy on Thursday night of Justin Verlander's masterful performance and the win that earned the Tigers a berth in the AL Championship Series. But no one who has followed the Tigers this year was at all surprised by these happenings, as this is how the entire 2012 season has gone.  Bums one day, heroes the next.

Despite the current ups and downs, my affection for the Tigers is secure as it is rooted in a lifetime of wonderful experiences. I remember my first trip to old Briggs Stadium (later known as Tiger Stadium) as part of a church youth group outing circa 1958. Later there were many Tigers trips with my school and work friends, often to take in double-headers (an extinct event these days - two games purposely scheduled and played back-to-back on the same day with about a 20 minute break in between, all offered for the price of one ticket).

After moving to the Detroit area in 1980 a trip to the ball park became a regular thing, many times with business associates from around the country who were in Detroit for training or meetings. Some of my fondest memories of Tiger Stadium were games with big-time baseball fans from New York, Cincinnati or Philadelphia, all huge baseball towns. Though our loyalties varied, a mutual appreciation of baseball added a rich texture to my personal as well as professional relationships with these individuals.

On one memorable occasion during the last season the Tigers played at Tiger Stadium, two of our party were the proud recipients of foul balls - from the same at bat. The first was hit directly into the glove of a devoted fan (Joe - you know who you are) who had announced not five minutes earlier that despite his many trips to Tiger Stadium he (then in his mid-40s) had never caught a foul ball. I swear - he barely moved his glove. And I can still see the ear-to-ear grin on his face. Truth is stranger than fiction.

A few pitches later another foul ball screamed over our heads (our seats were directly behind home plate in the upper deck), ricocheted off the seats and rolled down the cement steps where a friend from Brooklyn (another Joe) retrieved it and awarded it to my younger daughter, Cathy. Of course, as I was scoring the game, I noted both incidents in the margin and kept that score sheet on my office wall for many years. Can't tell you how many times I have told this story, complete with the score sheet as a visual aid. Upon our departure from our 24th floor office suite in the McNamara Building a few years ago I presented the score sheet to the first Joe as a keepsake. My guess is that Joe has since told this story himself a few more times.

Finally, no discussion of Burk family baseball history would be complete without at least a brief mention of the 1984 season. That was the year I attended the most games and from which I have many memories. A good friend of mine had a connection with a Tiger Stadium employee. Before the season started, I asked this friend of a friend to get the best seats he could for 11 different games, including opening day and the last game of the season. For some games I bought two tickets, but for most I asked for four. And as history has recorded, my advance purchase was a brilliant stroke of luck.

The Tigers led the league wire-to-wire in 1984, winning nine of their first 10 games, 18 of their first 20 and 35 of their first 40.  They went on to win 104 games and the World Series. The Burk family saw a lot of it in person. I remember one double-header with my parents (both avid baseball fans - my father always, my mother since Mark "The Bird" Fidrych hit the scene in 1976) where we sat about five rows back in the lower deck right behind home plate. As my mother was a huge Lance Parish fan (the Tigers catcher), this was a good time.  There was another game where we sat two rows back from the Tigers bull pen (along the third-base line in those days) and my son Ted ended up with a foul ball fielded by Randy O'Neal, a reliever who was warming up at the time. Of the 11 games I attended that year, the Tigers won eight. What a ride.

These days the tradition has continued for our whole family. Nancy and I have been to Comerica Park a few times this year to see the Tigers and once to Toledo to see the Mudhens, a Tigers farm team. I also made it to a Brewers game during my last business trip to Milwaukee (where I personally thanked the fans for sending Prince Fielder to the Tigers). In my own spaces I almost always have the game on the radio or TV, whether at home, at the cottage, on the beach or in the car - XM radio rocks.

My parents are also everyday baseball fans. My dad watches the Rays on local TV in Florida - he's become a Rays fan in recent years - and my mother catches the Tigers on a laptop web link a few feet away. Intense. And my kids in other parts of the country catch as many games as they can through the Internet or their cable packages. Whenever one of us is at a ball park we routinely text pictures of the field to each other, bragging about how much fun we're having (this has been known to happen simultaneously from multiple ball parks). The bottom line is that baseball, and especially the Tigers, remains a great source of Burk family fun.

Tonight as I complete this post, the Yankees have just defeated the Orioles. So it's off to New York for the Tigers and another series with the Yankees. We've beaten them the last two times we've met them in the playoffs, and we're looking for the hat trick.

So, GO TIGERS! And I'll see you at the ball park.

 

Reading

Given the voracious approach to reading that several of my closest friends take, I am barely qualified to comment on this subject. But since this is my blog, here goes.
 
One of my hobbies has always been reading. True, it has often taken third chair to two other media-based passions - movies and music. But it has always been lurking around, a full partner in the entertainment triumvirate and in some ways the senior partner. I was into reading before I even knew about movies and music, as any bright-eyed second grader should be (of course, that was the 50s. Now it's as any preschooler should be). I had the fortunate circumstance of growing up in an era and a neighborhood (the west side of Bay City, Michigan) where all the important places in my life were a few blocks apart. My trusty one-speed was all I needed to circumnavigate the universe. My elementary, middle and high schools were each about eight blocks from my house. My father's combination grocery/short-order grill business, where in my early teens I scrubbed floors and washed dishes, was only ten blocks from home.

Standing kitty-corner from my father's store was the public library, and it was a hallowed place. It had several creaky floors, endless rows of imposing shelves, heavy wooden reading tables and chairs, and just about all the books there were, or so I believed at the time. My elementary school was only three blocks from the library, so there were frequent visits during class hours to return and select new books. And there was a story hour on Saturdays during which one of the librarians would read books aloud to age-appropriate groupings. I remember those experiences vividly, and believe they were not only the roots of my love for books but also the seeds of my subsequent interest in movies - hearing stories through the words and interpretations of others.

Over the years I have observed that the habits of readers vary a great deal. There are readers who can't get through the day without communing with the written word at least for a few minutes but most often for much longer than that. They frequent libraries, they mine used book stores, they hold Amazon Gold cards, they hole up for hours at a time with first-day purchases from favorite authors. I'm not one of these people. While I still consider myself a serious reader, I take books (like I do most things in life) at a more leisurely pace. My intent is not necessarily to get through a large volume of material, although that is certainly an admirable pursuit for those who claim it. Rather, I like to read at an even pace, digesting the material thoroughly, and getting to know the characters in the story. Or if it's a non-fiction work (which is about 50% of my reading life) integrating the new material with what I already know about the subject and perhaps re-forming opinions. I often find myself rereading an earlier portion of a book to clarify a later part and make sure I didn't miss something. As such I'm what might be called a plodder in the reading world, completing a couple of books a month as opposed to several in my circle who no doubt put away a couple a week, if not more. Still, I love it so.

My earliest memories of being caught up in the world of words was a series of stories about a character named Freddy the Pig by Walter R. Brooks that I started reading in third grade. They were really adventure stories set in a barnyard where, of course, the animals could all talk to each other.  But atypically for children's stories of the time, these animals could also talk to humans when they chose to (Wikipedia has a nice summary of the series, which is available again after decades of being out of print). Here's a typical rendering of Freddie.

Brooks and his stories based on the plausible impossible had quite an impression on me as I still favor the world of fantasy and science fiction in both books and movies. I'm a Trekker (as opposed to a Trekkie) sporting a number of Star Trek novels on my shelf along with a little Isaac Asimov, Michael Crichton, Frank Herbert, just about everything Stephen King ever wrote, and of course the holy grails of fantasy past and present - Tolkien's Lord of the Rings (including the Hobbit and the Silmarillion) and J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series. Can't help it. They are fun.

Of course, I have developed a lot of other interests over the years, especially in the non-fiction category. For the past several years I have read a number of presidential biographies, with a focus on the early years of the republic. I've also dug into the post-revolution war years (Civil, WW1 and WW2) as I find it fascinating to study how leaders in crisis managed their affairs and what they really thought (or at least what their biographers think they thought). One fact that has leapt off the pages of the history I've read has been how little has changed since the First Continental Congress. The divisive nature of our society and the politics that give it voice seem to be as old as the nation itself. Oddly, I take some comfort in that.  We're still young as countries go, but we seem to have a measure of resilience.  It sort of puts the political immobility of recent years in perspective as an era that will pass, as others have.

But back to reading. One of my favorite times in reading was the period I lovingly remember as the Ladies' Book Club at work. I'm not sure how I came to think of it by that name as there were other men involved. Perhaps the first time I attended I was the only one. The important thing is that I enjoyed the book club a great deal as it pushed me out of my niches. As a result I was reading all manner of fiction and non-fiction, even poetry, that I would have never selected on my own. And it was great.

The very first book I read for the club is still one of my favorites - The Song of the Dodo by David Quammen. It's a treatise on how the world of nature really works. It is based on a study of the accelerated evolution that has taken place in a number of isolated environments around the world. It's a tough read, as the author alternates narration of his field experiences with not-so-plain-English explanations of the underlying science, but well worth the effort. I've ploughed through it twice so far and will undoubtedly do so again. I've never quite looked at Planet Earth the same way since reading Quammen.

Unfortunately, repeated reorganizations at work and finally the move to a virtual office environment five years ago shredded what was left of the Ladies' Book Club. I miss it. I miss the books and the discussions.

But I've forged ahead on my own, mostly back in my niches. Recent reads I enjoyed and would recommend are Stephen King's 11/22/63, a clever story about time travel wrapped around the JFK assassination, and As time Goes By by Michael Walsh, a telling of what happens to Rick, Sam, Ilsa and others after the famous airport scene in Casablanca, crafted from the unused material developed for the seven different screenplays that were written for the movie. The book provides the backstories of the main characters and resolves the fates of all with a number of twists. Another recommendation for sports fans is Three and Out by John Bacon, the inside story of what really happened during the years Rich Rod was the Michigan football coach. The book is an interesting dissection of the politics of big time college sports. But enough of recommendations. I know serious readers already have a long queue of books they are just waiting to get to. But if any of you have a title or two to recommend, or have any interest in resurrecting some form of the old book club, please let me know. I seem to have more time for reading these days :-).

And an update on my earlier post The Purge. A few photos to demo how it really works. Here are a couple of shots during the phase known as "improvement mess". Note the deep involvement of the client.

And the new pantry, fully purged and ready for service. Note the room for growth.

 

I still work for food.