“Geauga in Print – Part Six”

c. 2012 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(1-12)


Here is yet another look through the time tunnel – an experience yielded by researching the vast library of online newspaper archives. This series has become part of a continuing project at the Icehouse home office.

Sweet echoes of yesterday linger in each yellowed page of print. But strangely, many of these local stories seem to touch on issues still very much in the minds of modern-day Geauga County residents. What follows here are a few examples of how journalists from yesteryear told the tales of their everyday lives:

CLASSIC WINTER WEATHER
The Painesville Telegraph, February 1, 1945

“CHARDON – Many of Geauga county’s schools were closed and traveling was at a minimum here today as vehicles were unable to push through drifts estimated to be from three to four feet deep. A high wind whipped the snow piled high from storms of the last few weeks and drifted so badly that Stanlae Merritt, Geauga county highway superintendent, estimates that 75 per cent of the total 225 miles of highways is blocked. Mr. Merritt, who said that this was the 52nd day since Dec. 11th, that his men had to work to remove snow, stated that the entire equipment of seven plows was in operation. Pointing out that the snow piles up again within a short time, he said that Tuesday at 10 p.m. every road, including side roads, had been cleared. Chardon High School, where pupils from Munson, Claridon, Montville and Hambden attended, was closed, as well as grade schools in Montville, Newbury, Burton, Hambden and Parkman. One of the most heavily traveled roads, Route 44, is said to be clogged with drifts three to four feet in depth. It was reported that many motorists were marooned for several hours and were not able to reach their homes until early this morning. Officials pointed out that they were handicapped by the fact that four of the state highway trucks were out of use. They said that while 17 plows should be working, there were only six and one plow grader as the others lacked parts which it has been impossible to replace. Three plows were working out of Burton, two out of Parkman, one out of Auburn and a plow grader out of Montville. Two were reported stuck north of Chardon on Route 44. At the height of Wednesday night’s storm, Chardon fire department received a call from the C. and S. service station on Water St. but, in a short time, the call was canceled as only a chimney was burning out. Rural mail carriers, who Wednesday were unable to make all their trips, today were unable to make any deliveries.”

ADVANCING TECHNOLOGY
The Painesville Telegraph, November 23, 1938

“CHARDON – Radios to receive state highway patrol broadcasts were being installed this week in all automobiles used by Sheriff Harry O. Hill and his deputies. One radio will be in the sheriff’s office. This was made possible by resolution just passed by county commissioners authorizing the purchase of five police radios for $400. It is the first time the local department ever had police radios. ‘It will make for better police protection,’ commented Sheriff Hill.”

POLITICAL ACTIVISM
The Montreal Gazette, September 4, 1928

“Cleveland, Ohio – Representatives of organized labor from northern Ohio and surrounding territory gathered today at Geauga Lake near here, to hear William Green, president of the American Federation of Labor, sound a call for their active participation in the forthcoming election. Making clear the non-partisan attitude of the Federation itself, Green told his hearers that labor ‘possesses a potential power in the political and economic fields’ which can, if made active and centralized, exercise ‘the balance of power on such decisions as may be made.’ The Federation president urged Labor, as a group, to give most serious consideration to the formation of the next Congress, promising that all available information on the records of Congressional candidates will be gathered and supplied by the Federation’s non-partisan political committee. Extension of the five-day week was characterized as the outstanding accomplishment of Labor in the last year by Mr. Green, who declared that ‘the public mind has accepted the change and placed upon it the stamp of approval.’ Hundreds of thousands of working people have obtained the five-day week, he said, and added that the complete establishment of the plan would continue as one of Labor’s chief objects. Turning to the subject of wages, Mr. Green declared that ‘the theory of low wages and cheap production has been exploded.’ Low wages would be a calamity in America, he said, adding that wages ‘must keep pace with our increased power of production, and must correspond with the requirements of the American standard of living.’ Thousands have been forced into unemployment at varying intervals during the past year, he asserted, and went on to outline the Federation’s plan for relieving such situations by instituting public improvements and the construction of public buildings ‘when unemployment forces itself upon a large number of our citizens.’”

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“Opposite Day”

c. 2012 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(1-12)


Note to Readers: Funny things happen when I stay up late at night, drinking coffee. Fantasy and reality become difficult to separate. What follows here is the product of one recent adventure into the long hours after dark.

Social networking has redefined how we interact with each other in the 21st Century. The benefits of this connectivity are numerous, and well documented. But my own participation in the global community of Facebook delivered a recent prize that was completely unexpected.

I landed a job interview at Cleveland’s most notable radio outlet, WTAM 1100.

Preparation for the meeting grew more intense with each passing day. I copied my resume, writing samples, and various articles published over the last thirty years. Added to this stack were letters of recommendation, and a copy of the current Maple Leaf.

The game plan I devised was simple - to overwhelm their Program Director with evidence of a long and productive career.

But on the night before our chat, I happened to see a familiar rerun of the 90’s sitcom ‘Seinfeld.’ In the episode, George Costanza approached a young woman with the most unlikely of pickup lines:

“I’m unemployed and I live with my parents.”

His strategy of doing opposite things yielded new success. As I watched, a stunning realization occurred. For many years, my habit had been to seek out opportunities and offer traditional tidbits from my portfolio. Yet the result was always predictably unchanged. I had to continue working as a retail manager to pay the household bills.

Costanza had offered light in my under-employment darkness.

It was time to try something completely different.

I arrived for the interview dressed in a Harley-Davidson T-shirt, jeans, work boots and a baseball cap. A bubbly Clear Channel receptionist seemed to giggle when I approached her counter.

“Are you here to fix the telephones?” she warbled through dangling curls of hair.

I was caught by surprise. “What? No, I am here to see Ray Davis, your Program Director. About a job.”

She frowned with disbelief. “We haven’t been able to transfer calls since last week. It is such a headache! And all they do is complain about the budget. No money to hire a repairman.”

“Sorry to hear that,” I said.

“You really aren’t here to fix the phones?” she asked again.

“No,” I repeated. “Ray Davis, please.”

The receptionist turned in her chair. “The paging system doesn’t work, either.” She put a jeweled hand to her mouth. “MR. DAVIS YOU HAVE A VISITOR AT THE COURTESY DESK!"

“Umm… you need to unplug the system,” I observed, suddenly.

She rubbed her tired eyes. “What did you say?”

“Unplug the entire system,” I explained. “For at least a couple of minutes.”

“Aha!” she shouted. “You ARE a repairman!”

“Nope,” I laughed. “We have the same system at my supermarket. Any kind of power surge makes it crazy. You have to reset it.”

The receptionist silently followed my instructions. After a pause, the intercom sounded.

“Claire, can you hear me?” a male voice intoned.

“Mr. Davis!” she cheered. “Your nine o’clock interview is waiting out here. And he just fixed the phones.”

“SEND HIM TO MY OFFICE!” Davis shouted.

I entered his sanctuary with an armload of manuscripts. “Opposite,” I thought quietly. “Must do the opposite today…”

Instead of offering the material for his approval, I dumped my collection in the waste can.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” he barked.

“My name is Rod Ice,” I said dramatically. “Thank you for seeing me today.”

“Yes,” he gasped. “Okay… you’re a newspaper writer as I recall?”

“That’s right,” I said.

“So, those files in my trash can were examples of your work?” he asked.

“Yes,” I agreed. “I’ve been a freelance writer for thirty years.”

“And you threw everything in the rubbish?” he said with confusion.

“Yes,” I answered, proudly.

He reached for the trash. “C’mon, now. I’d be glad to look at your columns.”

“No, that stuff is basically worthless,” I confessed. “Forgotten like yesterday’s breakfast. Let me be honest with you today. I manage a grocery store for a living. Writing is my first love, but it doesn’t pay enough. I am overweight, middle-aged, and a social dropout. Basically one step above Dick from Dayton, who calls Mike Trivisonno or Bob Frantz all the time.”

Davis was stunned. “You know, I’ve never had an interview like this!”

“Your biggest radio star is a blue-collar guy with no professional experience,” I proclaimed. “People love Triv because he is genuine. Well, I could bring that same kind of ‘street cred’ to your station. Think about it – a regular guy from Geauga County discussing news of the day. I have no life. All I do is listen to the radio.”

“Geauga?” he snorted. “You mean the home of maple syrup and Amish buggies?”

“Hey!” I interrupted. “The Bainbridge Township police just arrested a 29-year-old woman for driving at speeds up to 128 mph on Route 422. She was inebriated, and wearing a slinky fishnet top and bottom, with clear heels.”

Davis sat up in his chair. “Now that’s more like it!”

“Or how about this,” I continued. “In 1957, a UFO landed near Montville. Local resident Olden Moore saw the craft and was later interviewed in Washington, D.C. under a cloak of secrecy.”

“Yes!” he agreed, loudly. “Ratings! Gotta get those ratings!”

“Remember Rick Gilmour?” I wondered aloud. “He had that same kind of everyman style. You need more off-the-wall personalities on WTAM.”

“I loved Rick,” Davis whispered.

Boldly, I extended my hand. “So, let’s strike a bargain here. I give you this promise - every minute I am on the air will be one-hundred-percent entertaining. As Mike Trivisonno would say, ‘trust me when I tell you!’”

Davis pounded his desk. “This will be ratings gold! Yes, I say! Yes! Yes! Yes!”

Postscript: I woke up around four o’clock in the morning. Everyone else had surrendered to the night. But I had one question left to ponder – should I send this column to Mr. Davis himself, or not? The answer was obvious - I should do the opposite and delete my column, immediately.

Comments about Thoughts At Large may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com
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“The Cat Came Back”

c. 2012 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(1-12)




Note to Readers: Around Christmas, a stray tabby took up residence under my porch. It howled for attention until after the New Year. Though neighborhood children briefly adopted the kitten, it came back. My dogs chased it around the yard. And it came back again. A winter storm made it disappear amid heaps of drifting snow. But it came back again. Until at last, my patience was exhausted. All I could do was sing the refrain from a traditional song originally written by Harry S. Miller…

It was a late morning at the Icehouse home office.

A winter storm had buried my east county home in two feet of snow. But thankfully, I was off for the weekend from my ‘real job’ in Geneva. So the ferocity of Mother Nature caused little concern.

I sipped coffee while doing research for the next installment of ‘Geauga in Print.’

Suddenly, the telephone rang. It was my sister, Becka, from Hambden.

“Hello there, Rodney,” she squawked. “Are you keeping warm in Thompson?”

“Of course,” I said with certainty. I put the phone on speaker mode.

“How about your new pet?” she laughed.

“No extra animals here,” I stammered.

“Fibber!” she yapped. “Is the kitty making herself at home?”

There was a short pause. The line crackled between us, suffering from electrical fatigue. Frosty winds rattled the windows.

“Nope. We kicked that thing out in the snow,” I shouted defiantly.

Riley and Quigley, my Black Lab and Pomeranian duo, were amused.

“Nonsense!” my sister retorted.

“We did!” I insisted. “No room for another resident in this house. Especially a cat.”

“Horse hockey!” she chirped.

“It’s gnawing on an icicle as we speak…” I proclaimed. “The rest of us are having pan-fried steak.”

“Rodney!” she groaned. “You are a bad liar!”

I bowed my head. “Okay, I gave it a can of Valu Time tuna last night. Kitty won the war of nerves. Does that make you happy?”

“Yes,” Becka confessed. “You have a good heart.”

My face went red. “I called Dree to see if she wanted the cat. But her apartment complex requires a $250 deposit for animals.”

“Too much!” my sister observed with disdain. “Keep the kitty for yourself.”

“No,” I disagreed. “It’d be a bargain to give her the money. This little feline eats like a pig with fur!”

“C’mon Rodney,” she taunted. “The tabby can’t be that bad.”

My mood darkened. “Last night I made seafood stir-fry after work, and she attacked the wok! Her appetite is insane.”

“Gotta watch her like a toddler,” Becka giggled.

“Two dogs are enough.” I said. “Why don’t you take the little varmint?”

My sister huffed out loud. “We’ve already got two kitties here. Plus three gerbils and a parakeet.”

“A parakeet?” I snorted.

“It was a Christmas present from someone at church,” she explained. “A bit unexpected, really… Mrs. Palka’s grandma had to go in the hospital. But we like the bird.”

“Well, what about Lon?” I asked.

“Our brother just got a potbellied pig,” she replied. “It fits him, actually. Very clean and well behaved. Kinda cute.”

“Look, if nobody will take this thing, then it’s going back out in the cold!” I promised.

“Bull!” she disagreed. “Better stock up on meow chow.”

“Maybe it will find a mouse-sicle out in the snow.” I said.

“Rodney!” she hissed. “Quit being mean.”

“Mean?” I shouted. “Just because I don’t want the little furball trashing my house?”

“Your house is trashed already,” she quipped.

“Can’t hear you,” I said, suddenly. “The connection must be bad…”

“Rodney!!” she shrieked. “Don’t hang up on me!”

“Hearing nothing but static,” I whispered. “Must be the weather.”

“RODNEYYY!” she yelped. “Don’t get rid of that kittyyyyyyyy!”

“Take it easy, Beck!” I cheered.

I clicked the phone off before she could answer.

While making a fresh pot of coffee, song lyrics began to jingle in my head. I grabbed a pencil and scribbled words on a piece of scratch paper.

What appeared was a new version of the classic cat composition that had been echoing in my thoughts:

The Cat Came Back (Geauga County Version)

(One)
The neighbor kids
Tried to take kitty home
But mom wouldn’t budge
She tossed it back out in the snow

When I came home from work
It was waiting by the door
I tried to raise a ruckus
But it hid on the porch

(Two)
The cat followed close
When I walked my dogs
It wanted a spot
By the Yuletide log

Christmas Day
And Santa didn’t show
But the kitty kept begging
For my lump of coal

(Three)
I tried to win
But the cat wouldn’t stop
It yowled and yowled
Right around the clock

I finally caved
And gave up my plan
Went to the door
With a tuna can

(Four)
The cat was wild
Finally got its wish
Dining like a queen
On the tuna fish

My house was plus one
Two dogs and a cat
It won the fight
Now how about that?

(Chorus)
Oh, the cat came back
With a desperate yowl
Hidden in the bushes
At the corner of my house

Begging for a meal
Just a wandering stray
My sister named it ‘Gypsy’
‘Cause it wouldn’t go away

Comments about Thoughts At Large may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com
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“Hamglaze: 2012”

c. 2012 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(1-12)



Note to Readers: What follows here is the result of too many pots of coffee, and crashing in my chair at the Icehouse home office. Do not be alarmed or offended. Thank you.

It was a quiet evening at the Get Go in Chardon.

Light snow settled over the parking lot as customers hurried to fill their vehicles before the next winter storm arrived. Inside, the crew busied themselves brewing fresh coffee and making sandwiches. By the front windows, local iconoclast Carrie Hamglaze was holding court. A small group of people circled her chair. They were spellbound, and listening intently to every word.

“Geauga has the same needs as every other county in the nation,” she proclaimed. “Jobs for its citizens. Safe neighborhoods. Good schools. And leaders who can visualize our future…”

Applause resounded throughout the store.

I scribbled in my reporter’s notebook. “So Carrie, does that mean you are once again running for office?”

Laughter echoed around the table.

“No,” she whispered, bowing her head. “Not this time...”

Mack Prindl, editor of the Parkman Register, frowned intently.

“You don’t seem ready to sit on the porch!” he yowled.

Rhonda Ronk, who was working at the counter, shook her head with disbelief. “I don’t believe it either! You won’t be still for long, Mrs. Hamglaze.”

I agreed. “It isn’t in your nature, friend.”

Carrie stirred her tea, looking glum. “No, I won’t be quiet. There are lots of prayer meetings, luncheons, seminars, tree plantings and spaghetti dinners to attend…”

Outside, a black limousine parked next to the building. The driver and a bodyguard exited first, both dressed in long, dark coats. Then, their passenger stepped out, into the night. He smiled upon seeing those huddled by the front windows.

Without a word, the trio walked inside.

Rhonda was dutifully polite as the men passed her workstation. “May I help you?”

“Yes, indeed!” the driver said, adjusting his military cap. “We are looking for Mrs. Carrie O’ Malley Hamglaze.”

“Carrie?” the clerk laughed. “Well… she’s at her table, like always!”

The driver nodded. “Thank you.”

All three men walked across the store, in unison. Then, the driver and bodyguard stepped aside. Their passenger bowed, gracefully.

“Mrs. Hamglaze,” he said dramatically. “We meet again! May I join your group?”

Carrie was puzzled. She nearly spilled her tea. “Again? What do you mean?”

“I am Reince Priebus,” he continued, “Chairman of the Republican Party. Don’t you remember our meeting in May of last year?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Oh yes… but…”

“Haven’t you pondered your duty to the nation?” he asked. “America needs you!”

Carrie sighed loudly. “I thought you were an actor… maybe from the Geauga Lyric Theater Guild. My friends from the library put you up to this, right?”

Chairman Priebus was visibly irritated. “Please, Mrs. Hamglaze. This is not a prank!”

I put down my pen. “Really? Then why would a national party leader come to a fuel depot in Geauga County?”

He gestured like a college professor. “This part of Ohio represents the best of American values. You have talented elected officials on both sides of the aisle. Like Sheriff McClelland and Judge Diane Grendell. That is why I feel you can rescue us from the doldrums of 2012.”

“Doldrums?” I wondered out loud.

Mack stiffened in his seat. “No, I get it! Look at the GOP primary field. Romney is a flip-flop artist without genuine conservative principles. The Republican base won’t forgive him for supporting healthcare reform in Massachusetts. Gingrich is a loose cannon, even worse than in the 90’s. And recently, he’s been sounding like Michael Moore. Perry is a buffoon who evokes bad memories of George W. Bush. And Santorum is unknown. Not enough money or stamina for national competition.”

Chairman Priebus was unashamedly direct. “Umm… not exactly what I would have observed, but close enough to the mark.”

I grabbed my notebook again. “Isn’t that a bit harsh?”

Silence filled the room.

“Let’s be honest,” Priebus asked. “Will any of you be supporting one of these candidates in the fall?”

Mack snorted like a defiant bull. “I’m voting for President Obama! Again!”

“Sorry,” I replied after a pause. “It’s the Libertarian ticket for me.”

Carrie tugged at the brim of her red hat. “Well honestly, I haven’t made up my mind… though I like Senator Santorum.”

“Indeed,” Priebus responded. “A recent Fox News poll said that seventy-five percent of primary voters are still undecided. Even after Sarah Palin came out with an endorsement of Speaker Gingrich. It is obvious that the game has not yet been won.”

Mack celebrated like an athlete. “Your best candidates are sitting on the sidelines, like Governor Christie of New Jersey. Meanwhile, our friends in the ‘Occupy’ movement will tear Romney apart. It’ll be a slam-dunk for the president!”

Chairman Priebus looked tired. “That is why we need you, Mrs. Hamglaze.”

Rhonda cheered from her counter. “Yayyy Carrie! Hamglaze in 2012!”

I scribbled in my notebook. “What an incredible story. I could write about this for months. Maybe even publish another book.”

Mack grinned with sarcasm. “There’s no doubt that you could talk your way through a national debate, Carrie. Your mouth never stops moving.”

“Shut up, Pringle!” She hissed.

“That’s P-R-I-N-D-L!” he growled, forcefully.

Priebus stood up, suddenly. “Please say that you will consider my invitation seriously. I need your help, Mrs. Hamglaze. The Republican Party needs you. America needs you!”

Rhonda bounced up and down. “Carrie! Carrie! Carrie!”

Postscript: I woke up around midnight. The computer had slipped into standby mode. My coffee was chilly. Last week’s issue of the Maple Leaf waited on the desk. But I wanted to slumber just a moment more, to discover – would Carrie run for the nation’s highest office, or not?

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“Geauga in Print: Part Five”

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(10-11)



A look through the time tunnel – that is the experience yielded by researching the vast library of online newspaper archives. Echoes of yesterday linger in these yellowed pages of print. Yet strangely, some of the local stories contained therein seem to touch on issues still very much in the minds of modern-day Geauga County residents.

What follows here are a few examples:

FLAG ABUSE
Spokane Daily Chronicle, June 22, 1963

“CHARDON, Ohio – A 39-year-old former high school teacher, who stepped on an American flag in a classroom demonstration, has been acquitted of charges of defiling the flag. A Geauga County Common Pleas jury deliberated the fate of Arlie McCartt for an hour before rendering a verdict Friday night. Judge Robert B. Ford had specified that malicious intent to desecrate the flag must be shown for a conviction under the law. Several witnesses testified McCartt pulled the flag off its stand, stepped on it and said: ‘If I had done this during the Spanish-American war, I might have been shot.”

THE PEACE MOVEMENT
Painesville Telegraph, Nov. 11, 1938

“Ministers of Lake and Geauga counties and their wives met at Disciple Christian church, Chardon, Thursday to attend the peace meeting which is one of the many meetings being sponsored by the state federation of churches throughout the counties in Ohio. The Rev. F. Howard Callahan of Akron, representing the state federation, spoke on ‘Peace’ and urged the ministers to organize groups and meetings in an effort to stir up interest in the peace movement. The Rev. Mr. Callahan is one of the 18 prominent Ohio clergymen who are giving their time to assist in carrying the peace message to the ministers in the state. By this program, people are encouraged to read and study the international problems of the world today, in order to command for themselves a better understanding of the world situation. Through the peace program that is being carried out now, it is hoped to enlist more than 3,000 ministers in the holding of peace forums in local churches. The Rev. William B. Robinson, of the Methodist Episcopal Church in Painesville, president of the association of Lake and Geauga counties, conducted the meeting. Luncheon was served to the 30 ministers and their wives who attended the meeting.”

CRIME
Youngstown Vindicator, April 4, 1901

“Chardon, Ohio – A gang of half a dozen robbers, early today, blew open the safe of the Citizens’ Savings bank here, and after a desperate fight with Night Watchman Pomeroy and a citizen, succeeded in making their escape. It is believed the robbers secured less than $200. The night watchman discovered the men at work in the bank. He was seized, bound and gagged, but not until he had shot one of the burglars. Dr. Hudson, who lives near the bank, was aroused by the noise and came to the scene. He was also seized and tied, hand and foot. It required three big charges of dynamite to blow the safe door off. After completing their work, the robbers left town on a handcar. Early today, two men were arrested at Willoughby upon the charge of being members of the gang which robbed the Chardon bank. The robbers only succeeded in gaining entrance to one compartment of the big safe. In another part, which was not reached, it is said nearly $50,000 was stored. Pomeroy, the night watchman, is badly used up. After he shot one of the burglars he was unmercifully clubbed over the head. After being bound and gagged the watchman was dragged into the bank. He lay there a witness to all the operations. At each explosion, the robbers retired to places of safety. Pomeroy lay in an exposed place and no attention was paid to him except that one of the robbers, whose arm had evidently been broken by the shot from the night watchman’s revolver, occasionally gave him a kick in the ribs as he passed. The robbers were a long time getting into the vault. They gathered up the loose coins lying about and then went at the strong box. They exploded several charges but could not force it. After an investigation today Cashier Smith made this statement concerning the booty secured by the cracksmen: ‘The robbers got $125 in gold, $20,000 in certificates held against the bank by individuals and $25,000 or $30,000 worth of mortgages and other securities belonging to individuals. None of the paper taken is negotiable. There was $30,000 in currency in an inner vault which they did not get. The books and records of the bank were not disturbed.’ A posse of citizens is scouring the surrounding country for the robbers. It is believed that some coins in possession of the two men arrested at Willoughby are a part of those taken from the bank. The men also had several sticks of dynamite in their pockets.”

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“Knee Go Boom: Part Four”

c. 2012 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(1-12)




Note to readers: What follows here is the latest installment of my journey through personal injury and rehabilitation, more than two years after the fact.

In May of 2009, I suffered a torn meniscus in my right knee, while working at a Geauga County drugstore. The episode inspired three columns for this newspaper which carried a cryptic title. It paraphrased a famous sketch by radio outlaw Phil Hendrie. Readers were puzzled at first. But soon enough, the message became clear.

I had entered a new world of limited mobility, and expanded journalistic inspiration.

The orthopedic specialist who provided care for my affliction surmised that it was the result of many years spent kneeling on concrete floors. His treatment included surgery, and a strong admonition: “Lose weight and avoid working in that industry. Or I predict that you will require a total knee replacement in three to five years!”

I accepted his advice as gospel truth. Yet fate intervened in ways that were impossible to overcome.

First, though I managed to shed fifty pounds, a genetic tendency to be large by nature continued. Generations of my family had fought the same battle, and lost. God had not intended us to be skinny. Our fate was clear.

Second, a chaotic period resulted when I tried to work as a full-time author and journalist. My books sold poorly. And a position as Sports Editor in another county failed to pay enough to support the family.

The result was that I reentered the world of retail management a few months after my knee had been repaired. With gratitude, I resumed familiar duties on the salesfloor of a local supermarket.

And for a brief period, life seemed to regain its natural balance.

But in December, a frightening realization appeared. I could not walk from my bed to the bathroom without leaning on pieces of furniture situated along the way. Soon afterward, I bought a used cane at a Salvation Army store in the area.

My return to the realm of hobbling souls was complete.

Morning and night proved the most difficult to navigate. At those times of the day, arthritis made any kind of movement difficult. In between, I managed to get through my work routine unassisted.

Still, I wondered about the future. How long could this dance around disability last?
The New Year brought a reprieve of sorts. There was extra time off to recuperate. Things looked better as January arrived.

Then, I began to ponder about famous characters who had used a cane or walking stick. Most obvious was television icon Dr. Gregory House, played by Hugh Laurie. But soon, I had compiled a list of many others, both real and imaginary:

Jack White
Snoop Dogg
David Beckham
Yoda
John Steed (Avengers)
Art Carney
Franklin Delano Roosevelt
Ulysses S. Grant
Pope John Paul II
Oscar Wilde
George Bernard Shaw
Sherlock Holmes
Queen Victoria
Brigham Young
Lord Byron

Further research about canes revealed that they were crafted in days of yore to include retractable maps, fans, glove holders, tobacco lighters, whiskey flasks, umbrellas, golf clubs, violins, rulers, surgical gadgets and even onboard firearms.
After reading about these sophisticated devices, my own seemed plain by comparison.
The cane I bought was an Invacare model, number 1048112. Designed with a cam-lever and snap buttons, it offered a range of height adjustment that was perfect for daily use. This implement carried a tubular metal body, with hospital-grade rubber for the handle and tip. It supported my weight dutifully.

A bargain at the price of $3.99.

Still, the thought of having a Remington model that could shoot bullets in self-defense seemed more daring, if not quite so sensible.

Comments about Thoughts At Large may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com
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“Christmas, Returned”

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(12-11)




Note to Readers: What follows here is an intensely personal post-holiday reflection. I offer thanks for your indulgence.

Those who follow this column regularly will remember that I first came to Geauga County in late 1983, after living in New York. As a native of Ohio, my return offered a chance to cast aside self-destructive habits and begin anew.

With a ten-dollar typewriter and little else, I took up residence on Maple Avenue, in Chardon. Before long, the passion for creative writing had me once again chasing personal dreams. I wrote stories for a motorcycle magazine in California, and archived Rock & Roll demos on a cheap cassette recorder. Neither of these pursuits yielded much gainful income. Yet I kept busy, in part, because of the inspiration provided by one iconoclastic friend from the Empire State.

His name was Paul Race.

I first met him in 1979, while serving a television apprenticeship at Channel 13 in Ithaca. The opportunity was provided through Cornell University. Even then, Paul was a human relic. A veteran of the local music scene who had risen to prominence in a Ventures-style, instrumental combo called ‘The Savoys.’

Paul grew in artistic stature as did his generation, against a backdrop of Vietnam conflict, social unrest, and economic stagnation. He spanned the divide from Beat Era poets to Hippie philosophers, and beyond.

When we connected, ‘Punk Rock’ had exploded across Europe and America. Unlike many in his age group, he accepted this rebellious uprising as another honest manifestation of pure Rock mojo. I loved him as a brother because of his unlimited artistic vision.

In December of that year, I sent Paul a Christmas card adorned with scribbled words, crude artwork, stickers, Band-Aids and a safety pin.

It was the start of a tradition that continued from those days of yore, until the modern era.

With each passing year, I tried to think of something unique for his card. Once, this meant including a cigarette butt inside my holiday greeting. On another occasion, I added price labels from Fisher’s Big Wheel. And a curled guitar string.
These Yuletide mailings continued, despite unemployment, relocation, and divorce. But a couple of weeks ago, the happy tradition ended abruptly.

In my mailbox, Paul’s last card rudely reappeared.

It was marked ‘undeliverable’ because a Post Office forwarding order had expired.
I last saw Paul in 2006. He had taken up residence at his childhood home in Riverside, New York, a suburb of Corning.

My friend owned a house outside of town. And, the dwelling where he was raised. Plus, two adjacent lots. His collection of books, records, guitars, artwork, furnishings and cultural ephemera was considerable.

Yet suddenly, I was confronted with the returned Christmas card – and an address for a trailer park west of Binghamton.

Shock made my skin tingle. Had he lost everything?

I remembered that Paul spoke about being hospitalized, with heart issues, when I visited last. He was gray, overweight, and unkempt. Boxes of vinyl albums sat on his front porch. Spiderman toys hung from an overgrown tree in the yard. An eerie portrait of President Nixon hung in his living room window.

I took a photo of him on the porch, which later found use as a dedication in my Thoughts At Large collection.

Because he had been an enduring figure for so long, I hadn’t considered that somehow, life might overwhelm his ability to survive.

But now, holding the rejected card, it seemed possible.

While neighbors, family members and friends sang holiday carols, I could think of only one thing – a question delivered with no answer. A gift, not from Santa Claus but from the Riddler, himself.

What had happened to Paul?

I contacted friends via the Internet, who remembered this unusual fellow, and his colorful ex-wife. Predictably, none of them knew anything. Their puzzlement matched my own.

A cyberspace search produced listings for his home in Riverside. And an aerial photograph that matched my recollections from five years ago.

More investigation uncovered a street view of the park listed as his current home. Yet nothing else.

I was dumbfounded. Had he been unable to reach out, as circumstances took hold? Did he go bankrupt? Have to sell all his worldly possessions? Or simply fall prey to health woes associated with nearing the age of 70?

The possibilities had me struggling to regain balance. Even from my home in Geauga County, I felt the cosmic ripples caused by his sudden absence.

After a thoughtful pause, I revised the address on my card, and mailed it a second time. Included were stream-of-consciousness ramblings about the incident. “Call me!” I wrote. “E-mail me!” I knew he didn’t have a telephone or computer. Paranoia often kept him from answering his front door. Or subscribing to accepted norms of identification. But it didn’t matter.

One way or another, I had to know what had happened.

Postscript: Paul and I both appeared numerous times on Channel 13, in Ithaca, New York. We were also together in a band called “Rod Ice and Absolute Zero” with Tommy Hilfiger’s younger brother, Andy, who now directs the ‘Andrew Charles’ line of Rock-inspired clothing.

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