Thoughts At Large

“Geauga in Print – Part Six”

2012-02-16T11:31:00.001-05:00

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”

2012-02-10T11:44:00.004-05:00

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”

2012-02-02T12:37:00.002-05:00

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”

2012-01-27T11:15:00.002-05:00

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?

Comments about Thoughts At Large may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com
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“Geauga in Print: Part Five”

2012-01-19T12:23:00.001-05:00

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”

2012-01-12T23:52:00.002-05:00

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”

2012-01-05T23:38:00.001-05:00

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.

Comments about Thoughts At Large may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com
Visit us at: www.thoughtsatlarge.com

“Christmas Caller”

2012-01-02T19:00:00.001-05:00

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

Note to Readers: Not everything that follows here is literally true. Some of this may have been produced by too much holiday fudge or an abundance of Christmas ale. Do not be alarmed. Happy Holidays to you!

It was a slow day in the Icehouse home office.

Because Christmas was so near, I had become completely sidetracked by the season. Finishing any of the writing projects that lay on my desk seemed impossible. Bright sunshine reflecting off the snow outside didn’t help. More than anything, I wanted to adjourn to the kitchen for a glass of eggnog.

Riley and Quigley, my Black Lab and Pomeranian duo, were in the doorway. They slumbered while I sorted through the mess.

Suddenly, my telephone rang. The jingle it made had me jumping out of my chair.

“Hello?” I said.

A cheerful voice filled my ear. “Hey, Dad! Merry Christmas, old man!”

I was stunned.

“Hello?” he said, after a brief pause. “Are you there?”

My son hadn’t called since he was transferred to New York.

“Dad,” he laughed. “It’s me. Woody.”

Finally, a reply came to my lips. “Do you know how long it’s been since you called?”

He was perturbed. “C’mon, it’s Christmas. No complaining for the holidays.”

“What, has it been a year?” I wondered out loud. “Or two?”

“No complaining for Christmas!” he insisted.

“Two years?” I asked. “Or three?”

“Okay Dad, it has been twenty-seven months,” he admitted. “But can’t you wish me a Merry Christmas?”

My face reddened. “What I wish is that you remembered my phone number.”

“I’ve been busy,” he explained. “Tops promoted me to Regional Manager last year. I have been working to improve the stores in my zone. Right now I’m in Meadville, Pennsylvania, trying to solve issues with the staff.”

“Tops?” I said with amazement. “They closed up a long time ago.”

“No, Dad,” he disagreed. “Just in Ohio.”

“Nonsense!” I protested. “You’re out of work again, right? Is that why you called? Need a few extra bucks to get through the holiday season?”

My cell-phone chirped. A picture message had arrived.

It was a photo of the Meadville store.

“Look at the pic, Dad.” He said.

“Okay,” I observed. “You’re a chip off the old cube. Retail is in our blood.”

“Or as you used to say,” he remembered, “the cube doesn’t fall far from the tray.”

I chuckled to myself. “Yeah, that’s right. A sense of humor is necessary with a family name like ours.”

“So, you’re still writing for the Maple Leaf?” he interjected.

“That’s right,” I answered. “Almost fourteen years now.”

“And have you talked to Mom lately?” he asked.

“Woody Hayes Ice!” I shouted. “That’s a stupid question.”

“Sorry, Dad,” he apologized.

“We aren’t exactly best friends,” I admitted. “But I suppose that was to be expected. Career pressure never helps a marriage. I worked a lot when you were a kid. Once, I pulled a twenty-eight hour shift at Fisher’s Big Wheel.”

“Was that even legal?” he huffed.

“No,” I smiled. “A violation of company work rules, I’m sure. But I did it anyway. We were in the midst of wild holiday business. Had to get things done.”

“I understand,” he said. “Tops can be brutal at times. Every promotion means more work. Which leaves less family time in the balance.”

A silent pause filled the air.

“So, are you seeing your mom for Christmas?” I said at last.

“Yes,” he answered in a whisper. “Lisa and I are spending the holiday with her, in Cleveland.”

I felt a rock settle in my stomach.

“Well, it’s nice that you could call,” I observed. “Talk to you in another twenty-seven months…”

“Dad, wait!” he insisted. “We were thinking about stopping to visit. Lisa has never been to Geauga County. I wanted to give her the grand tour.”

I took a deep breath. “You want to come… here?”

“I want Lisa to see what it’s like at home,” he reflected. “Snow on the Chardon Square. A stop for Christmas chatter at Paula’s tree stand. Seasonal poems at the library. Maybe even an Irish supper with Carrie Hamglaze. All the things I remember.”

My mood softened. “Woody, you are always welcome here. Even after twenty-seven months.”

“No complaining for Christmas!” he yowled.

Another moment of emptiness elapsed.

“Okay,” I said after collecting my thoughts. “Come home when you can. I’ll make sure your wife gets the full measure of a Geauga County holiday season.”

“Thanks Dad,” he laughed. “I love you.”

The phone clicked loudly in my ear.

Without warning, an overpowering burst of quiet took hold. My computer hummed to itself. Nearby, Riley and Quigley were snoring out canine dreams, together.

I bowed my head with a silent wish:

“Merry Christmas, Woody.”

Comments about Thoughts At Large may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com
Visit us at: www.thoughtsatlarge.com

“Christmas at Kresse’s”

2011-12-23T11:14:00.002-05:00

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

Note to Readers: Each holiday season seems to spotlight a different Christmas memory for this writer. Two things happened during the year that made what follows here inevitable. First - I discovered a group called ‘Chardon Kresse’s Survivors’ on the social networking site facebook. It reminded me that working at the supermarket was an experience with lasting value. Second - I was contacted by a former co-worker from the store, Wayne Goebelt, who said he had been reading my columns in the Maple Leaf. Though I had not seen him in twenty years, we remained connected through this newspaper. I was humbled by his message.

Kresse’s Bi-Rite in Chardon was the sort of small-town grocery store that has all but disappeared from northeastern Ohio. This local business operated in what had once been an A & P location, and carried some leftover signage and fixtures from that company. The market offered butcher-shop meats, prepared on-site by traditional methods. It also provided fresh produce products that were hand-selected and trucked to Geauga County by our own driver. And bakery delights made from scratch by a talented crew. All of this was delivered in an atmosphere of old-fashioned, face-to-face customer service. In modern terms, such a store would be deemed as upscale, and out of the industry mainstream. Yet twenty years ago, these qualities were considered the norm for patrons on Water Street.

The business was owned by Frank Tainer, a local entrepreneur who also operated the Tanglewood Bi-Rite location. His focus was clear and unapologetic – to provide complete customer satisfaction. Excuses were unacceptable.

The store was supervised by a team of retail veterans. Store Manager Bob Herron had grown up in Pennsylvania, and learned his craft while rising through the ranks. Assistant Manager Mike Kelly had worked for A & P, as did Relief Manager John Raby.
I joined the crew in April of 1986, after working for American Seaway Foods, and Fisher’s Big Wheel. My knowledge of retailing remained undeniably limited.

But school was about to begin.

Kresse’s offered the kind of retail education that I could never have discovered in a classroom setting. I was able to work in close quarters with talented people from Fazio’s, Kroger, Pick-n-Pay, and many other Cleveland-area supermarket chains. This on-the-salesfloor interaction would provide the foundation for my own retail career, in years to come.

For this, I owe Mr. Tainer a lasting debt of gratitude. One which I can never repay.

Customers at Kresse’s often spoke about raising their children, while shopping at the store. Indeed, generations of families passed through our automatic doors. Trust and kinship were important. They kept coming back not just to find value, but to catch up with friends, and get advice for their dinner table.

Christmas of 1991 found us celebrating the holiday rush with typical enthusiasm. The store was nearly bursting with seasonal goodies. Every register was open, and a bagger stood ready to serve, at the end of each lane. Clerks were busy, everywhere. The shelves were full. Decorations dangled and spun. Genuine holiday cheer was in abundance. We worked frantically, like a re-assigned bunch of Santa’s elves.
The parcel-pickup drive, in front of our store, witnessed an endless stream of automobiles. Orders were loaded carefully, and glad tidings were repeated.

Christmas Eve brought all of this to a fever pitch. It was as if the entire place had become a community center. Last-minute purchases made our registers ring. We ran to find empty carts for waiting customers. And called out greetings across aisles of people.

Everyone felt blessed to be part of the team. It was our mission to serve, while celebrating with neighbors and friends.

We glad to be there. It was more than a job. In a real sense, it felt like home.
No one could have imagined that in only a few months, the store would close.

Postscript: Kresse’s Bi-Rite went out of business in March of 1992. The building at 425 Water Street in Chardon is currently occupied by a MARC’S location.

Comments about Thoughts At Large may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com
Visit us at: www.thoughtsatlarge.com

“Return of the Elf”

2011-12-10T02:11:00.001-05:00

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

A recent drive doing day-off chores yielded one of my favorite seasonal sights: the magical hut of ‘Christmas Tree Lady’ Paula Horbay.

Paula’s stand is located in the parking lot of Maple Leaf Plaza, in Chardon.

As a former retail manager in the county, I had many holiday encounters with this enduring local figure. Her good cheer and warm personality always made me glad to experience the Christmas season in Geauga. Indeed, her presence helped to attract extra customers for the business that I represented. It was the sort of useful partnership between local entrepreneurs that made our county strong.

When I stopped to take photographs for this newspaper, just before sunset, a local couple appeared in their conversion van. A woman inside asked if the elf-in-charge was present.

“Looks like she’s gone home for the day,” I answered. “Must’ve just gotten a shipment from the North Pole!”

The woman smiled. “We’ve bought Paula’s trees for over a dozen years.”

I nodded with reverence. “She’s part of the holiday experience… like Santa and Rudolph. Even on the hottest days of summer, people still call her the ‘Christmas Tree Lady.’ But at this time of year, it seems most proper to write something about her in my column.”

“Yes it does,” she agreed.

I fumbled with my digital camera. “Just need a picture to run with the story… if only Elf Paula was here in person!”

The woman smiled again. “We’ll come back tomorrow. Gotta have a tree for our family!”
I waved goodbye as she and her husband drove away.

Later, over a cup of coffee, I remembered this chance encounter. Reflecting on past issues of the Maple Leaf, I remembered that Paula had once sent a Yuletide poem to my mailbox. It was written in response to the suggestion that she was actually one of Santa’s elves, working in our county.

A quick search through my home archives produced her manuscript:

“Twas three weeks ‘til Christmas and all thru the North Pole; All the elves were getting their orders about when and where they should go. Santa sent one elf to make all the toys; ‘Ho Ho Ho!’ he said, ‘Make sure they're just right for all the good girls and good boys.’ Then he sat and he pondered what the next elf should do, you know it's a big job and he had no time to lose. With a twinkle in his eye and a grin on his face, he knew he had to send this next elf to a very special place. The destination he sees is clearly surrounded by trees, and the elf that he chose can be identified by her clothes! Santa was chuckling not naughty, but nice, Cuz he just solved the riddle for that writer Rod Ice.”

After reading Paula’s elfin rhyme, I felt inspired with a fresh burst of holiday cheer. Half-awake in my office chair, I began to dream… and compose:

A frosty breeze
And Christmas trees
As far as eyes can see
Yes Paula’s back
With her Yuletide sack
Stuffed full of peppermint treats

December cold
Is crisp and bold
With hues of red and green
Thanks to the elf
Who works by herself
We’ll celebrate and dream

On the hill
Winds can chill
But her hut is warm and safe
Ringed by trees
And pine boughs to keep
She’ll work till Christmas Day

At this special time
Kids wait in line
To choose an evergreen
Then off they go
With bells and bows
To make their centerpiece

Flakes of snow
Bring a winter show
We expect this time of year
And Paula’s trees
Make memories
Filled with holiday cheer

The first Noel
Old stories foretell
The coming of this season
In Geauga, near
With families, dear
Love is the reason

Perhaps Paula’s best-kept secret is that she also operates the Story Book Ranch and Bunk House, on Chardon Windsor Road. The family business was established in 1951 and offers visitors a chance to experience Geauga County in a friendly, rural setting.

Contact Paula at:
440-897-5664
paulahorbay@storybookbunkhouse.com

Comments about Thoughts At Large may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com
Visit us at: www.thoughtsatlarge.com

“Geauga: Unoccupied”

2011-12-02T12:19:00.002-05:00

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

It was a beautiful day on the Chardon Square. Unseasonably warm and satisfying, despite the approach of winter. Quietly, I walked by myself, fiddling with a notebook and digital camera. My mission was clear – to find some local news wrinkle of note for my next column. Yet no inspiration appeared during my stroll. Instead, the cackle of school children echoed from Park Elementary. A lone musician plucked out notes on her guitar, while sitting on a park bench. And a city crew busied themselves with the chore of erecting seasonal decorations.

I paused at the gazebo, and opened a cup of coffee from Get Go. But before I could take a sip, a familiar voice called out from beyond the trees.

“Rodneyyy!” it sang with excitement.

I spun around to find my long-time friend Carrie Hamglaze, brimming with satisfaction. She was dressed in an overcoat and hat, colored Irish green.

“It is so good to see you!” she exclaimed.

I nodded respectfully. “We haven’t crossed paths in a long time…”

“A long, long time!” she said. “How are things in Thompson?”

My voice was dry. “Going well, thank you. Lots of school pride with the Ledgemont football team. And fall colors everywhere…”

She smiled to herself. “I was busy with the election. Helping to offer advice and attend local meetings. Trying to stay involved as someone not running for office.”

“Of course,” I replied.

“So, what do you have coming up in the Leaf?” she asked with curiosity.

I took a long breath. “Perhaps another installment of ‘Geauga in Print.’ Readers seem to enjoy getting a glimpse of our county in yonder days.”

“Ah,” she whispered. “Stories from the newspaper archives. There must be thousands of those available online.”

“More than you might think,” I confessed. “Even from the venerable New York Times. It seems that Geauga has always been a point of interest for journalists, throughout history.”

“Okay, what else?” she said quizzically.

“Not much,” I answered. “Today was so warm that it seemed like a perfect opportunity to walk around the square and ponder a bit. So here I am… looking for a story.”

Carrie held her breath. “Everyone seems to have an angle on the ‘Occupy Wall Street’ protests at the moment. What about you?”

Her interjection brought surprise. I gestured around the square, for emphasis. “Is that relevant here?”

“A point to ponder,” she reflected.

I thought carefully before speaking. “One friend has been sending messages about OWS for several weeks now. Everything references being part of the 99 percent.”

She laughed out loud. “Yes, that’s their mantra.”

“At first, it sounded like familiar political rhetoric,” I said. “But then, I noticed a fellow appeared in one of the photographs with a sign that said ‘End the Fed.’ And I wondered… hadn’t Ron Paul been saying that for many years?”

Carrie snorted. “Michael Moore, Keith Olbermann, labor leaders from around the country… they’ve all been attracted to sit in with the ‘occupiers.’ Even Pete Seeger and Arlo Guthrie. Not exactly a conservative crowd.”

“No,” I admitted. “But consider the message itself. Unhappiness about the bank bailouts. Loud dissent over foreign wars draining our treasury. A feeling that we are ruled not by elected leaders, but a privileged class of lobbyists. Where have you heard those sentiments before?”

She hesitated to answer.

“Journalists have been taking sides on this phenomenon,” I said. “But maybe they should look more closely. Isn’t this the other side of the same coin?”

My esteemed friend was speechless.

“We’ve said it for many years,” I declared. “Voters have developed a natural distrust for the system. We may express that rowdiness in unique ways. But the feeling is no different.”

Carrie sighed forcefully. “I don’t know what to say!”

“Public debate is healthy,” I continued. “Whether it is Tea Party activism or union protests to maintain the right of collective bargaining. People need to be involved in democracy for it to survive. Honest disagreement doesn’t make me afraid. What I fear is silence.”

“Silence doesn’t make a good story,” she said with a grin.

“Not at all,” I agreed.

She rubbed her eyes. “Okay… so back to your original point. Is OWS relevant in Geauga?”

My coffee had gone cold. “As a journalist, I can only ask that question. The answer will come not from pundits and professors… but from our readers.”

Comments about Thoughts At Large may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com
Visit us at: www.thoughtsatlarge.com

“The Search for Al Luccioni”

2011-11-26T12:14:00.002-05:00

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

In this column, I have occasionally written about calling a fictional, neighborhood friend from the Pittsburgh area on my telephone. His name - Al Luccioni.

Al was a character featured in Iron City Beer advertisements during the 1970’s. His profile exuded rugged, yet friendly vibes. Once, I had a sign that carried his image in my own collection of brewery memorabilia. When reflecting on childhood years spent in that region, he seemed to be a proper focal point for personal reminiscing.
He literally looked like a blue-collar dad from down the street.

During each call, Al would typically mention having a plate of kielbasa spaghetti while watching NFL football on television. Our debates about Steelers versus Browns matches were loud and passionate. And he struggled with the idea that I was no longer a teenaged kid from New Kensington:

“The Stillers are goin’ to another Superbowl, that’s all I know,” Al cheered.

“Well, not quite yet,” I said with caution. “You still have to advance through the playoffs.”

“Hah!” he grunted. “Did you see Polomola flyin’ through the air like Superman?”

“Troy Polamalu, you mean?” I said.

“Yeah, Polomola,” he repeated. “Yinz looked like statues out there. He caught everybody by surprise.”

“He’s really surprised me with those commercials for Head & Shoulders shampoo,” I groaned. “A bit strange, really. One step away from Joe Namath in pantyhose…”

“Heyy! Don’t mess with Superman!” he exploded. “Take that back, loser!”

“Okay, okay,” I surrendered. “Sorry.”

“This’ll be ring number seven for the Stillers,” he bragged.

“The Browns have eight league championships,” I said.

“Eight??” he stammered. “Eight in what?? Pee Wee football?”

“Four NFL titles,” I explained. “And four in the AAFC, where they began.”

“You talk crazy,” he growled. “Superbowls, I’m sayin’ – SUPER BOWLS!”

“Pro football has been around for a century,” I said. “The Superbowl is a more recent creation, that’s all.”

“Hey, you sound jealous,” he said teasingly. “Make your excuses kid. Chuck Noll beat anything you had in Cleveland.”

“Noll was born here,” I said with a grin. “He went to Benedictine High School.”

“What???” my erstwhile neighbor yelped.

“He even played for us,” I said. “Being a Cleveland Brown made him what he was…”

“No, no no!” Al whined. “Take that back!”

“Now you have Big Ben Roethlisberger,” I observed. “Another Ohio native. He was born in Lima and grew up in Findlay."

“No, no, no!” he thundered.

“Heck, Bill Cowher played here during the ‘Kardiac Kids’ era, and coached here with Marty Schottenheimer,” I proclaimed. “Ohio made you guys.”

Al was speechless. He sputtered unintelligible curses and oaths.

“Take that stuff back,” he mumbled. “Take that back, take that back!”

“Hold on to your pierogies,” I laughed. “You’re spinning out of control, neighbor.”

“TAKE THAT BACK!” he shouted.

“Okay, okay,” I said at last. “Sorry.”

“You got a big mouth, kid!” he complained.

With each of these episodes, I included a beer coaster scan that appeared on the auction website eBay.

Long after this series of columns had run, I got a surprise, while searching through Internet links. A website mentioned Hogshead Gym, in Uniontown, Pennsylvania. It was managed by Phil Luccioni and boasted a young boxing star – his son, Alderico.

Apparently, they were the son and grandson of Al, himself.

Reading the report made me excited, yet embarrassed. For many years, I had believed that this burly figure was created as a promotional trick. To learn that he was a genuine professional athlete made me humble.

I wanted to learn more about his story.

First, I contacted Drew Stevenson, a Facebook friend from New York City. Because he was a native of Uniontown, it seemed likely that he could help. Sadly, Drew only remembered the Iron City campaign.

Feeling frustrated, I returned to my computer.

A second search for information revealed something new. Besides hawking blue-collar beer, Al had also promoted a brand of pizza during the 1970’s. It was available in grocery stores throughout the area, like Foodland.

I couldn’t help feeling a bit nostalgic for the era when NFL football was less about corporate business tactics, and more about serving as a vehicle to express the hopes and dreams of the everyman. When figures like our Brian Sipe adorned promotional glasses from Wendy’s. And when pro athletes, in some sense, still seemed to live in the same universe as those of us punching a time clock.

Sadly, my search yielded nothing more about big Al.

I considered connecting with the Sports Editor from Uniontown’s ‘Herald Standard’ newspaper. It was likely that he could enlighten me in some way about this lost icon of boxing and beer.

Yet quietly, I wondered if my inquiry might seem a bit strange. Across the vastness of cyberspace – comes a small town journalist from Geauga County, Ohio asking about someone from a brewery ad that ran almost forty years ago.

Was that a sane request?

My conclusion, of course, could not be denied. It was a chance I would have to take.

Comments about Thoughts At Large may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com
Visit us at: www.thoughtsatlarge.com

“Andy Rooney, Remembered”

2011-11-21T23:55:00.001-05:00

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

The recent passing of CBS commentator and beloved curmudgeon Andy Rooney caused many of us to pause and reflect. His career was long and productive.
Five years ago, I wrote a column about Rooney for this newspaper. What follows here are excerpts from my tribute:

An Andy Rooney Moment (March, 2006)

Andy Rooney is a classic media figure. He has enjoyed a prolific wordsmithing career as a newspaper columnist, published author, producer, and scriptwriter. His stay at CBS began in 1949, working on ‘Arthur Godfrey’s Talent Scouts.’ Installments of his segment on the CBS program ‘60 Minutes’ have entertained viewers across America for many years. (They have appeared regularly since September, 1978.) He is admittedly liberal, agnostic, and crabby. Yet his witticisms are uniquely entertaining. And age has only intensified the grandfatherly charm he projects.

Recently, the moody power of a ‘Rooney’ moment took hold as I tried to make my newspaper deadline. I pondered how his oddball style might sound in a local context. What would he make of a column like ‘Thoughts At Large?’ Questions swirled in my brain… I tried to focus on the task of interpreting this network curmudgeon… everything faded into a netherworld of characteristically silly, rambling observations… and the following manuscript began to appear:

"A FEW MINUTES IN THE ‘ROONEY’ ZONE…"

Did you ever wonder why so many 8-track tapes still show up at thrift stores and
flea markets across Geauga? I mean… really! Why are they still around? Such cumbersome audio-bricks haven’t been commercially popular in thirty years. But as artifacts go, they are ever present. Manufacturers must’ve cranked out millions of the plastic cartridges, because a wide selection of titles can still be found at 50 cents per item! This is in spite of the fact that almost no one still has a machine to play them! Major record labels had them out of retail stores by the early 80’s. Mail-order music clubs kept them available a bit longer. Yet they endure like the aftertaste of a bologna sandwich. Some people continue to treasure the clunky relics as a reminder of yonder days. A slew of alternative, ‘indie’ performers has even kept the format alive in 21st-Century terms. But ask yourself this question. "How crazy do you have to be… to still own a stash of 8-Track tapes?"

Have you ever actually seen anyone use a paperweight to hold down paper? Sure,
these trinkets make nifty ornaments for a desktop. But are they really functional in the 21st Century? And with everyone typing away on a computer, is there any lingering need for a decorated stone in your workspace? Or is it just a matter of Joe Paperweight not wanting to go out of business before he and Mrs. P Can retire? Isn’t it like making horseshoes after the ‘Model T’ was invented? Maybe we just feel better knowing the paperweight is there… in case someone left a window open, of the office fan gets stuck on ‘high.’

In America, you can get water almost anywhere. There is water in your kitchen,
bathroom, and maybe even in your garage. You can get water from a drinking fountain (‘bubbler’ for my friends in Wisconsin) or a garden hose. Any good restaurant will bring you water without an extra charge on the bill. So why do we buy bottled water? Is there something special about water in a plastic jug? Can one company say "Our water is better than your water!" with a straight face? Doesn’t all water ultimately come from the same source? Try placing some empty bottles on your picnic table during the next rainstorm, and you’ll have the best refreshment nature can provide, without a trip to the grocery store…

Why is it that newscasters on television love to show off newspaper stories? Isn’t this like a car dealership reviewing bicycles? Could it be an admission that the print media existed first? Or is it because text journalism still seems more credible? (Would they admit being second to written reporting, even if it were true?) Can you remember seeing a newspaper with screen captures from a video news program? I don’t think it has happened. But on CNN or C-SPAN, you can enjoy a review of ink-borne headlines from around the country. This seems particularly strange because there is ‘lag time’ involved with printed matter, while TV news is immediate. But in reality, most of us are probably on the computer, anyway. So it doesn’t really matter!

My ‘Rooney’ moment passed quickly, like one of his brief, spoken essays. It was a refreshing detour from the typical subject matter of my column. But most important of all, just like my television hero, I made my deadline!

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“Sidetracked by Frigidaire”

2011-11-11T01:18:00.001-05:00

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

Sometimes, research for a story can yield unintended consequences – and a new writing project on the desk.

I stumbled upon one such example recently, while reading through the wealth of newspaper archives available online. My intent was to find interesting stories about Geauga County in these yellowed pages. But instead, a vintage advertisement caught my attention.

It came from a copy of the Painesville Telegraph, dated June 15, 1935:

NO DOWN PAYMENT – 15 cents a day will buy it for you.

Our Meter-Ice plan makes down payments unnecessary. Just come in and select the model you want: It will be delivered to your home with a little bank-like device called Meter-Ice, attached. Then you simply drop into Meter-Ice the required number of nickels and dimes each day. Once each month our representative calls, collects money and credits your account. When the amount collected equals the purchase price, the Meter-Ice is removed and the Frigidaire is yours.

FRIGIDAIRE SALES - SERVICE 3RD FLOOR
GAIL G. GRANT Inc.

It was like an odd detail peeking out from the background of a photograph.
“Meter-Ice?” I wondered out loud.

I remembered relatives in West Virginia having a natural gas-powered refrigerator. It was a nod to the distant era when many rural homes did not have electricity. But the memory of a coin box in the kitchen was one I had never heard before.
It sounded undeniably strange – dropping coins in a vending device to keep milk, potato salad, and bologna cool throughout the day.

Yet further research yielded more information on this interesting idea. And, a price increase:

Deposit 25 cents in Meter-Ice and Frigidaire will start and operate for 24 hours. You may deposit 25 cents each day – or you may deposit 11 quarters at a time which will give you 11 days’ refrigeration – just as you prefer. When your Frigidaire has been paid for we remove Meter-Ice and issue you a bill of sale. This is the soundest, safest and most attractive electric refrigeration proposition ever offered. Come in and say ‘I want one of the new Frigidaires that uses less current than a lamp bulb.’ It’s all so simple and easy you’ll never have missed the money. That’s the new Frigidaire. It’s a marvel of convenience, too, with automatic defrosting – automatic ice tray releasing – cold storage space – ¼ more storage space in smaller cabinets.

FRIGIDAIRE - A GENERAL MOTORS VALUE

Early in the 20th Century, appliances like a modern refrigerator were priced out of reach for many families. The 1930 Frigidaire price book lists a model AP-5 at $292, for example. A Ford sedan from the same era could be had for around $500. But this unique, home-based business plan helped entice many potential customers into the new era of kitchen living.

The success of Frigidaire was overwhelming. By 1937, four million units had been manufactured and sold to the public. By 1941, that figure had swelled to six million.
The company’s ‘Meter-Miser’ compressor powered all sorts of devices from room air conditioners to beverage coolers, ice-cream freezers and water coolers.
Eventually, Frigidaire developed a line of electric ranges for cooking, and water heaters for home and business use. After WW II, their production exploded with postwar demand in the marketplace.

Yet this one odd detail was seemingly lost to history: the coin-operated fridge.
I was glad to have been sidetracked. And I looked forward to other such journalistic detours, in the future.

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“Theatrical Thoughts”

2011-11-04T12:11:00.002-04:00

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

Readers of this column have heard many stories about my long-term friendship with Cleveland music icon Dennis Chandler.

We met while I was an editor for another newspaper, in Ashtabula County. Chandler had been scheduled to play at a local event, which was much like our beloved Maple Festival. I called to discuss his upcoming appearance, and a conversation about Rock & Roll history ensued.

It was my first encounter with the “Edu-tainer” – so dubbed by fans for his encyclopedic knowledge of the genre.

Over the years that followed, I wrote about our ongoing relationship. Chandler offered valuable insight into a surprising variety of subjects. He held strong opinions about pop culture, musical instruments, personal wellness, and the entertainment business. Eventually, he even provided advice on my career as a freelance writer.

I came to trust him as a teacher.

As summer drew to a close, he talked about a theatrical production that was in the works. With the skill of a composer, he had penned 22 songs for a musical play. Now, auditions were being held.

I tingled with excitement. The anticipation of a developing ‘good story’ was irresistible.

Chandler described the play as a family tale involving three generations. When the patriarch suffers a heart attack, everyone is brought together. Time, for that moment, stands still. And the whole is made greater by being tested.

It was the kind of happening that occurred in my own family, when my father battled cancer in the 1990’s.

Larry Brenner’s compelling story came to life at Tallmadge High School. As the curtain swept aside, I was immediately struck with the fact that his work comprised true ‘family’ entertainment in the classic sense. A performance for those of any age, to be enjoyed together.

With a grin, I remembered watching Ed Sullivan with my grandmother, parents, and siblings. It promised to be that kind of shared experience.

ACT ONE

Joseph Goldberg is in a post-surgical coma. What unfolds around him are layers of familial drama that resonate with everyone. Wife Sarah frets while tending to her brood with maternal care. Son Norman remembers his youthful desire to be a writer, while grappling with marriage woes. Daughter Sandra hears the echoes of an unfulfilled love. Grandsons Stephen and Michael trade playground jabs while worrying about their elder.

Each songful reflection carries a good dose of Rock & Roll energy that keeps the audience greatly entertained, and focused.

Mysterious ‘Men in Black’ who wait outside the hospital add a sense of puzzlement and foreboding. Sarah paces back and forth, chattering and wondering, and waiting.
Finally, the stage clears with Joseph’s patient alarm sounding a note of dread.

What comes next? Everyone is left to wonder, on their own.
Throughout the intermission, I pondered Brenner’s story. Would the father survive and receive loving praise from his family? Or slip away into the afterlife?

ACT TWO

We are returned to the hospital room. It is empty except for the ailing father, still and silent, in his bed.

Then, Brenner’s narrative takes an unexpected turn. Joseph sits up, and exclaims with joy about finally being alone!

There is much applause in the auditorium. I realize that I have been holding my breath.

From the edge of his bed, the old man has a colorful conversation with God. He admits to using the situation to ‘listen’ as his family works out their troubles.
It is a dramatic moment that leaves everyone breathless. In Act One, we were crying with concern. Now, our eyes are wet again, but from laughter.

At that point, we learn that the dark-suited men are FBI agents. Joseph Goldberg has operated a betting operation, to augment his meager income as a custodian. Now, he has become an informant to help snare organized criminals who have moved in on his shady business.

Sarah scolds her husband, upon finding him awake. Confusion and chatter fill the room. Yet the family is emotionally reunited in a way never possible before.

With confidence, Joseph proclaims from his bed: “Look at what I accomplished, by listening!”

The cast itself was delightful. Jeffrey D. Bachtel brought the character of Joseph alive with a sense of realism and humor that made the audience believe in his basic goodness and humanity. As Sarah, Julianne Protich effused an irresistible mood of maternal love. Mariah Nicole Queer played Sandra with the skill one would expect of a true Broadway actress. Tyler Mason brought us Doctor Tony as a humble, but lonely spirit. And Gordon Wall delivered the character of Norman with genuine vulnerability and soul searching.

Everything was tied together with a Rock & Roll ribbon provided by Dennis Chandler’s musical score. His compositions evoked the exuberance of classic, good-time music as it was in yonder days.

I left the Tallmadge High School auditorium with a sense that greater things were ahead for Brenner’s play. And, indeed, for those that helped bring it to life.

Just We Two (A Musical)
“For those who have laughed and cried with others and alone…”
Book and Lyrics by: Larry Brenner
Music by: Dennis Chandler
Choreographer: Danielle Shook
Directed by: Frank Chaff

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“Moving Day Cookbook”

2011-11-04T12:06:00.002-04:00

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

Cookbooks seem to be the sort of household manual that nearly everyone collects. Often, they are handed down through generations of a family, or traded through a network of friends. They may be borrowed and forgotten, of left to gather dust in the back of a kitchen library. Yet even a single unique recipe can make their existence worthy.

Recently, a family left my rural neighborhood, and decided to perform some cupboard cleaning as they moved. Offered up to those of us who stayed behind was a considerable stack of these culinary publications, at no charge.

Most of their castaway collection looked like standard household fare. But one volume caught my notice immediately. It was titled “Morning Fires, Evening Lights – The Marlboro Country Cookbook.”

This work was published in 1998 by tobacco giant Phillip Morris, as a promotional tool to promote dwindling cigarette sales.

With obvious cowboy flair, the book carried recipes inspired by life in the American southwest. I almost felt nostalgic when leafing through its glossy, colorful pages. Not for the taste of tar and nicotine, of course, but for the kind of vittles one might imagine around a campfire, many miles from civilization:

Iron Skillet Breakfast

Ingredients:

4 cups water
½ lb. homemade sausage
1 Tbsp. minced onion
1 tsp. salt
½ tsp. dried thyme
Dash (of) cayenne pepper
1 cup yellow cornmeal
½ cup cold water
1 cup cooked black beans, optional
All-purpose flour
Butter or bacon fat

Directions:

Bring water to boil in a large, heavy saucepan; add sausage, onion, salt, thyme and cayenne pepper. If extra-spicy sausage is used, omit seasonings, if desired. Cook, stirring to break up sausage, for 15 minutes. Mix cornmeal with cold water; stir into sausage mixture gradually. Cook over medium-low heat, stirring constantly, until mixture thickens and cornmeal softens, about 30 minutes. Rinse beans under running water; stir into cornmeal. Rinse a loaf pan with cold water; pour hot mixture into pan, smoothing surface. Cover and chill until firm. Cut into ½-inch thick slices; dip in flour. In a large skillet, fry in butter over medium heat until crisp and brown, about 2 minutes on each side. Serve with scrambled eggs and maple syrup.

Coffee Can Bread

Ingredients:

1 cup graham or whole wheat flour
1 ½ cups all-purpose flour
1 cup yellow cornmeal
1 tsp. baking powder
1 ½ tsp. baking soda
½ tsp. salt
1 ½ cups buttermilk
¾ cup molasses
1 cup raisins and/or chopped walnuts

Directions:

Combine the two flours, cornmeal, baking powder, soda and salt in a mixing bowl. Mix buttermilk and molasses; add to dry ingredients and mix well. Stir in raisins and nuts. Pour into well-greased 13-ounce coffee cans filling 2 inches from top. Bread may also be baked in 2 greased 8-inch loaf pans. Cover cans or loaf pans with aluminum foil. Bake in a 350 degree oven, 45 to 60 minutes. Cool slightly before turning out of cans.

Firemouth Pizza

Ingredients:

12-inch homemade pizza crust
½ cup roasted pepper salsa or thick and chunky salsa
1 cup rinsed and drained canned black beans
5 each, thin green and red bell pepper rings
½ cup thinly sliced red or green onions
1 or 2 jalapeno chili peppers, sliced, seeds and stems removed
2 cups shredded cheddar or Jack cheese
2 tsp. Tex-Mex spice

Directions:

Place crust on large baking sheet. Spread salsa evenly over crust. Top with beans, bell pepper rings, onions, chili peppers and cheese. Sprinkle Tex-Mex spice evenly over cheese. Bake in a 450 degree oven for about 12 minutes or until crust is golden brown and cheese is melted. Cut into slices and serve immediately.

Sweet-Hot Glazed Bacon

Ingredients

½ lb. thick-sliced smoked bacon
½ cup packed light brown sugar
2 tsp. Tabasco sauce

Directions

Line a 15 x 10-inch baking pan with aluminum foil. Place a wire cooling rack in pan and coat lightly with nonstick cooking spray or vegetable oil. Cut each slice (of) bacon in half. Arrange bacon in single layer on oiled rack. Combine brown sugar and Tabasco sauce, mixing well with a fork. Sprinkle mixture evenly over bacon. Bake in a 350 degree oven for about 25 minutes or until bacon is browned, but not burned. Cool completely on rack. Serve at room temperature.

Lonesome Man Chili

Ingredients

4 lbs. Round steak
½ cup all-purpose flour
1 tsp. salt
½ tsp. cracked black pepper
5 Tbsp. Olive oil, divided
40 cloves garlic, peeled
1 cup beef broth or water
½ cup whiskey
6 to 10 dried small red chili peppers

Directions

Trim steak and cut into large chunks, about 1 ½ inches square. Combine flour, salt and pepper; roll beef in mixture. Heat 4 Tbsp. oil in a deep, heavy skillet; brown meat on all sides. Remove meat from skillet. Reduce heat and add 1 Tbsp. oil and garlic; cook until garlic is golden. Add broth, whiskey and chili peppers to garlic. Put browned meat on top of garlic; cover and cook slowly until beef is tender, about 1 hour.

I had to read the last recipe over again. It called for – 40 cloves of garlic?
One might observe that this could be a cause for the cook being lonely. Yet it sounded like a flavorful dish, indeed.

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“Geauga in Print: Part Four”

2011-10-21T12:47:00.003-04:00

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

The recorded history of newspaper journalism in America is impressive. Archives exist nearly everywhere, across the country. And today, this considerable collection of resources is accessible to average folk as never before.

Most impressive, in a local sense, are stories of Geauga in the near and distant past. One might think that our little neck of the woods would be overwhelmed by news from communities around the nation. But once again, research has proved that our county will forever be an important point of reference for historians, everywhere:

The Bryan Times, December 21, 1976

“Winter heralded its official arrival today with bitter cold and heavy, wind-whipped snows in the Northeast and Midwest, closing schools and roads in Ohio and causing problems for motorists in many other states. According to the calendar, winter officially started at 12:36 p.m. EST today, ending one of the coldest falls on record. ‘Absolutely disgusting,’ said Sheriff’s Deputy Chris Quinn of Geauga County, Ohio. ‘We’ve got all the schools closed today with 14 or 15 inches of snow on the ground and it’s drifting over two feet in spots.’”

Times Daily, September 5, 1961

“BURTON, Ohio – a white Leghorn bantam rooster crowed 38 times in 30 minutes – five more than his nearest rival – to win the crowing championship of Ohio at the Geauga County Fair Sunday. What the champ didn’t know, however, is that he was tricked into crowing. For half an hour before the contest, which began at 4 p.m., the entrants’ cages were covered. When the covers were removed, the birds thought it was day break.”

The Lewiston Daily Sun, February 24, 1948

“BURLINGTON, Vt. – The relative merits of Vermont and Ohio maple syrup are going to be tested to decide which is better. Gov. Ernest W. Gibson said today he and Ohio Governor Thomas J. Herbert will meet ‘over maple cups’ April 3. The contest, said Gibson, is intended to end ‘once and for all, Ohio’s claim that its maple syrup is better than Vermont’s.’ The taste testing will be held in Geauga County, Ohio. The first maple syrup of the season has been reported by 80-year-old William Goss in South Burlington. Goss said he had two quarts of syrup boiled out of sap drawn from trees Feb. 18. Goss said maple syrup production usually starts two or three weeks from now.”

Paterson Daily Press, November 21, 1877

“Cincinnati – A special dispatch states that the man who was taken from the constable of Middlefield, Geauga County, Ohio, on Tuesday night and lynched was taken down and resuscitated. His name is Luther Scott. It is supposed that the object of the lynchers was to prevent Scott from revealing to the authorities the doings of a gang of desperados, of which he was a member.”

The New York Times, March 5, 1858

“The trial of HIRAM COLE, indicted for poisoning his wife in September last, was commenced at Chardon, Geauga County, Ohio, on the 1st inst. The trial is held in the Court of Common Pleas; Judge Wilder presiding. Cole is defended by Messrs. Thrasher and Blakesley. He looks well, and has gained in flesh during his five months’ imprisonment. A Jury was sworn in the course of the day; several jurors having been set aside as disqualified. The history of this case is briefly told. Cole was in business in the town of Bainbridge, Ohio, up to the month of September last. He had formed an attachment for a woman whom he addressed by the name of Emma, in a correspondence which passed between them. These letters, by accident, fell under the observation of Cole’s wife. Her jealousy was aroused, and Cole and his mistress appear to have conspired together to produce the death of the wife, Adelia Cole. The mistress went to Hamilton, Canada, and corresponded with Cole from that place. On the 9th of September last, Mrs. Cole died under circumstances which fixed suspicion on the husband. He was arrested and an investigation was begun. The body of Mrs. Cole was exhumed, and a chemical examination proved the presence of arsenic in the stomach. Corroborative circumstances pointed still more strongly to Cole as the murderer, and on the 14th of October, he was indicted for the murder. On this indictment, he is now standing trial. The trial is in progress.”

The New York Times, July 12, 1854

“Gathering of spiritualists. - The Cleveland Plain Dealer says there was a great meeting of Spiritualists at Bainbridge, Geauga County, Ohio on Sunday last. Whole townships turned out, and the woods and fields were full of them. It is estimated that there were eight thousand present. They expected to meet Gov. Tallmadge and Judge Edmonds, who were not there. This assembly was gathered without effort, with little or no public notice.”

Resolved here: the process of professional journalism endures. We write, read, and remember.

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“Flashback: Hand Grenade Interview”

2011-10-08T00:20:00.003-04:00

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(9-11)

Note to Readers: What follows here is a story about the most unusual job interview I’ve had in the past 27 years. The experience came as I was attempting to re-enter the world of retail supervision. It was re-written from an old manuscript discovered in the household archives.

In April of 2009, after deciding to re-start my career as a retail manager, I interviewed at an upscale market located in another county. A friend on Facebook had suggested that I connect with the business, because she was a regular customer.

The store was very diverse and appealing to shoppers who desired something different from the typical fare of everyday food markets. After visiting to leave my resume, I was very happy to secure an actual interview.

My work background included many years of service both in the retail and logistics areas of the food industry. So I felt confident about selling myself as a potential employee.

On that day, I met personally with the business owner in his cafe. Excitement tingled over my skin. Yet I could tell immediately that something was wrong. When I said his wife had called me, the response he delivered was terse.

"Oh she did, did she?" he groaned.

With minimal interest, he looked over my resume. “I need someone in the seafood department!” he barked. “You… are… overqualified. You wouldn’t be happy with this job.”

The revelation caught me by surprise. But I assured him that I just wanted to find employment.

He looked at my resume again. “So… all you’ve done is… run a store?”

The comment made me flinch. At one point, I had helped supervise a bustling team of 275 associates. But I tried to maintain my composure.

“That’s right,” I agreed. “My experience has been in retail management, specializing in customer and employee relations.”

He noted that I left my last supermarket in 2006, and asked what I did after that had transpired.

It was on my resume of course, but I repeated it anyway. I described the odyssey of writing three books, while continuing to work for a local newspaper.

His reaction was predictable. "That's just great but I need a seafood manager!"
Again, I stated my desire to work for his company.

He grew more tense, and rubbed his eyes. “So, why would you accept such an entry-level position?”

For the third time, I stated a yearning to resume my retail career. His store seemed innovative and customer-friendly. I wanted to join the team!

Sweat beaded on his forehead. It was easy to see that he remained unimpressed.
“But, why did you apply for this job?” he said again.

“My resume was submitted last month, sir,” I said. “Not in relation to any specific position, but with the hope that you might be interested in a face-to-face meeting. Your wife called to schedule this interview.”

He grunted as if in pain. “Yes, yes! But why would you want THIS job?”

I admitted being in the midst of an interview process with several potential employers. “My desire is to find the best ‘fit’ for myself.”

At this point he lost control. Red-faced, he got up from the table and began shouting. "So you've already got a job! You’ve already got a job!"

Customers near the café were alarmed. I heard gasps from people who were working in the department.

“Not true,” I said with a frown. “I’m only looking for the best opportunity out of different alternatives…”

While storming away, he shouted like a military drill instructor. "I have an opportunity! A hell of an opportunity!"

He literally left me sitting at a table by myself. I felt like a hand grenade had exploded in my face. All conversation in the café had completely stopped. Now, I seemed to be the center of attention.

Suddenly, the overhead lights were unbearably hot. I just wanted to go home.

Across the store, I could see him leaning against the service counter. With wild gestures, he was growling at someone who I guessed had to be his wife. No words were intelligible, at such a distance. But his emotions rang out like a warning bell.

I collected my paperwork, and left under a cloud of embarrassment. I felt sorry for the owner’s wife. And, for those who depended on this rowdy fellow for employment.

It was not going to be a good day for them, at work!

Needless to say, I never patronized this business, again. But the tale of my encounter with its owner will endure into eternity.

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“Breakfast Blessing”

2011-10-01T15:11:00.004-04:00

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(9-11)

Note to Readers: What follows here is paraphrased a bit, from memory. But otherwise this is a tale based on real events.

I’ve said it frequently in this newspaper – sometimes the best columns seem to write themselves.

Recently, I needed to get work done on my pickup truck. This meant a visit to Chardon, and my favorite repair garage. The owner was a regular customer when I helped manage the city’s most successful grocery store. So I trusted him with my vehicles just as he depended on me to provide meal choices, snacks, and beverages.

The habit stuck even when I moved on to a different location.

After dropping off my truck, I walked around the corner to McDonald’s. The breakfast rush was in full swing, and I took the opportunity to share coffee and conversation.

My brother-in-law arrived after about half an hour. He cheerfully recounted family events of the week, while I finished a polystyrene plate of tasty pancakes and sausage.

While listening, I noticed a tall figure across the room. He was quietly reading a morning paper by the faux-stone fireplace. In between pages, I saw his face.

“Soldier Joe?” I asked myself, silently.

Breakfast disappeared too quickly. Then, my brother-in-law gestured with his coffee. “Were you ready to go?”

I nodded, taking a gulp of the Colombian brew. “Yes. Thanks for coming here… not sure when the truck will be finished.”

We both got up to leave. He was several steps ahead of me, when the tall fellow by the fireplace put down his newspaper.

“Rod?” this lone figure exclaimed. “The Grocery Guy?”

I shook his hand. “Hey! How are you?”

Soldier Joe looked a bit older than I remembered. Thatches of gray filled his hair and moustache. But there was strength in his voice and eyes.

“Haven’t seen you at work in a long time,” he reflected.

“No,” I explained. “Still doing the retail-manager thing, but at a different store. And still writing for the Maple Leaf.”

Joe smiled. But before he could reply, news bellowed from a flat-screen TV above the fireplace. In serious tones, a CNN reporter described the bleak local scene in Afghanistan. Plus, the political implications here at home.

“I remember being alone, in the middle of war,” my friend reflected with a somber expression.

“Vietnam, right?” I asked.

He nodded. “When I came home, there were no parades. My buddies and I felt shunned – by everyday people, and the government. It’s like they wanted to forget.”

I took a deep breath. “You know, I was just talking about the Vietnam Era with one of the college students at work. To them, the war is ancient history. But I described how that conflict shaped my generation…”

Soldier Joe grew curious. “What do you mean?”

My mood quieted. “I was a young kid in those days. Our family was Christian and very middle-of-the-road. We were taught to respect the government and its decisions. I would never have imagined anything else. But every night on the evening news, there were reports from the battlefield. And from our nation’s capitol…”

Joe bowed his head. “You saw it on TV, or read about it in Life Magazine. I lived it, in Vietnam, and back here in Ohio.”

“That’s right,” I agreed. “While soldiers struggled and the government careened toward finding a successful resolution of the conflict, young kids like myself watched from the sidelines. People like you were our heroes.”

My friend brightened. “Really?”

“The aftermath of Vietnam,” I said dramatically. “How we dealt with the soldiers coming home. How our politicians wrestled for partisan advantage while you were abandoned and ignored. That was a defining event for my generation. We saw what happened to you and vowed that it would never be allowed to happen again.”

Joe’s eyes grew wet. “I’m still fighting for medical benefits. For people like me, the war never ended.”

I sighed loudly. “Growing up in that moment made me a Libertarian of sorts. Indeed, I think that whole experience helped revive the old-style Jeffersonian resistance to government, in America.”

A wordless pause filled the air, as both of us reflected.

He shifted gears, suddenly. “So, you’re still managing a grocery store?”

I was caught off guard. “Yes, that’s right. It pays the bills. I actually wrote, edited and published three books over the past few years. But it’s hard to sell printed work in this economy. And I’m not much of a salesman.”

Soldier Joe laughed out loud. “Well then, I’ll come visit your new place, sometime. Good to see you, Rod!”

I shook his hand, again. My coffee had gone cold while we conversed. But now, my spirits were warm.

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“Geauga in Print: Part Three”

2011-09-23T11:37:00.002-04:00

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(9-11)

It has often been said that each page of a newspaper represents a moment in history.

I was reminded of that truism once again, while continuing my search through the vast library of newspaper archives that is available online.

One might believe that a small corner of the world like Geauga County would have little to offer in this context. But, a quick read through the entries contained here will provide evidence that such a conclusion is false, indeed:

The Vindicator, November 7, 1992

“CHARDON, Ohio - The Geauga Times Leader is ceasing publication after 26 years, Thomson Newspapers Corp. has announced. The northeast Ohio daily newspaper will end with its edition today, said Michael W. Johnston, president and chief executive officer. It had a circulation of 8,700. ‘In recent years, we have made tremendous investments in the Chardon newspaper,’ Johnston said. ‘Unfortunately, despite gains in readership that have been made by the paper, poor financial success and limited prospect for improvement have forced the decision to close.’ The newspaper had 44 full time and part time employees. They were told of the decision Friday afternoon. Some of the staff will be transferred to other Thomson newspapers. Job workshops and career counseling was scheduled for other employees. ‘This is a sad day for all of us here, as I’m sure it is for our loyal readers and advertisers,’ said Pamela A. Stricker, publisher. The Times Leader was the only daily newspaper in Geauga County, one county east of Cleveland. The Times Leader was created over many years following the merger of weekly newspapers in Chardon, Middlefield and Burton. In 1955, the paper was bought by D. C. Rowley, who headed the Painesville Telegraph Co. The Times Leader bought the rival Geauga Record in 1962. It became Geauga County’s first daily newspaper in 1966. Less than a year later, a Saturday edition was started. A Sunday paper, in the form of a zoned edition of the Painesville Telegraph, was introduced in the mid 1970’s. In 1984, Rowley sold his group of newspapers to Dean Singleton’s MediaNews Group. Thomson Newspapers bought the Times Leader from Singleton in 1988. Chicago-based Thomson Newspapers owns 19 other Ohio newspapers.”

Youngstown Vindicator, November 30, 1957

“Chardon, Ohio – A proposal to live with his wife and mistress was advanced Friday by County Welfare Director James D. Lisle who has admitted fathering an illicit child of a 35-year-old divorcee. His offer came as he prepared a written reply to immoral conduct charges leveled by county commissioners who suspended him for 30 days on Monday. Lisle said he will hand them his defense letter, and said he intends to fight to the end for his $5,280 post. ‘I realize the conflict such an arrangement would face in a monogamous society,’ Lisle said, ‘and my wife and the other woman undoubtedly will not agree at first. But with understanding, they may come to change their feelings.’”

Ocala Star-Banner, October 14, 1954

“CLEVELAND – Sen. Thomas A. Burke yesterday became a victim of mudslinging – literally. The Ohio Democrat was discussing agriculture problems with a farmer in Geauga County while movie cameras recorded the scene. At a cameraman’s suggestion, several cows were lured into the background with stalks of corn to add authenticity. Then one cow departed unexpectedly from the script. She tried for a new grip on a particularly bothersome stalk and swished it over the ground, splattering Burke from head to toe with gooey, barnyard mud.”

The Painesville Telegraph, March 28, 1900

“COLLECTING EVIDENCE - William Martin of Chardon, has been at work during the past few days collecting samples of oleomargerine. As soon as the chemist finishes analyzing them, prosecutions will be commenced against the violators of the law. Mr. Martin is the deputy food inspector for this district and the farmers throughout the state have been making it so warm for the pure food department that they are forced to take some action in the matter.”

“OLEOMARGERINE DECISION – The decision by the supreme court in the case of State of Ohio against Henry Ransick, on error from Hamilton County, will interest a large number of persons. Ransick was a dealer in butter in Cincinnati and was arrested under the oleomargerine law. The butter he sold contained less than eighty percent, of fat and it was claimed that under the law named it came under the head of oleomargerine. Ransick set up the claim that it was pure butter and the lower court held that it was not oleomargerine and that decision has been confirmed by the supreme court. The case will be reported.”

Journalism is one of mankind’s most important and enduring activities. Because, through words written today, we will live on for our descendants, in the glow of tomorrow.

Comments about Thoughts At Large may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com
Visit us at: www.thoughtsatlarge.com

“9-11, Revisited”

2011-09-15T23:49:00.002-04:00

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(9-11)

Note to Readers: Historic anniversaries often make us look backward, and reflect upon the time that has passed. What follows here is the Maple Leaf column I wrote after the horrifying events of September 11, 2001. I had spent the day on duty as a Co-Manager for the Giant Eagle store in Chardon. Afterward, with wild rumors being repeated everywhere, I went home and began to write…

LIFE DURING WARTIME (September 12, 2001)

Everyone has their own perspective on historic events. Indeed, each of us might offer a unique view when considering the same timeline. Where were you… when news of JFK’s assassination was announced? When the hostages were seized in Iran? When Ronald Reagan was shot? The answers will reflect a variety of circumstances that color these happenings. America is a nation brimming with diversity. Different translations of identical facts add to the mix of daily life. Compare the following recollection with your own for evidence of such things:

For this writer, September 11th, 2001 awakened without special concern. Because of my work schedule, the morning began about half-past noon. With groggy remnants of sleep still in my eyes, I prepared coffee and toast. Vague thoughts of our computer made me frown. (A problem with the telephone line had kept us out of commission for an entire week!) In the Ice household, Tuesday had only begun. I stumbled down the basement steps, while taking inventory of personal duties. My checkbook had to be balanced, and an unsent e-mail for Keith R. Ball waited because of the technical woes. (I was in the midst of assembling a feature for his motorcycling website.) In addition, much yard work was waiting. None of this was more important than the immediate need to saturate my bloodstream with liquid caffeine!

I had been underground for only a minute when my wife called from upstairs, with disbelief clear in her voice. “Rod! There’s a message on the phone…” Her son had called from work that morning. “We’re under attack… turn on the television right now!!”

I literally ran for the living room. “Attack? From who??”

A strong mug of java couldn’t prepare me for the video feed from ABC news. My spouse was equally shocked. We sat motionless for a long time. Scenes of destruction and tragedy filled the screen. My eyes were burning. I could not escape feeling that it was a second coming of the attack that predicated our entry into World War II. Thoughts of the movie Independence Day were unavoidable. Also echoing were the notes of Life During Wartime, from the Talking Heads album Fear Of Music. There, David Byrne sang “This ain’t no party, this ain’t no disco, this ain’t no foolin’ around…” It was an eerie moment.

When composure returned, I wrote an electronic message to one of our friends who lives in New York City. A drummer by trade, he has enjoyed a career of session work with musicians in the area. My hands trembled as I wondered if he would be able to reply. A day later, his response said much about the uncertain mood that prevailed. “Thanks for your concern… my area is VERY quiet. It’s as though I’m much more than a mile-and-a-half away… as of yesterday, everything will be different.” Instead of signing the message with a regular salutation, he wrote the word ‘uneasily’ before his name. I was glad to know that he was safe, and well.

The following period of reflection produced a Geauga slant on this woeful occurrence. We shared thoughts of grief and sorrow with our friends across the county. Some were mystified by the evil acts that had transpired. Others saw the calamity as a visitation of dark forces. But all agreed that we had passed a milestone of great importance. There was no longer the luxury of ignorance to shield us from duty. A response of some sort had become inevitable. We were in a new age of uncertainty. The current battle was alive on domestic soil, not the loam of a distant republic. Thoughts of a tidy, sanitized conflict were gone with yesterday! In TIME Magazine, Lance Morrow offered a chilling perspective. “What’s needed is a unified, unifying, Pearl Harbor sort of purple American fury – a ruthless indignation that doesn’t leak away in a week or two.” It was as if the spirit of Roosevelt and Churchill had been aroused. (Modern parallels do not exist here.) Our way of life had been challenged by foreign enemies. No course remained except for a path directly to the heart of these angry foes!

A prayer for guidance echoed through our churches as the sunset fell upon September 12th. Ironically, this was my 40th birthday. I spent the night considering my entry into the world at Riverside Methodist Hospital, in Columbus. Mixed with such personal images were the graphic depictions of rubble from what had been the World Trade Center towers. I could not avoid comparing the progressive, post-war ebullience of my parents’ generation to modern conditions. It was a contrast of worlds. But a similar belief made both yesterday and today possible. And that steadfast devotion seemed likely to carry us toward the future. So the sight of horror in New York could not diminish our trust in national values. We remained sure of faith, family and friends at the close of Wednesday evening. These are treasures that will never disappear. In the end, such wonderful gifts transcend anything that reckless souls can manufacture.

Comments about Thoughts At Large may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com
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“The Great Chardon Fire”

2011-09-09T13:29:00.004-04:00

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(9-11)

One familiar story for most Geauga County residents is that of the Great Chardon Fire of July, 1868. As a tragedy it remains unparalleled in local history. This woeful happening destroyed the village’s entire downtown area, including the courthouse which preceded our current capitol structure.

While doing newspaper research, I discovered that an article from the long-lost Chardon Democrat still existed, in the New York Times archives.

The prose used in this report was descriptive in a sweet and anachronistic way. The writer conveyed his sorrow in a genuine fashion, with naked emotion. To be sure, the art of journalism in that era differed greatly from modern, stream-of-consciousness detachment. While those of us in the 21st Century are able to fling words around the globe with abandon, our limited attention span often curtails the careful crafting of useful phrases.

This bygone report not only provided a history lesson, but it also highlighted how professional writing has evolved since the 1800’s:

TERRIBLE CONFLAGRATION

The Entire Business Portion of Chardon, Ohio in Ashes – Loss Over $100,000

From The Chardon Democrat Extra, July 27

“On Saturday morning last, between 2 and 3 o'clock, a small fire was discovered in the rear and on the outside of J. O. TEED'S saddle and harness shop, where it adjoined PARLIN PARKIN'S store, and immediately after two others near by, the circumstances showing conclusively that they were all the work of an incendiary. The one first discovered spread so rapidly that, before many of our citizens were aroused from their slumbers, all efforts to extinguish it were abandoned. It soon swelled into an immense conflagration, spreading terror and destruction on either side. On, in their appalling course, swept the flames, gathering volume every moment, until they enveloped the whole line of the business blocks, from the Court House to the Democrat Office and Post Office. It was a grand and awful scene, such as we never again hope to witness. One building after another, with the certainty of fate, went down before the devouring element, until only a few blackened walls remained standing, and to-day, as we look out upon the dark waste where but so recently was our Main-street, the prospect is sad and desolate beyond description.”

A list of those who suffered losses in the fire followed this report:

J. O. Converse – Democrat Office and Post Office; $3,500 (?)
Rush & Harrison – hardware store & tinshop; $2,500 (combined)
A. Weaver – boot and shoe store; $3,500
E. A. Hayes – billiard room & saloon; $500
Canfield & Canfield – law office; $2,000
L. J. Randall – dry goods store; $8,000
J. U. Adams – boot & shoe store; $2,000
Mrs. M. A. Marsh – millinery rooms; $200
Eggelston & Brother – photograph gallery; $500
Hy. Chapman – rooms; $800
Tucker & Clark – grocery store; $2,000 ($1,000 insurance)
Parlin & Parkin – grocery & crockery store; $4,000 ($3,000 insurance)
Bestor & Tibballs – photograph gallery; $2,000
B. W. & H. F. Canfield – insurance agents; $100
Miss Caroline Parmele – dressmaker; $200
J. O. Teed – saddle & harness shop; $2,500 ($1,000 insurance)
Alph. Cook – drug store; $5,000 ($500 insurance)
Nichols & Parsons – drug store; $4,000 ($2,000 insurance)
W. S. Wright – jeweler; $200
Samuel Squire – dry goods & grocery store; $8,500
B. W. Canfield – clothing store; $2,000 ($1,000 insurance)
John Strohl – tailor; $100
I. N. Hathaway – law office; $800
E. D. Richardson – dental rooms; $1,000 ($800 insurance)
Murray & Canfield – bankers; $2,000
Robert Murray – dry goods store; $5,500 ($800 insurance)
J. F. Bruce – hardware & tin store; $3,000 ($1,200 insurance)
B. N. Shaw – shoe shop; $500
C. H. Marsh – tin shop; $2,000
Shaw & Shaw – dry goods store; $3,000 ($1,000 insurance)
D. C. Kellogg; $2,000 ($1,000 insurance)
Kelley Bros. – hardware, dry goods and groceries; $14,000
Joseph Ehrlich – dry & fancy goods; $100
R. P. Munsell – boot & shoe store; $1,500
Durfee & Stephenson – law office; $1,500 ($700 insurance)
Masonic Lodge; $2,000
I. O. O. F. Lodge; $2,000
A. J. Walton; $500
Court House; $30,000

One common theme became apparent upon reading their names – almost none of them had any insurance. The damage done to our county must have been staggering, indeed.

Fortunately, efforts to rebuild Chardon and erect a new Geauga County courthouse, the one we know and revere, commenced without delay.

We owe a sincere debt of gratitude to those stout souls from yesteryear. What they created in the aftermath of destruction was a thriving capitol center that has endured, ever after.

Comments about Thoughts At Large may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com
Visit us at: www.thoughtsatlarge.com

“P. C. Pardon”

2011-09-02T01:16:00.001-04:00

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(8-11)

Most residents of Geauga County are familiar with the story of Peter Chardon Brooks. This erstwhile landowner from Massachusetts provided the property for our county seat, and was eternally honored in the process.

When I first came to town in 1983, I was immediately transfixed by the mural depicting Brooks’ story at Godfrey’s. (This establishment is now known as the Maple Leaf Restaurant.)

Though that painting is long gone, the tale continues to inspire local citizens.

Rick Bissell’s “Pardon My Chardon” Internet blog proves the point irrefutably.
Recently, I read his report of visiting P. C. Brooks’ grave, and was inspired by the unique adventure he described.

What follows here is the story itself, offered with Rick’s kind permission:

The Final Resting Place of Peter Chardon Brooks (edit)

A few years ago, I wrote an article for this blog about Peter Chardon Brooks and the history behind Chardon’s name: "On the Naming of Chardon." I wanted to include some information in that article about Mr. Brooks’ final resting place, but unfortunately wasn’t able to find any information about it… I’ve always felt that the article was slightly incomplete because of that missing piece of the puzzle. Today, thanks to a recent family vacation, I have that information.

My wife and I visited Boston several years ago in conjunction with a trip to Connecticut to visit relatives. This year, we decided to return, with one of our daughters, and we decided to drive so that we could spend a day in Concord before continuing on to Boston.

I was planning our agenda, and it occurred to me that we might have an opportunity to learn some more about Peter Chardon Brooks on this trip – perhaps even find his grave, which I assumed must be somewhere in, or near, Boston. Once again, I searched the Internet for information about Mr. Brooks and found a Wikipedia article which didn't list his grave site. This time, I also found a listing on www.findagrave.com which indicated that he was buried in Oak Grove Cemetery, in Medford, Massachusetts. I checked the map…we would be passing Medford on our way from Concord to Boston!

Having this piece of information, I went into full research mode. The findagrave site did not have a picture of his grave and did not show a map with its exact location, something we would need if we visited the cemetery. I searched the Internet for more information about Oak Grove Cemetery and found out that it is located adjacent to a noteworthy piece of property – The Brooks Estate! I discovered that the Brooks family has lived in Medford since the 17th century. You can read more about the estate here at www.brooksestate.org. I also found contact information for the cemetery on the Medord city website.

Having this, I sent emails off to the Brooks Estate and to the cemetery. The Brooks Estate did not return my email, which was very disappointing. I had better luck with the cemetery. The helpful proprietor replied to my email and confirmed that Mr. Brooks was indeed buried in the cemetery, and gave me the plot number. He said that I should be able to get a map at the office and find it pretty easily. I filed this information away for our trip.

After a pleasant day in Concord, we headed into Medford, a pretty town about 30 minutes away. A GPS is a wonderful thing…we found the cemetery on Playstead Rd, and found the office located just inside the gate. I asked a fellow behind the desk for the location of Peter Chardon Brooks, assuming that he would know it off the top of his head, but it didn’t seem to be noteworthy to him, and he pulled out a box filled with index cards and started flipping through them, looking for the grave. There was a bit of confusion for a few minutes, and for a moment I thought we were in the wrong place. Apparently, the original grave was located at the Salem Street Burial Ground, which is Medford’s oldest cemetery, but was recently relocated to Oak Grove. The man confirmed that there was a family plot that had Mr. Brooks, his wife, and his children. He pulled out a map and showed me how to find it. We got in the car and went looking for Peter Chardon Brooks.

Oak Grove is a very large and beautiful cemetery…I wish that we could have had more time to explore it.

As you can see, the headstone looks to be fairly new, with little weathering; it is obviously not the original headstone from the Salem Street burial ground.

We had a wonderful time on this trip, and finding the grave of Peter Chardon Brooks was definitely one of the more interesting things that we did. Standing at his grave, I had to wonder how many “Chardonites” (if any) have stood here before me, thinking about the man who generously donated some of his property in the Western Reserve for the foundation of a town that would bear his middle name - a town that he never got to see.

I took out a small stone that I had brought with me from the Chardon square and gently placed on his headstone. “Thanks for the town…” I said.

Peter Chardon Brooks is buried in Oak Grove Cemetery, 230 Playstead Road, Medford MA, at Plot 212, Grave 1, on Oak Ave. Rick Bissell’s blog is at: www.pardonmychardon.com.

Comments about Thoughts At Large may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com
Visit us at: www.thoughtsatlarge.com

CAR SPOTTER: 1964 Ford Econoline Pickup

2011-09-01T12:37:00.007-04:00

For sale on Route 6 in Chardon: a stunning, yellow 1964 Ford Econoline Pickup. Amazingly, the window tag says it carries a 429 V-8 motor!

Bill Spear used to be the Chrysler-Plymouth dealer in Chardon. Currently, he offers only tractors. But on occasion, passing motorists get to see classic vehicles like this:

JUNKYARD EXPLORER: AP - On The Go

2011-08-27T11:26:00.006-04:00

This closed fuel station is in Ashtabula, Ohio, a place brimming with abandoned retail properties. It offers a glimpse of the recent past, when the local economy was attempting to grow along Route 20.

A self-guided, westbound tour along this Buckeye boulevard reveals lots of local history. Many businesses have come and gone here, along Lake Erie. A lucky few have survived. But the potential for revival remains... when market conditions make it possible.

“Geauga – Buy It Now!”

2011-08-27T11:19:00.001-04:00

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(8-11)

For collectors and yard-sale enthusiasts, eBay represents a resource of boundless proportions. The online marketplace makes it possible to buy cast-off trinkets and forgotten relics without traveling. In an age when the cost of fuel has risen to frightening levels, this alone would be enough to sustain its prominence. But the savings in time is also considerable. Even those with daunting family or career responsibilities can find a moment to log on, and search for artifacts of all kinds.

On eBay, one might expect to discover household appliances, electronic devices, and sports memorabilia. But among their many listings are items more closely tied to home.

Yes, Geauga County is part of the online consumer continuum.

A recent search on the website revealed several interesting local items for sale:

CHARDON, OHIO-CHARDON SQUARE-CHARDON HOUSE-GREAT RPPC!

Price: US $25.00 Buy It Now

“Antique real photo postcard, features: Main Street & Chardon House, Chardon, Ohio. Published by the Leiter Post Card Co., 310 Broadway, Lorain, Ohio. KRUXO stamp box with tiny corner circles, indicating years of 1908 - 1920s. Absolutely gorgeous street scene of Main Street, Chardon, Ohio. The large building at the back of the photo clearly has a huge sign that reads: Chardon House. This is Chardon Square and with my magnifying glass I can pick out the town clock, and a sign on the right that reads: R.L. BOSTWICK. I can see a barbershop pole and a really neat light colored buggy with the name on the side of it reading: R.F. Goodrich. It appears to be a delivery wagon. On the far left in the foreground is a wonderful horses drinking fountain! One of the neatest street scenes I have had for a while.”

RP POSTCARD CHARDON, OHIO BUSINESS STOREFRONTS 1907

Price: US $9.99 Buy It Now

“Here is your chance to add to your collection of vintage postcards. You are bidding on this great real photo postcard from Chardon, Ohio. This card shows a real photo view of Business Storefronts 1907. Tears and creases on card. Please judge the condition by the scan. This card is postmarked 1907.”

GEAUGA COUNTY OHIO HISTORY-CHARDON OH-WESTERN RESERVE

Price: US $9.86 Buy It Now

“Early days in Geauga County, OH and its communities of Chardon, Middlefield, Huntsburg, Burton, Chester Cross Roads, and Parkman, are recalled through a mixture of colorful tales and factual data in this NEW 16 Page Booklet of excerpts reproduced directly from the 1892 Centennial edition of Henry Howe's Historical Collections of Ohio and other hard-to-find sources. The spiral-bound booklet is single-sided on 60# paper, with the fine print enlarged for easier reading. Illustrations include a picture of the public square in Chardon in 1846, the Chardon public square in 1887 and making maple sugar. Among the many and diverse topics covered in the booklet are: hardships of early settlers, the Great Drought of 1845, the New Connecticut People, the Western Reserve, the maple sugar industry, cheese making, fishing, the abundance of widows and an anecdote concerning Rutherford B. Hayes. A 1933 history of newspapers in the county, a brief look at Ohio's maple sugar industry (1941), and maps showing the 88 Ohio counties and 1805 Ohio are also included. Genealogy buffs will find a list of 1888 county officers and businesses, and biographical information on Gov. Seabury Ford, Judge Peter Hitchcock (father of the Constitution of Ohio), Gen. Mortimer D. Leggett (who fought for free schools in Ohio), and remarkable Civil War veteran E.P. Latham.”

DELOS W. CANFIELD, ALLEN, CHARDON, OHIO ENGRAVING

Price: US $19.95 Buy It Now

“We offer you this beautiful steel engraving of Delos W. Canfield. He was born at Chardon, Geauga County, Ohio, September 21st, 1828, is the fifth son of Platt Canfield, a farmer of prominence, who removed from Tyringham, Berkshire County, Massachusetts, several years before, and who cultivated an extensive farm in Geauga county, until his death, in 1841. His grandfather, Aaron Canfield, a grandson of Colonel Samuel Canfield, of New Milford, Connecticut, who was a colonel in the Revolutionary army, the father of Platt, came from Massachusetts with a brother in 1814, and made large purchases of farm and village property in Chardon. Through his mother, who was born a Read, he was related to T. Buchanan Read, the poet, painter. His education was principally obtained in the schools of Chardon, under Professors Holbrook and Harvey.”

GEAUGA COUNTY OHIO VINTAGE MAP CHARDON, OH GENUINE 1914

Price: US $24.95 Buy It Now

“Printed in 1914 by the Ohio Division of the National Highways Association, this is a beautifully detailed, 97-year-old map of Geauga County. It measures about 10 1/2 by 13 1/2 inches (about 27 by 34 cm.), and is in Fine condition. This map is very detailed showing topographical features (rivers, lakes, creeks, etc.), townships, cities, villages and Post Office towns, routes of old railroads, and of course old roads and highways. These are marked ‘Inter-County Highways’ and County Roads. There are no asphalt or concrete roads - nothing like what we would call a highway today - not even the old US Highway or the States Highway systems, although many of the Inter-County roads shown on this map were later incorporated into modern highway systems. Scale is about three miles to the inch.”

One can conclude with certainty that Geauga County is an important part of America - even in cyberspace!

Comments about Thoughts At Large may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com
Visit us at: www.thoughtsatlarge.com

Quinn's Market, North Bloomfield, Ohio

2011-08-24T13:30:00.006-04:00

This out-of-the-way store has fascinated me for years. I first discovered it when visiting the North Bloomfield Flea Market, many years ago. The curved architecture of its roof immediately captured my notice. Nothing like it exists anywhere in the area.

I suspect that originally, the area above this store's front facade was open glass. It would fit the bygone "marina roof" designs seen elsewhere across North America in the Baby Boom era.

Inside, both ladies at the cash register were dressed in light blue uniforms with the Quinn's logo. A quick walk around the store revealed lots of open space - a clear indicator that the building had originally housed a regular grocery store. But - what chain would have operated in such a remote location? The store design didn't look like an old A & P or Kroger.
I left with a smile... and lots of unanswered questions.

JUNKYARD EXPLORER: Stuckey's Is Gone

2011-08-23T11:59:00.006-04:00

When I first came to northeastern Ohio in 1983, one of the most intriguing things I noted about this area was the abandoned Stuckey's in Austinburg. I saw it only in passing while traveling west on Interstate 90. But in the years that followed, this relic of bygone culture would become a destination I visited many times over.

At least twice in recent years, I took photographs of the vacant Stuckey's and posted them here. Now, I am glad to have documented its existence. Because... it is gone.

A Sunday drive to Austinburg produced sadness and regret as I pulled into the truck lot behind McDonald's and Burger King... and saw this empty patch of ground:

All that remained of the original building (above) was a small PVC pipe coupling, in the grass.

The skeletal outline of a Stuckey's sign still stands next to one for Burger King. Only it bears witness to what was once a thriving location for America's bygone travel-plaza giant.

“Craver Synchronicity”

2011-08-19T11:01:00.001-04:00

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(8-11)

Synchronicity - the experience of two or more events, that are apparently causally unrelated or unlikely to occur together by chance, that are observed to occur together in a meaningful manner. The concept of synchronicity was first described by Swiss psychologist Carl Gustav Jung in the 1920s.

- From Wikipedia

For this writer, one persistent desire has echoed quietly throughout the passage of summer – a need for White Castle hamburgers. Not the frozen, store-marketed variety, of course. But genuine, greasy, off-the-grill sliders.

When I lived in New York, friends would routinely drive hundreds of miles to enjoy this fast-food treat. I found that habit somewhat amusing, when considering the neo-hippie, dietary correctness that usually prevailed around Cornell University.
After moving back to Ohio, my own relationship with these square delights was renewed, with vigor.

Typically, I would pause at the Brookpark & Pearl Road location, when heading back to Geauga from events at the I-X Center. Each order grew bigger than the last, until I graduated to a ‘Crave Case’ of thirty sliders with cheese.

Yet changing traditions in the household eventually produced a lull in my road-food activity. Two years elapsed without a trip to the Castle.

The arrival of warmer weather stirred whispering voices in my head, however. “Feed the craving,” they said. “Feed it now!”

I endured this burger-delic siren call until the time arrived for our annual Ice reunion.

The event is held every summer in Gallia County, which is located about five hours away, on the Ohio River. Attending the family fest is a recent phenomenon – for many years, getting a Saturday off from work was simply impossible. But now, I look forward to sharing stories about my grandparents’ farm in Columbus, and the wandering trek of our forebears from Europe to the wild territory that would become America.

While driving south on I-77, a White Castle sign around Akron reminded me that the nation’s oldest fast-food establishment had an outpost in that region. Each mile afterward had the voices returning, with gusto. “Saved by the crave!” they shouted. “Crave! Crave! Crave!”

Synchronicity appeared, shining brightly like a star in the sky. Family… and food.
Our reunion stilled these slider spirits, for a few hours. I talked about Civil War reenacting, with relatives from Brunswick. And about a trip to Israel with other family members who live in Indiana. I even considered the subject of guitar collecting with one of my cousin’s sons.

Then, long after the day began, I was on the highway again. Rain splattered the road intermittently, making the northward drive through Canton a chore. Every flicker of light was reflected a hundred times over. I peered through the weeping wetness with tired eyes. It was about 1:30 in the morning.

Suddenly, the White Castle sign reappeared.

The voices in my head were deafening. “Crave! Crave! Feed the crave!” I turned off at Arlington Road. When I reached their drive-thru window, the clerk on duty seemed half-awake. Her fatigue appropriately matched my own. I struggled to read the menu board, finally ordering a sack of bacon-and-cheddar sliders, and a Coke.

The meal revived my stamina. At last, there were no voices to be heard. Only a rowdy, urban preacher from the dashboard radio. The remaining drive to Thompson passed blissfully as I savored each bite.

The journey ended just before three o’clock. My neighborhood was quiet. I sat in front of the computer for a moment, and drifted off into a steamed-onion dream state, while checking out White Castle online:

“How do you sustain successful growth since 1921? Being family-run, when others franchise, doesn’t hurt. It helps maintain the trailblazing attitude which made us the first fast-food hamburger chain. The first to sell a million hamburgers. The first to sell a billion hamburgers. And the first to sell frozen fast food. But that would just be a part of the answer. In truth, our power comes from the undying loyalty of the Cravers across the nation. It is because of them and through them that we go on. The more you crave, the more we serve. And that is why we continue to grow. More on the menu, more locations on the map and more Cravers enjoying both. White Castle is more than a company. It’s an experience that transcends time, space and sometimes, rational thought. For almost a century our unique approach has made our food the answer to what you crave. And we’re planning on that continuing long past 100 years.”

WHITE CASTLE LOCATIONS

13201 Superior Ave.
Intersection of Superior Rd. & Emily St.
East Cleveland OH, 44112
(216) 451-8805

5095 Northfield Rd.
Intersection of Northfield Rd. & Norton
Bedford Hts. OH, 44146
(216) 587-1949

5151 Pearl Rd.
Intersection of Pearl (Rt. 42) & Brookpark
Cleveland OH, 44129
(216) 398-5155

3255 W. 117th St.
Intersection of West 117th St. & Triskett Rd.
Cleveland OH, 44111
(216) 251-5150

2900 S. Arlington Rd.
Intersection of I77 & Arlington Rd.
Akron OH, 44312
(330) 644-0091

Comments about Thoughts At Large may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com
Visit us at: www.thoughtsatlarge.com

“Geauga in Print: Part Two”

2011-08-12T02:29:00.001-04:00

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(8-11)

While researching online newspaper archives to read about past events in Geauga County history, one particular story caught my attention.

It was a report about the earthquake that struck our area in 1986.

At the time, I was employed at Fisher’s Big Wheel, a department store located on Water Street in Chardon.

After working a twelve-hour overnight shift, I returned home to my residence on Maple Avenue. Family conversation ensued, as I skimmed lazily through an issue of the Geauga Times-Leader. Television news flickered in the background. Macaroni and cheese bubbled on the stove.

Finally, as fatigue took hold, I poured a cup of coffee and dished out a plate of food. My eyes were heavy. In a dream-like state, I began to eat.

Suddenly, there was a sound like the impact of a large truck hitting our house. I jumped up from the dining room table. The walls were literally moving back and forth. I gasped, thinking the house was about to collapse.

And then it was over.

Later, we would call it the ‘Great Quake’ of Geauga.

Reading this old story revived my recollections of this unusual event:

The Spartanburg Herald-Journal - February 1, 1986

A strong earthquake near Cleveland rumbled through nine states and part of Canada on Friday, shattering glass, sounding an alarm at an unfinished nuclear plant, shutting off three coal-fired generators and slightly injuring two people.

The U.S. Geological Survey in Washington estimated that the quake, which occurred at 11:47 a.m. EST, had a magnitude of 5.0 on the Richter scale of ground movement and was centered 30 miles northeast of Cleveland.

“I’ve been through tornadoes and floods, but nothing like this,” said Betty McFarland, a bus driver for the Mentor public school in Ohio’s Lake County, where two people were treated for cuts from flying glass and falling ceiling tiles.

Emergency alarms were activated and employees were sent home at the Perry nuclear plant, 35 miles east of Cleveland, but Cleveland Electric Illuminating Co. spokesman Lee Bailey said there was no structural damage. Fuel rods on the site waiting to be loaded in reactors were not damaged, he said.

Bailey said the earthquake knocked out a 650-megawatt generator at the company’s Eastlake coal-burning plant. However, other generators picked up the slack and no outages were reported.

Two coal-fired generators at the Belle River power plant near Marine City, Mich. also shut down because the tremor triggered a safety device which detects excess vibration, said Carla Gribbs, spokeswoman for Detroit Edison Co.

Electric service was not affected, she said.

The quake was felt in Pennsylvania, Kentucky, Ohio, West Virginia, Indiana, Illinois, Michigan, New York and Wisconsin and as far north as Barrie, Ontario. Ira Stohlman, a City Council staff member in Washington, D.C., said the city government building two blocks from the White House shook.

“The ceiling looked like it was going to fall down,” said Mike Hodgins, a senior at Lake Catholic High School in Mentor, a suburb about 20 miles northeast of Cleveland. “It was just like in the movies. The walls were shaking back and forth.”

In Chardon, Ohio, panes of glass shattered at a grocery store.

Mentor police dispatcher Jeff Ackerman said a Sears store was closed at the Great Lakes Mall because of the quake, but he knew of no injuries. He said at least one older school building was evacuated to check for cracks.

“This quake was significantly larger than previous Ohio quakes, with the exception of one or two in the 1930’s,” said Mark Wilson, a professor of geology at the College of Wooster. “It’s a substantial quake for Ohio, but comparatively minor when you think on an international scale.”

Today, the Great Quake of Geauga has become part of local folklore. I remember seeing a cracked interior wall at Big Wheel, soon after the historic event. Friends who worked at Kresse’s Bi-Rite supermarket in Chardon spoke about jars of spaghetti sauce jumping off their shelves. The result was a mess.

Strangely, a friend who lived in Munson was driving back from Columbus when the quake struck. He felt nothing while traveling north on I-71.

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“Geauga in Print”

2011-08-05T01:09:00.001-04:00

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(7-11)

When I was a sports editor for a local newspaper in another county, our managing supervisor liked to say that the product we were creating had lasting value. He often observed that what we published today might be read by someone a hundred years into the future.

His wisdom made me take extra care with what I wrote.

Recently, I was reminded of the lasting importance carried by newspaper text, while doing archival research.

Untold millions of words have been written in the long history of American journalism. But a local perspective on this profession appeared as I read stories that spoke about places and people so close to home:

The Portsmouth Times, December 19, 1962

“CHARDON, Ohio – A push-button telephone went into use Tuesday in this Geauga County seat. The Mid-Continent Telephone Corp. said it was the first use of the push-button telephone on a commercial basis in the United States. The new telephone utilizes push buttons to actuate electronic pulses in place of conventional equipment. Use of the new instruments, called ‘Touch Tone’ or ‘Touch Button’ is made possible, the company said, by a significant development in communications – the first solid-state electronic telephone switching equipment tied to a conventional electromechanical central office. The first call to be push-button over Chardon’s new equipment was made by Congressman-Elect Oliver P. Bolton to Gov.-Elect James A. Rhodes in Columbus. Mid-Continent, which has headquarters in Elyria, said the new telephones will become available early next year to subscribers in Kenton.”

The Sarasota Herald-Tribune, March 5, 1959

“CHARDON, Ohio – Farmers may soon be able to tap a maple tree by turning on a spigot. A plastic pipeline for gathering maple sap as been developed. It may make the aluminum buckets and plastic bags now being used as obsolete as the old oaken bucket. Tubes tapped into each tree are tied into a main pipeline which sends the sap pouring into centrally-located gathering tanks. Maple syrup production is a major farm industry in parts of northeastern Ohio and western Pennsylvania. Farmers contend their syrup is just as good as that produced in Vermont.”

The Reading Eagle, April 20, 1958

“Chardon, Ohio – When motorists in Geauga County are arrested by Deputy Sheriff Tom Murray they are apt to lose more than fine money and time in court. Deputy Murray is a pencil collector. More often than not he borrows the violator’s pencil to write the ticket and, if the pencil is unusual enough, he will ask if he may keep it. Murray, who started collecting pencils 16 years ago, has more than 5,000 in his collection. Some of the unusual pencils in the collection are a German-made one that telescopes to a one-foot ruler, one that holds aspirin and another that contains a roll of paper. Products advertised on the pencils range from fertilizer to whisky. The pencils come in a variety of shapes, such as umbrellas, bullets, whisky bottles, nails, guns, and bowling pins. Murray also has a pencil in his collection inscribed, ‘Murray for Sheriff.’ He lost the election two years ago by 2,000 votes.”

The St. Petersburg Times, November 30, 1930

“Bitter winter weather abated today from the middlewest to the Atlantic ocean. In its wake, record low temperatures for November gave way to rain, light snow, or cloudiness which promised precipitation by tomorrow or Monday… Farmers rode into Chardon, Ohio, on horseback through six-foot drifts to get food for families snowbound since Thanksgiving Day. Motorists caught in the vicinity in 26 inches of snow sought refuge in farm houses; one such farm home held 32 persons.”

Writers take note – though flesh may be mortal, our words can survive, and endure… for generations to come.

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“Pickled Delights: Part Two”

2011-07-29T12:00:00.002-04:00

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(7-11)

“If people let government decide what foods they eat and what medicines they take, their bodies will soon be in as sorry a state as are the souls of those who live under tyranny.”
- Thomas Jefferson

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote in this space about the disappearance of Penrose pickled sausages. A personal investigation revealed that ConAgra had eliminated this spicy treat from their company roster in 2009.

Recipes that promised to recreate the flavorful snack at home also appeared with the stories I read. So after my column was published, my thoughts turned toward our household kitchen.

Writing about these lost delights was not enough. I wanted to make them here.
Gathering the necessary ingredients wasn’t difficult. The brine consisted of - 3 cups vinegar; 1 cup water; ¾ cup brown sugar; ½ tbsp. crushed red pepper; and 1 tbsp. pickling spices. I simmered all the ingredients for five minutes and poured it into canning jars filled with smoked sausage and fresh onions.

A minimum holding time of two days was suggested in the directions, before eating. Personally, I guessed that a much longer period would produce better results. But I took a jar to my oldest nephew, who has a strong inclination to try new things at the dinner table before anyone else.

His verdict was positive. My experiment had been a success.

Further research about making pickled sausages yielded other suggested ingredients for the recipe that seemed sure to add variety and flavor:

Minced garlic
Bay leaves
Pickling salt
Tabasco sauce
Chile peppers
Scallions
Mustard seed

I couldn’t help wondering if Geauga County maple syrup should be added to this list.
Although genuine Penrose sausages had vanished, I discovered that lots of other pickled delights remained available from producers around the country:

Long Lake Distributing LLC
DBA Long Lake Foods
Clintonville, WI
715-823-2258
www.longlakefoods.com

Glazier’s
Malone, New York
518-565-0095 or 518-314-9770
www.glazierhotdog.com

Red Smith
Davie, FL
www.pickle-it.com
(Also available at selected Walmart stores)

Porkie Company of Wisconsin
Cudahy, WI
414-483-6562
www.porkiesofwisconsin.com

Herb's Snack Foods, LLC
Gibbstown, NJ
856-423-6481
www.herbssnackfoods.com

Gilbert’s Craft Sausages
Denmark, WI
920-288-2728
http://gilbertssausages.com

While pondering all this new information, I remembered an old family recipe for banana peppers stuffed with hot dogs, in a pickled brine. The snack was something I had long wanted to recreate. No one in the family could remember how it had been prepared. But finally, kitchen courage appeared. I made a trip to my local Giant Eagle store, and bought the obvious ingredients.

My culinary experiment was certain to continue… for a long time to come!

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“Eric Moore, Remembered”

2011-07-22T12:01:00.002-04:00

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(7-11)

For this writer, music activist Eric Moore was like a comet.

He traveled quickly above the Rock & Roll horizon, offering illumination and hope. But too soon, he was gone.

I knew him because of my membership in the online Davie Allan fan forum. While discussing guitar techniques and recording history with that plectrum icon, Eric spoke about his own activities. He had created an ongoing petition to have the late axemaster Link Wray inducted into the Rock Hall.

It was an effort I supported in spirit, and in print:

LINK WRAY PETITION

Readers of this (column) will know about Eric Moore's ongoing petition to have Link Wray inducted into the Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame. But have you participated in this effort? If not, take another look at:

http://inductlinkwray.com/

Here's what I posted in the comments section of Eric's site, after signing the petition:

"This is appropriate in every sense. Link Wray’s importance as an iconic figure of electric guitar history can’t be overstated. He has inspired so many. To ignore his contributions is an act of wanton negligence. Link should be honored in the Rock Hall, and everywhere."

This effort is worthwhile and noble. Join in the good fight, today!

In 2009, Eric would organize a Link Wray tribute concert at the Beachland Ballroom. It was an inspirational night, where we both were privileged to be in the company of Beth Wray Webb, Link’s daughter. I wrote enthusiastically about the event:

Native Visions Fill The Beachland Ballroom In Link Wray Tribute

CLEVELAND – It was a homecoming of sorts.

Fans rocked and remembered Link Wray on a recent Saturday night at The Beachland. It was appropriate because Alan Freed held his groundbreaking ‘Moondog Coronation Ball’ in this city by Lake Erie. And because the late performer had played this venue before, most recently in 2003.

But attendees experienced something more than simply a well-organized tribute to the late guitar shaman born in Dunn, North Carolina.

They felt the touch of an intangible force greater even than Rock ‘n’ Roll.
To be sure, musical energy echoed throughout the ballroom, as provided by a hero’s roster of performers. Included in the event were The Topcats, Wraygun, Link Wray's
Raymen, Chris Webb with Stuck In Gear, and Webb Wilder. Each delivered passionate testimony to the artistic worth of the world’s most iconoclastic axeman.

Yet many fans agreed that an unseen participant hovered over the stage - one who boasted the mesmerizing power of his Shawnee ancestors.

His photographs loomed large as a background. But Link’s spirit was also there.
The release of ‘Rumble’ in 1958 defined his legacy forever, as a pioneer without equal. By developing the use of unique tonalities and chord structure, he inspired generations of popular and unpopular musicians. Still, greater success and stardom went to those who followed his wandering path.

Link was content to live the life of a Native American scout, stealthily crossing uncharted artistic territory with swiftness and self-confidence.

Eric Moore, who organized the concert, expressed this conundrum in simple language. “He (was) Rock and Roll's greatest underdog.” An ongoing petition to have this influential guitarist inducted into the ‘Rock Hall’ has become his life’s work.

I also saw Eric at a ‘Pabst Blue Ribbon’ concert during that year. The show featured Los Straitjackets and Southern Culture on the Skids. Entrepreneur and Surf Music promoter Unsteady Freddie was in attendance, which made the night even more special. Freddie had long been an active force in the Davie Allan fan community.

Eric’s shimmering arc across the sky seemed to bring light to everyone. So we could never have imagined that, in only a short while, he would be gone.

Strangely, our last encounter came over a subject totally unrelated to popular music.

While reading through his online posts, I discovered mention of a speaking engagement at the public library in Chardon. He explained that this appearance was on behalf of a group dedicated to growing flowers.

Shortly afterward, I wrote about this unexpected development:

The subject of popular music is a frequent topic for installments of this column.

In past issues, I have written about the efforts of area resident Eric Moore to have legendary guitarist Link Wray inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. But a recent Internet encounter with this energetic fellow uncovered a different side of his personality.

On a fan forum dedicated to another plectrum icon, Davie Allan, Moore mentioned speaking at the public library in Chardon.

Since this online group included members from around the world, I was stunned at the mention of a locale so close to home.

I contacted Moore directly, and asked about his appearance. It seemed likely that he would have visited to discuss Rock music, or some facet of popular culture. But instead, he mentioned a club I’d never heard of before – the Western Reserve Daylily Society.

Unexpectedly, Eric passed away on June 11th of this year. He was 32 years old. Surviving him were his wife, Angela, and two children, Veronica and Isaac.

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“Pickled Delights”

2011-07-15T12:09:00.003-04:00

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(7-11)

Recently, I wrote in this space about being a retail manager in and around Geauga County. As one half of a dual career path, my ‘other’ profession has often produced interesting stories for the newspaper. I was again reminded of that fact while pondering the unavailability Penrose pickled sausages at the supermarket where I am a manager.

In bygone years, this politically-incorrect snack was a staple item. They were also found at tavern establishments like the old ‘Chardon Beverage & Bar.’

But in modern times, this treat has become elusive. After many customer requests, I decided that a bit of journalistic investigation was in order.

An Internet search revealed that food giant ConAgra owned the brand. Production was discontinued after a fire at the plant where they were created. Then, a decision was made let the jarred products disappear altogether.

Dave Sacerdote addressed the subject on his ‘Dave’s Cupboard’ weblog:

“Back in October 2009, I wrote a short review of Penrose Hot Sausage, a pickled sausage product made by ConAgra. I didn't like them very much, but several readers disagreed with me and left comments about how much they enjoyed them. One of the comments mentioned that the sausages had been discontinued, and I decided to do some Googling. The first thing that I noticed was that every online source that I found listed all sizes of Penrose Hot Sausage as ‘sold out.’ When I looked up the product at ConAgra's website, I found that it was no longer listed in the drop-down menu of Penrose items offered by the company. Finally, I called ConAgra's Penrose consumer help line…and spoke to a pleasant young lady who identified herself as ‘Bree.’ She confirmed to me that Penrose has discontinued all product in jars, and that the only Penrose items currently being packaged are in snack-sized shrinkwrap. She said the decision was made by ConAgra about 6 months ago, which is why it has become increasingly difficult for fans of the sausage to get their fix.”

Comments that followed offered contact information for ConAgra, to send protests and inquiries:

ConAgra Customer Service - 1.800.382.4994
Doug Knudsen, V. P. of Sales for ConAgra - doug.knudsen@conagrafoods.com

Pondering the unavailability of this pickled delight, I began to do further research. On ‘e.how.com’ I discovered a historical tidbit about these pickled delights, and hope of recreating the snack at home:

“The earliest recorded pickled sausage recipe dates back to about 1888 and comes to us from a pub owner in London who decided to sell the tasty morsels as an attraction to get more custom. Penrose sausages are a brand of pickled sausages made by the Penrose Company which discontinued selling jarred meats in 2009 due to the high costs. You can make a sausage very similar to Penrose pickled sausage in your own kitchen.”

The recipe that followed seemed easy to prepare:

Ingredients

2 lb. Kielbasa
1 cup water
¾ cup brown sugar
3 cups vinegar
1 tsp. Crushed red pepper

Directions

Cook 2 lbs. of kielbasa and slice it into thick pieces 2 inches wide. Place the cut sausages in sterile jars. Place 1 cup of water, 3/4 of a cup of brown sugar, 3 cups of vinegar and 1 tsp. of crushed red pepper into a saucepan and bring to a boil. Lower the heat and simmer the ingredients for five minutes. Pour the mixture over the sliced sausages, loosely seal the jars and refrigerate for at least two days.

Other versions of the recipe suggested adding ten drops of red food coloring with the brine mixture, to produce the distinctive hue of original Penrose sausages. Or, a tablespoon of pickling spices for more flavor.

Other meats were listed as well, including smoked sausage, hot sausage, and cocktail wieners.

Once my investigation was finished, a single thought remained. How long could I wait before trying this recipe, myself?

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“Bordertown”

2011-07-08T13:05:00.001-04:00

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(6-11)

A few weeks ago, I wrote about being contacted by relatives from Brunswick, who are Civil War reenactors. Bringing the past to life, they regularly play the roles of a military surgeon and his wife/assistant. Through careful study and the collecting of period-correct artifacts, they have developed a living exhibit that is both compelling and informative.

Uncle Larry is a Navy veteran. Aunt Carol is a lifelong family historian.
They suggested that I might join them as a reporter from that era. Afterward, a search of regional newspaper archives revealed that our local journal at the time was ‘The Jeffersonian Democrat’ published in Chardon.

I decided to visit strictly as an observer. But the lure of that era was strong.

On June 18th and 19th, the Lake County Historical Society’s Civil War 150th Anniversary events transpired. Their encampment was an impressive display of yesteryear, revived.

The theme for both days was ‘Bordertown.’ Represented was a village from 1861, split in half by the line that divided Virginia and Maryland. Additionally, this community was separated by something greater still – a question of Union loyalty or Confederate secession.

While Maryland remained steadfast in supporting the nation, Virginia chose to secede in April of that year. Their decision made a greater war unavoidable:

“Now, therefore, we, the people of Virginia, do declare and ordain, That the ordinance adopted by the people of this State in convention on the twenty-fifth day of June, in the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and eighty-eight, whereby the Constitution of the United States of America was ratified, and all acts of the General Assembly of this State ratifying and adopting amendments to said Constitution, are hereby repealed and abrogated; that the union between the State of Virginia and the other States under the Constitution aforesaid is hereby dissolved, and that the State of Virginia is in the full possession and exercise of all the rights of sovereignty which belong and appertain to a free and independent State. And they do further declare, That said Constitution of the United States of America is no longer binding on any of the citizens of this State.”

Bordertown had everything that one might expect in that decade. Included were soldiers, common folk, a minister, traveling musicians, a laundry service, a local tavern, undertaker, and even Madame Lily’s ‘Chateau de Repose’ bordello.

The mayor of Bordertown gave a rousing stump speech, in defense of President Lincoln and the Union cause. But when some in the crowd grew angry with his tone, he was shot.

The local sheriff claimed not to have seen who was responsible. His Confederate sympathies were obvious.

A distinctive bark of black-powder rifles echoed across the landscape throughout this event. There were shouts of encouragement and good cheer on both sides. But also prevalent were silent emblems of an earlier time. A blacksmith’s anvil. Cast-iron cookware hanging by the fire. Canvas tents and clay pots. A wooden cross above the chapel.

As the daylight faded on Sunday, Uncle Larry reminisced about having been a reenactor for twenty-four years. He spoke of becoming fascinated with this habit after participating in an encampment at Gettysburg.

While he mused over the bygone years, I watched the sunset, and pondered the life of a Geauga reporter… in 1861.

Contact:
The Lake County Historical Society
415 Riverside Drive
Painesville Twp., OH 44077
440-639-2945

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“Beer Across The Border”

2011-07-01T01:04:00.002-04:00

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(6-11)

Visits to Erie, Pennsylvania come regularly in the Ice household. Typically, I use these occasions to find collectable junk, look around at local food retailers for fresh business ideas, and pause to stock up on brew unavailable here in Geauga County.

But most recently, I came away with something more – a tidbit of genuine news.

While visiting ‘Beer 4 Less’ on Peach Street, I spoke with ‘Tom’ (not his real name) a manager who has become a familiar figure during these eastbound excursions.

“Yuengling is coming your way,” he assured me, faithfully.

My reply was diplomatic. “Yes, I’ve heard that for years.”

Tom smiled sharply. “No. This time I mean it. Dick Yuengling signed an agreement with the Budweiser distributor out there. You’ll be seeing it very soon.”

My eyes widened. “Really?”

He nodded with certainty. “The only bad thing is that fewer of you guys will be driving here to get that stuff. I get a lot of customers from Cleveland.”

I made my purchase, and headed west on I-90. But his words continued to echo. Later that night, I began a column on the subject:

“During the past couple of decades, people in northeastern Ohio have grown accustomed to seeing familiar institutions replaced by those from Pennsylvania. Giant Eagle purchased Rini-Rego Stop ‘n’ Shop, our region’s premiere supermarket chain, in 1997. More recently, PNC Bank absorbed National City under a plan developed by the federal government. And many sports fans abandoned the struggling Cleveland Browns in favor of Pittsburgh’s celebrated Steelers, after years without a winning season. Happily, one impending arrival from the Keystone State is sure to be welcomed with universal applause – Yuengling beer. Cleveland used to be a brewing powerhouse. At one time, brands like Black Label, P.O.C. and Leisy’s offered blue-collar drinkers a variety of local refreshment choices. But the market dominance of Anheuser-Busch and Miller Brewing overwhelmed that proud tradition. The products of Great Lakes Brewing demonstrated convincingly that there was still a desire for quality brew on the northcoast. But those searching for an affordable, everyday brew were forced to look elsewhere for satisfaction. Yuengling’s arrival in Ohio seems sure to change that situation.”

The next day, a news report appeared in the WTAM-1100 newscast that repeated Erie Tom’s assertion. Yuengling was coming. Soon.

I decided to refresh my memory on the history of this venerable brewery. An article on Wikipedia detailed the company’s beginning:

“The German brewer David Gottlob Jüngling immigrated to the United States in 1823 from Aldingen, a suburb of Stuttgart, in the Kingdom of Württemberg. He anglicized his surname from Jüngling to Yuengling and began the ‘Eagle Brewery’ on Center Street in Pottsville in 1829. His eldest son, David, Jr., left the Eagle Brewery to establish the James River Steam Brewery along the James River in Richmond, Virginia. The first brewery burned down in an 1831 fire and the company relocated to W. Mahantongo Street at 5th Street, its current location. The Eagle Brewery changed its name to ‘D. G. Yuengling and Son’ in 1873 after Frederick Yuengling joined his father David in running the company. Although the company's name changed, the bald eagle remained the company's emblem…During the Prohibition era, Yuengling survived by producing ‘near beers’ (beverages with a 0.5% alcohol content) called Yuengling Special, Yuengling Por-Tor, and Yuengling Juvo. The company also ran a dairy which produced ice cream and opened dance halls in Philadelphia and New York City. After the 18th Amendment was repealed in 1933, Yuengling sent a truckload of ‘Winner Beer’ to President Franklin D. Roosevelt in appreciation, which arrived the day the amendment was repealed — particularly notable since Yuengling beer takes almost three weeks to brew and age.”

Reading from company text, I pondered taking a tour of the original brewery in Pottsville, Pennsylvania. The descriptive language of their ad made me eager to visit:

“Come tour the site of America's Oldest Brewery. Discover the hand-dug fermentation caves that were used for storage before refrigeration. Wander through time and enjoy a taste of living history in a building that has produced fine beers through times of peace, prosperity, upheaval and world war. Tours are open to the public at no charge.”

It would be a much longer drive than going to Erie. But one worth taking, in the near future!

D. G. Yuengling & Son, Inc.
5th & Mahantongo Streets
Pottsville, PA 17901
(570) 622-4141

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“Newspaper Notes”

2011-06-26T11:48:00.002-04:00

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(6-11)

A few years ago, I was able to purchase a partial copy of the Geauga Republican newspaper through eBay. Dated 1919, this local artifact offered a unique glimpse into yonder days. In particular, an article contained therein about the prohibition of beverage alcohol was fascinating to read.

Recently, while researching newspaper history from our area, I wondered if such a stroke of luck might occur again.

A quick tour of ‘The World’s Online Marketplace’ yielded no tantalizing stash of county journals. But a couple of results appeared from our neighbor to the east, as the Civil War was approaching:

ASHTABULA SENTINEL – May 4, 1864

Included was an article reprinted from the Deseret News, March 11th edition:

“Idaho News via Salt Lake City. The vigilance committee in Idaho has stopped the depredations of twenty-eight highwaymen and murderer(s) organized under the flash name of ‘Road Agents’ and the country now breathe freely and travel is secure. It adds: A large number of miners, who have wintered in this city have, with the first indications of returning Spring, set their faces again in that direction, and, from all we hear there will be a large stream of emigrants thitherward this Spring and Summer , from Nevada, Colorado, and from ‘all parts of the earth.’ A large amount of gold from those mines has been transported through this city Eastward, for the purchase of goods, and no doubt, Idaho, before many months are over, will have a large population of the whole human family, and enough to feed and clothe them, without calling upon their neighbors.”

ASHTABULA SENTINEL – November 16, 1864

Included was an article about the national election:

“We are at last through the Presidential Campaign of 1864; and we have won a glorious victory. The manner of receiving election returns makes it impossible to give the precise result even now. But this we know certainly, that Mr. Lincoln is re-elected by such a vote as will silence the copperheads so effectually, that their ‘rebellious brethren’ will scarcely look to them for any further help. Of the 234 electoral votes, it is pretty certain that McClellan has got – three in Delaware, seven in N. Jersey, and eleven in Kentucky, making 21 of these votes, with no prospect of any more. The States of West Virginia, Oregon, California and Nevada, giving sixteen votes, have not been returned; but it is not expected that he will get any votes in either of these. The final result will most likely show 213 for Lincoln and 21 for McClellan! After all the bluster and bragging of supporters of ‘Little Mac’ this is rather a stunner, which we hope will convince them that they are not exactly ‘the people’ of the country.”

Still eager to read a bit of yellowed newsprint from Geauga, I visited a website called ‘Newspaper Abstracts.’ Contained there was the text of an obituary for a local native who had fought in the war:

THE GEAUGA REPUBLICAN – April 8, 1896

“George Metcalf, for many years a leading and honored citizen of Council Bluffs, who died March 24, 1896, was born at Chardon, O., in 1842. He was one of ten children, seven boys and three girls, all of whom received a liberal education. Two of the boys, Henry and George, entered the army at the first call of President Lincoln for troops. George enlisted in the Seventh Ohio Volunteer Infantry and Henry in the Twenty-second Indiana. Both were gallant regiments, as shown by their large lists of killed and wounded. The Seventh Ohio, with one exception, sustained the heaviest loss of any regiment sent into the war by that State. Its ranks included men of culture and good social position. The regiment organized early in April, 1861, for the three months’ service, and entered the three years’ service almost to a man when the second call for troops was made. The total enrollment of the regiment was 1,365 men and officers, of which number 682 were killed, or died of wounds. George Metcalf veteraned, and, on the expiration of the term of enlistment of his regiment, was transferred to the Fifth Ohio Infantry, from which regiment he received his final discharge. He was in more than a score of battles, notably Cedar Mountain, Antietam, Chancellorsville and Gettysburg. Mr. Metcalf was at Atlanta, and from there went with Sherman to the sea. He was a brave and patriotic soldier. Henry Metcalf came to this city in 1867, Thomas Metcalf in 1868, and George in 1869. They engaged in business under the name of Metcalf Brothers, which firm still exists. At the organization of Henry Osborn Post of the G.A.R., Mr. Metcalf was elected commander, which position he held until the post was consolidated with that of Abe Lincoln post. In 1880 he married Miss Helen Rue, who, with their four children, John, James, Margaret and Mildred, survive. He will long be remembered in this community as a true citizen and a generous friend. His life was one of unselfish devotion to his country and his home. His first and last thought were ever of wife and children, and to them is left a rich legacy, indeed, of tender remembrance of the solicitude and affection ever manifested by this most devoted husband and loving father.”

After reading these excerpts, I concluded again that journalism is a profession with lasting rewards. Though body and mind may pass away, our words carry on - for future generations to share.

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“Summer Schedule”

2011-06-17T01:38:00.001-04:00

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(6-11)

Summer always brings lots of entertaining events to Geauga County and northeastern Ohio. In particular, music can be heard echoing nearly everywhere. Those with a theatrical inclination also find that warm weather helps liberate the soul. It is the season for leisure days and solar rays. What follows here is a brief overview of festive events that promise to make the season special for everyone:

GEAUGA MUSIC CENTER

Amateur Musician Nights - Held at Chardon Brew Works & Eatery on Historic Chardon Square and conducted by Geauga Music Center. We provide the equipment and you bring your 3 favorite songs (a 10 minute time limit applies). Come early and enjoy dinner and a microbrew. First and Third Saturday of every month at 8:00 p.m.

Jam Session for Adults Only - Held at Chardon's own music store. Bring your instrument and play with our teachers. Doesn't matter how rusty you are, this is just for fun. No teenagers or other children! (sorry guys you have plenty of stuff, let your folks have one event just for them) Homebaked goodies from Anne Marie always make it worth the visit. Second Friday of every month at 7:30 p.m.

Summer Jam - Sponsored by the Chardon Community Action Team, City of Chardon and Geauga Music Center and held on Historic Chardon Square. We book teen bands, duos and soloists for an all day music festival! There are activities, food and fun - June 25th.

Summer Rock Camp and Summer Rock Camp II - A week and a half long day camp held in June right when school lets out and held again in August right before school goes back in session. We cover Rock History, Music Theory, how to pick songs, how to pick a band name and then do a lot of rehearsing. Summer Rock Camp plays at Summer Jam and Summer Rock Camp II plays on GMC's Summer Recital. Dates for Summer Rock Camp are June 15th-June 17th and June 20th-June 24th from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m.

Contact: 440-286-8481 / geaugamusiccenter@windstream.net

GEAUGA LYRIC THEATER GUILD

Auditions for ‘Little Shop of Horrors’ – June 25 at 11:00 a.m. and June 26th at 2:00 p.m.

Apollo's Fire - Special Preview of the National Tour! Sunday, June 26, 2011 at 4:00 PM
Tickets starting at $15 (Available from www.apollosfire.org)

Teen and Elementary Workshops held throughout the summer

Contact: 440-286-2255 / 440-285-7701 / admin@geaugatheater.org

CHARDON SQUARE CONCERTS

June 17 - Mary Taylor-Brooks (Country & Rock)
June 24 - Clear Fork (Traditional Blue Grass & Acoustic Country)
July 1 - Great Geauga County Fair Band (Marches, Polkas, Swing, & Light Classical)
July 2 - The Highliters (Dixieland & Variety)
July 8 - Face Value (Classic Rock, Motown – R&B)
July 15 - Reign Forecast, from the Chardon Methodist Church (Contemporary Christian Music)
July 22 - Chardon Polka Band (Polka, Oldies, Bluegrass & Comedy Tunes)
July 29 - Abbey Rodeo (British Invasion, 60’s, Oldies, and Country)
Aug 5 - Hillcrest Concert Band (Full Range of Concert Literature)
Aug 12 – Night School Band (Dance Hits from 50’s, 60’s, 70’s, & 80’s)

THE CHARDON POLKA BAND

June 18: Duct Tape Festival Parade (Avon, OH)
June 24: Legend Lake Country Club 7-11pm (Chardon, OH)
June 26: Brunswick Old Fashioned Days 4-7 (Brunswick, OH)
July 6: Wickliffe Summer Concert Series 6:30-8:30 p.m. (Wickliffe, OH)
July 14: Madison Concert Series 7-9 p.m. (Madison, OH)
July 15: Legend Lake Country Club 7-11 p.m. (Chardon, OH)
July 22: Chardon Summer Concert Series 7-9 p.m. (Chardon, OH)
July 25: Willoughby Library 6:30-8:30 p.m. (Willoughby, OH)
July 28: Willoughby Summer Concert 7-8:30 p.m. (Willoughby, OH)
July 31: St. Mary Oktoberfest 2-5:30 p.m. (Avon, OH)
Aug. 4: Concord Summer Concert Series 7-9 p.m. (Concord, OH)
Aug. 6: Lakewood Art Fest 2-3 p.m. (Cleveland, OH)
Aug. 28: Polish Days (Youngstown, OH)

Contact: polkapunk@roadrunner.com

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“Where’s the (Corned) Beef?”

2011-06-17T01:33:00.002-04:00

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(5-11)

“Where’s the beef?” – Clara Peller, from a series of Wendy’s commercials in the 1980’s

In this column, I have occasionally talked about being a retail manager in and around Geauga County. As one half of a dual career path, my ‘other’ profession has often produced interesting stories for the newspaper.

Recently, I was reminded of that fact while pondering the unavailability of canned corned beef at the supermarket where I am a manager.

Brief outages with our main warehouse have sometimes occurred as company buyers struggled to anticipate market conditions and customer habits. But the disappearance of this packaged meat lasted longer than usual. First one month, then two. And three. We were assured that fresh product would be on hand by January. Then March or April. Yet the vacancy on my shelf continued.

Amazingly, other food retailers in the area seemed to be experiencing the same interruption in supply. But while news reports typically follow a situation of this magnitude, there was nothing in our local papers, or on radio and television. As I discussed the problem with other managers in the area, it became clear that the cause was a complete mystery to everyone.

Canned corned beef had simply vanished from the market.

I began to think of summer sandwiches of the stuff, made on rye bread with lettuce, onions and tomatoes. Meanwhile, shoppers at my store offered a variety of their own recipes while mourning the meat’s absence.

Eventually, the journalistic side of my career took over. I began to investigate the loss of canned corned beef in greater detail.

In a story posted on the WalletPop website, Linda Doell offered the first explanation of the shortage that I could find:

“More than 200 tons of cooked beef products were recalled in three connected recalls last year by Sampco Inc. The Chicago meat company imported the beef from a Brazilian processor barred from shipping to the United States after high levels of the animal drug Ivermectin was found in its products. Ivermectin is used to treat parasites in animals, according to the U.S. Department of Agriculture's Food Safety and Inspection Service. Sampco provided beef for such products as Libby Corned Beef, Brushy Creek Shredded Beef and Kroger Corned Beef. A trade group, food producers and retailers contacted for this story kept their lips as tightly sealed as the cans themselves over the corned beef shortage. Hormel and Con Agra -- the parent company of Libby's -- didn't respond to requests for comment. Neither did Kroger or Wegmans.”

Like most people, I’d never heard of Ivermectin before. But an article on PetPlace by Dr. Dawn Ruben offered more information about the drug:

“Parasitic diseases are common in animals. Parasites can affect the skin, ears, stomach and intestines, and the internal organs including the heart, lungs and liver. Several drugs have been developed to kill or prevent parasites such as fleas, ticks, mites and worms. Ivermectin and related drugs are among the most effective of these. Ivermectin is a parasite control drug. Ivermectin causes neurologic damage to the parasite, resulting in paralysis and death. Ivermectin has been used to prevent parasite infections, as with heartworm prevention, and to treat infections, as with ear mites.”

Eventually, one of my customers said that she had discovered a small store east of Geauga County with canned corned beef for sale. But the price had nearly doubled – from $3.49 to $5.00. This made me wonder about eBay as an alternate source for the packaged meat. A quick search revealed that it was being offered by a seller from Puerto Rico at $7.99 per can.

Strangely, production of corned beef ‘hash’ did not seem to have been affected by the Ivermectin-related import ban. I noted that both brands normally carried at my supermarket were still on the shelf. The availability of fresh corned beef briskets was also unaffected. I reckoned that both must depend on a different supply chain to reach stores in the area.

After several visits, one persistent customer confessed her reason for seeking canned corned beef with such gusto - she used the meat to create a Spanish-style dish for her husband. The woman said that after being combined with spices and other ingredients, the corned beef mixture was placed between orange, tortilla-like discs which were crimped together, and baked. It made me think of a calzone.

I promised myself that once the corned beef supply had been restored, we would try her recipe in the household kitchen.

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“Daylily Detour”

2011-06-15T01:01:00.001-04:00

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(5-11)

The subject of popular music is a frequent topic for installments of this column.

In past issues, I have written about the efforts of area resident Eric Moore to have legendary guitarist Link Wray inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. But a recent Internet encounter with this energetic fellow uncovered a different side of his personality.

On a fan forum dedicated to another plectrum icon, Davie Allan, Moore mentioned speaking at the public library in Chardon.

Since this online group included members from around the world, I was stunned at the mention of a locale so close to home.

I contacted Moore directly, and asked about his appearance. It seemed likely that he would have visited to discuss Rock music, or some facet of popular culture. But instead, he mentioned a club I’d never heard of before – the Western Reserve Daylily Society.

When I wondered about their activities, he connected me with fellow member Rae Dickens. She cheerfully explained the association in greater detail:

“A group of daylily lovers got together last spring and decided that we wanted to form a new club with members who love the flower and are interested in being involved in their organization. We decided to measure our success on how well we work together rather than the number of members in the club. To accomplish this we are trying something different: an Associate Membership program. Prospective members are invited to attend a meeting, receive a packet of information and have a mentor assigned to them. They join a committee and are invited to try the club out for a year. They are welcome to participate in all activities and events, however, they are restricted on voting on club issues. After a year, they have the opportunity to become a full member. The club is open to anyone who is interested in what we do and can commit to attending the majority of meetings and events. We fund the club by selling plants donated by members to the public rather than counting on members for monetary donations. Members also receive lots of free plants so we all have great looking daylily gardens! We see ourselves as daylily ambassadors and are committed to education. We teach daylily basics, give demonstrations, and provide literature and hands on experience. We are a non-profit 501c3 organization and affiliated with the American Hemerocallis Society, Region 2. I love working on our projects and working along with the others in our group. We never get tired of talking about daylilies! We are involved in building daylily gardens in the community. Our first is at Burton Century Village… club members are donating over 100 hybrid daylilies from their own gardens for the display. We are working on setting up another community garden at the Senior Center in Perry; we travel and visit hybridizers to see their gardens, talk to them and learn how they create and grow beautiful plants, and of course buy lots of plants; we offered classes at the Chardon library (open to the public) on how to use botanical software called Plantstep and how to use Excel and Word to create a garden catalog for your own garden; we have plant sales coming up at the Chardon Square Farmer's Market in June, a sale at the Chesterland Historic Village in August, and one with OSU Master Gardeners in Painesville in September. At plant sales, we raise funds for the club, but most importantly meet the public, provide information, and introduce daylilies to the pubic; we invite guest speakers - our first was Eric. He spoke to us about his hybridizing program. June 3 is our first birthday. Daylily season in our area begins at the end of June, peak bloom is in July.”

The WRDS website is located at www.westernreservedaylilysociety.org

Note: The club will be selling locally grown hybrid daylilies, distributing daylily information, demonstrating how to plant daylilies, and answering daylily questions at the Farmer's Market in Chardon Square on Friday evenings in June from 4-8PM. (June 3, 10, 17, 24). They also have a club sale planned in Chesterland on August 20th. Additionally, they have volunteered to help with a garden restoration project in Burton at Century Village by creating a daylily garden for the community.

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“Hamglaze for President”

2011-06-01T12:52:00.001-04:00

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(5-11)

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

A light rain dribbled over the parking lot. Inside, the crew busied themselves brewing fresh coffee and making sandwiches. Meanwhile, local iconoclast Carrie Hamglaze was holding court from her seat by the front windows.

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. “Those days have passed.”

Ezekiel Byler-Gregg, editor of the Burton Daily Bugle, frowned intently.

“I don’t figure you’re ready to be put out to pasture!” he said.

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

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

Carrie stirred her tea, looking glum. “No, I won’t sit still. There are lots of meetings, luncheons, seminars, and spaghetti dinners to attend. But my call to public service has faded…”

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?”

“No,” the driver said roughly.

His passenger gestured a greeting. “But… the woman sitting at your table can help us… and help America!”

Our group stopped talking.

“Do I know you gentlemen?” Carrie said with suspicion.

The limousine occupant chuckled softly, while brushing moisture from his coat. “Let me introduce myself. I am Reince Priebus. Chairman of the Republican National Committee.”

Gasps filled the air.

“May I sit with you for a moment?” he inquired.

Rhonda hurried over with an extra chair.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Mrs. Hamglaze,” the chairman reflected. “Most recently after you were photographed with Governor Kasich at the Rock Hall…”

“Yes,” she replied. “It was a great evening. But how does that bring you here?”

Mr. Priebus folded his hands. “It’s no secret, really. Our field of candidates for the 2012 presidential election is dreadfully thin.”

Ezekiel nearly spilled his coffee. “Hey, ain’t that a poor attitude for a fellow in your position?”

The chairman sighed loudly. “No, it is a realistic attitude. Mitt Romney carries the millstone of his health care reform in Massachusetts. Newt Gingrich was never people-friendly, even in the 90’s. Huckabee and Palin are having too much fun engaging in punditry for Fox News. And most people have never heard of Mitch Daniels or Tim Pawlenty.”

“What about Michele Bachmann?” Carrie wondered out loud.

“Please!” Priebus exploded. “Let’s get serious.”

“What about Ron Paul?” I interjected.

The chairman cleared his throat. “Ahem! A nice fellow, but too Libertarian. He’s our conscience, so to speak. A pure conservative. But someone who will never win a national election.”

“Okay, okay,” Rhonda shouted from her counter. “Then why are you here talking to Mrs. Hamglaze?”

Priebus extended his hand. “I have come to ask that you consider running next year… for the office of president!”

Carrie snorted her tea. “WHAT???”

Ezekiel slapped the table. “Hey, I kinda like that idea!”

My face went red. “Carrie Hamglaze? Versus President Obama in 2012?”

More gasps could be heard throughout the store.

Priebus was insistent. “You have charisma, passion, and experience in the political realm. Plus the kind of realism people expect in the Midwest. We need that in the White House.”

“Not to mention a good dose of Irish charm,” Ezekiel grinned.

Rhonda wiped a tear from her eye. “President… Hamglaze!”

Carrie was almost speechless. “Are you joking?”

The chairman leaned closer. “Not at all. The GOP is in trouble. Even with Tea Party protests, out-of-control spending, high gasoline prices, and a weak economy, President Obama will be a formidable candidate in the next election. Voters perceive both parties as being stale and phony. We need to shake things up… you could do that and win!”

Everyone began to cheer. “Carrie! Carrie! Carrie!”

Priebus stood up, suddenly. “Please don’t mention my presence here to anyone. But I ask that you consider this offer carefully, Mrs. Hamglaze. America is waiting!”

The trio disappeared without another word.

I dropped my notebook. “So, what just happened?”

Ezekiel stroked his beard. “I’m not real sure…”

Rhonda started a fresh pot of tea. “What happened was we just got to see history being made. Congratulations!”

Comment on Thoughts At Large may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com
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“Roundtable, Restrained”

2011-05-20T00:47:00.002-04:00

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(5-11)

The morning was busy at McDonald’s on Water Street in Chardon.

I arrived just after eight o’clock, hoping to buy breakfast before the activities began. We had gathered for the monthly meeting of our Geauga Writers’ Roundtable.

In attendance were many noted wordsmiths from around the county. I felt a tingle of excitement while enjoying my first cup of coffee. Notepads were strewn over the table by their artificial fireplace. We chatted briefly about Twitter accounts and cell-phone plans. Then, the happening commenced.

Carrie Hamglaze, a local figure of renown, was already at our table with a cup of Irish coffee. She was a vision of mature womanhood, dressed in emerald green and Hilltopper red.

“Dear friends,” she began. “Allow me to bring this event to order!”

Mack Prindl, editor of the Parkman Register, sat stiffly upright in his chair. A yellow ‘Terrible Towel’ filled his mouth. He struggled to speak. "Donn likee thiss…”

Carrie shook her head. “What happened to him?”

Martha Ann Reale of the Newbury Siren-Monitor laughed out loud. “In keeping with the NFL lockout, Mack has been restrained from commenting on his beloved Pittsburgh Steelers.”

Ezekiel Byler-Gregg of the Burton Daily Bugle laughed out loud. “Maybe now we can discuss real local issues for a change!”

I bowed my head. “Surely there is a better way to keep him off the subject of pro football…”

Carrie gasped audibly. “This is crazy. Somebody take that out of his mouth!”

Mack bounced in his chair. “Yuhhhh!”

“Really,” I continued. “Give the guy a break.”

“Pringle doesn’t deserve a break!” Martha Ann hissed.

“Thhhuss Prindlllll,” Mack wheezed through the towel.

“Anyway, I’d like to talk about our failed school levy in Chardon,” Carrie said.

“Levy, schmevy!” Martha Ann cackled. “All my readers are talking about the raid to get Osama Bin Laden in Pakistan.”

“Hey, that isn’t exactly a local story,” I cautioned.

“True,” Ezekiel thundered. “But Martha Ann is right. Everybody is talking about that event.”

“Okay,” Carrie agreed. “Let’s give thanks today for the brave work of our soldiers and intelligence operatives.”

“And for the courage of our great president!” Martha Ann cheered.

Ezekiel rubbed his eyes. “Not to mention his quiet strategy of continuing the policies of George W. Bush…”

“WHAT???” Martha Ann squawked.

“Thasss nutttsss,” Mack slobbered.

“No, Zeke is right on target,” Carrie smiled. “Mr. Obama retained Robert Gates as Secretary of Defense. He kept the Guantanamo Bay prison open after years of promising its closure. And he let the CIA maintain an active role in the war against terrorism. All of that yielded the capture and elimination of Bin Laden.”

Martha Ann shuddered in her chair. “You sound jealous to me!”

“Not jealous,” Ezekiel huffed. “Amused by the irony, perhaps.”

Carrie smoothed the brim of her hat. “Irony, indeed!”

“We’ll see how loud you talk in 2012!” Martha Ann shrieked.

I took a long sip of coffee. “Honestly, it doesn’t matter who wins or loses politically. We were able to complete the job of hunting down Bin Laden. Justice was served.”

A hush overtook the group.

“I say ‘amen’ to that,” Carrie observed, after a moment of silence.

Ezekiel nodded his head. “Amen!”

“Amen, amen, amen!” Martha Ann repeated.

“Mmmmunn!” Mack mumbled.

“So, are you going to pull that towel out of Mack’s mouth?” I wondered.

Ezekiel frowned. “Nah. This is the best roundtable meeting we’ve ever had.”

Carrie went red with embarrassment. “Please, friends. Can’t we show him some mercy?”

“We got none during the NFL playoffs,” Martha Ann said with a smirk.

“But… will there be any pro football this year?” I mused.

“The revenue involved is incredible,” Carrie reflected.

“About nine billion dollars,” Ezekiel said.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Martha Ann complained. “We live in a nation where schools have to beg for funds, while sports franchises and millionaire athletes are literally drowning in money…”

Carrie sighed loudly. “One might question the priorities of our society.”

“Nohhhht meee!” Mack muttered through his towel.

“It’s the free market at work,” I said unemotionally. “If people didn’t support the league, that nine billion wouldn’t exist.”

Ezekiel chuckled to himself. “Rodney is right. If we want to point fingers… then they should be directed at us. We make this kind of greed possible. Face it. America loves the game of football.”

Carrie finished her Irish coffee.

“Amen!” she said at last.

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“Reporter’s Notebook”

2011-05-14T12:35:00.001-04:00

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(4-11)

I have sometimes observed here that the best columns seem to write themselves. Often, useful prose comes not from careful preparation, but instead, through the humble magic of everyday events.

A recent note from relatives in Brunswick proved this truism, once again.

Their message carried information about upcoming events, to be held in Burton this year. I learned that they would be attending a commemoration for the Civil War 150th anniversary, on June 17-19th, 2011.

My aunt and uncle have long been ‘reenactors’ who study the period with meticulous care. So they cheerfully suggested that I might participate by assuming the role of a nineteenth-century reporter. In that capacity, I would be able to interview soldiers and citizens with respect to the North-South conflict.

The suggestion made me wonder – what local newspapers were in existence during the war? As a former sports editor in Ashtabula County, I knew that the Ashtabula Sentinel was being published in Jefferson during the Civil War. The original Jefferson Gazette came into being shortly afterward. But what of Geauga?

A search through the Library of Congress provided clues to this riddle:

GEAUGA NEWSPAPERS 1850-1900

Geauga republic. (Chardon, Ohio) 1849-1854
Free Democrat. (Chardon, Ohio) 1849-1850
Chardon Democrat. (Chardon, Ohio) 1850-1852
Free Democrat. (Chardon [Ohio]) 1852-1854
The Jeffersonian Democrat. (Chardon, Ohio) 1854-1865
The Geauga Democrat. (Chardon, Ohio) 1866-1871
The Geauga Republican. (Chardon, Ohio) 1872-1921
Geauga record. (Chardon, [Ohio]) 1886-1887
Geauga Democratic record. (Chardon, [Ohio]) 1887-1888
Geauga record. (Chardon, [Ohio]) 1888-1888
The Democratic record. (Chardon, Ohio) 1889-1891
Geauga County record. (Chardon, [Ohio]) 1892-1921
Western Reserve times. (Charndon [Chardon], Ohio) 1872-1872
Chardon times. (Chardon, Ohio) 1873-1875
Burton independent. (Burton, Geauga County, Ohio) 1883-1884
The Geauga independent. (Middlefield, Geauga County, Ohio) 1884-1885
The Geauga leader. (Burton, [Ohio]) 1874-1915
Daily record. (Chardon, [Ohio]) 1886-1886
Middlefield messenger. (Middlefield, Ohio) 1885-1903

According to this list, the county had one newspaper being published at the time:

THE JEFFERSONIAN DEMOCRAT

Title: The Jeffersonian Democrat. : (Chardon, Ohio) 1854-1865
Place of publication: Chardon, Ohio
Geographic coverage: Chardon, Geauga, Ohio

Publisher: J.S. Wright
Dates of publication: 1854-1865
Description: Vol. 5, no. 1 (Jan. 10, 1854)-v. 17, no. 52 (Dec. 22, 1865).
Frequency: Weekly
Language: English
Subjects: Chardon (Ohio)--Newspapers; Geauga County (Ohio)-Newspapers.
Notes: ‘Devoted to the dissemination of Republican principles, education, temperance, literature, agriculture, and the news of the day,’ 1857-1865.

A closer look revealed libraries around the country that have material from this newspaper in their collections:

SUMMARY HOLDING: Brigham Young University Library, Provo, UT
Dates Available: 1854-1865
Available as: Microfilm Service Copy

SUMMARY HOLDING: Burton Public Library, Burton, OH
Dates Available: 1859-1865
Available as: Microfilm Service Copy

SUMMARY HOLDING: Duke University Library, Durham, NC
Dates Available: 1862
Available as: Original

SUMMARY HOLDING: Geauga County Public Library, Chardon, OH
Dates Available: 1859-1865
Available as: Microfilm Service Copy

SUMMARY HOLDING: Ohio Historical Society, Columbus, OH
Dates Available: 1854-1865
Available as: Microfilm Service Copy
Available as: Microfilm Master
Available as: Original

SUMMARY HOLDING: Western Reserve Historical Society, Newspaper Project, Cleveland, OH

Dates Available: 1854-1865
Available as: Original

SUMMARY HOLDING: Wisconsin Historical Society, Newspaper Project, Madison, WI
Dates Available: 1861
Available as: Original

My closest personal connection with the county’s newspaper past came through a tattered copy of the Geauga Republican purchased on eBay. The document was from 1919 and discussed issues of the day including the prohibition of beverage alcohol. I wrote at least two columns that examined this curious artifact. Additionally, I uncovered a long-lost bit of local UFO journalism with help from the Geauga County Archives. A 1957 copy of the Geauga Times Leader boasted reporting about the curious alien experience of Olden Moore. Each of these encounters-through-newsprint offered a sense of the historic value of professional writing.

But what about the Jeffersonian Democrat?

A new mission lay ahead. It was time to visit local libraries, and investigate!

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“Geauga Tel Interview”

2011-05-14T12:29:00.003-04:00

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(4-11)

The television studio was bright with artificial illumination. I squirmed in my chair as pre-broadcast preparations were made. The crew frantically adjusted, taped, twisted, and tested every piece of equipment until a proper technological balance was achieved. Then, the program director shouted for attention.

“Ready to go on air!” he bellowed. “Ready in four, three, two, one… we are live!”

The host looked up at her camera as if she was receiving an epiphany.

“Welcome to ‘Wordsmith Watch’ on Geauga Tel!” she purred. “I’m your humble host, Sandra Seale.”

The audience applauded politely.

“This week,” she continued, “we are pleased to have local author Rod Ice as our guest. Mr. Ice has been a fixture in the local Geauga County Maple Leaf for over thirteen years. Let’s give him a warm welcome to the show!”

More applause resounded.

“Rod, tell us about your writing adventure,” she asked.

“Adventure?” I stammered.

“Yes indeed,” she said with encouragement. “Your personal odyssey. The struggle of your soul to find liberation…”

My face reddened. “Uhmm, well, it hasn’t been a struggle, really. I began to write professionally with the hope of selling stories to some of my favorite motorcycle magazines. That was twenty-nine years ago.”

“Really?” she gasped. “Motorcycle magazines?”

“That’s right,” I said, shyly.

Seale smoothed her silk blouse. “An interesting point of entry into the world of wordsmithing. Yet from that beginning you have polished your craft.”

“Something like that,” I replied.

“Now, you hope to follow in the famed footsteps of George Bernard Shaw, and Ernest Hemingway…” she cooed.

“Nah,” I said, plainly. “More like those of Chicago newspaper columnist Mike Royko.”

“Oh my!” she squawked. “Well… wouldn’t you like to be considered a great writer if it were possible?”

“Not really,” I mumbled.

“No?” she exploded with disbelief. “Isn’t that a bit odd for a professional?”

My stomach began to hurt. “I don’t look at it that way. I’m not seeking accolades or awards. Just everyday readers.”

“How interesting!” she hissed with a smirk.

“From the beginning, my column had a simple mission,” I explained. “It needed to be readable for everyone in the family. My brother is a truck driver, but my grandfather was a college professor. So that meant speaking to a diverse audience.”

Seale shook her head. “An impossible task, I’d guess…”

“Not at all,” I disagreed. “My work has meandered at bit, like a stream in the woods. But everything comes from the heart.”

“From the heart,” she laughed. “A hackneyed phrase, but true in your case?”

I nodded, silently.

“In addition to the newspaper column, you’ve written books?” she said.

“Yes,” I answered. “Three of them. Each provided a unique learning experience.”

“Really?” she said. “How so?”

My eyes narrowed. “I learned the art of editing and publishing a full-length manuscript. And I learned how difficult it can be to sell books on the open market. Especially in the midst of global economic chaos.”

The audience chortled and chuckled to themselves.

“So, what ideas do you have for the future?” she wondered aloud.

The question made me pause. “I’ve done a mock-up cover for the second ‘Thoughts At Large’ collection. It features a package of bologna on a dinner plate, with a knife and fork.”

“DON’T GO THERE!” she screeched, suddenly losing her librarian sensitivity. “I mean… well… surely there must be something more appropriate for the cover of your next volume, Rod.”

“Maybe,” I agreed. “We’ll see how it develops as I get everything together. Instead, I might do a book with California guitarist Davie Allan. I’ve written about him frequently, over the years.”

Seale took off her glasses. “In closing, Rod, many people in my audience want to know about the characters in your column. Are they real people? Or not?”

I rubbed my eyes. “Some, like Carrie Hamglaze, are inspired by friends in the area. Others, like Ezekiel and Lemuel Byler-Gregg, are completely fictional. They serve my needs as a writer.”

“So, one shouldn’t take ‘Thoughts At Large’ literally?” she pondered. “Is what you write true? Or only a fantasy?”

My response only increased her confusion. “As Doctor Who once observed – ‘Everything I say is true. Especially the lies.’”

The audience broke into wild applause.

“This has been ‘Wordsmith Watch’ on Geauga Tel,” she concluded. “I’m your host Sandra Seale, wishing you health and happiness! Goodnight, everyone!”

Comments about Thoughts At Large may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com
Visit us at: www.thoughtsatlarge.com

“Get Go, And Gone”

2011-04-22T11:58:00.001-04:00

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(4-11)

It was a cool night in Chardon. After a happy visit with my sister and her family, I had paused at Giant Eagle to buy groceries before heading home. My last need was to fill the fuel tank of my pickup truck. Quietly, I wished that the day had already ended. Yet the glowing oasis of Get Go beckoned with colorful lights and echoing music.

Rubbing my eyes, I turned toward that friendly gasoline depot on Center Street.

The station wasn’t crowded at such a late hour. Only a couple of other vehicles were at the pumps. With satisfaction, I realized that my stop would be brief.

Then, I spied a small, white car near the store. It was covered with bumper stickers, one of which read ‘I love polka music.’

A smile spread across my face. By sheer coincidence, I had crossed paths with Carrie Hamglaze.

After filling up, I circled back toward the side parking lot for a spot near their entrance. The night air was brisk. Curiously, ‘Come On, Eileen’ by Dexys Midnight Runners echoed from the loudspeakers.

Suddenly, I felt fully awake.

“Rodneyyyy!” my friend cheered loudly, as I walked inside. “How are you?”

“Hello, Carrie,” I replied, with a touch of embarrassment. “Wasn’t this the last place I saw you… in November?”

“Yes!” she laughed. “I’m here almost every day.”

Rhonda Ronk, a bubbly clerk at the cash register, nodded her head in agreement.

“It’s true,” she said. “Carrie is like one of the family.”

“We should go out for dinner somewhere,” I insisted. “Perhaps at the New York Deli?”

“Closed!” she proclaimed. “I’m not sure what happened there. A window sign said thanks for fifteen years of memories.”

“Closed?” I stammered.

“Closed,” she sighed. “Closed, closed, closed.”

I bowed my head. “Still, there are other places to go. Perhaps a good fish fry around town?”

“Get Go is where I hold court,” she laughed. “This is a bustling place populated with everyday people. Where better to take the pulse of Geauga County?”

“Okay,” I surrendered. “In that case, how about a cup of coffee?”

Rhonda gestured from the counter. “I’m brewing Irish Breakfast Tea for Carrie…”

“Isn’t it late for a breakfast tea?” I wondered out loud.

“With a kiss of the shamrock, it doesn’t matter!” my friend observed. “Lighten up, Rodney.”

“Well then,” I coughed. “What have you been doing lately?”

Carrie brightened. “I met Governor Kasich at the Rock Hall on Lake Erie. That was a fantastic experience.”

My hot beverage was fresh and tasty. “Yes, I read about it in the Maple Leaf.”

“So,” she prodded. “What about you?”

“Nothing so dramatic,” I confessed. “My latest project has hit a snag. It was supposed to be a book of poetry and lyrics inspired by the work of California guitarist Davie Allan. But I need more material…”

“Focus on your task,” she insisted, while stirring her tea.

My face reddened. “That’s what I need to do… but self-discipline has been elusive. I have several projects in mind, like a book with Cleveland music hero Dennis Chandler. But I haven’t been able to organize anything.”

“Rodney!” she squawked. “I am surprised at you. Get that pen moving!”

“Yes,” I promised. “Very soon…”

Without warning, she exploded in a burst of excitement and steaming Irish Tea.

“I KNOW WHAT YOU NEED!” she shouted.

Rhonda stiffened at her cash register. “Are you okay, Carrie?”

“YOU NEED YOUR CHRISTMAS PRESENT!” she babbled.

I was stunned. “What??”

“Your Christmas present,” she said. “It has been waiting on my front porch since December. Didn’t you get my messages?”

“It’s April, Carrie,” I observed.

“So,” she squeaked. “Who’s fault is that? You have to get it right now!”

“Now?” I wheezed.

“Right now!” she commanded. “Follow me home, Rodney!”

Rhonda waved with a giggle. “Well then, good night, everybody!”

Carrie was already out the door by the time I had picked up my coffee. Her car was a streaking blur of white in the road. Our drive across town took only a minute. I parked by the ramp to her front porch.

Before I could speak, she produced a long bag from Marc’s.

“Merry Christmas, my friend,” she said.

It was an Elvis clock, shaped like an electric guitar.

“Carrie!” I beamed. “What a great gift. I don’t know what to say. Thank you!”

“Say it’s a good omen,” she whispered.

“Yes, indeed,” I replied.

“Now get back to your writing, Rodney,” she said forcefully. “No excuses!”

“Thank yuh,” I said with a made-up southern drawl that evoked the spirit of Presley himself. “Thank yuh very much!”

Comments about Thoughts At Large may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com
Visit us at: www.thoughtsatlarge.com

“Capitol Call: Part Two”

2011-04-21T12:06:00.001-04:00

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(3-11)

My friend Ezekiel Byler-Gregg is Editor In Chief of the local Burton Daily Bugle newspaper.

Zeke has always possessed a very individualistic outlook, owing in part to his Mennonite and Pennsylvania Dutch heritage. But recently, his opinions have taken even more of a Libertarian turn. After encountering financial difficulties during the near collapse of our economy in 2008, he became a vocal advocate of citizen protest. Despite the objections of friends like myself, he attempted to contact our nation’s highest leader about the issue of taxation, a few weeks ago. The result was amusing if not genuinely successful.

With the stunning revelation that General Electric had paid no federal taxes in 2010, he again tried to call President Obama, directly. What follows here is a transcript of his outrage-by-phone:

OPERATOR – “Hello! This is the White House switchboard. How may I direct your call today?”

EZEKIEL – “Hello, miss. My name is Ezekiel Byler-Gregg. I am editor of the Burton Daily Bugle.”

OPERATOR – “Bugle…?”

EZEKIEL – “It is a newspaper, miss.”

OPERATOR – “Nobody reads those anymore. Except for my grandparents.”

EZEKIEL – “Ahem! I am calling about the fact that General Electric paid no federal taxes for 2010.”

OPERATOR – “I don’t understand.”

EZEKIEL – “I want to speak with your boss about this glaring oversight.”

OPERATOR – “My boss?”

EZEKIEL – “President Obama.”

OPERATOR – “Who?”

EZEKIEL – “You’ve never heard of him?”

OPERATOR - “Don’t be silly. Of course I know who he is.”

EZEKIEL – “Then I would like to speak with him.”

OPERATOR – “That isn’t possible.”

EZEKIEL – “It isn’t??”

OPERATOR – “No.”

EZEKIEL – “I am a voter, miss. That means your boss was elected by me.”

OPERATOR – “Was there a point to your call, Mr. Gregg?”

EZEKIEL – “Byler-Gregg! Byler-Gregg!”

OPERATOR – “You are shouting, sir.”

EZEKIEL – “Look, the New York Times reported that GE made 14.2 billion dollars last year. But they paid no US federal income tax. That seems amazing when an average person like myself is facing wage garnishment and property seizure to satisfy the IRS.”

OPERATOR – “Is this Glenn Beck?”

EZEKIEL – “My name is Ezekiel Byler-Gregg!”

OPERATOR – “As you wish, sir. This is the White House, not H & R Block.”

EZEKIEL – “GE owns the NBC television network. Its cable affiliate MSNBC is well known for spreading bias and propaganda favorable to the administration.”

OPERATOR – “I don’t watch the news, sir. I just answer telephones.”

EZEKIEL - “GE’s CEO Jeffrey Immelt was appointed in 2009 to the President's Economic Recovery Advisory Board. Don’t you find it interesting that the company would pay no federal income taxes with such insider connections?”

OPERATOR - “I can’t speculate on news stories, sir.”

EZEKIEL – “What’s next? Rachel Maddow running the Federal Communications Commission?”

OPERATOR – “Is this live on the radio? I get it. You must be Michael Savage, right? My uncle in Florida listens to your show. I think he is going senile.”

“EZEKIEL – “Miss, I am a newspaper editor from Ohio.”

OPERATOR – “Of course you are, Dr. Savage…”

EZEKIEL – “Byler-Gregg!!!”

OPERATOR – “Thanks for your call. Have a nice day…”

EZEKIEL – “Wait! Don’t hang up the phone!”

OPERATOR – “Was there something else you wanted, sir?”

EZEKIEL – “I wanted to speak with President Obama!”

OPERATOR – “I’m sorry. That isn’t possible.”

EZEKIEL – “Your boss told us we would have hope and change if we voted for him. Well, it looks like the only change is that instead of being buried in bull dung, we are getting showered with chicken poop!”

OPERATOR – “Sir, you need to calm down.”

EZEKIEL – “It’s hard to be quiet when I feel like my government is trying to plow me under like a bad crop of corn.”

OPERATOR – “Perhaps you should call the Department of Agriculture. I have their number if you’d like it…”

EZEKIEL – “Never mind that! I want to talk to your boss!”

OPERATOR – “That isn’t going to happen.”

EZEKIEL – “Read the U. S. Constitution. He is a servant of the people. Well, I am one of those people! And I am paying thousands in back taxes while GE ain’t coughing up a dime!”

OPERATOR – “I don’t read old documents, sir. I just answer telephones.”

EZEKIEL – “I think Alex Jones is right. This is all just a distraction from the fact that bankers and secret societies actually control the world.”

OPERATOR – “What??”

EZEKIEL – “Just a bit of inside humor there. Pay no attention.”

OPERATOR – “You are making no sense…”

EZEKIEL – “I apologize. This was just a big waste of time.”

OPERATOR – “Not at all. The White House appreciates your call…”

EZEKIEL – “I give up. Tell President Obama my check is in the mail.”

OPERATOR – “Very good, sir. Have a nice day!”

Comments about Thoughts At Large may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com
Visit us at: www.thoughtsatlarge.com

“CARS: Having A Meltdown”

2011-04-01T12:20:00.002-04:00

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(3-11)

Note to Readers: What follows here is a one-act play about the evolving state of automobile manufacturing. The participants have chosen to meet far away from the glare of media attention in Washington, D.C. or Detroit. In another venue, the group would face much scrutiny from the public. But in northeastern Ohio, they remain anonymous, and safe.

THE SETTING – A conference room at the Perry Nuclear Power Plant.

THE PLAYERS – Lee Iacocca, former chairman of Chrysler Corporation; Reddy Kilowatt, cartoon spokesman for the electric power industry; General Motors; Henry Ford XVI; Antonio Chrysler.

LEE IACOCCA – “Friends, we are here today to discuss our future in the domestic automobile industry…”

GENERAL MOTORS – “Ten hut, Lee! I see you brought a friend.”

L. IACOCCA – “Yes, let me introduce our honored guest. This is Reddy Killowatt. You’ve all probably seen him in commercials and print ads about electric power.”

REDDY KILOWATT – “My friends call me Sparky.”

ANOTNIO CHRYSLER – “So, what the heck is a guy with a light-bulb head doin’ here at a meeting of carmakers? Heyy!”

HENRY FORD XVI – “Maybe he can shed some light on why you let Fiat partner with your company?”

A. CHRYSLER – “Watch your mouth, goofball. Them guys build great cars.”

EVERYONE – (Bursts into laughter)

L. IACOCCA – (Pounding his fist on the table) “Gentlemen, please!”

HENRY FORD XVI – “This one really is baffling, Lee. I haven’t seen Reddy out in public since I was a kid.”

L. IACOCCA – “President Obama has touted electric vehicles as the way to eliminate tailpipe emissions and free us from dependence on foreign oil. But… today there is a hitch in his plan. So he figured that Reddy could deliver the message with credibility.”

G. MOTORS – “At ease, soldier! The message is clear. My Chevy Volt is the marketplace champion! There’s no hitch.”

REDDY K. – “Sorry General. I’m afraid there’s a short circuit in our plans…”

G. MOTORS – “What? Show me the target, and I’ll blast it, pilgrim!”

REDDY K. – “Gentlemen, we have been depending on nuclear power as the way to generate more electricity for cars like the Volt. It seemed to be a solid plan. But then, earthquakes and a tsunami hit Japan. And the whole world was reminded of how dangerous it can be to generate electricity in that high-tech way…”

G. MOTORS – “Hah! There’s no danger in nukes, grunt! Show some backbone!”

FORD XVI – “I have to agree. What happened in Japan was an unpredictable calamity. You can’t judge the industry on something so outrageous.”

REDDY K. – “You fellows are correct. Nuclear power has proven to be very, very safe.”

A. CHRYSLER – “Heyy, maybe that’s true. But the public ain’t gonna fuggedaboutit.”

L. IACOCCA – “Tony is right, I’m afraid. Many of President Obama’s strongest supporters are now ditching his roadmap for tomorrow, and changing course.”

REDDY K. – “And that’s why I’m here. To help deliver this sobering news. Politics can overwhelm anything. Even a tsunami.”

G. MOTORS – “Stand at attention, soldier! We’ve built the Chevy Volt. I say go into battle!”

A. CHRYSLER – “Not so fast, paisano. Your dreams have come unplugged.”

FORD XVI – “Look, everyone… Reddy may be right. We won’t have enough power for all those electric cars without more nukes. But can we give up on zero-emission vehicles, just like that?”

G. MOTORS – “Yeah, pilgrim. What about Libya? Doesn’t that make you shiver in your boots? Oil ain’t a safe source of energy, either. We need to march in a different direction!”

L. IACOCCA – “We will support the Volt in public, of course. It’s all part of the political game. But I am afraid that our hands have been tied by Mother Nature.”

G. MOTORS – “Blast that! You big shots love to talk. Do you want my Volt or don’t you?”

REDDY K. – “Most people won’t, I’m afraid. It’s a matter of market forces and political trends… even with government support, the costs will be too high. The accident at Three Mile Island scared everyone in America. Then, Chernobyl shocked the world. Now, Fukushima has revived those fears, and made them more pervasive. That means I go back into hiding and you come up with a different plan.”

FORD XVI – “The mood will pass. Give it time.”

L. IACOCCA – “Yes, that’s what we need. Time. Eventually, alternative-fuel vehicles will overcome all of this… but until then…”

A. CHRYSLER – “Until then? Heyy, we do what?”

L. IACOCCA – “We keep selling cars… that run on gasoline!”

FORD XVI – “Didn’t we just drive in a big philosophical circle, Lee?”

L. IACOCCA – “Shut up Henry. You irritate me.”

G. MOTORS – “Oh well, as long as I sell cars, it don’t matter, pilgrim. Let the tanks roll on!”

EVERYONE – (cheering) “Gas-o-line! Gas-o-line! Gas-o-line!”

Comments about Thoughts At Large may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com
Visit us at: www.thoughtsatlarge.com

“More Cooking With Gusto”

2011-03-26T00:28:00.001-04:00

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(3-11)

Cooking freely is a liberty most Americans take completely for granted. Yet the encroachment of dietary correctness has begun to erase old traditions from the national routine. With each generation, our country is moving further away from meaty, cheesy, carbohydrate-intense, high-sodium dishes, in favor of healthier alternatives. The justification for such a change in our eating habits is the need to promote good health among citizens. Yet some still resist this move toward gastronomical discipline.

In kitchens from New York to California, as in Washington, D.C., there are different views of how the country should proceed into the 21st-Century.

What follows here is a short selection of recipes that express the creativity and rowdiness of those who will not go quietly into the culinary future:

VIENNA SAUSAGE CASSEROLE (www.cooks.com)

Ingredients:
4 (4 oz.) cans Vienna sausage
1 3/4 c. American cheese (grated)
1 c. onion (chopped)
1/2 tsp. caraway seeds
1 (8 oz.) pkg. elbow macaroni (cooked)
1 1/2 c. milk
1 tsp. dry mustard

Directions:
Spit 14 sausages lengthwise, stuff with 3/4 cup cheese (like sandwiches). Cut remaining sausages in 1/2 inch pieces. Warm milk, add remaining cheese, onion, mustard and caraway seeds. Cook slowly, stirring occasionally until thickened. In greased 2 quart casserole, place alternate layers of macaroni, Vienna sausage and cheese sauce. Top, in circular fashion with the stuffed sausages. Cover, bake in moderate oven (350 degrees F.) for 35 minutes. Serves 6.

TOP RAMEN PIZZA (www.nissinfoods.com)

Ingredients:
2 packages Beef Flavor Top Ramen
Salt
3 cups water
1/2 pound ground beef
1/2 cup mushrooms, sliced
1 jar spaghetti sauce (15-1/2oz.)
3 Tbsp. Parmesan cheese
1/2 cup onion, chopped
1/2 cup milk
1 egg
8 oz. mozzarella cheese, grated
1 pizza pan
aluminum foil

Directions:
Cover pizza pan with aluminum foil. Build up foil edges to form about 1/2" tall rim around the pan. Lightly grease the aluminum surface. Cook both packages of Top Ramen noodles in water with pinch of salt. Do not use flavor packets. Drain noodles and set aside. Brown beef, onions and mushrooms together. Drain excess fat. Stir both flavor packets into meat mixture. Set aside. Beat together egg, milk and parmesan cheese. Stir this mixture into Top Ramen noodles. Evenly spread noodle/egg mixture onto pizza pan. Pour spaghetti sauce over noodles. Sprinkle meat mixture over sauce. Top with mozzarella cheese. Bake at 350° for 20 minutes or until golden, bubbly brown. Let stand 5 minutes before slicing.

SPAM AND SAUERKRAUT FOIL PACKETS (www.abbyskitchen.co.uk)

Ingredients:
1 can Spam
1 lb. sauerkraut, well drained
1 can prepared apple pie filling

Directions:
Tear off 4 generous squares of heavy-duty aluminum foil. Cut the Spam into 4 equal slices and place in the center of foil squares. Top each with a fourth of the kraut, then the pie filling. Bring up sides of foil to form well-sealed packages. Place bombs on grill, Spam side down, over hot coals. Grill until Spam is browned and heated through. Can be eaten right from the foil. Adapts to oven cooking as well. Bake in oven about 30 minutes or heated through. Makes 4 servings. (Note - works well baked in an oven and can be placed in a casserole dish without the aluminum foil. Grease the casserole dish, make stacks of Spam, sauerkraut and apple pie filling into serving size.)

REDNECK CHIMICHANGA (http://therednecklounge.com)

Ingredients:
2 ounces shaved steak (Philly meat)
1/2 ounce red and green peppers
1/2 ounce yellow onions
1 slice American cheese
1 tablespoon mashed potatoes
1 large burrito wrapper (flour tortilla)

Directions:
Cook the shaved steak then add the peppers and onions and sweat until soft. Put mashed potatoes in center of burrito wrapper then put shaved steak/pepper/onion mix on top of that. Add cheese. Fold in all four sides and secure with wooden picks. Deep fry until golden brown. Gravy is the best type of dip for this.

REDNECK CASSEROLE (www.food.com)

Ingredients:
1 (28 ounce) can baked beans
6 -8 hot dogs
4 cups tater tots
1 cup sharp cheddar cheese, shredded

Directions:
Set your oven to 450. Dump your can of baked beans into a casserole dish. Set the dish aside. Cut up your hotdogs into bite sized pieces and throw those into your casserole dish and mix until dogs are well coated with baked bean sauce. Cover the bean and dog mixture with tater tots. We usually use a couple handfuls. Use as many as you'd like. Just make sure to cover the mixture completely. Place the casserole dish in the oven for 1/2 an hour or until tater tots are golden brown. When Redneck Casserole is all cooked up, turn off the oven and sprinkle the top with cheese. Casserole is completely done when cheese is melted.

Comments on Thoughts At Large may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com
Visit us at: www.thoughtsatlarge.com

“The New York Times, Revisited”

2011-03-24T01:37:00.001-04:00

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(3-11)

It was a busy morning at the Icehouse.

The telephone rang as I was pouring a cup of coffee. I had intended to begin work on a newspaper column. But fate, it seemed, had other ideas.

“Hello, Mr. Ice?” the caller said cheerfully. “I am Giles Mead. Do you remember me?”

“Who?” I stammered.

“Giles Mead,” he repeated. “You interviewed with me two years ago. We were working on the prospective Great Lakes Gazetteer project.”

I struggled to remember. “Gazetteer?”

“The New York Times is my employer,” he screeched. “Does that ring a bell?”

“Gazetteer from the Times,” I repeated. “Okay…”

“It didn’t work out as we planned,” he admitted. “But… no matter. One of our reporters is in the midst of a story about Tea Party activism. I remembered our conversation and wondered if you might offer some insight into this phenomena.”

“What?” I barked. “You must have me confused with someone else…”

“Come now Mr., Ice,” he laughed. “I’m sure you hold strong opinions about your movement…”

My face went red. “Listen, I’m a journalist, not a politician.”

Mead coughed into the telephone. “Please Mr. Ice. Let’s be honest, shall we? Your sympathies are quite obvious.”

“Obvious?” I huffed. “You must be kidding. I’ve worked very hard to report events in my county without interjecting personal opinions.”

“So,” he whined. “You don’t consider yourself a Tea Party member?”

My heart was pounding. “No, I don’t.”

“Indeed!” he hissed. “Well, I find that to be most amusing… haven’t you written favorably about Rep. Ron Paul of Texas?”

A silent pause elapsed. “I have tried to report about all participants in the national dialogue. Providing information is my mission, after all. Paul was active long before the current wave of protesters made their presence known. At the moment, he seems to be an important, if marginal, figure.”

“Aha! So, you now openly admit your Tea Party sympathies?” he crooned.

“I sympathize with democracy. Citizens should be engaged in the political process,” I said. “It is the same with labor activists who want to speak out in defense of collective bargaining. Our system only functions when we participate.”

Mead was flustered. “You are making no sense!”

“Look,” I cautioned. “I personally believe many Tea Party members are a bit tardy in coming to the table. Focusing on the growth of government at this late hour is politically convenient. But not convincing on the strength of real principles. When George W. Bush was drastically inflating our national debt, where were they? When bankers and insurance companies were being bailed out by taxpayers, where was their outrage?”

Mead gasped for air. “You surprise me, Mr. Ice!”

“Really?” I exclaimed. “Well then, you should’ve read more of my work. The labor movement has a long and important history in America. But union leaders have often wandered from the original purpose of truly representing their workers. The time for average people to speak out is long overdue. I think we have arrived at a moment when all sides are raising their voices. That is a healthy thing for our nation. We need to hear from regular folks instead of professional pundits and Washington insiders.”

“But… the political debate is at a fever pitch!” he complained.

My eyes narrowed. “I don’t fear a spirited debate. What I fear is a lack of dissent. If I disagree with my neighbor, and we reason together as equals, the result can be greater than both of us…”

The phone line crackled. “So, you won’t participate in our story?”

“You just want a good quote or two criticizing the current administration. Is that it?” I whispered.

“In a word, yes!” he pleaded.

“And what will the upshot of your report be?” I asked. “Sensational, one-sided headlines, or real analysis of the problems facing America?”

“Well… we have to sell newspapers, of course.” He confessed.

“So… you want me to sling some mud. But how does that promote a real political dialogue?” I wondered out loud.

Mead snorted like a bull. “Dialogue isn’t my responsibility.”

“Perhaps not,” I agreed. “But providing genuine news is your job. Speaking truth, without bias. Without an agenda.”

“Please Mr. Ice,” he said mockingly. “You sound like a Fox News promo.”

My voice went hoarse. “Actually, I’m a CNN junkie at the moment. But never mind. The New York Times is well known around the world. Shouldn’t you strive to protect your banner from bias and editorial drift?”

“Hah!” he exploded. “I see now that this call was a mistake.”

“Yes it was,” I replied. “If your goal was to gather evidence to support conclusions already made in the editorial offices.”

“Well then, good day, Mr. Ice!” he shouted.

“Thanks for you call,” I replied in a monotone voice. The phone line went silent.

Now, it was time to reheat my coffee!

Comments about Thoughts At Large may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com
Visit us at: www.thoughtsatlarge.com

“Capitol Call”

2011-03-06T23:26:00.002-05:00

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(2-11)

My friend Ezekiel Byler-Gregg is Editor In Chief of the local Burton Daily Bugle newspaper.

Zeke has always possessed a very individualistic outlook, owing in part to his Mennonite and Pennsylvania Dutch heritage. But recently, his opinions have taken a more Libertarian turn. After encountering financial difficulties during the near collapse of our economy in 2008, he has become more vocal.

Last week, despite the objections of friends like myself, he attempted to contact our nation’s highest leader. What follows here is a transcript of his protest-by-phone:

OPERATOR – “Hello! This is the White House switchboard. How may I direct your call today?”

EZEKIEL – “Hello, miss. My name is Ezekiel Byler-Gregg. I am the editor of a small, country newspaper in Burton, Ohio.”

OPERATOR – “Yes Mr. Gregg. How may I direct your call?”

EZEKIEL – “That’s Byler-Gregg, if you please.”

OPERATOR – “Yes, Mr. Byler-Gregg. How may I direct…”

EZEKIEL – “I’d like to speak with President Obama.”

OPERATOR – “Who??”

EZEKIEL – “Your boss. The head honcho. Is he home at the moment?”

OPERATOR – “My boss?”

EZEKIEL – “The President of the United States!”

OPERATOR – “Is this a prank?”

EZEKIEL – “No, I’m a concerned citizen trying to plow up some answers!”

OPERATOR – “Is this a radio stunt? Are you Rush Limbaugh?”

EZEKIEL – “Limbaugh? Now that’s funny. But I would be less offended if you accused me of being Phil Hendrie…”

OPERATOR – “Who?”

EZEKIEL – “Phil Hendrie. The guy that does all the different voices.”

OPERATOR – “Who?”

EZEKIEL – “Never mind. My name is Ezekiel Byler-Gregg. I am a journalist.”

OPERATOR – “A journalist? Like Andrew Breitbart?”

EZEKIEL – “No, no, no! I am a humble citizen trying to reach his president.”

OPERATOR – “Mr. Gregg, please! You can’t speak to him without an appointment.”

EZEKIEL – “That’s Byler-Gregg!”

OPERATOR – “Sorry. I am unable to direct your call…”

EZEKIEL – “Miss, have you ever heard the phrase ‘We The People?’ Do you know what that means?”

OPERATOR – “Mr. Byler-Gregg, you are speaking in riddles.”

EZEKIEL – “The phrase means our government works for us. President Obama serves the voters. Do you understand that? I want him to speak with me. Maybe a maple syrup version of his famous beer summit.”

OPERATOR – “You are making no sense.”

EZEKIEL – “Have you ever read the U. S. Constitution?”

OPERATOR – “Mr. Byler, my reading habits aren’t relevant here…”

EZEKIEL – “Byler-Gregg! Byler-Gregg!”

OPERATOR – “Sir, you are hurting my ear.”

EZEKIEL – “I want to ask President Obama how it is that he promised tax relief for working Americans in 2008, and now has created a climate where someone like myself just got tagged with the biggest IRS bill I’ve ever faced.”

OPERATOR – “You need to speak with H & R Block, not President Obama.”

EZEKIEL – “Shouldn’t that be my decision?”

OPERATOR – “Is this Glenn Beck? Are you on the air right now?”

EZEKIEL – “For the last time, I am a down-home newspaper editor from Ohio!”

OPERATOR – “You do not need to shout, sir.”

EZEKIEL – “I want to ask President Obama how it is that he managed to take care of struggling companies like GM and Chrysler, while abandoning working-class citizens like myself.”

OPERATOR – “Mr. Beck, that does not bear any resemblance to the truth.”

EZEKIEL – “Byler-Gregg! Byler-Gregg! Byler-Gregg!”

OPERATOR – “Sir, you are shouting again.”

EZEKIEL – “I had financial problems last year. With a bit of creative wrangling, I settled my debts for a lump-sum payoff. But now, I face a huge tax bill on the ‘forgiven’ amount of money. Isn’t that just a bit crazy? Taxing money that didn’t exist?”

OPERATOR – “Mr. Byler-Gregg, you need to calm down.”

EZEKIEL – “Actually, I reckon it is sort of appropriate. The government prints money that doesn’t exist, so… why not tax money that doesn’t exist? Eureka!”

OPERATOR – “You need to take a deep breath, sir.”

EZEKIEL – “What I need is to speak with your boss.”

OPERATOR – “If you have a dispute, it would fall under IRS jurisdiction.”

EZEKIEL – “Let me ask you… when GM and Chrysler were ‘forgiven’ in regard to billions of dollars of unpaid debts… do you think they had to pay taxes on that amount?”

OPERATOR – “Okay, this must be Bill O’Reilly. My grandmother actually watches your show… I am embarrassed to say.”

EZEKIEL – “Miss, you don’t seem to be listening to me!”

OPERATOR – “As I said before, I am unable to direct your call. Have a good day.”

EZEKIEL – “Wait! Wait! Don’t hang up the phone, lady!”

OPERATOR – “Sir, you are obviously an employee of FOX News. This is going nowhere…”

EZEKIEL – “Hold your horses! I have been a registered Democrat for over forty years.”

OPERATOR – “I find that very hard to believe.”

EZEKIEL – “Ronald Reagan once said ‘I didn’t leave the Democratic Party, they left me.’ That’s how I feel, miss.”

OPERATOR – “Mr. Byler-Gregg, my job is not to assess how you feel. I direct telephone calls for the White House.”

EZEKIEL – “Then please direct my call to President Obama.”

OPERATOR – “I can’t do that…”

EZEKIEL – “Can’t do, or won’t?”

OPERATOR – “Arguing over words has no purpose here. Is there anything else you wanted today?”

EZEKIEL – “Just answers. That’s all.”

OPERATOR – “Answers are not my area of expertise… just telephone directories.”

EZEKIEL – “That has become mighty obvious. Like a cowpie in the barnyard.”

OPERATOR – “I do have a toll-free number for the IRS. Are you ready with a pencil and paper?”

EZEKIEL – “Never mind, blast it. Never mind!”

OPERATOR – “Thanks for calling the White House. Have a good day, Mr. Gregg.”

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“Roundtable Rowdy”

2011-02-20T21:59:00.004-05:00

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(2-11)

The morning was busy at McDonald’s on Water Street in Chardon.

I arrived just after eight o’clock, hoping to buy breakfast before the activities began. We had gathered for the monthly meeting of our Geauga Writers’ Roundtable.

In attendance were many noted wordsmiths from around the county. I felt a tingle of excitement while enjoying my first cup of coffee. Notepads were strewn over the table by their artificial fireplace. We chatted briefly about Twitter accounts and cell-phone plans. Then, the happening commenced.

Carrie Hamglaze, a local figure of renown, was already at our table with a cup of tea. She was a vision of mature womanhood, dressed in Irish green and Hilltopper red.

“Dear friends,” she began. “Allow me to bring this event to order!”

Everyone stopped talking.

“The Roundtable is nearing an anniversary,” she proclaimed. “We have been meeting here for almost two years.”

Cheers echoed throughout the room.

“We have discussed many important issues,” she continued. “Like school funding, election reform, taxation, and community development.”

Mack Prindl of the Parkman Register agreed. “These are all important issues,” he said, plainly.

“Today, I’d like to hear what you think will be the big local stories of 2011,” Carrie continued.

Mack loosened his black-and-gold tie. “Well, the new South Geauga Growth Partnership is drafting a plan to spur business development in my township…”

Martha Ann Reale of the Newbury Siren-Monitor pointed a finger at her journalistic cohort. “Hah! You just want to avoid any mention of the Superbowl!” she hissed. “Loser!”

“Please!” Carrie sputtered. “Let’s stay focused here!”

Ezekiel Byler-Gregg of the Burton Daily Bugle echoed Martha Ann’s sentiment. “Fess up, Prindl. You are just trying to avoid our REAL biggest issue of the day!”

I gestured for attention. “Carrie is right. We need to remember our mission as a group…”

Mack bowed his head. “Thanks, Rod. I think some professionalism is in order here.”

“Hah!” Martha Ann snorted. “It’s time for your comeuppance, Pringle! Loser! Loser!”

“That’s P-R-I-N-D-L!” he growled.

“No,” Ezekiel disagreed. “It’s L-O-S-E-R!”

Carrie was stunned. “Please!” she begged. “Can we talk about local things?”

I gestured for attention once again. “Listen, my column about Danelectro guitars produced a personal response from Howard Daniel, son of the company founder…”

Ezekiel thumped the table with his fist. “Mack has been happy to shoot off his mouth about the Pittsburgh Steelers. Well, their ride is over. Green Bay showed America who is the better team. Admit it, neighbor!”

Carrie was overwhelmed. “Order, please! I call for order here!”

Martha Ann cackled like a sorceress. “I call for Pringle to admit that he’s a loser!”

“Six Superbowl rings!” Mack howled.

“The Packers now have thirteen rings,” Martha Ann squawked in response. “Try to match that, loser!”

I shook my head. “Come on everybody. I like football too, but this is a journalist roundtable. We are supposed to be talking about stories in our newspapers…”

Ezekiel growled like a bear. “Okay, Rod. On my front page will be a feature about the disappearance of Steeler colors in Burton. How about that, huh? Where’d they go? Off to outer space on a UFO? I haven’t seen a team jersey or hat for several days now. Before the Superbowl they were everywhere.”

“So much for true fans supporting their team!” Martha Ann hissed.

Carrie rubbed her eyes. “How about the MoveSmart wellness program in Chagrin Falls? Don’t you think that is a cutting-edge strategy to better the lives of our students?”

“All I know is Big Ben got plenty of exercise running away from the Packers’ Clay Matthews,” Ezekiel huffed. “That kid is just like his father. Remember number 57 for the old Cleveland Browns?”

Mack brightened, suddenly. “You want to talk about losers? The Browns are LOSERS all the way around!”

Ezekiel went red. “Actually, the Browns have eight rings, kiddo.”

Silence filled the room.

“Eight rings?” Mack wheezed. “In what, their bathtub?”

“Actually, Zeke is right,” I agreed. “The Browns have four NFL Championships and four AAFC Championships since their beginning in 1946…”

Martha Ann cackled again. “Take that, loser!”

“Six Superbowl rings!” Mack pleaded, breathlessly.

“Rings, schmings,” Ezekiel said. “Big Ben didn’t exactly look like a champ against the Green Bay defense!”

“Actually, he was throwing interceptions like Brett Favre,” I laughed. “Ironic, isn’t it?”

Mack tossed his coffee cup across the room. “That’s it! I’ve had enough!”

Ezekiel slapped him playfully. “Calm down, buddy. The hurt will fade after awhile. Let it go… football is just a game, remember.”

“A wise sentiment,” I said.

“It’ll fade,” Martha Ann agreed. “But… not today! Right now, you’re a L-O-S-E-R!”

Carrie surrendered at last.

“This meeting is adjourned!” she proclaimed. “Have a great day!”

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“The Inverted Pyramid”

2011-02-12T12:19:00.004-05:00

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved

"There is nothing more important to us than being a great place to work. When our people feel valued and cared about, they, in turn, make our customers feel the same.”

- Wegmans CEO Danny Wegman

A recent story about the New York supermarket chain Wegmans produced reflective thoughts for this writer. As a former retail manager in Geauga County, I felt moved by their tale of commercial excellence.

Based near Rochester, this food retailer was once again recognized as being a member of Fortune’s ‘100 Best Companies to Work For.’ Incredibly. they have received the honor for fourteen consecutive years.

At number three on the list, Wegmans was the highest-ranked retailer in America. Noted in the story were company programs to promote employee health through good dietary habits. And, the availability of free medical screenings and flu vaccinations.

The closest Wegmans location to Geauga County is in Erie, Pennsylvania. I have occasionally visited the store when traveling east, in search of different surroundings. Every encounter with their style of business has produced positive emotions for myself.

Indeed, entering the Peach Street marketplace has always felt like traveling to foreign bazaar, filled with tasty goods of all sorts. A festive atmosphere makes their produce, bakery, deli, service meats, seafood, and café departments come alive with theatrical energy. Shoppers are immersed in sensory waves of music, aromatic delights, and colors.

After reading the Fortune report, I pondered a bygone business column from my own newspaper archives. This forgotten manuscript seemed to reflect a similar line of thinking to the philosophy being employed by Danny Wegman:

THE MOST IMPORTANT PERSON

“Think for a moment – if we were in a meeting of company associates, and I asked, ‘Who is the most important person in this company, to our customers?’ What name would come to mind? Perhaps that of the CEO? Or maybe an Executive Vice President? In a local sense, your own Store Manager? Or (a) favorite department head? The reality here is that quite often, someone like a friendly cashier, clerk, or bagger may be in the position to decide whether a patron will choose our market, or a competitor’s store. On a salesfloor level, even the most humble among us is likely to hold real power in promoting retail success.”

My line of reasoning was that every team member provided a genuine ‘link’ between customers and the corporation. Therefore, I reckoned that the true importance of empowering our employees could not be overstated.

I used a past customer issue to demonstrate this truism:

“Incident #1234 – Customer was unhappy with the conduct of an employee. She was shopping with a small child and wanted to finish her visit quickly. She spoke to the manager on duty in regard to her displeasure. He didn’t seem to be paying attention. She wanted to pass along her comments to corporate supervision. Can we call her immediately?”

The memo depicted two breakdowns in communication. First, between the salesfloor associate and the customer. Second, between the manager and his patron. The result was that our shopper left without her situation being resolved. To nullify the damage, an operator at company headquarters suggested that a gift basket should be sent.

It was a proper reaction to the complaint, but not a real solution to what created the problem.

I observed that increased focus on the value of each associate as a representative of the business was vital. To represent this, I imagined an inverted pyramid. Our corporate resources were balanced on top. But serving as a narrow foundation was the store-level employee. Care would be required to maintain balance in this equation.

Additionally, I suggested that poor habits needed to be replaced with fresh, positive ideals. The ‘culture’ itself had to be changed:

“Learning is an everyday occurrence. Our people are being ‘trained’ while working. We need to take charge of this process with increased attention to the very core of our business – service to others. (We need) additional motivation and retraining that is targeted specifically at ‘empowering’ team members (with) increased value for the ‘identity’ of our company as a family.”

Pondering this lesson in retailing in a modern context, I arrived at three conclusions:

ONE – Problems should be addressed in ‘real time’ rather than ‘after the fact.’
TWO – Conflicts should be viewed as opportunities to shine through resolution.
THREE – Attention paid to customer needs is a guaranteed investment for the future.

Wegmans has become a benchmark retailer – philosophically opposite to the cold minimalism of Walmart. Their ideas are sound and useful. But new-age thinking is alive everywhere across the business spectrum.

Even here in Geauga County, USA.

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“Econotone Dreams”

2011-02-04T00:41:00.002-05:00

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(1-11)

It was a cold winter morning in Geauga County.

Looming crests of snow cast shadows across my driveway. But a momentary hour of sunshine brightened the day. I felt ready to travel.

The landscape sparkled with wild luminosity. Everything had been drenched in freezing rain, overnight. Now, the roadway was clear. Yet the touch of Jack Frost remained. Tree branches tipped toward the ground. Crystal patterns were framed against the sky.

After visiting the Chardon post office, and Giant Eagle, I turned toward Hambden. On the way home was the bungalow of my iconoclastic friend, Archer. As a poet, musician, photographer, marksman, and two-wheeled drifter, he always had a unique viewpoint to share.

Not surprisingly, he had decided to spend the day at home.

A Steppenwolf record was playing as I approached his front door. But before I could knock, he peered through the glass.

“Heyy, Rod!” he laughed. “You stoppin’ by for some coffee?”

He had sent an invitation by e-mail, weeks ago.

“Yeah, that’s right,” I agreed.

The door creaked open, with a cascade of falling snow.

“You won’t believe the old percolator I found,” he boasted. “It came from a shop in Cleveland Heights. Like the kind of thing people had when I was a kid.”

I nodded with appreciation. “So, what have you been doing with all this downtime?”
Archer scratched his graying beard.

“Cursin’ the day I moved back from California,” he bellowed. “Other than that… just catchin’ up on unfinished projects. Gotta get my bike running this year, so I have the motor torn apart in my kitchen. And I put a new set of tuners on my Guild guitar. There’s a lot to do.”

I nodded again. “That sounds very productive.”

He pulled out the antique percolator while we were talking. “Ain’t this thing heavy? It’s got more chrome than a Harley-Davidson chopper!”

I was amazed by its heft.

“An example of lost craftsmanship,” I observed. “No wonder they lasted so long.”

My friend started a pot of coffee as we were talking.

“Well anyway, what have you been doing lately?” he asked.

“Reading,” I reflected. “About Nathan Daniel.”

“Who?” he stammered.

“Nathan Daniel,” I repeated. “The guy behind Danelectro guitars.”

His face brightened. “Ha, ha, ha, I remember those! I had one out of the Sears catalog.”

“Thousands of careers began with one of them,” I smiled. “Their amplifier-in-the-case models were insanely popular.”

“So, what’s the scoop on those axes?” he said, quizzically.

I unfolded a piece of newsprint, and began to read:

“The very first Danelectro guitars were built beginning in 1954. For many teen-agers, this was their first instrument. Brand new, the cheapest models cost as little as $69.00. Many were sold by Sears, under the label ‘Silvertone.’ The most popular models came in a case with a built-in amplifier. Today, that $69.00 guitar, unmodified, and in excellent condition could cost you $500.00 or more. Because they were so cheap, many Danelectros were thrown away, damaged or altered along the way. Constructed simply of wood, vinyl, masonite and Formica, Danelectros used ‘lipstick tube’ metal pick-ups that were literally purchased from a lipstick-tube manufacturer. The guitars were made simply, with no pearl adornments or expensive wood. Professional guitarists have driven up the value of authentic Danelectros because they cherish the instrument's unique sound and look. They have a bell-like tone and a very clean sound. But non-professionals, many of them nostalgic baby boomers, are also entranced. There's the show-off, cool aspect to owning one. And the rareness. They have a sound, look and color all their own.
Many of today's top rock guitarists own a ‘Danos.’ They play them on stage and use them in the studio. Joe Perry of Aerosmith once offered someone $30,000 for an entire Danelectro collection! Guitars designed by Nathan Daniel (1912-1994) never reached the pantheon of instruments made by Fender, Gibson, and Martin. But in their own way they were no less influential, their low price tag making them readily available to the masses.”

“Well that’s cool,” he said. “I see them on eBay all the time.”

“There were reproductions issued from Korea,” I explained. “Then newer models made in China. But genuine Danelectro guitars were from Neptune, New Jersey.”

“Neptune?” he chortled.

“That’s right,” I said. “Daniel’s story has always inspired me. Reading this makes me want to relive his adventure…”

Archer paused over the percolator.

“Uh, oh!” he grunted. “Don’t tell me… this is like your dream to make comic books in the style of Harvey Pekar, right?”

My face was red. “No! I want to build my own electric guitars.”

He slumped over the countertop.

“You want to do… what??” he stammered.

“Build my own electric guitars,” I repeated. “Right here in Geauga.”

The old biker rubbed his eyes. “You are crazy, Iceman. There is no doubtin’ that.”

“Come on!” I pleaded. “Haven’t you ever had a dream?”

“Sure,” he said. “I dream every day. I dream about gettin’ back to California. I dream about gettin’ my Hawg back on the road. Stuff I can really do… you know?”

My face was red. “I can build a guitar!”

“Sure, okay buddy,” Archer muttered. “So how do you get started?”

I took another scrap of paper out of my pocket.

“Look at this!” I boasted. “My first ad for the new Econotone brand!”

His jaw dropped open.

“You are Harvey Pekar, after all,” he huffed.

“Gibson and Fender make great instruments,” I said. “But there is a need out there… for affordable guitars made right here in Ohio. It can be done. The result would be more appreciation for music, and more jobs for our people.”

“Now you sound like a politician,” he groaned.

“Not at all,” I protested. “Just a creative voice wanting to be heard.”

“So, where did you get the design?” he wondered out loud.

“The idea first struck me thirty years ago,” I confessed. “But lately, a certain model of ‘SX’ guitar grabbed my attention on the Internet. It looks like a Fender Jazzmaster with the lower body trimmed away. Very much like a surf-era relic with tailfins. I reckon a re-interpretation of that would be my starting point. The Econotone E-1.”

Archer snorted with amusement.

“Okay, buddy,” he said at last. “That’s cool I guess. If you can write books and report for a newspaper, I guess you can build your own axes, too. But right now… let’s have some of that old-time coffee!”

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“Credit Card Conflict”

2011-01-21T23:32:00.001-05:00

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(1-11)

Note to Readers: What follows here is creative satire, not a literal depiction of past events.

Millions of Americans experienced a period of financial chaos during the year of 2008. In the midst of this social and political turbulence, my friend Ezekiel Byler-Gregg found himself unable to maintain his household budget. As a result, he fell behind on regular payments to his creditors.

Eventually, this homegrown mess was reorganized. But with a return to normalcy came something completely unexpected – irritatingly persistent solicitations from a bank that had earlier taken him to court.

What follows here is a transcript of his phone call to this financial institution:

CALL TO CAPITAL CONTINENTAL

Operator: “This is Kendra at Capital Continental Bank. We are the bank of choice – giving our customers a voice in the marketplace. How may I help you?”

Ezekiel: “This is Ezekiel Byler-Gregg from Burton, Ohio. I would like to request that you stop sending me credit card offers in the mail.”

Operator: “Umm… would you like to begin an application by phone?”

Ezekiel: “I don’t think you heard me. I want to request that you stop sending solicitations to my mailbox, immediately.”

Operator: “You don’t want to begin an application?”

Ezekiel: “Do you speak English, Kendra?”

Operator: “Of course I do, Mr. Byler-Gregg. That is a silly question.”

Ezekiel: “Then why are you ignoring me?”

Operator: “Mr. Byler-Gregg, we are the bank of choice – we give our customers a voice in the marketplace.”

Ezekiel: “Kendra, I am a newspaper editor who endured an extended period of financial difficulty in recent years. If you look at my account, it will show that I was delinquent on payments as a result. When I tried to negotiate with Capital Continental, your response was to sue me in a local court.”

Operator: “But according to our records, your account was paid off, Mr. Byler-Gregg.”

Ezekiel: “That’s right. I had to retain legal counsel, but a settlement was reached.”

Operator: “So… do you want to open a new account?”

Ezekiel: “Kendra, are you a robot?”

Operator: “Mr. Byler-Gregg, I can assure you that I am quite human!”

Ezekiel: “Very good. Then please stop sending me credit card offers, immediately.”

Operator: “I don’t understand…”

Ezekiel: “Kendra, I wouldn’t take out a new line of credit with your bank even if it meant sparing my soul from eternal punishment in the dark realm of Hades.”

Operator: “But… why? Don’t you want to rebuild your credit?”

Ezekiel: “Look, the nation’s banking system was exhausted in 2008. Our government, in its infinite wisdom, chose to spend billions so that none of you would have to endure the stress of working at a place like Walmart or Taco Bell. But for regular people like myself, there was no such protection. Instead, I faced intimidation and legal action.”

Operator: “That wasn’t our fault, Mr. Byler-Gregg.”

Ezekiel: “But I think it was, actually. Because you used the cover of being ‘too big to fail’ as a strategy to swindle taxpayers out of billions while the national economy suffered. Working people like myself were left out in the cold by politicians from both major political parties. The end result was that, like many other citizens, I had to seek legal counsel to keep from losing my home and everything I own.”

Operator: “I don’t understand what this has to do with a canceling credit card offers.”

Ezekiel: “You don’t? I think it is obvious. I am living within my means, now. Something our government ought to do.”

Operator: “But we want to extend you a new line of credit, Mr. Byler-Gregg…”

Ezekiel: “Your proposal is a demonstration of sheer hypocrisy.”

Operator: “What??”

Ezekiel: “Look, you were unwilling to show mercy when I was struggling. In spite of the fact that millions of Americans shared my plight. You ignored my longstanding financial history and previous good credit rating. So… to badger me with credit card offers in the New Year seems a bit strange, wouldn’t you say?”

Operator: “Not at all. We are Capital Continental Bank. We are the bank of choice…”

Ezekiel: “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ve heard your spiel.”

Operator: “Would you like to begin an application by phone?”

Ezekiel: “R2D2 is your cousin, isn’t he, Kendra?”

Operator: “I don’t get your point, Mr. Byler-Gregg.”

Ezekiel: “I really think you must be a robot.”

Operator: “Please Mr. Byler-Gregg, you are making no sense.”

Ezekiel: “I am asking you to stop mailing me credit card offers, immediately!”

Operator: “You are not interested in receiving these offers?”

Ezekiel: “No! No! No!”

Operator: “You don’t have to shout, Mr. Byler-Gregg.”

Ezekiel: “I’m trying to get through to your robotic ears!”

Operator: “Mr. Byler-Gregg, please!”

Ezekiel: “I’m the one who’s saying please. Please, Kendra. Stop mailing me credit card offers! I do not want your services.”

Operator: “Should I take your name off our list?”

Ezekiel: “Yes, damn it, yes!”

Operator: “Mr. Byler-Gregg, you need to control yourself.”

Ezekiel: “What I need is a cold adult beverage!”

Operator: “I am now removing your name from our list…”

Ezekiel: “There is a God in Heaven. Thank you!”

Operator: “We are Capital Continental Bank. We are the bank of choice…”

Ezekiel: “Goodbye, Kendra. The choice I am making now is to hang up my telephone.”

Operator: “Have a good day, Mr. Byler-Gregg…”

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“Pittsburgh Calling”

2011-01-15T21:27:00.001-05:00

c. 2011 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(1-11)

It was a hazy morning in the Icehouse home office.

I was on my first cup of coffee. Riley and Quigley, the household Lab and Pomeranian duo, were snoozing on the floor.

Suddenly, the telephone began to ring.

I rubbed my eyes. In modern terms, our land-line phone rarely produced any noise. Typically, everyone made contact through my cellular device. But some quirk of fate had brought the outdated handset to life. Or, I had slipped back into a lingering dream.

“Hello?” I answered after a half-dozen rings.

The voice on my phone sounded vaguely familiar, like an echo from the realm of oblivion. I struggled to understand.

“Hey, dis is Al,” he boasted. “Al Luccioni. You remember me?”

“Who??” I asked.

“Al!” the caller said again. “Luccioni!”

It was my childhood neighbor from the Pittsburgh area.

“Ain’t you dat Buckeye kid who lived here in New Ken?” he huffed. “I’m callin’ you!”

“Yes,” I replied. “But… I’m forty-nine years old now. How did you find my number?”

“It was wrote down on a shopping bag from Giant Iggle,” he laughed. “You gave it to me once. Musta been during a summer visit.”

I scratched my head. “Hmm… can’t remember.”

“Anyway,” he continued, “I called ‘cause the Post-Gazette says Mangini got fired there in Cleveland. Heyy, that’s great. Another coach for yinz on the lake. Good job!”

I sighed loudly. “Yes, he’s gone.”

“He was a good Paisano,” Al chortled. “Yinz shoulda kept him.”

“Right, so we could lose more games, forty-one to nine?” I sputtered.

“The Stillers are goin’ to another Superbowl, that’s all I know,” he cheered.

“Well, not quite yet,” I said with caution. “You still have to advance through the playoffs.”

“Hah!” he grunted. “Did you see Polomola flyin’ through the air like Superman?”

“Troy Polamalu, you mean?” I said.

“Yeah, Polomola,” he repeated. “Yinz looked like statues out there. He caught everybody by surprise.”

“He’s really surprised me with those commercials for Head & Shoulders shampoo,” I groaned. “A bit strange, really. One step away from Joe Namath in pantyhose…”

“Heyy! Don’t mess with Superman!” he exploded. “Take that back, loser!”

“Okay, okay,” I surrendered. “Sorry.”

“This’ll be ring number seven for the Stillers,” he bragged.

“The Browns have eight league championships,” I said.

“Eight??” he stammered. “Eight in what?? Pee Wee football?”

“Four NFL titles,” I explained. “And four in the AAFC, where they began.”

“You talk crazy,” he growled. “Superbowls, I’m sayin’ – SUPER BOWLS!”

“Pro football has been around for a century,” I said. “The Superbowl is a more recent creation, that’s all.”

“Hey, you sound jealous,” he said teasingly. “Make your excuses kid. Chuck Noll beat anything you had in Cleveland.”

“Noll was born here,” I said with a grin. “He went to Benedictine High School.”

“What???” my erstwhile neighbor yelped.

“He even played for us,” I said. “Being a Cleveland Brown made him what he was…”

“No, no no!” Al whined. “Take that back!”

“Now you have Big Ben Roethlisberger,” I observed. “Another Ohio native. He was born in Lima and grew up in Findlay."

“No, no, no!” he thundered.

“Heck, Bill Cowher played here during the ‘Kardiac Kids’ era, and coached here with Marty Schottenheimer,” I proclaimed. “Ohio made you guys.”

Al was speechless. He sputtered unintelligible curses and oaths.

“Take that stuff back,” he mumbled. “Take that back, take that back!”

“Hold on to your pierogies,” I laughed. “You’re spinning out of control, neighbor.”

“TAKE THAT BACK!” he shouted.

“Okay, okay,” I said at last. “Sorry.”

“You got a big mouth, kid!” he complained.

“So, did you go to the NHL Winter Classic at Heinz Field?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

“Heyy, it wasn’t like seein’ the Stillers but I liked it,” he said.

“Too bad the Penguins lost to Washington,” I reflected.

“If it’d been Stillers football, there’d be no losin’ there,” he pronounced.

“Of course not,” I agreed. “Not until you meet Belichick and the Patriots… another guy who learned his craft in Ohio…”

“TAKE THAT BACK!” he howled. “TAKE THAT BACK!”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I apologized.

“Oh well,” my friend said with finality. “Ma is makin’ kielasa spaghetti for supper. I’m getting’ hungry. Gotta go, kid. You argue too much. Be good!”

“I will. Thanks, Al,” I said.

“Stop by for my Superbowl party if your in the neighborhood. I’m getting’ a keg of Iron City. Ma will have her sourdough pizza baked up…”

“Sounds great,” I smiled.

“So long, kiddo!” he hollered. “Here we go Stillers, here we go!”

I sat motionless for a couple of minutes, still holding the phone.

Had my encounter-by-wire been a dream? Or was Al Luccioni really still out there, in New Kensington, Pennsylvania?

I needed time to drink more coffee, and ponder my morning.

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“More Greetings From A Local Writer”

2011-01-07T01:19:00.001-05:00

c. 2010 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(12-10)

One of the most important duties of a creative wordsmith is to encourage other like-minded individuals to express their inner passions with vigor and gusto. Yet this task can be fraught with destructive good intentions. Sometimes, the temptation exists for more seasoned scribes to revise a manuscript until it reflects their own writing style. But this habit often strips away the unique ‘voice’ of the original creator. So when engaging in this sort of mentoring, I have always been careful not to overshadow a kindred spirit as they develop.

Most recently, I pondered such thoughts while reading an essay by my long-time friend Cheryl Kelly.

Cheryl is a Chardon native, career woman, and mother. We have known each other since working together at Kresse’s Bi-Rite in the 1980’s. Her observations about new beginnings seemed perfect for reading as the New Year begins:

Starting Over

“The start of a New Year equates to a new beginning for some of us. In truth, I think everyone at some point reflects and sets goals for themselves moving forward, but for some of us, moving forward entails quite a bit more than just losing a few pounds or vowing to quit smoking. Some people are forced into making that new beginning and some do so by choice. No matter where you find yourself this upcoming year, starting over to whatever degree it might be, is never an easy task.

Decision making is a skill that not everyone does with ease. The ability to have confidence in your choices is a gift, and not one that everyone possesses. Constant second-guessing can be your worst enemy and learning to allow yourself the pleasure of making a mistake is the core to being able to start over. You can’t start over without first acknowledging that there is a need for it…a reason for it. It’s not always necessarily to fix a mistake; it could simply be a choice to try a different path. Change is an acquired taste, and one that not everyone handles with grace. It’s learning to accept that not all change is controllable, and not all change is bad.

I remember I had just started a new job, my first “professional” job as a working woman. My boss, an older man, very much set in his ways had given me a letter to type and I was taken aback by the address. The correspondence began with “Gentlemen”, not “To whom it may concern”, not “Sir or Madam” (which was the current appropriate address), but “Gentlemen”. I promptly got up from my desk and walked to his office. Knocking on his door and asking for a moment of his time, I inquired about the address. Now, being a fairly new employee, I very respectfully questioned the appropriateness of his opening address. The response I received was, “That’s how I was taught, and that’s how I want my letters addressed.” I was shocked. How could this man in this high position clearly not know that it was no longer proper to address blind letters with “Gentlemen”? For months I gently protested, and to no avail. I finally had to accept the fact that it was his signature at the bottom of those letters and not mine...no matter how hard it was for me to type and overlook. No, change was not in his vocabulary.

Change, like starting over is an acquired taste. Something some handle well and something others avoid at all cost. We go through life believing that at some point we will reach that ultimate goal of being able to sit back, relax and enjoy what we’ve worked so hard to achieve. As we go along, we ultimately discover that it doesn’t always work that way…that life is ever-changing and malleable, like a clay model that changes shape with every choice or decision we make and every person that we invite into or who touches our lives. And like clay models, life can be smoothed out and rolled and shaped into something new.

Starting over is like buying a new car. You pay and pay, month after month, year after year, thinking to yourself that eventually, it will be paid off and it will be mine, and I will have true ownership. But then what happens? The car gets paid off, sure, but now it’s falling apart and you need a new one, so, you start over. Again, sometimes by choice…sometimes by force. Life is full of constant start-overs…time to question and reflect…time to try again and see what it is that you’re going to do differently this time. Time to see what you’ve learned and time to apply different strategies in the hopes of finding the one that truly works…that allows you that opportunity to sit, relax and finally enjoy.

It can be a daunting task to start over…to begin again, a scary one at times, but a necessary one as well. No one ever said change was easy, but it doesn’t have to be debilitating. It can be exciting and refreshing and exactly what you need. The key is to open yourself up for whatever comes your way…either by choice or by necessity. Having faith in yourself that you will make the right choices, and if you get off track, you will find your way back, and be better for it. So, whether you find yourself making your own resolutions this year, or find yourself being pressed into making those changes…embrace it, because therein lies true ownership.”

Cheryl’s words rang true, like festive bells during the holiday season. Once again, I took comfort in knowing that another soul was hard at work pursuing the art of creative writing.

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“Hamglaze Holiday”

2011-01-02T00:13:00.001-05:00

c. 2010 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(12-10)

It was a chilly day at the Get Go in Chardon.

Holiday decorations dangled from the counter. Local shoppers were busy buying gasoline, gift cards, and snacks. But I had come to meet an old friend.

She was waiting when I arrived.

Carrie Hamglaze was bundled up in layers of Hilltopper red and Irish green. She trundled across the store with melting snow dripping from her wool hat.

“Rodney!” she exclaimed. “I’m so glad you are here!”

I nodded with a grin.

“Of course,” I said. “We haven’t talked in months. But, why at a fuel depot? Wouldn’t you rather go to New York Deli or Joey’s Italian Grille?”

My friend offered a stern reply.

“It had to be here!” she insisted. “Get Go has the best coffee! And I had free coupons!”

“Right,” I agreed.

She took a seat by the window, then opened her purse.

“I’ve got one for a free hot beverage and a breakfast croissant,” she bragged. “It’s in my bag, somewhere…”

A helpful clerk gestured from the counter.

“Never mind, Carrie,” she laughed. “We know you here.”

I unzipped my leather jacket. Frost made my nose tingle.

“So, what have you been writing about lately?” Carrie asked.

“Well,” I explained, “A red shopping cart from Fisher’s Big Wheel appeared at a local flea market, over the summer. It was stashed behind their main building. Being used to move goods around, I reckon. Anyway, that put me in a nostalgic mood. I left my business card in case the item was for sale. But they never called back.”

My friend sat upright in her chair.

“So, did you ever buy it?” she chirped.

I nodded again. “Yeah, in the fall. An offer of twenty dollars sealed the bargain. They must’ve thought I was crazy. But Big Wheel was where my retail career began.”

I took out my cell phone and showed her a photo of the cart.

“There were two sizes used by the company,” I recalled. “This is the smaller version.”

Carrie crinkled up an outdated coupon.

“Blast it!” she complained. “That was for a free fountain drink and bagel sandwich! But I waited too long.”

I was slightly embarrassed. My face reddened in the pale sunlight.

“Sorry,” she coughed. “So, you worked at Big Wheel?”

“Beginning in 1984,” I said. “They were doing a remodel at the time...”

“I don’t remember much about that store,” she confessed.

I took a folded sheet of paper from my pocket. “There is so little information left about the company. But I found a couple of paragraphs on Wikipedia.”

Quietly, I began to read the page out loud:

“Fisher's Big Wheel was a discount department store chain based in New Castle, Pennsylvania, United States. The company operated stores under the Fisher's Big Wheel and Buy Smart names. At its peak, the chain comprised more than 100 stores in the Northeastern and Midwestern United States. The chain declared bankruptcy in 1993, selling some stores to Pamida and closing others. The chain closed in 1994. Fisher's Big Wheel consolidated in 1939 following the consolidation of the Fisher Dry Goods company of New Castle, Pennsylvania and a hardware store called Big Wheel. While based in the New Castle area, its headquarters were actually in Neshannock Township just north of the city. The company's flagship store was located next door, and was used as a prototype store. After the company's liquidation, the headquarters became various medical offices, while supermarket chain Giant Eagle consolidated two nearby locations and moved into the former flagship store. The company also had a store in Shenango Township east of the city, which has since been subdivided into a Big Lots, Family Dollar, and a Goodwill thrift store. Fisher's Big Wheel primarily located in smaller towns which were not already served by other discount retailers, while in other markets, it competed directly with such discounters as Zayre, Kmart, Wal-Mart and Hills Department Store.”

“It was a fun place to work,” I remembered fondly.

Carrie tilted her head to one side. “Do you see any of the crew around town?”

“Not very often,” I answered. “But my old boss is a manager at Junction Auto. He’s been there for years.”

“Selling cars?” she stammered with disbelief.

“Yes,” I said. “Chrysler, Dodge and Jeep.”

My friend shook her head. “Well, anyway, I wanted to exchange gifts with you!”

I nodded once more. “Of course!”

She slid a small package wrapped in festive colors across the table. I produced my own present and placed it next to her stack of coupons.

“Merry Christmas!” we cheered, together.

Carrie opened her box first. It was a CD of Irish folk tunes recorded at the Great Geauga County Fair by the Huntsburg Kazoo Ensemble.

“A splendid gift!” she bubbled. “Wait a minute… KAZOOS?”

“Give it a listen,” I promised. “You’ll be amazed.”

She gestured with a coffee stirrer. “Okay, your turn!”

I tore my box open to reveal a copy of the ‘Pledge of Allegiance’ rendered on a giant maple leaf.

“Wow!” I exclaimed.

“Done by a friend of mine from the library,” she boasted. “The leaf was coated with lacquer, to preserve it forever.”

“Thank you, friend!” I said.

Finally, Carrie had reached the end of her coupon stack. She looked at the store clock impatiently. “Well, I have a meeting at nine. Be well, Rodney!”

I had barely begun to sip my coffee.

“You’re leaving already?” I stammered.

She whipped her scarf in the air. It nearly covered her chin.

“Happy Holidays!” she shouted. Her hat glistened with tinsel strands. A trail of melted snow dripped from her boots. In only a moment, she was gone.

I had shared a bit of Yuletide cheer with one of the county’s most unique personalities.

Now, my holiday experience was complete!

Comments about Thoughts At Large may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com
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Mike Trivisonno Christmas

2010-12-26T12:28:00.002-05:00

Santa Claus has a sense of humor... and he likes Cleveland talk radio. This was under my tree on Christmas Day:

Thank you, jolly old St. Nick!

Polka Christmas

2010-12-22T13:35:00.002-05:00

This arrived in the mail recently - holiday greetings from Jake Kouwe and The Chardon Polka Band!

“O Christmas Tree”

2010-12-18T08:20:00.005-05:00

c. 2010 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(12-10)

My desire to practice the art of creative writing first awakened during childhood years. It has continued since then as a persistent habit. But the holiday season evokes memories of another inclination that began during those formative years – the need to decorate my own Christmas Tree.

This want first manifested itself when I lived in Virginia, during the early 1970’s. Using a small hacksaw, I collected an unwanted live tree from a neighbor’s estate. It was flat and brown on one side, but perfect for my basement bedroom.

I rescued a few discarded ornaments, including one patched with masking tape. Then, I made others from construction paper. The result was satisfying, if not beautiful.

A statement of personal independence had been made.

One year later, I was given a budget tree from the local Hills department store. My parents must have decided that another junkyard creation would be too much to bear. This artificial evergreen was about two feet tall. Its branches were covered with what looked like thin strands of plastic wrap. The tree sat in a pot made of recycled cardboard.

Amazingly, it lasted until I was out of high school.

As I grew older, my decorating habits became more complex. Eventually, this Christmas centerpiece boasted improvised ornaments made from household junk, and a Harley-Davidson logo as its topper.

Then, the tradition disappeared.

As an adult, I moved on to new routines. Our household tree reflected my first wife’s ability to connect each ornament with something in our daily life. For us, the holidays became more of a typical, shared experience.

I focused on being a parent, and uncle. Self-expression became less important as I thought about helping to inspire the next generation.

But along the way, something jogged my memory. Suddenly, I wanted to trim a tree – again.

My second faux pine came as a marked-down item from Fisher’s Big Wheel. It stood about a yard high. This size was perfect for a second-hand table in my basement studio. Standing amid boxes of vinyl records and vintage guitars, it looked a bit out of place. But when adorned with leftover beer cans, the centerpiece took on an undeniable aura of Rock & Roll flair.

With each following Yuletide season, I chose a different decorating theme. One year had the tree wearing assorted key chains on its limbs. Another found it draped with automotive tools and parts. Then 45 rpm records. And Cleveland sports memorabilia. Eventually, I assembled a formidable collection of oddball ornaments from thrift stores and yard sales that reflected a sense of holiday rebellion.

When Art Modell dumped Bernie Kosar as the Cleveland Browns quarterback in 1993, my tree boasted a Texas-shaped ornament found at the Discovery Shop in Chardon. This was because he had landed in Dallas, as a member of the Cowboys.

I sent Kosar a personal note about the ornament and he responded with an autographed photo. It made a perfect companion to my holiday display.

With each Noel that passed, the tree served as a focal point for holiday cheer, until life again became too busy.

Finally, the Big Wheel tree reappeared when I closed out my storage space in Montville, a few months ago. It had been packed away for a long time, after career interests took over and leisure time became scarce.

I was fascinated by its humble appearance.

The tree still rested in a shipping box from the bankrupt retailer. Its box read “TT 404086T - Dawn Products Corporation, 29 Elm Avenue, Mt. Vernon, NY 10550. Made in the USA.” The local store number, 69, was written in marker ink.

After locating my stash of ornaments, I decided to decorate the prefab evergreen once again. I began to ponder bygone memories as everything came together. And then a Yuletide carol sounded in my head:

O CHRISTMAS TREE

O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
You’re beautiful to me
A plastic pine
You look so fine
With cans of Genesee
Your branches bend
Under the weight
Of bottled sauce
From Quaker Steak
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
You’re beautiful to me

O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
Hear our celebration
You make us sing
As cell phones ring
With holiday elation
Now lake effect
Snowfall is here
Our roads are closed
So we drink beer
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
Hear our celebration

O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
Your beauty makes us linger
On winter nights
We take delight
From tunes by Twisted Sister
The years have gone
But we’re still here
Shovel snow, and
Look out for deer
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
Your beauty makes us linger

The tree glistened and sparkled as never before. It had opened a time portal through which I could see across the generations - all the way back to 1971.

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“Roundtable Review”

2010-12-10T12:18:00.001-05:00

c. 2010 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(11-10)

The morning was busy at McDonald’s on Water Street in Chardon.

I arrived just after eight o’clock, hoping to buy breakfast before the activities began. We had gathered for the monthly meeting of our Geauga Writers’ Roundtable.

In attendance were many noted wordsmiths from around the county. I felt a tingle of excitement while enjoying my first cup of coffee. Notepads were strewn over the table by their artificial fireplace. We chatted briefly about our Twitter accounts and cell-phone plans. Then, the happening commenced.

Carrie Hamglaze, a local figure of renown, was already at our table with a cup of tea. She was a vision of mature womanhood, dressed in Irish green and Hilltopper red.

“Dear friends,” she began. “Allow me to bring this event to order!”

Everyone stopped talking.

“With the end of 2010 approaching, I’d like to hear about your stories of the year,” she said. “What was most important to your readers in the past twelve months?”

Stan Moster of the Thompson Tribune answered first.

“I think Ledgemont’s incredible football season was most memorable in my neck of the woods,” he cheered.

“Very good,” Carrie agreed.

Martha Ann Reale of the Newbury Siren-Monitor spoke next.

“Coverage of the November elections was most important in my community,” she proclaimed. “We ran an in-depth series of articles on all the candidates and ballot issues.”

“Well done,” Carrie applauded.

Ezekiel Byler-Gregg of the Burton Daily Bugle followed with his own perspective.

“My readers were fascinated with coverage of the fugitive who built a hut in the woods, in Munson,” he said. “It was a story folks might have expected to come from Montana, but not Geauga County.”

“Very true,” Carrie agreed.

Bubbly editor Judy DiCenza of the Claridon Clarion added a new report to the mix.

“My readers were most interested in hearing about upcoming productions by the Geauga Lyric Theater Guild,” she smiled. “Our county can be very proud to have such a cultural resource, right here at home.”

Carrie nodded with agreement.

Finally, Mack Prindl of the Parkman Register added his own viewpoint with gusto.

“I had a front-page article on Ben Roethlisberger, last month,” he boasted.

The entire group went silent.

After a long pause, Carrie sighed loudly. “Where’s the local angle in that?”

Stan rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, how does that qualify as local news?”

“Big Ben has a cousin in my town,” Mack sneered.

Judy bit her lip. “Really?”

Ezekiel was unimpressed.

“C’mon,” he groaned. “You think that will actually sell newspapers?”

“Six Superbowl rings for the Steelers!” Mack whined.

Martha Ann turned sour. “Did you see Oakland Radiers player Richard Seymour punch Ben in the face, during a confrontation on the field? Your quarterback melted like a stick of butter.”

“Did not!” Mack cried. “Did not!”

“Hey, that’s a bit extreme, don’t you think?” I wondered out loud. “Not really an appropriate comment for our forum…”

“C’mon friend,” Ezekiel laughed. “Big Ben shivered on the ground like Pee-wee Herman after getting smacked down by Miss Yvonne.”

“Did not!” Mack repeated.

“I’m melting!” Martha Ann said mockingly. “I’m melllllting!”

Carrie bowed her head.

“You must admit, it wasn’t a very manly reaction to being assaulted,” she observed.

I coughed with disbelief. “Carrie! You are supposed to be the voice of reason here! This isn’t funny!”

Mack was red-faced.

“Six Superbowl rings!” he shouted.

“Quiet, Pringle!” Martha Ann taunted.

“That’s PRINDL!” Mack retorted.

“Okay! Please calm down, everyone,” Carrie pleaded at last. “I apologize. Let’s get back on track here. What about you, Rod? What was your big story for 2010?”

I cleared my throat. “Well, a column about Harvey Pekar seemed to resonate with our readers this year.”

“Who??” Mack exploded.

“He was a jazz music critic and comic book hero,” I explained.

“Right,” Mack huffed. “Rrrright. There’s a local story for people in Geauga County…”

“My feature compared Harvey’s work to Thoughts At Large,” I confessed. “He influenced me as a teenager. I’ve often thought of my writing as a text version of his American Splendor series.”

Ezekiel slapped the table. “Funny. I liked that column.”

Mack was red-faced. “You wrote about a nobody who did comic books?”

“Harvey penned storylines which were illustrated by a variety of successful artists,” I said. “Robert Crumb, for example.”

“Who?” Mack repeated.

“Go back to your Iron City Beer!” Martha Ann squealed.

“Sounds like boring stuff to me,” Mack complained. “Chuck Noll could write a better column than that!”

Carrie was becoming flustered.

“Please!” she begged. “Let’s stay on the subject here!”

Stan unfolded the paper on his breakfast tray. “Hey, did you realize they brought back the McRib sandwich? If we adjourn until lunchtime, we could talk about this stuff over a slab of barbecued pork!”

Suddenly, all hope of continuing our discussion evaporated.

“That’s got it for me!” Mack cheered. “See you guys at noon!”

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

2010-12-03T00:47:00.002-05:00

c. 2010 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(11-10)

A few weeks ago, I closed out the family storage space in Montville. This meant that for the first time in several years, many hidden household treasures were once again within reach. Lots of memories were revived in the process.

As I finished the task of loading these items for the journey home, a lone scrap of paper appeared on the concrete floor of my cubicle. It turned out to be a receipt from Fisher’s Big Wheel in Chardon, dated 1984.

This echo of bygone days made me smile.

Later, with the holiday season approaching, I rummaged through my relocated stash. Before long, I found an old Maple Leaf column based on Christmas memories from that erstwhile retailer. It was a personal story that continued to endure, even in the 21st Century:

“The Christmas rush of 1984 was relentless. I had lived in the village (Chardon) for one full year, after sixty-four months in New York… It was difficult to guess where my life was headed. But I had much enthusiasm for tomorrow! When my VW Beetle finally expired, travel to work depended on a dull Chevrolet Chevette. (Truly an awful winter vehicle!) Fortunately, employment was not far away. I spent gainful hours at the local Fisher’s Big Wheel. Service to this Newcastle, Pennsylvania retailer began a path toward greater things…Christmas Eve brought my own chance to procure holiday gifts. As final moments of anticipation ticked away, I carried a red shopping basket around the store. It was a ritual that brought comfort, and peace. My paycheck (for two weeks) evaporated quickly. But focus on the joyous duty whisked away cares from the year…”

After reading the article, I pondered having mentioned my Chevette in the holiday feature. It seemed undeniably strange, yet somehow appropriate.

I remembered that on Christmas Day of 1986, the vehicle’s starter expired during a family visit. With this exchange of gifts complete, I was left to mutter about the looming cost of repair. Happily, I was able to coast downhill to my home in Munson Township. A final push got the car safely out of traffic.

The reflective mood evoked by this story made me slump lazily in my chair. Soon, I had fallen asleep at the desk. A pleasant rush of holiday images followed. Elves and gingerbread people were dancing around a tree brought by Paula Horbay. Snow blanketed the Chardon Square. Festive lights twinkled from the county courthouse. Luscious aromas of cinnamon and nutmeg filled the air.

And then, a seasonal tune began to reverberate from the great beyond…

Christmas Chevette

See the USA
In your Chevrolet
That’s what commercials say
But when you’re poor
This is what you get
A second-hand Chevette

Yuletide grins
And icy spins
Make the holidays begin
But when you’re broke
Better place your bet
On a second-hand Chevette

Santa’s sleigh
Ain’t a Chevrolet
He can fly both night and day
So I’ll pretend
I’ve got a jet
Not a second-hand Chevette

Chestnuts roast
A holiday toast
To those we love the most
Then the dream is done
‘Cause don’t forget
We’ve got a second-hand Chevette

A Christmas tree
A shopping spree
Wish your neighbors peace
But a rough ride home
Is what you get
In a second-hand Chevette

Sleigh bells ring
And carolers sing
Of what St. Nick will bring
But a lump of coal
Is what you expect
With a second-hand Chevette

A flannel cap
In Christmas wrap
Patterned from a treasure map
Gifts on the cheap
But don’t you fret
With a second-hand Chevette

Friends and fun
This day is done
The Yuletide hymn is sung
Now it’s back to work
For a weekly check
In your second-hand Chevette

When I woke up, the computer had slipped into standby mode. Vintage holiday music crackled from a radio in the living room. And nightfall was at hand.

I yawned out loud. Lying on the desk was a photo of my budget Chevrolet from yesteryear. The car had originally come from Hal Artz Pontiac, on Water Street. Though it impressed no one, the vehicle was perfect for late-night excursions with friends from work. The Chevette was all but invisible compared to sporty coupes and 4x4 off-road warriors. It afforded us safe travel with incredible fuel efficiency.

Eventually, my thrifty carriage had fallen apart, with 77,000 miles on the odometer. I last used it as a backyard storage shed for dog food. But until then, it was a faithful servant.

This tiny automobile did nothing for my social standing, but saved lots of money for the household budget.

I was glad to recall our time together.

The day ended with twin themes echoing in my head – holiday cheer and love for this four-cylinder mule. Magic sparkled from the computer screen as I finished writing.

Now, it was time for bed!

Comments about Thoughts At Large may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com
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“A Rose, Revisited”

2010-11-27T00:08:00.002-05:00

c. 2010 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(11-10)

Late last year, I wrote about Geauga County resident Christy Hoefler and her startup business, ‘Soul Of The Rose.’ Her intention was to offer a unique variety of products, including cosmetic-makeup & jewelry cases. Each item carried a bit of Rock & Roll flair, as interpreted by this unique local designer.

I pondered over her online catalog with much interest. Eventually, I wrote a ‘soul’ essay that took inspiration from her work.

More recently, I enjoyed a random encounter with Christy in Chardon, while shopping for household goods. It was a happy coincidence that once again unleashed my curiosity.

With the holiday season approaching, I asked about her progress. She mentioned a new line of ‘mini’ cases, and showed me her personal iPhone cover, one that carried a familiar Union Jack design.

I flashed on mental pictures of The Who, and Pete Townshend performing a windmill guitar strum. The item made me smile.

Later that day, I revisited Christy’s website. I had expected to be dazzled by slick new product photos. But beyond those images, the descriptions that were included had me wide-eyed and eager for more creative prose:

Brit Baby Guitar Case

“LET IT ROCK UK STYLE! Only from Soul of the Rose would accessories get this Haute! Chic rock couture style handcrafted case with a generous amount of space to hold all your essentials. Constructed of black faux patent with a Union Jack design sewn on top. Jeweled elements and complimented with the Soul of the Rose logo medallion. Lined with gorgeous leopard lining with chromed Soul of the Rose Signature name plate.”

Peace Keeper

“Your Wish…Keeping The Peace - This sleek high gloss black and hot pink peace sign hand crafted case is so sharp! What a great way to show off your wish for peace and carry your stuff at the same time! This case is beautifully detailed with Soul Of The Rose’s signature charms and metal zipper on the exterior. The interior is lined with luxurious faux leopard fabric. There is plenty of room inside this tubular carryall for all kinds of essentials.”

Rockabilly Princess ‘Mini’

“High octane energy with your petal to the metal! Love struck all the way to finding your rock and roll Romeo! This hand crafted makeup, cosmetic or jewelry case will help get you there! Designed with LOVE in every detail. Lined in luxurious faux Zebra fabric complete with sewn in pouch, satin lipstick holders and heart shaped mirror. Go for it… Soul Of The Rose™ designed this makeup accessory case to make sure there was plenty of room in this baby for all your sweet necessities. A uniquely perfect gift for someone special!”

Electric Guitar Case

“Go for it - pick it up and play! This hot electric guitar makeup, cosmetic accessory or jewelry case will be center stage in your rock and roll band! Lined in luxurious leopard fabric with a sewn in pouch and hot pink satin covered lipstick holders, for added storage. This haute case is just screaming for your cosmetics or jewelry!”

Rebel

“WHAT SETS YOU FREE? Soul of the Rose Signature Series - Free to go wherever you roam! This hand crafted makeup and cosmetic accessory case will take you from daybreak to the midnight hour! This studded purse styled cosmetics case has a heart shaped mirror and two compartments to carry your can’t live with outs! Designed with ‘heavy metal details’ and chromatic embroidery. Perfect for gift giving! When you want more… Soul of the Rose delivers! Woo yeah little baby…more, more, more, more!”

Daydreamer

“Sweet Dreams… Lover of life, with an imagination that feels… that's you… Daydreamer… Love, Peace and Friendship Always… Soul Of The Rose. This sweet and simply beautiful hand crafted makeup, cosmetic or jewelry case is the perfect gift. Hand Made with Love and has our signature heart shaped mirror and beautiful purple velvet lining. Keep your dreams and treasures in our Daydreamer Guitar Case!”

Songbird ‘Mini’

Country Girl or City Girl! All things sweet and beautiful! This sweet and simply beautiful hand crafted makeup or jewelry case is perfect for that peaceful easy feeling. Perfect addition for your everyday makeup or jewelry collection, this case has our signature heart shaped mirror and beautiful turquoise blue soft crushed velvet line this case with a matching pouch and blue satin lipstick holders to keep all your beauty picks together.

The writing on Christy’s website was fun and energetic. A tip of the hat to ‘new age’ liberated wordsmithing.

My only regret was that SOTR had no ‘male-oriented’ line. I wondered about a 12-pack beer cooler made of black leather, with chrome studs. Or perhaps, bottle openers fashioned from leftover automobile parts?

These notions faded with the sunset.

Now, it was time to begin working on my next newspaper column!

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“Retrophonic, Part Two.”

2010-11-04T12:55:00.002-04:00

c. 2010 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(10-10)

Readers of this column have heard much about my long-distance friendship with legendary guitarist Davie Allan. He achieved iconic status in the 1960’s because of recordings featured in rebellious cycle-film soundtracks. Yet this talented axeman has also remained active throughout the decades that have followed.

With each new recording, I have typically written down ‘first impressions’ from each song in real time, while listening.

What follows here are bits of prose inspired by Allan’s latest release:

RETROPHONIC 2: THE HOME DEMOS - First Impressions

1. DEAD END TOWN – Theme from an imaginary western. Played with a plectrum six-gun. It gets the job done. Dust on the wind, a new life begins. Boot heels click - the cowboy rides with a sorcerer’s trick.

2. EAST WIND – Ramblin’ and rumblin’ across the fretboard. The Fuzz King makes a lasso out of a guitar string. Words capture the moment. Hear the silent voice sing.

3. EVERYTIME I SEE YOU – A ballad sung softly. A fretboard fantasy carried on the breeze. An old heart delivers what young minds receive. Turn the stereo to ‘ten’ and you will believe.

4. SEE THE WAY – Tender riffs, sunrise over the cliffs. She walks out of the morning without warning. My heart is hers. And the love I feel is sure. Dance maiden, to my rhyming verse.

5. SHE’S MY WOMAN – A bluesy throwdown. A promise of things not yet begun. A bit of ELO? No one seems to know. That girl keeps me hangin’ on. All I’ve got left is this song.

6. WORLD OF YESTERDAY – A spoonful of truth. Take the melody in your ears and let it bear fruit. Watch the world turn. There’s a lesson to be learned.

7. DO YOU SEE WHAT YOU’RE DOING TO ME – You make me feel so fine, like the flavor-blush of a California wine. Like the tuneful pluck of an instrument keeping time. But there is more I desire. Got the need. I feel the fire.

8. GET AWAY FROM ME – Something young and new, like a jester with kazoo. A harlequin dance. C’mon wallflower, take a chance. Get away, seize the day. You won’t break my heart. It’s time for a second start. Listen to the song I play.

9. IT’S RIGHT ON THE TIP OF MY TONGUE – Morning has broken. I’ve got words to be spoken. Have I said this before? My heart is on the floor. Gonna take my guitar and walk out the door.

10. LIKE SANDS THROUGH THE HOURGLASS – A drama played out against the cosmos. Twinkling stars cause a lump in my throat. I remember sweet sadness from another age. When young souls in denim bravely took the stage. A generation was inspired. Fuzz and reverb fueled the fire. But that was yesterday…

11. MAKE THE MOST OF YOUR LIFE – Lift up your voice. You have a choice. Go forward with the fearless. His words ring true. Don’t fear the reaper. Don’t hide out like a midnight creeper. May the fuzz be with you!

12. MAYBE I’LL JUST MOVE ALONG – A day in the sun. Skin kissed by the bright essence of Sol in the sky. No need to wonder why. We are here, that is enough. Don’t make it rough. Tune up your guitar and slide away.

13. SHE’S MY GIRL – She’s my vision. My reason for strumming chords in the first position. No need to explain – her voice comes in the wind and her kisses in the rain. Now I’m feelin’ no pain.

14. THIS BURNING FLAME OF LOVE – A simple arc of light. It moves poets and painters with boldness and might. This is her secret. She wears it well. But don’t ask her to tell. Just cherish this fleeting moment in the spotlight.

15. A WONDROUS LOVE – My dreams of her live on, from dusk to dawn. She walks in sun and shadows. Her memory is pure. For a thousand years, her touch will endure.

16. LOS CABOS – Give your troubles a slip. Join me at the hideaway - it’s a place where the guitars play. Uncork the jug, and jam on a Spanish tune. C’mon drifter, there’s a place here for you.

17. FUNNY LITTLE EMPTY FEELIN’ – A twist in my belly. A tingle on my skin. They tell me I’m not over you. Can we do this again?

18. I’M GETTING TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT – Taking a fall. There’s something ringing in my head. Soaring free and wild, but my wings turn to lead. Forgive me if I say – my wanderlust has gone away. Could it be you’re the one? My ramblin’ days are done.

19. CRUEL WORLD – Feel the leather on my back. There’s more in my heart. I’m a cowboy careening through life. Know that from the start. Don’t try to change me. I’m a Ramone on the telephone. Better leave me alone.

20. EACH DAWN I DIE – As the morning awakens, my secret is told. I am nothing without you. The wind is so cold. Come again, please be my friend.

21. I KNOW ABOUT YOU – Your game is sweet. But look here, girl. I’m fast on my feet. I know what you are. A high-flying, love superstar. Do your dance, take a chance. It won’t get you far.

22. LONELY IS THE HUNTER – On the run, a guitar is my gun. Riding solo, but there’s a trophy to be won. Give me your heart. I’ll be gentle with the prize. Listen to my song. Look deep into my eyes.

23. RUN TO HER – Sunset in the sky. And I feel it in my soul. She smiles, sweetly. Now I lose all control.

24. SHE’LL COME BACK TO ME – Time is my friend. That girl will be here again. If I play my cards, and this old guitar, she will know it’s right. Gonna be here tonight. On the last train to Clarksville. I love her still.

25. THAT’S WHY I LOVE BEING WITH YOU – I love your smile. I love your laugh. I love the way you groove on Johnny Cash. Saddle up, girl. Lonely days are in the past.

26. YOU’RE GONNA CRY – It’s guaranteed. You’ll feel the need. One of these days, you’ll miss living at light-speed. That’s the day when you’ll say: ‘Come home cowboy. Pick a tune for me!’

27. I DIDN’T KNOW LOVE – Learning slowly about opening my heart. Be gentle, girl. This is where a new life starts. Take it easy with me. Don’t thrill me quick just to set me free.

28. OH BUDDY, WE MISS YOU SO – Ode to a yonder hero. A life lived too fast. But the legacy lingers. This mood hasn’t passed. Your spirit endures. Raise high the glass!

For more information, look at: www.davieallan.com.

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“Jefferson Jamboree”

2010-10-29T11:44:00.003-04:00

c. 2010 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(10-10)

It was a beautiful autumn day on the Chardon Square. Dutifully, I carried my digital camera, and reporter’s notebook.

Falling leaves filled the air with seasonal color. But I focused on the task at hand. A new political story was about to unfold.

Local residents had gathered for an event that would celebrate the life and philosophy of America’s third president – ‘The Jefferson Jamboree.’

With festive flair, the gazebo had been decorated in red, white and blue. Local celebrity Carrie Hamglaze served as the Master of Ceremonies. She bowed gracefully before the crowd, tipping her red hat with a sense of drama. Then she formally opened the proceedings.

“I would like to welcome you all!” she shouted. “Today, many of our neighbors and friends will honor Thomas Jefferson by speaking his words, aloud. Though he may not have been from Geauga County, I believe his outlook and wisdom reflected the sort of spirit we have here at home, today!”

Applause resounded across the square.

“With that in mind, let me offer the first quote.” she continued. “Ahem… A wise and frugal government, which shall leave men free to regulate their own pursuits of industry and improvement, and shall not take from the mouth of labor the bread it has earned - this is the sum of good government.”

The crowd cheered enthusiastically!

Ezekiel Byler-Gregg was next on stage. He held a tattered Gadsden Flag in his hands.
“Every citizen should be a soldier,” he said. “This was the case with the Greeks and Romans, and must be that of every free state.”

More applause resounded. The crowd was transfixed by Jefferson’s words.

Performance artist Lodi Preen came next in the procession. He sang out like a nautical horn, offering courage to the group. “I have sworn upon the altar of God, eternal hostility against every form of tyranny over the mind of man.”

Raucous agreement echoed from one end of the square to the other.

Councilman Matt Di Silva followed the journalist. He wore the traditional uniform of a soldier from the revolutionary period.

“It is incumbent on every generation to pay its own debts as it goes,” he observed. “A principle which if acted on would save one-half the wars of the world.”

Wild whoops reverberated from the crowd.

Local cheerleader Sarah Skaleski skipped forward without hesitation.

“My reading of history convinces me that most bad government results from too much government,” she squealed.

Thunderous applause filled the air.

In her wake, poet and author Christa Fleck approached the microphone with a smile. She adjusted her thick-rimmed glasses, then offered her bit of prose in a whisper.

“Determine never to be idle,” she said. “No person will have occasion to complain of the want of time who never loses any. It is wonderful how much may be done if we are always doing.”

The audience agreed with enthusiasm.

Next came floral designer Rhonda Reale. She clasped a bouquet of multicolored roses. “I do not take a single newspaper, nor read one a month, and I feel myself infinitely the happier for it,” she squawked.

Gasps cascaded into silence.

Hamglaze choked on her breath. She whispered in Reale’s ear. “This event is sponsored by a group of local newspapers. Couldn’t you think of something more appropriate?”

Reale trembled with embarrassment. “Ummm… sorry, friends. Could I have a do-over?”
Everyone on the gazebo struggled to regain their composure.

Following an unplanned interlude, local personality Roone Fern of the long-lost Geauga Times Leader appeared with a folder of vintage scribbling. After a polite pause to clear his throat, he intoned a bit of Jefferson wisdom that was familiar to everyone.

“I know of no safe depository of the ultimate powers of the society but the people themselves,” he said. “And if we think them not enlightened enough to exercise their control with a wholesome discretion, the remedy is not to take it from them but to inform their discretion.”

Feeling revived, the group applauded.

Retired constable Carl Bernardi was next. He cradled the microphone in his hands while speaking. “I predict future happiness for Americans if they can prevent the government from wasting the labors of the people under the pretense of taking care of them.”

A boisterous mood overtook the crowd. Everyone seemed ready for some sort of dramatic conclusion.

Without warning, Hamglaze looked in my direction.

“Well then, do you have a quote from our hero to finish this celebration, Rodney?” she asked.

“What?” I stammered. My notebook fell in the grass.

“Certainly you must have a favorite Jefferson saying to offer,” she said with a grin. “Step forward, and let us hear it!”

I felt stunned. “Well, as a matter of fact…”

“Come on!” she insisted.

The audience grew restless. “Rodney! Rodney! Rodney!!”

I took a deep breath. It was difficult to see.

“The spirit of resistance to government is so valuable on certain occasions that I wish it to be always kept alive!” I shouted.

Howls of joy filled the air.

“Amen!” Hamglaze proclaimed with glee.

“Amen!” everyone repeated. “Amen, amen, amen!”

Feeling shy, I returned to the crowd as Hamglaze concluded the event.

“Thank you for coming,” she said. “Now remember all of this on Election Day!”

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