Joe's urban exploration

I have lived in the Woodbridge district of Detroit for well nigh on 64 years now.  It's a nice place to live. I enjoy my morning walks here.

I can't tell you how many nearby houses I would love to get a look inside. The styles of architecture (don't ask what the specific styles are called; I only know that different houses look different) are fascinating. There are squarish brick structures and clapboard homes, and thin ones and wide ones and ones with turrets. One wonders what imagination developed some of the sizes and variations on homes found in the old neighborhood. 

That thought this morning jogged my memory into the times, three I believe, where me Grandpa Joe and I went exploring old houses. He'd see an older and clearly abandoned home and half bark, "C'mon, boy" to me and we'd go check it out. I doubt me Mom would have approved.

It was keen though to see the insides and how they were laid out. Then, too, you could tell what rooms and shelves and whatnot had been cobbled in, that were not part of how the original interior had been set up. But perhaps I think the keenest thing was being in there with me Grandpa Joe, him just being a bit of a kid himself with a kid in tow.

I think he was a bit of a kid, honestly. And I mean that in a kind way. Yeah, he was ornery and demanding and gruff and arbitrary. Yet I think he was just the same fascinated with the world around him. What was where, what was what, that sort of thing. Creation, if I may risk going way out on a limb, interested the man. That made for a few quiet and calm adventures between me and him as the days went on.

44 Years

For whatever reason, and who knows why such things suddenly pop into your mind, it hit me that on March 3, 1978, my senior class trip began. We went to Toronto for the weekend, 44 years ago today.

Just another thing to make a guy feel old. But seriously, by what rhyme and reason would I remember something like that straight out of the blue? It's not as though I thought a lot about it over the years. It was a simple class trip. Nothing exciting happened at all. Then here I am sitting in front of my computer today and - bam - "Hey Marty, 44 years ago today was your Senior class trip," says my mind.

I took a minute to dredge up a calendar for March 1978, and March 3 that year being a Friday, it makes sense that this is its anniversary. Upon thought I recall we left on a Friday and it was the first weekend in March. 

If only I could remember where I buried that million dollars in unmarked bills...

A comet by the tail

I have to imagine that almost everyone knows about Halley's Comet. Its orbit brings it close to Earth about every 75 years. The last time it was nearby was 1986. A group of friends and I actually went out to see it then, and I found myself thinking about that on a drive recently as I happened to pass the park where we watched it.

To say I was geeked to see it would have been understatement. As a child I recall me Grandpaw Hutchins talking about when it passed in 1910, when he was a 11. He described it as very bright, and a spectacular sight. Some folk, he explained, thought it was the end of the world, the sight was so unusual. It turns out that Earth actually did pass through the tail of the Comet, so it surely was an awe (and perhaps fear) inspiring event.

Needless to say that after years of self induced build up I really wanted to see that thing return. I mean, I really wanted to see it. And so I did: as a tiny line on the lower western horizon from where that group of us spied it. Halley's Comet wasn't inspiring at all, let alone menacing.

I wish it had been better, especially I don't expect to have the chance to see again as it will be 2061 when it returns and making it to 102 years old is highly unlikely. Still, I have me Grandpaw's description of it. And I have the memory of his memory too, which ain't a bad thing.

One very personal Independence Day

Today is Independence Day. 240 years ago the United States declared themselves separate and equal to Great Britain. But this day I find myself remembering a very different July 4th, one of the fondest memories of my childhood.

It was around 8:30 in the morning and I was 9 or 10, just goofing off in my backyard. I saw Grandpa Joe come out of his house (he and Grams lived next door to us) but he didn't see me. He walked out his back gate and up towards the old barn where he worked, the same old barn I have now. Naturally, I had to investigate. What could he be doing on a holiday?

I got to the shop right as he was opening the truck doors. "What are y'doin, boy?" he asked in that vague gruff manner of his when he wasn't in full on gruff mode.

"Wonderin' what you're doing," I answered honestly.

"Well, c'mon in then". Joe was welding something underneath one of the stake trucks he used for delivering the welding equipment he rented. I held a flashlight for him as he scoped out the job. Then he fired up an old Hobart welder he used exclusively in the barn, gave me a welding helmet with strict instructions to keep it on until he said I could remove it, and commenced with the repair on the truck's frame.

After a while he paused for a break. We went and got donuts ('vittles' he always called coffee break donuts or snacks) and ate them while we drank our coffee as he smoked a cigarette or four. Then he went back to finish the job, me wearing that far too big and heavy helmet and holding a light for him when asked. Soon we were done.

He shut everything down and did a quick clean up, and then locked up the barn. He turned to me and took a five dollar bill from his wallet and told me to take it. "You worked too," he told me to tell his son and daughter-in-law who might wonder how'd I'd come across such largesse. Five bucks was huge, to a 10 year old in 1970. I said thank you. In fact, I believe it was more like "Thank YOU, Grandpa Joe!"

"Aw Hell," he said back, as was his wont.

So I earned my first pay on a long ago July 4th. And I had a really good time doing it.