Month: July 2024

Hank

On By scottpetersenIn Hank Sauer1 Comment

My favorite baseball player as a kid was Hank Sauer – left fielder for the (then) hapless Chicago Cubs.  I tried – desperately – to get his autograph.   My dad would take me to Wrigley Field and I’d gallop down the steps to troll for autographs.  I remember one day Hank was walking a few feet away.  I screamed at him “Hank!  Hank!  Mister Sauer!”  He looked at me like I was a 9 year old lunatic.  And walked on. . . . . 

Some years ago, I had an article published which talked about Hank and how I was never able to get his autograph.  Someone read the article and sent me a note that Hank was living in Milbrea, California.   The address was included.  Sooooo, I sent him a letter – including a copy of the article. And I mentioned that I was his biggest fan in the world.  A few weeks later, I arrived at my office one morning and there was a package on my desk.  In the corner was a return address sticker shaped like a baseball.   Between the stitching, it said “Hank Sauer.”  My eyes filled with tears and I opened the package.  Inside was a large album full of original pictures of Hank (a few signed), original baseball cards and. . . .  a priceless handwritten sentiment – “To Scott – a Chicago Friend – Hank Sauer.”

A few months later, I had a call from Jean – Hank’s wife – asking me to return the album. Reason – she had an idea. I reluctantly sent it back. A few months later it arrived back – with a second album full of pictures, news articles – and inscribed “Dear Scott, Now you have a(sic) album for each side of your desk! My Chicago Fan. Hank Sauer.”

Hank passed away in August 2001.  But I will always relish the fact that I “hit the high note” in my autograph collecting career.  It wasn’t a George Washington letter.  Or Henry VIII.  I got Hank Sauer. . .

Hitchhiking

On By scottpetersenIn HitchhikingLeave a comment

[A repeat from September 4, 2016] Does anyone hitchhike anymore?  I can’t remember the last time I saw someone standing on the side of the road.  Arm extended.  Thumb pointed up.   When I was at Augustana College in Rock Island, if I wanted to go home, my options were to take the train (to the tune of twenty bucks) or hitchhike.  I usually chose the latter option. 

My modus operandi was to Magic Marker a sign “Augie Student to Chicago.”  And on the back “Augie student to Mt. Prospect.”  And I’d stand on the street outside my dorm.  Hold up the sign.  And stick out my thumb.  And always got a ride.  And I lived to tell the tale. 

The first rides would usually cart me off to Interstate 80 and drop me off.  There, I’d stand at the entrance ramp looking forlorn and holding my sign.  And I was always picked up.

Once (Scout’s Honor) a big tractor trailer stopped.  I hustled up and climbed in.  The driver groaned “I’m sick and need to sleep.  If you wanna drive, I’m going to Route 47.”  Soooooo I traded places with the driver.  He shifted a few of the floor gears and off I went — piloting an 18 wheeler.  The driver conked out instantly leaning against the door.  At Rte. 47, I slowed to a stop.  The driver took over and I hopped out, walked to the down ramp and held up my sign. 

Hitchhiking was so popular back in the day that Marvin Gaye wrote a song with the title “Hitch Hike.”  The song was released in 1962 in Gaye’s “That Stubborn Kinda Fellow” album.  In 1965 the Rolling Stones released their own version.  Listening to this music does bring back memories. . . . . https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fmClweWITZQ  

Brothers

On By scottpetersenIn Augustana College, BrothersLeave a comment

“Behold how good and how pleasant it is for brothers to dwell together in unity.  It is like the precious ointment upon the head . . . . and as the dew that descended upon the mountains of Zion . . . .”  Psalm 133:1-2

[A repeat of August 5, 2015] In July 2015, I posted on attending the 100th anniversary of the Gamma Alpha Beta fraternity at Augustana College.   Many of the brothers from my era showed up.  We have remained a close-knit group since graduation.  This last weekend, we had a reunion of “GAB’s” in Rockford with about 20+ brothers and wives — all of my vintage.

I was not destined for college (see post of October 13, 2013).  My future was to work as an assistant plumber after high school.  Frankly, it’s a fluke that I even applied (around the time of high school graduation) and got in to “college.”  And that I came to know my Brothers. 

There are amazing memories and stories.  Once – my entire pledge class was corralled by police and taken off to the police station for borrowing a neighbor’s ladder at midnight (the neighbor was awake, thought it was theft and called the police).  One quick-witted pledge escaped detention by launching himself over a window well and clambering up onto a fire escape.   Yeah.  That was me. . . . 

The GAB’s won the Homecoming Sing with the ballad I later sang to my daughter Lauren every night from the time she was a baby — “Oh Shenendoah.”   It was that song I picked for the Father-Daughter dance at her wedding (see post of August 14, 2011).  We had tears in our eyes as the music played.  It’s interesting how when you meet old friends, you pick up where you left off.    It’s as if time stands still and I’m 19 years old again.  With my brothers. In my brain, I’m still 19.  Now if only my body would cooperate . . . . .        

The years go quickly. . .

On By scottpetersenIn Psalm 90:10, The days are long but the years go quickly1 Comment

Our days may come to seventy years,
    or eighty, if our strength endures;
yet the best of them are but trouble and sorrow,
    for they quickly pass, and we fly away. Psalm 90:10

For years I have heard the expression “the days are long and arduous – but the years go quickly.” And certainly that is true. It’s only recently that the nuance of this term has begun to register.

It seems like yesterday that . . . . . you know. School. Girlfriend (boyfriend). Marriage. Work. Children. And. . . . and here we are. A dear friend of mine recently lost his wife and he said to me “I wish the pastor had said when we were married that we should each be prepared – to lose the other – as the years go on.” And certainly that’s true. The years go quickly. . . . .

Part of the message here is that each day is a gift. And each day should be appreciated for what it is. A new chance to live. Make a difference. And each morning, as our eyes open, we yawn, check the clock and get up to trot down the hall – we might say . . . . “thank you Lord for this new day” . . . and for me — I then stretch, get up . . . and go make the coffee. . .

My Story

On By scottpetersenIn Each one of us has a story, StoryworthLeave a comment

On April 9, 2015, I posted “The Lottery of Birth” — a recognition that the spark of life that became each one of us was a confluence of genetics, luck, Divine providence and/or serendipity. Why weren’t you born a thousand years ago? Or last Sunday in Ghana? Germany? Kazakhstan?

Each one of us has a story. It is our birth and upbringing that begins the story. And there are many factors that continue the story – with family, schooling, religion, attitudes, work, environment, politics, likes and dislikes. And it is our story that we pass down to family and friends.

Several years ago, our daughter Lauren gave Donna the gift of a book — a book that Donna was obliged to write. Provided by Storyworth, a series of more than 50 questions were sent to Donna – usually one or two per week. And Donna had to answer them (or she could make up some of her own). There were questions like what makes you happy? Did you have pets growing up? Favorite TV shows? Most positive influence as a child? Favorite cartoons? Hobbies? First date? Family traditions? Grandparents? Donna’s book Donna Petersen – A Collection of Life Stories – runs nearly 200 pages and is complete with pictures. It is a great legacy to Donna and to our family.

Each one of us has a story. If you are looking to tell your story, you can do it at a cocktail party (“well when I was a boy. . . .”), you can run for Congress or you can start writing. Answer the questions that are meaningful to you. And record those answers. There’s certainly no downside – and you might just learn something about yourself that you’d forgotten. Or stuffed under the mattress. . . . .

Alfred E. Neuman for President

On By scottpetersenIn Alfred E. Neuman, Mad MagazineLeave a comment

[A very appropriate election year repeat from April 16, 2016] As a kid, I was allowed to read “Walt Disney Comics & Stories” (Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck offerings).  Bugs Bunny and Woody Woodpecker comics were okay too.  But Mad Magazine was strictly verboten.   I think my parents were afraid I was going to emulate – and turn out like – Alfred E. Neuman — the poster boy for Mad.   It made me all the more desirous of sneaking copies home and hiding them under my bed in the small – locked – toolbox where I hid enough Black Cat firecrackers, M-80’s and cherry bombs to take out Tehran.  I found Mad Magazine (launched in 1952) hysterical!  Still do.  The satire is classic.   

Alfred E. Neuman made his Mad Magazine debut in 1956.  His famous motto?  “What me worry?”  That same year, there was a write in campaign to have Alfred E. Neuman elected President.  His campaign slogan was “You could do worse. . . . and always have.”  With the division on current Presidential choices, perhaps we should consider Alfred E. Neuman.  He’s younger. Maybe smarter.   And doesn’t have much baggage.

My Psychiatrist

On By scottpetersenIn The psychiatrist and the bartenderLeave a comment

[A repeat from July 29, 2020] Ever since I was a kid, I’ve had a haunting fear that someone was hiding under my bed at night.   Sooooo, I went to a shrink. 

I told him “I’ve got a problem. Every time I go to bed I think there’s somebody under it. I’m scared. I think I’m going crazy.”   The psychiatrist steepled his fingers “just put yourself in my hands for one year.  Come talk to me three times a week, and we should be able to get rid of those fears.“
“How much do you charge?” I asked.
“Eighty dollars per visit,” replied the doctor.
“I’ll sleep on it,” I said.

Six months later, the doctor saw me on the street.

“Why didn’t you come to see me about those fears you were having?” he asked.
“Well, eighty bucks a visit, three times a week, for a year, is
$12,480.00. A bartender cured me for ten bucks.  I was so happy to have saved all that money that I went and bought me a new pickup truck.”
“Is that so?” He offered – with a bit of an attitude – “and how, may I ask, did a bartender cure you?”
“He told me to cut the legs off the bed.  Ain’t nobody under there now.”

It pays to get a second opinion. . . . .

He’s a Devil

On By scottpetersenIn MagicLeave a comment

[A repeat from March 17, 2016] When I went to Portugal years ago, I often had dinner in a little cafe off Rossio Square in Lisbon. One evening I was sitting in the restaurant with my driver George.

George looked at me — “Scott – do some magic tricks.”   So I did a few effects (see December 19, 2011, if you want to learn a good one).  With that, George called over some of the waiters. “You gotta see this stuff.” A gaggle of waiters began to congregate by our booth. I asked for a deck of cards – they arrived – and I began my routine.  Nothing fancy but some good stuff.

It was when I poured water into my fist and made it disappear – and then reappear – that one waiter looked seriously at his colleagues. “Ele e um diabo” [“he’s a devil“].   And I suddenly realized that my visage had quite possibly morphed from curiosity to danger to the human race and all that is holy.  George coughed and looked at me.  My face got warm.  I thought I better do something or I may have trouble leaving the restaurant.  Sooooooo, I did what any other red-blooded American magician would do.  I looked up at the waiter who had branded me a diabo – and said “here – I’m gonna show you how I did that.”  I did.  I showed the waiters how I did the tricks — without making them take the mandatory Magician’s Oath.  The waiters laughed nervously.  Seemed relieved.  And walked away.  George gave me one of those eyes in the air looks that said I won’t ask you to do that again.  And I lived to tell the tale. . . . . 

Fourth of July!

On By scottpetersenIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

[A Holiday repeat from July 2, 2017]
On this Independence Day eve, here’s a distillation of a few prior posts on this holiday week.  

Fireworks? Firecrackers? Cherry bombs? Should they be legal? In Wisconsin, fireworks stores seem to outnumber cows.  Weekend festivities are often punctuated by the staccato of firecrackers or the magnificent boom of larger devices.

In 1956, the Hungarian Revolution began.  My 9 year old pals and I learned about “Molotov cocktails.”  So we thought – why not?   We filled pop bottles with gasoline, stuffed a rag in the top and lit it — tossing the bottle into Weller creek.  WOW!!   Spectacular eruptions of flames (not to mention the bumblebee whiz of shards of glass and rocks).   

We’d break open firecrackers, shake out the fulminate of mercury powder into cigar tubes with homemade fins, balance them on an incline and then light a fuse sending the “rocket” skyward or sometimes just bouncing along the ground.  Sometimes we put “Lady Finger” firecrackers in the nose.  Wow!  These would end with an airborne explosion.  We would grab handfuls of match books at the local pharmacy and snip the heads off.  And stuff match heads into thin pipes, shaking in the fulminate powder for more incendiary displays.  And bombs.  We made a cannon stuffed with BB’s held in place by dripping candle wax.  And once a hand grenade – using Slaymaker lock dial.  Every boy had a supply of firecrackers, cherry bombs, M-80’s and such.  And my neighborhood was frequently ripped with massive explosions. All thanks to 9 to 12 year old boys. . . . .  

Yes – there are arguments and laws in Illinois against fireworks (one of only 3 states that ban all consumer fireworks). But Wisconsin, Indiana and most other states allow them. I mean – why not?