December 2015 Vintage View

written by, for, and
about
seniors
OPC’s
A publication of the Older Persons’ Commission, serving Rochester, Rochester Hills and Oakland Township
DECEMBER 2015
ROCHESTER, MICHIGAN
48307
VOLUME 33 NUMBER 4
Rhonda Nelson
Rhonda doing what she likes
best—announcing a new
program for OPC seniors.
By Diane Kaniut
honda Nelson retired October 31, after 22 years of providing
programming for OPC. Although Rhonda rarely sits still, she
was willing to pause for a few minutes during her last weeks on
the job to recall her many good years at OPC.
Natives of Ohio, Rhonda, her husband, Don, and their son and
daughter settled in Rochester in 1993. She began looking for work
that would “have purpose.” She wanted to do something that
would make a difference. She found that purpose at OPC by
developing programs that would engage seniors intellectually,
emotionally and socially.
Rhonda joined the OPC staff as a program manager in 1992 when
it was still in the old building on Woodward. That building was a
challenge. The staff shared phones and used pen and paper, not
computers, to communicate. Space was limited. “It was a different
way to work, but we kept developing programs to respond to the
differing needs and interests of our seniors,” she remembers.
OPC changed dramatically when it moved to the new building.
Rhonda became a department head. It was “an exciting time to be
part of a state-of-the-art building and involved in providing
cutting edge programs,” Rhonda said. “Marye Miller was open to
new ideas and new programs—she loved brainstorming and
always made the original idea even better. She had vision.”
In the new building, it became possible to mix health and wellness
activities with the educational, intellectual and entertaining
programs already being offered. Rhonda’s favorite quote is, ”OPC
is 90,000 square feet of fun.” Everyone had ownership of the new
facility. OPC finally had the opportunity to serve everyone from
the active senior to the very frail. “We had the space to try something new whether a craft, a game or a dance class,” she says. “We
discovered that as people finish a class they tend to stop for coffee,
chat a little and gradually become friends. She is proud that OPC
programs engage people in many ways.
One of the favorite aspects of her work at OPC was reaching out to
people in the community. “I made a lot of cold calls to individuals
and institutions,” she said, and I was continually amazed at the
R
willingness of people to tell their story, share their knowledge, teach a
class—to give back to the community.”
Rhonda’s persistence and enthusiasm brought such notable speakers as
Barbara Bush during George W’s election campaign; Senator Bob
Dole; Secretary of Health and Human Services, Tommy Thompson;
George Blaha and many others. She continually expanded senior
programs by instituting such things as Club 650, Terrific Tuesday,
Island Parties in the parking lot, Sock Hops in the gym, and parties
with great themes like “Gangsters and Hot Babes,” “Wild, Wild, West”
and “Cruise Party.” She envisioned and developed the expansion of the
International Program, reintroduced the evening and Saturday
programs and launched a partnership with Oakland University. Her
involvement with the woodshop included an exciting boat launching in
the pool.
“I was always looking for ‘on ramps’ for seniors,” she said. “Some
people just want to attend a class or be entertained. Others want to
become more involved. Terrific Tuesday is a relaxed way to get
together, share a meal, learn something new and enjoy some music.
Club 650 involves people with a wide variety of interests and talents
who make a serious time commitment. Best of all, they become
friends.” OPC’s newest program is Bullets, Arrows, Hooks and Hams.
Participants will discuss guns, fishing, ham radios—and whatever else
they find interesting. Rhonda believes it will attract yet another new
group of seniors.
fter her full-time-and-then-some commitment at OPC, it is
difficult to imagine Rhonda Nelson becoming an inactive retiree.
It isn’t likely to happen. Although Don is still working as a consultant,
they expect to travel. First stop will be Oregon to see their son and his
family, then back to Michigan to see their daughter in Ann Arbor. In
between they hope to reconnect with the friends they made during the
years they were moving around the country. They have already
begun to find purpose in Ohio. Over the past year or so, Rhonda and
Don have remodeled a house in Ohio that they envision as a space for
small meetings, conference and weekend retreats. It looks to me like
Rhonda Nelson’s “next new program” has already begun.
Rhonda Nelson helped make OPC “a great place to be”—invigorating,
challenging, interesting and sociable. She found meaning—and gave
meaning—to countless seniors. All of us at OPC wish her well as she
finds new challenges and meaning in her life.▼
A
PAGE 2
VINTAGE VIEWS
DECEMBER 2015
The gift of legacy
By Alyson Denyer and Renee Cortright
A
Elizabeth, by
this donation.
Mary, along
with OPC
members and
guests, enjoys
the wide
variety of
items available
at the gift
shop.
s daylight grows short and this issue of
Vintage Views goes to press, our
thoughts may turn to the season of giving.
Gifting, as we grow older, seems to become
more difficult, whether for holidays or just
birthdays and celebrations. We want to give
something special, something memorable.
But what? It may be time to consider the Gift
of Legacy.
Marye Miller saw the need to provide
services and programs for seniors, and along
with community support the OPC was
formed. It became her Gift of Legacy.
Within this gift of OPC itself, other legacies
abound. Join me on a little sojourn….
The west
elevator,
monies for
which were
given by R.
Aptly named the Rewold Library, the
Marshall
Rochester Hills Public Library mini-branch
Brandon, takes
Photo: Gerry Coon
here at OPC honors Roy and Beverly
us down to the
Executive Director Renee
Rewold, whose gracious donation of funds
lower level
Cortright admires the rocking
helped provide a place for members to
where fitness
chair in the library—a gift in
borrow books, conduct small meetings, or
rooms honor
memory of Liz Travis.
just sit and relax. A recent addition to the
the McCardell
library is a beautiful Stickley rocking chair, a Family, Kathy White, Dutch LaVere and
gift from the family of Liz Travis. Liz
Palazzo di Bocce owner, Anthony Battaglia.
enjoyed quilting, pickle ball, volunteering
The billiard room behind the Corner Café
and swimming at OPC. The chair (and Liz’s was made possible with funds from Sylvia
spirit) lovingly overlooks the lap pool and
and Harold M. Bjornstad and the wonderful
was selected for its classic mission style and garden outside the lower level is a gift from
beautiful inlay. Most importantly, her
Vern Pixley and family.
husband, Ron, chose it because it was
“inviting” and Liz’s son-in-law and grandson Taking the east elevator, courtesy of Bob and
Marty Peters, we arrive back on the upper
hand-crafted the plaque bearing her name.
level near the Ruth Cattell auditorium. Ruth
Around the corner is the Mary Elizabeth Gift was an active member of OPC who enjoyed
Shop. Ray Nicholson honored his wife, Mary the arts.
Vintage Views is a quarterly publication
with a circulation of 4,000, distributed to
seniors, advertisers, and at locations
throughout the community by the Older
Persons Commission. OPC provides a full
spectrum of social, health & wellness and
educational programs, including Meals on
Wheels, transportation, daily hot lunches,
adult day services and travel.
Executive Director: Renee Cortright
Co-editors:Gerry Coon & Diane Kaniut
OPC—Vintage Views
650 Letica Dr., Rochester, MI 48307
248/608-0276
vintage_view@opcseniorcenter.org
The Dennis White Adult Day Services is
named after Kathy White’s first husband,
Dennis, who benefited from the Adult Day
Service. Evidence of the generosity of others
within the Rochester Community is obvious
in every direction: the woodshop (Bev and
Terry Upton from Dillman and Upton
Lumber); the transportation department
(Dennis Raper); the computer lab (MillmanDerr Eye Center); classrooms from David
Elliott, Betty Josephine Allen and the
Rochester Junior Woman’s Club and the
deck outside the dining room, a gift from
John and Mary Modetz. There are many
who contributed to the OPC mission over the
years with big and small contributions that
are all gratefully appreciated.
T
hese donors all had a vision—an
appreciation for the services and
programs at OPC. Their memory lives on in
the education and enjoyment of OPC’s
patrons. Take a moment to walk through the
building where you will see the triangular
plaques highlighting their names. And when
you finish, dear readers, visit the library
again. The rocking chair invites you to:
“Come and sit a spell.”
Note: How would you like to be
remembered? OPC offers a variety of ways
through which charitable donations may be
made. For additional information contact
Alysa Hunton, Development & Public
Relations Manager at (248) 608-0259 or
alysa_hunton@opcseniorcenter.org.▼
Volunteer Committee
Jim Ahearn
Ami Burns
Jane Crozier
Richard Dengate
Alyson Denyer
Bill Farner
Betty Jane Gerber (H)
Orville Hoksch
Amanda Iodice
Shirley James
Nancy Knitter
Chuck Koneval
Hans Koseck
Bill Kroger
Lola Latreille
Carol Lee
Karen Lemon
Carolyn Mansfield
Gladys McKenney
Gretchen O’Donnell
Lou Papale
Tom Scheil
Sam Seabright
Adam Thiny
Mary Ellen Warner
Maryann Wilshere
(H) - Honorary
Opinions expressed are not necessarily those of the staff of OPC or Vintage Views.
DECEMBER 2015
VINTAGE VIEWS
PAGE 3
An American tradition
alive in the Rochester
area
By Carol Lee
or a festive addition to your holiday
plans, you can’t beat a performance of
Christmas music done in old-fashioned
barbershop style. Rochester’s own Guardians
of Harmony Barbershop Chorus will be
doing several performances in December,
including caroling in private homes.
The group rehearses weekly at the University
Presbyterian Church and performs regularly
throughout the greater Rochester area. They
have been harmonizing for forty years. They
changed their name from Heart of the Hills
Barbershop Chorus three years ago when
they merged with the Macomb Guardians of
Harmony.
The Rochester chapter is part of the larger
Barbershop Harmony Society. Barbershop
style originated in America, where it reached
its heyday in the late 1800s. The Society,
founded in 1938 to keep the style alive, now
boasts more than 20,000 members worldwide. The style features a unique blend of
four-part harmony. Performed a cappella,
meaning without accompaniment (unless you
count finger snapping and foot tapping), its
F
The Guardians of Harmony’s 2014 Spring concert with Matthew Tipton, Director, and Michael
Hartrick, Associate Director, in front.
colorful presentations are laced with lively
choreography, scripted lines, costumes,
props, humor and surprises.
he local chorus puts on a major show
every October and performs throughout
the year at various venues, such as nursing
homes, hospitals, shopping malls, parks,
senior centers, and at special Rochester
events, including Lagniappe Night and the
Arts and Apples Festival. They will be
performing a Christmas concert with the
North Oakland Concert Band on Sunday,
December 6, at 6:30 p.m. at Christ the
Redeemer Church in Lake Orion.
The chorus currently has about 25 active
members. “There are no formal auditions,”
says Al Fisk, a former director, current
T
member and life-long Rochester resident.
“If you love to sing and can do the music, we
invite you to join us. Although many groups
do work toward state and national
competitions, we don’t. We compete to get
better, not to win. Our members come from
all walks of life. They have ranged in age
from junior high to 80-year-olds, but we’re
now mostly over 40. What keeps us coming
is the camaraderie, our love of making
music and knowing we are giving back to the
community, since the money we raise helps
support local charities, including
Leader Dogs for the Blind, school music
programs and scholarships.”
To learn more about the Guardians of
Harmony, visit their website:
www.guardiansofharmony.org.▼
PAGE 4
VINTAGE VIEWS
“How may I help you?”
By Bill Kroger
A
t some time you may have had to call an 800 number of a large
company. After listening to the message you pressed “0” and
waited. What a surprise when a person answered and asked how they
could help you. You were overjoyed to find you did not have to work
your way through a lengthy menu interacting with a computer. It
made your day.
Photo: Gerry Coon
DECEMBER 2015
School and Adams High School.
Today the children and nine grandchildren live in Georgia, Indiana and
Michigan.
From her earliest days in Oakland
Township Kathy volunteered in the
community. She was President of the
Baldwin PTA and helped form the
first Parent Teacher Student
Association at Adams High School.
She served on many commissions and
When you call the general number at OPC, 248-656-1403, and dial
boards for the township such as the
“0” a cheery voice asks, “How may I help you?” If you call between
Zoning Board of Appeals and the Tax
11 a.m. and 4 p.m. the voice belongs to Kathy Vargas, this issue’s
Review Board. She served for many
honored staff person.
years as an election worker and the
Kathy sold real estate in the Rochester area for eighteen years.
last few years as chair of the first
During this time, in 1997, she began volunteering with Meals on
voting precinct in the township. She
Kathy Vargas answering a
Wheels. In 2007 she became an employee of OPC as a switchboard
has continued in that position even
telephone inquiry with her
operator working in the clerical department. She reports to Carla
after moving to Rochester Hills. In
usual smile.
Graham, secretary for Renee Cortright, OPC Executive Director.
earlier years she was also involved
In addition to helping you on the phone, Kathy and the two other part and actively served on committees with the Chamber of Commerce
and the Rochester Community Schools.
-time employees in the department perform a wide range of
duties that keep OPC running well on a daily basis. They schedule
When her youngest daughter entered high school, Kathy took over
people into many OPC activities such as lunches, tax preparation,
the office of the carpet cleaning business operated by Ed, on the
attorney appointments and Medicare counseling sessions. They also
basis that he could not tell her what to do. It seems to have worked;
perform a wide variety of tasks assisting the operations of the
the business is still operated by one of her sons and his wife. She
different OPC departments that offer the many programs that help
fulfilled this role for five years prior to starting in the real estate
make OPC the great place it is.
industry.
“When people call in they often are not familiar with OPC and what Kathy, definitely a people person, enjoys her days helping OPC
we offer. It is our job to help them figure it out,” Kathy says. She
seniors and staff.▼
went on to tell me, “Usually we can direct them to the right person or
area and it is a good feeling to know you have helped them with one
of their problems.”
Kathy Vargas was raised on a dairy farm near Watertown, New
York. After high school she attended a school for the airline industry
in Hartford, Connecticut, and eventually worked for several years in
New York City in reservations for United Airlines. A friend
suggested that she apply for a flight attendant position in Chicago.
On one of her first trips she met Ed Vargas and they were married
within the year.
After stays in Buffalo, Grand Rapids, Denver and Des Moines, the
Vargas family of three sons, and soon after a daughter, settled in
Oakland Township, Michigan. The family lived there for thirty years
and the children attended Baldwin Elementary, Van Hoosen Middle
DECEMBER 2015
VINTAGE VIEWS
Debra Rapoport: Textile
designer and blog star
Christmas look alike
By Alysa Hunton
any years ago when I was a young
man and my children were little,
I had a very interesting and fun
experience.
D
ebra has always danced to
the beat of her own
drummer. She is a textile
designer and visual artist based
in New York. She and her oneof-kind handmade fashions and
jewelry can often be seen on the
Internet in Ari Seth Cohen’s
Advanced Style blog. Debra
became friends with Ari when
he approached her on the streets
of New York City and asked if
he could take her picture for
his blog.
Fashion blogs (the word “blog”
is short for “weblog”) have been
around for about a decade. In
the beginning, blogs on any
subject such as music, film, gardening, cooking or traveling
started out as mere posts (rather
like a personal “diary entry”) on the internet. People wrote posts on
whatever topic interested them, added a few photos, and voila—a
blog was born.
B
ut these days blogs are big business. As certain blogs
developed large online community followings, big
corporations also took notice and realized that bloggers could help
them advertise their goods or services. Some bloggers can
command a five-figure fee to collaborate with a major fashion brand
to personally appear in their print advertisements, or appear inperson for a store’s grand opening. In 2012, street-style fashion
blogger Ari Seth Cohen’s coffee table book “Advanced Style” was
published featuring many photographs from his blog, and last year
the documentary Advanced Style premiered. The film focuses on the
lives of seven women of a certain age from Ari’s blog for whom
fashion is a form of personal and artistic self-expression. One of the
women featured is the multi-talented Debra Rapoport.
In the late 1960s, Debra considered attending Cranbrook Academy
of Art in Bloomfield Hills for graduate school, but chose to go to
University of California at Berkley instead to study textiles. She
then taught textiles, costume and personal adornment at University
of California-Davis for eight years before returning home to New
York City.▼
Debra Rapoport will make a special guest appearance at the
OPC on Tuesday, December 1, at 1 p.m. and 6:45 p.m. in
conjunction with the screenings of the movie, Advanced Style,
in which she is prominently featured. She will be on hand for
Q&A sessions after both showings. Don’t miss this truly unique
opportunity to meet the muse of one of the “blogosphere’s”
most widely read fashion blogs.
Registration at the OPC Cashier Desk is required. Tickets are
$2 each, available any time.▼
PAGE 5
By Chuck Koneval
M
I was working as a
teacher in a district
that bordered where
we lived. It was late
Thursday night before the
start of Christmas break.
My wife and I had been
discussing the coming
Christmas holiday. We
had three small children:
a five-year-old girl and
two boys, three and one. The two oldest were very excited about
Christmas. It was after the kids’ bedtime when the phone rang. It
was our daughter’s kindergarten teacher. She said she needed a big
favor. I said I would help if I could. Would I play Santa for the
school, was the request. I responded, “I don’t think that would be a
good idea. My daughter is in your class. She’ll recognize me
immediately.”
The teacher said, “Don’t worry; the kids are so excited she won’t
notice.” I reluctantly agreed to be Santa the next day.
A
fter my daughter left for school I dressed quickly and left
immediately for my most exciting experience in a long time.
The school was a bee-hive of activity. Everyone was waiting for
Santa. I thought, “What have I gotten myself into?”
I made my way to the principal’s office. They had a great Santa
outfit waiting for me. I dressed and looked into the mirror. I didn’t
recognize myself. I was ready to start my adventure, but not with
my daughter’s class. I practiced my “HO HO HO” in several other
rooms before going to my daughter’s class. When I went into her
classroom everyone was excited to see Santa. My daughter was
about tenth in line. I could feel the beads of sweat forming under my
beard as she got close. Finally, there she was, sitting on my lap and
spilling her little heart out, “I want a Barbie doll, some puzzles,
teddy bear and toys, lots of toys.” Finally it was over, and she
jumped down and said, “All done.”
She didn’t recognize me. I raced home before she would get there.
She arrived home by bus fifteen minutes later. She was all excited to
tell us about her big day. “Mommy, Daddy, Santa came to our
school today and I sat on his lap and told him everything I want for
Christmas. Guess what Daddy? Santa had a ring just like yours and
his shoes were just like yours, too.”
I didn’t tell her that was me until she had a five-year-old of her own.
She couldn’t believe that it was me, even though I had the same ring
and shoes as Santa. This was the magic of Christmas in action. I will
never forget the day Santa and I had been look-alikes.▼
“MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL!”
PAGE 6
VINTAGE VIEWS
DECEMBER 2015
The Christmas Tree—1944
By Nancy Knitter
Artificial trees, aluminum trees, pre-lit trees, flocked trees have all
come and gone, but the perfect live Christmas tree is still sought
after by many families. In 1944, I was seven years old. The United
States was still at war and a blue star hung in the window of our
cottage. My oldest brother had just enlisted into the U.S. Army Air
Corps after graduation from high school. He was to leave in
January, so Christmas would be a bittersweet celebration.
T
he stores decorated their windows after Thanksgiving. Ration
stamps were used to buy the limited items, such as sugar and
butter. Mom saved up her stamps so that she could make her
wonderful cookies. She started to bake after Thanksgiving and hid
the boxes of cookies in the cool attic. Somehow, a few always
managed to disappear from hiding. Everyone in the family and
neighborhood looked forward to Mom’s Christmas cookies. She
baked a variety of 20 or more recipes.
Dad stayed out of the way of the cooking preparations. His job was
to pick out a tree and set it up for decorating. No easy job. The tree
was not put up until two days before Christmas Eve, so the
purchased tree was set outside on the porch until time to be set up.
The tree had to be a short-needle balsam fir. It was considered the
most aromatic of the fir trees.
Two days before Christmas, Dad dragged the tree into the living
room, which had a typical eight-foot-high ceiling. Of course that
meant cutting the tree to fit the space and adding branches to fit in
the sparse areas by drilling holes into the trunk. The big discussion
was how to keep the tree from drying out too fast. Everyone had a
formula. Sugar water was the most popular, followed by adding
7-UP or an aspirin to the water solution. If the tree had a tilt to the
right or the left, pieces of wood were used to make it level.
T
he tree was finally ready for decoration. Dad’s extended duty
was to attach the lights as several family members guided him
on an even distribution of color. If one bulb went out, all the lights
on the cord went out. So the hunt for the “bad” bulb went on one at
a time, until it could be replaced and the whole string lit up again.
We never had the so-called Bubble Lights that were becoming
popular. We used the multicolor bulbs the size of night lights. Now
Mom stepped in with the ornaments collected over the years. My
cousins would visit on Christmas Day and we would play our
version of I Spy, trying to guess which ornament we were trying to
describe. Only three guesses were allowed.
Oh, the tinsel. Remember tinsel? Boxes of glittery strands of shiny
thin strips were hung from each branch of the tree to simulate
icicles. It was a painstaking job to place them. Each strand had to
hang perfectly straight. I was finally allowed to assist in later years.
The final touch was a handmade tree skirt to surround the bottom
of the tree and the water reservoir. The tree was truly a work of art.
The tree stayed up until New Year’s Day when decorations were
taken off and placed in the special boxes for another year of
storage. The tinsel was removed strand by strand and carefully
wound around a rectangular piece of cardboard to be preserved for
following years. The pungent smell of the balsam fir lasted for
days afterward and kept the festive season in our memories. The
naked tree branches were removed and used to protect the garden
plants during the winter.
WWII ended with VE day in May of 1945 and VJ day in August of
1945. My brother was on his way to Japan when the war ended. We
were overjoyed that he’d be home soon. The following Christmas
was truly a celebration of joy and thanksgiving.
Note on rationing:
Rationing regulated the amount of commodities that consumers
could obtain. Sugar rationing took effect in May 1943 with the
distribution of Sugar Buying Cards. Registration usually took place
in local schools. Each family was asked to send only one member
for registration and be prepared to describe all other family
members. Coupons were distributed based on family size, and the
coupon book allowed the holder to buy a specified amount.
Possession of a coupon book did not guarantee that sugar would be
available. Americans learned to utilize what they had during
rationing time.
While some food items were scarce, others did not require rationing,
and Americans adjusted accordingly. Red Stamp rationing covered
all meats, butter, fats, and oils and, with some exceptions, cheese.
Each person was allowed a certain number of points weekly with
expiration dates to consider. Blue Stamp rationing covered canned,
bottled or frozen fruits and vegetables, plus juices and dry beans,
and such processed foods as soups, baby food and ketchup. Ration
stamps became a kind of currency, with each family being issued a
War Ration Book. Each stamp authorized a purchase of rationed
goods in the quantity and time designated; and the book guaranteed
each family its fair share of goods made scarce because of war.▼
DECEMBER 2015
VINTAGE VIEWS
PAGE 7
Celebrating the Holidays!
My Christmas Vision
By Mary Ellen Warner
Story and drawing by Hans Koseck
A new house is a perfect opportunity to celebrate each and every
holiday throughout the year. After twenty-one years in our condo,
my husband and I moved. Packing all of our belongings was
certainly an adventure! Every nook and cranny offered seasonal
decorations that were begging to see the light of day.
The other kids didn’t believe it, but I actually
saw Saint Nicholas on the night of Saint
Nicolas Day, December 6. I still see the picture
in my mind, exactly as I’ve sketched it. Saint
Nicholas is one of the most popular saints of the
Christian church and the patron saint of
children. Many miracles are credited to him. During the night before St.
Nicholas Day he visits children, examines them and their prayers, urges
them to be good and gives them gifts.
W
e decided that we would use all of our ornaments and trimmings in our new home. If there was no place for an item,
we would find it a new home rather than continue to store. Surprisingly, very little was donated as we decorated for Valentine’s
Day, St. Patrick’s Day, Easter and Spring. Oodles of red, white
and blue goodies for Memorial Day, Fourth of July and Labor Day
were enjoyed.
Apparently I am especially fond of autumn, because there were
multiple boxes of darling scarecrow figurines, pumpkins and
turkeys. What fun it was to find new places for old collectibles.
The best part of unwrapping trinkets is remembering past
celebrations and the people who were there.
And now, it is time for Christmas! It was amazing how many
cartons were waiting for me to unpack. I am sure you will not be
surprised to learn that not a single item was given away. Perhaps,
when the season is over, I will use new containers to be more
organized.
B
ox upon box upon box of wonderful
possessions, and my favorite is an
old plastic ornament. We called them
twirlers, but their official name was
Spinner Twirler Bird Cage. Imagine my
surprise and delight when I recently
discovered that they were manufactured
in Youngstown, Ohio, my family’s
hometown. They were sold at the old
Strouss department store in downtown
Photo: Mary Ellen Warner
where we shopped for special gifts. This
little plastic bauble brought my grandmother, my parents and my
four siblings into the room with me when I held it in my hands.
What do you have packed away waiting for a turn in the spotlight?
Don’t wait until you are moving to enjoy the treasures you have
collected over the years. Every item tells a story that will make
you laugh, and sometimes cry, as the memories flow of all of your
holidays and of the people you love.▼
Other children put a boot or a shoe on the windowsill before they went to
bed on Saint Nicholas Day. My mother found that tradition to be
unsanitary. For us it had to be lead-crystal dessert plates. Saint Nicholas
would place candy or cookies in the good boys’ and girls’ shoes, or a
chunk of black coal in the bad kid’s shoe, or, as in our case, in the dish.
I
woke up in the middle of the night and wondered whether Saint
Nicholas had already put the candy in my dish. I crawled out of bed,
went to the window, and slowly pulled back the curtain.
There he stood!
I got so scared that I immediately ran back to bed to hide under the cover.
But I had seen him in that fraction of a second. He was standing next to
his horse right by the plum tree holding a bag and getting ready to place
the candy into my crystal glass plate. I was so exhausted from that
experience that I immediately must have fallen into a deep sleep.
In the morning I discovered that he actually had left some candy for me.
I knew it was because I had been a good boy.▼
PAGE 8
VINTAGE VIEWS
DECEMBER 2015
Wu style Tai Chi Chuan comes to OPC
By Gerry Coon
Wu style Tai Chi Chuan was introduced to the
United States in Detroit in 1987 by Grand Master
Eddie Wu Kwong Yu. By 2005, after several trips
to Asia and many hours of training, John
Marchewitz was the fifth student in this area to
earn the title of Sifu and the honor of taking on
disciples. He is certified at an advanced level by
the International Wu StyleTai Chi Chuan
Federation, which dates its history back to Master
Wu Chuan Yau (1834-1902).
S
ifu John Marchewitz has begun teaching the
Wu style of Tai Chi at OPC and is
encountering enthusiastic students. “I came here
to strengthen my back,” says Harold Johnson,
“and I’m pleased with the class. It’s harder and
more challenging than I thought it would be, but
I’m finding it worthwhile.”
Marchewitz has been teaching Wu style Tai Chi
Chuan for 26 years and currently trains seniorOriginally founded as a form of Martial Arts, the
age students at the Clarkston Senior Center,
Wu style has received commendation with
Clinton Township Senior Center and the Sterling
western medical professionals in Cardio-pulmonary
Heights Senior Center. He also teaches
rehabilitation, Neuro-muscular rehabilitation,
beginning and intermediate classes in L’Anse
Occupational Therapy, Oncology and specialized
Creuse, Trinity Lutheran in Mt. Clemens, the
areas such as Parkinsonism, Autism and Muscular
Rochester Community House and St. Margaret’s
Sclerosis.
in St. Clair Shores. While teaching multiple
sessions in these various locations, Sifu John is
“The goal of these classes is to help seniors
Photo: Gerry Coon
also constantly in training himself and speaks
improve their balance, circulation and flexibility
often of his Chinese teacher and of his practice
Sifu John Marchewitz explains a
as well as enhancing breathing,” explains John.
with swords, double edge swords, spears and two- Tai Chi position.
“During the class we involve every muscle and
person training.
joint in its natural range of motion, taking into account the needs and
limitations of each participant.”▼
Have a taste of poetry
It is through her job at OPC that Lisa came to meet one of the people
for whose friendship she is most truly grateful, Betty Gerber. “We
By Gretchen O’Donnell
are kindred spirits, and she is my inspiration,” says Lisa. “Betty still
tries to visit with us close to her birthday—Halloween. She comes to
isa Lanni has been enjoying poetry since she was seven years
old. She loves everything about it—the sounds of the words, the ADS dressed in wonderful and wild costumes and reads her autumn
rhymes and playing with vocabulary and layers of meaning. But most poems to us. Her time with us is always a treat.”
of all she loves rhythm. She hears and responds to it in everything,
With her sparkling eyes, sunny smile and contagious enthusiasm,
from the sing-song verses of children jumping rope to the blinking
Lisa herself is a “fabulous human being.” Her daughter, Nadia,
yellow traffic lights that keep time to the music on her car radio.
works in the hospitality business in San Francisco, setting up
conferences, meetings and tours. “She would like to be a writer
As the facilitator of the poetry group that meets evenings at OPC,
someday also,” Lisa says. Her son, Dominic, “…is more of a ‘techie
Lisa gets to indulge this interest and share it. “There are usually six
type.’ He’s a mechanical engineer.” Lisa majored in Language Arts,
to eight people in our group,” she says. “Some work at OPC as I do,
Literature and Theology at St. Mary’s College in Orchard Lake
and can’t participate in the afternoon “Fireside Poetry” group. We
(SMOL), where she was a member of Lambda Iota Tau (LIT), a
bring poetry we like, including original pieces, and share them with
writers’ society. Sister Mary Ann Brennen, one of the professors at
the group. Sometimes I give prompts and we write during that
SMOL, was a great inspiration to Lisa. Her dream is to someday
session. Poetry enables us to flourish and nourish.”
return to school and get her Master’s Degree, but for now she looks
“All of our members seem to enjoy reading and writing, and they say forward to honing her skills at local workshops. This past spring,
they’re doing more of both than they used to do. Being part of a
Lisa won third place for the Rochester Writers’ Margo LaGattuta
group stimulates us to write more. Writing is our gift to us! I tell the
Poetry Award in the Rochester Writers’ 2015 Winter Writing
people in my class that writing makes my soul twirl!”
Contest.
Some of her favorite poems are: Maud Muller, by John Greenleaf
hat does Lisa enjoy in addition to poetry? Dancing, of course,
Whittier; Nothing Gold Can Stay, by Robert Frost; and Spring and
because of the rhythm. She participates in line dancing classes
Fall, by Gerard Manley Hopkins. Perhaps her favorite poem is
offered Wednesday evenings at OPC. “And baking, and gardening—
Somebody’s Mother by a lesser known poet, Mary Dow Brine. It is a everything has rhythm! When you rake leaves you can hear the
story poem (as is Maud Muller) about an old woman and a boy who
rhythm!” (There’s that enthusiasm again!)
helps her cross a wintry street.
So if you would like to “feast on poetry,” as it says in the monthly
Lisa has worked in Adult Day Services at OPC for eleven years.
newsletter, come and have a taste of non-fattening fun: The OPC
“The people there are beautiful,” she says. “Every client teaches us a Evening Poetry Group meets monthly, the third Tuesday, 7 to 8 p.m.
life lesson and helps us to be fabulous human beings. The staff and
in Classroom 2. Drop-in cost is $1. Please bring writing tools. And
volunteers strive to make the present pleasant.”
expect a good time.▼
L
W
DECEMBER 2015
VINTAGE VIEWS
Lonesome Polecat
Let There Be Music
By Lola Latreille
By Carolyn Mansfield
According to T. S. Eliot in his
collection of poems, Ol
Possum’s Book of Practical Cats,
every cat has three names, the name
that is on file at the veterinary’s
office, (like Sir Abercrombie Finn)
and the one that is used at home
(like Finny). There is a third, however, that is known only by the cat
himself. Mr. Eliot tells us that when you see a cat sitting quietly
relaxed with that air of being at peace with the world and happy
with himself, then you can be assured the cat is meditating upon that
one personal name that is beyond beautiful, that secret name that
belongs to the cat alone.
I
have a cat. Her official name at the vet’s office is Fifi, and
sometimes we call her that at home. But sometimes we call her
other things. Quite often I call her the Lonesome Polecat because
she kind of reminds me of a character in the old Li’l Abner comic
strip, an Indian who worked at the skunk works. This kitty never
goes out. I have had many cat companions, but this is my first
indoor cat. She stays in the house and does not seem to have any
desire to go outside. She is afraid of everything: weather, new
objects in the house, people. She sits in the window and watches
the world go by. Actually, I wouldn’t want her to go outside because
she has only one eye and would probably get hit by a car or get in a
fight with another cat.
Back in 2005, I was pulling weeds in my yard when this tiny black
and white kitten crawled out from under the irises where it had been
hiding and literally sat on my feet—just crying and crying. I tried
not to see it, but finally I picked it up and called to my husband, “I
guess we have a cat.” The baby was very tiny and I saw that she had
one good eye but her other eye was almost covered by a glistening
pink tumor. She was all clean—no dirt or leaves in her fur, and no
fleas. She had come right to me, so I figured she was not a feral cat.
I think someone dropped her off on my lawn and drove away.
The little kitten kept crying and crying for her mama, the mama that
had curled around her and kept her warm, who had fed her warm
milk and purred her to sleep. Mama had never treated her harshly,
but had daily licked her clean and taught her the little kitty facts of
life that every kitten needs to know.
A
name should fit the cat. However, when I named this one she
was so tiny and cute I chose Fifi, thinking that she would be a
sweet little kitty cat with pretty little ways. But she has grown into
fifteen or more pounds of black and white attitude. I had to have the
eye with the tumor removed, which gives her a raffish, tough-girl
look. She has never meowed, just makes a croaky kind of sound on
the rare times she has wanted to make a noise. I don’t know if this is
related to the surgery but she does try once in a while.
I had her spayed, of course, but she has a monkey toy that she
carries around as if it were a kitten. Sometimes, when her hormones
are stirring around inside her she will carry her monkey around and
drop it somewhere and then call for her kittens in that raspy
croaking cry. Oh, it breaks my heart, but I’m glad not to have kittens
to try to give away. My fat, one-eyed almost mute cat—she is a real
Lonesome Polecat for sure.▼
PAGE 9
Memories, pressed between the pages of my mind,
Memories, sweetened through the ages just like wine….
E
ven as a very young child, I was aware of the beautiful music
that filled our home from morning to night. If I allow myself to
drift back in time, I can still hear my mother’s lilting voice joining
in with the voices of Bing Crosby, Bob Hope and so many others
coming over the radio in the kitchen and my dad humming and
whistling to the music of Glenn Miller, Benny Goodman, Artie
Shaw, and the Dorseys broadcasted over the small radio he listened
to in the garage while he worked.
My mother and dad bought 78 rpm records with the little extra
money they had and we played them constantly on a combination
radio/phonograph that was a wedding gift. Wonderful recordings of
Louie Satchmo Armstrong, Spike Jones, Bing Crosby, Nat King
Cole, the Andrews Sisters—the list kept growing.
Big screen movies topped my mother’s list of favorite things and
every Monday evening, after dinner, my dad drove the two of us to
the movie theater. Not only did we see a double feature, but also a
cartoon and a newsreel of current happenings in Europe and other
far away places. Plus, with each adult ticket they gave you a dish,
part of a set of dishes. My mother bought an adult ticket for me, too,
so she could collect the dishes faster.
It was breathtaking to watch Ginger Rogers sing and dance with
Fred Astaire, her beautiful gowns swirling around her. The music
was so happy and romantic. I could imagine myself in her place
turning and spinning in Fred Astaire’s arms. I swooned over Gene
Kelly as he serenaded his leading ladies and twirled them around
the floor. I was amazed at the things that Donald O’Connor could
do when he danced. So many actors and actresses, in so many
movies, mesmerized us with their music, and their beauty and
talents, and lifted our spirits, at least for a little while.
And then came the day when we got our first TV (we were the last
people on the block to get one). It was a black and white Zenith with
a round screen. Because my dad worked afternoons, we ate dinner
very early and listened to the songs of Kate Smith on the TV.
Sunday nights, I watched the Lucky Strike packs of cigarettes and
matches dance across the TV screen. And then Snooky Lanson,
Dorothy Collins and Gisele MacKenzie sang current favorites (that
had been recorded by other singers) on Your Hit Parade.
T
he thrill of my young life, though, was the appearance of Elvis
Presley on The Ed Sullivan Show. Glued to the TV screen I
became one of Elvis’ biggest fans in 1956. Rock n’ Roll was
reaching its peak in the 50s with Dick Clark’s American Bandstand,
a top TV afternoon favorite. My horizons expanded to include folk
music and I was swept away by Odetta, Miriam Makeba, Ian Tyson
and Silvia, the Kingston Trio, Simon and Garfunkel and John
Denver, just to name a few. And then, a whole new world in
classical music and grand opera opened up to me (those genres
demand their own stories). And Hee Haw presented country western
and blue grass music, direct from Kornfield Kounty.
Because of my parents’ love of music, it has become a big part of
my life. Like them, I listen to many different genres all day long, at
home and in the car. It is but one of their many gifts that has
enriched my life and for which I am so very thankful.▼
PAGE 10
VINTAGE VIEWS
DECEMBER 2015
The beauty of stained glass
Praying with my hands
By Sam Seabright
By Brenda Seabright
T
he Christmas of 1975 was a real spiritual rebirth for me and
oddly enough it came about by working with my hands.
That year I was in a bad auto accident which curtailed my physical
activities. But I had the use of my hands and I decided to make
Christmas ornaments. When I was younger I was very artistic, but
as my life progressed I was forced to become more practical. In
making these bulbs, I began realizing a part of me that had been
hidden for years.
I worked very hard to make these ornaments as perfect as I could—
straight lines, perfect proportions. As a result of the discipline, I
became very centered and focused. As I continued the work the
discipline was actually freeing my mind.
Wikipedia photo
Nativity scene in a stained glass window in the cathedral at
Basel, Switzerland.
S
tained glass windows often reflect the colorful, festive and
religious symbolism of Christmas. The central theme of
Christianity is the birth of Jesus Christ, as depicted in the center of
the above window.
At this time I also started painting our Nativity crèche. Again, work
led to focus and centering. It was very important to stay within the
lines, and I worked very hard at it. By staying within the lines, my
spirit was able to jump above the lines.
A few months later I began to compose poems, and my spirit took
flight in words and rhymes. This creative experience brought me
closer to God.
—And all because I prayed with my hands!▼
Many cathedral windows are arranged in a circle, in the form of a
mandala. In Jungian psychology, the center of the mandala is a
symbol for a person to meditate on while seeking to become whole
or holy, as opposed to a psyche that is fragmented. In Christianity,
wholeness is an inherent need in a person and meditating on a
mandala facilitates this process. In Christianity, Christ is the person
who truly perfects this need for holiness. He comes in the fullness of
time.
In medieval churches the windows were placed high, so the light
coming through would symbolize the Light of Heaven. Some
4th-century churches had thinly sliced translucent alabaster stone
windows, some of which still exist. Chartres, France, became the
greatest center of stained glass manufacture, showcased by the
Chartres Cathedral windows created between 1145 and 1240. The
40-foot-in-diameter windows are supported by substantial iron
frames. The Cathedral is a UNESCO World Heritage site.
Marc Chagall produced many windows that are intensely colored
and replete with symbolic, dreamlike details such as levitating
figures. Frank Lloyd Wright included stained glass windows in his
house designs.
Stained glass is made by infusing different metals into molten glass.
Iron gives glass a green shade, cobalt gives blue, gold gives red and
silver gives yellow. Glass can also be painted with metal filings or
colored glass dust, then heated so the color adheres to the base glass.
What can be more uplifting than looking up to a beautiful stained
glass cathedral window at dawn, focusing our thoughts and prayers
on what is most important in our lives?
(My wife Brenda helped to bring meaning to the article's cathedral
windows.)▼
Christmas tree decorated with many handmade ornaments.
Insets: close-ups of two bulbs.
DECEMBER 2015
My Italian Heritage
By Lou Papale
During the early period of development of
the United States, the majority of the citizens
were immigrants from a wide range of
countries. I’m sure many OPC seniors can
still recall family members who came to this
country during difficult times.
I
am of Italian decent, and at times I sit and
wonder about my Italian heritage and how
I came to be a citizen of the United States.
As a result, I have spent considerable time
and effort with family and friends in an attempt to reconstruct the circumstances that
led to this transition.
VINTAGE VIEWS
it would be better for his son, who had only
a sixth grade education, to migrate to the
United States rather than stay in Italy. All
the news in Italy at the time indicated that
the United States was a great country and
the place to be. In preparation for this, my
grandfather hired a teacher to teach my
father basic English.
As a result Pa headed for the United States in
about 1917 with little money in his pocket
and a third-class ticket on a boat that took
eleven days to cross the ocean. Imagine a
young man of only 17 leaving the home
where he was born and raised and moving to
a completely new country with the likelihood
of never seeing his family again; truly
It all began about two generations ago with
remarkable, but not unusual for the time. He
my grandfather Papale, my father’s father.
arrived in the U.S and went directly to Ellis
He had some serious thoughts in regard to
the future of his son, Ralph (Raffaele). They Island (his name is on record there) to obtain
permission to enter our country and then
lived in a small town near Naples called
Santa Maria, in the southern part of Italy. My proceeded to Utica, New York, where he had
a relative who rented him a room. Within a
grandfather owned a small farm there that
relatively short time he found a job with the
was worked by a family that lived in a
Niagara Mohawk Power Company. He never
compound adjacent to the farm. In addition,
did get back to Italy, but occasionally he sent
there were a few hired hands to assist with
a small amount of money to his parents.
the farm. At that time the First World War
was underway, the economy of Italy was
In the meantime my mother (Ma) had
failing and my grandfather had a concern
problems similar to those Pa faced. She
about these conditions. He felt that
migrated to the U.S. in 1920 at the age of
PAGE 11
about 18. She was from a small town close to
Santa Maria and had only a fourth-grade
education. Ma was related to the same
people in Utica, so after arriving in the U.S.
she got a room there and eventually got to
know Pa. Ma found a job in one of the cotton
mills in East Utica, and it wasn’t long before
she and Pa married and started a family.
This was taking place at the start of the
Great Depression, when terrible financial
conditions rocked the whole country. Even
though Pa was one of the lucky ones who
kept his job, he did not make much money.
But our family was thankful for what we had
and made the best of it. Unfortunately, the
depression was devastating for many of the
people in the U.S. for many years.
I
’m sure this story can be repeated by a
wide range of people who had similar
experiences. I must say how very proud I am
of Ma and Pa who, in spite of the sacrifices
and difficulties they faced, made their way
across the ocean to come to this new and
wonderful country. Their grit and
determination in coming here and raising a
family during very hard times will be in my
mind forever. In closing I want to say that I
am proud to be an American—and also
proud of my Italian heritage.▼
PAGE 12
VINTAGE VIEWS
DECEMBER 2015
Spirit and Snow
It is as if
God is sending down kisses,
pure, white
cartwheeling kisses.
Softly they touch our
eyelids and cheeks,
the hairs on our head-each one He has counted.
Ode to Casey
The moon on the snow of that Saturday night,
The eve before Christmas, was crystalline white.
We met on the street where each summer we played,
Tonight, we would carol and have a parade.
For now, it is Christmas and school has adjourned,
Parties are everywhere, but the news we’ve just learned
Is that Casey, our pal, has cancer, malign.
She might lose her arm. She could even die.
We met on the cul-de-sac, snow gently fell,
We passed around song sheets, ear muffs and bells.
We sang down the street, harmonized up the hill,
Pulled sleds and sang heartily all up until—
Arriving at Casey’s house, nobody knew-Pass silently by?—what’s the right thing to do?
Jamie walked to her door and he gave us a call
For us to join with him—each one of us, all—
“Sing out what we have in our hearts, our best song
And do it for Casey, that she might grow strong.”
We sang “Silent Night” like we’d never before-All hundred of us, ‘til she came to the door.
His Holy Spirit
descends on the earth
gracefully, mercifully
renewing our spirit.
The earth is transforming
The Father is dancing
The snow is caressing
The spirit is soaring.
Lisa Leo Lanni
Winter Night
The full moon rises
On freshly fallen snow,
Filling the night
With a shower
Of silver light
Shining,
Dazzling
Against the black,
A million diamonds.
Snow Birds
While people who
winter in FloridaMiss what the
winter will bring-
Bob Lytle
Those who stay
in MichiganLove it in spite
of its sting-
Resolution
Consider each day
a tabula rasaUpon which
you might write-
Ami Burns
Then be certain
that each thing
to be finished
be absolutely right-
She smiled and we cheered like she had just won
The center court finals at old Wimbledon.
We’d sing all night long if her sickness’d go ‘way
But the hour was late. She needed her rest.
The carols we’d sung were surely our best.
With her smile in our hearts, we drifted away.
Our prayers have been with her now a year and a day.
Ami Burns
So, Christmas Eve is now upon us again,
And Casey’s still with us—now stronger than then.
And able to join us this most hallowed night,
And make merry sounds and see wonderful sights,
The doctor gives us medicine, a dreary, dreadful bore,
But maladies and miseries are what we take ‘em for.
And our thoughts now are far from the world’s care and strife,
Merry Christmas, we sing, and give thanks for her life.
We take our potions on the dot, it keeps alarm clocks busy,
Take some with water, some with food, it’s enough to make us dizzy.
Bob Lytle
Casey passed away at age 16, several months after this poem was
written, having fought a long and valiant battle. During her
treatment she had an arm amputated. Still, she managed the next
summer to return to the tennis courts and continue her winning
ways. Casey will never be forgotten by her friends and family.▼
Side Effects
Well, dizziness, the doctor says, is quite a bad condition.
“I’ve got a pill for that,” he says, a conscientious physician.
We read the label on the box, it’s really very frightening.
We search it on the Internet, and, man, is that enlightening.
Oh, hand me down my walkin’ stick and fetch me my bottle of gin,
I’m afraid them “side effects” are worse than the mess I’m in.
Oh, hand me down my walkin’ stick, and find me a bottle of rum.
I’m certain sure them “side effects” will take me to kingdom come.
Lola Latreille
DECEMBER 2015
VINTAGE VIEWS
PAGE 13
Poetry is when an emotion has found its
thought and the thought has found words.
Robert Frost
And a Happy New Year
Christmastime at Home
Look, why is the sky so red?
Those are the angels,
they’re baking his bread.
It’s the fav’ritest time of my daddy’s whole year,
When the gingabred boys is rolled out,
An’, oh, how our home is filled with good cheer
When Mom opens the oven an’ they’re soft, tasty
an’ stout.
They’re making Santa’s
cookies and candy canes
for Toms, Dicks and Marys,
and Jacks and Janes.
An’ this is the time we all climb inta bed,
An’ snuggle up close to our dad,
T’ listen t’ stories that Daddy had heard
When his daddy had put him t’ bed.
There’s “the Littlest Angel” I know he can’t tell
Without wipin’ a tear from his eye,
We try not t’ notice an’ make like we’re ‘sleep
So he’ll tell of the star in the sky.
Or he’ll take out a banjo, his uke or guitar,
An’ we’ll sing sometimes late in the night,
All the songs that he knows, like “Orien Tar,”
”’Way in the Manger,” and “Oh, Holy Night.”
Some big folks will say we’re too little t’ know
’bout the stables an’ mangers an’ things,
But me an’ my brothers, we’re not all that slow,
We see all the love that it brings.
Bob Lytle
Hear that subtle distant noise!
Those are his helpers, making toys
for all the little girls and boys.
Imbued
With the warmth of
Christmas spiritwe rush about
madlyIn anticipation
of that wondrous
day we greet ever
so gladly-.
When my time comes I shall not cringe
Nor close my eyes in fear
I shall not say, “But why today,
When I hold life so dear?”
I shall not tremble at his touch
When he beside me stands
Nor try to flee when first I see
His clammy, groping hands.
No, I’ll not try to thwart my fate
But with courage that is rare
With head held high and fearless eye
I’ll walk to the dentist’s chair.
Joan Beutel
Taste the fresh flakes on your tongue!
Listen to the crisp win’s hum!
Feel its pricking on your face!
Smell, and draw it into your lungs!
It’s one of the greatest times of the year!
Merry Christmas again is near.
Hans Kosek
Ami Burns
Late for Supper
I just wanted a devoted guy…
he didn’t have to walk on water.
But then he came late to my party;
he brought wine…and he brought her!
Fatal
Hour
See, how the earth is so white!
She’s getting ready for Christmas night.
There’s so much snow on hills and ways
for fun on skis and sleds and sleighs.
He handed me the Montrachet
and introduced his blonde acquaintance.
We eyed each other up and down-his date was higher maintenance.
My plate of food was getting cool,
but my heart was even colder.
I wondered who she thought I was,
just what had this two-timer told her?
I asked them both to follow me,
and lead them to the table.
I hadn’t heard a word he said,
was she Stella, Sheila or Sable?
Making Memories
We’re not only baking cookies
We’re making memories
With oatmeal, nuts and chocolate chips
Plus raisins, if you please.
Our grandma adds a cup of love
’Cause that’s her special touch
And the times we spend with her
Are the times we love so much.
I see a smudge on Grandma’s nose
Could it be a chocolate chip?
It looks like she’s been sneakin’
’Cause there’s more on her top lip.
“This is Sammy,
he told the guests,
and then he rudely kissed her
on the cheek and then announced
”my friend and baby sister.”
But it’s OK with the cookie gang
’Cause we’re all family.
Besides, we’re not only baking cookies
We’re making memories.
Lisa Leo Lanni
Betty Jane Gerber
PAGE 14
VINTAGE VIEWS
DECEMBER 2015
Five islands—three countries
Photo and Story by Bill Kroger
I
n 2014, we took a longish trip on a Regent Cruise ship that began
in Turkey. I reported on the Turkey portion of the trip in a March
2014 article. The last part of the trip took us to five Mediterranean
islands and three countries. The first two days of this sojourn were
in the Cyclades archipelago, a group of islands in the Aegean Sea
that are part of Greece. Tourism is the largest industry on both
Mykonos and Santorini.
On both islands we used the ship’s tender to go ashore. The town
of Mykonos is quite small, and our walking tour looked into several
monasteries and the thatched windmills pictured on their tourist
literature. The small cubical houses and other buildings on both
islands are uniformly white, made of local whitewashed stone.
Each island is about 30 square miles and each has a permanent
population of about 12,000.
On Santorini, the cities are built on the sides and tops of cliffs
dropping down to the caldera the island surrounds. We took a bus
tour to see several towns and some of the fantastic beaches. We noted a smallish home on the sea that recently sold for $15 million;
the seller was Baryshnikov, the ballet master. After touring the
shopping area at Fira we descended to the waterfront by cable car.
On this island with little rainfall, dew is the main source of water
for the widely spaced grapevines we saw.
We enjoyed a relaxing day with beautiful weather on our cruise to
Malta. Valletta, the capital of the island country of Malta, was
founded by the
Knights of St.
John as a city
of refuge for
injured
soldiers during
the Crusades
in the 16th
century. The
city has withstood attacks
for centuries,
the most
recent the
fierce bombing
by the Axis in
WWII. During
our walking
Kroger bravely looks over the parapet at
tour we visited Jean
Trapini far below.
markets,
government centers, ancient parts of town and even saw a parade
complete with bands and national dress costume. A boat tour of
the harbors around Valletta completed our stop at this lovely and
intriguing city.
N
ext stop, Sicily, at the toe of the Italian boot, and the first of
our two stops, was the city of Trapani. After docking we took
a bus 8 km to the mountaintop village of Erice, a medieval village
complete with castle and cathedral. In addition, Erice has a
spectacular view of the scythe-shaped town of Trapani. Several in
our tour group stood in the opening between the battlements at the
top of the castle and looked several hundred meters straight down; a
memorable and stomach turning moment for me. A long cable
car ride down to Trapani took us back to the ship and away we
went to our next port.
Taormina is, of course, a hilltop town above the port of Giardini
Naxos. All the interesting places in Italy seem to be at the peak of
an impossibly high hill, a really nice thing for people like me who
think a parachute is necessary when riding a Ferris wheel. We had a
view of Mt. Etna from the ship and took a tender in to ride a bus
through the countryside to—what else—a winery. Winery tours are
interesting, fun and tasty. We did get a feel for the beautiful
countryside of this part of Sicily that sits on the Ionian Sea just
below the Messina strait, a passage between Sicily and mainland
Italy that at its narrowest is 1.9 miles wide.
The last stop on our island tour was Capri. A longish ferry ride took
us to Capri from the docks in Naples. Capri is lovely and naturally
straight up. A long bus ride from the area where the ferry docked
took us to upper Capri. To get to the peak of Capri you had to ride
a chair lift, and the weather was threatening. However, the guide
talked several into the chair ride and they got caught in a rain/hail
storm. The city is truly lovely and we had a grand afternoon before
taking another ride on the wires to get down to the ferry.
Another night of sailing and we reached Civitavecchia, the port for
Rome. We did not stay long, boarding a train at 8 a.m. for the town
of Rapallo and a couple of days around Portofino and then on to
Geneva. But, that is another story.▼
DECEMBER 2015
VINTAGE VIEWS
PAGE 15
Meet Mr. Gerry Mander
By Richard Dengate
process. By creating “safe” districts, the
primary election now becomes the real
election and historically, many people do
not vote in primaries.
This fellow came along in 1812 and every ten
years he rises from the dead to create discord
in our electoral system. His daddy was
Massachusetts Governor Elbridge Gerry who,
after the census of 1800, schemed to redraw
legislative districts to favor his party. A newspaperman noted one of the new districts
resembled a salamander. He drew an outline
of the district, put a head on one end of it and
called it a “gerrymander.” The cartoon
appeared in the March 26, 1812, edition of
the Boston Gazette.
The general election then becomes a rubber
stamp. Candidates must appeal to the ideological extremes of their parties in order to
win the primary. Gerrymandering makes
reaching political compromise much
harder, because it makes it more difficult
for moderates to win elections, and
moderates have historically been the key to
compromise. With moderates out of the
picture, partisan division intensifies and
both parties become more polarized, thus
intensifying the dysfunction we now have
in Washington and Lansing.
T
he U.S. Constitution mandates that a
census be conducted every ten years. The
Census Bureau sends the population count to
each state and the number of congressional
seats each state is entitled to. It is then up to
each state to carve the state into districts. Each state has two years
to draw its districts. This is where the mischief begins. In Michigan
the legislature draws district boundaries. This means the party in
control determines the configuration for the next decade.
The effect of the gerrymandering after the 2010 census is obvious
in the results of the congressional election of 2014 in Michigan:
U.S. Congress
Democrat
Republican
MI Popular Vote
49.15%
47.47%
MI Seats (14)
5 = 35.71%
9 = 64.29%
Democratic congressional candidates received almost 50,000 more
popular votes than Republican candidates in Michigan in 2014.
Nationally, Democratic candidates for Congress won 50.46% of the
popular vote to the Republicans 49.54%. Yet the Republicans hold
a House majority, 53.79% of the 435 seats to 46.21% for the
Democrats, giving them a majority of 33 seats. The following are
the results of the votes for the Michigan Legislature:
Michigan Senate
Republican
Democrat
Michigan House
Democrat
Republican
Total Popular Vote
50.67%
49.23%
Seats (38)
26 = 68.42%
12 = 31.58%
Total Popular Vote
50.98%
48.93%
Seats (110)
47 = 42.73%
63 = 57.27%
The discrepancy between the popular votes and the seats in these
three legislative bodies is clear. The popular votes are nearly evenly
balanced. With this data, no party can claim they have a mandate
from the people…there was no mandate. However, the seats do not
reflect the popular vote. The gerrymandering that occurred in
redistricting after the 2010 census has stacked the political deck
and distorted the will of the people. Over the years both of our
major parties have engaged in this manipulative practice.
In addition to circumventing the will of the voters, the political
manipulation of legislative districts impedes the democratic
T
here is an effort currently underway to
fix this by circulating petitions which
would place a proposal on the ballot in the November 2016
general election. It would amend the Michigan Constitution and
remove the politicians from redistricting and replace them with a
non-partisan, independent redistricting commission. This
commission then would determine legislative districts that would
more accurately represent the will of the voters. Several states now
have these electoral commissions.
The League of Women Voters is planning a series of town hall
meetings to inform voters of this rather dry yet important issue. As
U.S. Supreme Court Justice, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, wrote quoting
James Madison in a major opinion upholding these re-districting
Commissions: “…voters should elect their representatives, not the
other way around.”▼
Stump Howie
Numbers, Please
Answer the questions about sports equipment.
1.
How many stitches are there in a standard baseball?
2.
How many panels are in an NBA approved basketball?
3.
How many sections in a standard soccer ball?
4.
How thick is a hockey puck?
5.
How many seams in an American football?
6.
How wide is baseball’s home plate?
7.
How many rings are in the Olympics symbol?
8.
How many “spots” are across the lane of a bowling alley?
9.
How many players are on the field in a polo match?
10.
How long is a furlong used to measure distances in
horseracing?
Answers to Stump Howie are found on page 19.
PAGE 16
VINTAGE VIEWS
DECEMBER 2015
An Ice Skating Adventure
By Jim Ahearn
I
ce skating and freedom in my mind go
together. The feeling of skimming
across ice is akin to gliding with
effortless ease through the air, a
sensation freer than even driving. In my
teens the age for acquiring ones driver’s
license was the same as it is now, but
there was no age restriction on when you could start to ice skate.
I must have received ice skates for Christmas, but don’t recall my
exact age at the time. I do know it was before my ninth birthday.
My family moved to Lincoln Park, on the hem of Detroit’s west
outskirt, near the Ecorse Creek, when I was nine. This stream
often froze over from late December to mid-February, and I
remember skating there during our first winter in that location.
The internet provided a map of this creek, but called it the Ecorse
River. It shows that the river winds a serpentine route for about
3 miles until it finally joins the Detroit River. It runs through
neighborhoods, behind school yards and back yards and is wide
enough in places for boys to play hockey. At age ten the
unknown distance it traversed beckoned to me to be explored,
alone and without anyone knowing.
I don’t remember telling my family about this adventure. I may
have, but don’t recall any admonitions. Had there been any fuss
or punishment, I believe I would have remembered. Of one thing
I am sure, if I did share this escapade, I didn’t tell the whole story nor
the lesson I learned about the dangerous side of freedom.
Just thinking back on this makes the pit of my stomach churn. At the
far end of my exploit I came to a wide expanse of ice that I didn’t
know then was the Detroit River. No one else was in this area. I had
it to myself and started to skate out to see how far I could go. Stride
and glide, stride and glide was my approach.
T
he sound of ice cracking while in one of my glides and the
sight of water ahead caused me to pause. I realized the ice
had thinned under my feet and there was no one near to
help if I were to fall through. The queasy feeling in my gut
was screaming, “go back!” Somehow I realized I must stride gently
to keep from breaking the ice. With every small stride I heard the
creaking and cracking as I gingerly eased myself toward shore. Once
between the banks of the creek I retraced the crystal passageway
home.
Since it was an after-school activity that ended with my being home
in time for supper, there was little notice taken. Fortunately, I learned
a lesson about going too far. That is not to say I haven’t had other
adventures, but it taught me to carefully explore the rest of life’s
undertakings. Now you, dear reader, have learned of an experience I
don’t remember telling totally to anyone before, and one that might
never have been written.▼
DECEMBER 2015
VINTAGE VIEWS
PAGE 17
A women’s history bonanza
“Shane, come back!”
By Gladys McKenney
By Adam Thiny
“History is not just facts and events. History is also a pain in the heart,
and we repeat history until we are able to make another’s pain our
own.” (Professor Julius Lester as quoted in Sue Monk Kidd’s, The
Invention of Wings.)
Shane (1953), one of the greatest motion pictures ever to float across
the big screen, is based on Jack Shaefer’s classic western novel. The
story revolves around an oft repeated movie theme: ranchers pitted
against homesteaders. It is my second favorite movie; however, it has
my favorite movie ending.
In the year 2014, two books were published that, although very
different in style, made valuable contributions to the understanding of
historical challenges faced by women. Both books further readers’
understanding of particular women and the cultural challenges they
face in striving for self-fulfillment.
Charlotte Gordon’s book Romantic Outlaws is a dual biography of
Mary Wollstonecraft and her daughter, Mary Shelley. In 1792
Wollstonecraft, a woman from England, wrote the revolutionary,
A Vindication of the Rights of Women, in which she presented the
“scandalous ideas” that a woman should have the rights to her own
children and the right to inherit property.
In 1797 Wollstonecraft gave birth to a daughter and died ten days later
from childbed fever. The daughter was also named Mary and at
nineteen she married the English Romantic poet, Percy Bysshe Shelley.
Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein.
Gordon examines the lives of the two women by alternating chapters
describing each at the same stage in their life journey. This technique
enables the reader to consider the ways in which each woman struggled
to find a life of her own against society’s norms and is very much a
worthwhile read.
Both Charlotte Gordon and Sue Monk Kidd describe the women’s
pains so realistically that they accomplish the goal of making history
real, but The Invention of Wings is a much easier read. If you enjoyed
Kidd’s books, The Secret Life of Bees or The Dance of the Dissident
Daughter, your experience reading this one may be like mine—I found
it difficult to put the book down because the dialogue and description
were so engaging.
Ironically, one of the main subjects of The Invention of Wings is the
real-life Sarah Grimke, abolitionist and women’s rights advocate who
was born in 1792—the same year as the publication of Wollstonecraft’s
historic polemic, Romantic Outlaws. Sarah and her sister, Angelina,
born in Charleston, were denied the education they both desired, but
they became effective abolitionists and women’s rights advocates.
In this book Sue Monk Kidd leads the readers into history and makes
them feel it is a walk beside the characters—a walk to be treasured.▼
Rosies prove they can still do it!
By Alyson Denyer
n October 24, 2015, I was proud to be part of 2,097 Rosies and
Rosie look-alikes (ranging in age from two months to
nonagenarians!) gathered at the Willow Run bomber plant in Ypsilanti
Township to prove that, once again, we could heed the call to set
another Guinness world record of the most Rosies in one place at one
time.
O
Rising to the challenge, we beat the previous record of 1,080 set on
August 15, 2015, at the Rosie the Riveter WWII Homefront National
Historic Park in Richmond, California. Clad in Guinness-required dark
blue work clothes and red socks, heads tied with iconic red and white
polka dot bandanas, we turned to face a wide-angle camera for the
mandated five minutes while singing “God Bless America,” “Amazing
Grace,” and our National Anthem. Hearts were full. Every woman,
young and old, still said, “We can do it!”▼
The film begins with a blond haired man astride a horse drifting down
a sunny mountain slope. Clad in tan buckskin, the lone rider wears an
ivory handled gun high up on his right hip—the makings for a quick
draw. The rider approaches what appears to be a peaceful valley. He
meanders onto the farm compound of the Starrett family: Joe (Van
Heflin), his wife Marian (Jean Arthur), and their adolescent son, Joey
(Brandon DeWilde).
Within the first ten minutes of the film, it can be gathered that a
peaceful valley it is not. Six cattlemen ride up and threaten Joe Starrett.
They need his land. They want Starrett to vacate the valley. But when
they glimpse the stranger with the ivory-handled gun they have second
thoughts, sensing that aggression at this time is not advisable.
“Call me Shane!”
Starrett invites Shane (Alan Ladd) to stay on, to work on the farm.
Shane agrees. He stashes his gun, and exchanges his buckskin outfit for
blue and grey farm working clothes. Joey becomes infatuated with
Shane. He discovers Shane’s gun and persuades him to demonstrate his
shooting skill. Shane complies, leaving young Joey awestruck.
Not getting anywhere with daunting attempts at getting rid of the
farmers, cattle boss Ryker (Emile Meyer), engages a coffee-sipping
gunfighter, Jack Wilson (Jack Palance). During Independence Day
celebration, Wilson goads one of the farmers into a shootout. Tough
talking, but slower than molasses on the draw, ex-confederate Torrey
(Elisha Cook Jr.) didn’t have a chance, winding up dead in a puddle
of mud.
Shane realizes that only he is an equal to a gunman like Wilson. He
changes back into his buckskin garments, straps on his ivory-handled
gun, and rides into town. He strides into the saloon and first confronts
Ryker, and then challenges Wilson.
Meanwhile, on foot, Joey had raced after Shane, trailing him into town.
Now, perched below the saloon’s swinging doors, Joey witnesses the
final confrontation between the soft-spoken hero and the contemptuous
villain.
“So, you are Jack Wilson!”
“What does that mean to you, Shane?”
“I’ve heard about you!”
“What have you heard, Shane?”
“I’ve heard that you are a low-down Yankee liar!”
“Prove it!”
With the speed of lightning, two guns flare out of their holsters. Within
a flash it was over. Shane holsters his gun and strides out of the saloon,
leaving behind three corpses. Outside the saloon, he tells the heroworshipping Joey, “That was Wilson, alright. He was fast—fast on
the draw.”
A wounded Shane mounts his horse and rides toward the twilightveiled mountains. There will be no redemption for this gunfighter.
With this killing he has sacrificed any happiness that he had so briefly
experienced in this valley. As Shane explained to Joey, “There is no
living with a killing—there is no going back.”
Will Shane survive his wounds? If so, is he destined to roam the West
until he faces another gunman—a gunfighter “fast on the draw?” Does
he even hear teary-eyed Joey’s echoing last words, “Shane—Shane,
come back!”▼
PAGE 18
VINTAGE VIEWS
DECEMBER 2015
It’s a long, long time from May to December
By Tom Scheil
“It’s a long, long time from May to December
But the days grow short when you reach September
Oh, the days dwindle down to a precious few…”
“September Song” has been recorded by dozens of artists over the
last 50 years. The song is often used as a comparison to life from
birth to death. Most of us reading this are a bit beyond September,
at best in November, and maybe even in December.
MAY: I started my first full-time job in public accounting at age 25,
shortly after I purchased my first new car, a 1961 Ford.
JUNE: Ah, the month of weddings. We were married in 1962 when
I was 27. In the following year we purchased our first home. I
finished my six years of duty in the Michigan National Guard in
1965. This was about the time the war in Vietnam started.
JULY: Our three children were born between 1965 and 1970. In
1975 we moved to our present home in Rochester.
While sitting and listening to this song one day, I pondered how I
got to this point in my life where the days are dwindling down to a
precious few. All of us, some a little older, some a little younger,
could, if they wish, put their life in the same perspective. Here is my
attempt to put my 80 years into the 12 months of the calendar year.
AUGUST: August was the month all three kids were in college.
Being born two and a half years apart, college expenses came upon
us at a pretty fast clip. Early 1990s saw all three out on their own.
JANUARY, FEBRUARY: My oldest memory dates to a Sunday
afternoon in December 1941, the day Pearl Harbor was bombed.
An announcement on the radio caught my father’s attention and he
said, “That means war.” I am sure I had no idea what war was all
about, but from the look on his face I realized it was serious. I
remember the blackouts, the civil defense wardens, the ration books
and the shortage of such things as cigarettes, gasoline and certain
food items, especially butter. Our family, though, was never
seriously deprived of anything. I graduated from grade school in
1949. My grades were average but I always got an “A” in courtesy.
In the summers, I remember the soothing voice of Harry Heilmann
echoing across the quiet neighborhood as he broadcast the Detroit
Tigers’ ballgames. There was little car traffic, as each family had
only one car, and Dad took ours to work.
OCTOBER: The year 2000 brought my retirement at the age of 65.
That was 15 years ago. Retirement has been a great time in my life.
MARCH: The Korean war started in mid-1950 and ended in 1953.
My father was too old, and I was too young to be concerned about
the draft. I began high school in 1949. There were no school buses ,
but there were city buses and they worked just fine. Occasionally, I
would hitchhike home, and that was perfectly safe in Detroit. I
graduated from high school in 1953.
APRIL: My college years began in 1953 and I finished in 1959. I
lived at home, and for most of the time I took three buses to get to
the University of Detroit on the west side of Detroit. These were
great years. At the completion of college I spent six months,
compliments of the United States Army in Fort Leonard Wood,
Missouri.
SEPTEMBER: The September of our life brought marriages of the
kids and the start of the grandkids.
NOVEMBER: Throughout my years of retirement I convinced
myself I was “upper middle age.” A while ago I saw a sharp looking
man who said he was 92. I decided I wanted to live to that age.
DECEMBER: We never know when we have reached December.
The song says the days grow short. I know they are getting shorter
because I do not get as much done as I used to. We never know
when our final day in December will be, but I am sure it’s best
that way.▼
DECEMBER 2015
VINTAGE VIEWS
PAGE 19
Right here in Rochester…
Meadowbrook mystery…Daniel Dodge’s death, continued
By Karen M Lemon
T
o recap: Daniel Dodge, heir to the Dodge brothers’ automobile
dynasty, was married at twenty-one to a small-town telephone
operator from Gore Bay, Ontario, near where he owned a lodge.
Thirteen days into the marriage, Daniel and a few friends lit some
old dynamite, which exploded, injuring everyone. The injured
parties decided to take Daniel’s speedboat across the choppy
waters to find a hospital. For some unknown reason Daniel fell
overboard and drowned.
After two funerals, one in Canada, the other in Rochester,
Michigan, Daniel George Dodge was finally put to rest, at least
temporarily, in the Dodge Family Mausoleum in Woodland
Cemetery in Detroit, Michigan.
Danny’s life had been privileged, sad and short. If Daniel had
lived, he may have chosen the life of luxury and social station that
his sister, stepsiblings and cousins were enjoying. This would seem
unlikely though, because young Danny, never one to seek attention,
was an engineer and tinkerer at heart, taking after his father and
uncle.
The younger Dodge generation was famous for reckless spending,
catering to high society and social climbing. Their names were
often in gossip columns for parties, engagements or charity events.
More often they contributed to the news with their lawsuits against
Matilda Dodge Wilson. All of John F. Dodge’s children found
reason to sue his widow, Matilda, primarily over terms of his will.
I
n all probability, the reporter who approached Danny shortly
before the fatal accident may have revealed his true path—work.
Danny was interviewed by a female reporter covering the
newlyweds about an hour prior to the dynamite blast. The
following quotes were reported in the Manitoulin Island, Ontario,
Canada, newspaper on August 16, a day after the drowning: “I
don’t want to take any more time off,” the rarely interviewed
young heir said. “People don’t think I have to work, but I do.”
From his resort in Little Current he continued to express his anxiety
over returning to work at a Detroit laboratory. “Really, I do. I can’t
take any more time off, you see. I was off a whole month with
mastoids (inner ear infections) just before I was married. They
really need me in that diesel laboratory where I’ve been working.”
Answers to Stump Howie
1. There are 108 stitches in a standard baseball.
2. There are traditionally 8 panels in a basketball.
3. A soccer ball has 32 panels: 20 hexagonal and 12 pentagonal
panels.
4. A hockey puck is one inch thick.
5.There are four seams in an American football.
6. A home plate is seventeen inches wide.
7. There are five rings; supposedly representing the continents.
8. Seven spots are spaced across the lanes in bowling alleys.
9. Eight riders are on the field in a polo match; four from each
team.
10. A furlong is 660 feet, or 220 yards.
FYI: There are 336 dimples on a standard golf ball.
Sadly, that was his last interview, although not the last time his
name would be in the papers. Daniel’s death set off another round
of lawsuits against Matilda Dodge Wilson, as to who would
receive Danny’s share of the inheritance left to him by his father.
Only this time his young bride, the “former telephone operator,”
as the newspapers liked to depict her, would also be involved.
Prompted by his mother, Danny had a pre-nuptial agreement signed
by his bride-to-be, along with a new will, leaving her $250,000
dollars and the resort with all the contents. Despite the pre-nuptial,
Laurine McDonald Dodge quickly hired a lawyer, who made
statements to the press declaring the need for much more money to
sustain the young bride’s newly acquired marital status. Laurine
would go after her full share as his widow; after all, she was entitled
to live the lifestyle expected of a Dodge family member.
M
eanwhile, lawyers for the three sisters prepared a lawsuit
claiming the sisters’ rights to the entire share of Daniel’s
inheritance, worth approximately eleven million dollars.
Mrs. Matilda Wilson had to face another court battle over the estate
of her first husband, John F. Dodge. This time she had precedence
on her side. When her five-year-old daughter, Anne, passed away in
1924, family members had sued over Anne’s share of the estate.
The Probate Court awarded Anne’s share to Mrs. Wilson.
The tension between Mrs. Matilda Dodge Wilson and her new
daughter-in-law was well known. Mrs. Laurine Dodge’s family
status and history did not sit well with Mrs. Matilda Dodge
Wilson’s notion of who would make the ideal match for her only
son. So it was a shock when these two women sided together
against the sisters’ claims on Daniel’s share of the estate.
While the lawsuits were progressing through the courts, Mrs.
Dodge was living comfortably on a $5,000-a-month widow's
allowance granted her by the court. When the court case was finally
decided, Mrs. Matilda Dodge Wilson received three-fourths and
Mrs. Laurine Dodge enjoyed the remaining one-fourth of the five
million left in the estate after the state and federal governments took
6 million off the top for inheritance taxes.
Mrs. Laurine Dodge went on to marry two more times and quietly
lived out her life. Mrs. Matilda Dodge Wilson and her second
husband, Alfred Wilson, continued to live in Rochester, where they
bred Belgian draft horses. They made many philanthropic
donations, including giving their Meadowbrook farm and buildings,
including the Hall, to Michigan State University for a branch of the
college, now known as Oakland University.
Meadowbrook Hall is the fourth largest historic house-museum in
the country, and was saved from the wrecking ball because of the
Matilda R. Wilson Fund (the result of John F. Dodge’s fortune).
Alfred Wilson died in April of 1962. Three months later Matilda R.
Dodge Wilson had the bodies of Daniel and her youngest daughter,
Anne, moved to the Wilson Mausoleum from the Dodge Family
Mausoleum. The Wilson Mausoleum was built by Alfred and
Matilda Wilson in the 1930s, and is located next to the Dodge
Mausoleum in Woodland Cemetery in Detroit. Daniel George
Dodge’s final resting place is with his mother (who died in 1967),
sister Anne and stepfather, Alfred Wilson. Rest in Peace, Danny.
This ends the tragic story of one of Rochester’s own.▼
DECEMBER 2015
VINTAGE VIEWS
PAGE 20