BATMAN - an Homage

Longtime loyal readers of my little blog know my life story which is very much alike to most people my age. I turned seventy on January 1 this year. I was among the first of the baby boomer generation. Life was so much simpler back in the later 1940's and 1950's and the game changing 1960s.  My generation was born just after the United States had saved the world from the Nazi's and Imperial Japan.  Good had triumphed over evil. The United States was on the march again - rebuilding the country and re-imagining who we are as a people.

I grew up in a little suburban town called Mountain View, Colorado.  The town was exactly two blocks long and six blocks wide. You could see the outline of the front range of the Rocky Mountains located about ten miles from my school. My school and my little town were typical of most of America at that moment in history. There was a population explosion as returning servicemen moved to newly created suburbs. I remember kids in my class sharing stories of what their dads did in the war. Television was introduced across America at the same time and quickly replaced radio as the principal means of mass communication.  My generation grew up watching shows like The Lone Ranger, Roy Rogers, and SUPERMAN where the principal characters fought and defeated evil each week. We also watched shows like Leave It to Beaver which portrayed an idealized version of middle class family life in mid-century America. Since television was new and there weren't re-runs like we do now, local stations would supplement network programing with old movies from the 1930s and 1940s where the American way of life was extolled. We grew up believing America was great and Americans could do no wrong.

John F. Kennedy became the President of the United States and inspired my generation (identified as baby boomers) to set new goals and to achieve great accomplishments for the good of all people. At the same America was becoming divided over civil rights but particularly in the South.   I did not realize it as I was growing up, but my lily white community (and in fact all of Jefferson County) was segregated. There were no black families and only a hand full of Hispanics. At the beginning of the seventh grade the Russians launched Sputnik and then orbited a man in space. Later the Russians built a wall around East Berlin to keep the locals locked inside the city - forever. And then the Russians placed missiles capable of reaching the mainland US in Cuba. Kennedy ordered air defense missiles set up on South Roosevelt Blvd in Key West, Florida just a few blocks from where I now live.  I still lived in Colorado and went to first period English the morning after Kennedy addressed the nation and warned us about what was going on. We were all on edge. One kid didn't think anything would happen, but others thought we could all be dead by the next day. Class began. The one kid was correct.  The US and Russia managed to avoid war. We lived.

A year later Kennedy was killed and our baby boomer innocence was taken. Evil had prevailed. Lyndon Johnson became President.  While Johnson pushed for civil rights and voting rights, he got the United States stuck in an unpopular war in Viet Nam. We watched the nightly news and saw some American soldiers doing bad things in Viet Nam, The war over there became the war at home.
Generations of families were torn apart. The view we had of ourselves derived from what we watched on television and the movies was not true. We were flawed. Not evil. But we were not who we thought we were.

During my teenage years a lot television programs had lead characters who were other worldly - characters on shows like Bewitched, The Adams Family, The Munsters, I Dream of Jeanie, and BATMAN. I remember when BATMAN first appeared on network tv in early 1966. I was a college freshman and lived in a coed dormitory which had a single color tv in the lounge, For some reason BATMAN became an instant hit across America and in my dorm. Few students ever watched anything on tv but dozens showed up twice a week to watch Adam West as Batman and Burt Ward as Robin the boy wonder. Batman was a moral exemplar - he was a good guy who fought the super villains. While it often seemed their fate was doomed, Batman and Robin always prevailed in the end. Good triumphed over evil. The morality of our common youth was restored.

Adam West died this week.  The City of Los Angeles illuminated the Bat Signal across the LA skyline to acknowledge his passing.

We are living in a much different age today than fifty years ago when BATMAN took our minds off the political wars at home and the real war in Viet Nam.  For my generation there was a JFK to give us hope about a better tomorrow and a Batman to give us a break from reality. While there have been many Presidents and many actors who portrayed Batman, there will never be another JFK nor another Adam West.

There is No More Officer Goody

Just about a year ago this week I traveled back to Denver to attend my 50th high school reunion. Earlier in the day I went to what used to be Mountain View Elementary School located in the little town where my view of the world was born.  I attended school there from pre-school through sixth grade. My first grade class was the first to use the newly built addition to the right of the original red brick school house. I was a member of the baby boomer generation, but we wouldn't know about that then. Millions of us were born after World War II. We were the progeny of what Tom Brokaw calls the The Greatest Generation. The world would be our oyster.

As the population of Mountain View grew older and the number of school age children declined, my old school was sold to a private company which now operates it as the Re-Create Academy. She young Latino manager allowed me to wander through the school to try to find my past. I took a lot of photos and tried to recalled the teachers, kids, and events from over sixty years ago. I wrote an earlier blog about my lying to my kindergarten teacher, Miss Godley. That was her real name and it fit her perfectly. She was such a kind and gentle person. She knew and I knew that I misbehaved and that I lied to her. The morning after my transgression she told the class someone in the class had misbehaved but she did not say who. I looked around with the other kids as we all tried to figure out who the bad boy or bad girl was. What a little imp I was. But she never told anybody in my class. She made me live with my shame for sixty-plus years.

I went from classroom to classroom taking photos as I tried to recall the names of each teacher. That did not happen and much of my memory is gone forevermore. But when I reached the cafeteria-auditorium my brain went into overdrive. I won't bother you with those stories but one stands out which is why I am writing today's blog.

The floors and the chairs in the cafeteria are new but the memories of mystery meat lunches, school plays, assemblies, Cub Scout Troop meetings, and so on will last forever including the time we got to meet Office Goody.

One day a policeman named Officer Goody came to our school to meet the kids. Now I don't know if that was his real name or not, but I will never-ever forget his name or the kind manner he had with us children. I knew that if ever I needed help that he or some other nice policeman like him would be there to help me. I seriously doubt he had a gun or even a baton. All I remember is his kind demeanor and his name.

I moved away from my little town which was only two blocks long and six blocks wide. We moved to Lakewood located about two or three miles away. Lakewood was not an incorporated city then. We relied on Jefferson County Sheriff officers if we needed a police. But we didn't need them because we didn't have crime. Ours was a homogeneous community of white people. There were restricted areas which did not allow people of color to live. I mention this because as a child I knew I only knew white people. I did not know there were laws to keep non-whites from living where we lived. Denver also had areas where homosexual couples could not live. Even as a young adult lawyer I could not buy a house in the southeast Denver neighborhood called Crestmoor.  I made an offer on a house on the street below which I visited on my trip last year. I remember my real estate agent telling me I could not buy there. I did not get the house. I visited the Crestmoor area on my trip last year and wondered what my life might have been like had I lived on that house and on that street. Those restrictive housing rules were struck down years ago. But I can tell you they still exist in the minds of many.

In college I participated in peace marches and civil right marches. In October 1968 I went to the state capitol to take movies of George Wallace who was running for President. People started getting riled up over Wallace's comments and skirmishes erupted. There wasn't any violence, but hotheads were being hotheads. The cops responded with force. I started to take movies and a cop came right at me and ordered me to stop filming. I did. I was no hero. I was a spineless wimp. In August I attended the Democratic National Convention in Chicago.  I went to the Conrad Hilton Hotel on the night of the police riot looking for my friend Annette. I could smell tear gas and vomit for a couple of blocks before I got to the hotel. And when I arrived I saw kids my age walking around with blood soaked bandages on their heads. This was my wake-up call that there were no more Officer Goody's left in this world. Certainly none in Chicago.

Kent State happened two years later. National guardsmen shot and killed four unarmed college students and wounded nine others. LAW AND ORDER became the mantra. Politicians seized on the need to restore law and order. Lines were drawn. People that play by the rules have nothing to fear. Those that don't do.

 I was in my first year of law school when Kent State occurred. I think most people of my generation were outraged over our government taking aim at and killing innocent people. Some dimwit at Colorado State University (my undergraduate school) burned down Old Main - presumably to protest Kent State. That was forty-six years ago. I have learned that the world is full of dimwits. They come in all colors and have all kinds of crazy ideas about world order. I am weary of anybody who professes to know everything and knows how to fix anything. These people are dangerous whether they are on center stage or are lurking in the background.

I woke up this morning and watched the news. Combat Police dressed like those pictured above were charging at a group of protesters upset with the slew of police shootings of black people. Is there no wonder that our character as a people has changed? Those cops would scare anybody. That's why they are dressed like that.

I know we can't and won't go back to the time when cops looked like this Norman Rockwell policeman. But that should not stop us from trying. What you see is what you get.

Back to School, But It's Not What You Think

A few weeks ago I returned to Denver, Colorado to attend my 50th high school reunion.  I lived in Denver from birth in 1947 until I moved to Key West in late 1993 when I purchased the Eaton Lodge guesthouse. I returned to Denver only twice since I moved away to Key West - first in 1997 and then again in February 2013 to attend the memorial service for the judge I had clerked for when I was in law school. The 2013 trip was a cold and miserable experience. I thought then that I would never go back. It was only the week before my 50th high school reunion that I decided to go attend. I had looked at the online list of former classmates who had passed away. Tears welled in my eyes. I saw the faces of 18 year olds that I remembered. I impulsively felt I needed to see my old classmates before it was too late. Perhaps I will write about the reunion another time. It's what happened earlier in the day that made such a mark on me.

I got in my rental car and drove all over the neighborhoods of my youth and adulthood. I stopped and took photos of a couple of the houses where I lived and wondered who lived inside those places now.  I was not expecting my childhood neighborhood to look much different. But it did. The houses and yards were different. My house had been added onto, the garage was turned into a living space, maybe a bedroom. A new much larger garage was added. The white picket fence was removed and an ugly galvanized wire fence installed. The rock garden my parents created from collecting rocks on various vacations was gone as were the fruit trees my mother used to back apple and cherry pies.

I remembered my dad and big brother chase someone who had been looking in the bathroom window when my sister was in there. I'll never forget how quickly they bolted from the house. My dad had a gun which he took it with him. Thank God he didn't find the creepy  peeping tom. My dad always suspected it was the tall skinny guy that lived in the house caddy-corner across the street. I always had my guard up when I walked past that house.

Mrs. Young  as anything but. She lived directly across the street from our house. She had white hair, wire framed glasses, and would sit on her screen enclosed front porch for hours watching pretty much of nothing. Her house was older than ours. It was a bungalow typical of what was built in the 1920s.  I would go over to her house in the summer and sit on her front porch and talk with her for the longest time. She had a grandson named Freddy who would come to visit on the weekends. He lived nearby - about one mile away near the old Wheat Ridge High School.  His parents were divorced - a novelty back in the mid 1950s. He had a huge bedroom filled with toys. His dad was a contractor who drove a Cadillac and a big truck. Freddy and I became good friends. I envied all the things Freddy had, but I had my parents so things evened out - that is until they got divorced. It was Freddy Young who came to my house one Saturday afternoon banging on the front door telling me a little black bear had got run over by a car. We were both really young - maybe six or seven years old.  I went over to see the bear who wasn't a bear after all. It was my little black Cocker Spaniel who I named Blackie. He laid lifeless with blood running from his nose.  I remember screaming and running back home. My mother called my dad who was at work. He came home right away and picked Blackie off the street and carried him home. My dad dug a small grave in the backyard. We had a small funeral.  Later I made a cross. 

I drove a block west of my old house and turned left to see my grade school,  Mountain View Elementary School, which is still located at 4165 Eaton Street except now it is called the RE-CREATE ACADEMY. I took a couple of photos of the outside of the building. I noticed a woman open the front door at north wing of the old school. That addition was built in 1953 and my first grade class was the very first class to use that classroom. The next year we moved next door where Mrs. Parham was my teacher. The Principal's office was on the left side of the entry. I went into the building, introduced myself as a former student, and asked for permission to walk around and take some photos. Permission was granted.

First Grade Class in 2015

The first grade class room looked so much larger than I remember. Of course back in 1953 we had blackboards and individual metal desks with with cubbyholes under the molded wood seats where we would store books and things. The 2015 classroom had long tables and computers everywhere.

The second grade class room and then the kindergarten followed in order down the hall. Back in the 1950s student desks came in different sizes. Little kids had little desks. By the time I got to the sixth grade, the desks were much larger. I remember one of the more memorable moments in my life was when I could sit on our living room sofa and my feet finally touched the floor. No longer fitting in a kiddie desk was another.

Kindergarten Class in 2015

My kindergarten, however,  was located on the rear side of the ground floor of the original school building. We only attended kindergarten for half a day. My kindergarten teacher's name was Miss Godley. She must have been 900 years old. She wore her long gray hair tied up in a bun. She wore paisley dresses and was one of the kindest people I ever met in my life other than my grandmother.

I lived one block away from school. Both my mother and dad worked. When I got out of school at noon, I was supposed to walk to the corner of 43rd and Eaton and walk one block east to Mrs. Sorrentino's house where I would spend the afternoon waiting for my mom to get home from work. We would listen to Arthur Godfrey's radio program while Mrs. Sorrentino and her daughter Rose would prepare dinner. Mr. Sorrentino (Pascal) and I would sit on his front porch on warm days where I would constantly try to hit his hand that laid flat on the arm rest of his wood chair. Of course he would move it away in the last millisecond and  my fist would hit the flat surface of the arm rest. He was pretty quick for being so old.

One day a classmate who lived a couple of blocks south of the school, and in the opposite direction of where I lived,  invited me to go to his house for lunch and to play. I agreed and we set out to his house. Miss Godley happened to be driving her car home to have her lunch and saw me and my friend walking. She knew I was walking in the wrong direction. She stopped her car and asked me where I was going. I said to my friend's house. She told me I had to turn around and go to my house because my parents would be worried. I said goodbye to my friend, turned around, and started to walk back toward my house. Miss Godley drove her car away.  I looked back and as soon as I saw that she was gone, I pivoted and ran to my friend where we proceeded go to his house where I spent the afternoon.

I don't remember exactly how or when I was found. I do know Mrs. Sorrentino called my dad who came home from work and looked all over for me. I know the school got involved in the search because of what happened the next day.  Miss Godley made my classmates sit in a circle in the middle of the kindergarten. She then said one of us had been very bad the day before. She told the story of the bad child who disobeyed and deceived her.  We all looked around the circle wondering which one of us was the bad seed. She never said it was me, for which I was grateful.  But as you can tell from reading this, I was still deceitful brat by not admitting my guilt or my shame. I now confess..

Boy's Restroom in 2015

The boys restroom was located on the ground floor of the school next to the original kindergarten. When I was in kindergarten the boys would line up at one of the two troughs to do their business. Boys are boys and peeing turned into a sport to see who could pee the furthest. We moved to the new building in 1953 and returned to use this bathroom from the third grade on. By then I got too modest and retreated to one of the stalls. I was surprised to see that the bathroom has has not changed in sixty three years. Nor have I.

The new kindergarten classroom (photo four above) was occasionally used by my classmates. I can't remember much about when or why we went there except for reading class when one of the teachers would read us a story. I remember one book especially - Little Black Sambo.  My school was as lily white as they come. In fact all of the schools in the Jefferson County school system were lily white. I had no conception of black people other than Amos and Andy which was a television program in the early 1950s. I knew that Little Black Sambo was not real, but then again I did not know what "real" was living in my little environment where everybody was white.

Cafeteria, Auditorium, and Gym in 2015

The school auditorium also served as the school lunchroom. And on really bad days we would retreat to this space for recess instead of going out into the snow. The photo above shows the room as it looks today. Back in the 1950s there were long tables and grayish-brown metal chairs that folded away. The school kitchen was located just to the left of the stage. The nice ladies made us lunches that back then cost $.25 a day. Twenty-five cents. We had our share of mystery meat, Salisbury steak, spaghetti, and chipped beef. But we also had pizza . It was pretty good fare for a quarter.

Backstage in 2015

I think it was 1955 when I played an orphan in my school's Christmas play. I remember the play took place at Christmas time because Santa was the main character who was played by an adult - probably a teacher. Children from each grade played the other orphans.

The play took place right after school on the Friday before our Christmas recess began. The audience was filled with kids from each grade along with their parents. I remember staring out at the audience to find my mother. I did not see her. Later she told me she was there.When I stood on the stage taking the photos I remember looking out at the space sixty years earlier - looking for my mother's face. I didn't see it. She told me later that afternoon she was there. I was never really sure. The auditorium was much smaller than I remembered.

The play was short. My part was even shorter. My part required intensive practice on my dialect. I'm not sure who taught me the phraseology, and I cannot remember my line.  But as I recall my one line brought down the house. One of the teachers applied my makeup. Yep, an eight year old boy wearing makeup. The teacher rubbed burnt cork all over my hands, neck, and face. I was supposed to be a little black orphan.  I got my line out and the audience roared. Maybe a bit of Little Black Sambo or Amos and Andy rubbed off on me.

Sixth Grade Classroom in 2015

By the sixth grade we were all pretty much grown up or so we thought.  Mr. Albert Morrison was my sixth grade teacher. He had fought in World War II. He was a member of the Kiwanis Clubs and got his group to provide our safety patrol yellow slickers and surplus Army helmets painted yellow which we wore while standing guard for the younger students as they walked to and from school each day.

Mountain View Safety Patrol Members - Sixth Grade Boys in 1959

The Cork Board

The original cork board at the back of the sixth grade classroom was still there. My mind raced back to when we were studying Canada. We did a mock television documentary about what we had learned on the subject. We did not have a TV camera. Heck, we didn't even have a TV. We used a giant roll of art paper upon which we had drawn various scenes of Canada.  The roll of paper was unfurled as it progressed through a pretend TV set accompanied by the recorded narration on reel to reel tape. I was the narrator. I still remember one of my lines: "Qui! Qui! Zis is Channel Six Mountain View." Today my old class room and all of the other class rooms have computers.


Mr. Morrison also assisted Dr. O'Day who was our Boy Scout troop leader. Mr. Morrison took us on a weekend over-night camping trip up in the foothills of  the Rocky Mountains. I saw him smoke. He swore, too. He was mortal.

I guess every school has a kid that is a bit different. Our kid was Tommy Myers. He wore clothes like Pig-Pen. He was never really scrubbed clean like the other boys. One time Tommy gave me a twenty dollar bill as a gift for being his friend.  I remember one night I was in our living room. I had set up my mom's ironing board, and I was ironing my money. That wasn't a typo. I ironed my money so it would look crisp. My big brother saw my stacks of ones but got really demanding when he saw that $20 bill. He demanded to know where it came from. That got my mother in on the conversation. I told her Tommy had given it to me. I had to go over to Tommy's house to return the money back to his mother. Twenty dollars in 1959 would be worth $162.49 today.

Mr. Morrison did not like Tommy. Not one bit. One day Mr. Morrison got so mad at Tommy that he dashed from the front of the classroom to grab Tommy by his dirty little brown arm and yank him out of his chair and dragged him through the classroom like a rag doll and kicked him out the door. We were shocked. We had never seen Mr. Morrison or anyone ever treat a student like that. He was three or four times the size of that kid. He had been in the war. He could have killed the kid. Yeah, he smoked. And he did bad!

Hallway to First Floor Exit which Freddy Mander Bolted to Escape

 Sometime during the sixth grade a boy named Freddy Mander enrolled in my school. He had moved from Germany to Colorado. The very first day of class the school bell rang as it always did. Freddy jumped from his seat and ran out of the class, down the stairs, and out to the front of the school to hide. He later explained he thought it was an air raid warning.

Bruce Small had been my best friend throughout school. His mother had been my Cub Scout Den Mother in 1955.  His mother's name was Shirley, the same as my older sister. They lived in a modest little house on Benton Street. Bruce had a brother named Ronny, just like I did, except my brother was twelve years older than me. I think it was our fifth grade teacher whose name I don't recall who continually called Bruce "Short" instead of Small. This really infuriated him.  I remember him liping off to her saying "My name is Small, not Short!".  It did no good. She continued to call him Short.

A lot of what you learn in school occurs outside the classroom. I participated in little league baseball for only one year - 1958. Our team was sponsored by Denargo Market. Because of my prolific sports prowess, I was selected to play center field. One Saturday afternoon we were at our home field, behind my school, when this random kid hit a pop fly directly to where I was standing. A few weeks earlier I was playing catch with my Uncle Joe who had moved in with us for some unknown reason. Anyway, my uncle through a baseball that hit me straight in the eye. I never got over my fear of baseballs after that. So when that random kid's ball was falling from the sky directly into my mitt, I flinched and acted like the sun was too bright and I could not see the ball. That was the only time in all of our games that a baseball ever got near me. Our team lost every single game we played that year. Maybe I could have saved the day had I even tried to catch that ball. I didn't, and I have never forgotten it.

There were two big baseball fields and a tennis court (which we used for playing dodge ball) behind my school. When I was in the sixth grade I got upset with Bruce small about something. I acted totally out of character and blurted out "I choose you!".  I forgot the matter by the time we were back in school. But he didn't. Nor did the rest of my class. When school let out, my entire class walked back across the street to the baseball field where Bruce and I squared off. I don't know who went first. I remember boys and girls picking their favorite. I don't know who favored me or him. It did not matter. I hit him hard several times. He started to cry and went home. I felt terrible. I have never forgotten this little episode either. I loved that kid.

I look back on my seven years at Mountain View Elementary School with sincere fondness and appreciation. I have recounted little episodes of my life at my grade school. These were lessons learned for me both in school and about life. We made it out alive and without wearing helmets. I guess some of my teachers may have been politically incorrect in choosing some books to read and some plays to perform. Mr. Morrison behaved terribly wrong in how he treated Freddy, but he was still a good man. I am very happy I took time to go back to school.  

You can find out more about the RE-CREATE ACADEMY on FACEBOOK.

A Christmas Memory and more

I wrote about my first appearance on the big stage four years ago. I want to reprise that blog and add a some additional thoughts for your consideration.

The school cafeteria (lower left) doubled as our auditorium where I debuted in black face at age eight

My introduction to the theater perhaps should go unmentioned. But I'll throw political correctness aside to share a very innocent little boy's first appearance on the stage. I think I was in the second grade at Mountain View Elementary in Wheat Ridge, Colorado. (That's the lily white suburb I previously wrote about.) The year would have been around 1955.  I played an orphan at Christmas. I remember the play took place at Christmas time because Santa was the main character, and he was played by an adult. Classmates from various grades were the other orphans.

The play took place right after school. The audience was filled with kids from each grade along with their parents. The play was short. My part was even shorter.

My part required intensive practice on my dialect. I'm not sure who taught me the phraseology, and I cannot remember my line.  But as I recall my one line brought down the house.

I also remember one of the teachers taking the time to apply my makeup. Yep, an eight year old boy wearing makeup. The teacher rubbed burnt cork all over my hands, neck, and face. I was supposed to be a little black boy.  I got my line out, and the audience roared.

Two years earlier I was in kindergarten. I attended the morning class while other kids attended class in the afternoon.  We were the beginning of the boomer generation. The next year an addition was added to the right side of the  building which then housed kindergarten, first, and second grade classes.

My kindergarten class was located in the lower level on the back side of the original school. My teacher was Miss Godley. She was about 900 years old (or so it seemed to me) and wore her gray hair in a bun. She wasn't fat by today's standards, but back then she was a little plump. She wore wire frame glasses. As I remember her, she was about one of the kindest people I ever met in my life.

I lived one block away from school. Both my mother and dad worked. When I got out of school, I was supposed to walk to the corner of 43rd and Eaton and walk one block east to Mrs. Sorrentino's house were I would spend the afternoon waiting for my mom to get home from work.

On one day a classmate who lived the a couple of blocks south in the opposite direction asked me to go to his house for lunch and play. I agreed and we set out to his house. Miss Godley happened to be driving her car home to have her lunch and saw me and my friend walking. She knew I was going the wrong direction. She stopped the car and asked me where I was going. I said to my friend's house. She told me I had to turn around and go to my house because my parents would be worried. So I said goodbye to my friend, turned around and started to walk back toward my house. Miss Godley drove her car away.  I looked back and as soon as I saw that she was gone, I pivoted and ran to my friend where we proceeded go to his house.

I don't remember exactly how or when I was found. I do know Mrs. Sorrentino called my dad who came home and looked all over for me. I know the school got involved in the search because of what
happened the next day.  Miss Godely made us all sit down in a circle. She then said one of us had been very bad the day before and she told the story of the bad child who disobeyed and deceived her.  We all looked around at the circle wondering which one of us was the bad seed. She never said it was me, for which I was grateful.  But as you can tell from reading this, I was still deceitful by not admitting my guilt or my shame. I confess now.

I tell these little tales of my childhood today because I look back on my life with great nostalgia and because of the immense pain and frustration I feel about the loss of life of those sweet little children in Connecticut who will never have silly little tales of school plays or learning the lessons in life we all go through.  My heart was broken yesterday. What a sad day it was for our country. And what a horrible day it was for the families of all those who were killed or injured.