Lessons Learned

It's been hectic here in New Jersey, and I was a little worried about the topic for this week's TBT Blog. This evening, when I returned home from work, I was browsing through Facebook (a.k.a. procrastinating), and lo and behold, I spotted a really great status update that totally inspired me:

"Three words that I thought I'd never get to say: I AM RETIRED!!! 32 plus years of teaching and subbing for Panhandle School District :))"

This was posted by Nancy Weitekamp, whom I first knew back in the late 70's as Miss Edmiston. All of the sudden, it dawned on me that she is the person who is responsible for teaching me some skills that I have used daily throughout my adult life. Without her, I would not have been able to type papers in college, or write a blog, or efficiently update my Facebook status. I owe this woman a lot.

Mrs. Nancy Weitekamp

And teaching me was not easy. My freshman year was a bit of a "transitional" year for me, and I was much more interested in my social life than school. Pam (Mitts) Lanter, Curt Snyder, and I sat in the very back of the room in typing class, and it seems like we were always pulling some kind of shenanigans. Then there was 7th hour study hall. Mrs. Weitekamp had study hall duty that hour, which happened to coincide with my "social hour." I enjoyed talking way too much, and one day when she had really had enough, she made me write, I will not talk in 7th hour study hall, seven hundred times (yes, that's 700).  It was about 3 o'clock in the afternoon when she imposed the punishment, noting that she wanted the sentences on her desk first thing the next morning. There was a home ballgame that night, and I wrote sentences up until it started and then decided to take my pen and notebook with me so I could finish up during the game. That's when Jimmy Jones tried to take the notebook away from me. I pulled back and the whole thing ripped in half. I stayed up half the night finishing those $%^&$ sentences, and as you might imagine, I was pretty bitter about the whole thing. I don't know if I learned an immediate lesson, but I'm sure the experience was in my brain percolating and somehow helped me grow up and be a responsible adult.

I'm happy to report that I am now Facebook friends with several of my high school teachers, including Mrs. Weitekamp.  I ran into her a couple of years ago at the 4th of July and we sat next to each other on the bleachers by the stage and had a nice chat. She told me about coming to Raymond for the first time, her initial impressions of the town, and her memories of my dad running the Raymond Variety Store. She's lived in Raymond a long time now, and she and her husband, Larry, have raised a wonderful family. She certainly made an impression on me and hundreds of other students who attended Lincolnwood High School. So, I would like to take this opportunity to tell Mrs. Weitekamp (I just can't bring myself to call her Nancy to her face), thank you and congratulations on your retirement. You deserve it!

By the way, I ended up doing pretty well in typing class (maybe it was really just Pam who caused all the trouble).  :-)  For all you skeptics out there, here's some proof:

Gino's Pool Hall

From the May 4, 1967 issue of The Raymond News:

A small paragraph about Gino's Pool Hall appeared in the Raymond Centennial booklet published in 1971, "Mrs. Luisa Casolari operates the pool hall since the death of her husband, Gino, some years ago. She has remodeled the building, added air-conditioning and new fixtures, and provides a pleasant meeting place for the young people of Raymond." 

Although the pool hall closed when I was still in my early teens, I have lot of great memories of hanging out there (much to my Mother's chagrin). To this day, when I hear songs on the radio by Led Zeppelin or Foghat or Lynyrd Skynyrd (on the oldies station of course), I'm immediately transported right back to Luisa's, and I expect to hear the solid crack of a good break at any second.   

Luisa Casolari

Luisa did not speak English very clearly, and despite the communication barrier, she loved all the kids in town and everyone loved her. She was certainly a memorable character in the history of Raymond. 

One spring, not long before she closed the pool hall and returned (I think) to Italy, she gave me a card along with this photo. On the inside of the card she had written:

Happy Easter

Happy Spring

Happy Happy Everything.

I think of Luisa every year at Easter and sometimes in between.   

Citizens of Tomorrow

Does anyone recognize the little cuties in these photos that were taken just before Christmas in 1950?

 (The article below appeared in the February 1, 1951 issue of The Raymond News.)

A Thanksgiving Tradition...

It’s a snowy Thanksgiving here in Northern New Jersey, perfect for baking the famous “Butterhorn” rolls, a holiday tradition in our family that was started by Mom when I was little, and then taken over by my sister, Sue, when she was still in her teens. Mom’s original recipe appears in the Raymond United Methodist Church cookbook that was published in the late seventies. I’m sure that many people reading this will remember that recipe book and some of you probably even took it off the shelf recently as you were planning your Thanksgiving menu.    

I haven’t been home for Thanksgiving since moving to New Jersey fifteen years ago. We usually spend the day in the city with Harvel native, Elissa Lebeck, who lives in midtown Manhattan. Many years ago, Tim and Lara Lebeck joined us at Elissa’s for Thanksgiving, and although Sue and Jarrod stayed home, Sue surprised us by sending along a care package containing freshly baked Butterhorns. Boy, was that a treat.

After that, Thanksgiving just didn’t seem the same without the rolls, so I decided that I would begin making my own batch each year. Sister Sue, anticipating the challenges I would face in this endeavor (see my blog entry on August 7, 2014), was kind enough to type Mom’s recipe and augment it with a full page of step by step instructions. My favorite part is about halfway down the page when it’s time to let the dough rise. She writes: “I usually turn my oven on WARM for a few minutes and then turn it OFF and let the dough rise in the oven. BE SURE THE OVEN IS OFF.”  Oh, she knows me so well (sigh). Even with these detailed instructions that I keep folded and tucked inside the Methodist Church cookbook, I usually have to call or text Sue at least once during the annual roll-making process. Tim refers to this as contacting the “Butterhorn Hotline."

I like to bake the rolls on Thanksgiving morning when Paul and Jonathan are still sleeping and the house is quiet. I use my mom’s old-fashioned metal measuring cups and spoons, and my Aunt Pauline’s Pirex measuring cup, the red print on the glass faded after all these years. My favorite part is rolling out the dough, “painting” it with butter, and then cutting a pinwheel design using Allen Poggenpohl’s Country Financial Insurance Agency pizza cutter that Jonathan got one time when he visited big Al’s office (I just love that thing!). My next favorite part is the feeling of the floury, velvety dough as I roll each wedge into a crescent, remembering to “put it on the baking sheet point down so it doesn’t unroll” as per Sue’s helpful instructions.

Once the actual baking begins and the aroma fills the house, it reminds me of the Thanksgivings at home on Oak Street in Raymond, Dad carving the turkey and doing “KP duty” in the kitchen, while all of us anxiously waiting for Aunt Pauline and Uncle Harlan to arrive with Aunt P’s famous homemade applesauce. Today’s weather reminded me of the excitement I felt on

another snowy Thanksgiving back in 1974, when Dad and I went to Hillsboro and picked up Grandma Gamlin whom, although extremely frail, had been given a one-day pass to leave the nursing home so we could all spend one last Thanksgiving together. These rolls have such a powerful effect on me that I find myself even feeling nostalgic about waiting for my older brothers to arrive (both were married and had children of their own when I was still really young), even though it most certainly meant that I would get a “dutch rub” from brother Bob when mom and dad were not looking.

The rolls are all packed up and ready to go. Later this evening, as I sit down for dinner in the shadow of the Empire State Building and in the company of an island boy, a Jersey kid, some New Yorkers, including folks from Russia and Thailand, we will all get to experience a little piece of back home.

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The Butterhorn Hotline is open each year the day before Thanksgiving and throughout Thanksgiving Day. The staff is very helpful and nice. Please email me at pinkston.jan@gmail.com if you need the phone number.

In the Army Now

This article appeared in
The Raymond News on 9/30/43

My Dad entered the Army on this day in 1942. Following basic training and a stint at Renken Trade School in St. Louis, he was scheduled to travel to Delaware and join an MP unit that was shipping out to Africa. Due to a mix-up with the orders, the MP unit ended up leaving a few days before he arrived. He was given new orders, and on May 26, 1943 he sailed out of New York Harbor on the Queen Elizabeth, headed for Scotland. He was eventually added as a replacement to the 861st ordinance company. The "mix-up" might have saved his life, as it was reported that many of the members of that MP unit out of Delaware ended up being killed in action.

He spent over two years overseas in England, France, Belgium and Germany, and he documented his trip with "Uncle Sam" on a piece of paper that he kept in his mess kit. Sometime in the early 1990's, he asked me to type it for him (please see below).

Missing in Action

The article below is about Murray Bost, the first man from Raymond reported missing in action in World War II. Sadly, Murray was killed in Africa just days after his 24th birthday.

He was the son of Dwight and Alice (Snell) Bost. The Bosts' were married in Nokomis in 1915 and moved to the Raymond area around 1921 where they farmed and lived the remainder of their lives. Murray, who was born on April 15, 1919, was their oldest child. They had two more sons, Marvin and Maynard. A daughter, Margaret, (twin sister of Marvin) died at birth.

The following photo and article appeared in the June 1, 1944 issue of The Raymond News.

Lt. Murray Bost

Get ready for snow!

I've been hearing all kinds of predictions about a rough winter based on the woolly worms, the large acorn crop, the bushy squirrel tails, and the "spoons" that are visible inside the persimmon seeds. I wonder what signs were present sixty-three years ago this week?

The following article was published in the November 8, 1951 issue of The Raymond News: