World Series on the Sly

Click for outside article on Herb Score

by Marty Roselius

In America, baseball, football and basketball held the attention of sports fans during the 1950s. These three major sports had highly recognized professional leagues and were the primary activities high schools of the area competed in almost to the exclusion of others. 

I followed the professional teams and their star players through my collection of sports cards. In Key West, being a few states and more than a thousand miles removed from the nearest major league city, there were no radio broadcasts of games, although a few would be telecast nationwide on the weekend by one of the three networks. Without a prized television standing in the corner of our family’s living room, my exposure to professional sports was minimal. Nevertheless, I always found a way to stay on top of who was leading the division, how the hated Yankees were doing (they always won), and how my favorite players were faring. 

In 1948 there were only 190,000 TV sets in all of America, but with sports becoming a major portion of television programming during this period, it quickly grew to 10.5 million sets two years later. Radio broadcasts were quite popular as most families had radios, whereas many could not afford a television in the days before the common use of credit cards.

In the major leagues there were only sixteen teams, all concentrated in cities in the northeast and Midwest. There was no team west of St. Louis until the Giants moved to San Francisco in 1958, or south of Washington, D.C. until the Braves moved to Atlanta in 1966. But there were still two leagues, The American League and The National League. And the World Series pitted the two best teams of the year, the two champions, against each other for the World Championship.

Start times were a little different too. Ballgames were played during the middle of the day, regardless whether the game was the first of the season or the seventh game of the World Series. Television and radio networks broadcast the games live, during daylight hours, as they were traditionally played. 

So for us school kids, this presented a major league dilemma. The World Series is on the radio. And heck, we’re sitting behind a school desk! That left us with only one alternative. Sneak our transistor radios into class, beneath the watchful eyes of our most unsympathetic teachers. However, some genius inventor acknowledged our dour predicament and developed an amazing invention that made this possible—an earpiece that allowed us to listen to the radio without any audible sound that could be detected by a teacher. With great skill we carefully concealed the small earpiece, feeding the thin wire down our shirt collar to the transistor radio hidden in our pockets. Resting our elbow on the desk, we leaned our head against the open palm of our hand to cover it. 

Willie Mays famous over the shoulder

1954 World Series catch

This deception created a difficult challenge: following the action of the game while not making sudden and compromising sounds, gestures or facial expressions during the excitement of play. Our teachers were aware of the conflict their classroom priorities had with the broadcast of the World Series and were ever watchful for the telltale signs of a distracted student. These World Series games were made even more exciting since we had to follow them discreetly, with the threat of a paddling and the loss of our prized electronics in the midst of the most exciting sports event of the year, if we got caught. But, holy sneakers, we just couldn’t miss the game, at any risk.

I didn’t, get caught that is, and enjoyed the excitement of many a Mickey Mantle home run or a famous Willie Mays’ over-the-shoulder catch from center field while Mrs. Wagner or Mrs. Haskins dutifully carried on their teaching responsibilities with a history lesson from the front of the class. I don’t remember those history lessons, but I do remember those World Series’, which in fact, are history lessons in themselves, aren’t they?

VINCENZO CAROZZA

by Carla E Carozza (daughter)
 
My father was born in Palena, Italy on September 8, 1927. Palena is a small town located in the Provence of Chieti in the Abruzzo region of Italy. Palena is a very picturesque mountain town located 2,300 above sea level where archeological remains date back 40,000 years. Palena is located in the Maielle mountain range, a string of dome-shaped masses which are part of the austere Appenine mountains. The Abruzzo of today is still mostly unspoiled and authentic.
 
With that said, we grew up hearing a lot of stories from my Dad about Palena and we never stopped hearing them and now how I miss those stories as only he could tell them. You know, he had to walk at least 5 miles into town to attend school in a 12th century castle. He was the eldest of 9 children (3 prior to him deceased), 
he grew up with little and had to work hard along with his brothers and sisters to help his family and put food on the table.  How I enjoy just sitting alone and remembering all the stories he shared, although I have never been to Palena I could honestly go there and find my way around he was that detailed with his stories.
 
The war came and life changed, a lot of sadness and much suffering it affected all of them. He found his way to Venezuela and was a painter, he spent 7 1/2 years there. He came to the US thru Miami to NY in August of 1957, 7 months later my Mom and he were married (both my parents families are from Palena).  My parents were married 45 years - 11 days. :(

Vince & Mary Carozza

My Dad loved to travel, to cook great food (a self taught Chef), to be surrounded by his family and he loved life. He spent his last 10 years working at the Phoenician Resort in Scottsdale, Arizona a job he truly loved going to every day. He shared stories with his co-workers (a lot of the stories we heard growing up) and he was just someone you enjoyed being around, his personality was very infectious.
 
Vincenzo told the most simplest but funniest jokes ever, still my cousins will go around telling his jokes and we still crack up, one of my favorite.....this young girl was walking down the street and she had a mini skirt on and a Indian was walking behind her and he kept saying, chance? chance? chance? and she finally turned around and said why are you saying Chance?, Indians say HOW and he replied me know HOW give me Chance......hahahahhahahahaha it still cracks me up. 
 
On today Father's Day I dedicate this story to you Dad, thanks for the memories and for all the stories and of course the jokes. You are so missed!
 
Ciao.

Why we are not as tough as our parents

It's starting to heat up here in Arizona. We've had a pretty nice spring so far, and the triple-digit temperatures are just starting to kick in for good. The desert is a great place to live while the rest of the world is holed in, waiting for the thaw. But come summertime, you wish you were someplace else. 

And if you're one of those folks with the phrase, "Yeah, but it's a DRY heat" rolling around in your head, just let me tell you, when you've gone through four months of high temps, and it's still 112〫in October, you are DONE with that heat, dry or not. 

Phoenix in February = Good.

Phoenix in August = Oven.

So as we gear up for another heater, and eastern Arizona is undergoing one of its worst forest fires in history, it's almost refreshing for me to read this story from my mom, about how my grandparents had to make it through the icy northern winters. I'm just thankful we don't have to deal with frostbite on our daily commute. 

~Heidi

by Nancy Hallock

1.   Our mother grew up in western North Dakota, almost on the Canadian border.  Houses were not insulated in those days.  Their bedrooms were upstairs.  They had two sources of heat, a fireplace in the living room and a stove in the kitchen.  At night, one fire was put out and the other was banked.  In the morning, they crawled out from under their piles of blankets, grabbed their clothes, and got dressed in front of the stove in the kitchen.

2.  Our dad grew up in Fargo, North Dakota.   He attended Moorhead State Teacher's College, in Minnesota.  The only way for him to get there was to ride a bicycle.  He got what he called "chill blains," which I assume were blisters from frostbite on his lower legs.  He had a brilliant mind and qualified for MENSA (the national Brainiac club for the top 2%), but the depression hit, and he only attended college for one year.  He was president of his class.

3.  The first year our parents were married, they lived in Green Bay, Wisconsin, where my older sister was born.  Our mother was worried that she had waited too long to get married (she was 23), because it took her 6 months to get pregnant.  They lived in a little trailer, and in the winter, when they woke up in the morning, the blankets would be frozen to the wall.

Winnie the Witch

by Jeanette Kahwaji

My Aunt Winnie was a riot and a witch (so she thought, she was born October 30th 19??.)  I would never tell her age, she may come back to haunt me. She and my Uncle Alvin, God bless him I don't know how he did it, lived in the house behind us in Chicago. Winnie always had a scary story to tell us kids and she loved every minute of it as we stood there fixated on her every word, eyes wide open, there was always a "got ya!" moment that sent us running and screaming and left her laughing hysterically. 

Aunt Winnie

It was a warm summer evening and our parents had gone out, my sister and cousin were watching me and my siblings. Aunt Winnie came over and told us about the "Witching Hour." If I remember correctly it was around 9 or 10 p.m.; the little garden fairies were going to visit her gardens and she wanted us to see them. We were so excited and anxious we watched the clock counting every minute waiting for 9 o'clock to arrive so we could tip toe over to Aunt Winnie's yard and wait and watch for the garden fairies.

My brother, me (2nd from left),
my two sisters (middle and right),
and our cousins in the backyard.

Well, finally the time had come and my sisters, brother, cousin and I all huddled together squeamishly, anxiously, nervously laughing. We hung onto one another as we headed out across our backyard to Aunt Winnie's yard. There she stood on the back porch waiting with that serious look on her face, ready for the kill. She made sure we all stood in a very specific area of the yard in the grass then the wait began. She told us about the fairies and how at witching hour they will come out of the flowers and dance around the garden but we had to stand very still and quiet. We watched her, listening, not wanting to scare the fairies off as she counted down the minutes. It was dark and quiet, we were in a trance, waiting, waiting, waiting. Just then, she turned on the sprinklers in the grass! We jumped and screamed and ran as she stood on the porch uncontrollably laughing. Damn, she got us again!

 

We ran home soaking wet and had a good laugh ourselves. It made our night and has given us memories to talk about with each other and our children.

Aunt Winnie was definitely my favorite - our favorite - Aunt.

Uncle Alvin and my dad, Chris Shaw

Senior Share Project in Vital! Magazine!

Eileen and I would like to thank Maureen Kuzman and everyone at Vital! Magazine for including us in their March issue!

Vital! provides both a print and online version of their monthly magazine. It's a specialty publication for active older adults. Each month, Vital! features content on health, finance, fitness, technology, travel, leisure and more.

Look to Vital! to keep you healthy, wealthy and wise with their local articles of interest, local event information and local advertisers.

Best of all, just like Senior Share Project, Vital! Magazine is FREE! Look for the print edition at Senior Centers in New Castle County, Delaware, the Triad area of North Carolina, and the Phoenix, Arizona Metro areas. You can also subscribe to get this exciting new publication mailed directly to your home or online mailbox, free! Click here to subscribe to Vital! Magazine for you or someone you love.

Look for us in the March issue (available March 20, 2011), on page 13, thanks again for reading, and send in those stories!!

Heidi and Eileen, editors, Senior Share Project

Do you have any questions or comments about Senior Share Project?

Click on "Comments" below, and let us know!

Mom and Dad

by Nancy Hallock

Looking back, I realize how God-like my mother was.  She planted seeds.  No, not so much in a garden, although her baby iris flowers were stunning, but in people.

She would plant a seed in our Dad's brain.  It would nurture and grow, and after awhile, it would give birth to an idea.  HIS idea!

Then a doorway would be moved to a more sensible (for her) location.  A wall would come down and a dining room would be created.  A half-door would be built to protect that precious little baby, who had come ten years after the rest.

The story about that little seed is for another time. 

Dad was born in Fargo, North Dakota, in 1913, of Norwegian parents.  He didn't speak much English before he went to school, which probably was common in that part of the country, in those days.  He made up for it by becoming a star scholar, who could recite rules regarding English usage until the day he died at age 92. 

Ragnar (his friends called him "Rags"), had five younger sisters, so there was always a full house.  However, there always was room for "boarders," including two "old maid" school teachers, who were sisters.  They stayed for many years.

A few years ago, we saw an article in a local home and garden type of magazine from the Fargo area.  It had an article about an old house that was the original farm house on that side of town.  It would have been in the country at the time it was built.

Imagine our surprise, when we realized it was nothing of the sort!  It was the house that Dad had helped his father build when Dad was fifteen years old.   Our grandfather's flower gardens were well known at the time, and there are lovely pictures of the house and gardens from when Dad's family lived there.  We also have pictures of the house being built.  It looks different now.  Some creative and beautiful changes have been made, and two of our family members have been able to visit and take pictures.

The moral here (if there is one), is that the "official" records are not always correct, and are sometimes created by repeated media misperceptions - some things never change.

What is important is to listen, listen, listen to those stories.  Grandpa has already told you this ten times?  Listen again.  You might hear something new in the telling.  As the present becomes less important, the past becomes more vivid.  Listen!