Items of Interest, Or, Possibly Not: From the Village of Sunfield to the Island of Mackinac

By Don Foltz

The book begins with the authors personal views of his early childhood and life on a little farm in rural Michigan in 1945. As you read these humorous essays keep in mind they actually happened. Some, well most, have evolved over the years into a blend of fact and fiction.

As you follow along through school, a stint in the Army, marriage, raising a family, thirty years with General Motors and a second career on Mackinac Island, humor is not far behind.

With friends, four highly inquisitive kids, an equally imaginative wife and the authors own array of blunders, topics are found aplenty. It only takes a bit of doctoring with half truths and the occasional lie and we have a story.

Maybe it will bring back to the reader pleasant memories of times past and a few chuckles.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Apr 18, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456750480

Don Foltz

The author, married for 52 years and a father of four, retired from General Motors after 30 years and then spent 20 summers on Michigan's Mackinac Island working as a husband and wife caretaking team.  Writing a weekly column for the Sunfield Sentinel for more than twenty years and hearing readers say "you should write a book!" he did, "Item's Of Interest, Or, Possibly Not."  Now, three years later he's ready to try it again and hopefully readers will enjoy his second attempt, "An In Depth Look At Nothing In Particular."

Book preview

© 2011 Don Foltz. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 4/12/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4567-5047-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4567-5048-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011904363

Printed in the United States of America

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

INTRODUCTION

THE DUKE OF CHESTER

AN INCIDENT ON THE PLAYGROUND

THE LESSON

BABY SISTERS FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL

THE OLD SWIMMING HOLE

PLAYING RIGHT BLENDER

A TEACHERS FAREWELL………..

THE FEMALE JOCK

OR THE REASON FOR THE SPORTS BRA

GETTING THE EGGS

AT THE HOP

THE SENIORS SKIP A DAY

THE COAL MAN COMETH

THE DREAM MACHINE

THE M & M FIASCO

MOTHER NATURES PRIDE AND JOY

COUNTRY COOKIN’

SPORTS R’ ME

THE PERILS OF A SUNDAY DRIVE

AN ISLE ROYALE CAPER

FROM SUNFIELD TO MACKINAC ISLAND

BRIDGE, AN OLYMPIC EVENT, TEE HEE

THE POET

LETS TALK HORSES

LIVING ON THE ROCK

INTRODUCTION

Years ago, so far back, 1975, that it’s hard to remember precisely, I began writing a column for our little hometown newspaper, the Sunfield Sentinel. I called it, Your Volunteer Firemen, as it was loaded with facts, figures and history concerning the 75th Anniversary of the Sunfield Fire Department.

It was a modest column, rife with errors and a punctuation nightmare, but it was fun and through urging of friends and family, I continued with it after the anniversary passed.

Column topics became more varied and generally leaned toward, what I hoped to be, humor. Family, friends, neighbors and the community were used and I often resorted to innuendo, rumor, half truths, or lies to bring about my often hard to find point.

At this time I also changed the name of the column to Items of Interest or, Possibly Not and for over twenty years the wonderful citizenry of the Sunfield community were treated to, or, had imposed on them, according to one’s own interpretation, my weekly ravings.

The following is a compilation of those columns, the best that I could come up with. I’m sure, many of you will wonder, after reading them, if this is the best, how horrible were the worst? Makes you think doesn’t it?

But, for better or worse, here they are, I hope you enjoy them.

THE DUKE OF CHESTER

It was the early summer of 1944 in the little village of Sunfield, Michigan, population three hundred, when my parents announced that our family, which consisted of Dad, Mom, my three older brothers, yours truly, and a younger sister, would be leaving our friendly little town and moving to the country. We were about to become farmers.

Our farm wouldn’t be much on size, only fourteen acres, but it did have all the necessary parts, two regulation fields, a lane, a small woods and a pint sized barn. Also included were several out buildings of which one was the outhouse, a familiar and vital building of that time.

We’d be moving lock, stock and a 1928 Dodge to our new home at the far North end of Chester Township, which was located in Eaton County, Michigan, and would be just a stones’ throw from the banks of the Thornapple River.

We would be only eight miles from Sunfield, and nine miles from the county seat in Charlotte, but it seemed like we had migrated to the wilderness. Myself, I thought it would be great, but my brothers weren’t all that happy about the move, as they were accustomed to the bright lights of Sunfield.

missing image file

Don and Duke at the Thornapple River

Soon we all accepted the situation and settled down to our new life as farmers. We stocked the farm with two cows, some pigs and chickens, and the major purchase, two big horses, Pat and Mike, which were Dad’s pride and joy. One farm animal we didn’t have, but would need, a farms most devoted member, the farm dog. This was a situation that would need to be corrected.

Most farm dogs were very basic, just mutts, no pedigree, nor fancy titles or purebreds, and in many cases, being large and fearless would fill the bill. A highly important characteristic was to be a good barker. Barking was significant because this alone could keep stray dogs, stray kids would be crooks, and sometimes a good herd of milk cows, maybe even your own, at bay.

Eventually, mom heard of a litter of puppies that were free for the asking. We jumped in the car and once there, found the perfect dog. Well, he wasn’t a dog quite yet but he had all the essentials. He had long floppy ears, long tail, a beautiful black coat with white feet and a stripe down his nose. He soon was ruling our little farm like royalty, and I guess that’s why we called him Duke. The name stuck and Chester Township now had its Duke.

His growing days, as I recall, seemed quite normal, as he learned the farm dog routine. After he lost his puppy cuteness, the rest of the family quickly lost interest, except my older brothers at hunting season. That left me, (Sis was just a year old), and it just seemed natural that Duke and I would become buddies, pals even, and my best friend. And once that pact was made, it was a rare indeed, to see me without the Duke alongside. This blind loyalty would get him in trouble later.

Duke and I walked the roads and fields, explored the riverbank, spending a lot of time together. During some of these wanderings, as was bound to happen, we’d have encounters with other farm dogs. Most consisted of a few sniffs, a growl or two and that was about it. Duke’s motto was live and let live but don’t get carried away with the sniffing. He was now full size and absolutely fearless. When confrontations did go beyond nice, it would be a quick flurry of barks, bites, growls, and was over in a few seconds, the only casualty being the challenger’s pride.

Duke and I got along about as well as could be possible, dog to boy, but there was one area that we did have a conflict; once in a great while there might be a time when I wanted to get away by myself and didn’t really want Duke along. To pull this off would require a great deal of maneuvering, either by trying to sneak out, (never worked); or loud threats and stern commands to stay home.

Usually, a half mile down to the road I’d spot him out in the field, at a safe distance, a distance where he couldn’t quite hear me screaming to go home, but could hear me, after a change of heart, tell him okay, come on, and here he’d come, roaring up like a wild animal, jumping, and bobbing, carrying on like he was the most fortunate dog on the face of the earth.

For as long as I can remember, Duke attended school, not as a student, but as a concerned dog. His reasoning being, that if I went to school, he went to school. I think it made good sense to him.

He’d snooze by the front door of our little one room school, pick up an assortment of handouts at noon, act as a greeter to all who visited our school and generally kept an eye on the place. So, by the time I was in the sixth grade, Duke had attended school longer than the majority of the kids. He was a fixture, a vital and stable part of each student’s day. Everyone knew that if The Duke was dog-napping out by the door, then everything was as it should be.

I’m sure you can understand our shock one day when our teacher announced that she had received word from school officials that Duke would not be allowed to attend school any longer. The room was absolutely quiet, as we all sat in disbelief. How could that be, what had he done to deserve such harsh punishment? The teacher said complaints were voiced that Duke might be a danger to the younger children. We knew this couldn’t be true, and our teacher agreed, but it didn’t matter. On Monday Duke would have to stay home.

When Monday rolled around and it was time to administer the sentence, I’m sure Duke could not believe his ears. At the edge of the lawn both Sis and I bombarded him with, stay home, and used our most severe, threatening loud voices. Over and over we reprimanded him, warned him of impending possible head thumps and other penalties. And, to our surprise, he stopped and dejectedly dropped at the edge of lawn. Duke was about to miss his first day of school. Quickly, before he changed his mind, we headed out on the run.

When we got there, most of the kids figured Duke had beaten us by about fifteen minutes; others thought it was closer to ten. We all laughed and had a good time; even Duke had a big dog grin, and our teacher, smiled ever so slightly as we told her our story. Tomorrow, she said, do a better job.

And we did. We had Mom watch him like a hawk and not let him out of her sight until at least midday. We didn’t even say goodbye, but just slipped out the front door and confidently left for school. Not three hundred yards down the road; I watched Duke heading across the fields on the dead run. His direction, a bee line towards our little school.

As we entered the schoolyard the kids and Duke were tickled, the teacher was not. Her instructions were to the point: tomorrow, tie him up! Duke’s grin faded, for his neck had never felt the tug of a rope.

Duke considered himself a loyal member of Smith School, and was steadfast to carry on his tradition of perfect attendance; however a date with a rope could change everything.

After some searching, I found a rope, called Duke, and as my sister watched, I tied him to an old walnut tree in the back yard. We turned and walked away. Duke’s immediate reaction was a look of utter dismay and as we left he sent forth a moaning wail, which I never heard from him before. And when we turned to say good-bye, I was positive he had tears in his eyes, well, someone did because everything got really blurry. But on we went, trying to ignore the sudden outburst of yelps and yowls that sprang up behind us. He kept them up without pause until we were out of hearing range.

So at first recess, we were somewhat surprised to see Duke trotting across the schoolyard towards us, the rope trailing behind him. He was once again overjoyed at his reception and was immensely proud of himself. Our uproar quickly brought out a frowning, unhappy teacher. Her smile had disappeared and at the end of the day she gave us a note for our parents. It didn’t look good for The Duke.

After reading the note, Dad didn’t smile either, tomorrow, I’ll tie him up. And he did, with a chain. The yowling began at once and grew in volume and intensity as we walked out of sight.

At first recess the chain lay at his feet as he snoozed in the sun at the front door of our old school.

This development brought about similar results, Duke and the kids happy, teacher mad. This resulted in another note, one that we weren’t really too