An in Depth Look at Nothing in Particular

By Don Foltz

Here is another look at the authors take on rural living, mostly taking place in and around the little village of Sunfield Michigan.
You will get to meet and become acquainted with more of his family, friends and neighbors who lived and laughed not thinking any of their activities would end up in a book.
The author covers everything, each possible happening, leaving nothing out; from dealing with siblings, school, romance, sports, army life, and no doubt, some topics best left alone.
But with great verve and little understanding he wades in; the result, hopefully, some fun, and happy memories of recent times and times gone by.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 14, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496930170

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

The Great Depot Robbery

W e, my three brothers, Mom and Dad, and I, lived in a small home on Logan Street, Sunfield, Michigan, which is also the place of my birth in July of 1940. My memories, while living there, are limited to a few outstanding events before we moved to the country near the end of the Second World War.

But, and I’m sure you knew this was coming, I do have one very clear recognition of a happening during that very time, I’m quite sure it was the Spring of 1944. I can even remember the Month, which would be April.

At that time the old steam locomotives were still in use in much of the United States and went through Sunfield on a regular basis. We lived only two short blocks from the depot (burned to the ground in 1966) and the tracks, which are still in use today. They run east and west and connect Detroit, Lansing and Grand Rapids.

The depot in 1944 was an important part of our little town and was a hub of activity. The mail came on the train with daily delivery of freight and the occasional passenger service.

The depot itself was really neat, but, I guess, typical of other depots all over the nation. As I remember, it had sort of raised platform all around the building and a large ramp at the east end for loading and unloading freight. In the building interior was a large storage area on the entire east end and to me, the most interesting area; the office, on the opposite end.

It had a little waiting room with wooden benches all along the walls, and, towards the north end, a glassed in section where the railroad agent did his business; sold tickets, handled the freight dealings and worked the telegraph key.

The station agent was a very important and vital cog of village life and ranked right up there with the mayor, bank president, postmaster and the fire chief. Not a man to be trifled with.

Our little story takes place in this very depot and includes the agent, yours truly, my older brothers and couple of other boys of whom I cannot remember. But I do recall that all, (not me) none the less, were trifling their heads off with the station master.

For some reason, which I became aware of many years later, I was allowed to go on this journey with my brother’s (which of course was not the norm) unless, I had bawled my head off, which was the norm. This was a visit they did often, to talk and joke around with the agent who was a fun and really neat guy. He enjoyed it as it helped to break up the work day. He put up with their jokes and tom foolery and even taught them Morse code. I remember my brother Nathan became quite good at it, Stan could have cared less. The clacking of the telegraph key was, to me, like magic, as all of a sudden it would take off by itself, and somehow make sense and provide a message to the agent.

Another exciting feature was when a train came through, just scant feet away, an event that made your heart pound. The noise was deafening, steam, smoke, the whistle blowing and the entire building shaking with the windows rattling. It was a sight and sound to behold, it always scared the h-e- double hockey sticks out of me.

This particular day I, at three years and nine months of age, was content to be sitting at one of the benches, as the older boys carried on, and just sit there and think, mostly, I guess, about my future. That’s just me.

Little did I know that in just a few moments my future, in my eyes, wouldn’t look all that promising.

Everyone was laughing and joking around, yakking it up when the agent, who was sitting at the counter that separated his office from the waiting room, looked up and said, Quiet down, the uproar stopped as he looked through a stack of papers, opened various desk drawers and looked up again and declared, The money from the cash drawer is missing!

It got very quiet; he asked around the room if any of them were responsible, all declared their innocence. He then looked over at me, his eyes narrowed, he slowly lifted his hand and pointed at me and said, I’ll bet you stole it! his voice rising in volume.

I’m not sure I even knew what a cash drawer was, but I did know the meaning of the word Stole and I had heard enough! I lit out for the door on the dead run. I could hear the roar of hooting, hollering and laughter behind me.

I can remember thinking, Damn, here I am heading down the road to perdition and they think it’s funny.

I was well into my second block and nearly home and had worked up a devil of a side ache when a toot of a horn caught my attention. It came from the car of my aunt and uncle who had pulled up beside me. Auntie rolled down the window and said, Donnie (all the old people called me Donnie) I’ve got a surprise for you.

Holy cow had my crime already spread to the streets? I gave her the old blank stare and hoped they wouldn’t turn me in.

You’ve got a new baby sister!

Well I’ll be switched; I wonder where she came from?

I walked on home, went in and sat on the couch and pondered the day’s activities. I had been accused of grand theft and now a new baby sister. Hmmmm.

Was there any future in my wretched life? I’d no longer be able to show my face on the village streets and now I was no longer the baby of the family. I think it was at this point I began losing my hair.

However, in a very short time my luck was about to change as I learned we would be moving, leaving Sunfield, the origin of my crime, and going to the country, farm country, deep into the wilds of Eaton County. It would take a pretty clever railroad man to flush me out of there!

Sunfield%20Depot%20Circa%201920.jpg

Sunfield Depot Circa 1910

A Roadside Assault

W hen I started school I was just a kid. Still wet behind the ears and not nearly as savoir faire as I became in later years, anyhow that’s what people tell me. But, back then I didn’t know anything; I guess that’s why they suggested I go to school. As I recall I didn’t really want to go at all, but told I had no say in the matter, I had to go; so much for the It’s a free country stuff.

My brothers, Nate and Stan, also attended the same school, Smith, about a miles walk from our home. I had great faith that they would watch over me but after letting me receive a severe pummeling my first day (See Baby Sisters First Day at School book one) I wasn’t too sure of their devotion to task. However I soon discovered I had another worry, for since I only attended a half day, I would be required, after taxing my mind to the limit, to walk home after school. Alone! Was that legal?

This walk, the mile return, caused me some apprehension, after all I hadn’t acquired the reputation of a devout coward on sheer speculation, I had earned it.

Good old Smith School sat on the corner (Still does, converted to a home now) of M-50 and Ash Highway. I’d need to traverse about a half mile on M-50 and a half mile on Chester. I couldn’t see anything to tricky about that. There weren’t many homes in that stretch, an old farmhouse just a stone’s throw from school, and our neighbor’s house, just south of us on Chester Road, other than that it was all open road.

As I stepped out the school door that fateful day I was pleasantly surprised, there was Mom! Well this certainly put everything into a different perspective. We had a great walk home as she filled me in with hints and suggestions on future trips that I would be taking alone. I knew it was too good to be true. As it turned out, as far as Mom and I walking together, this would be it. Oh well, my classmates had to walk alone home too, both in a different direction, so if they could do it, so could I.

As I left for home, my first day solo, I strode off down the road with a purpose. Since M-50 was a well traveled road, both cars and trucks, I would stick pretty much to the ditch when such traffic was present. I didn’t see any real need in taking unnecessary chances.

When I reached Chester Road I was pretty much under control and felt quite confident of completing my mission with great success. However here the ditches were narrow and filled with brush, so I’d have to walk in the road and I’m sure I wasn’t setting any speed records as there were a lot of interesting things to check out. But as I neared the top of the grade where our neighbor’s house sat, I began to pick up the pace a bit as I would be only a few hundred yards from home and a big peanut butter sandwich. Yum!

I had nearly passed their front yard, when, out of the corner of my eye, I could see something coming my way at a high rate of speed.

Huh, what could that be?

It couldn’t be a dog, they didn’t have one.

I was sure it wasn’t a cat.

No, too big for that.

What about a pony, or a pig, or a cow?

Nope, I was just mystified.

The mystery was solved quickly as when I looked back once more, coming on full throttle, the biggest white rooster I’d ever seen! It was nearly as tall as me. Wings flapping, beak fully opened and ready for battle. He was closing the gap between us quickly.

It didn’t take me all that long to survey the situation and I took off in an all out panic, screaming to the high heavens in what I hoped and thought, was fairly ample volume. But that was merely a slight murmur compared to the ear piercing shriek that I expelled when that son of a bird nailed me, right leg, cheek high. And he hung on!

I was kicking, cussing, and bawling for all I was worth but he was still there. His flapping and squawking nearly drowning out my wails of terror, but finally, I got in one good kick and he let go, turned, and headed back for home.

I was devastated. I could barely blubber out my sad story to Mom when I got home. I declared to her I would never walk by that house again and school was over!

Sadly that proposal didn’t fly and the next two weeks were filled with terror and dread. There just was no way I could sneak by that stinking chicken. I tried everything, walking in the brush, running all the way, but to no avail, he’d see me and he could out run me at every turn. More than once I thought I had it made, when I discovered that he was hiding around the side of the house waiting for me, and then the race was on. And, to show how cunning he was, if I could talk someone into walking with me, then he was the perfect bird. He’d be eating out in the yard with all his hen friends, as if he had never heard of me.

Of course my brothers thought it was hilarious and that I needed to toughen up and take care of business. Basically they thought I was making it all up. Or, to put it more clearly, they figured I was lying like a rug. Granted, there was precedence. But I was just a little kid; wouldn’t you think they’d have a little sympathy?

But Stan, wonderful brother Stan, agreed to do a walk along, he’d be over on the other side of the fence row to see if there was any truth to my declarations. As I walked up and got near their lawn I could see the whole flock out in the front yard, so far so good. I checked the fence row, yup, Stan was there, and I continued on my way. At that point the rooster spotted me and announced, I’m sure, to his lady friends, watch this as he turned his attentions to me and hit out on the dead run, I could almost see a little grin on his face. It was now or never, I took off at full speed but I could sense it wasn’t going to be fast enough C’mon Stan! I screamed.

Just then Stan stepped out of the brush, waving his arms and yelling, the rooster turned tail and lit out; as it turned out he wasn’t any braver than I. This entire incident, as wonderful as it was, didn’t compare to what happened next.

Our neighbor, when he found out about his bush whacking rooster acted quickly and decisively, he saved my bacon by having baked chicken, and, just as I thought, he turned out to be one tough old bird; but he never bothered me again.

Running Water

L iving on a farm, at an early age, taught me a good many important lessons that proved valuable though out my life. I also, no doubt, learned a great many bad lessons and regretfully, they stayed with me too. Who would’ve thought? But, the first lesson; that farming was damn hard work.

The second lesson; that they, the fam expected me, a mere child, to help. They wanted me to do a share of this work. A policy I felt outdated, and, as far as I could tell; a violation of the child labor law.

The way I saw it, I had three big brothers, all larger and stronger than I, they could handle this work thing much better than I. And, to their credit, they did most of the jobs that required brute strength, prolonged concentration and a hope to have the job competed. I was assigned to the feeding of the cats and Duke, taking