Burke Versus The Bronx-Part 3

Yesterday I drove up to Burke with my wife. She loves to go to Burke with me. Candy and I have been married for just one year, and I love sharing my past with her. She was born and raised in Baltimore and has always been a city girl. However, she loves the Valley and especially loves Burke.Figure that one out!



Anyway, as we drove up the canyon I "entertained"her with the history of Burke Canyon. We parked in front of what was once Lemiux's Grocery store.Ah yes,the grocery store. My first four years of life were spent in Burke before we bolted for the city life of Wallace,but I can remember that grocery store like it was yesterday.



The year before I was born, my Mother bought some Chrismas ornaments from Lemiux's.Several years ago when I was still living in Seattle, I went into a Christmas store that featured antique ornaments.My eyes bugged out of my head when I saw ornamnets identical with my chidhood ornaments for sale for lots of money. I called my Mother that night and said"you don't by chance have those old Christmas ornaments from Burke,do you?"She indeed did, and they were still in their original box.When she asked if I wanted them, I said yes please.



No, they are not for sale at any price, for they represent something far more important to me than money. They are my Christmas past.The days of magic,unbridled joy,the shere joy of seeing the glistening globes sparkling on our family tree. I have pictures from our Burke days of those trees with those ornaments hanging on the family treee. Ah, if we could only recapture that feeling today, that magic, that feeling of peace.



Ok, I know I was suppposed to write about the Bronx today, and I soon will, But this is where my pen(or should I sayKeys) lead me today.For you see, when I go to Burke, I see it not as it is now, but as it was.I feel the lives of those who once walked the street. I see the smiles of the Lemieux Brothers as they looked down at a four year old boy. I see our house buried in snow,windows frosted over, but I also feel the warmh inside that old house, and I see the Tree shining ,those old ornaments an eternal testimony for all the hopes and dreams of those who once inhabited the streets of Burke..

Burke Versus The Bronx-Part 2

The year was 1929, and a fourteen year old kid from Joplin ,Missouri arrived with his six brothers, father, and mother. Their destination?The infamous Burke,Idaho.That fourteen year old boy would may years later become the man I call "Dad".



Their route would carry them many miles from their home in Misssouri,first LosAngeles, then Portland,on to Seattle, and finally the fabulously wealthy mining district called Burke.They came for the same reason many families were making cross country treks.Survival! My Grandfather,although a very young man by today's standards, was disabled from years of working in the mines of Missouri,Oklahoma, and Kansas. His lungs were shot, and money was non-existent.



It was up to the boys in the family to carry the load and provide food for everyone.My Dad was a big farm boy, and had no problem looking older than his actual age, so, he lied about his age and was hired at the Austin Leasing Company, a large mine in those early years located about a mile this side of Burke,high up in the hills.The camp had its own boarding house, and the young miners made the trek up the mountain every week, and then went home on the weekends.

The pay?A whopping $4.00 per day.The veins of silver were so rich that the mine made a handsome profit by pulling out one large ore car a day of the fine silver.



Yes, Burke, Idaho,is now mostly only a faded memory in the minds of a few old timers, like my father, who although 93 years old, can still spin out the details of those wld west years.The town of Burke had Barber shops, hotels,grocery stores,a clothing store,a doctor, dentist, and of course bar after bar,after bar.Life was very tough in Burke, and the people were even tougher.



Several years ago, I had a guest in the hotel I was managing, who had his first teaching and and assistant coaching job at old Wallace High School.He later coached at Kellogg,and some of you will remember him as the coach who won the state baskeball championship in 1964.Anyway,the coach at Wallace was then a young tough man from Alabama named Bud Riley.Riley later had a successful pro coaching career in the Canadian Football League.



Riley was taking role call, and had told his class to answer "present". Any answer except for "present" was not acceptable.A tough young kid answered a differnt way,infuriating Riley.Riley went over to the kid, picked him up and threw him against the wall. Later, Riley was telliing his assistant coach about it and said in his rich Alabama drawl,"I shouldn't have done that". The assistant asked Riley if he was worried about getting in trouble?"Hell no"said Riley. 'That kid was from Burke, he might have kicked the sh-- out of me".



Such was the once mighty reputation of the people who inhabited the town of Burke,Idaho.



Next-a typical Bronx day.

Burke Versus The Bronx

What exactly do these two places have in common?Well,they both begin with a "B", both were and are tough places to live , and both are crumbling relics, ghosts of what they once were.

Ah yes, one other thing. I have lived in both places.




Yes, the Cedar Street Kid moved to the depth of Hell,the Bronx,New York.And not only the Bronx, but the infamous South Bronx. You won't find the South Bronx on the bus tours of the City.The year was 1988, and the Bronx and the City as a whole were in the throes of decline.Barkers, in a carnvial like cadences ,would shout their wares out as you walked down the street."Crack,Cocaine,Crack,Cocaine" You almost expected to hear them say"Step right up,get your crack here, only five dollars."Many times someone would walk up to me and say'I have whatever you need."



My first night in the Bronx I was awakened to the sound of"pop-pop-pop-and they were not firecrackers going off.You got used to it after awhile. I got where I couldn't go to sleep without the peaceful sounds of an automatic weapon firing in the unbreathable,muggy, stifling,New York air. The good part was that I lived less than two blocks from Yankee Stadium!



Yes, Yankee Stadium, "the House that Ruth Built.",the Vatican of baseball, the home of the baseball gods,. And,I actually lived in the same apartment building that Babe Ruth had once lived in.Everyday I caught the train into Manhattan right in front of the Stadium. Of course, the secret of getting on the train was not getting murdered in the two blocks from my apartment to the train.



I kid you not. It was that bad.Without sounding racist, well,I was the only white person for miles.

I figured that they either thought I was insane or a cop.Or maybe they thougth I was an insane cop.

Either way, they, for the most part,left me alone.One night I , yes I must have been insane, walking though the crime capital of the world at night, was rounding a corner of a dark street. Ahead about one hundred feet was a gang . As I rounded the corner someone shouted"The Man", and they took off running.I thought to myself,"this could be a good thing, or this could get me killed."In case you are wondering, it didn't get me killed.



The sites, the smells, the sounds of the City are like no other sounds in the world.



Next-the sites, the sounds, the smell of Burke.

What If We Were Just A Novel?

What if we were no more nor more less than characters in someone's novel?What if our lives were mere responses to an author's words as he or she writes? What if the thoughts in our heads were the result of narration?What if the author had yet to determine the final outcome for the character?



Last night I watched a movie with that plot.I laid awake for hours after contemplating such a possibility. I know.I know. It sounds like the conversations we had back in the sixties and seventies when we were stoned.However, I think it goes deeper than that.



I think that to a great degree we are the authors of our own personal novel.Everyday when the alarm clock goes off and we wipe the sleep out of our eyes, we begin to pen the next chapter of our novel.



The way we comb our hair, brush our teeth,select our clothes for the day, and what we choose to eat for breakfast are all part of the way our plot will unfold.



The company we keep, the music we listen to on our way to work,the occupation we selected,the type of car that we drive, are all just the details of creativive writing.The author,of course, is you.



How would you write the perfect ending for your character?Let's say the choice is entirely yours to make.Remember, you have already set the background with all of the past events of your life, so you cannot change that part, You have already written it.But the elusive ending is still waiting for your creative imput.



Will you be the hero that saves the world? Will you find your soul-mate and go off into the sunset to live happily everafter? Will you see yourself on your deathbed and as the the last moments of your earthly existence tick off, look up, wink at your loved ones, and say"what a ride?"

Or will your character have the dark veil fall like the curtain at the theater after the final act, and with horror you realize that you could have written a far greater masterpiece.?



Today I begin another chapter in my life. Today the page is blank, and I alone am the author.What will I write today?

Slow down you're going too fast

"Slow down,you're going to0 fast,got to make the morning last"
Where are you going?Where am I going?Where are we going?

Having lived in some major cities including NewYork, Seattle,LasVegas,Portland, and Wallace,I am constanty bemused,amazed,horrified,terrified,and homogenized,(just kidding) at the sight of people rushing to ?????

I came to the conclusion that my life must not be as important as everyone elses because I don't seem to have to rush. I don't even have to check my calendar to see if I have times for a cup of coffee. Hmm-must be something wrong with me.

This past year I decided to enjoy each day. Wow,what a concept! So, sitting on my porch this summer I saw deer,elk,bear, moose, and thousands of birds.By sitting quietly I watched crows chase a hawk , watched baby birds learning to fly, and the most glorious thing of all was actually sitting for hours and watching a bulb shed its shell and become an amzing flower.
I mean I actually watched the whole process. If you have never expereinced this, you are missing out on life.

OK. I have an advantage. Due to a progressive illness, I can no longer work.I now realize how much I had missed all of these years as I spent my energy trying to climb the corporate ladder.
Wow. I grew up in Wallace, and while I had a head knowledge of all of the wonders of the area, I am just now learning the reality of the nature here.

As corney as it sounds, I do stop and smell the roses everyday.While you may not have the time that I do, try to take even 15 minutes a day. Look around, and you will be amazed at what is out there."Time,time,time, is on my side,oh yes it is"

My Puter

Well, I am back. My computer was down for four days as I was impatiently waiting for a part.
Gosh, I missed it.I felt like I was cut off from the world.

Back in the nineties I used to make fun of those people glued to their PCS, and those who had cell phones glued to their heads.Now, I am one of those folks.When my addiction happened, I cannot tell you, but I am a full fledged addict.

I'm not proud of my addiction, but I will not live in denial . My addiction became apparent to me this weekend when I found myself going through the shakes,impatiently walking the floor, and waking up in the middle of the night craving a fix, Just a quick moment on line, please. Just let me check my email.ANYTHING PLEASE! Please!

At last the phone call come this afternoon, "Your part is here"Quicker than you can say"'You've got mail" I was in my car speeding up to the computer shop over ice and snow. As my computer tech tested the part, I was walking the floor, mumbling "I need a fix". "Patience, patience" admonished the tech.

Finally, I was back in my car, speeding towards home.And here I am.
My cravings are subsiding, my blood pressure has returned to normal, and my wife is greatly relieved. Ah yes, the world looks beautiful again.

Cedar Street Blues

Jim Nabors sang"the old home town looks the same, as I stepped down from the train".

Well, he apparently was not singing about my home town.



First of all, there is not train.Oh, we have a depot all right, but no train.We even celebrate our depot.Of course, we celebrate anything here. I remember trying to explain to my new bride last summer,who is from Baltimore,about"Lead Creek Derby"How do you explain to an outsider that people come from all over to watch a large ball thrown into the "Crick"and then we dance,drink until we fall down, and watch with abated breath as the ball comes under the bridge?But,I will save the Derby for a later date.



Back to my home town blues.I am the Cedar Street Kid,so I was obviously raised on Cedar Street. This is important because this is in contrast to the King Street Gang.But more on that later,too.



Cedar Street,home to beautiful houses,no,not those kind ,silly,countless bars,Morrows Retail,Gene's Radio Shop,Fonks'Dime Store,Idaho First National Bank,Wallace Supply, The North Idaho Press,The Midget Lunch,The Grand Theater,more bars,The Willama Theater,more bars,Elks's and Eagle's Clubs,more bars,The Wallace Corner,Brownie's Corner,more bars,Frank's Barber Shop. George's Barber Shop, where everyone came out looking the same,The Wilma Barber Shop,Lockhart's Pharmacy,Blum's Floral,the beautful Samuel's Hotel,more bars,and of course,THE HOUSES,The Arment,The Oasis,The Jade and the U&I.



I am sure I have left out some, but you get the picture.Cedar Street, during my childhood.

No, the old home town does not look the same.I must have fallen off of the train.

TO BE CONTINUED