Chronicles of Derek

When I was around 9, we went to Milwaukee for a Brewers game. I assume my father had some sort of business meeting to go to, so he must have decided to work in a baseball game, too. At the time, Rich and I were in little league, so baseball was a big thing for us. We had never been to an MLB game before and were so excited to see it. We learned that the Brewers had this rookie named Robin Yount, who was just 18 years old and starting at shortstop.

As I remember it, we sat along the first base side not too far up. Good seats. Rich and I brought our gloves on the offchance a foul ball might come our way. We had fun helping dad keep track of the box score (baseball fans did that back then). We loved the roar of the crowd, the sounds of the game, and the popcorn. I did have a moment of fright that i remember like it was yesterday. I got separated from my dad and brother and was crying because I couldn't find them. A police officer found me and somehow figured out where i sat. (Maybe I had a ticket stub in my pocket?) After the game, we got to pick out a souvenir. Rich actually picked out something from the twins since we are twins. I feel like I got a Brewers hard hat like the kind the players wore back then. Great memory and why I still like baseball today.

So, you may have heard the story of how your mom and I met, but I thought I would tell you the details. I was friends with a guy named Steve. We had been friends since college. He had gone to the same high school as me but was a year behind so we didn't know each other. After college he moved up to Minneapolis like I did and we reconnected. He began dating a girl that he worked with, Natalie Stewart, and we would all hang out once in a while. Well, Natalie was looking for a new place to live and answered a classified ad in the newspaper for a roommate needed. Mom was the person that placed the ad. One night Steve and Natalie invited me out and also invited mom to come with. We met at Rock Bottom Brewery in downtown Mpls. She walked in with Steve and Natalie and she and Steve were talking in Spanish. I thought, "Wow here is this pretty girl and I don't speak Spanish." But it turns out she did and after talking with mom for a while she gave me the test of having to know what continent Bolivia was on. Thank God I said South America because later mom said if I had answered that wrong she would never have gone out with me. And you wouldn't be born! Well suffice to say too many drinks were had and we ended up at Dennys at 2 am having a late night bite. Mom was really tired and put her head on the table. I didn't get her number but I asked Natalie for it. I called mom up the next day and asked her out. Our first date was to the movie Schindler's List. In retrospect not the best choice for a first date. I picked her up at her apartment just west of uptown and we went to the theater at 40th and France. As I recall, I bought us both popcorn and drinks and mom spilled her drink on me. About Halfway through, mom said she had to go to the bathroom. 10 minutes passed and she hadn't returned. I really thought that she ditched me. But she finally came back, explaining that she went out the wrong door and it turned out to be the exit and the door locked behind her. She had to go the ticket windows and explain what had happened and began for them to let her back in. I wouldn't have blamed her for leaving because of the bad first date choice. Somehow she agreed to another date!

As for Logan, I have different worries. He's got some people in high school that are his friends but I don't know how much he's shared of himself with them. He's desperate to fit in, to be normal. But I feel like that's going against the grain of who he is. I hope that once he gets to college he'll be able to find his true people that can draw out the perfect Logan. He's got some mixed up ideas of what life is supposed to be. He thinks making lots of money will solve everything. He doesn't understand that love brings happiness.

I haven't written about Logan yet, but that's not because he's not in my thoughts. He surprises me daily. Whereas I was so timid and didn't want to get involved in anything, Logan just goes for it. Mock trial, model UN, jazz band, regular band, and who knows what else in the future. I think we harped on him so long about getting involved in things that he actually listened. Logan's a good person with a good heart. He takes things very personally especially critical comments. I worry that his perfectionism might stress him out too much. I wish he had a better relationship with his sister, but that might happen later as Raina matures. He's got some friends in school, but they're all girls. He says he's got guy friends but he doesn't hang with them outside of school. My hope is that Logan finds something he's passionate about and follows that into a career. I wish he would spend less time on the computer and more time doing something else. I have to get him into something athletic. Skiing?

In many years, when you may, or may not, have children, you’ll understand. I didn’t understand when I was your age or even until much later. But as a parent, the waiting for a child to get home from an event is a harrowing experience. You’re out there, learning to be with people you don’t know, getting that sensory overload of sound, light and heat. Seeing things you’ve never seen before. Adding to your knowledge bank. Learning who you are. Me, the parent, is stuck waiting. Are you alright? Is anyone taking advantage of you? Will you love this way too much? Will you hate it and not want to venture out again? Just come home. Please make it home. You said you’d be home by 11. It’s 12 now. Where are you? Why aren’t you answering my texts? What has happened? Emotions hit me in waves. Anger: “How could she be so inconsiderate?” Fear: “Is she in a back alley somewhere?”

Then you text and you’ll be home in 5 minutes. Does that phone only work within a range of two miles?

And you loved the concert. You experienced something. It’s become part of who you are. And it didn’t involve me. Maybe that’s the worst part.

College was almost something that didn’t happen for me. I was a poor student in high school. My grades were pretty bad. I want to say I got a 2.2 GPA. That’s pretty horrible for high school. I can’t believe my parents weren’t more on me to study. So when it came time to apply for colleges and to take the ACT, things had changed at my house. Dad had cancer and we all were more concerned about that. Even so, he did his part by asking a colleague to recommend a few good advertising programs. I applied to three schools, Ohio University, Virginia Commonwealth, and the University of Wisconsin-La Crosse. I don’t even believe that I got responses from the first two, probably because of my low GPA and not great ACT (21). But I did get into UW-L really late and missed the original tours that had been given. Luckily they had late entrant tours as well. For that first year, I stayed at home with my mom. I was dating Carol Rundle, who was on a tennis scholarship to Illinois State University in Normal, IL. We talked on the phone and wrote a lot of letters. But I was seriously immature and all I talked about was my dad’s illness which was getting worse by the day. 

I commuted to classes and had a pretty rough first semester. School was pretty hard for me and I had an 8:00 Asian History class, which was hard to get to. One day, I was late getting there and it had snowed. I came up behind a guy in a pickup and slid right into him. The hood folded up like an accordion. I jumped out and noticed that his truck didn’t have a scratch on it. We didn’t even exchange numbers. I just unfolded and pushed down the hood and hurried on to class. Only after class did I call my mom and ask her what to do. Pretty dumb. If you’re reading this, make sure you exchange information with the other driver. 

I did meet my first girlfriend, Angie, in French class. She was the aggressor. I was a little lamb. Someday I can tell you all about her and our relationship. But you’ll have to be an adult and ready to handle it.

I went out to the bars too much, trying to drown my sorrows after dad died in October, 83. I told almost complete strangers about him. I guess I was in mourning. 

Cele (short for Lucille) Bentzen was our cleaning lady from the time I was born, she would come on Fridays to clean the house. Cele was a larger woman that loved to chat and laugh. She would also take care of Rich and I when our parents went on vacation. She was a good cook and let us make shakes and popcorn. I remember her liking to watch tv (especially Carson) with the lights off.

I’ll never forget the time that our parents were on vacation and Rich, I, and a few of our friends were coming home from high school. Rich was driving and he wanted to show the other kids where the Logans lived. As we were coming back, Rich took a hairpin turn too fast on wet pavement and the mid-70s Chevy Monza with a V-8 in it just kept sliding. In retrospect, we were lucky that the telephone pole was there, because the car may not have stopped going down the hill.

I figured that I could also write about other things besides what my personal history has been. These maybe very random and useless to you later in life, but they may be good.

What guidance can I possibly give you? My wish is that you find a passion for your life. Something you love doing, love getting up in the morning to do, can’t wait to get back to. Don’t worry about the money. Worry about being challenged. These days it seems that the harder something is, the more people shy away from it. You’re both smart kids. Much smarter and more worldly than I was at your age. I want you to have a fervor for something. Start a business. Don’t worry about whether you can do it or not, whether it will be a success or not. Think about how much fun it will be to do it. The process is the fun. 

In my own life I’ve only rarely stepped out of my comfort zone. But I’ve done it a few times. I left a perfectly good job, with a good salary and a prestigious title to move across the country. Then I left a decent job to start my own business. Then I retrained myself for a completely different career and got a job doing it. Now I’m at the crossroads again. Took a sabbatical to find my next passion. I haven’t found it. But I’d like it contain writing. 

So try everything. DO NOT BE SCARED LIKE I WAS. I missed out on a lot of opportunities when I was young to try things. I think I would have liked to be in drama. I like to act out. I like to sing. Why didn’t I do that? How about other sports? I was a good swimmer. Could I have made the team? How come I never went on the school trips? Never went to DC, to Europe, to NY. Why? Scared. That’s not for me. That’s for other kids with more confidence.

You have the confidence. There is no chance of failure. Nothing bad will happen. There are no “what ifs.”  

Think about the greatest inventors of our time - Bill Gates and Steve Jobs. Neither graduated from college. Why? They had a burning desire to make something that would change the world. 

You don’t have to change the world, but you can do your part to add something to it.

While I’m at it, that girl or boy you like? Go up and say, “Hi.” What have you got to lose? No one ever said, “That kid was weird. They said Hi to me.” I love your mom, but prior to that I must have missed a million chances to meet someone that I wanted to meet because of the S word. Scared. That kid you’re scared to talk to? He or she have the same worries, frights and confusions that you do. And if nothing else, you can always use another friend. I have been very bad at making friends. I fell into them and didn’t work for them. I’ve been lucky that most of the people I associate with are good people. But I do wish I that I would have been bolder in getting to know people of other interests. Those types can teach you so much.

So this is kind of weird considering that your uncle Dave is alive at the time of this writing. But while I’m thinking of it, I might as well write something.

Dave is 14 years older than Rich and I. He was born October 1, 1951. It’s a hard date for him now, since that’s the day our father died in 1983. 

I always looked up to Dave. From as early as I can remember, I loved when he would play with us, or put us on his shoulders. He was a basketball star in high school at Central, which I’ve always been proud of. (Not sure why I’m proud of it, but....) After he went off to college UW-Eau-Claire, we would be so excited when Dave would come home. We’d mob him as soon as he walked in and hang all over him. A few times he brought home college buddies and guys from the basketball team. I’ll never forget when he brought home Mike Ratliff, the center of the team. This was the first African American we had ever seen, much less met. We were probably 5 or 6 years old at the time. Two things I remember distinctly: Mike had this huge afro and he kept a comb in it all the time. We thought that was amazing. Secondly, we were confused as to why his hands were white when his skin was dark. I think we even asked him if it rubbed off! He took it all in stride. 

After college, Dave moved back to La Crosse and got an apartment with Mark. We didn’t see him much, but occasionally we’d get to see him play basketball with his rec team, Inland Printing. They had a great team with a bunch of ex-college players such as Eric Haug, Larry Halverson, Jay Eck, and a few others. They would routinely trounce other rec teams. Somehow they got to play the Czechoslovakian national team as a charity exhibition when I was probably 11 or 12. They sold out the Central High School gym and actually beat the Czech team. 

We also went to see Dave play softball in the 16 inch league. Mark played on that team too. It was fun to hang out with the guys and we even got to go to the bar with them a few times. 

Since you never met your Grandmother, Esther (my mom), I’ll have to tell you about her. As you probably know, she was born in Hayward, Wisconsin on April 10th, 1925, which would make her 90 this year. She was raised in a fairly pious household by her parents, Helen and John (Jack) Walker. The way mom used to tell it, she was a bit of a rebel. Probably not big time back then, but she would tell us stories of sneaking out of the house to go hang out with friends. But that was the extent of her rabble-rousing to my knowledge. I do know that she was kind of a tomboy as a youngster, and somewhat athletic as a teen (I think I remember her saying she played basketball.)

As soon as she graduated from high school in 1943, she high-tailed it for Madison, where she got a job as a secretary. She had met my father (your grandfather, Bruce) shortly after she moved there, but they didn’t get together until after my dad got back from WWII. They were married in 1948 and lived in Madison until around 1950, when they moved to La Crosse.

But what was my mom like as a person? She was really smart. She took care of the home finances in a day when many women didn’t. She was good at a lot of things, especially bridge and other card games, as well as crosswords. I could never finish a crossword, but she was a wiz at them. Having grown up in the depression, she was proud of her “Scotch” roots, meaning that she was very frugal. She didn’t buy things just to have them. She wasn’t big on clothing or shoes, although she dressed well. She had a great many friends that loved her for her extraordinary humor. She was quite quick-witted and also knowledgeable about politics and the news. She watched the news religiously. On the whole she was a good cook, although some of her favorites were those horrible depression-era dishes such as liver and onions, corned beef and cabbage, and other such dishes. But she really did love her vegetables like brussel sprouts, cauliflower, and broccoli. 

I forgot to mention that she was an excellent bowler (one of the best in the city --I think her best mark was a 598 series), as well as a good golfer. I’m blessed to have grown up in a family where both parents golfed. It allowed us to join the country club (see other post.) She was a big sports fan too, always watching the Packers, Badgers and golf on TV. We watched together as Nicklaus won his 6th green jacket at the Masters in 1986.

I think she’d agree that the death of Mark devastated her. And after Dad died, it kind of took the wind out of her sails. After Dad died, she sold our house in Wedgewood Valley and bought a condo near the river on East Ave. It was nice, but she was all alone. I lived there for a year and some summers, but not for long. After a while, friends stopping contacting her although some continued to make the effort (thanks Shirley Schini!)

Sooner or later, I have to talk about high school. Not that it was bad, but it wasn’t as great as I could have made it. You see, I was fairly immature all the way through and didn’t take advantage of the many things that high school offers. Sure, I was on the 10th grade basketball team, the golf team, and played intramural basketball through my senior year, but I wish I had been more outgoing and joined more things like choir or drama or even other sports like swimming or tennis. Rich and I hung out all four years and had the same group of friends. So I can imagine that when our classmates thought of one of us, they also thought of the other like we were a set. What’s funny is that our friendships changed over the course of four years. In 10th grade, we were friends with Jenny Lovelace, and Jenny Miller, Ed and some other kid. Later on, we became friends with Mark Polzin, Chris Johnson, Mike Gasper, Andy Fries and John Sellinger. We were never with the popular crowd, which was fine with us. To me, it was all too much and I was so immature that I didn’t think in terms of popularity or status.

Swing Shanty basketball was probably the most fun we had. Our team was “Confused State.” We had the team for both our junior and senior years. Chris Johnson was the captain and loved to get really detailed about the team including stats and uniforms. Our dad even videotaped some of our games. We had practices and even end of the year parties. Our senior year, we were undefeated going into the playoffs. We were to play a team that had a lot of our friends on it. The night before, our team and a bunch of theirs got together at Chris’ house and had an informal game where we creamed them. The next day was a different story. We couldn’t make a shot and couldn’t keep their center Dave Zumach out of the lane. With just a few seconds to go in the game and our team down by one, I inbounded the ball and through to Rich and he laid it in for the apparent game winner. But the other team protested, saying the clock had run out but the buzzer had not sounded. The AD, who was in charge of the league sided with the other team and we lost. 30 some years later, we still argue about this controversial play. When I asked Rich why he didn’t shoot it sooner, his response was, “I was waiting for the buzzer.” Typically Rich dry humor. 

That senior year, I also had my first and only girlfriend in high school, and it only lasted 3 months. Rondi Christopherson was a gymnast and friends with Chris’ girlfriend, Julie, who was also a gymnast. I was very excited to have a girlfriend and she was such an energetic person that it was fun to be around her. Inexplicably, she broke up with me after valentine’s day saying it was too complicated and she was too busy. I tried to win her back, but she had already moved on and is still married to the guy she left me for. That’s high school for you.

Junior high was not an initially good experience for me. Back in those days, the school started in 7th grade and went through 9th grade. I was pretty immature coming into 7th grade and the idea of going to different classrooms every hour through me for a loop. The first few days of school were horrible. I couldn’t find my classrooms, couldn’t read my schedule, couldn’t do the homework, you name it. I don’t think Rich had the same problem.

I went out for the football team. We had a coach that thought his life’s mission was to make 12 year-olds miserable. The verbal and physical abuse would never be allowed today. To my fragile, protected brain, this was torture. I lasted until my brother’s death in October, then quit. (see previous story about Mark.)

I was also on the basketball team. If I recall, I wasn’t even on the “A” squad. I was on the “B” squad. We played different teams than the “A” squad and had some pretty pathetic players. Of course, I never showered after practice, nor did any of my teammates. This wasn’t gym class where they made you shower. (see previous story about gym and Mr. Wolf the pervert.)

Girls. Where would a story about 7th grade be without mentioning girls? In the late 70s, issues between the sexes were still pretty mild, (at least they were in my head.) Wanting to fit in, I needed to get a girlfriend. Through the typical communication of the time, I was handed a note that said that Julie Bayer liked me. I think my total communication to her was something like, “Hi. Do you want to go out?” Or something completely lame like that. I also grunted an invite to the school dance (mixers as they were called.) She said yes. Mixers were interesting. Imagine music of the day being played, (my mind recalls Billy Joel’s “Just the Way You Are” and “Sometimes When We Touch” by Dan Hill. Half the gym had the lights off. The wallflowers lined the sides of the gym in the light and the more adventurous were slow dancing in the dark. Julie and I slow danced quite a bit. Then the thing was to go to Happy Joe’s Pizza after the dance and be picked up by our parents. One day not too long after Julie and I started dating, we broke up, by way of note passed from one of her friends to me.

8th grade was better. By then, I had figured out pretty much how school was run and what to do be in the cool crowd more or less. Sports was one easy way. I didn’t play football, but did play basketball and golf. I was the starting guard on our basketball team. Our coach loved to run a particular play just for me. I usually missed the layup, but it was nice to run the show. Golf was pretty fun. We would get driven by the coach in his car. There were meets at Walsh, Coulee Golf Bowl, Maple Grove, Pine Creek, and Valley High. I wasn’t that good, but would probably place in the middle of the pack. Rich was always better than me and would place higher. But at least it was a chance to get out of school early to play a sport that we would have played anyway.

In 8th grade, I went out with a few different girls, Maria Webster and Ann Beissel. Each girl broke up with me for a lack of communication. Maria in particular was quite upset that I hadn’t bothered to call her even once over the summer. She called me once and asked, “Are we still going out?” And I said, “I guess not.” She sent me back the stickpin I had bought for her at Tils, except that she melted it down first. She was a little mad.

Til’s was the little cafe/arcade/candy store that was right across the street from the junior high. It was the main stop before school to pick up necessities like bubble gum. After school, it was a place to play a game of pinball or get a donut. Til would serve breakfast to the locals, but her main source of income had to be the kids. She even had really cheap jewelry for sale so the kids could buy something for their girlfriends. 

9th grade meant we were the kings of the school. I went out for the football team again and sat on the bench most of the time. Basketball was great as I was the starting point guard (we were still terrible though.) There was golf, choir, and Debbie Darling. Yes, she was the girl I was most enamored with. She had brunette, Farah Fawcett hair, a beautiful smile, and she was all I could think about in Mr. Flood’s English class. Our whirlwind romance didn’t last too long. I took her to a dance, took her skiing, and even out for dinner once. She broke my heart by skipping school to smoke pot with her mother and some other boy. She became one of the burnouts in high school. I ran into her years later in Minneapolis. She was still with some guy from high school. 

By 9th grade, we had developed pretty good friendships with a couple of guys. David Meyer was our best friend. We’d go camping and do other stuff. We all went to the 9th grade graduation with our dates. He came on a two week boat trip with us that summer. I’ll never forget when he told us about how he had to clean up the front yard after his dad shot himself. He was very matter-of-fact about it, but I’m sure it was horrible for him. I felt really bad for him and kind of knew what he was going through since I’d gone through the same thing two years earlier. 

This is a tough one, because it’s not a great story. You know some of it, but maybe not the details. 

Mark was born in 1950. Sadly I forget his exact birthday, but I think it was in May. So he was the first child and probably had some first child problems, which really are just extensions of the anxieties that parents put on their first child. He was always very smart. He didn’t do that well in school though. I think it’s because he was bored--it was too simple for him. According to Dave, he used to get them both in trouble for doing things they shouldn’t be doing. There aren’t many stories I can remember about him as a child other than he got bitten by a raccoon that our dog, Schnapps, had cornered in a culvert pipe. He went in to get the dog and the raccoon bit him. He had to get a number of rabies shots.

My first memories of him aren’t until he got sick. At 18, he accidentally hit a girl with the car on a dark, rainy night. She was pretty hurt and had to have her spleen removed. The case went to court and Mark had to testify. This apparently shook him up badly. After that, he was different. Eventually my parents got him looked at by a psychiatrist, and he was diagnosed with schizophrenia.  He went on medication, but I’m not sure that working. My dad eventually had him committed to a mental hospital. I know this because we visited him once there. Very strange. Eventually they had his medications figured out somewhat, but not completely, because once he came over to the house when my parents were gone and was hallucinating. I also remember that he came over once and was drinking shots from the liquor cabinet.

In his late 20s, he started to get his act together. It helped that he found the saint of all girlfriends, Lisa. She took care of him and I imagine helped him remember to take his medications. She was so nice to us. She taught us words in Czech because that was her heritage. She even took us to Animal House. 

He was always nice to Rich and I though. I have a good memory of when he went to Arizona and brought us back presents. 

The day he died in 1978 is emblazoned in my mind. I can recall it like it was yesterday. Myself, Rich and some neighborhood friends were out hiking in the woods. We had discovered 13-year-old treasure--a box of playboy magazines--just stashed in the woods waiting for us. We couldn’t believe our luck. But when we got to our house and were standing in the driveway, my mom came out of the house screaming, “Mark is dead! Mark is dead!” Rich and I ran up the steps and my mom was hysterical. I didn’t know what to do. The concept of death hadn’t come to our family to that point. Now here it was. And it was my brother. My mom’s first-born child. But in that instant, I didn’t know how to feel because this was a person I saw only a couple of times a year and didn’t have any relationship with. Should I cry? That’s what I did because it seemed appropriate. I was crying more for myself and the craziness of the situation, and my mom. 

Mark died of a heart attack while playing in a bridge tournament in Eau Claire, Wisconsin. He was apparently an incredible bridge player. At the reception after the funeral, several people came up to me and told me how brilliant he was, that he had a genius level IQ, and could have been a life-master at bridge--he was that good.

I had to take a day off of school to go to the funeral. I remember going into my football coach’s office to say I wouldn’t be able to go to practice that day. He read me the riot act, telling me that if I didn’t have the commitment to make practice then I shouldn’t be on the team. I just couldn’t tell him that it was because I had to go to my brother’s funeral. It was all too embarrassing. Later, he apologized after he heard the real reason for my missing practice. Interesting how your perception of someone changes in those moments.

The day of the funeral, we had to get there early. I remember us having our own private moment with Mark and the funeral director. They had dressed him up in a suit, but had parted his hair wrong. Through tears, my mom asked the director to comb his hair the other way. Open caskets, I don’t get them.

I cried again at the funeral because it seemed like I was supposed to. Afterwards, all of Mark’s stuff, which amounted to two boxes and some clothes, came to our house and resided in a closet in our spare bedroom. That closet became the closet I never went in. Because a dead person’s stuff was in there. My brother’s stuff.

In those months after his death, I began to blame myself for it happening. I thought that God was punishing me for finding and looking at those playboys. I was also embarrassed that I was a kid who had a brother that died. My parents never talked about his death, or his life after that. Whenever he was brought up, my mom would start crying. That’s how death was introduced to me.

It dawned on me that I haven’t given you a clear description of my father, your grandfather, Bruce. 

Where to start...First the basics. As you know, he was born in Cumberland, WI in 1925, a product of Lee Boyden (Boyd) Hines, and Ruth Hilton. Ruth died when he was 12, and his father married Helen (last name?) a few years later. He played basketball in high school but I’m not sure of other sports. He graduated in 1943 from high school and was drafted into the military. From what I remember, he was a clerk and that he at some point was stationed in the Phillipines. He didn't see any fighting because his eyesight was so bad that they didn’t him on the front lines. After the war, he came back and went to school at the University of Wisconsin in Madison, graduating with a degree in Accounting. He met my mom, Esther, in Madison, where she was a working as a secretary or in an office environment. They married in 1948. My dad had a job with the state, but then was offered a job working for First Federal in La Crosse. They moved there in 1950 (I think) and my brother Mark was born in that year. A year later, David was born. In the early 50s they built the ranch-style house in Wedgewood Terrace in the town of Shelby on the south side of La Crosse. Dad’s job at First Federal had him moving from controller to vice president to president in 1972. I didn’t think much about hit then, but now it’s quite a magnificent success story. My dad led that company to expand greatly, with branch offices all over western Wisconsin. They became something like the 5th largest Savings and Loan in Wisconsin. In addition to the job, dad was on the board of several organizations including St. Francis Hospital and the YMCA. He was also a member of the Elks, Moose, Jaycees, Lions, and Kiwanis Club and probably others. Oh, and at one point he was the Commodore of the Pettibone Boat Club.

To Rich and I, we just benefited from his hard work. We got to ride in the Oktoberfest parade twice, and got to go to the Country Club and play golf and swim. We also got to go on great vacations wherever dad had his work conferences. Hawaii, Alabama, San Diego, LA and a few others. We stayed in really nice hotels and ate great food. I wish I appreciated it then as much I do now.

At home, my dad was like most. He worked in the yard, worked around the house. He helped us build a tree fort in the tree at the back of our house (see picture above, but 15 years later and a much bigger tree.) The tree fort was really just an old door that he nailed into the crook of the tree with steps leading to it. I’ll never forget our first lunch up there. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  It was awesome.

He had developed an extensive slide collection from all the trips we took and he meticulously categorized that. Later on, he was one of the first to get a VHS video camera and shot quite a bit of video on it. Dad was into technology and would have loved the era we’re in now with computers and cell phones.

Dad also liked to hunt, a skill he learned from his father. Deer, duck, grouse, pheasant were the man targets. He taught the older boys and when Rich and I were old enough, he taught us. I’m sure he was somewhat disappointed when at 15 we told him we didn’t want to deer hunt anymore. 

Dad would tell us stories at bedtime. Timmy stories, (completely made up by him,) B’rer Rabbit (he was a master at reading in that southern language.) Before he gave up smoking, he would make our room really dark and make designs with the cherry of his cigarette in the dark. We liked that.

Boating was fun for us. First the Crappy Craft, then the houseboat. Again, he was meticulous with his organization and really did a lot of research on how things worked. 

In other stories, you’ve seen we golfed together. I really loved how patient he was, even with my poor behavior. I wished I wouldn’t have had such a bad attitude. It would have made his time better. 

When Mark died everything changed a little. I know it was tough on him. I’ll try and write another post on that. 

When he told us he had cancer, that also changed everything. Being immature, I didn’t want to deal with it. I essentially hid from him and regret it to this day. I watched him go from a vibrant man, full of life, easy to laugh, to a very frail shell that needed help to get to the bathroom. I should have talked to him, asked him what he was thinking. Was he scared? Was he at peace? Had he done everything in life that he wanted? I didn’t ask, and am sad that I don’t know. He would have been such a great grandfather. He liked kids, even other parent’s kids. 

In case I don't ever share my genealogy with my family, they need to know to go to Ancestry.com to find it. It's all there. As you know, my dad grew up in Cumberland, Wisconsin as did his dad (Boyd) and his dad's dad, SW Hines. SW was actually from Philadelphia, but moved out west with his widowed mother after SW Hines Sr. died just a few years after junior was born. Why Cumberland? Who knows. The history in Philadelphia goes back to 1819 when Christian Hines moved from Germany (Frankfurt) to Philly. They ended up in South Philly, which today would not be where they want to live. I'm sure it was different 200 years ago. 

On the other side of the family, the Hazeltons were from England originally, then Massachusetts thanks to John Hazeltine who came over in the mid 1600s. Then to Vermont, Ohio, Illinois and stopped at Hayward, Wisconsin (with a few years in Saskatchewan to make them appreciate just how good it was in Wisconsin.)

A lot happened when I was 13. My brother, Mark died. This was very traumatic for our family. I'll have to make another post about it. But if my memory serves it was the same year that we got the houseboat. Maybe even in response to it, in order to put all that business behind us and try to enjoy life for a while. As luck would have it, we had a houseboat builder in our town. They made SkipperLiners, steel-hulled, flat bottomed houseboats in a variety of lengths. My dad took Rich and I to look at them after telling us he was getting one. He said we were getting the 45' version. This boat was big, with a front deck that had space for a big table and chairs, and a two-level interior. The upper level had a pull-out sofa, captains council and kitchen with full-sized fridge, stove and oven, along with a sink, cupboards and an "L" shaped counter with stools. The lower level had a queen sized bed, bathroom with sink, toilet AND shower, and a closet. It also had a bench area that pulled out into a double bed. This was not the design that my brother and I wanted. We had seen a version that had a cubby bunk installed. You had to crawl through a small opening to get to the bunk, which as a kid we thought was awesome! But my dad choice the other style, much to my consternation. 

There was a back deck that housed two inboard-outboard 165 hp mercury engines as well as a generator. We would end up spending countless hours in that hold, working on the engines to get them to work.

On the top of the boat was two-tier deck for sun-bathing, or, as it turns out, putting up a tent (more on that later.) 

Back inside, there was a door built into the floor that allowed access to the "hold," the area below the floor that housed the fresh water tanks, the grey water tank, the water heater, and myriad hoses. We also kept supplies down there, such as life preservers (we had to have as many as 30 on board for the many guests we sometimes had.) That hold would get so hot in the summertime that going down there more than a minute would make you sweat profusely. It also stank because the refuse tank fittings weren't perfectly sealed so it smelled like poop down there. Horrible. 

We named the boat Hinesite. Mark's girlfriend Lisa, who was a graphic artist, painted the name on each side.

We spent many, many days on the boat. The typical trip was a weekend escape where we either went north or south from La Crosse on the Mississippi. We would look for a sandbar that had enough space to park the boat and that would have good swimming. For Rich and I, that was the first thing we wanted to do. After putting out the fore and aft anchors, we would blow up the air mattresses and other pool toys and get out there. The Mississippi was not very clean, but it was ours. We would spend hours out there, jumping off the boat, diving for clams, playing tag, frisbee, football. 

We eventually made friends with others that had boats and would meet them and their kids at a particular beach. Namely the Johnsons, the Paasch's, the Gormans, and the Buehl's. They had kids around our age, so we had tons of kids to play all kinds of games. On days when the weather didn't cooperate, everyone would pile onto our boat since had the most space. The adults would sit on the deck playing backgammon, and the kids would be inside playing board games or cards.

Nights were spent around the campfire on the beach. The adults telling stories and having their drinks, and the kids roasting marshmallows. It was idyllic. 

Rich and I slept on the pull-out couch. It was very important to get the sand off of your feet, because the worst feeling was having sand on the sheets. 

We also took many trips on the boat. Once we took a two week trip up river to the mouth of the St. Croix river. We stopped at many of the small towns on the way. Towns like Winona, Alma, Wabasha, Lake City, and Redwing. Each had a marina that we docked in. We'd go into the town for dinner and the kids would come back to the boats for bed while the parents stayed out.

I'll never forget the time we were docked in one of the towns and the kids were hanging out on our boat while the adults were in town. It was about 10 O'Clock at night and we heard a boat approaching at a faster than normal rate of speed than was typical for a marina. The next thing we know, the boat slams into ours and veers off. A woman shouts, "You just hit that boat!" and a man shouts back, "I know! I know!" We rushed to tell our parents and the guy was caught and I assume had to pay for the damages. 

Another time, we were fishing off the dock at one of these marinas when I got a big fish. I imagine it was a northern pike, since it took the bobber down so violently. In trying to reel it in, the line snapped above the bobber. For the next half-hour we saw the bobber meandering around the marina. Tom Johnson, being the enterprising guy he was, got into a canoe and paddled out to where the bobber was. He attempted to grab the line below the bobber. For a second he had it, and then it slipped through his fingers. Gone was my prized fish. But I still had the story to tell.