Celebrating two weeks in a row. I’m in either a rut or a groove. Last week’s post was on my visit to the “Diana: A Celebration” exhibit in Cincinnati. This one is on my visit to a “Member Celebration” in Columbus on Saturday, May 24. This is the third such event for the organization though for the first two the celebrants were members of the Ohio Historical Society and they are now members of the Ohio History Connection. The first public use of the new name was part of the celebration.
The “Member Celebration” was at the Ohio History Center and coincided with the season opening of the adjacent Ohio Village which, in turn, coincided with the opening of a two day Civil War era Soldiers’ Aid Fair.
This display of rare and exotic items may not have been the biggest or most highly promoted aspect of the fair but it was my favorite.
Like many events at Ohio Village, a parade preceded an official opening proclamation. Weary and even wounded soldiers, presumably home on leave, joined in and helped elevate both patriotism and sympathy.
The celebration included a members only lunch but this is no small club. The picture shows part of the line, which I eventually joined, for the second seating. The closest things got to formal was a brief speech by Executive Director Bert Logan. There were thanks, of course, and something of an explanation for the name change. Although he didn’t use these exact words, the impression l have is that “Ohio Historical Society” often conjured up images of little old ladies and dusty old men sitting in dim parlors talking about old stuff. In surveys, “Ohio History Connection” created an image of something much more active and accessible. He pointed out that we not only need to preserve things for future generations but make those things available and interesting and understandable for future generations. Judging from the number of youngish folks both attending and participating, it seems Ohio’s history outfit is doing a pretty good job whatever the name.
I don’t recall ever seeing a Hopalong Cassidy moving picture show in the theater but I was a big fan of the TV show. I remember having a Hopalong cap pistol and holster but my prized possession was a belt. It just now occurred to me that the belt and holster may have originally been a set but my memories are far too dim to say. The belt was black with a script “Hopalong Cassidy” and men on horses in white. I suspect that part of my belt focused favoritism was due to my being able to wear it full time whereas there were Mom defined limits on where I could tote a gun. The name and figures were merely printed on the black leather and were eventually rubbed away so the only a few flecks, none of which resembled a letter or a horse or much of anything else, were left. It was impossible to tell by looking that I accessorized my garb to honor Hoppy but I knew.
Not only did I graduate from high school smack dab in in the middle of the ’60s, it was smack dab in the middle of the Henkalines, too. There were four of them; a girl and three boys. The girl was a few years older than the boys. The oldest boy graduated a year before me and the next a year after. Though I was most familiar with the two boys closest to me in age, I knew them all. It was a small school in a small town in rural Ohio. Everybody knew everybody.
Why in the world would a couple of newly weds buy a ten year old British sports car in the middle of winter? I am, at present, as baffled as anyone though I apparently once knew the answer to that question. A month or so after our 1966 Boxing Day wedding, my bride and I purchased a 1957 Austin-Healey 100-6. The one pictured is a 1958 model but looks pretty much like our ’57. This was not a play car to park next to a dependable sedan. This was our only car.
The 1959 Plymouth Fury at left is a dead ringer for the one I passed up to get the Austin-Healey. A rather spiffy ride, don’t you think? On one snowy night, my new wife and I were out with a friend in my borrowed car. The snow was not deep but the big Plymouth was not doing well on the slick streets. At one point, as we attempted to climb a slight incline, the friend and I got out to push while my wife took over driving. It did not take much to get the car moving but stopping to let us back in would have left the car stuck once again. Instead, my friend and I each grabbed a fin and “skied” alongside the Plymouth to the top of the hill.
On this day fifty years ago I was a high school junior. I do not even remember most of the day and some that I do remember is foggy and questionable. I remember some very small pieces all too well. I remember going to my chemistry class and taking a seat in the second or third row. It was the rightmost seat facing the teacher’s desk and the wall of blackboards. My memory is that the principal, Mr Pawlowski, entered before class actually started and gave us the news though it might have come from Mr Conrad, the instructor. In my memory, Mr Pawlowski quickly moved on to personally deliver his message in other classrooms so that every student heard the same version. It is logical and might indicate how important he thought the message — and its uniform delivery — was but I cannot be certain that my memory is accurate. The message was, of course, “The President has been shot.”
President John F Kennedy was officially pronounced dead at 1:00 PM CST; The same time as the posting of this article. The scan at left is of an introductory page of my high school’s 1964 yearbook. I imagine something similar appeared in the yearbooks of thousands of schools across the country. I believe the picture is a closely cropped version, with the background removed, of the official one at the beginning of this article.
Everyone loves a winner and, in 1794, the United States Army finally became one. In his earlier work, 