tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13846626783048100452024-03-08T13:40:47.871-05:00Child of the FortAbout growing up in Fort Wayne, IndianaKristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11008266394008424779noreply@blogger.comBlogger174125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1384662678304810045.post-20755111945960848702010-10-12T07:04:00.006-04:002010-10-12T07:58:18.270-04:00The Best Birthday Ever<div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kristinafh/2959438279/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3139/2959438279_fd0d1927df_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" /></a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0.9em;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kristinafh/2959438279/">Birthday Party - Seven Years Old</a><br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/kristinafh/">kristinafh</a></span></div>As a parent, you always hope that your child is filled with great memories of their childhood. I'm sure that my mom, who became a parent at the ripe old age of 17 years and 3 months, had that in mind when she threw me a birthday party in our dinky, 800 square foot home on <b>Cedar Crest Circle</b>.<div><br /></div><div>To the right is the only picture I have of that day. My three best friends from first grade were there (counter clockwise) <b>Ericka Couch</b>, <b>Lisa Smith</b>, and <b>Beth Fruechtenicht</b>. There's a board game sitting in front of us...but I couldn't tell you what it was and without this picture, I wouldn't even have remembered that I had The Flintstones for birthday hats and blowers. I couldn't tell you what was on my cake - if I had one number candle or seven. </div><div><br /></div><div>What I do remember - as though it was yesterday - is that I was a very happy girl. I don't know if you can see that from my face, but gosh, I was happy.</div><div><br /></div><div>And why was I happy? Two specific reasons - the guests and the best birthday present that I've ever received in my entire life.</div><div><br /></div><div>The guests were my three best friends from <b>Indian Village Elementary</b> school and also, members of my family (aunts, uncles, cousins + my mom's cousins and their kids). All of us, squeezed together in that small amount of space sounds claustrophobic, doesn't it?! At the time, it didn't seem anything but fun. I'm sure that my mom, though, was frantic and worried because later on (much later on as an adult), she told me that she ran out of cake and food because so many people showed up that she wasn't expecting.</div><div><br /></div><div>I probably received a fair number of birthday gifts that year but you know what - that's a blur to me. The only gift that really mattered is what my parents got me.</div><div><br /></div><div>For the big event, I was shuttled out on to the front porch area (this area wasn't a "porch" per se as much as it was an enclosed part of our house - like a mudroom - with no heat). I was instructed to face the outdoor window and <i>no peeking</i>!!! That window had a view to my neighbors houses across the street - the <b>Wooden's</b> and the <b>Boice's</b>.</div><div><br /></div><div>I remember the crowd of people who were all standing behind me, waiting for the revelation of the big moment. And then my mom said, <i>You can turn around now</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>My smile was the biggest smile you can ever imagine and I squealed with delight. It was everything I ever wanted - a big girl bike. It was a lime green bike...equipped with a white flowered basket, multi-colored plastic streamers hanging out of the handle bars, and a banana seat.</div><div><br /></div><div>That bike stayed with me for most of my childhood. If it would have had an odometer on it, it would have had thousands of miles racked up on it because as a kid living on Cedar Crest Circle - that's what we did. We rode our bikes. We didn't have to have a destination...we just rode them. Sometimes we rode them by ourselves (in a circle - Cedar Crest, Pinecrest, Cedar Crest) and sometimes we rode in a pack....taking the same route, perhaps stopping at Scott''s Court to play a game of kickball, or sneaking off to play in the forbidden ditch (catching tadpoles), or making our way up Sandhill to play in the area that would later take the life of our friend Delores.</div><div><br /></div><div>There was a third reason why this was the best birthday ever. It was the last birthday I remember where I wasn't conscious of my father's drinking issues. At my party, I didn't remember that he wasn't there until just before the unveiling of my bike. I didn't remember that he was drunk off his ass and he brought people to my party that I didn't even know. </div><div><br /></div><div>And why didn't I remember these things? Because my mom made sure that I was distracted so as not to notice. She wanted my birthday to be the kind of birthday that all little girls deserve to have....one filled with lots of happy memories. It worked. </div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Mommy, it was the best birthday ever and as long as I live, I will never forget how special I felt that day.</i></div>Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11008266394008424779noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1384662678304810045.post-61527976537508050382010-03-04T14:10:00.005-05:002010-03-04T14:20:25.912-05:00Save the Date<center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kristinafh/2557232656/" title="Postcard of Cathedral, Fort Wayne, Ind. by kristinafh, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3090/2557232656_68f4dafe9c_o.jpg" width="495" height="775" alt="Postcard of Cathedral, Fort Wayne, Ind." /></a></center><br /><br />Wanted to share this since I have received such overwhelming support from all of you.<br /><br /><div id=":5o" class="ii gt"> <div style="padding-left: 10px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 15px;" name="Compose message area"> <div><span style="font-family:Calibri;">Dear Kristina,</span></div> <div> </div> <div><span style="font-family:Calibri;">Msgr. Schulte has asked me to respond to your request to receive adult Confirmation here at the Cathedral. He feel that he can grant your request. Bishop Rhoades will be celebrating Confirmation for the adults on May 23, 2010 at 11:30 a.m.. In order for you to do this, you would need to attend the preparation class for that here at the Cathedral on Sunday, April 25, 2010, at 2:00 p.m. in the Parish Center Library. Please let me know if you are attending, and I will add you to our class roster. May the Lord bless and keep you always.<br /><br /></span></div> <div><span style="font-family:Calibri;">Sr. Marilyn Ellert, OSF</span></div> <div><span style="font-family:Calibri;">Pastoral Associate</span></div></div> </div><br /><br />It may seem like such a small gesture on the part of the leadership of Cathedral however, this is the best gift ever and I will never, ever forget the kindness that has been extended to me.Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11008266394008424779noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1384662678304810045.post-84396825682010081682010-03-01T05:35:00.005-05:002010-03-01T06:36:39.242-05:00Coming Full Circle<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SfTv-N9L3PU/S4uasGdDyNI/AAAAAAAAHN0/1MlaGPzOmh4/s1600-h/2701927475_b93f2dde29_b.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 370px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SfTv-N9L3PU/S4uasGdDyNI/AAAAAAAAHN0/1MlaGPzOmh4/s400/2701927475_b93f2dde29_b.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443614657044793554" /></a><br /><br />When I started <span style="font-style:italic;">Child of the Fort</span> - a couple of years ago - I couldn't tell you exactly what prompted me to do it. Maybe it was a combination of things - the Christmas holidays, being off of work on vacation, my longing for my hometown...I didn't know why...I just felt the need to write. And when I thought about a name for the blog, this is the first one that came to mind. I was literally - a child of my hometown and I'd hoped - an example of the good that Fort Wayne had to offer (from my particular generation).<br /><br />I've written about people, places, and things. It's amazing that my memories of my childhood are as crisp and clear as they are given the fact that sometimes, I can't even remember what I did three years ago!<br /><br />SO - why is there a picture of my grandfather's obituary at the top of this posting? Well, I'm glad you asked.<br /><br />Today is the anniversary of his death. If you were to read over the past couple of anniversary posts about him, you'd see that his absence has left this gaping hole in my heart. This year though, I'm feeling a little differently. While I still miss him, instead of sitting here and sobbing for hours about him (on this anniversary), I am holding myself together quite well.<br /><br />It's not that I don't miss him (duh - of course I do!). Something for me is different this year.<br /><br />Earlier this year, I wrote about how angry I had been at God - because of my grandpa's early departure from this earth. I had held on to that anger for over twenty years. Something happened in late 2009 - and miraculously - that anger is gone. I can't explain it. Well, maybe I can't articulate it.<br /><br />So this anniversary of Grandpa's departure - I actually have a gift for him and so if you'll humor me for a moment....<br /><br />Dear Grandpa,<br /><br />I have a really awesome surprise for you. First, your last words to me - they have never left me and despite my rebellion and anger - they finally sunk in. But hey, you know that I'm a stubborn girl and that sooner or (much) later, I'd listen to you. <br /><br />Second, I have renewed my relationship with God and the weird thing is - it feels right and it feels natural. <br /><br />Third, I joined a church here in the Indy area (and that wasn't easy - had to visit quite a few to find the one that felt like that glove fit). But that's not your gift. Your gift is this. I have committed myself to finally going through with the <span style="font-style:italic;">Sacrament of Confirmation</span>. You know I should have done this years ago, but one thing (parents divorce and our many moves) after another (my anger) kept me from recommitting myself.<br /><br />I've done all of the research, talked to folks, and I will go through with my Confirmation this year. I have my fingers and toes crossed that I will be allowed to go through this process at <span style="font-weight:bold;">Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception</span>. I wrote to <span style="font-weight:bold;">Msgr. Robert Schulte</span> and explained the importance of my recommitment taking place there and why it would be like coming full circle for me. I know that wherever it takes place, YOU will be there with me - just as you were there for my Baptism (as my godfather).<br /><br />I love you with all of my heart and soul. Thank you for...everything...you know I couldn't possibly even begin to write down what I mean by that! xoxoxo<br />_____________________<br /><br />So really, I think I understand now why I started <span style="font-style:italic;">Child of the Fort</span>. Yes, it was (and is) about sharing my memories of growing up in a city that had more character than most will ever have. Yes, it was (and is) about reliving some of the most significant times of my childhood (and that includes the people, places, and things). But really, I think it was about coming to terms with the sadness and anger I felt about the loss of my grandpa. You see - just like Fort Wayne - he is my childhood. <br /><br />Like Fort Wayne, he was always there and offering up fun, food, and tidbits of information that I soaked in - but didn't always realize the significance of - until many years later. He is gone. The Fort Wayne I grew up with doesn't exist in the same way either. And while both realizations are hard to accept - they are what they are - and I can either be angry or I can feel warm and fuzzy and thankful because really, how many people can look back at their childhood as fondly as I can? While I hope lots can, I know that I am lucky lucky lucky.<br /><br />So today's post - I guess you can call this a growth moment for me, eh? :)Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11008266394008424779noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1384662678304810045.post-18573629387742052932010-02-26T00:01:00.000-05:002010-02-26T00:01:03.352-05:00Ice Skating at Reservoir Park<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kristinafh/4387497091/" title="Ice Skating at Reservoir Park (1912) by kristinafh, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4046/4387497091_280fa1b8ef_o.jpg" width="628" height="352" alt="Ice Skating at Reservoir Park (1912)" /></a><br /><br />Photo Credit: <a href="http://collections.lib.ipfw.edu/u?/cc_fw_agi,27613">IPFW ContentDM</a><br /><br />I looked far and wide for a picture of the <span style="font-weight:bold;">Reservoir Park Ice Skating Pond</span> - the one that *I knew* and experienced however, I didn't have any pictures in my own collection and a web search yielded very few results.<br /><br />I picked this picture (yes, even though it is from almost 100 years ago) because it comes close to how I remember the place that my mother used to take me and my sister skating to. I remember the "big hill" (which is what I called it), the crowds of people (young and not so young), and the odd shape of the ice pond. I even had my own pair of ice skates! No rentals for me!<br /><br />I've never talked to my mom about <span style="font-weight:bold;">Reservoir Park</span> - if she went there often as a child - but I got the distinct feeling that she had been there a lot. She was very comfortable with where everything was and when we first stepped out on the ice (one hand each in her hands), I felt like I was with a pro.<br /><br />She glided across the pond with ease. Me - not so much. I fell. Lots of times. She would tell me - <span style="font-style:italic;">Kris, you need to bend your knees a little bit. Don't stand so stiff</span>. It's advice my husband STILL repeats today and advice that my body still ignores (thus the number of times I still manage to land on my butt - not while ice skating but while navigating the ice outdoors). By the way - my sister Patty was a pro also. She's always been WAY more coordinated than me. Ice skating, gymnastics, cheerleading. Yep. She inherited my mom's coordination gene. <br /><br />When I think about <span style="font-weight:bold;">Reservoir Park</span> and ice skating with my mom and sister, I am reminded of something that I purposely ignored in my teen years (and later in my adult life).<br /><br />My mom - who had me when she was seventeen - no high school diploma - second child within 11 months of me - married to a man who didn't have a high school diploma and many times - not even employed - worked at <span style="font-weight:bold;">KMart</span> and at other places...well...she really did a lot for me and my sister. She made sure that we experienced Fort Wayne - probably - in all of the ways that she had. But of course she was working with a budget of practically ZERO.<br /><br />And for that, I am grateful. Even if I forget to tell her :).Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11008266394008424779noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1384662678304810045.post-31451204482612371832010-02-25T14:04:00.005-05:002010-02-25T14:43:52.806-05:00The Death of a Timeless Man<center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kristinafh/4387882808/" title="Msgr. J. William Lester Obituary by kristinafh, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2737/4387882808_e9d4ac1e6c_o.jpg" alt="Msgr. J. William Lester Obituary" height="354" width="603" /></a></center><br />When I was alerted by my husband that <span style="font-weight: bold;">Monsignor Lester</span> had died, I felt a terrible sadness in my heart.<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />Monsignor Lester</span> was this pillar of the Catholic community and not only did lots of people know him but his presence and influence was felt over several generations - in fact - four generations of my family.<br /><br />Several of my family members received the sacraments of baptism, reconciliation, eucharist, and confirmation. There were home visits, hospital visits, last rites, and funeral services.<br /><br />My mom and aunts went to <span style="font-weight: bold;">Central Catholic High School</span> and they, along with my grandpa and great-grandma were faithful congregation members at churches where he presided. <br /><br />My husband and I were married by him - June 2, 1990 - in <span style="font-weight: bold;">Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception</span>. <br /><br />The weird thing is - I wasn't "close" to him like I was to the priests that were in service at <span style="font-weight: bold;">St. Therese</span> (<span style="font-weight: bold;">Father Rock</span>, <span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Father Frank</span>).<br /><br />I think because he was "old school", I held him at arm's length because I knew how much my grandpa (and others) respected him and I never, ever wanted to offend him. With <span style="font-weight: bold;">Father Rock</span>, I would crack jokes or poke fun at something and we would both have great belly laughs over it. With <span style="font-weight: bold;">Monsignor Lester</span>, I was serious and on my best behavior.<br /><br />I knew <span style="font-weight: bold;">Monsignor Lester</span> had retired from his duties at <span style="font-weight: bold;">Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception</span>. I knew that he was certainly up there in age. But I guess what I wasn't prepared for, was the death of this man who I thought of as timeless. <br /><br />And because I had recently renewed my relationship with God and the Catholic Church, I always thought that I'd run into him again. And like always, he'd remember the face, but struggle with my name :).<br /><br />But unfortunately, it is not to be.<br /><br />God bless and keep you <span style="font-weight: bold;">Monsignor Lester</span>. I know that you are in a better place and that your life here in Fort Wayne was adored, admired, and appreciated by multiple generations of families. You touched many of our lives in ways that cannot be fully articulated. You will not be forgotten.Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11008266394008424779noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1384662678304810045.post-29929982303790898992010-01-18T00:01:00.003-05:002010-01-18T01:23:30.823-05:00Key III Candies<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SfTv-N9L3PU/Szk7hkIRvpI/AAAAAAAAHLw/hogeM7na6T8/s1600-h/2517793426_f84822e261_b.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SfTv-N9L3PU/Szk7hkIRvpI/AAAAAAAAHLw/hogeM7na6T8/s400/2517793426_f84822e261_b.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420429074337218194" /></a><span style="font-weight:bold;">Key III Candies</span><br />4211 Earth Drive<br />Fort Wayne, IN<br />46809-1513<br />260-747-7514<br /><br />Photo Credit: Me! Taken in May 2008<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>My family and candy have deep, deep ties! Not only do we love candy, but some family members have even worked for candy companies.</div><br /><div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kristinafh/3147730879/" title="Wayne Candies Billboard by kristinafh, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3078/3147730879_b3e451ed8d_o.jpg" width="534" height="390" alt="Wayne Candies Billboard" /></a><br />My mom and my Aunt Carolyn both worked at <b>Wayne Candies</b>. I don't remember that period of time but what I do remember is when my mother went to work at a NEW candy place called <b>Key III</b>.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SfTv-N9L3PU/SzlDfj9D4cI/AAAAAAAAHL8/rogH_CejcJM/s1600-h/2516973987_bdd1dfe967_b.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SfTv-N9L3PU/SzlDfj9D4cI/AAAAAAAAHL8/rogH_CejcJM/s400/2516973987_bdd1dfe967_b.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420437836023456194" /></a><b>Key III Candies</b> was a solid bike ride from my house. It was on Earth Drive which was right off of Sand Hill Drive. <br /><br /><b>Key III</b> existed in this warehouse structure and their main purpose was to make awesome candy!<br /><br />I asked my mother how she came to work there and she told me that folks from <b>Wayne Candies</b> had left the company to start up <b>Key III</b>. They asked her to come work there and she did. My mom had all sorts of jobs within the candy factory but her most favorite was "quality control". <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLiXdWiYoNkvsENxFKhHoSv-RroT765rLXGcg_eIF5spzUqDJEFFKsjl3rnfhemXFgTDfEIui1l_mK-t9lt-RthZDgYdvfj8PUDknM_GGOtd6oQup-2sQJfFmhUzZrvefxVSy54KJS0M4b/s1600-h/LucilleBall.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 294px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLiXdWiYoNkvsENxFKhHoSv-RroT765rLXGcg_eIF5spzUqDJEFFKsjl3rnfhemXFgTDfEIui1l_mK-t9lt-RthZDgYdvfj8PUDknM_GGOtd6oQup-2sQJfFmhUzZrvefxVSy54KJS0M4b/s400/LucilleBall.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427959293834432626" /></a>I have to laugh because my mom, who was rail thin, loved her some candy and she could eat lots of it and you'd never know that this is how she passed the time of day ;).<br /><br />There were two sets of memories that I have of <b>Key III Candies</b>. <br /><br />First, my mom got to bring home the "rejects". Oh my gosh - when you grow up poor - "rejected" candy is like heaven on earth. She used to bring home boxes of chocolate covered pretzels and chocolate covered peppermint patties - oh - and the chocolate covered carmel nut thingies were THE BEST!!! When the company started experimenting with the white chocolate - well - those were the boxes I tended to leave alone ;).<br /><br />My second memory was when we had the opportunity to take tours of the facility. I remember the big mixer machines and the conveyor belts where the chocolate was gracefully set up to coat those luscious buttons of carmel nut clusters. Everyone seemed to be wearing white from head to toe. </div><div><br /></div><div>I haven't been inside <b>Key III Candies</b> in over 30 years (wow!) but my gosh, if I just close my eyes and concentrate real hard, I can still remember those awesome, chocolate smells.</div>Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11008266394008424779noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1384662678304810045.post-23096435115752162602009-12-31T00:01:00.002-05:002010-01-13T21:23:58.861-05:00My Cathedral<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SfTv-N9L3PU/S06AL_F-97I/AAAAAAAAHNA/sRduwO_griE/s1600-h/2517958228_5249a09af1.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SfTv-N9L3PU/S06AL_F-97I/AAAAAAAAHNA/sRduwO_griE/s400/2517958228_5249a09af1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426415544431474610" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception</span><br /><br />1122 South Clinton Street<br />Fort Wayne, IN 46802-3130<br /><br /><br />Photo Credit: KFH (May 2008)<br /><br /><br />God and church have always been a factor in my family's life. My great-grandmother...<span style="font-weight:bold;">Helena Starost Roy Kline</span>...was a Catholic girl, through in through. She raised her three sons - Wayne (my grandfather), Walter Jr., and Kenneth as good Catholic boys. When Wayne and Walter Jr. grew up and married (Kenneth died as a boy), their children also continued the Catholic traditions.<br /><br />The downtown churches - <span style="font-weight:bold;">Cathedral</span>, <span style="font-weight:bold;">St. Mary's</span>, and <span style="font-weight:bold;">St. Patrick's</span> were the three churches that generations of my family belonged to. I can find old newspaper clippings of marriages, funerals, first communions, baptisms, and school attendance.<br /><br />Although much of my childhood revolved around <span style="font-weight:bold;">St. Therese</span>, most of my life's major events have taken place in <span style="font-weight:bold;">Cathedral</span>.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUCftmRZAvbFzeudMic17Hou7bEC7mC3CkAIpxvGeNlW48QdkplXJLzxKBB3wz4Qnpi00Kc5oXKdUCCbNzIjw9kHdpdm8uRLGfj3RRzXsbQ5Kq9IPhfWwC8YCwV7MyJ7t7pzUrQYPaV88H/s1600-h/2484041008_ca21c5044d_o(2).jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 397px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUCftmRZAvbFzeudMic17Hou7bEC7mC3CkAIpxvGeNlW48QdkplXJLzxKBB3wz4Qnpi00Kc5oXKdUCCbNzIjw9kHdpdm8uRLGfj3RRzXsbQ5Kq9IPhfWwC8YCwV7MyJ7t7pzUrQYPaV88H/s400/2484041008_ca21c5044d_o(2).jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421127285768959426" /></a>Photo: 1967 (from left) Wayne Roy, Kristina Frazier, Helena Starost Roy Kline, Patricia Frazier.<br /><br />I was baptized there, I was married there, and my grandfather's funeral was held there. When I was a young adult, I sang in choir and attended mass there. I wasn't an every week person but I certainly considered myself a Catholic girl.<br /><br />When I left Fort Wayne, all association with my Catholic church (in general) ceased. Part of that was my uncomfortableness with living in the Indianapolis area (it's still too big for me and doesn't have that small city/big town feeling that Fort Wayne always gave me). The other reason I didn't attend church was that I was pretty angry at God for taking away my grandfather. Even though I had expressed this opinion to Grandpa (while he was close to death even), he was very steadfast in his belief of God and was even perturbed at me for ever mentioning (me) "not believing in God anymore".<br /><br />For 22 years, I have carried that pain with me - my grandfather's hastened and unfair death, my anger at God, and some of my grandfather's last words to me.<br /><br />2009 has been a horrible year. You see I haven't posted much this year on my blog and I can tell you that much of that has to do with the heartbreak, heartache, and misfortune I have experienced this year.<br /><br />Recently though, that anger that I've been holding on to for 22 years has dissipated. I can't tell you what happened exactly - it wasn't just one thing...it was a series of events and signs that made me realize that it was time to let go. <br /><br />I still miss my grandfather but I know that I was one of the luckiest chicks on earth - to have had a man in my life who taught me so many life lessons and who loved me unconditionally...what more could anyone want? I no longer deny my belief in God and suddenly, I have a yearning to be close to my <span style="font-weight:bold;">Cathedral</span> again.<br /><br />When I think about my <span style="font-weight:bold;">Cathedral</span>, I feel a sense of peace, a sense of awe, and I feel close to the things that have always been important to me (but you know, time/space sometimes makes you forget what those are). If I lived in Fort Wayne, I'd be right back there - singing in choir, attending mass (mostly) weekly but unfortunately, I don't live there anymore and now, I have to find somewhere else to continue the Catholic girl traditions.Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11008266394008424779noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1384662678304810045.post-15590570814292516622009-12-30T00:01:00.000-05:002009-12-30T00:01:00.212-05:00Fort Wayne Box CompanyMy Grandpa was the kind of guy who worked multiple jobs. He was a responsible man and did whatever he could to support his family.<br /><br />One of the jobs he had was working for the <span style="font-weight:bold;">Fort Wayne Box Company</span>. In fact, it's the place where my grandparents first met each other.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kristinafh/2578382645/" title="Fort Wayne Box Company Invoice by kristinafh, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3187/2578382645_ae1fc06671.jpg" width="500" height="429" alt="Fort Wayne Box Company Invoice" /></a><br /><br />I absolutely adore this invoice - mostly because it has a drawing of the actual building in the left hand corner. <br /><br />I thought the detailing of the building was magnificent and I said to myself - ain't no way...given Fort Wayne's history of tearing down things that exist in the downtown area - ain't no way - this building still exists.<br /><br />But guess what? I was wrong.<br /><br />From Google Earth Maps<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kristinafh/4224541222/" title="16 W Superior St - Google Maps_1262060287444 by kristinafh, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2554/4224541222_4e2a1f65d3_o.jpg" width="552" height="451" alt="16 W Superior St - Google Maps_1262060287444" /></a>Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11008266394008424779noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1384662678304810045.post-69902995410416279162009-12-29T00:01:00.001-05:002009-12-29T00:01:04.055-05:00This is the Downtown that I Remember (Kinda)<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kristinafh/3107083063/" title="Postcard of Calhoun Street, Fort Wayne, Indiana by kristinafh, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3086/3107083063_633119b2be.jpg" width="500" height="315" alt="Postcard of Calhoun Street, Fort Wayne, Indiana" /></a><br /><br />I'm going to go see my Grandma this week and whenever I think of Grandma, I think of our frequent trips to the downtown area (in the 70's). I don't have a picture of <span style="font-weight:bold;">G.C. Murphy's</span> from that exact time period, but this postcard comes pretty close to what I remember things looking like when I was a youngster.<br /><br />Mention <span style="font-weight:bold;">G.C. Murphy's</span> to any child of the fort and the first thing they'll probably bring up is the donuts (machine now in place at <span style="font-weight:bold;">Cindy's Diner</span>). Yes, of course, those comments would roll off of my lips, but the first thing that always pops into my head is...the basement area.<br /><br />I know, you think I'm crazy...the basement area? When you went in doors, you'd go down a couple set of stairs. It was like 10 steps and then room to rest ;). And then another 10 steps - something like that ;).<br /><br />Anyway - what was in the basement? Clearance, my friends...clearance! Murphy's had these shallow bins with things marked down ridiculously. It always always always smelled like the rubber from the bottom of our tennis shoes in that place. The ceilings were low and the place was badly lit. Still, my grandma could sniff out a great deal and I was sure to leave with something new!<br /><br />Another neat thing about Murphy's is that the <span style="font-weight:bold;">PTC</span> buses had their main hubs there. We might take the bus downtown, shop at Murphy's while waiting for our transfer out to say - <span style="font-weight:bold;">Southtown</span> or <span style="font-weight:bold;">Park West</span> (had to hit up <span style="font-weight:bold;">Mr. Wiggs</span> some days). And heck, if we missed our transfer - just more time to hang out in Murphy's! Plenty to do, see, and certainly eat.<br /><br />When Murphy's - well the building - was demolished or redone or whatever - I was no longer living in Fort Wayne. Now, when I'm in the fort and I'm walking in this area, I don't even recognize much. Almost all of the "landmark" type of buildings or businesses no longer exist or have been changed to a point where they are unrecognizable. Sometimes I think, Fort Wayne might have been better off building that 465 type of a loop through Downtown (this was like back in the 40's? 50's?). <br /><br />But back to Murphy's. There will never, ever be another place like it again. And I'm thankful that my grandparents immersed me in the experience of it.<br /><br />P.S. If you want to see even MORE detail of the postcard, click on the picture and it will take you to my Flickr account. At the top, you'll see an option to see ALL SIZES. The details are pretty amazing!Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11008266394008424779noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1384662678304810045.post-63178197260841097312009-12-28T17:06:00.004-05:002009-12-28T18:04:39.267-05:00Fifth Grade and the Overthrow of Miss Majewski<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SfTv-N9L3PU/Szk4opZcMaI/AAAAAAAAHLk/MZ0bIMvGq2k/s1600-h/2401178615_73784636fa_o.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 285px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SfTv-N9L3PU/Szk4opZcMaI/AAAAAAAAHLk/MZ0bIMvGq2k/s400/2401178615_73784636fa_o.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420425897475584418" /></a><br />I know it's been awhile since I wrote about <span style="font-weight:bold;">St. Therese</span>, but now that I'm literally having dreams about it - and specifically- <a href="http://childofthefort.blogspot.com/2008/10/st-therese-catholic-school-fifth-grade.html">the fifth grade</a> - I thought it was time to revisit the school in my blog.<br /><br />Remember - I went to <span style="font-weight:bold;">Indian Village Elementary School</span> until the second semester of fourth grade. At that time, my mother switched my sister and I over to <span style="font-weight:bold;">St. Therese</span> and my first experience with parochial school was with <a href="http://childofthefort.blogspot.com/2008/08/st-therese-catholic-school-fourth-grade.html">Mr. Wunderlin</a>.<br /><br />One thing to mention to you is that I never felt like I fit in at <span style="font-weight:bold;">St. Therese</span> (although this was a pretty universal feeling for me at ALL of the schools I attended). A couple of kids used to make fun of me for the hand me downs I wore (my winter coats always came from Goodwill/Salvation Army) and except for being tall, thin, and one of the smartest kids, I pretty much did my best to blend in to the background.<br /><br />Fifth grade should have been a lot like fourth grade, right? Same building, same kids, just moving one room over, with a different teacher.<br /><br />Boy - we were wrong about that!<br /><br />Our teacher in fifth grade was <span style="font-weight:bold;">Miss Majewski</span> (and apologies if I have misspelled her last name). She was new. She wasn't the one that was there the year previously. Miss M - allegedly - used to be a nun before becoming our teacher. I only had heard this as a rumor and still...to this day...don't know if it was true or not.<br /><br />Miss M's style of teaching was very different. We would spend a great deal of time, during the school day...meditating. Seriously. Like everyday, we would have the lights shut off in the room and the door closed and she would instruct us to close our eyes. We could even move to the floor or sit in a corner if we wanted to. It was very odd.<br /><br />One day, my mother asked me what kinds of things I was learning in fifth grade. I couldn't think of anything remarkable to tell her - nothing exciting and new. For me, it seemed like a rehash of the past four years. I did tell her that I was learning how to meditate and her ears perked up real fast. <br /><br />When I told her what I meant by meditating and how often we did it, she was speechless. I wasn't sure if there was something wrong with meditating (was it against the Catholic religion??) but soon enough, she told me that she wasn't spending money to have me sit in a classroom every day with the lights out.<br /><br />I wasn't sure what would happen next and frankly, I had other things to worry about (they were repaving our street and I wanted to make sure that I could sneak out and leave my handprint somewhere for all of eternity).<br /><br />Over the course of the next few weeks, my mother was meeting with the parents of some of my other classmates - Shannon Juza's mom, Alice Jordan's mom, Tiena Spears's mom, Gregg Jehl's mom...and pretty soon, there was this small mob of them, knocking down the principal's door. They were pretty ticked off that their kids were "meditating" instead of learning.<br /><br />It's not like the adults tuned me into what was going on but I assume that Miss M was put on some sort of probation. And then one day - POOF - she was gone.<br /><br />It's not like I wished her any ill will - she was nice enough - just seemed not interested in teaching the class.<br /><br />For a short span of time, my mom bonding together with those other parents...well...it made me not feel like such an outsider in their world. I was very proud of my mom for taking action and I had the opportunity to get to know two of my classmates (Tiena and Shannon) lots better.Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11008266394008424779noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1384662678304810045.post-11622801197160747232009-12-07T18:46:00.006-05:002009-12-07T20:01:45.913-05:00My Love for World History - It All Started With Peter Jennings<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEhSfRDlMHjeTtyYcxRR4CfWYWavxDMDgV0GeK_VV2zoqDCzzHWh7JtCoaootumAGT_XqxTyZPZOKSiSTadSM5KSlgk6iM61spBgNDEThvGz2GcCfIo3AQt4gbcx8N6opdMpRmCQs0hTRw/s1600-h/Peter_Jennings.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 324px; height: 220px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEhSfRDlMHjeTtyYcxRR4CfWYWavxDMDgV0GeK_VV2zoqDCzzHWh7JtCoaootumAGT_XqxTyZPZOKSiSTadSM5KSlgk6iM61spBgNDEThvGz2GcCfIo3AQt4gbcx8N6opdMpRmCQs0hTRw/s400/Peter_Jennings.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412645057609555794" border="0" /></a><br /><br />If it's not obvious, let me just state it right now. I absolutely <span style="font-style:italic;">love</span> history...not in a memorizing facts and details type of way but in a wow - so much of our past is an insight into where we are today and where we are headed to in the future. <br /><br />I love understanding where we've been, how we got here, the psychology and sociology of how everything came to be. And this love and adoration of world history - well - I can trace it back to my evenings, watching <span style="font-weight:bold;">Peter Jennings</span>.<br /><br />When I was eleven years old, <span style="font-weight:bold;">Peter Jennings</span>, along with <span style="font-weight:bold;">Frank Reynolds</span> and <span style="font-weight:bold;">Max Robinson</span>, anchored <span style="font-weight:bold;">ABC World News Tonight</span>. I wasn't much of a television news girl - I preferred reading the <span style="font-weight:bold;">News Sentinel</span> - however, the format with the three anchors appealed to me. <br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/PA6QqwDXm-Q&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/PA6QqwDXm-Q&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />I was particularly drawn to the anchor who was located in a foreign country - <span style="font-weight:bold;">Peter Jennings</span>. First, his accent was intriguing. Remember, I didn't get out much so I had no idea that he was from Canada! Second, the manner and tone in which he spoke to the viewer really captured my attention. Peter had this sense of wonderment, sense of purpose that appealed to me. I never thought he was 'attractive' (I wouldn't call him ugly though). He was just someone who really opened my mind to what was going on outside of the U.S.<br /><br />After a particular news segment on Beirut or Isreal or some other place or people or culture that I didn't know anything about, I would jot down enough information so that the next time I was at the library, I would pull out one of those giant encyclopedia volumes and read up on what I didn't know.<br /><br />After <span style="font-weight:bold;">Frank Reynolds</span> died in 1983, <span style="font-weight:bold;">Peter Jennings</span> took over the sole anchor responsibilities full-time and every single evening, I looked forward to the opening ding ding ding ding of the <span style="font-weight:bold;">ABC World News Tonight</span> jingle. It was a signal that Peter was about to teach me something new about what was going on in the world I lived in. <br /><br />I was a faithful <span style="font-weight:bold;">Peter Jennings</span> viewer - always tuning into him (and skipping over <span style="font-weight:bold;">CNN</span>) for any of the important, breaking coverage. Yes, even after I could get all of my news over the internet.<br /><br />When he passed away in 2005, I felt like I had lost the older brother or uncle that I never had. When he died, I knew that broadcast television news would never be the same and you know, it hasn't. I don't watch television news anymore because there's zero credibility in the reporting (not to mention the fact that everything seems to be 20 second soundbites).<br /><br />Sadly, I think my generation was the last to grow up with credible television news anchors/reporters.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/SsVFZ0F8Gmc&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/SsVFZ0F8Gmc&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11008266394008424779noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1384662678304810045.post-88078662241506776642009-12-02T10:07:00.002-05:002009-12-02T10:12:05.511-05:00Beth...the Beginning<div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kristinafh/2959438279/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3139/2959438279_fd0d1927df_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" /></a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0.9em;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kristinafh/2959438279/">Birthday Party - Seven Years Old</a><br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/kristinafh/">kristinafh</a></span></div>As I've stated previously, I don't have many photos from my childhood because most went up in flames when our house was struck by lightning (and subsequently, burnt to the ground). I mention this specifically, for this particular post, because it pains me not to have any other picture of me and Beth together. This is the one - one snapped at my seventh birthday party.<br /><br />Pictured (from left): Me, <span style="font-weight: bold;">Ericka Couch</span>, <span style="font-weight: bold;">Lisa Smith,</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;">Beth Fruechtenicht</span><br /><br />But back to the beginning...<br /><br />I don't remember the exact moment that I met Beth. This feels strange to me because my memory during this time is pretty vivid and detailed. Our first encounter though, had to be in Kindergarten - <span style="font-weight: bold;">Miss Crouse's</span> pm class at <span style="font-weight: bold;">Indian Village Elementary Schoo</span>l.<br /><br />Beth was everything I was not - blond, perfectly proportioned, well-off, and she had the ideal parents. Her mom Sharon - I'm not sure what she did (I assumed she did something for a living) - was possibly, the nicest woman I have ever met in my entire life time. Her dad Tom - was a very important man. A state representative...involved in lots of local Fort Wayne important things...<br /><br />And so having Beth as my friend should have seemed strange and out of place. But it wasn't. I can't explain it. She was like another world to me, but one that accepted and embraced me for who I was.<br /><br />Beth and I did have lots of things in common. <br /><br />First, we were competitive. Some of that had to do with physical co-location (we both had the same teachers K-4). But most of it had to do with me, wanting to be like Beth. She was smart, and every chance I got, I would go head to head with her in academic situations. That ranged from seeing who could get the higher grades on the spelling tests to seeing who could progress quicker through our reading books (i.e. <span style="font-style: italic;">Rainbows, Fiesta, Rewards, Panorama, Kaleidoscope</span>, etc...)<br /><br />Second, we were both <span style="font-style: italic;">Girl Scouts</span>. We started out as Brownies and then we 'bridged' over to Juniors. Beth's mom, who was one of our leaders, was there the entire way - teaching us the Girl Scout Promise and helping us earn our badges (yes, I need an entire series - just on Girl Scouts!).<br /><br />Third, we were both labeled as boy crazy. While I was a bit more forthcoming with who I had a crush on (Tom Stinson, Lewis Mastin), Beth was a bit more cautious about revealing who she liked since most of them seemed to live close to her.<br /><br />Fourth, we were both fans (and active players of) tetherball, kickball, and four square. I could always count on her to play any of these at recess. Sometimes though (at recess), we would just hang together and talk about 'stuff'. Stuff could be - toys, dolls, boys, other girls, teachers, homework - basically nothing was off limits.<br /><br />Beth and I were thicker than thieves for five years. In those five years - although I've said that we were very different from each other - we both ended up experiencing a lot of the same challenges (and heartbreaks).Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11008266394008424779noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1384662678304810045.post-52979381943263863612009-11-28T13:26:00.002-05:002009-11-28T13:28:18.653-05:00Burger Chef on Bluffton Road<div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kristinafh/2395438134/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2290/2395438134_d6e4be63c0_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" /></a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0.9em;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kristinafh/2395438134/">Burger Chef 1970's</a><br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/kristinafh/">kristinafh</a></span></div>This isn't the picture of THAT <span style="font-weight: bold;">Burger Chef</span> but still, it looks remarkably like the one that we used to visit from time to time.<br /><br />I loved the "fun meals" and the works bar was awesome. It was one of the earliest times in my life that I was allowed to make decisions for myself - i.e. what to put on my burger and what I could leave off. I was always a fan of tomatoes - lots of them. Not so much on the pickles or lettuce. Mustard was always left off but ketchup and mayo were two that were always found on the bun side that didn't face the cheese.<br /><br />We only seemed to visit the <span style="font-weight: bold;">Burger Chef</span> at the <span style="font-style: italic;">Bluffton Road</span> location - maybe because that's the one we lived closest to. I know that there were other ones located in the city - one on <span style="font-style: italic;">Coldwater Road</span> and one on <span style="font-style: italic;">East State Street</span>. Maybe there were other locations too...those are just the ones I remember.<br /><br />If you're a fan of <span style="font-weight: bold;">Burger Chef</span> - you've got to check out this guy's website - <a href="http://burgerchef.webs.com/8memorbilliapics.htm">http://burgerchef.webs.com/8memorbilliapics.htm</a><br /><br />He has TONS of pictures and I had a blast looking through all of the old stuff.Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11008266394008424779noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1384662678304810045.post-23971954062510664742009-10-09T00:01:00.001-04:002009-10-09T00:01:02.639-04:00The McMillen Globe<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SfTv-N9L3PU/SpBZTJ6VNfI/AAAAAAAAHK0/WMrbzVnFAxo/s1600-h/globe.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 322px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SfTv-N9L3PU/SpBZTJ6VNfI/AAAAAAAAHK0/WMrbzVnFAxo/s400/globe.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372892541065967090" border="0" /></a><br />Photo Credits: <a href="http://contentdm.acpl.lib.in.us/u?/coll6,4363">CONTENTdm Collection</a><br /><br />I don't think that I can say this enough times. I absolutely loved my downtown library. It was big, had lots of books, cool fountains to throw pennies in, and most importantly, the GLOBE.<br /><br />Whenever I would find whatever books I had planned on reading for the day, I would plant myself in one of the comfortable, cozy chairs, located right next to the GLOBE.<br /><br />There was something magical about that darn GLOBE. People have told me that it wasn't geographically - 100% accurate - but I neither believed them nor cared. I could watch that thing turn and turn and even when it was off of its tracks/needed oiled (notably whenever you heard the click, click, click and saw it jerk a bit with every twist), I was mesmerized by its presence. <br /><br />It almost looked - you know - paper mache'd although I know from looking at historical photos that it was not. I always thought to myself, one day, I'm going to go to this country or that country...and sometimes I would close my eyes and say that wherever they landed (on the GLOBE), is where I would take my very first out of country trip. Yes, I was a um...weird child ;).<br /><br />When the downtown library was rebuilt here recently, my biggest fear was that the GLOBE would be gone. I did see it near the front entrance. It was roped off - just like it had been years ago - but in this case, it sort of sat to the side. Makes me a bit sad that many patrons probably walk by it without even giving it a glance.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I know from historical photos that the GLOBE was given to the library from Mr. McMillen. The plaque that sits at the base says,</span></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" > <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Given to library by the boys and girls of the Wild Cat Baseball League and the Girl Scout of the Limberlost Girl Scout Council</span></span>.</span><br /><br />But why a globe? What's the back story? Everyone I've asked doesn't seem to know. I'm dying of curiosity....Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11008266394008424779noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1384662678304810045.post-78772714931075397582009-10-08T18:49:00.005-04:002009-10-08T19:57:37.288-04:00It Was A Tuesday, in November...1973<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnSKZZQQmW5qZvougCRSAet6ddUs25HVtWrXNruCyREPouyb-PSOKF-BKMJ-73cXxH_GxMHmjWg_0J1WKxZWiYBw1YVVlU3VfYPsiUVx4kBNmNBO_z11xugozTQ-kJ-OArLQjuZnZqmj9R/s1600-h/2751269015_b7d077823e_o.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 353px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnSKZZQQmW5qZvougCRSAet6ddUs25HVtWrXNruCyREPouyb-PSOKF-BKMJ-73cXxH_GxMHmjWg_0J1WKxZWiYBw1YVVlU3VfYPsiUVx4kBNmNBO_z11xugozTQ-kJ-OArLQjuZnZqmj9R/s400/2751269015_b7d077823e_o.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390381351366687202" border="0" /></a><br />I came home from school like I normally did - on the yellow bluebird school bus. My bus stop was at the corner of Pinecrest and South Cedar Crest Circle so I had to walk a little bit to my house. As I neared my house, I saw that there was an ambulance parked in front of the Boice's house. The Boice's<span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>lived exactly - right across the street from us at 4718 West Cedar Crest Circle.<br /><br />During the summer time, my sister and I would play with Jackie. Jackie was nearer my sister's age (at least 1-2 years younger than me) however, her backyard was just way too awesome to let age get in the way ;). In her backyard, there were several fruit trees - apple, cherry - and some vines that grew up against this latticed fence panel. I was thinking that there were grapes and blackberries but perhaps I am mistaken. My sister Patty will probably remember though.<br /><br />We would always pick the apples and cherries for Jackie's mom. In turn, she would make some of the best pies ever. She used to reward us for our hard work (summertime is hot for sure!) by meeting us at the screen door, in the back, with Popsicles by Good Humor. Orange, Grape, and Cherry for the three flavors and it mattered not which of the three I had. The most important factor was that I got to have one of these yummy treats!<br /><br />Jackie's mom (her name - Joahn - pronounced like Joanne), was a very soft-spoken woman. For anyone with five children to be soft-spoken - wow - isn't that just a complete freak of nature!! That's right, Mrs. Boice and her husband Carl, had five children: John, Carl Jr., Kurt, Kathy, and Jackie.<br /><br />We knew all of the kids. Kathy, who was about five years older than me - well - I worshipped her. I thought she was beautiful and kind and model-like. John still lived at home although he seemed to not be there much and Carl Jr. and Kurt came around enough...in fact, one of them lived in a house down the road.<br /><br />My dad was friendly with Carl aka Mr. Boice. I'm not sure how their friendship started but I know that beer was involved.<br /><br />My mom tells me that Joahn kept to herself. She didn't seem to have any friends but she was always friendly to everyone she came into contact with. I always thought it was odd that my mom and her weren't close friends given that we played with her daughter, we lived across the street, and my dad hung out with Carl. Now I understand why.<br /><br />Although I remember Joahn being pretty, and I can see her standing at the back porch handing us Popsicles or giving us pies to take home to our family, I have absolutely no recollection of her face. I can see her body, I can see her hair, but the rest has been blurred in my memory. My sister and my mom tell me that daughter Kathy looked very much like her mom.<br /><br />When I came into the house that Tuesday, in November 1973, my sister was already home (she only had half-day kindergarten) and my mom was in the kitchen.<br /><br />I asked my mom why there was an ambulance in front of Jackie's house. Was somebody hurt? Her face was solemn and she tried to change the subject. But me, never to be derailed by wanting to know answers, asked her again. She said that it had been there since 1pm and that she knew that Jackie's mom had been hurt.<br /><br />HURT?!?<br /><br />I needed more information. My mother calmly sat me down and said that there had been an accident. Mrs. Boice was up in the attic cleaning while little Jackie took her afternoon nap. My mom said that she didn't have all of the details but she had been told that a gun had accidentally been discharged.<br /><br />I ran back to our front entrance area and pulled the curtains open to see what I could see? Was Mrs. Boice alright? Where was Jackie? And Kathy? And Mr. Boice? My mom made me get away from the window (staring wasn't nice ya know!) and I spent the rest of the evening, fretting over the Boice's.<br /><br />I know that my dad talked to Carl. I know that my mom and dad whispered a lot in the kitchen (without me or Patty) that night. Eventually, they did tell us that Mrs. Boice had died and I remember crying myself to sleep that night, with the pillow covering up my whimpers as much as possible. I had to be strong for my sister.<br /><br />The funeral was held three days later - at D.O. McComb & Sons. Mrs. Boice was later buried at Covington Memorial Gardens. She was only 38 years old.<br /><br />I've mentioned before that our neighborhood was close-knit but the odd thing about this situation is that absolutely NO ONE talked about it. It's like the entire situation never occurred. I was intuitive enough (yes, even at seven) to know not to ask Kathy or Jackie questions but it always weighed heavily on my mind. Why was there a gun in the attic and how could Mr. Boice have been so irresponsible as to have left it out where Mrs. Boice tripped (this was my theory) and accidentally shot herself?<br /><br />Years later, my mom had told me that Mrs. Boice had purposely taken her life...using a rifle. She went up to the attic, we assume, so that Jackie would not be the one to find her.<br /><br />Almost every time I feel the first Fall chill in the air and/or the first grey Fall skies of the year, I often think of Mrs. Boice. I wonder what made her climb the stairs of the attic, take that rifle, and end her young life in the most gruesome of manners. I wonder if she was depressed for a long time or if something recently had happened to make her feel such despair. I wonder if she even understood that she would be leaving her five, beautiful children...motherless.Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11008266394008424779noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1384662678304810045.post-77043471202720287792009-09-16T20:34:00.005-04:002009-09-16T21:37:16.148-04:00A Guy and His GunIn January of 1986, I worked three jobs. Why? I was 19 and I was on a quest to make money and to keep myself as busy as possible. I always liked to be on the go and with three jobs - I certainly was!<br /><br />One of the disadvantages of living on Third Street was that all parking occurred on the street. My used 1979 Red Honda Accord could amazingly fit into small spots and believe me, I took advantage of that as much as possible. If I happened to come home late, I usually had to park at least a block away. My grandparents (who I lived with), were never thrilled if my car was not within view. I think they just liked to keep an eye on me and my stuff :).<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kristinafh/3926905355/" title="615 3rd St, Fort Wayne, IN 46808 - Google Maps_1253145512412 by kristinafh, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2474/3926905355_b1cec7a5e6_o.jpg" width="463" height="364" alt="615 3rd St, Fort Wayne, IN 46808 - Google Maps_1253145512412" /></a><br /><br />On one particular Winter night, the parking situation really sucked. Instead of getting to park on Third Street, I had to go down to Orchard and then, park at the very end of it - almost at the corner of Orchard and High Street.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kristinafh/3927676970/" title="615 3rd St, Fort Wayne, IN 46808 - Google Maps_1253145470998 by kristinafh, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3465/3927676970_a8ac6d8e36.jpg" width="500" height="255" alt="615 3rd St, Fort Wayne, IN 46808 - Google Maps_1253145470998" /></a><br /><br />The black splat is where I ended up parking. <br /><br />As I was walking up the sidewalk, nearing the corner of Orchard and Third Street, the light of a street lamp bounced off of one car and made it stand out more than the others parked on the street. <br /><br />I looked to the right and I saw a guy - about my age - sitting in the driver's seat, with a gun in his hand. He looked distressed. We made eye contact. I diverted my eyes - but in a way that showed no fear. Why? I couldn't tell you. I probably should have been afraid. But everything inside of me kept me composed and calm and I continued walking at an even pace towards our house.<br /><br />I walked inside - it was after 10 p.m., but my grandpa was still awake. He had just retired a few weeks beforehand and he claimed that he couldn't get used to not being awake for second shift. Secretly, I think he worried about me being out "in the dark" and so staying up, watching television kept him entertained until I got home.<br /><br />So anyway, I walked in and I told my grandpa that we needed to call 911. I explained to him what I had just seen and amazingly, I was still very calm about it. For many years, Grandpa worked as a <span style="font-style: italic;">Security Supervisor</span> at <span style="font-weight: bold;">St. Joe Hospital</span> so before we picked up the phone to place the call, he asked me specific questions.<br /><br />Where exactly was the car parked?<br />Was it running? Or off?<br />What did it look like?<br />What did he look like?<br />Did he see you?<br />Did he make any attempt to get out of his car?<br />What did his gun look like?<br />What position was the gun in?<br /><br />Most of my answers weren't specific enough (like I knew it was a mid-size American car but I didn't know what model/make/year), and forget the gun stuff. I just knew that it was a small pistol - it didn't have a wooden handle (you know - like handguns did in the Westerns on television).<br /><br />My grandpa was very patient and in the span of 2-3 minutes, he got a lot of information out of me. He placed the 911 phone call himself (giving the details I had provided) and within 15 minutes, a uniformed FWP guy was at our door.<br /><br />My grandpa and him got on well. The policeman took my statement and he asked the same type of questions that my grandpa had (and then some).<br /><br />At the end of this process, he told us that the guy was upset over a domestic situation and that he had planned on killing himself. I was kind of shocked - I guess I never really stopped to think what was wrong with him or why he had a gun (or what he was going to do with it).<br /><br />The policeman explained that he and his partner had approached the car (and its driver) to ascertain the situation and that is what took him so long to get over to see us. The individual had a gun permit but they did not feel comfortable with letting him go. It didn't sound like he was arrested - more that someone (or someones) were spending some time, talking to him. He was definitely out of the immediate area and the police gave him strict instructions not to come back near this area.<br /><br />I guess I should have been comforted by that last part but really, I don't ever remember being scared or frightened. Something in his eyes - that split second we made eye contact - told me that this wasn't a guy who was going to hurt me.<br /><br />But you know, I got a lecture from both the policeman and my grandfather about walking alone, so late at night, <span style="font-style: italic;">blah blah blah</span>.<br /><br />As he was leaving, the policeman shook my grandfather's hand and then looked at me and said, "You probably saved his life tonight". I didn't know what to say to that. So I said nothing. He didn't appear as if he was looking for a response.<br /><br />After he left, and my grandpa locked up for the night, we sat in the living room and watched some late night television (Channel 55!). Neither of us said much and about an hour later, we went to bed.<br /><br />The next morning, my grandma was all frantic. She pulled out every possibility (I could have been raped, murdered, kidnapped) and I just shook my head at her. Usually, when she got this way, me and grandpa just let her rant. Eventually, she went a little over the top and my grandpa stepped in to cut her off.<br /><br />"Irene. Our granddaughter did the right thing. I don't like that she was out walking in the dark but in the end, it all turned out alright for everyone, including the young man who might have been found this morning by someone else walking past his car."<br /><br />That quieted her - real quick :).<br /><br />Every once in awhile, whenever I had to park on Orchard, I always wondered what happened to the guy. All of these years later, I still can't look at that corner without thinking about that night. Although we only shared a couple of seconds of co-existence, I hoped that he had been able to move past the type of pain that led him to that night in his car with his gun.Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11008266394008424779noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1384662678304810045.post-78713712215558205592009-08-23T17:12:00.003-04:002009-08-23T17:15:24.293-04:00The Interloper<div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kristinafh/2751269015/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3232/2751269015_c1cebd4608_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" /></a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0.9em;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kristinafh/2751269015/">Neighborhood Kids</a><br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/kristinafh/">kristinafh</a></span></div>In our neighborhood - everyone - and I do mean EVERYONE - knew each other. It wasn't just a one neighbor radius either (meaning - you probably expected us to know the people who live to the right of us, to the left of us, across the street, and directly behind us). Oh no, this neighborhood I grew up in - everybody knew everybody. In some ways, knowledge equaled a sense of safety and security. We were a young neighborhood, but already, we were pretty set in our ways.<br /><br />And then, there were these "rules" that almost every kid abided by (or tried to). Most of these weren't rules that were written down or given to us as instructions. They were rules (and boundaries) that we all sort of picked up as we experienced life in the neighborhood.<br /><br />For example - there were some neighbors who were really grouchy about people crossing through their yards. In fact, over a one year period, <span style="font-weight: bold;">Sears</span> must have been licking their lips at the windfall they experienced by the number of chain-link fences installed in our neighborhood.<br /><br />More examples - kickball games usually took place on Cedar Crest Circle; the bike "route" was Cedar Crest Circle - Pinecrest - back to Cedar Crest. Kyle Road was too dangerous for bike riding. Skateboarding happened on Pinecrest. Tree climbing was usually reserved for the big ole cherry tree on Scott's Court. If you had to use the (ahem) facilities and you were playing with the Beckstedt kids - too bad. You had to go somewhere else cause their momma never let you in. <br /><br />One summer, while playing with <span style="font-weight: bold;">Tricia Manter</span> in her big ole backyard (we were doing our typical Barbie things), we heard a voice from the other side of the wood fence. I looked at Tricia, she looked up and then looked back down, getting back to the business at hand (putting together Barbie's swimming pool).<br /><br />The voice called out again. Tricia just ignored him. Not me though. I wanted to know who it was. I went to the back of the yard and I saw a boy, up in a neighbor's tree. I didn't recognize him. "<span style="font-style: italic;">Who are you?</span>" He answered, "<span style="font-style: italic;">Wouldn't you like to know?</span>" Of course I did. He was an interloper in our neighborhood. He was climbing trees of neighbors I knew - clearly - he was not a "neighbor". Then I heard a voice. "<span style="font-style: italic;">Tom. Come down here. Lunch is ready.</span>" To which he answered, "<span style="font-style: italic;">Okay grandma.</span>"<br /><br />Weird. I went back to playing Barbies with Tricia. We didn't even acknowledge the voice in the back. By this time, the pool was up and it was time for Barbie, Ken, and Skipper to bask in all of their tanning glory.Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11008266394008424779noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1384662678304810045.post-85939302864825482352009-08-22T04:26:00.002-04:002009-08-22T16:37:18.474-04:00The Lobby of the Library<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kristinafh/2394604523/" title="Fort Wayne Public Library by kristinafh, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3111/2394604523_ea04d4faf6_o.jpg" width="598" height="417" alt="Fort Wayne Public Library" /></a><br /><br />Photo Credits: http://contentdm.acpl.lib.in.us/u?/coll6,4349 <br /><br />Walking into the lobby of the downtown library was like walking into grandma and grandpa's house. There was always a certain smell - one I couldn't put my finger on. Everything was the same - nothing out of place. In the Library's case, walking through those doors, you'd always see the pools in front of you, the check-out area to the left, the staircase further down and to the right, and my most favorite permanent part of the place - the McMillen Globe. It was on the right, past the staircase.<br /><br />The "pools" were these two, built-in, concrete, mini fountains where we would often through our pennies. It's actually surprising to me that kids didn't jump in them (they were very shallow) and/or that water didn't splash out (ahem kids innocently dropping coins) and make the adjoining floor space wet (causing a slip from a patron).<br /><br />The magazine area was to the right and it had an area where you could sit and read. Magazines were bound in a contraption - I think - it was a red hard back with a clear front. They sat on these (tries to come up with some term that makes sense) - shelf that was tilted a bit so that the magazine would slide off. You could lift up the shelf to find past issues of a particular magazine (at least a year's worth - I think).<br /><br />All of the magazines I was ever interested in reading...well...they were always not where I could find them. The exception was if we arrived first thing in the morning, when the library opened. The staff always did a good job of putting everything back where you could find them but you know - those lazy patrons :P.<br /><br />I loved this library. This is the library I grew up in. This is the library that allowed me to explore my literary interests - all for the cost of nothing. What a powerful entity libraries are. Especially our own ACPL.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kristinafh/2557745445/" title="library by kristinafh, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3122/2557745445_5c874fd8ff_o.jpg" width="597" height="409" alt="library" /></a><br /><br />Photo Credits: http://contentdm.acpl.lib.in.us/u?/coll6,4873Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11008266394008424779noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1384662678304810045.post-91540341525741134782009-08-19T16:51:00.003-04:002009-08-19T16:57:00.401-04:00Three Rivers Festival Souvenir Program<div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kristinafh/3836970239/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2510/3836970239_0eb18b2072_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" /></a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0.9em;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kristinafh/3836970239/">Three Rivers Festival Souvenir Program</a><br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/kristinafh/">kristinafh</a></span></div>I don't know why it takes me so long to write stuff on my blog. I have millions of stories to tell - maybe I'm just suffering from writer's block!<br /><br />Anyway, I thought that a good way to clean out the cobwebs would be to upload the <span style="font-style: italic;">Souvenir Program</span> from the 1970 <span style="font-weight: bold;">Three Rivers Festival</span>. It is the first one I have memories of attending.<br /><br />My entire family - mom, grandparents, aunts - all loved this festival.<br /><br />There were some events we always went to (i.e.the raft race, the parade, the fun rides, music on the landing/at Freimann Square, the FOOD, the children's zoo events, boat rides, bed race, flea market).<br /><br />There were some events where I only remember them happening once - or - us attending them once (i.e. boat race, bicycle race, great train robbery).<br /><br />When I was seven, I marched in my first TRF parade - as a PAL-ette (Police Athletic League baton twirler). The route was VERY different from the one today. I'm not sure when it changed but at one time, we marched on Broadway, past G.E. and the park.<br /><br />Even after my parents split up and we moved out of the area, we still returned for the festival. As an adult (when I lived in Fort Wayne and worked at Lincoln Life), I became a little disenchanted with it. It seemed to go from a community-type event to an ADHD type of event. What I mean by that is that the focus seemed to be OUT of focus. Some of the core events were chucked. Many events were scattered around the city so it was difficult to plan your day. It used to be that we parked and walked (when I was a kid). As an adult, I still parked and walked, but I had to drive, park (pay), walk, drive, park (pay), walk - on and on...<br /><br />It's been about five years since I attended my last TRF. Although the elephant ears are always calling to me, it hasn't been enough to get me back to town.<br /><br />Maybe someday.<br /><br />As an aside - all of the pages of the program are located on my flickr account. I think you'll be VERY surprised at what you come across. From the events to the advertisers - wow - this is some walk down memory lane!!!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kristinafh">http://www.flickr.com/photos/kristinafh</a>Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11008266394008424779noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1384662678304810045.post-82640820650885264362009-06-18T19:32:00.001-04:002009-06-18T19:32:44.649-04:00Postcard of Public Library<div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kristinafh/2577951045/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3009/2577951045_1137bdbf50_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kristinafh/2577951045/">Postcard of Public Library, Fort Wayne, Indiana</a><br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/kristinafh/">kristinafh</a></span></div>Looking at all of Virgil Marquart’s photo’s (and in this case a postcard), I am often transported back in time to places that meant the world to me.<br /><br />Case in point – the Allen County Public Library. <br /><br />This particular shot was taken (I'm guessing?) sometime in the late 60's/early 70's. I’m sure it had to be either very early in the morning and/or sometime early on a Sunday. There’s not any cars sitting in traffic and if you look at the streets that run parallel and adjacent to the library, you won’t find the cars that typically decorated each side of the library.<br /><br />As I said in a previous post, I spent a lot of time at this library because my mother went through a phase where she did a lot of research on our family tree.<br /><br />My mother became pretty familiar with the traffic pattern of the patrons which was important because parking near the library was almost impossible. <br /><br />You see, back in the 70’s, there were actually a lot of buildings located around the library – Webster Street, Berry Street, Wayne Street, Washington Avenue, Jefferson Avenue – all had numerous buildings.<br /><br />There was parking around the perimeter of the library – meter parking. I was a frequent meter feeder – nickels and dimes and at one time – I’m thinking even pennies.<br /><br />That was the preferred place to park because if we were there after the sun went down, my mom always felt safer if we didn’t have to walk very far.<br /><br />Located down the street was a parking lot where you had to pay to park on nice, black pavement. We never, ever took our chances with parking illegally (either in one of these lots or in the lots of businesses) because the police were frequent ticketers of downtown parkers.<br /><br />As you all know, the library underwent a complete overhaul and expansion. I did visit it last summer and even though I was impressed with its grandness and new technology gadgets, it felt a little stiff and formal. With time and more visits, I'm sure I'll get used to the changes.<br /><br />In the meantime, I have my memories. I have my Virgil Marquart postcard.<br clear="all" />Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11008266394008424779noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1384662678304810045.post-8187486417492597392009-06-02T15:36:00.005-04:002009-06-02T15:52:38.809-04:00June 2, 1990<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SfTv-N9L3PU/SiWAInMr2fI/AAAAAAAAG4Y/6XuAiqktEqY/s1600-h/KFH0058-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SfTv-N9L3PU/SiWAInMr2fI/AAAAAAAAG4Y/6XuAiqktEqY/s400/KFH0058-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342817418394458610" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We were lucky (and thrilled) to be married in Fort Wayne - 19 years ago today. <br /><br />Married at the <span style="font-weight:bold;">Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception</span> by <span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-weight:bold;">Monsignor Lester<span style="font-style:italic;"></span></span></span>. Reception at the <span style="font-weight:bold;">Fort Wayne Chamber of Commerce</span>. <br /><br />Photography by <span style="font-weight:bold;">Michael's</span>. Cake by <span style="font-weight:bold;">Richard's Bakery</span>. Flower's made by a friend of the family - purchased locally. Additional flower's purchased at <span style="font-weight:bold;">Moring's Flowers and Gifts</span>. Catering from a local group (name escapes me).<br /><br />My wedding dress and the bridesmaid dresses were purchased from some place downtown - name escapes me - will need to dig through my stuff to find that one out. Tuxes rented locally. Horse and carriage (later switched out to a limo because of lightening) provided by local company.<br /><br />Can you tell? I loved relying on local businesses to help me with all of the details of my wedding. No chains - with the exception of the Tux people - were a part of my wedding.<br /><br />I wonder if couples getting married now in Fort Wayne - still use local businesses for their happy day.<br /><br />Oh - and happy 19 years to my loving husband.Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11008266394008424779noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1384662678304810045.post-25384912939786057852009-06-01T16:23:00.006-04:002009-06-01T16:38:17.482-04:00The Allen County Public Library<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SfTv-N9L3PU/SiQ5BUlxwDI/AAAAAAAAG3o/9c59JWfloTg/s1600-h/KFH0058.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 352px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SfTv-N9L3PU/SiQ5BUlxwDI/AAAAAAAAG3o/9c59JWfloTg/s400/KFH0058.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342457752838062130" /></a><b>My Library Card</b><br /><br />Look familiar?<br /><br />I couldn't believe that I still had this. It was tucked away in a very old book that had stayed in my grandparents house when my mom moved us to Kentucky. Good thing too. This little piece of barely-stiff paper (otherwise known as an <span style="font-weight:bold;">Allen County Public Library</span> card) would have never survived a fire.<br /><br />Looking at this card (yes - even if it is a "Dup.") brings back lots of memories for me.<br /><br />Even though we lived in <span style="font-weight:bold;">Waynedale</span> - we spent a great deal of time downtown at "the" library. While my mom spent hours and hours in the basement (or wherever it was), researching our family tree, I would lose track of time, sitting in between the aisles and aisles of books and shelves. It was my own personal "think" ground. I'd go off in search of a book (maybe the latest <span style="font-weight:bold;">Judy Blume</span>?) and end up with that and then a dozen others that were completely unrelated.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwMDwE6T2ufgwFU_EbgNrz1Dq1plS5l7SKjkIL67BGnbTqrNrJkNsyjVb1iLr42an_GToJIBFlFOm035qgAkwSII65nnByM1ItXF6O1Du4sfFFOpzLMsgKWBYHIUq5H2nluUgQGExOwkfN/s1600-h/KFH0059.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 356px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwMDwE6T2ufgwFU_EbgNrz1Dq1plS5l7SKjkIL67BGnbTqrNrJkNsyjVb1iLr42an_GToJIBFlFOm035qgAkwSII65nnByM1ItXF6O1Du4sfFFOpzLMsgKWBYHIUq5H2nluUgQGExOwkfN/s400/KFH0059.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342459613293105778" /></a>Can you believe that fines were <span style="font-style:italic;">only 5 cents</span>? Or that you could check out <span style="font-style:italic;">eight items</span> at a time? Seems forever ago, doesn't it?<br /><br />More to come on one of my favorite, childhood memories - the <span style="font-weight:bold;">Allen County Public Library</span> - tomorrow. Wanted to kick-start myself - get back here to writing on a more frequent basis. Don't worry - the memories didn't dry up...I just got a bit distracted with life...Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11008266394008424779noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1384662678304810045.post-17379324458100291612009-02-15T08:49:00.005-05:002009-02-15T09:23:46.261-05:00The Southgate Plaza Shopping Center<center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kristinafh/3243170326/" title="Southgate Shopping Center by kristinafh, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3403/3243170326_6e400c30d9.jpg" alt="Southgate Shopping Center" width="500" height="308" /></a><br />Postcard of Southgate Plaza Shopping Center, Fort Wayne, Indiana. <br />Photo by Madelyn Hendry. <br />Published by Marquart Photo Service, Fort Wayne, Indiana.</center><br /><br />If you'd like to see a gigantic view of this picture, just click on it and it will take you to a much larger version on flickr.<br /><br />There's no date associated to this postcard, but guessing by the cars pictured, it was sometime in the early 60's (although I am not a big car follower - I'm just wildly guessing here and I'll wait for one of you car buffs to correct me!).<br /><br />I haven’t been to Southgate Shopping Plaza in years. By the time I was born, Penney’s had moved to Southtown Mall and of course, we never shopped at Kroger’s because the gigantic Scott’s shopping experience was on the other side of the road.<br /><br />If and when we stopped in here, it was to visit the paint store (I think Ream Steckbeck Paint Co.). I also remember a shoe store too but we always walked by it without actually purchasing anything. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">The Southgate Plaza, north of Pettit Avenue and east of Calhoun Street was opened April 18, 1955. It contained 40 store units at the outset on an area of 40 acres. Developed by the American Shopping Centers, Inc., it was the city’s first large center and provided parking for 2,500 cars. Major stores included Stillman’s, J.C. Penney, F.W. Woolworth, W.T. Grant, The People’s Trust Bank, Richman Brothers, Walgreen Drug Stores, and Kroger Supermarket.</span> <br /><br />Twentieth Century History of Fort Wayne, John Ankenbruck (1975) - Page 499<br /><br />So I guess the parking was a big deal back then but for me - as a little kid - my biggest memory is how lost and disoriented I felt by the layout of the place. I was so used to shopping with my grandparents downtown or at Southtown Mall and this particular arrangement was confusing and to tell you the truth - lacked "eye candy". <br /><br />Downtown, there was hustle and bustle and a connected sense of community. At Southtown Mall, once you stepped inside, it was like you were in another mini-city. Southgate was just a bunch of connected 'things' to me and an after thought to a Saturday shopping/outing.Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11008266394008424779noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1384662678304810045.post-74602664033023382352009-02-13T15:15:00.002-05:002009-02-13T17:15:50.800-05:00Rejected<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SfTv-N9L3PU/SZXAhUpYEpI/AAAAAAAAGyg/kUNLsJvECv4/s1600-h/wc.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 249px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SfTv-N9L3PU/SZXAhUpYEpI/AAAAAAAAGyg/kUNLsJvECv4/s400/wc.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302355815009096338" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Photo Credit:</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Life Magazine, September 1967</span><br /><br />Caption - "<span style="font-style: italic;">Lost child being traced in supermarket by store wide public address system."</span><br /><br /><br /><br />So...when I last spoke to Mr. John Elliott (spokesman for Kroger), I had requested to take pictures of some special places within the store before it closed. He said that he was fine with my request and that I should contact the store manager to arrange a time that would be least disruptive to employees.<br /><br />Although I've been very upset about the closing of the store, I have been looking forward to being allowed in to take photos of all of those hidden places (gems) that we employees were aware of that maybe shoppers either didn't know about or didn't have access to.<br /><br />I took the day off of work today (vacation day) and placed a call to the Scott's Decatur Road Store manager this morning. After speaking with Dave, he said that he needed to run this by his management and that he would return my call.<br /><br />About an hour later, John Elliott returned the call. It went to voice mail because I was on another line. He stated that my request was being turned down for two reasons.<br /><br />First, because my presence would be a disruption to current employees. Second, it was his understanding that without prior authorization, I had already been inside the store taking pictures.<br /><br />When I returned his phone call - it went to voice mail. I explained that I had followed his instructions to me - to the letter of the law - and that I hadn't been to Fort Wayne or Scott's Decatur Road and I had not taken any pictures. I do have pictures that were sent to me by readers of this blog however, they weren't necessarily the shots I was intending to take myself. I did not request for them to take pictures and frankly, I would have never posted them if I thought that this would invalidate the agreement.<br /><br />It has been three hours, and I still have not heard back from him. I'm assuming my opportunity is lost and to say that I am upset - well - it's an understatement.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">5:00 P.M.</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"> Update</span> - John Elliott returned my phone call and said that the store's management was not comfortable with me because according to them, <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">I had made an appearance at the store a few week's ago and while I was there, they confronted me</span>. <br /><br />It's just too bad it never happened. I haven't been to Fort Wayne since sometime in 2008.<br /><br />Not sure why someone would feel the need to impersonate me and not sure why the store management is being a bunch of jerks. <br /><br />Goodbye Scott's. It was nice knowing you.Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11008266394008424779noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1384662678304810045.post-37175526317223794432009-02-13T10:11:00.003-05:002009-02-13T17:29:13.574-05:00Does Scott's at Decatur Road Have A Date With The Wrecking Ball?I've received two emails and one blog comment indicating that this is the case. I'm really hoping that it's bad information/just a prank...If anyone has any information - please let me know.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Update @ 5:15 p.m.</span> Thanks to Stephen Parker from AroundFortWayne - he checked with the City of Fort Wayne's Public Information Officer, Rachel Blakeman<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Stephen,</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> I just checked with Kroger. Following the store's closure, the exterior</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> Scott's signage will be removed, but the cornucopia itself will remain.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> Kroger has made no decision at this time about the future of the sign.</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> Sorry, but no pipers, Mayor or pomp and circumstance.</span>Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11008266394008424779noreply@blogger.com3