Barbies on a Shoestring

It's amazing to me how little I had - in the material sense - when I was a youngster. Here's a great example.

Here's a picture of me and Kim Spore at my house on Cedar Crest Circle. Looks to be around third grade - maybe fourth grade (1976'ish).

We're sitting on the floor of the bedroom I shared with my sister Patty.

* We had no carpet in this bedroom.

* Most of the clothes you see on Barbie (I'm holding her) or Skipper (Kim is holding her) was handmade by my Aunt Barb (she went through a phase of sewing everything!).

* I'm also holding a "Dawn" too, she is just well hidden behind Malibu Barbie.

* There is a pink barbie case in the left corner of the picture. Notice the "make believe" towel I have draped into the handle. Most likely, that was our designated Barbie bathroom.

* To the right (and still looking at the bottom of the picture) was a silk-like pink box that was my mother's. She got it from some flea market or auction/estate sales. That served two particular purposes in this scenario.

First, it was Barbie's clothes trunk. Yes, instead of a closet, that's where she kept most of her stuff. Second, it was a ledge for her to stand on as she looked up to the loft area where Skipper slept. Believe me, I'm not making this up. Seeing this picture - BOOM - it was like a memory recorder in my head. I could recall just about everything and the reason for it.

* Notice the Brownie (pink) patch and the wings (signifying the flight up from Brownies to Junior Girl Scouts). Those were rugs. Yep, Barbie rugs.

* That blue and white checkered-like blanket that was draped on the box (where Skipper's loft was), was sewn by my Aunt Barb.

* There's a Lipton tea box and a dixie bathroom cup on the floor. Not sure what we were going to use those for!

* Okay - the fact that me and Kim are dressed alike - could only mean one thing. No, it's not like we went to school like this. Most likely, we decided that to play Barbies, we needed to dress alike which is why we both have on skirts and turtlenecks (and by the way - all clothing is mine).

* Regarding auctions/estate sales/flea markets...the white desk in the corner was definitely something my mother picked up from one of those places. We had all sorts of interesting, odds and ends, throughout my house, of these kinds of pieces.

Third Grade - Miss McDougall - Indian Village

Time for another class photo!

If you click on the photo, you'll be taken to where it's hosted (on Flickr) and the image is MUCH larger and easier to see.

So here are the usual (and usual) suspects. If you go back and look at my first and fourth grade photos - you'll see a lot of the same kids (i.e. usual suspects). Mind you, this is all from memory (or lack thereof). If I've mislabeled someone - I expect to be told!!! And for gosh sakes if you know the last names, let me know. I seemed to be having major issues with the names from the third grade.

Row 1: Errol Stech, ?
Row 2: Dean ?, Karen Brezette, Doug White, Billy ?, ?
Row 3: Kelly Miller, Eddie Hyde, Eric Busenberik, Zetta ?, Joyce Lloyd, Eugene ? (my cubbie hottie from Kindergarden!!!)
Row 4: Melanie Davis, Danny Gould, Marla Magditch, Steve Saylor, Adam ?, Glen McCourt
Row 5: Tom Stinson, ?, Chrissy Boner, Lori Schmidt,?
Row 6: Kristina Frazier, ?, Stuart Williams, Ralph Barva
Row 7: Beth Fruechtenicht, ?

P.S. And speaking of class photos - I have ZIP ZERO from my second grade. In 1974-75, Mrs. Judith Edwards taught a split 2nd-3rd grade class. If you know of anyone that has this class photo, please let me know. I was out sick that day (I think I had the measles or chicken pox).

Saturday Morning Cartoons - Hong Kong Phooey

Who is this super hero?

Sarge? No.

Rosemary the telephone operator? No.

Henry the mild mannered janitor? Could be.

Hong Kong Phooey, number one super guy.

Hong Kong Phooey, quicker than the human eye.

He's got style, a groovy smile, and a car that just won't stop.

When the going gets tough, he's super tough, with a Hong Kong Phooey chop (Hi-Ya!)

Hong Kong Phooey, number one super guy.

Hong Kong Phooey, quicker than the human eye.

chicky chong chicky chom chicky dongdiddly dong diddly dong dong bow wow wow

Hong Kong Phooey, fan-riffic (gong!)

Enough with the singing. And apologies to anyone who actually knows the lyrics to the opening of Hong Kong Phooey. These may or may not represent the actual lyrics, but it is what I used to sing when it came on Channel 21 (ABC) at 8 a.m. on Saturday mornings (Spring 1976).









When the show first debut in 1974, ABC had it on at 9 a.m. hour. You had to know it was getting the kiss of death when they moved it to 8 a.m.

I liked this show because of its jingle-jammin' opening, its quirky slapstick comedy, and the plain arrogance of the dog - who just thought he was all that! And also, I always wondered about the sidekick cat - I forget his name. He always looked like the Alice in Wonderland cat.

From my favority community source - Wikipedia:

Hong Kong Phooey is a 16-episode Hanna Barbera animated series that first aired on ABC Saturday morning from September 7, 1974 to September 4, 1976. The star, Hong Kong Phooey, is the secret alter ego of Penrod Pooch, or Penry (sometimes mispronounced "Henry"), a "mild-mannered" police station janitor. Although Penry/Phooey appears to be the only anthropomorphic dog in the entire city where the series is set, no one ever connects his two identities.

Hong Kong Phooey is supposedly a master of kung fu and other martial arts. The stories begin at the police headquarters, where Hong Kong Phooey's alter ego, Penry, works as a mild-mannered janitor. He works with Sergeant Flint (Sarge) and Rosemary, the telephone operator, who has a major crush on Hong Kong Phooey. After Rosemary gets a call and explains the criminals' crime Penry would run into a filing cabinet to transform himself into Hong Kong Phooey. In each episode, he ends up needing help from his loyal (somewhat less anthropomorphic) striped cat and sidekick, Spot, to get him out. Hong Kong never quite notices Spot's help, but instead is always proud of himself because he thinks he is the one who does everything.

Winter On Kyle Road

Looking Down Kyle Road
Originally uploaded by kristinafh

You are looking at the top of Kyle Road.

I know you can't tell from this particular shot, but there's a nice downward slope on this road.

And going up this with your bike is a bitch. It's more than a workout for a ten year old. It's like training for some marathon. Which is why we usually didn't take this route on our bikes. We tended to head the other direction where the road was smoother and flatter.

It was a different story in winter time.

Especially when crusty ole Lester Grile would call off school. School would only be called off in the winter time for one of two reasons. First, blizzard conditions. Second, icy conditions.

As kids, we loved both. The ice though, had its bonus points.

You see, didn't matter what the temperature was. A day off of school, with a fresh sheet of ice - just waiting for us - well - that was almost better than the ice cream truck dropping off free bomb pops.

So, this is how it went down.

We'd tell the parents that we were hangin' at Brian Rice's house (it's on the left - but you can't see it because the trees hide it.

If we had enough kids, we'd break into three groups.

One group would stay towards the bottom - looking for any stupid cars that might try to come out of Cedar Crest OR which might try to make its way up Kyle (up the slope).

Side note: Most drivers avoided this area when it was icy because it was a guaranteed wipe-out.

One group would park themselves at the top of Kyle, watching out for the silly drivers who might approach from Tielker Road.

The other group would grab their plastic, toboggan sleds (mine was red - got it at Mr. Wiggs I think) and ride them down the slope, holding on for dear life.

Things to look out for:

* Other sledders
* Mailboxes
* Utility poles

Otherwise, the name of the game was, see how far and fast you could go without injuring a body part.

And everybody would rotate.

And keep on slidin' down that slope - until it was time to go home for supper.

And that's how we spent our icy winters. Slidin' down the slope with our plastic, toboggan sleds.

Final note: if you've never rode down a slope on a plastic toboggan sled - you haven't experienced life. There's nothing like a thin piece of plastic between you and a sheet of ice and the wind ripping your face off as you hold on for the ride of your life. Guaranteed to erase all of your worries of the day.

4th Grade, Indian Village Elementary - Mrs. Crowley

I told you earlier that 4th grade was an important time for me. Here is the first of many recollections re: that period of time in my life.


In 1976, I was nine years old and entering the fourth grade. I had attended Indian Village Elementary school since kindergarten and had felt pretty comfortable in my surroundings, although - and I know you'll find this hard to believe - I was an extremely introverted child. I had fantastic teachers for K-3rd and for fourth grade, I was looking forward to having Mrs. Mitchell. She was an older woman who ran a very strict classroom setting but I heard, she was the best.

Imagine my surprise when two days before school, we stopped by to pick up my books, and found out that my teacher wouldn't be Mrs. Mitchell. It was to be a new teacher, Mrs. Crowley. I was shaken up a bit but forgot about it quickly as I wanted to enjoy my last two days of freedom.

But so much for peace and quiet because rumor around the neighborhood was that Mrs. Crowley was black. This upset my parents - mostly my father - tremendously. Although I knew my father said horrible things about black people, I thought for some reason that a teacher would be exempt from his wrath. But no. The 'n' word was used like it was a typical part of everyday conversation. By the time school started, my stomach had a great ole pit in it.

On our first day of school, my sister and I caught the school bus and sat for the requisite 20 minute ride. When we arrived, there was a school bus already there, sitting directly in front of the school with curtains hanging in the window. How odd I thought. Why doesn't my school bus get to have curtains? The whispers inside the school halls was that a handful of black children had been bussed in to our school system. I was really confused. All of this chaos was a lot for me to handle on my very first day of school.

I walked down the hall to room 21 and stepped into the newly decorated classroom. I found my desk, took a seat, and then looked around to see if I recognized any of my classmates (hi Beth! hi Tom!). But then all of that became a moot point when I saw my teacher walk in the room.

Mrs. Crowley was an attractive woman with a hair-do that was pretty common for a white woman in 1976. I call it the Miss America hair-do. Her skin was black - and not light-skinned but dark black and that frightened me. Didn't it hurt to have skin that dark? I knew that when I stayed out in the sun and my skin got burnt, it really hurt! I was worried for her. Throughout the day, it was very difficult to concentrate because I kept on looking at Mrs. Crowley, trying to understand her. She looked so different but sounded so much like my other teachers.

Over the next couple of weeks, I still found myself stealing glances at Mrs. Crowley and once in awhile, she would catch my stare and smile back at me. About two months into school, I was picked to work on a special project which required that I stay after school. When I went back to pick up my homework, Mrs. Crowley was still there, cleaning up, and setting up for tomorrow's class. For the first time, I was face to face with the teacher that I was both fascinated with and scared of. We were alone and I could tell she was going to initiate conversation. It was a very casual conversation - she asked about my project I was a part of and I commented on how late she was staying. Whew! I had escaped.

Meanwhile, back at home, my dad still had not let up on the "n" word. Every day he still made it quite clear to me and my sister that our education was in jeopardy because the school system had hired "her". The hateful messages I received from home were so confusing because my gut totally felt the opposite. I was learning so much from Mrs. Crowley. She was a fantastic teacher. It got to a point that I needed to know, once and for all, what the real story was.

One day, I volunteered to stay after school to re-arrange the desks. I did it on purpose and I even lied to my parents about it. They thought that I went to my best friend, Beth's house (and to this day, Beth has kept my secret). When Mrs. Crowley and I were alone, she asked me some questions.

Kris, I see you staring at me throughout our day and I was wondering if there's something you want to say to me.

She said this all with a smile. For the first time, there was no fear in my body.

Mrs. Crowley. Does it hurt to be black?

She looked at me and crooked her head, looking for more information.

How do you mean, Kris?

I told her that her black skin seemed so dark and that it reminded me of someone who had been burnt. Did it hurt her? She smiled from ear to ear and gently touched my shoulder.

Sit down with me.

She then talked to me about everything. We started with skin color and she continued answering any and all questions I threw at her.

Why do people call black people the "n" word?
Why does my daddy hate "n" people?
How come my school bus doesn't have curtains?

I touched her hands. They were smooth and soft. Her nails were painted a dark color - maybe a brown. They were perfectly manicured. I touched her hair. It felt so much different from mine. It was straight like mine but it didn't feel nearly as soft as mine. I hugged her and it felt so nice. And she smelled incredibly good, a smell that is still with me today.

It's absolutely, one of the most memorable moments of my elementary years. I was anxious around my teacher because of her skin color. Can you imagine that? Can you imagine any one in the year 2008 saying the stuff that I said and thought as a nine year old fourth grader??!! I can't. It just totally blows my mind.

It's hard to believe that 32 years ago, I had these types of questions because today, skin color is so irrelevant to me. But it's that way because Mrs. Crowley took time to answer the bizarre, but innocent questions of a nine year old girl raised in a very ignorant home. By the time the next semester rolled around, my parents had pulled me and my sister out of Indian Village and placed us in a Catholic school. I only had Mrs. Crowley as my teacher for four short months however, it was an extremely valuable four months for me.

In 1976, Mrs. Crowley influenced and inspired me more than any other historical black American figure has. Here was a woman who was willing to subject herself to the ignorance of an entire community just so that she could teach and make a difference. And she did. Probably more than she ever realizes. Her influence and actions has had a rippling affect on my life. It's because of her that I never thought twice about dating someone of a different color, race, or religious background. It's because of her that I'm a better parent. It's because of her that Ethan's outlook on life is to evaluate every one by their actions and not by their physical attributes. She taught me that what was inside mattered most, a lesson I should have learned from my parents.