Today's Inspiration - Cheering for the Home Town

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Remembering the Home Town

I was born and raised just outside Boston so it was with great pain I watched the Boston Marathon Bombings reporting unfold.

Just a few simple thoughts:

 

 

 

Memory Lane - Do You Remember Major Mudd?

101 ways you know you're from Boston:
      #55. You remember Major Mudd.
 
Ed McDonnell (AKA Major Mudd) was the host of The Major Mudd Show, the long-running New England kids show (1961-1975) on WNAC-TV, Channel 7, in Boston, featuring cartoons and Three Stooges shorts. He passed away in 1976.

My brother Frank and I had our picture taken at Zayre's in Revere Massachusetts with Major Mudd! He was the first real live celebrity we ever met. Of course, I had on my best red hat!

Passport anyone?

There is a rite of passage when you are old enough to have your own checking account. Because I grew up poor, it had extra meaning for me. Add to that the reason I needed one is because I was the first in my branch of the family tree to go to college and you have real cause for a celebration.

At the time I got accepted to graduate school in Chicago, bank regulations were tightening and stores were requiring at least one, if not two, major forms of ID to cash checks. I quickly realized that my Massachusetts license might not qualify to cash out-of-state checks in Illinois. I mentioned this concern to my college pals, many of whom had real worldly experience. Beth Ann (of the New Hampshire Steinberg’s) said “why don’t you get a passport? That’s a major form of ID.” Not to be one-down, I went to find out - from someone else - what I needed to get one.

It was no big deal to get the two passport photos. I simply went to one of the arcade photo booths at Revere Beach. It was more involved, however, to get a notarized birth certificate. After more research, I needed to go to the McCormick building Records Office in downtown Boston.  I remembered I saw a building with that name on one of my shopping trips so merrily caught the train – which in Massachusetts is the same as Metro in DC – toting my precious photos.

I easily found the McCormick building and went directly to the tenant directory. Two security guards ambled over to “help” me. I told them I needed a notarized birth certificate and they said I was at the wrong McCormick building. Go figure.

They gave me directions and as I was leaving, one guard asked me why I needed one. I smugly informed him that I needed it to get a passport. Naturally, he asked me where I was going. Without thinking, I said “Chicago.” They both gawked at me in disbelief. One stuttered “B, b, b, b, but, lady. You don’t need a passport to go to Chicago!”

Of course, I knew I didn’t need a passport to go to Chicago. After all, Illinois is still part of the US. I tried to correct my shortcut answer to no avail. They looked at me like I needed to go into THE home for SPECIAL people. I let it go, hopped back on the train and hurried to the correct McCormick building.

Showing evidence of learningÔ, when the Records clerk asked me why I needed it and where I was going, instead of saying “Chicago” or “I need it for ID,” I angrily said “nowhere. I am not going anywhere!” He looked at me like I needed to take a pill but didn’t press further.

Many years later, at one of my husband’s work-related social gatherings, Ron insisted I tell my “best” story. So, I did and everybody laughed. Then Ron added “I bet those guards are still talking about the lady who thought she needed a passport to get to Chicago.” Okay, it’s one thing for them to think I’m crazy. It’s another if the guards have their get togethers and I am one of the showpieces!

Duck, (Duck), Goose

Growing up, my brother Frank and I had our share of pets: turtles, dogs, and eventually cats. Then there were the pigeons, the wild animals of the inner city.  One weekend Uncle Johnny and Aunt Ginny took us and our cousin Anthony to the Franklin Park zoo. We piled into the back of the Chevy station wagon excited at the thought of seeing “other” kinds of animals.

As we wondered through the zoo, we took note of the sights, sounds and smells that made up the animal kingdom – at least the one chosen by the zookeepers. We came across a penned in area where parents and children were feeding ducks zoo food pellets. Doreen being Doreen, I zipped ahead of the others because all animals needed to be patted. Well, that’s what we did with the dogs and cats, right?

I reached the pen and stuck my little hand over the one-foot high fence and attempted to “pat” the nearest duck. Of course, the duck thought I had food so bit my plump 8-year old palm! I screamed to high heaven and ran off in the opposite direction as fast as my little legs would carry me leaving the adults fearing for their lives if they returned home to grandma without me.

I don’t remember how I was recaptured but am afraid to ask even now. I can still get yelled at even though I’m a grown up.

Twenty years after the duck attack, my boyfriend and I were strolling through Illinois’ Morton Arboretum. It reminded me of the episode so I told Ron all about it as we approached the edge of a pond (left) where, similar to the zoo incident, parents and children were feeding geese. At the exact moment that I finished telling him about my childhood trauma, the families ran out of bread. The flock of geese saw Ron and me and ran/flew at us for dear life.

I nearly had a heart attack thinking that the Boston duck had passed the word through generations of avian fowl to the Illinois geese and this was the satisfaction of their long-held revenge against me for trying to pat them. It was all I could do to compose myself while Ron, laughing his head off, said “you should see your face!” See my face? I was ready to meet my Maker. Never mind the look on my face.

Duck and goose two. Doreen zero.

           (See also the post about “Doreen vs the Squirrel”)