Tag Archives: Dayton Ohio

Getting My Griswold On – Day 10: Cameron, MO

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6

Miles traveled today: 603.4
Total miles traveled: 3727.2

State of Misery…err, Missouri

Today was tough. For two reasons: I had to say goodbye to Ohio, and I logged more miles – and driving time – than any other day so far. In fact, I passed through four different states over the course of about 9.5 hours. Sadly, the one I stopped in is Missouri. Not that I have anything against the Show Me State. It’s just that I’ve traveled across most of the northern portion and so far, what it’s shown me isn’t all that impressive. Plus, it’s hot. Oppressively so. And the sky is hazy. Let’s just say I miss the mountains, and am looking forward to seeing them again either late tomorrow or Sunday.

I pulled out of Dayton a little bit after 7:00 this morning. The sky was clear, and it was weird to have the morning sun shining on the back of my car instead of the front. Proof that I’m headed west now, in the direction of home. Soon, the clouds thickened and grew ominous, and by the time I reached Indianapolis I was pretty sure I was in for a rough patch of weather. Sure enough, I encountered thunderstorms through western Indiana and eastern Illinois. Nothing severe like the ones I experienced in Rapid City, but they put on quite a lightning show which made for a fun drive. As long as it doesn’t hail on my car, I’m happy. The rain was a blessing.

After about an hour, as I neared Champaign, the clouds began to break up, and the rest of the drive was sunny, humid and uneventful. I drove through Springfield, IL and saw signs for the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Museum. That would be cool to check out, but I’ve got a lot of ground to cover these next few days and not as much time for sightseeing as I did on the drive east. Good thing there aren’t any SPAM museums or airplane crash sites along the way. At least, not that I’m aware of, although a friend tells me there’s some cool Jesse James stuff in St. Joseph (my intended destination today, but I pulled up about 30 miles short, figuring I’d had enough of the car and the heat and hoping that a motel room in a smaller town would be less expensive; the Super 8 here in Cameron cost me $51, a figure I’m happy with) that I may have to check out tomorrow. One of the things I’ve most enjoyed about this trip is the freedom to stop and explore as I saw fit, and I might as well squeeze every last drop of fun out of these last few days. I may be headed home, but my road trip isn’t over yet.

Speaking of Home…

During today’s long drive, I was fantasizing about being home. All I could think about was my soft leather recliner and my plush bed and how nice it would be to relax in the evening with a cool drink and a favorite television show. That seems so novel now! I’ve been on the go nonstop for 10 days and counting. The trip has been wonderful, but I’m starting to get a little homesick, I guess. Plus, I miss my cat.

Oh, and my kids, too. Right.

I look forward to a few days of lazing around when I get back.

Good News: July Milk is Looking Strong!

I’ve been listening to CDs pretty much the entire trip. Every time I eject one, the default radio station – 94.7 (Portland’s KNRK – alternative rock) comes on. Most of the time there’s nothing but static coming through my speakers while I dig out a new CD, but the other day a local Iowa station was coming in loud and clear. They were playing classic rock, so I left it there for a few minutes. When the song ended, the female DJ came on and started talking about the stock market. I don’t mean the Dow Jones…she was going on and on about the LIVESTOCK market. Talking about how much cattle and pigs were fetching, and how June milk was down a nickel but July milk was projected to be up 8%. I listened for awhile, enchanted. There is nothing like a livestock report to remind you that unless you’re from the midwest, it’s a different world out there.

By the way, I ran out of clean clothes a few days ago. I’d been intending to do laundry in Dayton, but of course the Days Inn did not have a laundry facility. Every other motel I’ve stayed in has had one…figures. I’m okay on shorts (I brought three pairs) and shirts (having picked up several at Crazy Horse, Mount Rushmore, etc.) but my socks and boxer shorts ran out. I figured I could go commando and wear sandals until I find a motel that has a laundry room, but I ended up stopping at a Kohl’s in Fairborn yesterday for some new boxers. The Super 8 in Cameron doesn’t have a laundry room either, so that is looking like it was a smart move.

Not a lot of pictures today…let’s see, I’ve got one of my motel room here. There was nothing else worth taking today, save for the lightning, but I was too busy driving. I’ll include a few pictures from Ohio that didn’t make it into the blog originally.

Lovely Cameron, Missouri.

For a brief while, before transistor radios came along, radio bikes were all the rage. From the Bicycle Museum at Historical Carillon Park, Dayton.

Antique cars and old-fashioned Sunoco filling station, Carillon Park.

Another view of my childhood home. We lived on the left side of the duplex, if you hadn't guessed already.

A reminder that I was technically trespassing in my old neighborhood. Oops.

A thriving business in Fairborn, Ohio. Hopefully not TOO thriving.

Fountain in the Miami River, downtown Dayton.

Getting My Griswold On – Day 9: A Homecoming

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20

Miles traveled today: 67.4
Total miles traveled: 3123.8

You Can Go Home Again

I set out on this big adventure because of an overwhelming curiosity about the places I grew up. A lot of people spend their whole lives in the same area, but in my case, I moved every three years or so. Because of this, the things I associate with my childhood seemed distant and, in fact, almost nonexistent. I lived in Dayton once, but that was a long time ago. The only thing I had left were memories. I would dream of the home I lived in here often, always magically transported back to 1979 in my mind, but I had no idea if it even actually existed anymore. I found it on Google Earth a couple of weeks ago, but even then, I wondered if the image was outdated. Coming back here was taking a big gamble: even if the house still stood, could it ever possibly live up to its mythical status in my mind? Could any of this area? Therefore, when I left my motel room around 9 AM this morning, I was a little nervous. This was an honest-to-God homecoming, one I had dreamed of forever. Turning onto my old street, my heart started racing. And then suddenly, there it was.

My house in 1979.

My house today.

The siding was different, of course. The tree in the front yard was taller (or a different tree). But otherwise, the house looked pretty much the same as it did when I last saw it 31 years ago. Thirty-one years! I’ve lived a couple of lifetimes since then. The neighborhood has changed. Two other duplexes in the court have been torn down, replaced by trees. The big, empty field we used to play in is now fenced off and, apparently, a landfill. I headed in the direction of my youth – the little patch of forest we always affectionately called The Woods. It was still there, thankfully. And – wonder of wonders – the steep hill we used to ride our bikes down or go sledding on, tucked beneath the tall trees (the very same ones that towered over a much younger version of myself), was still there. I hiked down it and walked around for a bit. There was a creek we used to play in. That’s still there, too. Only it’s also fenced off. I was irritated by this at first, until I realized that it’s a good thing – they’re protecting the trees and the stream for future generations. I can live with that. It was amazing, to be retracing my footsteps from several decades ago. The entire time, I was in a state of disbelief. I couldn’t believe I was really there, in the happiest place of my childhood.

I walked around the neighborhood, and then, back to the house. My house. It’ll always be my house. There was a car in the driveway, so I figured somebody was home. I grabbed the photo album I’d brought along – pictures of me and my brother and the house, circa 1977 – and rang the doorbell. Dogs barked. Nobody answered. I tried again. Nothing. So I left a business card with my phone number and a brief note, saying I lived there once and would love to chat. I tucked it in the screen door, but nobody called back. I explored some more. When I returned to my car, a woman was just pulling out of the driveway. So, she had been home! I let her go without trying to flag her down, though. I can imagine it must be creepy to have a stranger knocking on your door insistently. I always figured the odds of anybody letting me in, or even being home for that matter, were slim. Oh well, I tried. I was giddy enough just seeing the house from the outside. Walking around to the backyard. Remembering. I did a lot of remembering today.

And then, it was time to check out my old elementary school.

Chasing Ghosts

This whole trip, I’ve felt like I was chasing ghosts from my past. I knew, through a bit of internet sleuthing, that my elementary school in Fairborn had been turned into a senior apartment complex at some point. When I turned onto Central Avenue this morning and spotted the hulking brick building – so historic and old and recognizable – I literally gasped out loud. There it was! My old school!

I parked the car and walked over to it. Met up with a kind lady who happens to work as a secretary there. I told her I’d gone to school here in the 70s, and she said she had also gone there, though well before me. She thought it was ironic that she worked in a building she had always considered “creepy.” And then, even though she had no idea I have a strong interest in the paranormal, she started telling me about a ghost that wanders the halls of the place at night. An old woman, she claims. She has seen the apparition herself, and many others report it. Wow…my old school is haunted!

I walked through the front doors and wandered the hallways. It is so obvious that the place was once a school – there are signs everywhere: lockers in the hall, an auditorium with bleachers, custodial closets, boys’ and girls’ bathrooms. Only, the classroom doors have been replaced with solid wooden doors that now house elderly residents. I saw a couple, struck up a conversation with one. Everybody there was friendly and thought it was great that I’d returned to my old school. My story, it turns out, intrigues most who hear it.

I left the school, and drove into downtown Fairborn, where I wandered around for a bit. It’s a cute, historic-looking downtown. Dayton and its suburbs are very proud of their heritage and link to the Wright Brothers, and this is evident everywhere. Literally, on every street corner in Fairborn.

Next, it was time to visit one of my favorite places in Dayton: Carillon Park.

The Wright Stuff

Carillon Historical Park is a charming step back in time. The main attraction – a 57-bell carillon – is one of Dayton’s most recognizable landmarks, and chimes every 15 minutes. After paying an $8 admission fee, I wandered through the park, which includes attractions like a one-room schoolhouse; Newcomb’s Tavern – the oldest building in Dayton; a printing shop; a bicycle museum (Wilbur and Orville Wright owned a bike shop before they began designing airplanes); and a transportation museum, with everything from stage coaches to trains and buses. The highlight is a recreation of the Wright Brothers bicycle shop and an exhibit devoted to their passion for flying, including the Wright Flyer III, the actual plane they used on their first successful flight in 1903. It’s pretty amazing to see. I toured the park for a couple of hours, and stopped for a Sprite. It was hot, in the upper 80s, and I am not used to being so thirsty all the time! I left the park and drove through downtown Dayton for awhile, eventually finding a bike path with a photo opportunity to capture the Dayton skyline.

I wandered back to Fairborn and stopped for dinner. No fewer than two friends from this area told me I had to check out a place called Skyline Chili, which serves “Cincinnati-style” chili. I was told this has a sweet kick to it, kind of like cinnamon, and the description was right on. I was advised to order the house specialty, the “Three Way,” which is spaghetti covered in their chili and topped with cheese. I did just that, adding onions, and it was really good! I bought a 4-pack of chili (they sell it in cans) to take home, and bought a bottle of hot sauce for my friend Erik, who promised me a home-cooked dinner in return.

I am now back in my motel room – or actually, the Bob Evans parking lot – trying to wrap up this post. Tomorrow I begin my trek back home. I’m sad about that; it’s hard to believe I’ve reached the end of my journey. One of my friends commented that she wishes I could keep going, because she feels like she’s watching a reality show with my daily updates. I wish I could, too. Life on the road isn’t all roses, but it’s been fun, and if I could keep going, I would. But reality is intruding, and I must start my journey home. I may take an extra day to get there; my parents are dubious I can cover that much ground in three days, and are willing to watch the kids should I get in a day later than planned. I’m playing it by ear. Tomorrow is going to be a crappy traveling day; a heat wave is about to grip the midwest, and my destination in Missouri is predicting a high of 99 with a heat index of 108. Yikes.

Me in front of my old house!

My old school - now a haunted senior apartment complex. Cool!

You can still see evidence that the senior complex was once a school everywhere.

Street lamps in Fairborn are decorated with airplanes.

Downtown Fairborn, OH

Historical Carillon Park in Dayton.

Wright Bros. Cycle Shop in Historical Carillon Park.

The Wright Flyer III - Wilbur Wright made the first successful manned aeroplane flight on (in?) this plane in 1903.

Downtown Dayton along the banks of the Miami River.

There are 57 bells in the carillon, and it chimes every 15 minutes.

Getting My Griswold On – Day 8: Dayton, OH

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21

Miles traveled today: 319.4
Total miles traveled: 3056.4

Gave Me A Warm Glow

Yesterday evening, as the sun was sinking low in the sky, I wondered if I was far enough east to see fireflies. Half an hour later, I pulled back the curtains in my room to stare at the corn – it’s mesmerizing, I tell you – and was delighted to see winking amber lights drifting lazily across the field. Lightning bugs!! I hadn’t seen any since I was a kid, so I literally dashed outside to watch them, bringing along my camera in a futile attempt at capturing a pic (this didn’t work). I’m such a dork. I grabbed one and let it crawl across my hand. Maybe I’m overly sentimental, but I think fireflies are magical. They do not exist west of about Kansas, sadly, so seeing them again was a big deal. It pretty much made my evening. I have fond memories of visiting my grandmother in New Jersey during many a summer growing up. My brother and I would catch fireflies, put them in a mason jar, poke a few holes in the lid, and – voila! – instant nightlight in the bedroom. I have a particularly vivid memory of a warm summer night right here in Ohio; I was sleeping over at a friend’s house in a backyard tent and was wide awake, so I crawled out and took a walk through a deserted field next to his house. The sky was ablaze with a thousand tiny flickering lights, and I ran through the field that night, feeling young and free and mesmerized by the fireflies. It was a moment in time I’ve never forgotten. Ahh, sweet nostalgia.

Earlier, at the recommendation of the hotel clerk, I drove to a local Mexican place called Fiesta Ranchera. I was craving some authentic, restaurant Mexican food, and though I had my doubts about Bloomington, Illinois being able to pull off this feat, it turned out to be the best Mexican food I’ve had in ages. Go figure. For some reason, it’s hard to find a really good Mexican place in Portland. I had carnitas tacos and washed them down with a great, big margarita that gave me a nice buzz. I felt I was entitled to a nice dinner after nearly a week on the road.

I slept pretty well, too. Good thing – I needed it. The night before I only managed four hours, and I haven’t really gotten more than six on any given night this whole trip. I’m wired when I arrive in a new destination, and often I have sprung forward an hour, so I don’t feel like going to bed. Last night, though, I got about seven hours and felt quite refreshed this morning. After playing in the corn for a little while (seriously), I hit the road.

Mark Goes To White Castle

Driving through the heartland pretty much demands listening to John Mellencamp, so I put on a CD I made up of most of his big hits. “Pink Houses” – which has been on my mind this whole trip and perfectly sums up the journey (ain’t that America somethin’ to see; ain’t that America home of the free) – was fading into “Authority Song” when I crossed the Indiana border, Mellencamp’s home state. I cranked the music even louder and watched the endless miles of corn fly by as I jumped an hour into the future. Eastern Time Zone, baby. I’ve met ‘em all now.

And then, the moment I had been waiting for happened. In the town of Brownsburg, IN – a few miles before Indianapolis – I saw a sign for the next exit advertising a White Castle. That was one of my biggest goals of this trip: to try White Castle’s famous sliders. I’d never been there before, and they’re such an iconic part of pop culture, I’ve been dying to try them. I mean, if Harold & Kumar went to all that trouble just to satisfy a craving, I figured they had to be good. I walked into the restaurant and pretended to act nonchalant as I ordered my first-ever sliders, but inside I was pretty excited. (Again, such a dork. I know). When my food arrived, I dug in. Verdict: awesome! I loved them. The patties are tiny squares of beef, and the burger is simple: just onion, pickle and cheese. But the bread tasted fresh and soft, and they’re pretty damn good. There was a Wendy’s right next door and people were streaming in there for lunch. I wanted to scream at them, “Are you crazy?! White Castle’s right here! You can get Wendy’s anywhere!!” People just don’t appreciate things they take for granted, I suppose. Some of my Facebook friends were less than enthused when I posted about White Castle. Maybe the reality is you always want what you can’t have?

Oh, Hi, Ohio!

After my White Castle fix (I’ll admit, I went back for a few more “for the road”), I was back on the interstate and driving through Indianapolis. Literally, as there was major construction going on and detours through town. Indianapolis is one of the few places I was not excited to see; I’ve actually been there many times over the years, as a company I used to work for had their U.S. headquarters there, and would send me for frequent business trips. I toured the Speedway once – that was cool – but otherwise, I don’t find Indy very appealing. It’s just big and busy and kind of seedy in areas. And the highways are so confusing, I took a wrong turn even though I was closely paying attention to Maggie and ended up headed for St. Louis briefly. Oops. So I circled partway through town and got back onto the right freeway.

And before long, there it was: Ohio. A smile lit up my face as I drove past the state line. I had returned to the happiest place of my childhood, 31 years later. All because I watched a movie a couple of weeks ago and was inspired to revisit.

Dayton was maybe half an hour further, and when I arrived downtown, I was greeted with…road construction. I swear, it’s the bane of my existence this trip! The exit I was supposed to take was closed, so I detoured onto another freeway, only to find that exit closed. I don’t know what I’d have done without a GPS on this trip! It’s been a lifesaver. I haven’t even glanced at a paper map once.

I circled around, backtracked, and finally found my way to my motel. I only reserved two on this whole trip – Rapid City and Dayton – and as soon as I walked into the lobby, I knew I had made a mistake. First off, I waited there for five minutes before somebody came along to help me. Then, she barely spoke English and I had trouble understanding her. She gave me my key, I grabbed some bags, walked upstairs, opened the door – and was immediately assaulted with the stench of cigarette smoke. I gagged, it was so overpowering. And the room was by far the smallest of any of the others on this trip; I felt claustrophobic inside. I called down to the front desk to request a nonsmoking room, but they didn’t have any available. Screw it, I said, and walked back down to the lobby to cancel my reservation. I didn’t even know if I could, but at that point I’d have taken a $50 loss just to find a better place. Fortunately, you have half an hour to change your mind. Maggie told me there was a Day’s Inn four miles away, so I headed over there. Though it looks a little crappy from the outside, it’s in a better location: right next to Wright-Patterson AFB. And the room is spacious and nice inside, a far cry from the other place. Best of all, it’s even cheaper: when I mentioned AAA, they knocked $10 off the price, so I’m only paying $39 a night. NOW I’m beginning to save money on motels! Plus, I only had to gas up once today.

My childhood home is 3.8 miles away. I was tempted to go check it out today, but that’s kind of the culmination of my whole trip, and I’d rather save it for tomorrow. It’s going to be a very special moment and I don’t want to feel rushed.

Chicken Pot Pie, Served With A Side Of Excellent Conversation

I have a friend named Laurie who I have known for more than five years now; we used to write on the same online journaling site, and got to know each other through our posts. We have a lot in common: an Ohio connection, we’re the same age, both divorced, both parents, both Whose Line Is It Anyway? connoisseurs, and we’ve both had dating “adventures” that – trust me – you simply wouldn’t believe. Ahh, if I had the freedom to write about those…but, anyway. We’ve helped each other out through some difficult times, and pretty much know one another’s deepest, darkest secrets. I just always figured we’d be online friends but would probably never meet, since we were thousands of miles apart, but then suddenly here I was in Dayton, about an hour from her home in Columbus. How could we not?

Tonight, she and her son, Neil drove down to visit me. It was hot, and the A/C in her car wasn’t working, so she practically collapsed into a chair next to the air-conditioner upon arriving, while her son entertained himself mostly by jumping up and down on the bed. There was nothing even remotely awkward about seeing her; we chatted easily, like two old friends, which is pretty much what we are. After awhile the three of us walked over to the Bob Evans next door for dinner (I got a chicken pot pie that has been one of the highlights of my trip, and Laurie ordered breakfast), where the excellent conversation continued. We hung out for awhile longer back in the room, where Neil decided I was a pretty likable guy and stretched out beside me on one of the beds (mom was on the other) while listening to music on an iPod. It was getting late, so eventually I walked them out to their car and we said goodbye. Getting to meet a longtime friend in person has been a nice bonus on this trip!

White Castle - finally! My first time ever. Brownsburg, IN.

Good things come in little packages.

This is why I'm not a huge fan of Indianapolis.

Welcome (back) to Ohio!

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Working My Way Back to Youth

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In my last post, I mentioned that I’ve been taking stock of my life these days, and had been all introspective as of late. And that I’d come to some revelations. This is true; the biggest one being: my life is dull.

It hasn’t always been this way. As a child, I had many adventures. I’ve been to lots of places and seen plenty of interesting sights. I feel fortunate to have experienced so much, even if the nomadic lifestyle of a military brat wasn’t exactly my cup of tea. When I grew up, I settled down. The only problem is, I seem to have overcompensated, because I never go anywhere. Big, that is. I get out and explore Portland and the Columbia Gorge all the time. I’ll occasionally travel up to Seattle or out to Bend. A couple of years ago I drove down to Fresno for a wedding. But I haven’t gone anywhere really far, or truly fun, in ages. Meanwhile my friends are always jetting off to faraway destinations; my brother’s been to Kauai; even my kids managed a trip to Florida earlier this year, and I haven’t been on an airplane in ten years. I’m not really the flying type, but I have had a desire to hop in my car and set out on a road trip for years now. I could just never figure out how or when to do it: work always got in the way, and having the kids every other week meant I wouldn’t have enough time to do it properly.

And then, quite suddenly, a rare confluence of events presented me with a unique opportunity. The kids are leaving early next week for a trip to Disneyland with their mom (see?!) and will be back two days later than they normally would, giving me twelve days alone. When I learned of this, the wheels started turning (figuratively – inside my head, as opposed to literally – on the open road). It seemed to me that all the stars were aligning: my unemployment, as irritating as it is, means I have no boss to report to, no deadlines to meet, no vacation time to worry about accruing; and with the kids gone, I’d have enough time to take a halfway decent trip. Money, of course, is an issue, but I recently made a move that gives me a lot of breathing space and frees up some important funds. I figured life is short and you only live once, and I’d hate to end up on my deathbed full of regrets over adventures never taken. So, I began playing around with Google Maps, plotting out various trips and different routes, before deciding where to go. I finally settled on a destination, and this is it:

This is the house I lived in from 1977-1980.

I wrote about my years in Ohio earlier in the week. How happy I was there, and how much I loved it. Super 8 made me all sorts of nostalgic, and so I decided on a trip that would take me through two places where I grew up: Rapid City, South Dakota (1983-1986) and Fairborn, Ohio. I first checked out Google Earth to see if the house is still standing – it’s been 31 years, after all – and while the neighborhood does seem to have changed a bit, it also looks remarkably the same (from a satellite, of course). The house is still there. So, it will be the ending point on my journey. I’ll be working my way back to youth, babe. Revisiting some of the most important places from my childhood. Who says you can never go home again?

I’m both excited and nervous. This is going to be a big adventure for me! Seeing different parts of the country – the great plains, the midwest – feels so novel to me, as I’ve grown used to the beautiful but somewhat staid Pacific Northwest. I’ll be passing through many states: Idaho, Montana, Wyoming South Dakota, Minnesota, Iowa, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Missouri, Nebraska and Colorado. That’s 24% of the U.S. right there. I’ll get to see places I haven’t been to in a quarter-century (Mount Rushmore, the Badlands) or longer (Dayton, Ohio). And I’ll experience new sights: I’ve never been to either Idaho or Iowa. I’ll drive and drive and drive and listen to really good music and stop by interesting roadside attractions and stay in cheap motels and have adventures and blog about them from the road and take a million and one pictures. I’m nervous because I’m doing this on my own, but I’ve always been the type to get out and do things by myself anyway. America’s highways and byways, its ever-changing landscape and variable weather, will be all the company I need.

I always compare myself to Clark Griswold, and let’s face it, he is the ultimate road-tripper. I’ll be getting my Griswold on, so to speak, and in the end, curing this wanderlust that has gripped my very soul for years now.

Five more days, and I am outta here!

Tonight We’re Gonna Party Like It’s 1979

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I just got back from the movies a little while ago. Checked out Super 8, the Steven Spielberg-produced and J.J. Abrams-directed adolescent alien thriller, and boy did it make me nostalgic. It’s almost like it was custom made to appeal directly to me: the movie is set in a small town just outside Dayton, Ohio in 1979 and involves the Air Force, a boy with a crush on a pretty blonde girl, railroad tracks, and some cool music from Electric Light Orchestra, The Knack, and Blondie. What was I doing in 1979? Living in a small town just outside Dayton, Ohio. My dad was in the Air Force. I had a crush on a pretty blonde girl. We lived in a house just up the hill from some railroad tracks. And I rocked out on my transistor radio to cool music from ELO, The Knack, and Blondie. I even had the same Coleco Electronic Quarterback game as one of the boys in the movie.

There are a few subtle differences between my life and the film. The kids are a couple of years older, for one thing. I was in the 5th grade, and they’re middle schoolers. Plus, I didn’t come face to face with a snarling, grunting tarantula-like alien creature from another world. Other than those minor details, the movie certainly took me back to a place and time that I consider among the best years of my childhood. It was a happy sense of deja vu.

Our three years in Fairborn, Ohio – or technically, Wright-Patterson AFB – were sandwiched between stints in Hawaii. My dad was stationed there from 1977-1980, when I was 8-11 years old. Having been born – and lived most of my life – on a tropical island, Ohio might as well have been a different planet. A strange and wonderful new world filled with exotic discoveries like snow. And buckeyes. The 1970s never really felt like the 1970s in Hawaii, in much the same way that Christmas never really felt like Christmas: all the warm sunshine, aloha shirts and Hawaiian music masked the real world. Ohio, by contrast, was a polyester-filled, disco-drenched wonderland in a strange part of the country that isn’t quite the midwest but can’t really call itself the northeast, either.

Long before Nintendo existed, handheld games like Coleco Electronic Quarterback were all the rage. Ahh, 1979. (Courtesy of meristation.com)

And I loved it. I never wanted to leave.

We would wander down to those train tracks often, laying down pennies for the passing locomotives to flatten. It was the perfect place for a kid that age to grow up: our neighborhood had hills ideal for sledding, a giant field to run through, and a forest with a creek that led to endless opportunities for exploration. My parents bought a camper and we spent weekends camping. We would hike and fish and swim in lakes. I can’t imagine a more wholesome, carefree and idyllic place to spend those years.

About that girl. Her name was Kelly, and we were classmates in Mrs. Ricard’s 5th-grade class at Central Elementary in Fairborn. She wasn’t the first girl I ever had a crush on, but she was the first I ever thought I might be in love with. It sounds silly now, but man, some days she was all I could think about. One time she called me on the phone. I was thankful that I’d answered, because how embarrassing if my parents knew I was talking to a girl! There’s a scene in a favorite movie of mine, Singles. Steve shows up on Linda’s doorstep one night. When she answers his knock, he says, “I was just…nowhere near your neighborhood,” which earns him an invitation inside. Kelly lived a couple of miles from me, and one evening I did the same thing, sort of. Walked over to her house and just kind of loitered around outside, too scared to ring the bell. She saw me, and came out. I told her I was just passing by, and she smiled, because she knew I lived pretty far away. How did this burgeoning romance end? Unrequited, because the following year my dad was transferred back to Hawaii, and we moved thousands of miles away.

But.

I figured, even at a young age, that you only get one shot in life at showing somebody how much you care. So I wrote Kelly a letter, telling her how much I’d liked her but had been too shy to say anything. To my utter surprise, she wrote back and confessed to similar feelings. Talk about bittersweet. I wonder if my heart has ever hurt so much as it did in that moment when I read her words?

I often wonder what happened to Kelly. Naturally, I’ve searched Facebook, but have come up empty. Her name was common, and she’s probably been married forever by now, anyway.

I think sometimes I cling to the 1970s because they were such a happy and fun time in my life, pure innocence from another era. That might explain my obsession with lava lamps and vinyl records and vintage avocado green and harvest gold appliances and the Sweathogs and Saturday Night Fever. 

And why I enjoyed Super 8 so very much.