Tribute: My Brother John -- Following His Lead

We were the firstborn son and daughter of Richard and Marge.  Named for our grandparents – John James and Helen Marie – we both began life in Kittaning, Pennsylvania.  For my brother that was 60 years ago today.

Spring 1964: John and me in the back, Margie in the middle, Matt and Martin front

Growing up we lived in a tight-knit world in our west side Cleveland neighborhood.  We walked two blocks to church and school at St. Mark’s parish, coming home for lunch every day.  We shared many of the same teachers – Sister Flaviana, Miss O’ Connell, Mrs. Deming.  It was good for me to follow my brother into their classrooms, because he was a model student and could do no wrong. His reputation enhanced mine, paving the way for positive experiences.  Later the same would be true with an 8^th grade teacher at St. Richard’s, before we went our separate ways in high school.

Back in those days the standard reward for students with good grades would be a free pass to Euclid Beach Park or to a Cleveland Indians game.  John got to attend both places before I did, bragging about the incredible experiences he had.  I was so happy when I went to school and earned those bragging rights as well.  The competition was always there between us, even though most of the time I felt woefully inadequate next to him. 

Euclid Beach Archway

John taught me how to play baseball, organizing the few neighborhood kids we could find into morning ball games.  When we couldn’t keep up with his athleticism, we would resort to games of tag or our own made-up game “Monster Around the Garage.”  One of my best memories is when we were fortunate enough to have the top of our silver maple tree come crashing down in the front yard during a storm. We played “Monster in the Tree” making pathways through the leafy branches for a few days before my parents found someone to chop it up and cart it away.

There were experiences we shared that were ours alone as the oldest siblings.  We have authentic memory of our Great Grandma and Grandpa Maslyk, immigrants from Poland.  We spent many a Sunday at their double-story farmhouse on five acres of land, walking distance to other relatives.  We occasionally visited another Great Grandmother in Danville, her tiny white house flanked by a huge vegetable garden and a skinny little path to a shed in the back. 

I still have the cooler!

I have early memories of a summer tradition, when there was still just a few of us -- our family would take a trip to Cedar Point, which at that time meant packing up the Coca-Cola cooler, swimming in Lake Erie in the morning, changing clothes and eating lunch from the cooler, then an afternoon of rides in the park.  This was well before Cedar Point became “Cedar Point” and was a day shared with our cousins from Lorain.

John taught me about politics.  In 1960, he held up two pictures and asked me to pick the man I liked.  One had dark hair, like my dad, so naturally (being only 5-years-old) I picked him.  John quickly informed me that I had picked the “bad” man – Nixon – and that I should have picked the “good” man – Kennedy.  A few years later we would share the sudden loss of that president together; and in an early morning in June, 1968, it would be John who would wake me up to tell me that Robert Kennedy had been shot.

In that summer of 1968, with contentiousness already in the air, John formed the Eagle Club so that he and his friends could debate political positions.  It took place in our front yard one afternoon a week, and we always knew the meeting was over when Mark – a red-haired Republican and staunch supporter of Nixon – would stomp away in anger.  There is no arguing with John.  He is flawless in his logical appeal, quick-witted, and clear-minded.  My friend Becky and I would watch from her front porch.  It was great entertainment, even when we couldn’t hear everything that was being said. 

Margie, John, and me -- John & Gail's wedding day 1980

John taught me about rock and roll music that was being played on certain radio stations in the early 1960’s, much to the chagrin of our mother who vowed we would never listen to such trash.  He taught me about the Beach Boys and the disc jockey Alan Freed who got in trouble for a thing called payola.  (I honestly don’t know where he got his information, but it was mine for the taking!) In early 1964, the Beatles would play on The Ed Sullivan Show, and we all stayed up to watch.  I think back to the excitement of those times, and it is really hard to fully embrace how different the music was and how excited we were by the long hair and unusual style of the Beatles.  We would never get to see the Beatles the times they came to Cleveland, but it was my brother who, in 1976, scored me tickets at the last minute to see Paul McCartney and Wings when they came to the Richfield Colesium for the “Rockshow” tour.  It was another shared experience – definitely like Beatlemania -- even though we didn’t sit together at the concert. 

Television, of course, was a big part of our lives: Captain Penney, Barnaby, Mr. Ed, Leave it to Beaver, Zorro, Addams Family, The Munsters, Lost in Space, and Batman.  Hours and hours were spent watching Looney Tunes, The Little Rascals, and our favorite, The Three Stooges (links to pie fight, my favorite!)  My mom tells a story of a Christmas morning we all arrived at church late – standing room only.  We must have gotten bored, standing there in our heavy coats, and started mimicking the gestures of the Three Stooges.  According to my mother, she and my father sidled away so that no one would know these naughty children were theirs.

But the best television was on Saturday afternoon – Ghoulardi came on with his crazy sayings (Stay sick! Turn blue! Purple Knif!) and horror movies like the Cyclops, the mysterious disembodied gloved hand, and the walking tree (those last two seriously gave me nightmares!)  For his birthday my brother received a gift of a Ghoulardi sweatshirt – I was so jealous!  Ghoulardi was a big deal and, in fact, in Cleveland this year they are having Ghoulardifest to celebrate the 50^th anniversary of this classic show. 

I recall a few gifts my brother gave me.  Christmas 1968 it was the single record and number one hit “I Heard It Through the Grapevine” by Marvin Gaye.  For my 17^th birthday he gave me full record albums: Judy Collins and Janis Joplin.  But it was the around my 21^st birthday that he gave me the best gift of all.

I was setting up my first checking account, and agonizing over what little emblem I could have printed on my checks that would represent me.  I was lamenting the fact that I had no sport or hobby or skill, nothing that was represented in the page of logos provided by Cleveland Trust.  My brother corrected my appraisal of myself.  He said,  “Of course you have a skill – you’re a writer.”  I had never heard those words from anyone’s mouth before.  I can still feel the joy from that moment, so long ago. I embraced it immediately, for it was something I must have always known was true.  I picked out a feather pen logo and from then on I knew: I am a writer.

I have to say, no other gift has ever compared.

Years later (2002) I would win a short story contest at Edison Community College, being rewarded with a $500 scholarship.  Professor Spivak, my creative writing teacher, told me “You are a writer.  I know you need to hear that.”  And secretly I remembered I already had.

So, Happy Birthday, dear brother.  I hope you will not forget to remember to Stay Sick and Turn Blue, you Purple Knif.  And please, when you get a break from traveling to Alaska and Africa and Hawaii, come down to sunny Florida.  The Skunk Ape Museum awaits your arrival.

Sunset on Ft Myers Beach, 2004