A Halloween Trick Remembered
We were in Italy last month and missed Halloween. Both Nita and enjoy the holiday, Nita always decorates the house and buys far to much candy for the number of kids that we get. The evening is always capped with a visit from our two grand daughters Haileigh and Emma. They come over and empty their bags on the floor and tell us about their evening and share their treats with us.
Not being home this year caused me to recall a memory of a Halloween in 1955 when I was eleven. We lived in Champaign Illinois then, a perfect time and place to grow up. There was no fear attached to letting children go out trick-or-treating on their own.
Halloween 1955:
Our class clown was Kenny, he lived several blocks from us but I didn’t get to know him until we went into sixth grade. Kenny knew no boundaries, that is to say he would do anything and worry about the consequences later. He also had the ability to draw Butch, my older brother, an me into his schemes.
Halloween that year had little to do with the traditional “Trick-or-Treating.” Halloween was an opportunity for the ultimate trick for Kenny. The week before Halloween he had taken an old pair of blue jeans and sewed a heavy shirt to the waist band. He sewed the arm and leg holes shut and stuffed his manikin with old newspaper, then he stitched a cloth bag with a ball cap sewn to it to the shirt neck for a head. Kenny, Butch, Danny and I carried our “little brother” with us as we went from house to house. About eight o'clock Kenny pulled two twenty foot pieces of rope out of his candy bag and tied one length of rope to each of “little brothers” arms.
“Come with me,” Kenny said, “this will be fun.”
We went down behind the school to a lightly traveled road where new houses were being built; there were no lights on the road. Kenny laid the manikin, “little brother”, on the side of the road and took one end of the rope across the road into the ditch where he and Danny took cover.
“Now when a car comes down the road, I’ll pull the rope hard and you hold you end of the rope loose but hold it high so “little brother” looks like he is running across the road. ‘Little brother’ will fly in front of the car and the car will hit him, we’ll stay in the ditch until the driver gets out and then we’ll grab ‘little brother’ and run and hide.” Butch and I took the other end of the rope and took cover in the ditch on the other side of the road.
For some reason, that I do not understand now, Kenny’s idea did sound like a lot of fun. We waited for several minutes then saw head lights approaching. The car approached, Kenny waited until the car was almost even with us he yelled, “Now” and pulled the rope. I stood up, held my end of the rope high and let the rope flow through my hand and “little brother” slammed into the cars front fender with a thud. I dove into the ditch.
The car came to a screeching stop and a elderly lady in a dress hurried out of the car and ran to the rear of the car to see what she had hit. I was no more then eight feet from her as she opened the car door. The interior light illuminated her face and I could see horror in her eyes. I felt that if she had shifted her focus to the ditch our eyes would meet. She ran to the body in the road ten feet behind her car. She approached “little brother” and I could hear her say, “Are you alright, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you are you alright?” There was fear and terror in her voice; I could tell she was on the verge of tears.
Just before she reached “little brother” we all sprang out of the ditch and ran with in three feet of her snagging “little brother” and running into the darkness.
Her voice changed to rage and anger. “Dam you little son-of-a-bitch’s, you almost gave me a heart attach.”
Many years earlier back in Saint Bernard a boy in school called me a son-of–a-bitch, and I asked dad “what is a son-of-a-bitch?”
“That means that your mother is a dog,” he had informed me.
Hearing the lady call me a “son-of-a-bitch” I stopped in my tracks. Butch came back grabbed my arm and pulled me on into the darkness.
We all got better with each of the next three cars, Kenny’s timing got better. Ten feet before the care reached us Kenny yelled “Now” and “little brother” sprung into full view of the cars headlights the car hit “little brother” head on and disappeared under the car.
Each time I was within eight feet of the driver exiting their car, face fully lit, terror in their eyes. I can only now imagine what was going through those drivers’ minds seeing what they thought was a boy being hit by their car and disappearing from view as their car passed over his body. In one case the cars wheels ran over “little brother”. Each of the drivers stopped and hurried to aid what they thought was a young child lying in the middle of the road. Each time we sprung from the ditch on either side and ran down the road pulling "Little Brother" behind us and then disappearing into the darkness.
Today I fear what I would do if someone would pull this “Trick” on me.
Two head lights approached; as they drew closed I could see it was a pick-up truck. Butch manned the rope this time. “Now” Kenny screamed and “Little Brother” sprang to life, running across the street right in front of the pick-up. The trucks lights illuminated what looked like an 11 year old boy. I had not watched as closely when I was handling the rope.
The pick-up hit “Little Brother” with a thud and disappeared under the front bumper. The driver slammed on the brakes and the tires screamed. The door of the truck swung open before the truck came to a complete stop. I saw a thirty-ish man in jeans as his alligator skinned cowboy boot hit the pavement, and he saw me.
I pulled my way out of the ditch and hit the pavement running, within four strides the man had caught up with me and I was spun around as he grabbed my arm. He pulled me face to face with him and growled “You little bustard, I’ll give you a Trick that you’ll remember.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Butch running past me in the ditch. He was pulling ‘Little Brothers” rope with him. The pope caught the man about ankle high and pulled his legs out from under him and he hit the pavement hard on his butt. This freed me from his grip and I took off, faster then I had ever run in my life.
Within seconds he was back on his feet running after me. I darted up a 2X8 leading into a new house under construction, ran through the house jumped out the back door and took off across the back yard. The man was not as sure footed up the 2X8 and through the house so I was able to put some distance between us.
Once he cleared the house he started to gain on me, so I dove into a ditch, probably a septic tank field line and laid still. There was no light other then that provided by the moon and it wasn’t all that bright. I could hear him breathing heavy within five feet of my hiding place. He wandered off to the next house and I could hear his heavy boots pounding on the plywood floors. Before he returned to his truck he shouted, “You little bastard, I saw your face, I’ll hunt you down, I’ll find you,” and he disappeared into the night.
Butch, Kenny, and Danny had watched the whole thing from their hiding place on top of a mound of dirt 50 feet away. They came and pulled me out of the five foot trench that had saved me. They were even able to get me laughing about the whole nightmare. Within two minutes and we were headed back to the street in search of our next victim.
Our evil trick ended with the arrival of a police car, apparently the man in the alligator boots was true to his threat. Lucky for us we spotted the police car before he spotted us and Kenny tucked “Little Brother” under his arm and all four us ran home laughing and reliving our adventure all the way.
Looking back on my life that nights activities represent the meanest act that I have ever committed on another human being. I don’t know what ever happened to Kenny.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Friday, November 9, 2007
Invest in China
Invest in China
I spent the month of September in China and I came back with the opinion:
"Invest in China."
China is where the United States was in 1840. They are moving from an agrarian society to an industrial society. The big difference is that it took the U.S. one hundred sixty-seven years to get where we are today, China will get to the same point in less then twenty-five years. In fact it is estimated that by 2050 China's economy will be twice the size to the U. S economy.
Yesterday the World Bank's (WB) forecast for China's 2007 growth remained unchanged at 11.3 percent. China's GDP grew by 11.5 percent in the first three quarters of 2007 from the same period last year, decreasing from 11.9 percent in the second quarter but higher than 11.1 percent in the first quarter.
These figures compare to a U.S. GDP growth rate of 3.2% for 2007 YTD.
China's total retail sales grew 15.9 % year on year in the first three quarters of this year, 2.4 percentage points higher than in the same period of 2006, according to the National Bureau of Statistics(NBS). This would suggest that much of the growth of China's economy is going to satisfied the growing needs of it's population rather then stiffing the needs of it's trading partners.
It became apparent during my visit to China that the majority of the 1.5 billion people in China do not have refrigerators, can openers, cars or any of the day to day items we take for granite. China's growth is not dependent on our consumption of toys, tires and toothpaste. The slow down of our economy will have an effect on China's growth but not to the extent that many would like us to believe.
I invest in China through an Exchange Traded Fund (ETF). The trading symbol is FXI. From November 1, 2006 to November 1, 2007 the price of FXI has increased from $87 to $212 or 150%. In the last fifteen days the price has dropped to $174 or 18%, a trading correction that had been anticipated.
I see this as a long term investment of five to ten years, and the markets have presented a good buying opportunity with the current correction.
Let me know what you think.
I spent the month of September in China and I came back with the opinion:
"Invest in China."
China is where the United States was in 1840. They are moving from an agrarian society to an industrial society. The big difference is that it took the U.S. one hundred sixty-seven years to get where we are today, China will get to the same point in less then twenty-five years. In fact it is estimated that by 2050 China's economy will be twice the size to the U. S economy.
Yesterday the World Bank's (WB) forecast for China's 2007 growth remained unchanged at 11.3 percent. China's GDP grew by 11.5 percent in the first three quarters of 2007 from the same period last year, decreasing from 11.9 percent in the second quarter but higher than 11.1 percent in the first quarter.
These figures compare to a U.S. GDP growth rate of 3.2% for 2007 YTD.
China's total retail sales grew 15.9 % year on year in the first three quarters of this year, 2.4 percentage points higher than in the same period of 2006, according to the National Bureau of Statistics(NBS). This would suggest that much of the growth of China's economy is going to satisfied the growing needs of it's population rather then stiffing the needs of it's trading partners.
It became apparent during my visit to China that the majority of the 1.5 billion people in China do not have refrigerators, can openers, cars or any of the day to day items we take for granite. China's growth is not dependent on our consumption of toys, tires and toothpaste. The slow down of our economy will have an effect on China's growth but not to the extent that many would like us to believe.
I invest in China through an Exchange Traded Fund (ETF). The trading symbol is FXI. From November 1, 2006 to November 1, 2007 the price of FXI has increased from $87 to $212 or 150%. In the last fifteen days the price has dropped to $174 or 18%, a trading correction that had been anticipated.
I see this as a long term investment of five to ten years, and the markets have presented a good buying opportunity with the current correction.
Let me know what you think.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
3rd. Grade
Child Abuse 1954
My third-grade teacher was Miss. Anderson, and the principal of the school was Mrs. Anderson. I don’t believe they were related, but they both did get to know me pretty well. I wasn’t really a bad kid more of a confused kid with little guidance. I think even at that age I was trying to figure out just who I was and how I fit into the world. I remain on that quest.
It was a regular practice for the first, second and third graders to spend a half hour after lunch recess each day on the gymnasium floor lying on mats, probably just to calm us down and give the teachers a break.My best friend at that time was a boy by the name of Chet Lowmeyer. Although we weren’t supposed to be talking during our rest time, Chet and I would use this time to kid around and share secrets. Chet, like me, was a pretty rough kid, but unlike me Chet was good student, and quite around most of the kids. I think it was fair to say that Howard Hooser and I were Chet’s only friends.
Butch and I wore our hair in a crew cut, Dad cut our hair and there was little harm that could be done to a crew cut with electric clippers. Chet’s hair was long and combed back like a man would wear. He looked like a young James Dean, in the movie Giant. Of course, I didn’t know who James Dean was at that time, but as I remember Chet even carried himself like James Dean did in Giant before he discovered oil on his land. Kind of shy and sheepish but observing everything. Chet carried mystery with him.Chet lived out in the country off Staley Road near the rail road tracks; I would have to say his family was poorer than ours. Chet and his little brother would walk home from school with us and sometimes I’d go out to his house for the afternoon after school. His mom was real nice, a pretty lady with long black hair, and real red lips. The Lowmeyer’s had small livestock and I would happily help Chet with his chores and we would run in the fields next to their house. Today we would call their house a shanty or a shack; they got their water from a well and they had no indoor plumbing. There was an abandoned pickup truck in the side yard that we would play in shooting out the windows with our fingers at the bad guys as we sped down the highway.
Mrs. Lowmeyer always made sure that I headed home before Chet’s dad got home. She explained that he worked hard and didn’t want a bunch of kids around the house when he got home. He wanted the place quite after a hard days work.
On this particular day, on the gym floor, Chet wasn’t kidding around, in fact he was acting quite serious, sheepish.
“Kobie, does your dad hit you?” Chet asked me in a low whisper.
“Once when Butch and I were bad, he hit us with a belt.” I told him.
“No, I mean does he hit you with his fist or his hand?” Chet asked.
“No… why does your dad hit you with his fist?” I asked.“Sometimes,” he turned his head away and was silent, and then he turned back. “Sometimes he hits my mom and when I try to stop him he hits me.”
“Why does he hit your mom?” I asked.
“He comes home from work and drinks beer. Then sometimes he gets in an argument with my mom and gets mad and hits her. She cries but he keeps hitting her, because she’s crying. I get in between them and try to stop him and he hits me.”“Does he hurt you?”Chet looked around the room to make sure that nobody was looking and raised his shirt above his pants to show me his side. I saw he was bruised badly. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it down to expose his shoulder and upper arm. He was bruised there as well. He pulled his shirt back up, buttoned it up and slid back down. He laid there on his mat looking me in my eyes.
I hurt for Chet; I didn’t know what to say. We lay there looking at each other, neither of us knowing what to say or what to do. His eyes looked like a dog that had been beaten by his master for something but didn’t know why. Ten-year-old boys shouldn’t have to deal with problems like this. A tear showed in Chet’s eye.
The bell rang and we were told to go back to our classroom. As I was rolling up my mat Chet leaned over and said, “Don’t tell anybody Kobe, promise.”
“I won’t, I promise.”
Several days later I was pulled out of class and taken to the principal’s office. Waiting there was Mrs. Anderson, dad, Butch and Chet’s little brother, Alan.
Mrs. Anderson spoke first. “Alan tells me the reason he has bruises on his arms and back is that when he walks home from school The Grinkmeyer Gang has been beating on him. Mr. Grinkmeyer, The Grinkmeyer Gang is how some of the children referred to your two boys.”
“Boys, is this true, have you been hitting Alan?” Dad asked.
I didn’t know what to say, I knew we hadn’t hit Alan and I had a pretty good idea as to who had, but I made a promised to Chet and I intended to keep it.
“We never touched Alan, he walks home from school with us some days, but we never touched him,” Butch told Dad and Mrs. Anderson.“Is that true Kobe?” Dad asked me.
“Dad, like Butch said we never touched Alan.”
“My boys said they never touched this boy, so as far as I’m concerned that’s the end of it,” Dad said to Mrs. Anderson in a stern voice.
“Alan, if these two boys didn’t hit you who did?” Mrs. Anderson asked Alan.
Alan was eight years old, he was confused, he was ashamed, and he was scared. He didn’t answer Mrs. Anderson; he stood looking at the floor.
“Alan, I ask your question who hit you.” Mrs. Anderson asked again.
Tears started to come to Alan eyes and he started to tremble. He wasn’t going to answer Mrs. Anderson’s question, he couldn’t. Alan knew if he did tell the beating that he had taken would be nothing compared to the beating he would get. As far as Alan was concerned it was The Grinkmeyer Gang that had done this to him.“OK you boys can go back to your classrooms and Mr. Grinkmeyer I’m sorry that I ask you to come in,” said Mrs. Anderson.
I went back to Miss. Anderson’s classroom and wanted to tell Chet what had happened but before I could he was pulled out of the classroom.
That afternoon Chet and Alan walk home from school with Butch and me. Chet told us that he told Mrs. Anderson how he and Alan had gotten the bruises. He said he was afraid to go home, he was afraid of what is dad would do to him and Alan if he found out that he had told. He explained that Mrs. Anderson had assured him that she would turn it over to the proper authorities and he and Alan would be OK. Chet wasn’t convinced, both Chet and Alan were very scared of what might happen that night.
Chet and Alan weren’t in school the next day or the rest of the week. It wasn’t until the next Monday at Chet and Alan showed back up in school. As we lay on our mats, Chet told me that the police had come that night and put is dad in handcuffs and hauled him away in the back of a police car. He told me that his mother was real mad at the police and that she screamed and cried to leave him alone, that he had done nothing wrong. They all had gone to stay with Chet’s grandmother through the weekend and they didn’t know how long they would be able to stay in their house because if their dad stayed in jail they couldn’t pay their bills.
Chet was in school for about two more weeks and then he didn’t come back. I didn’t see Chet Lowmeyer again until I entered seventh-grade and went to Edison Junior High School. He told me that his parents had gotten a divorce and is dad had moved to Chicago and his mom had married another man, who didn’t hit him or Alan. Chet had new friends and I had new friends so we didn’t see much of each other.
At ten I knew why people hit each other when they got mad; I hit my brother and other kids. But at ten I couldn’t imagine why a dad would hit his sons.What kind of man abuses his kids or allows them to be abused by anyone else? Can a kid or should a kid love a father who allows these kind of things happen? When the kid’s father is old and dying what kind of feeling should the kid feel for his father who allowed him to be abused? Where does a kid keep his feelings for the rest of his life?
My third-grade teacher was Miss. Anderson, and the principal of the school was Mrs. Anderson. I don’t believe they were related, but they both did get to know me pretty well. I wasn’t really a bad kid more of a confused kid with little guidance. I think even at that age I was trying to figure out just who I was and how I fit into the world. I remain on that quest.
It was a regular practice for the first, second and third graders to spend a half hour after lunch recess each day on the gymnasium floor lying on mats, probably just to calm us down and give the teachers a break.My best friend at that time was a boy by the name of Chet Lowmeyer. Although we weren’t supposed to be talking during our rest time, Chet and I would use this time to kid around and share secrets. Chet, like me, was a pretty rough kid, but unlike me Chet was good student, and quite around most of the kids. I think it was fair to say that Howard Hooser and I were Chet’s only friends.
Butch and I wore our hair in a crew cut, Dad cut our hair and there was little harm that could be done to a crew cut with electric clippers. Chet’s hair was long and combed back like a man would wear. He looked like a young James Dean, in the movie Giant. Of course, I didn’t know who James Dean was at that time, but as I remember Chet even carried himself like James Dean did in Giant before he discovered oil on his land. Kind of shy and sheepish but observing everything. Chet carried mystery with him.Chet lived out in the country off Staley Road near the rail road tracks; I would have to say his family was poorer than ours. Chet and his little brother would walk home from school with us and sometimes I’d go out to his house for the afternoon after school. His mom was real nice, a pretty lady with long black hair, and real red lips. The Lowmeyer’s had small livestock and I would happily help Chet with his chores and we would run in the fields next to their house. Today we would call their house a shanty or a shack; they got their water from a well and they had no indoor plumbing. There was an abandoned pickup truck in the side yard that we would play in shooting out the windows with our fingers at the bad guys as we sped down the highway.
Mrs. Lowmeyer always made sure that I headed home before Chet’s dad got home. She explained that he worked hard and didn’t want a bunch of kids around the house when he got home. He wanted the place quite after a hard days work.
On this particular day, on the gym floor, Chet wasn’t kidding around, in fact he was acting quite serious, sheepish.
“Kobie, does your dad hit you?” Chet asked me in a low whisper.
“Once when Butch and I were bad, he hit us with a belt.” I told him.
“No, I mean does he hit you with his fist or his hand?” Chet asked.
“No… why does your dad hit you with his fist?” I asked.“Sometimes,” he turned his head away and was silent, and then he turned back. “Sometimes he hits my mom and when I try to stop him he hits me.”
“Why does he hit your mom?” I asked.
“He comes home from work and drinks beer. Then sometimes he gets in an argument with my mom and gets mad and hits her. She cries but he keeps hitting her, because she’s crying. I get in between them and try to stop him and he hits me.”“Does he hurt you?”Chet looked around the room to make sure that nobody was looking and raised his shirt above his pants to show me his side. I saw he was bruised badly. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it down to expose his shoulder and upper arm. He was bruised there as well. He pulled his shirt back up, buttoned it up and slid back down. He laid there on his mat looking me in my eyes.
I hurt for Chet; I didn’t know what to say. We lay there looking at each other, neither of us knowing what to say or what to do. His eyes looked like a dog that had been beaten by his master for something but didn’t know why. Ten-year-old boys shouldn’t have to deal with problems like this. A tear showed in Chet’s eye.
The bell rang and we were told to go back to our classroom. As I was rolling up my mat Chet leaned over and said, “Don’t tell anybody Kobe, promise.”
“I won’t, I promise.”
Several days later I was pulled out of class and taken to the principal’s office. Waiting there was Mrs. Anderson, dad, Butch and Chet’s little brother, Alan.
Mrs. Anderson spoke first. “Alan tells me the reason he has bruises on his arms and back is that when he walks home from school The Grinkmeyer Gang has been beating on him. Mr. Grinkmeyer, The Grinkmeyer Gang is how some of the children referred to your two boys.”
“Boys, is this true, have you been hitting Alan?” Dad asked.
I didn’t know what to say, I knew we hadn’t hit Alan and I had a pretty good idea as to who had, but I made a promised to Chet and I intended to keep it.
“We never touched Alan, he walks home from school with us some days, but we never touched him,” Butch told Dad and Mrs. Anderson.“Is that true Kobe?” Dad asked me.
“Dad, like Butch said we never touched Alan.”
“My boys said they never touched this boy, so as far as I’m concerned that’s the end of it,” Dad said to Mrs. Anderson in a stern voice.
“Alan, if these two boys didn’t hit you who did?” Mrs. Anderson asked Alan.
Alan was eight years old, he was confused, he was ashamed, and he was scared. He didn’t answer Mrs. Anderson; he stood looking at the floor.
“Alan, I ask your question who hit you.” Mrs. Anderson asked again.
Tears started to come to Alan eyes and he started to tremble. He wasn’t going to answer Mrs. Anderson’s question, he couldn’t. Alan knew if he did tell the beating that he had taken would be nothing compared to the beating he would get. As far as Alan was concerned it was The Grinkmeyer Gang that had done this to him.“OK you boys can go back to your classrooms and Mr. Grinkmeyer I’m sorry that I ask you to come in,” said Mrs. Anderson.
I went back to Miss. Anderson’s classroom and wanted to tell Chet what had happened but before I could he was pulled out of the classroom.
That afternoon Chet and Alan walk home from school with Butch and me. Chet told us that he told Mrs. Anderson how he and Alan had gotten the bruises. He said he was afraid to go home, he was afraid of what is dad would do to him and Alan if he found out that he had told. He explained that Mrs. Anderson had assured him that she would turn it over to the proper authorities and he and Alan would be OK. Chet wasn’t convinced, both Chet and Alan were very scared of what might happen that night.
Chet and Alan weren’t in school the next day or the rest of the week. It wasn’t until the next Monday at Chet and Alan showed back up in school. As we lay on our mats, Chet told me that the police had come that night and put is dad in handcuffs and hauled him away in the back of a police car. He told me that his mother was real mad at the police and that she screamed and cried to leave him alone, that he had done nothing wrong. They all had gone to stay with Chet’s grandmother through the weekend and they didn’t know how long they would be able to stay in their house because if their dad stayed in jail they couldn’t pay their bills.
Chet was in school for about two more weeks and then he didn’t come back. I didn’t see Chet Lowmeyer again until I entered seventh-grade and went to Edison Junior High School. He told me that his parents had gotten a divorce and is dad had moved to Chicago and his mom had married another man, who didn’t hit him or Alan. Chet had new friends and I had new friends so we didn’t see much of each other.
At ten I knew why people hit each other when they got mad; I hit my brother and other kids. But at ten I couldn’t imagine why a dad would hit his sons.What kind of man abuses his kids or allows them to be abused by anyone else? Can a kid or should a kid love a father who allows these kind of things happen? When the kid’s father is old and dying what kind of feeling should the kid feel for his father who allowed him to be abused? Where does a kid keep his feelings for the rest of his life?
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