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For your convenience, we have installed the link below to make donations to this website easier. Now you can utilize your PayPal account or your credit card. Back in town, and at work O dessa, NY, Sept. I would have liked to spend a little time in the Cheboygan shopping district, for it has improved dramatically over the past decade. But it was already So I journeyed on, avoided rain, thought about stopping in Erie, Pa.
The getaway from Bois Blanc was complicated by an accident suffered by my sister-in-law, Gussie, who fell while loading her rooftop carrier and landed on her wrist, injuring it and leaving it virtually useless. So I took on an added role of loading heavy luggage.
It turns out she had two broken bones, and is now wearing a cast. Most of the work schedule has been sports coverage -- fall high school sports are in full swing -- along with the Grand Prix Festival and then the GlassBarge festival down at the waterfront.
And then Monday night there was a marathon public hearing at the Watkins Glen Village Hall that kept me up late writing a story about it -- and a Planning Board meeting Wednesday night that did likewise. For those of you late to the party, the TD24 has been honoring two-dozen students in athletics, academics and citizenship each year for more than a dozen years.
It started with two schools -- Watkins Glen and Odessa-Montour -- and now embraces 10 schools around the region, including those in Chemung County. Each year we also honor a coach with a Lifetime Achievement Award. It is a prized honor. We -- which is to say TD24 Chair Craig Cheplick and I, along with a committee of various educators and non-educators -- are already looking at potential TD24 honorees.
It is normally a pretty fluid process; we see how things shake out academically and athletically through the year. Last year, we had only one repeater from the previous year. Seniors will be at the forefront again this year, despite the rule, from the beginning, that 9th through 12th graders would be considered.
There was one 9th grader our first year, but none since, and likely none again since we have expanded the number of schools without expanding the number of honorees. And some in-house honors are usually bestowed on folks who have helped us put the program together year after year. It might not be wasted motion on your part; such nominations have yielded fruit before. And finally, the Schuyler County Hall of Fame will induct four new members in October, and lo and behold, three of them are women: The Hall has been basically a boys club, with 39 men and five women to date.
Now, with this change in stratagem and these three women, the differential has been narrowed -- to There are a lot more women out there who deserve recognition. I'm in consultation with a small committee in an attempt to come up with a list of 24 deserving people, 12 men and 12 women not currently in the Hall. I'm not trying to undercut the Hall; it is full of remarkable people. But there are these others, who I would call a Top Drawer 24 if that term wasn't already taken.
I'll think of some other name. Then, when one or more are plucked from the ranks of The Essentials for inclusion in the Schuyler County Hall of Fame in the future, we could add replacements -- maintain a member level. B ois Blanc Island, Mich. I love it here, bright sun or dreary clouds.
When I was a kid, rainy days on Bois Blanc were known as Monopoly Days, because we would hunker down in our rental cottage, near a blazing fireplace and in the light of a nearby kerosene lantern, and play that particular game.
Now, I tend to read by the light of an electric lamp, or watch videos. For the intervening years have brought electricity to Bois Blanc, not to mention running water replacing pumps and indoor toilets replacing outhouses. And yet the place is much the same as it was a half century ago: One is named Chuck Maki.
The library is small: The other half serves as a museum, with mementos from Island years gone by: I was in there at the request of a woman overseeing the place. It is open for four hours a day, three days a week through July and August.
The woman came up empty on workers, and so I received the call, and agreed to work. He reminisced for a while, and we compared notes of people he might have known versus those I have known.
The Pines, as the municipality is known, was where I stayed in the few summers I visited here as a child. Maki had not, for instance, known Earl and Miriam Hoover, the king and queen of the Island -- owners of many acres in and near the Pines.
Hoover, former head of the Hoover Vacuum Co. I was, in fact, perusing a biography of Mr. Hoover when Maki entered the library, which was why I asked if he had known the old gent. I did; we rented a place from Mr.
Hoover for two summers when I was quite young. It was situated right next to the main Hoover cottage, a large structure that is the centerpiece of an Island estate that now includes four residential dwellings and a tennis court on beautifully landscaped acreage. I remember him well: He seemed to enjoy life. My brother Bob and his wife Gussie and I are always looking for possible rental buildings for future summer visits, and that particular one will soon be coming on the rental market.
And so we imposed on a woman who manages the property, and she guided us through it. I don't recall ever being in the front portion of the structure before.
I imagine I might have been invited in the back door -- to the kitchen -- when I was a boy, to beg cookies freshly baked by Ethel, who with husband Maxie worked for the Hoovers for years. They might have been the lone black couple on the Island back then. I encountered Ethel once again years later, in , when my wife Susan and I visited Bois Blanc as part of a round-the-country trip we were taking.
We stayed a couple of nights in the Pines Hotel -- which was an arson victim four years later -- and visited places and people I remembered from childhood. One stop was at the Hoovers' place. Susan and I were greeted at the front door by Ethel. I explained that I had hoped to pay my respects to the Hoovers, but she told me Mr.
Hoover was napping and Mrs. So I asked that she pass along greetings from Chuck Haeffner -- Chuck being my childhood name. And she grabbed me and pulled me into her ample bosom, and I entertained the possibility of suffocation.
My wife watched from the side, I think both amused and astounded. That was a moment that has lived with me. I never did get to see Mr. And it called to mind years long past, and feelings long suppressed -- warm and embracing and connected, I think, to the sense of adventure that summer used to provide me in childhood.
I got a second chance the afternoon of my Hoover cottage visit. The three of us headed out on ATVs again, this time visiting different locales, including the site of a tombstone -- a shoulder-high creation -- in the middle of sparse woods in honor of Mary McRae, who died in at the age of They no longer are. The stone is the only one visible now, although local lore has it that several other people were buried nearby.
There is a poem chiseled into the memorial -- quite a work of art, from a technical, sculpting aspect; and not a bad poem, popular for headstones back in that era. Tis hard to break the tender cord When love has bound the heart. But thy memory will be cherished Till we see thy heavenly face. We reached that site along a fairly easy, grassy path that was nonetheless blocked by a fallen tree.
There was no way around it, so Bruce -- ever the ready explorer -- produced a chainsaw and cut a section out of the tree just wide enough for us to pass through. That was not the first blockage we had encountered. Bruce had managed to cut enough away from another fallen tree on a deep-woods route early in our travels, too -- created a path around the wreckage, as long as we ducked low to avoid fallen and dangling debris.
This was on a narrow path we had followed in from the Firetower Road -- which is a relatively wide dirt track that cuts through the heart of the Island, north to south. But having cleared the one obstacle, we encountered another -- were forced to retrace our steps a short time later when suddenly blocked by not one, but several, fallen birches.
And we encountered a similar roadblock late in the journey, taking what was supposed to be a shortcut back to the Firetower Road. That path was grassy and fairly wide, but we were stopped about midway by another grouping of flattened trees, with no way around them. And so we doubled back the long way. We parked off the North Shore Road -- a wide path that can entertain one car moving very slowly, or any number of ATVs moving quickly -- and walked up a fairly sharp incline, through tangled underbrush and around various trees, until reaching a level landing.
There we saw, in front of us, a sharp rise -- what to my tired eyes looked like a cliff, really, rising to four separate large boulders spaced out across perhaps a hundred yards. Its highest point is, in fact, feet, according to Wikipedia. Now, eyeing those cliffs, I shook my head. My legs were already screaming from the lengthy uphill climb to the landing; Sally looked as pained as me. The Feds were after him, and he wanted to change his appearance to keep them at bay.
Alas, they caught up to him not long thereafter in Chicago, killing him. I wrote a novel titled "Cabins in the Mist" some years ago about those cabins and a portal there, through which I encountered Dillinger and became a target-practice partner of his in a ravine behind the cabins.
Now, both times we passed the cabins on our ATVs, I could almost swear I saw Dillinger wandering up from the remains of the main cabin. And I think he waved, but I was moving pretty fast. I get the feeling she might not even believe Dillinger was ever there./p>
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