Hi Meg!
Traveling for underage booze brings back memories - the drinking age in Windsor was 19, so growing up in suburban Detroit I made many trips over the bridge between the ages of 19-20 to enjoy the nightlife. My fiance grew up in Deerfield (Illinois, a suburb of Chicago)...They weren't the drinking/driving types; he did say that there were plenty of accidents by underage Chicago kids coming back from carousing in Lake Geneva bars.
Yep. There were an alarming number of accidents, as Toad said, we called the roads that led to Lake Geneva Suicide Highway. I guess which road any given person called Suicide Highway depended on where they lived...for me it was 12/45 or Manheim Road.
When I was 17, they changed the driver’s licenses to the plastic picture type. Up until then, it was a small piece of paper/cardboard. They were very flimsy, I don’t know how people kept them for any length of time. Anyway, when they switched over, people said they had lost the old one so that they would have two. For a while, both were acceptable so you could loan your ID out to people who matched you general description. A chick named Karen used to loan me hers. I used it to get into bars with but if I had shown it to a cop, he could have arrested me and let me out on bail before he who have found out that I wasn’t Karen. They didn’t have all the computerised crap that they have now so they didn’t know who you were. Well, they didn’t know who I was, I’m a good girl, I am.
Back in the 70's the cops were just different than they are today. They didn't bust you for possesion of marijuana, they just re-possessed your marijuana.
I have a girlfriend (that I recently spoke to for the first time in FORVER!) who lives in England and she comes to this country to visit often and when she does, she and her family always go to Windsor to visit some old friends. One time she came to North America specifically to visit those friends and I drove to Cincinnati to meet them. We had decided that Cincinnati would be about halfway. We had a great time, we went to the zoo there and out to dinner...they are just pleasant people all the way around. It’s funny, when they come here, their money almost doubles and the prices get cut in half. They “live like royalty” when they come here. On the other hand, when I go there, the money halves and the prices double. Except for France, $500 is about 3,000 franks but that’s deceiving. It certainly LOOKS like a lot, though.
I miss Chicago right now. I miss it most of the time but today I am especially melancholy because one of my children’s aunts passed away last night. My daughter called me earlier to tell me. This lady, Rosie, was a lovely woman. I don’t think I ever heard her say a cross word to anybody or about anybody. She, like so many of the women in that family, are just plain classy ladies. They are a huge Italian family and they know exactly what family means. This is quite a blow to them, any time they lose one of their own it is of course, but today I am sad for Rosie’s children. They are grown and have children of their own, but I certainly know that it isn’t easy to lose your mother just because you are grown.
I wish I could afford to travel to Chicago right now but I can’t. It’s so nice to know that I would be welcomed if I did go. That family has shown me nothing but respect since the day that I married into it. Simply by virtue of being their grandchildren’s mother, they accept me as family and always have. When I go to Chicago, I always try to go out with my ex in-laws. There is no way that I could ever thank them (nor would I need to, I would imagine) for the way that they have treated my oldest. I’ve watched them for years and you could never see a difference in the way they treat him as opposed to how they treat their genetic grandchildren. It’s not just the grandparents, it’s the aunts. the uncles, the cousins, and then the next generation.
They taught me quite a bit about family and loyalty. I missed them dreadfully after I left Chicago. We got a long so well, when they eventually had to put a couple of their family members in nursing homes, they put them in the one that I worked at because they knew that I’d take care of them. They take great care of their own and I’m glad that my children have such a lovely family. The allegiance that they hold for each other is the kind of stuff that makes for successful mafias.
They taught me more than just what family is all about. They had a grandmother who had her own home, but she never stayed there. She would just go from one family members’ house to another , cooking, cleaning, and caring for children to her hearts delight. Her husband had passed away before I met Mark and I guess she was just too lonely to stay at home. What a treat she was to have in your home. I looked forward to her visits with prodigious eagerness. She taught me to cook so many wonderful Italian dishes that I can honestly that say my lasagna compares to any Italian cooks’ recipe. I make killer peppers and eggs (now that Vex is gone, remember that he was afraid to eat an onion? Well, his fear of any vegetable save peas and corn kept many dishes off of my menuand peppers would have never done.) and my pasta with peas is esepcially good now that it’s summertime.
They taught me another valuable skill, gambling. You name it, they gambled on it. We went to the race track and always sat in the Clubhouse and ate well. They figured that if they were going to lose, they would do so in style. They didn’t lose too often, they had too many connections for that. It was amazing how the waiters seemed to know the outcome of the race. That made for some very large tips as you can imagine. I believe the term that my ex in-laws used in this situation was “boat race”. That meant it was fixed. The waiters never told us silly females who would win, I guess because we didn’t pay the bill. So, when it came to placing my bets, I was on my own. One night I hit the tri-fecta. (That’s where you choose the top 3 horses in order.) I had a dollar box on a three dollar race so I only took a third of the price, but it was substantial. (By “boxing” the race, I chose 3 horses and covered all of the possible winning combinations. A dollar box on 3 horses was a $24 bet.) I won well over 3 grand that night. I ordered Dom for everyone. Everyone in our party, that is. But that alone was over $700...and I tipped the waiter 100 bucks although he never did give me any tips in return.
On the way home that night, I had my husband take me dancing at a country and western bar that I never would have gone to sober. It was a nice place, but I had to be drinking to choose it as a destination. Nashville North was the name of it. It was smack dab in the middle of the Chicago suburbs and every red-blooded cowboy in Chicagoland hung out there. Anyway, as you walk into the dancing area, you pass through a country and western apparel store. I had enough champagne in me to make a small purchase with part of my winnings. I bought a large, black fedora with white lace wrapped around it and and tied in a bow in the back. In addition, it had a floral arrangement on one side and a large, lavender feather boa hanging off the back from the flowers. When I sobered up, I noticed that I had worn it all night without taking off the price tag. I just Minnie Pearled my ass all over the dance floor that evening. Oh, what a hideous hat that was.
They also taight me to play poker before poker was so cool. One night, during the last hand, my father-in-law and I were the only ones left. The last hand was a money game, some form of 7 card stud. Everybody else had folded and it was down to my him and I. The pot was huge and I was afraid. I should have folded but hell, it was the first semi decent hand that I'd been dealt that night...jacks over sevens. When I eventually won the hand, my father-in-law asked me what I had. I didn't have to tell him and, in hind sight, I shouldn't have. But I did. He pushed the table over because he had finally folded with jacks over eights. He was mad because I was "nuts to stay in such a big pot with such a bad hand." Why he belonged there anymore than I do is beyond me. I don't think he liked losing to his daughter-in-law. Oh well, just one of many mistakes I made I am sure.
Well, my dog is right out the window next to my desk so I am going to go let him in the house. I'll be back after a while.
See ya,
Meg
Traveling for underage booze brings back memories - the drinking age in Windsor was 19, so growing up in suburban Detroit I made many trips over the bridge between the ages of 19-20 to enjoy the nightlife. My fiance grew up in Deerfield (Illinois, a suburb of Chicago)...They weren't the drinking/driving types; he did say that there were plenty of accidents by underage Chicago kids coming back from carousing in Lake Geneva bars.
Yep. There were an alarming number of accidents, as Toad said, we called the roads that led to Lake Geneva Suicide Highway. I guess which road any given person called Suicide Highway depended on where they lived...for me it was 12/45 or Manheim Road.
When I was 17, they changed the driver’s licenses to the plastic picture type. Up until then, it was a small piece of paper/cardboard. They were very flimsy, I don’t know how people kept them for any length of time. Anyway, when they switched over, people said they had lost the old one so that they would have two. For a while, both were acceptable so you could loan your ID out to people who matched you general description. A chick named Karen used to loan me hers. I used it to get into bars with but if I had shown it to a cop, he could have arrested me and let me out on bail before he who have found out that I wasn’t Karen. They didn’t have all the computerised crap that they have now so they didn’t know who you were. Well, they didn’t know who I was, I’m a good girl, I am.
Back in the 70's the cops were just different than they are today. They didn't bust you for possesion of marijuana, they just re-possessed your marijuana.
I have a girlfriend (that I recently spoke to for the first time in FORVER!) who lives in England and she comes to this country to visit often and when she does, she and her family always go to Windsor to visit some old friends. One time she came to North America specifically to visit those friends and I drove to Cincinnati to meet them. We had decided that Cincinnati would be about halfway. We had a great time, we went to the zoo there and out to dinner...they are just pleasant people all the way around. It’s funny, when they come here, their money almost doubles and the prices get cut in half. They “live like royalty” when they come here. On the other hand, when I go there, the money halves and the prices double. Except for France, $500 is about 3,000 franks but that’s deceiving. It certainly LOOKS like a lot, though.
I miss Chicago right now. I miss it most of the time but today I am especially melancholy because one of my children’s aunts passed away last night. My daughter called me earlier to tell me. This lady, Rosie, was a lovely woman. I don’t think I ever heard her say a cross word to anybody or about anybody. She, like so many of the women in that family, are just plain classy ladies. They are a huge Italian family and they know exactly what family means. This is quite a blow to them, any time they lose one of their own it is of course, but today I am sad for Rosie’s children. They are grown and have children of their own, but I certainly know that it isn’t easy to lose your mother just because you are grown.
I wish I could afford to travel to Chicago right now but I can’t. It’s so nice to know that I would be welcomed if I did go. That family has shown me nothing but respect since the day that I married into it. Simply by virtue of being their grandchildren’s mother, they accept me as family and always have. When I go to Chicago, I always try to go out with my ex in-laws. There is no way that I could ever thank them (nor would I need to, I would imagine) for the way that they have treated my oldest. I’ve watched them for years and you could never see a difference in the way they treat him as opposed to how they treat their genetic grandchildren. It’s not just the grandparents, it’s the aunts. the uncles, the cousins, and then the next generation.
They taught me quite a bit about family and loyalty. I missed them dreadfully after I left Chicago. We got a long so well, when they eventually had to put a couple of their family members in nursing homes, they put them in the one that I worked at because they knew that I’d take care of them. They take great care of their own and I’m glad that my children have such a lovely family. The allegiance that they hold for each other is the kind of stuff that makes for successful mafias.
They taught me more than just what family is all about. They had a grandmother who had her own home, but she never stayed there. She would just go from one family members’ house to another , cooking, cleaning, and caring for children to her hearts delight. Her husband had passed away before I met Mark and I guess she was just too lonely to stay at home. What a treat she was to have in your home. I looked forward to her visits with prodigious eagerness. She taught me to cook so many wonderful Italian dishes that I can honestly that say my lasagna compares to any Italian cooks’ recipe. I make killer peppers and eggs (now that Vex is gone, remember that he was afraid to eat an onion? Well, his fear of any vegetable save peas and corn kept many dishes off of my menuand peppers would have never done.) and my pasta with peas is esepcially good now that it’s summertime.
They taught me another valuable skill, gambling. You name it, they gambled on it. We went to the race track and always sat in the Clubhouse and ate well. They figured that if they were going to lose, they would do so in style. They didn’t lose too often, they had too many connections for that. It was amazing how the waiters seemed to know the outcome of the race. That made for some very large tips as you can imagine. I believe the term that my ex in-laws used in this situation was “boat race”. That meant it was fixed. The waiters never told us silly females who would win, I guess because we didn’t pay the bill. So, when it came to placing my bets, I was on my own. One night I hit the tri-fecta. (That’s where you choose the top 3 horses in order.) I had a dollar box on a three dollar race so I only took a third of the price, but it was substantial. (By “boxing” the race, I chose 3 horses and covered all of the possible winning combinations. A dollar box on 3 horses was a $24 bet.) I won well over 3 grand that night. I ordered Dom for everyone. Everyone in our party, that is. But that alone was over $700...and I tipped the waiter 100 bucks although he never did give me any tips in return.
On the way home that night, I had my husband take me dancing at a country and western bar that I never would have gone to sober. It was a nice place, but I had to be drinking to choose it as a destination. Nashville North was the name of it. It was smack dab in the middle of the Chicago suburbs and every red-blooded cowboy in Chicagoland hung out there. Anyway, as you walk into the dancing area, you pass through a country and western apparel store. I had enough champagne in me to make a small purchase with part of my winnings. I bought a large, black fedora with white lace wrapped around it and and tied in a bow in the back. In addition, it had a floral arrangement on one side and a large, lavender feather boa hanging off the back from the flowers. When I sobered up, I noticed that I had worn it all night without taking off the price tag. I just Minnie Pearled my ass all over the dance floor that evening. Oh, what a hideous hat that was.
They also taight me to play poker before poker was so cool. One night, during the last hand, my father-in-law and I were the only ones left. The last hand was a money game, some form of 7 card stud. Everybody else had folded and it was down to my him and I. The pot was huge and I was afraid. I should have folded but hell, it was the first semi decent hand that I'd been dealt that night...jacks over sevens. When I eventually won the hand, my father-in-law asked me what I had. I didn't have to tell him and, in hind sight, I shouldn't have. But I did. He pushed the table over because he had finally folded with jacks over eights. He was mad because I was "nuts to stay in such a big pot with such a bad hand." Why he belonged there anymore than I do is beyond me. I don't think he liked losing to his daughter-in-law. Oh well, just one of many mistakes I made I am sure.
Well, my dog is right out the window next to my desk so I am going to go let him in the house. I'll be back after a while.
See ya,
Meg
posted by Meg Kelso | 6:03 PM
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