From Sole to Somm

“The Formidable Years – Chapter 4”

The 60’s were full of turmoil as a country but my most formidable years as a person. With the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, Vietnam war, and the assassination of Martin Luther King, it was a crazy time in our countries history.

 In my world though it was pretty awesome. As a kid, I didn’t worry about too much except when my dad was mad at us. We were fortunate enough to live in a nice house in a nice neighborhood. We got spoiled on our birthdays and Christmas and it didn’t hurt that our dad worked for the toy department at Sears in the 60’s. We had all the latest toys. It was a typical middle-class lifestyle.

Key Moments in Time – 60’s

1963: Assassination of President John F. Kennedy

1964: Civil Rights Act passed, outlawing discrimination based on race, color, religion, sex, or national origin

1965: Escalation of U.S. involvement in the Vietnam War

1968: Assassinations of Martin Luther King Jr. and Robert F. Kennedy

1969: Apollo 11 moon landing

1969: Woodstock music festival

Growing Up in the 60s

Growing up in the 60s was a traditional American experience for our family.  I have vague memories of our first house on 2231 Indianapolis St.

Up until 1963 it was just my parents and I and a dog.  It was my first experience with a dog and his name was Fritz, he was our Dachshund. I remember him snapping at people a lot, me included. Eventually my parents had to give him to another family. Besides the dog biting me the house had a lot of clover in the front yard which attracted bees. I got stung a lot as a kid, so not too fond of bees even now. But a few bites from the dog and bee stings didn’t stop me from going back for more.

I had a friend named Mike who lived across the street. We took towels and pretended to be superman. Recently I was thinking about him while going through the Hoover High School page on Facebook. I saw there was someone name Mike McCloskey that  passed away in 2007, Could he be the Mike I played with as a young boy? I remember one time going to the old street to see what the house looked like. I was surprised it was in the Hoover High area. I didn’t put the connection together until this month. We both went to Hoover High together. He was a Senior when I was a Junior. Never put two and two together. Such a shame, it would have been cool to reconnect after so many years.

And that’s all I remember about my life under 5 years old except when my brother Douglas was born in 1963, My grandmother Doris told me he was going to ring the doorbell and ask if his new brother was home.

New House

My mom stayed home with her three boys, and we had a fun-loving poodle mix named Muttley.    I was the oldest, with my brother Douglas three years younger being born in 1963, and David six years younger being born 1966. We moved to a different neighborhood when I was around 5, 4865 E San Gabriel. Our days started with cartoons and then playing outside until dinner. Our neighborhood was full of kids, so it was never dull. We played army and ball games, sometimes losing tennis balls to a less-than-friendly neighbor. In the afternoons, the streets emptied for shows like Gilligan’s Island or The Brady Bunch.

I joined the Cub Scouts, Webelos and Boy Scouts. I went to scout camp in the summertime and camped with the other scouts. It was a lot of fun. I learned a lot in all the different phases of scout life and earned a fair share of merit badges. My dad helped in most of them. One particular badge was the Scout Olympics. And you could pick your event. We decided to do kite flying. We won awards for highest flying kite, which was a small kite that went up so high we couldn’t see it. The other was biggest flying kite. We made a HUGE kite, over 6 feet and we got it to fly. It was so much fun. We also competed in the Pinewood derby. We did this every year and one year we won first place. You got a block of wood and some wheels, and you had to carve your car, sand it and paint it. I wish I had a picture of the car still.

My brothers and I mostly got along, but when we fought, my mom’s warning, “wait until your dad gets home,” usually meant discipline. My dad wasn’t mean, but he believed in discipline—army rules, I guess. Usually involved the belt. The typical discipline was ten spankings with the belt. One time my brother put a book in his pants so going forward it was bare bottom, lol. You can’t out smart dad.

Halloween was huge in our neighborhood, hundreds of kids would be out trick or treating. We used pillowcases to store our candy and usually filled them up. Same went for 4^th of July, the whole block had fireworks we’d buy from red devil firework stands. My dad always bought a family pack, which had the sparklers, snakes, flowers and a bunch of cones. Every now and then he would get a hold of firecrackers but only he could light them.

My Dad

As a young boy, I learned the importance of doing my best, as I wrote in my Soleman Blog #6. My dad was a major influence in my life. He didn’t smoke cigarettes, but he loved his pipe and occasionally a good cigar. He wasn’t perfect, but the lessons I learned from him shaped me into who I am today.

In 1968, at just 8 or 9 years old, I was given the responsibility of mowing the lawn. It seemed like a big deal—filling the engine with gasoline, mowing for all the neighbors to see, and dumping clippings. The key lesson was attention to detail. When I finished, my dad asked if I did my best. I said yes, but he pointed out areas I missed and told me to return when I truly did my best.  i mowed it one way then again the opposite way just to make sure. This lesson stuck with me for life.

Later, I was tasked with washing his car. You better believe I made sure every piece of chrome was buffed, and the car was spotless. Attention to detail became a mantra. Soon I was washing some of the neighbors’ cars and doing their lawns too.

My dad worked at Sears in various roles and excelled at managing teams. We discussed these topics during fishing or hunting trips. One time we went to Wishon reservoir, and we were catching so many fish my dad couldn’t fish himself, he managed to catch the two biggest ones, but my brothers and I got our limits. It was the best time fishing we ever had.

On another occasion he took me duck hunting. We found an old boat that someone abandoned so we took it home with us. All I remember of that morning was, it was cold, and the hot soup was amazing. Plus, we got a few ducks too. He had a 12 gauge semi auto and mine was a 20-gauge single shot, so I had to make my shots count. It was a cool looking shotgun; the stock was beautiful.  I had the gun for a long time until someone stole from me.

We always had the same food: crispy KFC chicken for fishing, with my dad claiming the wings, and hot tomato soup for hunting. These traditions made our time together special. I still love grilling chicken wings and making homemade tomato soup.

My Mom

Mom stayed home with us kids and was very pretty, carrying her beauty well into adulthood. An artist in her college years, she even taught art earning a teachers credential. She often painted on canvas or worked on sculptures displayed around the house. She was a great artist. I think the artistic side of the future generations came from her. Occasionally, she’d have coffee with neighbors in the afternoon. She didn’t smoke and only drank during holidays, always staying fit.

Shopping trips with her meant watching her browse clothes, which we didn’t enjoy. As three mischievous boys, we’d play in the clothing racks, teasing each other. “Boys,” she’d say, “settle down.” After the third warning, “wait until your dad gets home” usually did the trick. Sometimes we faced discipline, other times she let it slide. You’d think we’d learn, but boys will be boys.

We loved mom’s meatloaf, enchilada casserole, and artichokes. Beef liver and onions, not so much. Dad often BBQed, and his meals were always amazing.

Mom loved Muttley. Those two were inseparable. She would chase her around the yard and she would run at top speed, stopping on a dime and sticking her butt up in the air, tail wagging. “I want more” at least that’s what I thought she was thinking. We got her from my aunt & uncle. They rescued her from a lake I think. Her original name was “Queenie” but we wanted to name her after the cartoon dog “Muttley” so we did.That dog lived for 16 years, probably because my mom loved her so much.

Huntington Lake

Every summer, we spent weeks at our grandparents’ cabin in Huntington Lake. These were the best times growing up. My grandparents bought the cabin in 1959, the year I was born. Grandpa, a machinist, spent summers fixing it up. We’d detour on trips to pick up granite rocks for the stairs leading to the cabin. He did an amazing job. On one such detour we went to “Mushroom Rock” basically it was a bunch of rocks that formed the stem with the upper part expanding out like a “mushroom cap”, it seemed safe to be around, so we never worried about the “cap” falling over us.

 My grandfather always drove fast around the windy mountain roads, you had to have a decent stomach for it to get through it. We would hunt down the rocks and make way to the road that led to the cabin. The landmark for the road was this enormous boulder the size of a diesel truck cab, protruding from the mountain side. Someone put a small twig bending to look like the twig was holding back the giant rock. One year it actually fell to the road and they had to blast it, to remove it.

I fondly remember our trips from Fresno, stopping at the bakery in Shaver Lake which was right below Huntington Lake for handmade licorice ropes and the best cinnamon bread. My brothers and I would also stock up on 15-cent comic books like Spiderman, Superman, Archie, and Casper the Ghost. These traditions were highlights of our visits.

My grandparents had a small aluminum boat and took us fishing weekly. Grandpa patiently taught us to bait hooks and tie lines. Catching trout was thrilling, and he later taught me how to clean them properly. Attention to detail was key, a lesson my dad likely learned from him.

Without television, we spent evenings by the fire, playing cards after dinner. Grandma would give us a stack of pennies to use as money and if we were lucky, we won a quarter at the end of the game. We learned “Tripoly”, Gin Rummy, and cribbage.  Life was good. During the day we roamed the mountains freely, as kidnappings were rare, especially 10,000 feet up in the Sierra National Forest. I watched over my brothers, and we had the best adventures.

Once, we found old rusty railroad spikes. Grandpa told us about an old railroad line and cleaned the spikes for us. I still have mine. Another time, we collected ants in a glass jar to watch them fight. My brother Douglas accidentally disturbed a hornet’s nest, and we ran faster than ever, luckily escaping unharmed.

Grandpa Bill Normart

My grandpa built huge fires in his BBQ pit and grilled the best food, from lamb kebabs to hamburgers. Everything tasted better up there. They always had plenty of fruit—grapes, nectarines, peaches, and pomegranates. A small spring by the cabin kept watermelons icy cold. My love for BBQ and fruit began in those mountains. My dad and uncle helped me take it to the next level as an adult. Every time I BBQ, I lift a glass and toast them, feeling like they’re still with me.

I loved spending time with Grandpa Bill because he always taught me something new. Whether it was splitting firewood, throwing the perfect horseshoe, or catching a squirrel with an intricate trap (which we always released), he had endless skills to share.

He installed a hummingbird feeder high up on a very large redwood tree. This one hummingbird claimed the feeder and chased all the other ones away. Grandpa used to laugh his funny coarse laugh, that we all loved when he watched “the general.” he loved that bird.  One day I spotted the general sitting on a branch just chilling out. In my infinite wisdom I thought it would be funny to throw a rock and scare him away. I hit him dead on and he fell to the ground. “OMG I killed grandpas bird” he’s gonna swat me for sure. As I approached the bird on the ground he flew up to his branch as if nothing happened. Phew! dodged that one. 

He taught me how to build a proper fire, BBQ, play cards, and win at horseshoes. he could give me 15 points out of 21 and still win by throwing ringer upon ringer. I also got the pleasure of splitting wood for his fires. It was hard work but i enjoyed it. He was talented in so many areas.

I never wanted to make him mad. His forearms and hands were the biggest I’d ever seen, like an old-time catcher’s mitt. Thankfully, I never got swatted by that hand. The general incident was the closest I ever came. He was a teddy bear with a gruff voice, and if he raised it, you’d almost soil your pants. My brother David found that out when he clogged the toilet one time. “How big is your ass anyways?”. He was a kind man though with a heart of gold.

Grandpa was of Armenian and German/Russian heritage. Like I mentioned in the previous Chapter, his father was a famous boxer in Fresno in the early 1900s and a firefighter. His family escaped the Armenian genocide and was among the first Armenians to settle in Fresno. They landed in Philadelphia and, grateful to be in America, changed their name from Yanikian to Normart, meaning “New Man” in Armenian.

Grandma Si Normart

I also enjoyed my time with Grandma Si. She was the kindest person I’ve ever met. She never used foul language or spoke ill of others. If she did it was the kindest way you could imagine. She taught me a lot too. How to cook Armenian food, the box step, empathy, and kindness. We would have long talks about life and how to treat others. She was the most amazing cook when it came to Armenian food. Stuffed grape leaves or dolma, souberag (layered phyllo dough filled with cheese and spinach), kofta (meatballs mixed with spices), pilaf, baklava, matzoon (homemade yogurt) to go with the grape leaves, all were spectacular. Grandpa oversaw the lamb shish kebab. He made a shish kebab machine that was amazing. I think I am the person I am today in large part because of these two wonderful people. I feel fortunate I grew up with them in my life. Grandma was of Armenian Heritage. Avakian was her maiden name, and her father, Peter Avakian escaped the genocide when a Turkish guard felt sorry for him and let him out of the cell he was in. He was to be executed that morning. He settled in Fresno where my grandmother eventually met my grandpa.

My grandmother always called me every Sunday at 10am as an adult. I looked forward to those calls. “Miiiiichael” she would sing. “Are you taking your vitamins?”. She was the most amazing person I’ve ever met. At her funeral I discovered that every one of her grandkids thought they were her favorite. Thats how great she was…

Grandma Doris Osterholtz

On my mom’s side It was also a good experience but in a different way. My grandmother Doris would take me out on a “Date”. We would go to lunch at a nice place then go to a movie afterwards. Mostly because Grandpa didn’t like doing that. We would also have great conversations about life, and it was always positive. She would sometimes blurt out expletives about people which always shocked me coming from this sweet old lady. She would make the best pies, with the most wonderful flakey crust. Noone has ever matched Grandma Doris’s pies. Grandma was a nurse in her youth. When she met my grandpa, she smoked. He said he wouldn’t go out with a “smoker”, she quit right away and then they got married shortly afterwards.

Her mother Grace Hamm was of Swedish heritage and lived to 95 years old. Grandma Doris made it to 86 then passed away. I remember coming from the Bay Area to visit her in the Hospice facility. It reminded me of the “Notebook” movie where she didn’t recognize me at first. After talking to her for a while she came around and we had a good ten minutes of looking back at all the good times we shared before she went back to her confused state of mind. I kissed her forehead and said I’d come visit on the way back from Disneyland. She passed the next day…

Grandpa Bill Osterholtz

I didn’t really hang out with my grandpa Wilbert (He liked to go by Bill or “Doc”) until I was a teenager and interested in cars. When I got my first car, I’d head over to see grandpa and he’d help me tune it up or add special items to the engine. We had some good talks over oil and grease. He loved to tell stories. We would hear the same stories many times, but we’d always act like it was the first time. We’d always look at grandma for validation because she would would either nod in agreement or shake her head like it was a tall tale. He’d get his cigar out and start talking about his dog Shep or his adventures being a veterinarian for the state or federal government. Every now and then he’d use a expletive too which always made me crack up because it wasn’t like his character.

He helped me work on my Gran Torino. We would spend hours in his garage. He’d get his cigar out, put on his white overalls that had oil stains on them then I’d assist him on whatever we were doing. We put in racing manifolds, new carburetors, you name it. He would go to the auto parts stores and say he was from “Holt Motors” just to get the 10% discount. We got that car going pretty fast.

 I think from a physical standpoint I take after him the most, we both stood at 6’4” and lanky. Grandpa Osterholtz was of German heritage and had a brother Henry and sister Norma who both lived back east. Both of them were tall too.

He traveled all over the country with his job, settling in Las Vegas in the 50’s. He moved the family to California after a famous mobster got gunned down to provide a safer environment. They settled in Fresno and lived their lives there.

Holidays

Holidays were split between grandparents’ houses for Thanksgiving , Christmas, and Easter .Then they would switch it every year. Good times included Grandma Si’s Armenian Food, Grandma Doris pies and amazing hams. In the 70’s we would split this tradition to my aunt and uncles house in the country. 

My cousins were fun to hang out with too, wherever we were, it was a good time. It was nice that we all got along so well. Kathy was the strong willed one and Joann was the levelheaded one. As we grew older Joann, and I easily bonded with each other. i’ll talk more about the Garvin side in the next blog. 

The holidays were always filled with good food, laughs and lots of spirit. Lots of presents at Christmas time, we would usually hit one grandparent on Christmas Eve to open presents then go over to the other on Christmas day for the feast. Christmas gifts were often comical because they always got each other a bottle of gin or vodka. They sure liked to have a good time. And for some odd reason the longer the day or night went, the louder the laughs, didn’t understand that as a kid but appreciate it now as an adult.

One Christmas my dad took us out to dinner on Christmas eve, when we got back all the presents were under the tree. My brothers and I looked at each other in disbelief. My dad said, “Guess Santa came early”. Found out years later grandpa Osterholtz was the one who came over while we were out. Great trick, I think my brothers were young enough to believe it, I was trying to figure out how they pulled it off. I was about 9 or 10 then.

For Easter everyone would color their own egg, and we would have a contest on cracking the eggs. One person would hold their egg, and the other person would tap, who ever had the cracked egg was out. Grandpa Normart loved this game. Grandpa had a laugh that was very unique, and we loved it when he let loose. It had an almost musical quality to it. You could tell he was amused and he had a smile that would validate it. It was memorable to watch. We would then have an Easter egg hunt. They would hide plastic eggs around the yard with candy or money in them.

From Sole to Somm – The Formidable Years

This is a condensed version of my first 10 years, with some spilling into my teens. What did I learn?

Attention to Detail: From my dad, a lesson in coaching and mentoring.

Traditions: Important to carry forward and look forward to each year. I was fortunate to have such an amazing family, grandparents and aunts & uncles. 

Respect for Elders: A value needed in society today. We didn’t even question it.

Kindness: The golden rule—treat others as you want to be treated. My Grandmother Si was great at this. She passed this trait to her daughter Linda because she was amazing too. 

Passion: Find it and roll with it. “If it’s to be, it’s up to me”. This would become my mantra growing up. 

Family: I wish I could relay to kids in their formidable youth to relish their childhood. I realize some don’t have it as good as I did growing up and I’m thankful for that. I guess when you are older and hopefully wiser you reflect on those times. I feel fortunate that most of my relatives were nearby, making holidays and birthdays special. Even the distant relatives were amazing. Every get together was a blast, I miss those days. 

In my world today, my kids are farther away. It was a time to be thankful, but back then, it was just the norm. I miss those who are no longer here but cherish those who are. When people you love pass, it’s always sad, but at some point you will look back fondly of all the good times. I always raise a glass and toast those people starting with my dad. Good times…

And Most of All: If someone’s hands are as big as a catcher’s mitt, don’t piss them off or try to kill their bird…