The Mining Town of Alabaster Was Located on the Shores of Lake Huron. Directly to The

Chapter 4

The mining town of Alabaster was located on the shores of Lake Huron. Directly to the south and north, starting at the outskirts of the village, along the shoreline for miles and miles, were summer retreats and cottages for those living in the thriving cities of Saginaw, Bay City, Flint and Detroit, Michigan.

Just ten miles up the road, to the north, are the towns of Tawas City and East Tawas.They were only separated by a flashing yellow light and pride. During the winter months you’d be hard pressed to see a car on their streets after nine at night, exceptduring the Perchville Festival. Locals and tourists at the festival competed in ice fishing, ice motorcycle racing, ademolition derby or participated in the human Polar-Bear contest.A Polar Bear, of which I became one, is where an intelligent human being swims in freezing water that has been created by a hole in an ice covered lake.In this particular case, please don’t look up intelligence in your dictionary; you may find me.

The population then, and even now, is about four thousand combinedbetween the two towns, but during the summer months, the city-folks opened their bungalows, the parks unlocked their gates, the big yachts anchored at the city dock and the towns swelled to twenty thousand.

The two resort towns came alive with dances, beach parties, the sounds of power boats, the regal sight of sailson Tawas Bay, the smell of barbeque and the chatter of people laughing and kids playing. If you lived in the state of Michigan, especially on the east side, that’s where you headed for sun and fun, whether it’s a weekend ora summer.

For us locals,it was an opportunity to meet people our age from the city, establish friendships and get a taste of their life. Popular were the dances at the Community Center, walking the city pier, hanging out on the sand beaches and camping or partying by the famous lighthouse on the Tawas Point; the beacon that directed ships north and east to Chicago.

Gone were the days of my innocence in Alabaster, the childhood adventures and mischiefs, cub scouts, camping out in the wilderness with my friends, drinking chocolate milk by way of the Schwan’s truck, company picnics and playing army. I was on the move.

It was now junior high and high school. Neither of which I was very good at because of the distractions. My home life, girls, socializing, sports, working and did I mention girls?

We had a hundred and twenty-four students in my high school class at Tawas Area High. I fit in, but not in any particular group. I was friends with the townies, miners, farmers, intellectuals and jocks. I was popular, but not as some. I worked. Although athletic, most high schools sports were put on the back burner by my sophomore year, but I kept on skiing and was on the ski patrol.

I remember going skiing with a few friends at a neighboring ski area. I was on the ski lift looking down at my friend Sam ski when he crashed on the slope. He started yelling “LEMON”, “LEMON.” When I got to the top, I swooshed down to him. He wouldn’t let the ski patrol touch him without me. We put him on the ski patrol toboggan, then the back seat of my car and transported him to the hospital where they cast him for a broken leg.

When I think of Sam it reminds me of a high school “woodsy” party we had at the Short Horn Hunting Club on the US Gypsum land west of Alabaster. Sam was still in his cast. It was the dead of winter, cold, with snow on the ground. I, and my friend Bill, had the keys to the club, which was way out in the wilderness. There was only one way in and one way out.

All high school classmates were invited. Some brought booze; we had a keg.Those outside gathered round a big fire. Dozens of people participated; cars everywhere. During the height of the evening, a deputy sheriff who we all knew, because he was the youngest on the force and had gone to our high school, decided he was going to raid the party; for his fun and entertainment. Approaching the hunting club, the deputy turned off his head lights so we couldn’t see him and when he pulled right next to all of us he turn on his flashing lights and sirens, scaring the hell out of everyone. We scattered. Many stayed in the woods for hours. Seven would be treated at the local hospital for frost bite. They made the local paper.

By the time I was fourteen I was hitchhiking everywhere. I visited my friend Rhonda seven miles down the road, who I had built a relationship with since the age of six, when I went home with her on the school bus without telling my parents. When they found me, I was in big trouble, but I couldn’t understand why, because I was just being social.

I thumbed a lift sixty miles to Bay City,to Flint visiting a friend I had met during the summer,across the other side of the state just as an adventure, down to Detroit for a concert, up to the Tawas’s to be part of the fun during the summer. It was also my transportation to and from work.

I worked briefly at the Midway Drive-In restaurant as a dish washer and short order cook. Then I had another employment opportunity come my way so I took it. I’m trying to make this sound glamorous, at the Rollins Fish Market and Gas Station, but it wasn’t. Those were the days when an employee pumped gas and washed windshields for the customer while they sat in their car. I was that employee. When I wasn’t pumping gas I was in the back of the store cleaning and fileting fish. The best part of the job was that I got to take home smoked fish; white fish and lake trout. I worked hard, but that was a deadly smelling combination. Gasoline and Fish.

In those days I considered myself reasonably handsome and always trying to look cool for the girls. It was a work in progress. I was developing a reputation; at least in my own mind. One afternoon, after work at the station; smelling, extra grubby and clothes slimy, I went out to the highway and put my thumb out to hitch a ride home. In the distant, I see this convertible coming down the road with two, can I say this, “chicks” in the front seat. On the one hand I’m hoping they will stop to give me a lift; on the other, I wanted them to continue on,to protect this status, in my mind, because I stunk.They stopped. Oh, they were good looking and clean. I hopped in back with the biggest smile I could create based on my circumstances. They were nice enough, it was only a fifteen minute ride and I would probably never see them again. Thankfully it was a convertible. But let me emphasis;I stunk! I was embarrassed.It was time to find a different job.

Don’t get me wrong here, I’ve had many different jobs in my life and I enjoy working; some more so, than others. There is the social, esteem, confidence and monetary benefits of working.

After the “stinky job,” or should I say “stinking job”, I was hired at the Singing Bridge Grocery Store and Café. I was employed by Ecil Minard; one of the owners and my first mentor…

Chapter 5

The Singing Bridge Grocery Store and Café was located about six miles south of Alabaster and named after the Singing Bridge that spanned the East Branch of the Au Gres River that flowed into Lake Huron. The bridge was named so because it sang when you traversed it in anautomobile. The place was famous.

People came from all over Michigan, Ohio and even Canada during the spring smelt run. Smelt is a small fish, generally six to ten inches in length with a narrow body. You catch them with hand held nets during their spawn run up the river from the lake. The river would be packed with hundreds of people during the day and night, shoulder to shoulder, both in the river and on the banks, some half mile up stream.

During the summer the Singing Bridge store was the place tourists and cottage dwellers got a bite to eat, shopped for groceries and filled up their gas tanks with Sinclair; both autos and boats. One side was the café and the other the grocery. They served the best fresh donuts. It was also a hangout for the state police.

The place was owned by brothers Dar and Ecil Minard. Combined they had eight kids. It was a family operation. Through the years all the children worked there. Although the brothers could run either side of the business, typically Dar worked the café and Ecil worked the grocery.

Ecil hired me to work the grocery. He wasthe first person in my life to believe in me and my potential.He taught me how to stock shelves, compute markup, the principle of discounting,butcher meat, fill the walk-in cooler, salesmanship, display merchandise, create point of sale items, advertising, run the cash register and how to treat customers as people. Ecil showed me how to work efficiently and the importance of customer service. I became what I coined a“triple bagger”. When a customer brought up all their groceries I could ring, bag and make change at an impressive speed so the line could keep moving. In between, I would be running outside to pump gas. I loved the job, I was always in motion and I have to say I loved Ecil. I learned more in those four years than any four years in my life. I also enjoyed the comradery of the other employees, the family members and the customers.

Mrs. V was a customer that lived in Flint, who was a middle aged cowgirl. She and her family had a cottage, but they also rented a farm to board her horses during the summer months. As a fifteen year old I was always nervous around her, because she was very pretty and friendly. One day she came in the grocery when I was the only one in the store. She whispered that she needed a particular product. I acknowledged that we had the item and I started walking down the aisle; she followed. I was looking left and right, up and down for the item. I stocked the shelves, so I knew where every item was located, but not that item. I was stalling. Now, I’m moving back down the only other aisle we had, with Mrs. V in tow, and I’m starting to really perspire. Finally, she taps me on the shoulder and asks, “Pete, do you know what I’m asking for?” Of course I didn’t, but I thought I was covering it up. I said, “No Mrs. V I don’t know that product.” She skillfully explained it was a feminine product. I’m sure I was red-faced. I was now sweating profusely. But hey, the next year I got to kiss her daughter on the beach, so that was a consolation for the embarrassment in the previous year.

I worked with Dar’s son Terry. We had been friends for years. We ran together, including alternating driving to school. He drove a Charger and I had a Cutlass. When we weren’t working at the grocery store, to keep us in gas and extra spending money, we would pick cucumbers at Lutz’s Pickle Farm and got paid piece work by the five gallon container. The harder we worked, the more money we made. We were the only two white guys in the field. We alsosorted and bagged potatoes part-time at Pett’s farm just up the road.

I graduated from high school at the beginning of the summer of ’68. Vietnam was in full force and was watched by Americas on their television sets; including me. I considered joining the Army right after high school, but decided to move to Saginaw, Michigan taking a job as a line inspector at Saginaw Steering Gear. Ecil Minard arranged the interview and position. I was now a card carrying United Auto Worker getting paid more money than I had ever made in my life.

Army and Vietnam were always gnawing at me. While working at Saginaw Steering Gear I met a marine who had just left the service and did duty in Vietnam. His stories influenced me. After six months working in Saginaw I decided to join the army…

NOTE: Ecil Minard died the winter of 2000. I was fortunate enough to visit him before his death. Ecil was bed-ridden. With a tear in my eye, my children at my side, I hugged him and let him know how much of an impact he had on my life during those years and thanked him for being my mentor.Ever the mentor, smiling, eyes sparkling with pride, Ecil responded by reminiscing about how much he believed in me and the joy of working together.