Good Grief, I Missed Dad's Birthday!

August 23rd, 1947 - John Mark Drexler was born. August 23rd, 2009 - His oldest daughter (me!) totally forgets to post about it on the blog. Doh! Yes, dad's 62nd birthday was last Sunday and sadly it was not his favorite birthday. Why, you ask? Simple answer - no pie. I called him on his birthday to see how it went and all he did for that 20 min conversation was go on and on about the fact that no one gave him any pies. I began to question him on this, knowing full well that answer I was about to receive would just make me laugh and shake my head at his insanity, but I just had to know what he meant about the pies. In his old age, he has become more shameless than ever before. Blatantly telling his congregation, truly anyone who would listen, for weeks prior to his birthday that all he wanted for his birthday was pie. And, since his birthday fell on a Sunday, he woke up that morning, expecting to come home with 6-7 pies that he could enjoy that afternoon when he got home. This was not to be, because most logical people thought, "Surely this man isn't bold enough to ask us outright for pies. He must be joking." They were wrong. I asked him, "Did you get any well wishes or anything?" Oh, yes, he got many cards, lots of birthday wishes, even candy and a couple gifts, but was he satisfied. Of course not, because all he wanted was pie. The days following, he continued to complain about his lack of pies. So much so that 3 different people that week provided him with pies. This calmed the beast inside of him and he was much happier. Fully able now to enjoy his cards and gifts from the kind people of his church. I tell you this story, not just for an opportunity to mock my father, which is indeed one of my favorite things to do, but also to give you a glimpse into the life of my father that began back in 1947. Through the stories he shares with me, that I in turn share with you, you can see that he was quite an ornery child. Always full of humor, but definitely a bit rambunctious. That humor and craziness has not died down as he's gotten older. If anything it has gotten worse and more hilarious. So yes, I forgot to post about his birthday and am here now posting a week late. But, as you can see, I got so caught up in his silly pie escapade, that it completely slipped my mind. But, I share with you now some pictures, not previously posted here, of my dad when he was a kid.



This is one my favorites of his early years. Such an absolute cutie. No one would've suspected that he would one day grow up and take knives to the door frames of his kitchen in an attempt to be Ramar of the Jungle.

Here he is in kindergarten. I do believe that little unevenness in his hair was caused by his attempt to cut it that morning, if I'm not mistaken. Think he looks a little like my Noah here. :-)

Here he is with his 2 older sisters. Ready to enjoy the winter cold.

And, a teenager, playing his most beloved game of baseball. Who one day would forego all his wishes and dreams for just a few moments of pie nearly half a century later. Love you dad and hope your next birthday is filled with everything you want and more!

What a Game!

My dad used to LOVE the Phillies. I mean really truly loved them. He would listen to them on his little pink radio every single time they played. And, he would look forward to hearing about the players and everything that had to do with the team. Now, they weren't really a good team sadly, but that didn't keep him from wanting to cheer them on and listen to them religiously when they were playing. When he was 14 yrs old, his brother Carl had gotten into a bit of trouble. He had cursed out a lady that was in a parking lot and got himself arrested, because back in the late '50s/early 60s you didn't curse out a women, even if it was South Jersey. Gramps had to go get him out of jail and he was, as you can imagine, not happy. And, when Gramps was upset, the kids got punished. Dad's in his bedroom, listening to the game on his radio when he hears his dad and brother return. He then hears his dad say, "You're going to take this." and heard Carl start getting spanked. And, back then, you didn't just use the back of your hand. You used an instrument of some sort. It wasn't fun. Because it hurt, his brother Carl was trying to get away from Grandpa and the commotion was getting louder. Dad was leaning closer to the radio, so he could keep hearing the game over the sounds in the kitchen. The Phillies, who were losing 4-1 in the 9th, were beginning to rally and he didn't want to miss a thing! He was thrilled!!! But, as the game gets more exciting, he begins to notice the noise from the kitchen getting louder and louder and before he knows it Carl is running through the room and runs up the stairs, crying all the way. Grandpa is now in his room with the whip in his hand, just holding it and starts staring at dad. Dad knew if he moved a single muscle, he would end up seeing the other end of that whip, so he sits perfectly still by that radio - not wanting his dad's anger at his brother to shift to him! As he sits there like a statue, he hears the Phillies pull off the victory. Bottom of the 9th, they end up winning 5-4!! He's screaming inside with joy, wanting to jump up and down and yell out in excitement, but continues to not say anything or move a single muscle until Grandpa leaves the room. He was so mad at his brother that night for ruining such a great game for him!

Christmastime

Every year Santa would set up a booth in Freddy's parking lot, a local bar. They would climb up into this booth, sit on Santa's lap, and tell him what they wanted. Then he would give you a candy cane. Not a little candy cane, like you often see today, but a large candy cane. When dad was a teenager, he would go up there just to get that candy cane. Santa was on to him by then though, because as soon as dad would walk up there, Santa would just hand him the cane. He wouldn't bother asking what he wanted for Christmas. Just knew he was there for the cane. :-) Anyway, there was a time where, if you told them where you lived and stuff, they would bring Santa around in a firetruck and he would bring you one of the things you asked for. How awesome is that?! They didn't do it every year or anything, but the few times they did were memorable ones for my dad.

Great Guy

There was a man who lived on a great sledding hill in Runnemede when dad was growing up. He was a cab driver in Philadelphia and always had change in his pocket. Sadly, dad can't remember his name, but it was like Mr. Morris or something like that. He was such a nice man and always so nice to the kids. Whether they came to sled at his house or just see them on the street, he was always kind. Now, because he was a cab driver, he always seemed to have loose change on him. And, he would give his coins to the kids. Dad said whenever they would see him, they would quite literally RUN to him, to see if he would give them money. He used to ask the kids, "How's your mother?". "Good," they'd reply. "How's your father?". "Good." "Have you been good?" he'd ask. And, of course the reply was always, "Oh, yes!". ;-) He would smile at them and pull out a coin for them. He'd give them a nickel or a dime - sometimes even a quarter! - and to little kids in the '50s any of those coins were terrific! Heck, a quarter was like winning the lotto to them! Like dad in an earlier blog, a dime would buy a pack of cards. So, that was big time for them. This man was never married, never had kids of his own, but was so generous and kind to the kids in the neighborhood and dad has never forgotten was a great guy he was. :-)

Coal

When dad was a kid, their house was heated by a huge coal furnace in the basement and every couple of weeks (he thinks) the coal truck would come and dump a load of coal into this little walled off area by the furnace. This little room would hold all the coal that Gramps would then shovel into the furnace each day. Dad said they never went down to the basement when the truck was unloading its coal, because Gramps told them if they did, they'd be buried in coal and they'd never be able to find them again (Don't you see why I love my Grandpa? His sense of humor cracks me up!). Sometimes they'd be brave enough to stand on the bottom stair and watch it unload. Then, once it was dumped and the truck was gone, he and his brother Carl would climb the mountain of coal, getting completely filthy. And, poor grandma had to clean them up every time.

Did He Deserve It?

When dad's sister Judi was about 13 yrs old, she came running frantically into the house, screaming, "Mommy! Mommy!" My dad was scared to death. Convinced that whatever it was that made Judi freak out like that had to be horrific! He thought for sure his dad had had a heart attack or something awful like that. Dad comes running out to see what happened and he hears his sister tell his mom, "Diddle tried to run me over with his bike!" ("Diddle" was her nickname for their little brother Carl). So all this commotion, that led him to believe his father had met his early demise, was just his little brother torturing his sister - apparently a fairly common occurrence. He got so mad at Carl for causing all this anxiety in him, that he promptly went out and beat him up. Just to make sure he knew not to scare him like that again! ;-)

Suicide Hill

There was a place down a ways from dad's house called "Suicide Hill". He took me there once when I was a kid, but it didn't look the same as it did when he was little. When he was a kid, there was a cluster of trees in front of it. Like a small wooded area, then a steep drop-off after that. When the NJ turnpike had been built, they had all this extra dirt that they piled up, making this large hill. As the rain waters came, it washed out part of the hill, making it super steep, with large and deep crevices - making it quite dangerous. Thus the title "Suicide Hill". Just the place for boys to ride their bikes, of course!! They would also throw tires down the hill and watch as they hopped down, rolling into the ditches and popping back up again. Or, if it went down just right, it would hop over the ravines. When they rode their bikes down it, they would keep the brakes on the whole time, so they wouldn't go too fast, that way they could have better control and avoid falling into the ditches and hop over the sandy parts that would stop you dead in your tracks and throw you from your bike. And always they would stop before they got too far down at the bottom of the hill, because there was a large, 12' deep crevice at the end that would cause serious harm to anyone who fell in, so they would ride their brakes and stop before they'd get there. And, once they got to the end, they'd walk around to the side that wasn't as steep, carry their bikes up, and do it all over again! Now, dad and Carl's bike was this old metal, springy thing, that wasn't very fast. It was ok, but not really great for riding down Suicide Hill. Their sister Judi's bike, however, was a dream! Yes, it was a girl's bike, but it was fast! One day when Judi was off doing something else, dad and Carl decided to "borrow" her bike and take it to Suicide Hill. Dad wanted to see how much faster he could go with her bike. Now, not a lot of kids rode their bikes down this hill. It was just too dangerous, but dad - being the daredevil that he is - decided to give it a go. Dad started going down the hill, his friends at the top cheering him on, riding his brakes like he was supposed to. Now, I mentioned above how there were sandy patches you had to avoid. It was actually one sandy patch and you had to let go of your brakes to ride through it or you would be flipped from your bike. The timing had to be just right. Now, I don't know if dad got too carried away with the thrill of riding his sister's super-fast bike or if the cheers from his friends got to his head, but he was a little delayed in letting off the brakes when he got to this part and he was flipped off the seat of the bike, landing not to gently on the girl's part of the bike. It caused a great amount of discomfort, but not enough discomfort to distract him from the fact that he now was barrelling down Suicide Hill without the aid of brakes! He tried dragging his feet to slow himself down, but it wasn't working. He was just going faster and faster, the large 12' ravine getting closer and closer. He was convinced at this point he was either going to 1. fall in the ravine and get seriously injured or 2. fall in the ravine and kill himself! Neither one was a very favorable option. One foot from the ravine, he finally got that bike to stop. Literally one foot from certain death, as he put it. He said it was surely an act of God that he stopped at that point, because he was so out of control. Why he didn't make himself crash by tipping the bike over, I'll never know. But, he made it. He said the rush of adrenalin was overpowering! He was exhilarated and scared to death at the same time. His buddies shouted down to see if he was ok. In a falsetto voice (remember he landed on the bar earlier) he called up that he was fine and when he got back up to the top of the hill, they all checked to see if he was good and he shook it off, enjoying the glory from his crazy bike ride. After all the excitement, his little brother Carl wanted to give it a shot. Dad was so scared that Carl would have the same experience he did that he refused to let him do it. Even threatening to beat him up if he tried. That was the last time he, or any of his friends that he knew of, ever went down that hill.

Talky Blog - Part 3

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9UtH5VdkhvQ

This is the last of the talky blogs I did with dad. This is the end of our conversation about his favorite players and a little story of bitterness directed at his sister Debbie for being responsible for keeping him from one of the greatest moments in history. ;-) Enjoy!

Talky Blog - Part 2

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6L2uAXLWbCc

Here is part 2 of my conversation with dad about his baseball card collecting and his favorite players. Again, you may want to wait for it to download a bit before you start watching it, so it doesn't keep stopping on you.

Talky Blog - Part 1

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iLEq2V5GLww

Well, after many attempts at uploading the videos directly on here, I decided to upload them to youtube and post the link here. This is the first part of our conversation on why and how dad started collecting baseball cards in the late 50s. You may have to wait until it downloads a while before you start playing it or it'll keep stopping on you. Enjoy!

Freedom to Play

Times were so much different than they are today. And, I don't think it's more evident than in the way kids play today. Today there are scheduled playdates. Calls made to parents, notes sent home from school, etc... All in an effort to get kids to play with other kids. It wasn't like that in the 1950s. Kids ran around and played with other kids from the neighborhood from sunrise to sunset. Dad had a group of kids he played with for many years. All within a few blocks from his house. This group consisted of Butchie Briton - who was the oldest and toughest in the group, Eddie Hopkins, Jimmy and Oliver Bathhurst, Phil Musmaci, Phil DePetro, Rocky Cennio (he was only there for a couple of years, but they became really good friends), Dave Wallace, Don Beavers, and Bob Hassick. His brother Carl would play with them many times as well. And the two girls of the bunch were his sister Debbie and Eddie's sister, Faye. That's a large group of kids! I can't imagine seeing a group that size playing together nowadays. But, play they did. They played hide-and-go-seek, kick the can, manhunt, cowboys and indians and, of course, any variation of baseball they could think of. This was a close-knit group of friends who didn't have to wait for their parents to set up playdates or worry about having a guardian there to babysit them. They would race out the door to go to a buddy's house or head to the playground across the street and enjoy the freedom and fun of just playing together. What an innocent time it was back then.