Many of you may be wondering how we decided on http://www.buckydewitt.blogspot.com/ as the name for our blog. It all comes from my being raised in Pennsylvania by some of the funniest people in the world. Read on...this gets better....
Bucky DeWitt grew up in Benton, PA. Benn-in as I pronounce it, is about 25 miles from where I grew up in Mifflinville. My father grew up in Lightstreet. About 15 miles down Fishing Creek from Benton. Lightstreet sat right outside Bloomsburg which is where everyone in the area went for groceries or to do their shopping.
Benton is like that "Last Chance" town. Last chance for everything as you head northwest out of civilization. I bet it is still like this today.... So, if you wanted anything big, like a T.V. back in the 50's, you drove to Bloomsburg. Where I am trying to go with this is that if you were from Benton, eventually you would cross paths with people on down the creek. Bucky crossed paths with my second cousin, Shirley. Shirley and Bucky had a child and were married for a few years. As with anything, things didn't work out and they divorced. Bucky moved back to Benton and Shirley re-married Jon Turner.
Now keep this in mind, Bucky is close to my fathers age. Around the 64 year old mark right now. Anyhow, put yourself back in the '80's in the Bloomsburg area. We would go rollerskating at Dixie's Starlight Gardens and Chris would "Crazyleg" to the stylish beats of ELO, Tony Orlando and Dawn, and Donna Summers all while Bernie the skateguard kept watchful eye on us. Rumor had it that they were building a new skating rink in town....Skatetown. When it opened, it was the shizz! State of the art turntables and reel to reel that pumped through a rad soundsystem. Everyone ditched Dixie's and went to Skatetown.
Skatetown was awesome but us crazy kids were kept under control by two bad characters who wore the referee shirt...and meant business! The notorious Bucky DeWitt and his sidekick Olin "Spiderlegs" Shotwell. Bucky was the man! If a fight broke out near the snack bar, Bucky was right there to bust up the squabble and apply a liberal amount of smack-down. When the fight was over, Bucky would skate back to his position in the middle of the floor and skate slow so the 17-18 year olds could get an eye-full of his suave skating skills. Bucky took his job seriously. He would circle the center of the rink like a shark...waiting for the chance to do good and keep the patrons of Skatetown safe. If it was a slow couples skate, Bucky would bless one of his female fan club with a skate together, or he would go hang out near the DJ booth and hold the lucky gal close and "rap" with Fred the DJ.
Soon, I found better things to do than hang at Skatetown. I had my drivers license and soon was cruising Bloomsburg. My memories of Bucky faded as I found out about Stroh's 30 packs, speed metal, and easy girls from Berwick.
I joined the Navy when I was 18. I pretty much was gone for 10 years. After I got out, I moved back home and started driving truck. One morning, I was up at Kevin Ryman's waiting on a load for California when Uncle Warren (Putter) Ryman came in. Putter complained about everything and never did anything. This day was no different....
"That F**** Bucky F*** DeWitt needs to go back to the F**** reservation" said Putter. "What? Bucky DeWitt?" I said. "Yeah, F**** Bucky DeWitt" said Putter. "That Summmbich is down there at the Unicorn Restaurant talking trash". I didn't quite understand what Putter was talking about. I soon found out....
Bucky decided to Re-invent himself over a period of time. He went from being a skateguard to a mason. Someone must have told Bucky he looked like a Native American. He grew his hair long , put it in a ponytail and since he was out in the sun all the time, he was tan. That reddish tan like a construction worker would be. Bucky soon became the local indian outlaw. His "fleet" of masonry trucks had indian pictographs painted all over them.
Bucky would go to the local restaurants and talk coffee shop politics all morning long and when the discussion would become too much for him, he would throw his hands up and proclaim he was moving back to the reservation. I didn't know that they put a reservation in in
"Benn-in"
"Chief Bucky-wears-rollerskates-many-skatetown-squaws" has become legendary in my relationship with M.J. . Thanks, Bucky for the laughs throughout the years! Your are the best Lamanite wanna-be I know!
Showing posts with label Posted by Mike. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Posted by Mike. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
The Field
Most of you know that I grew up in a little town in the east-central part of Pennsylvania. Good ol' Mifflinville. Sitting along the east shore of the Susquehanna River between Berwick and Bloomsburg, it was situated in the perfect location. The old, round, Appalachian mountains, covered in their dense hardwoods, on both sides of the Susquehanna River valley. To the north and east is the tough coal region. To the south and west was Pennsylvania farm country. We had the best of both worlds. We were descendants of all types of people with one thing in common, hard working, honest Americans.
Mifflinville in the '70's and '80's was the greatest place to have been raised. Chic and Barb built a modest home on John Street in '73. At that time, it was still a dirt road with no one living that far out. My grandparents owned the land that my parents bought which made it nice for us. Leon and Norma Stout, my maternal grandparents, lived directly behind us on Mary Street. We lived on a small hill overlooking John Street down below and across the street were Seesholtz's "pick your own" strawberry fields. There was nothing to either side of the house for about a quarter mile. Royce Kline's farm was to the southeast and the Eveland's were the same distance to the northwest.
As young kids, my brothers, Chuck, and Chris and I spent many hours exploring the area. Since we were really young when we moved in (Chuck 7, me 4 , and Chris 1) we grew up in the woods. The creek across the street was our favorite place to play. We would leave the house at the first light and not come home until our mom was yelling for us, covered in mud, dirt, pine sap....you name it, we had it on us.
As time went on, my parents decided to buy a few acres next to our home. Chuck saved his money and bought a 1973 Yamaha LT 100 endoro. Soon after, Chris and I bought a go-kart. The field soon became a makeshift racetrack. This was about the same time that my dad was laid off. He was home with us all summer and it was great. We had our own little repair shop. We'd crash it, dad would fix it. Little did he know that this was going to create a mindset for the rest of your lives. Before long, the other kids in town found out we had a good thing going on in the field. Within weeks, we had about 10 kids wanting to come ride on our track. Chuck finally graduated to riding a Yamaha TT 250 and I got the LT 100. I remember wearing my old gold metallic helmet with a JT Racing visor on it.... I thought I was Bob Hannah.
About this time, my dad decided to buy an old '53 International pick up to haul wood in. Dad had gone back to work (remember the teamster strikes back then?) and had injured his back. He was off for a long time but he was always one step ahead of the game in making sure we survived. Anyhow, we had this old truck. We would cut wood, split it and haul it over to the house to burn in the woodstove. The truck was an old I-4 with 3 on the tree. It would run about the speed of smell with 3 kids, one adult, and a black lab, all in the front seat. We used that truck for a good 3 years and Dad finally decided that we could start driving that truck around the field. This became the second evolution of the field.
Soon, that old truck had a new paint job. Complete with lightning bolts and a big number 3 on the door. We all had our names painted on the door, making it an official race truck. We built a 1/4 mile oval by flying around that rack as fast as we could, sawing on the steering wheel like a sprint car driver. One would drive with Spike, our black lab in the passenger seat, barking out the window, as the other two would sit and wait their turn to drive. One final crash did the truck in. I lost it in the first turn and smashed into a pine tree, putting a branch through the block.
We weren't done. This just led to the next stage...and probably the most fun stage. Remember in the early '80's? BMX was the hottest thing. Chuck had found girls and skipped this phase but Chris and I were right there...checkerboard Vans, OP corduroy pants and crazy hair. By this time, we had a mini construction crew with the help of the neighborhood kids and converted the field to a full blown BMX track. Our shed was filled with bike parts, shovels, rakes and "Borrowed" items such as hay bails and water heaters that we could bury to make a jump. Mom and Dad never complained. On any given day, there were tons of kids at the house. We had kids from other towns coming in to ride. The competition was tough but we were all friends. After a hard day of riding, we all chipped in and raked and groomed the track.
Within a few years, we all started getting our permits to drive and we sold our bikes to buy our first cars. The field started to grow up and it became a place to hide beer. After that, the field was a place that we saw as we pulled in the driveway off to our left. The brush started growing up, covering the jumps and ruts we made with motorcycles, bicycles and trucks. Just like our memories of that place, they were still there but a little harder to see.
Marcy and I walked around the field once. It brought back the memories of being a kid, raised by the best parents in the world with the best brothers and friends at our sides. As I think about it, we need to make sure our kids have their own "field".
Mifflinville in the '70's and '80's was the greatest place to have been raised. Chic and Barb built a modest home on John Street in '73. At that time, it was still a dirt road with no one living that far out. My grandparents owned the land that my parents bought which made it nice for us. Leon and Norma Stout, my maternal grandparents, lived directly behind us on Mary Street. We lived on a small hill overlooking John Street down below and across the street were Seesholtz's "pick your own" strawberry fields. There was nothing to either side of the house for about a quarter mile. Royce Kline's farm was to the southeast and the Eveland's were the same distance to the northwest.
As young kids, my brothers, Chuck, and Chris and I spent many hours exploring the area. Since we were really young when we moved in (Chuck 7, me 4 , and Chris 1) we grew up in the woods. The creek across the street was our favorite place to play. We would leave the house at the first light and not come home until our mom was yelling for us, covered in mud, dirt, pine sap....you name it, we had it on us.
As time went on, my parents decided to buy a few acres next to our home. Chuck saved his money and bought a 1973 Yamaha LT 100 endoro. Soon after, Chris and I bought a go-kart. The field soon became a makeshift racetrack. This was about the same time that my dad was laid off. He was home with us all summer and it was great. We had our own little repair shop. We'd crash it, dad would fix it. Little did he know that this was going to create a mindset for the rest of your lives. Before long, the other kids in town found out we had a good thing going on in the field. Within weeks, we had about 10 kids wanting to come ride on our track. Chuck finally graduated to riding a Yamaha TT 250 and I got the LT 100. I remember wearing my old gold metallic helmet with a JT Racing visor on it.... I thought I was Bob Hannah.
About this time, my dad decided to buy an old '53 International pick up to haul wood in. Dad had gone back to work (remember the teamster strikes back then?) and had injured his back. He was off for a long time but he was always one step ahead of the game in making sure we survived. Anyhow, we had this old truck. We would cut wood, split it and haul it over to the house to burn in the woodstove. The truck was an old I-4 with 3 on the tree. It would run about the speed of smell with 3 kids, one adult, and a black lab, all in the front seat. We used that truck for a good 3 years and Dad finally decided that we could start driving that truck around the field. This became the second evolution of the field.
Soon, that old truck had a new paint job. Complete with lightning bolts and a big number 3 on the door. We all had our names painted on the door, making it an official race truck. We built a 1/4 mile oval by flying around that rack as fast as we could, sawing on the steering wheel like a sprint car driver. One would drive with Spike, our black lab in the passenger seat, barking out the window, as the other two would sit and wait their turn to drive. One final crash did the truck in. I lost it in the first turn and smashed into a pine tree, putting a branch through the block.
We weren't done. This just led to the next stage...and probably the most fun stage. Remember in the early '80's? BMX was the hottest thing. Chuck had found girls and skipped this phase but Chris and I were right there...checkerboard Vans, OP corduroy pants and crazy hair. By this time, we had a mini construction crew with the help of the neighborhood kids and converted the field to a full blown BMX track. Our shed was filled with bike parts, shovels, rakes and "Borrowed" items such as hay bails and water heaters that we could bury to make a jump. Mom and Dad never complained. On any given day, there were tons of kids at the house. We had kids from other towns coming in to ride. The competition was tough but we were all friends. After a hard day of riding, we all chipped in and raked and groomed the track.
Within a few years, we all started getting our permits to drive and we sold our bikes to buy our first cars. The field started to grow up and it became a place to hide beer. After that, the field was a place that we saw as we pulled in the driveway off to our left. The brush started growing up, covering the jumps and ruts we made with motorcycles, bicycles and trucks. Just like our memories of that place, they were still there but a little harder to see.
Marcy and I walked around the field once. It brought back the memories of being a kid, raised by the best parents in the world with the best brothers and friends at our sides. As I think about it, we need to make sure our kids have their own "field".
If we lived in Utah.....
Today, being Tuesday generally means it is my day off. I wake up and head over to see what Marcy is doing before she heads off to work and somehow end up with Cloe as my sidekick. I am not complaining but it is just become a routine. On this particular morning, things were mixed up a little.
The topic of the week between Marcy and I has been concerning a "wish" that we can eventually move to Utah. So everything we have said between us has started with "If we lived in Utah.....".
So, Marcy assigned me to write a essay with the title being, "If we lived in Utah". Here it goes....
If I lived in Utah, I would be finally be where I need to be. I know, this sounds so dramatic but it is. Here is a little story.....
When I was little, my parents took us kids on the vacation of a lifetime. We packed up the old '77 Chevy Malibu station wagon and set a course west. I can tell you every detail of where we went on that trip. Everything became very significant in my later years. Chicago, Davenport, Iowa, Cheyenne's Little America, the Safeway in Estes Park, Colorado and the little bit of Utah we saw.
Chicago is a place that I spent a lot of time in as I drove truck into the produce market. I lived near Davenport for three years. Cheyenne became my current home. The Safeway in Estes Park is where I heard my father say " I think the Mormon Church owns Safeway". And, just to clarify, in case anyone else is wondering, he was wrong... We spent most of out vacation tooling around Colorado with my parents ensuring me that we drove over almost every one of the big mountain passes ( I had an obsession with mountains as a 9 year old) but I knew I wanted to get to Utah.
Fast forward 23 years. I was on my way to L.A. and started down the Wasatch Range out of Evanston, WY. Echo Canyon was nice but when I reached Lambs Canyon on my decent down Parley's, I saw my "home". Everything about the Salt Lake and Utah Valley's seemed right to me. I stopped that night in Springville and sat at the Flying J, ate a bean and beef burritto, and stared at Maple Mountain. I couldn't get over how nice the people were! It wasn't anything like the east coast "Jersey" attitude I was used to. Now as I think about it, it was pretty much the attitude of the rest of the country.
I know this is a big secret but Marcy and I are DATING (SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Don't tell anyone!) Marcy and I have been best friends for a number of years. We never gave the "Dating" thing much thought. Marcy's mission was guiding me through my conversion. I remember the moment I knew it was "her". It was when we walked into Cranberry Cove in Palmyra, New York 2 days after my baptism. The lady at the counter turned and looked at me and said "It's Her!".
I knew it was......
Within a month, I had a transfer open up to Cheyenne. I put my name in and was gone in a week. We had prayed about me getting this transfer for a long time. I needed to feel what it was like to be part of a "ward family". With my time living close to Marcy and the kids, they became my family. We both feel that there is a bigger plan for us somewhere else. Cheyenne was a stepping stone for something bigger and better....
Now, we are looking at a very good possibility that we can move to Utah. I hope to transfer in to Grantsville or Corrine as soon as the time is right. Marcy and I are also looking at building a little "empire" out of some ideas we have. We both agree that it is time for us to come "HOME".
So, Marcy, I don't think I can call this essay "If we lived in Utah........" The proper name would be "When we live in Utah........."
Mike
The topic of the week between Marcy and I has been concerning a "wish" that we can eventually move to Utah. So everything we have said between us has started with "If we lived in Utah.....".
So, Marcy assigned me to write a essay with the title being, "If we lived in Utah". Here it goes....
If I lived in Utah, I would be finally be where I need to be. I know, this sounds so dramatic but it is. Here is a little story.....
When I was little, my parents took us kids on the vacation of a lifetime. We packed up the old '77 Chevy Malibu station wagon and set a course west. I can tell you every detail of where we went on that trip. Everything became very significant in my later years. Chicago, Davenport, Iowa, Cheyenne's Little America, the Safeway in Estes Park, Colorado and the little bit of Utah we saw.
Chicago is a place that I spent a lot of time in as I drove truck into the produce market. I lived near Davenport for three years. Cheyenne became my current home. The Safeway in Estes Park is where I heard my father say " I think the Mormon Church owns Safeway". And, just to clarify, in case anyone else is wondering, he was wrong... We spent most of out vacation tooling around Colorado with my parents ensuring me that we drove over almost every one of the big mountain passes ( I had an obsession with mountains as a 9 year old) but I knew I wanted to get to Utah.
Fast forward 23 years. I was on my way to L.A. and started down the Wasatch Range out of Evanston, WY. Echo Canyon was nice but when I reached Lambs Canyon on my decent down Parley's, I saw my "home". Everything about the Salt Lake and Utah Valley's seemed right to me. I stopped that night in Springville and sat at the Flying J, ate a bean and beef burritto, and stared at Maple Mountain. I couldn't get over how nice the people were! It wasn't anything like the east coast "Jersey" attitude I was used to. Now as I think about it, it was pretty much the attitude of the rest of the country.
I know this is a big secret but Marcy and I are DATING (SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Don't tell anyone!) Marcy and I have been best friends for a number of years. We never gave the "Dating" thing much thought. Marcy's mission was guiding me through my conversion. I remember the moment I knew it was "her". It was when we walked into Cranberry Cove in Palmyra, New York 2 days after my baptism. The lady at the counter turned and looked at me and said "It's Her!".
I knew it was......
Within a month, I had a transfer open up to Cheyenne. I put my name in and was gone in a week. We had prayed about me getting this transfer for a long time. I needed to feel what it was like to be part of a "ward family". With my time living close to Marcy and the kids, they became my family. We both feel that there is a bigger plan for us somewhere else. Cheyenne was a stepping stone for something bigger and better....
Now, we are looking at a very good possibility that we can move to Utah. I hope to transfer in to Grantsville or Corrine as soon as the time is right. Marcy and I are also looking at building a little "empire" out of some ideas we have. We both agree that it is time for us to come "HOME".
So, Marcy, I don't think I can call this essay "If we lived in Utah........" The proper name would be "When we live in Utah........."
Mike
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