BACKTRACKING
Memorial Day at Lake Bracken
by Terry Hogan
Memorial Day is about to be
here. Now that I’m no longer a
young lad and no longer live at Lake Bracken, it doesn’t quite give me the
thrill it once did. Putting my
“old guy” hat on, it is time to tell how it used to be…a long time ago.
A long time ago, Memorial Day was
the unofficial official first day of summer. The Lake Bracken Club House would open its doors to all
members. Kids, suffering through
another school year, could smell the scent of freedom in the spring air. Soon it would the end of school. It
would be the start of swimming, the Sunday night outdoor movies, boats on the
lake and kids from town prowling the clubhouse for something to do. Sounds would stir silence and move it
elsewhere. The sound of ping pong
tables in use would tick away the
minutes. A jukebox playing would seek center stage. And the occasional piece
played with varying levels of skill on the old piano would provide brief proof
that some of the piano lessons “stuck”.
Summer at Lake Bracken was kicked
off by Memorial Day. Summer meant
freedom. It meant girls on the
beach. Summer meant girls in swimming suits rather than winter wools. Summer
meant boats and boat racing.
Before I was old enough to get “a
real job”, I worked for “The Club” doing everything from picking up trash,
mowing grass, cleaning the clubhouse first thing every day, laying sod and
occasionally a fun job. One of the
fun jobs was driving the ski boat.
I taught numerous kids to ski, without ever skiing myself.
One of my fellow young co-workers
had the nickname “Boobs”. It was
an evolved name that started as “Bo Bo”, the short
cartoon bear that appeared on the Saturday morning TV show, Yogi Bear. Boobs went on to greatness, becoming a
“mover and shaker” at the Lake Bracken Country Club. His real name will remain unrevealed, except for those who
knew him back when.
I learned a couple of interesting
facts by performing the early morning tasks of cleaning the clubhouse. A handy
fact – if you kicked the jukebox on the lower left front side, it would give
you free music. I also probably
learned a useless fact - the women’s rest room was also much messier than the
men’s. To this day, I don’t
understand, but I know it is true.
On occasion, one of my jobs was to
stand along the road that led to the clubhouse. A temporary stop sign would halt the cars. My job was to ask
to see membership cards. This was
really only done on Sundays and holidays.
Most of the time it was easy work. But sometimes it wasn’t. I recall one gruff old guy (probably in
his 50’s…you know, really old). He
didn’t have a membership card. He
lectured me that he had lived at Bracken for 20 years. Meanwhile the line of cars was getting
longer. Finally, I asked him if he
knew me. No, he said, he
didn’t. Well, I said, I have lived
at Bracken my entire life (16 years).
I made him do a U-turn and leave. I suppose that is what happens when you give
a kid a little power. As I recall,
Don Wright, the club manager, heard about it the next week.
I had a small group of friends that
all used to hang out together during the summers. I have lost track of most of them. They are still 18 years old in my mind’s eye. I have kept in
touch with my best friend from those days, Al. Al also lived at the lake.
Al recently emailed me a
recollection that he thought was humorous. It may have occurred on Memorial
Day, but it probably didn’t. We
were driving home from Galesburg one night and had just entered the club
grounds. I hit the brakes and
turned the car so the headlights shown on the golf course. On the course was an opossum. We decided we’d chase the opossum,
surround him, and get him to “play opossum”. It was a clear and concise concept, but it lacked
implementation details.
Contrary to our assumptions,
opossums (or at least this one) could run fast across the short grass of the
golf course. We chased him
here. We chased him there. But by
being young, fit, and stupid, we finally wore him down. He stopped. We moved in. We
moved in closer. We moved in even
closer. At each step, we expected the opossum to fall over and play dead.
The opossum apparently hadn’t read
the manual. He didn’t fall over
and play did. He didn’t even lie
down and look like he might venture a nap.
Instead, he made a hissing noise that
sounded like it came from the depths of hell.
Al and I looked at each other. We
walked back to the car. We got in the car. And we drove home. Another one of life’s lessons learned.
And that’s the way it was.
May 21, 2009