HAPPY 7OTH BIRTHDAY SUSA GAIL

Today, June 1, at 2:24 a.m. I’m celebrating my 70^th birthday.  My grandmother once told me that when you get older, you have to plan your own birthday celebration(s) so I’m doing just that. And my 40-something daughter told me, "just celebrate all year - I did that when I turned 40!" That's why we're out to dinner one night, breakfast with 70-something friends on that day, and refreshments at The Mather in the evening!

And instead of waiting until my obituary, I’m writing my story today. These are my memories. (Click on the pink words to link you to music)

This is my Story, This is my Song

I was born in Ishpeming, Michigan, in the Centennial Year, 1954.

 Each year on my birthday, for 54 years, my father told the story of how he had grown a beard for “Brothers of the Brush” centennial contest, but shaved it off the day I was born.  The odd fact was that it snowed on June 1, 1954, and Dad’s freshly shaven face was a bit too tender to be hit with ice crystals. Mom must have made a deal with him to shave it the day of my birth – whenever that would be – because she simply didn’t like a beard on Dad’s face. The exception was the days following deer season, because no electric razor could be used at Deer Camp.

We lived on Juniper Street in 1954, platted in 1948 by the Palms-Book Land Company.  The early photos show only two farm houses existed when the young families were buying up the lots to build their lives there.  To this day, the "us kids" that grew up in that location have remained close.  We were like siblings, with the boys being the “brothers” we never had biologically. While some of us are great-grandparents now, when we’re together, we’re still those kids of the “hood”, sharing memories and shenanigans that formed our lives. And though all but a few of our parents, and some siblings have passed on, we’re still the kids from “the neighborhood.”

I started Kindergarten in 1959 at Birchview School.  I recall events in that class so vividly. In Kindergarten I was learning to cut crepe paper with scissors, but I learned what happens when you’re talking instead of listening; taking a nap on a carpet on the floor; hanging my jacket in the cloak room, and being away from my mother for half a day.  

I attended that school where my father was the janitor and my first-grade teacher was the principal, through the third grade. A mistake I made in First Grade stayed with me my entire life. I left the last letter off my first name on a spelling test paper, spelling it “Susa”, and ever since, Dad affectionately called me Susa.  My second grade teacher, whom my father blamed for not properly teaching me basic math skills – never my forte’ - was an art teacher by birth I believe. And so at the age of eight, Mrs. McDonnell ignited my love of art, which I try to engage in nearly every day.

Other Birchview memories that stand out are the Palmer Method penmanship teacher, Mrs. Luoma, who told me that my writing too small.  So I responded with making two big “O”s on my paper instead of a continuous line of them. (sassy girl!) One Christmas, I played Mary next to Joseph, played by Mickey Hughes, in the Christmas program.  My blue costume was a large piece of crepe paper, held together with Mrs. Lindberg’s sweater clasp. We sat in front on the stage, and had no lines or actions, while our third grade teacher played O Holy Night on her violin behind the curtain.

O Holy Night  by one of my favorite singers, Josh Groban

 I still own one of the glass milk bottles, without the cardboard flip top for the straw, like we drank out of every day in the cafeteria.  Also in my collection of memorabilia are the stamps we saved for bonds, bought every week with the money I carried in a wallet that strapped to my wrist like a bracelet.  A few years ago, the principal at the time, Gary Anderson, gave me a tour of the school for a grant I was writing. In a few short minutes I could smell the school paste, or the mint sawdust my janitor-father would sprinkle on vomit to clean it up.  Most of the school was the same, except the circular water dispenser at the girls/boys bathrooms had been replaced, and I was told it was now in a teacher’s garden.  The big boilers Dad warned us not to go near, had been replaced with energy efficient units, there were more classrooms, and updates, but this place was still the beginning of my education journey as an Ishpeming Hematite. Now all these years later when I enter the gymnasium on voting day, for a short moment, all of these memories are front and center, and I’m playing kick ball or being a Brownie Girl Scouts there.

In 1962, six of us were bussed to the Grammar School, downtown. I don’t really know how six kids could make a difference in the numbers. There I learned that Sioux is not pronounce “Sigh’ Ox”. I watched my fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Schuetze cry as she informed us that President John F. Kennedy had been shot and had died.  I recall the smell of an older school; playing double-dutch jump rope outside in the front; watching Mrs Dorothy Egger bend her large body over in front of the class as we did the motions and sang “Head Shoulders Knees and Toes”; taking a Copper Belly Snake to school in the pocket of my blue shift (dress); and participating in a science fair (projects now in my scrapbook).

Though it was difficult at the time to get to know the kids from town, by the time we got to Sixth Grade – Junior High School – two years later, we six knew the Birchview kids and the Downtown kids.

Junior High at C.L. Phelps School, just up the hill from the Grammar School, brought on new challenges, harder subjects, personalities, and choices.  

                                    

We moved from one room to the next for our classes, called "Changing Classes", got to choose a musical instrument (clarinet) and discovered that boys weren’t all so bad.  By then I had fallen madly in love with a few boys, most of whom never noticed me (or so says my diary from childhood). There was one in particular, who I felt was out of my league, though we shared the same birthday.  Though he has passed away, I'll forever have that memory.  Junior High bought the process of girls maturing, taking showers in gym class, intramural sports, and falling in love with your art teacher Mr. Wilson.

Favorite memories from when I was 11, 12, and 13  are practicing my clarinet with my friend Kim at McCormick’s Track where her father was the caretaker; and diligently practicing to earn the honor of sitting in 1^st Chair in the Clarinet Section just once.  Regional music festivals were always a fun ride on the bus, singing the popular songs of the day, like Last Kiss.  That poor bus driver - I recall singing it over and over. But how nice it must have been with the quiet of tired kids on the return trip.   I recall 

                            

wearing red nylons with a red paisley dress my mom sewed for the Christmas concert; dancing with my dreamy sixth grade teacher at the school dance; and memorizing the Preamble of the United States Constitution, in Mr. DeFant’s 7^th grade class. Not so favorable was having my math teacher slap his bright pink meter stick on the desk when someone wasn’t paying attention (in 2024 Mr. Victor DePaoli is still around). That must have been Tom Harris who was always drawing cars or me, who in 7^th grade still could not compute basic math.  I also remember that the movie room (reel to reel) was designed for a bomb shelter. 

I was mortified to learn that we should have peeled the apples in the pies we made in Home Ec(onomics) and served to our teachers.   This photo from my scrapbook tells of Mrs. Bostrom as our teacher.   I found this pattern at a yard sale, exactly the one I used to make a wrap-around skirt out of navy blue and kelly green fabric.  There was a trick to the Wrap-Around.  You had to make sure to button the left side on the inside of the right side; otherwise it would work its way loose and your undergarments would be showing in no time at all.

I also have a vivid memory also of seeing Mr. Gehloff picking at the skin on his hands or one time when he was sitting on the edge of his desk, he slipped into the circular file (aka garbage can). He didn’t smile much that I recall but the diagrams of the human body, skull and teeth, are still in my scrapbook, too.  

In these junior high years, I began spending a few weeks of summer vacation with extended family without parents or siblings, went to Fortune Lake Bible Camp, helped out with VBS, loved primping in front of the mirror, and wanting to be with your friends 24/7. It was at this time that the movie, “Born Free” came out, and my desire to be a missionary in Africa began. 

From the time I could remember, I was blessed with parents who loved each other, the Lord Jesus, their parents and families, my two sisters and me.   We ate home cooking, lived in a house that Dad built, learned manners and respect, enjoyed birthday parties, family picnics, Christmas and Easter celebrations, going to the beach, parades, learned to ride a bicycle (without training wheels), roller skate, lit sparklers, went Trick or Treating, had sleep overs, stamped wrapping paper with potatoes and paint, watched TV, played with dolls - baby dolls and Barbie Dolls.  Here's my membership letter to the Barbie Fan Club.

                                        

 Dad taught us all to play cribbage, to learn counting, as well as other card and board games, lots of singing, and attending church where Mom sang in the choir, taught Sunday School, and also was the secretary, and Dad, the janitor. 

As a family we went camping, roasted marshmallows, harmonized around the campfire, and traveled to visit Mom’s siblings, Mackinac Island, Sault Ste. Marie, Green Bay WI, Niagra Falls, Gettysburg, Wash D.C.  Mom’s dad was also a pilot, so we got to go for ride in his Piper Colt up over the town and around the county. We never lived on a farm or participated in 4-H, but we enjoyed the State Fair, riding horses at the Riding Academy, and attending the Marquette County Harvest Festival where our paternal Grandpa won a blue ribbon for his peanut butter cookies. All of these events we got to enjoy with our many cousins, aunts and uncles.

In my high school years I sang in the chorus that would present an Easter cantata, and where my older sister was assistant piano accompanist. In Mixed Chorus under the leadership of Miss Gladys Freethy (a favorite teacher of many through the years), I learned to sing the alto part of the Hallelujah Chorus, which remains with me to this day.   I played in the pep band one year, but since my younger sister and I were playing the same clarinet, she continued to play it solely from then on. When I listen to "Hail Beacon Light of Ishpeming" written by a proud Hematite student, I still tear up thinking of my class of 1972, and the highschool years, once considered the best days of your life.  

                                            

I took a year of German, as Mom did, but I didn’t go on a trip to a foreign country like the French Club. I discovered I loved to travel and flew in a commercial plane the first time in eighth grade, with my aunt when returning from one of my summer vacations at her house in New York. I did a lot of traveling with our church’s youth group. We went to New York City through Montreal and Niagra Falls.  I got lost in NYC, separated from the group that was meeting at Madison Square Garden, and ended up walking 22 blocks in the rain, back to The Taft, our hotel.  The experience of this trip and others as an adult chaperone, this time as a parent of a teen-ager, have given lasting memories. Pete Seeger performed “Pollution” in NYC; Maya Angelou spoke briefly and CeCe Winans sang at the youth convention in Dallas TX where I attended as a chaperone: hot, humid Dallas.  

During my high school years I also spent a lot of time looking at going to seminary, and leaning towards becoming a social worker. It was always in my mind that I was to serve others in their surroundings, whether Africa or where ever God sent me. From the time I taught 6th grade Sunday School, I always wanted to share my faith which I did through VBS – Vacation Bible School, Sunday School, women’s Bible studies, serving on the church council, and the regional women's ministry team. 

When I walk around my town now, in 2024, although there are a few buildings that could use an upgrade, and many empty lots, my pride in our once bustling mining town where our high school was a Class B school and still has an outstanding reputation for education excellence, couldn’t be more heightened.  I think of my Great Grandmother who walked to work at The Mather Inn, now making a come-back as The Mather, and often wonder about the hardships she endured with her husband being killed in the Barnes-Hecker mine disaster.  When I eat my Friday night meal in Buck’s Restaurant, I recall how my paternal grandfather, an English immigrant, paid $5/month for the farm, to the owner of the store which once occupied the same lot as the restaurant. When I feel the mine blasting the iron ore at noon, I think about the difference in people’s lives, the iron ore industry has made, and how the neighborhoods were established around the mines in the early days.  As I walk around my town of Ishpeming, I can sense the pride there was with the first organized ski association in the United States, and the many churches that were established by nationality of the early residents. 

How blessed I have been to have graduated from the K-12 school I attended and graduated from,grown up here, learned about God and His love for me here, graduated from Northern Michigan University; was married and raised three kids here, and now am a grandmother and great-grandmother, here; have been a citizen, tax payer, community volunteer, church member, proud Hematite, here. (Click on "Hematite" to hear our fight song.)  As I look back on 70 years of memories here in my hometown of Ishpeming, I am reminded that an entire lifetime can be summarized in a few pages of words.  In between all these memories are also change that everyday life brings.  There are memories of poor decisions and activities of our lives we don’t always want to share. It is these moments that often help to change our direction to a new road, a high road, a good road, a blessed journey that has brought us to a brighter future. In everyone’s life there is death and sadness and change, but how blessed we are that we can grow from these events.  

How blessed I am to enjoy my 70^th birthday.   Gramma D was right!  You have to plan your own birthdays when you get “older.”  Sunrise on June 1 will be around 4:30 – 5:30.   A great place to enjoy it is on the shore of the Big Lake, Lake Superior.  A good breakfast could start with 70-something year old friends around a table, sharing stories and memories, and goals for more. An afternoon might include a massage, a conversation with a grown-up kid, or a grandchild who's also celebrating her birthday on June 1, or maybe a nap in a comfortable chair will be just perfect. The evening of the 70^th birthday could be enjoying a meal with your spouse - one that is a marvelous cook,  followed by listening to a piano in the lobby of The Mather while enjoying a fancy drink. Finishing off the day of celebration would be thanking God for his love - love that's been given in parents and siblings, children, grandchildren, extended family, friends, a loving spouse and good health.  These are my gifts!

Happy birthday!  Susa Gail!  Raise a glass to the future!