Category Archives: history

Review: The Day the Music Died (Documentary)

Every so often there comes along a rock documentary that I can recommend to just about everyone. That is the case with The Day the Music Died, which is currently streaming on, and exclusive to, Paramount +. If you care about Don McLean’s American Pie at all, or the stories behind it, it is a must-watch. I adore everything about the song, and clearly, after watching the documentary, I am in great company.

I grew up loving the song, which is a story in and of itself. Very few songs from the time period steal from so many genres. Stop and think about it for a minute: Exactly which genre does it belong to? It isn’t exactly a folk song, it isn’t entirely a rock song, nor is it a pure pop song. American Pie is all that and more. It has been covered by country artists and even Madonna, whose version I’ve had mixed feelings about ever since she released it during the summer of 1999 (it was definitely in heavy rotation the summer before I headed to Michigan State). In the documentary, Garth Brooks discusses in depth the influence the song had on him and his career. Yet, I feel it is SO much more. It is timeless.

“The Very Best Of Buddy Holly And The Crickets” by Brett Jordan is licensed under CC BY 2.0.

Several years ago now, during one of my subbing experiences in a high school Spanish class, I was instructed to show the movie La Bamba, which was, quite frankly, an unforgettable experience in all the best ways. First, if you know the movie at all, you will easily recognize why showing it to high school students required some careful editing (fastforwarding). Fortunately, that went well. What pleasantly surprised me is how much those students loved the story behind La Bamba and the music. As we had a few minutes left after the end of the movie – thanks to the inappropriate parts I had to skip – I had a moment to explain the term the day the music died and Don McLean’s song. Most students knew the song American Pie, of course, but I don’t think that most realized that it referenced an actual event. I loved watching them make the connection!

The documentary itself covers so much. It dives deep into exactly how Don McLean wrote the song and came up with the lyrics, as well as his childhood. Of course, one of the best aspects of the song and lyrics is trying to figure out all of those cryptic references – ie the king with his thorny crown, jack flash, etc. According to McLean, the only one that is truly “correct” is the double reference ”Lenin/Lennon read a book on Marx.” Yet, I am not entirely convinced. That is what makes the lyrics great. Just as with the best poetry, there are layers upon layers. Definitely a must-watch.

By the way Michiganders, watch for an interesting reference to Grand Rapids.

“THE DAY THE MUSIC DIED” by akahawkeyefan is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

A Fresh Start … Part 2

A Fresh Start … Part 1

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I’ve always loved fall, but somehow, this time of year just means more this year. I’ve been on an emotional rollercoaster (more on that in a minute, and not all entirely COVID related) since mid-March. I want OFF! NOW. I never dreamed that I would help run a business and teach middle school during a pandemic, but here I am. Something I never wanted to add to my bucket list.

As I am smack-dab in the middle of returning to in-person classes for the first time since mid-March, it is SO nice to have some normalcy, particularly after a summer and spring that was anything but “normal.” I missed my students deeply, and I enjoy just observing kids being kids.

So, about this spring and summer … Well, of course, it all started mid-March – that ill-fated Friday the 13^th to be exact. As the shutdown deepened, I began to worry about opening the canoe livery for the season. Worry about the survivability of the family business #1. Frankly, it didn’t look good. Just as we, along with pretty much everyone else on the Rifle River, made the decision to open for self-contained camping only during Memorial Weekend, the other shoe dropped.

May 18^th-20^th, we received close to 7 inches of rain. Dams in nearby Gladwin and Midland counties failed. Fortunately, we did have a little warning thanks to another livery on the river. My parents, brother, and I were able to save much of our technology and merchandise in our store in Omer. Good thing we had that warning. We ended up with 3 feet of water in the store. That wasn’t even the worst part.

During the shutdown, I made the decision to stay with my mom. I don’t think either of us wanted to be alone in our own homes for an extended period of time. My dad was at their cabin in Canada when the shutdown happened, and he didn’t come home immediately. I was over at my parents’ house when the stay-at-home order dropped. Then, it just became habit. What was I supposed to do at home by myself that entire time? Normally, I am rarely at home. I am usually at work, running errands – all kinds of things – none of which I could do during the lockdown.

Anyway, my parents and I watched in May as the Rifle River filled our Crystal Creek Campground near my parents’ home. It nearly reached Pinnacle Bridge, which is amazing in and of itself. Then it happened. I read a Facebook post that stated that the Forest Lake Dam broke. We evacuated my parents’ home. While the Forest Lake Dam isn’t directly on the Rifle River, it would feed into the nearby river if it did break. There simply was no way to predict what would happen if the dam broke. My parents feared losing their home of nearly 40 years, not to mention their business of nearly 45 years. I can still hear the panic in both of my parents’ voices. I hope to never experience anything like again it in my life. Same can be said for most of March through August.

Fortunately, the dam held. We returned to my parents’ home later that day when we received word that the immediate danger had passed. While I haven’t made a habit of watching the local news in decades, I did watch that evening as local affiliates reported as the Edenville and Sanford dams collapsed, devastating Gladwin and Midland counties. I know the area. I used to manage a convenience store in Sanford. I traveled M-30 across the Edenville dam many times. Wixom and Sanford Lakes are no more, and the Tittabawassee River reclaimed its original path. It so easily could have been my family. My parents could have easily lost their home – MY childhood home – and their business that day. So many in Midland and the surrounding area did.

When we were finally able to survey the damage, we were lucky. The flood mainly damaged our main location in Omer this time. Keep in mind that we suffered devastating flood/ice damage – along with tornado damage later that summer – at our Crystal Creek Campground in 2018. In Omer, we lost our propane tank, our ice chest, fencing, and a campsite. Yes, you read that correctly. When our campground – a former mill pond – flooded, the water drained in one area, completely eroding one of our campsites. We had to get excavation work done in order to rebuild. All of this on top of 3 feet of water in our store, bathrooms, and pole barns. The cleanup took nearly a month, delaying our opening. When we were finally able to reopen in mid-June, we didn’t know what to expect.

I will leave off here for now. There is so much more to the story. While I will discuss some aspects of what happened after we reopened another day, there is much more that will have to be left unsaid. So much of what made this summer truly horrendous isn’t even my story to tell.

In my family’s experience with the flood, I watched my parents, my brother, and I come together to make things happen under unprecedented circumstances. COVID made things much more difficult than they needed to be. Something as simple as ordering merchandise for the summer became a nightmare. Yet, it worked. We somehow made it work. That is precisely why I wanted to tell this story.

Above all, I hope all of us – every last person affected by COVID, which is the entire planet – finally get some semblance of normal. We deserve it!

Writing On …

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I admit that I have a love/hate relationship with writing. I love writing and it brings me a lot of joy. At the same time, I hate it when I get so busy with other things in my life that I let writing go by the wayside. It isn’t that I don’t have time. I don’t make the necessary time. That must change. Not a month from now, not a week from now, but today. As I now have nothing but time, maybe I need to work it into my schedule in a way that is sustainable when the world rights itself again.

It’s strange. Growing up, I always wanted to live through historic events. I loved history and wanted to be a part of it. What I didn’t realize when I was younger is that we all live through history. The reasons I love genealogy and history so much are the countless stories of ordinaries peoples’ lives during extraordinary circumstances. If that doesn’t describe these times, nothing will. If nothing else, I hope those of us who love to write, whether for an audience or just ourselves, take this opportunity to detail our lives in this moment.

I can’t wait for the day when I argue with my mom whether the corona virus epidemic hit in 2020 or 2021. We will get through this, and I can’t wait for the party when we do! I do hope it brings us together and closer to God. I also hope that our society somehow learns patience. We need to slow down and appreciate what we do have. Every one of us.

You can find my podcast here …

darkness

One Week …

Love and Loss

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Love and Death

Lately, I can’t stop thinking about my life in September 2009 and all the changes it brought with it. I can safely say it remains among the worst times in my life. That month, I lost two people close to me, both of whom I knew most of my life, and my ex lost his job at a time when I found it impossible to find one. The aftermath of that particular month still haunts me with unanswered questions and things left unsaid.

It started with Joyce. She passed away on September 2^nd. It left me in shock as it was her husband who faced serious health issues at the time. The thing is Joyce and I always had a special bond. She babysat me from nine months of age until I was old enough to stay alone. We always referred to her as the “babysitter,” but she became so much more to me, my sister, and my brother. The truth is more complex. She and her husband were essentially another set of grandparents whom happened to live next door. When it came to grandparents – biological and otherwise – my siblings and I won the lottery.

As an adult, I tried to talk to her about subjects such as infertility and faith, but I never found the right words. I found her increasing pessimism as she aged hard to take at times, even though she had every right to feel the way she did. I knew that she would have wisdom to share, but I could never bring myself to ask her the hard questions. Now, a bit older and wiser, I would love to have those conversations with her.

Shortly before or after Joyce passed away – that time frame is still fuzzy in my mind, even though I am fairly certain it all happened within days – my ex lost his job. He just came home one morning when he should have been work, completely devastated. It turned out that the company he worked for at the time slashed their workforce by 20%. Only a few months prior to the layoffs, I had hoped to work there as well. They never filled the position I so eagerly sought.

In fact, nothing I did during the years 2006-2009 seemed to matter much. There were openings in my field. Unfortunately, those positions would remain forever unfilled or I would be competing against someone with 20 or even 30 years of experience – for an entry-level job. There simply were not enough jobs. Period.

As cruel as it sounds, I wish I would have known then that things weren’t meant to work out for us. My ex and I spent years trying to make it all work. It never did. As soon as things appeared to be getting better, something would happen to force us to start back at square one. Out of all the years we were together – 2004-2014 – we both held jobs only one year. One year out of ten. The rest of the time, one of us remained unemployed, even though both of us held college degrees (three between us) and had plenty of work experience, not to mention looked continuously for jobs in our fields. Still, both of us were far too stubborn to give up. After all we had been through together, it took two years of our relationship essentially unraveling before we finally had had enough, although the end wasn’t nearly that nice or simple. I haven’t looked back.

Just when I began to adjust, one of my oldest and dearest friends passed away. To this day, I think of him all the time. I came home from work only for Brian to tell me that Derrick passed away. It is the closest I’ve ever been to experiencing shock without physically being in shock. Derrick and I went back so far I can honestly say I have no idea when we met – elementary school or possibly earlier; I don’t know. What matters is the fact that I don’t remember life without Derrick prior to September 25, 2009. We experienced so much together from elementary school to college. I tried to capture our memories here.

First, nothing prepares you to lose a good friend who happens to still be in their 20s. Nothing. I didn’t know how serious his issues were. Now, of course, I’d like to think that I would have been able to help in some small way. Second, when you are unable to attend a close friend’s funeral, it does affect you – family or not. I still remember trying to keep it together because I had to work the day of his funeral. Later, I still found it difficult to be around his great aunt E. Memories came flooding back as soon as I would see her. I became so uncomfortable that I didn’t see her nearly as often as I should. Now that she is gone too, I regret it. Finally, I still see Derrick and I sniping at each other 50 years in the future, somehow managing to end up in the same nursing home. Frankly, I feel cheated knowing it is simply not possible.

Ten years later, I am not the same woman. I’ve experienced more loss in those years – and a lot of happiness. I know myself better and worked hard towards new dreams and goals. Still, when I think of those awful days of September 2009, I’d like to think that Joyce and Derrick both somehow know where I ended up. I can only imagine the conversation Derrick and I would have had in the aftermath of my awful breakup with Brian. He had been so happy that I’d finally found someone. I can also imagine how happy Joyce would be to know that I am now a teacher and how deeply her faith affected me. To Derrick and Joyce, I still love you both.

The Price of Love

50337801_10216907142246705_8189655129050316800_n Derrick

D Day

The Eyes of Texas Are Upon You – Part 2

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My Grandpa Russell sent this postcard from Moore Field near Mission, Texas to Julia Suszko (Grandma) in Hamtramck, Michigan in 1943. They later married in Mission, Texas – May 1943. Finding this postcard among family pictures answered a lot of questions about Grandma’s life between graduating from Sterling High School in June 1942 and marrying Grandpa by May 1943. I am so close to answering my questions!

The Eyes of Texas Are Upon You – Part 1
Somehow, I always sensed family ties to Texas, but until fairly recently, I didn’t realize how strong that connection remains. Growing up, I knew that Grandma Reid lived in Texas with Grandpa Russell during World War II. In fact, they married in Mission, near McAllen and the border. After training at Moore Field (near Mission), Grandpa Russell served in the Army Air Corp in Fort Worth. Grandma worked as an ice box riveter, eventually telling me stories about her experiences at Plant 4. I couldn’t get enough of the stories or the era. Unfortunately, I couldn’t simply ask.

My Russell grandparents in front of their rec home in Fort Worth, Texas ~ 1943

Or at least I didn’t feel I could. Grandma and I always had a great relationship, but some things didn’t require words. During their time in Fort Worth, 1943-1945, Grandpa Russell, and later, my dad’s older brother Eddie, made up Grandma’s family. My dad and aunt wouldn’t be in the picture for years yet.

Sadly, both Grandpa Russell and Eddie passed away long before I could meet either. I felt bringing up and asking questions about Grandma’s life in Texas would be unnecessarily cruel. Yet, she did tell me a few stories, and I consider myself lucky. Grandma remained a part of Grandpa Russell’s family long after she remarried. It is through her that I gained a sense of what Grandpa Russell and Eddie were like and learned about the Russell family.

During the year I lived in Houston, I finally visited Fort Worth. I drove by the factory where Grandma worked. At a mile long, it continues to impress. What struck me most was the courage it must have taken for two young adults to leave rural Arenac County, Michigan and their family farms for the unknown of wartime Texas. While it is true that Grandma lived in Hamtramck, Michigan with family prior to moving to Texas, neither she nor Grandpa Russell had family in Fort Worth or even Texas. They, of course, were far from alone. Sacrifices made by the Greatest Generation, at home and abroad, will never fail to inspire me.

Consolidated B-24 Liberator – Consolidated Aircraft manufactured the B-24 in Plant 4 in Fort Worth, among other locations. This is likely the type of plane my grandmother worked on.

One of my favorite Texas stories is the story Grandma told of meeting her manager at Plant 4 for the first time. He went on about how wonderful it was to have someone with experience riveting in Detroit. In reality, his speech left Grandma terrified. She did have experience riveting in Detroit – true – but it completely differed from what she was now being expected to do. Who knew there were so many different types of riveting? Fortunately, she learned quickly.

After the war, my grandparents eventually moved back to Michigan and the Russell farm. Still, those experiences stayed with Grandma. In June 2002, as I prepared to leave for Austin, I said goodbye to Grandma at the canoe livery. Always the joker, one of the last things she said before I left was: “They’ll call you a damn Yankee, you know.” I brushed it off. In 1943, maybe. 2002? Never.

Well, Grandma proved to be correct. The first words words I heard in Texas were: “Damn Yankee, huh?” After landing in Austin, I loaded up my rental car with all I needed for the next six months. Predictably, in the era before GPS and Google Maps, I became lost on my way to my new apartment complex. I pulled into a supermarket and asked for directions. Of course, as soon as I opened my mouth, the nice man I asked responded jokingly “Damn Yankee, huh?” We laughed as he gave me directions. Yes, my time in Texas started off well.

When I think of family history and Texas, I tend to think of Dad’s family. His parents married there. Uncle Eddie, born in 1945 in Fort Worth, truly was a Texan. Well, there is history in Texas on Mom’s side as well. It is murkier, and I wish I knew it better.

Mom’s maternal grandparents, Bion A. Hoffman and Beatrice Smith, divorced during the 1930s. While my great-grandmother regrouped and went back to school to become a teacher, Grandma B. and her sisters lived with their grandparents in Lincoln, Nebraska. While I am not exactly sure when, Bion, or as my mom knew him, Grandpa Pat, eventually moved to Houston. In fact, he died in Houston in the late 1980s. While I can’t confirm this, I believe he ranched. If it is true, it makes perfect sense. Bion came from a long line of ranchers and farmers who moved west and eventually settled in Nebraska. Hopefully one day I will be able to confirm that my great-grandfather ranched near Houston.

While I didn’t fall in love with Houston – or even like it much – one good thing did come out of it all. Even though my sister and my brother-in-law met at Michigan State, they fell in love in Houston. Spring break 2005, my sister decided to visit and bring a “friend.” It didn’t take me long to figure out that there was more to the story. My nephews can honestly say that their parents fell in love in Texas. My family may be firmly rooted in Michigan, but there are also deep Texas ties.

The Eyes of Texas Are Upon You – Part 1

Texas

Projects Old and New

The Eyes of Texas Are Upon You – Part 1

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Ah, Texas. Where do I even begin? First, there is my own history in both Austin and Houston. To make a long story short, I adored Austin and hated Houston. Go figure. My Texan friends tried to warn me. Either way, I spent just under a year and a half in the lone star state, and everything that happened during those times (Austin and Houston) still shape who I am today.

First, there was Austin. In 2002, I worked at Applied Materials as a co-op from June to December. I hated it at first, but soon, it became all I wanted after graduation from MSU: good job, good friends, and good music – maybe love. It really was as simple as that. As much as I enjoyed all the wonderful times I had there, the near catastrophes are what really stick in my mind.

On July 24^th, 2002, I survived a major car accident: a moving truck turned in front me of while I had a green light. While I walked away from the accident with a broken big toe and metatarsal (that is how hard I braked), along with a few minor scrapes and bruises, any passenger probably would have been killed. Considering that I used to haul my brother around in my 1989 Grand Prix all the time, that shook me. What if he had been with me?

The accident itself took place out on 290 just before Applied Materials. I’d been on my way to work, and I later found out that my boss witnessed my crash. Somehow, I had many people looking out for me that day. One witness to the accident happened to be a nurse, and she stayed with me until the ambulance arrived. While I have almost no memory of anything until the hospital – probably due to shock – the Texas State Trooper who came to interview me about the crash couldn’t have been nicer. Then again, the accident clearly wasn’t my fault.

My mom, of course, was on the next flight out. When she arrived, she helped me manage buying a new car and finding a lawyer. We did both in style, and somehow, I negotiated my three-story walk-up sublet apartment in a splint up to my thigh. Mom, forced to drive in a completely unfamiliar city in an era before ubiquitous turn by turn navigation, marveled at how I already knew the streets and layout of Austin in such a short period of time. I still have fond memories of the few days Mom and I spent together in Austin.

Then, approximately a month or so after my accident, still in a walking cast and attending physical therapy, I found out that I could only sublet my apartment until the end of August, not the six months I had been promised and needed. I needed a new place to live yesterday. I panicked for a hot minute – and then rose to the occasion. Fortunately for me, Applied Materials had an internal classified section on their intranet. I started there. In the end, I found a wonderful roommate – a single mom who had worked at Applied for nearly a decade at that point – who owned a beautiful home minutes from work. I am still in touch with Karen today.

I could write almost endlessly about the time I spent with friends, including attending the first Austin City Limits Festival (now an institution), meeting Cheryl, the party we threw for Andy, and so, so much more. As I’ve said before, leaving Austin on a rainy, icy December morning, my heart shattered. Not so much with Houston.

So many friends tried to warn me about Houston. I wouldn’t be happy there. It started off well enough. My senior year at Michigan State, I intended to end up in Texas in any way possible. I made it to second round interviews with Applied Materials. Ultimately, they only took half of the engineers and supply chain people they interviewed. It did not help that my manager left before he could even evaluate me. In the end, I had no one on the inside fighting for me. I also ended up going through second round interviews at Dell. Less than a week after graduation, I ended up at FMC Energy Systems in Houston purchasing parts for wellheads. Frankly, it was a great first job – until it wasn’t. When I initially interviewed, I interviewed with five people in our department. By the time I left less than a year later, only two were still there – one on long-term medical leave. I won’t go on and on about Houston. There isn’t that much to tell: Wrong job, wrong city, wrong time, and wrong man. I think that about sums it up. We headed back to Michigan exhausted and broken.

I intended to write a post discussing my family’s history in Texas, which will now be part two; instead, it became a post describing my personal history in Texas. Looking back, I truly became an adult in Texas. I had some wonderful times, along with my share of disappointments. As much as I loved Austin, there is a reason none of it worked out. If Houston hadn’t ended in disaster and I hadn’t ended up back in Michigan, I wouldn’t have known my Grandpa Buttrick nearly as well. I belong in Michigan, even if a little piece of my heart will always be in Texas.

I didn’t know it at the time, but by running off to Texas, I was participating in a well-established family tradition going back generations.

Stay tuned for part two …

Texas

Ramblings of a Misguided Blonde

By Lindsey Russell

Category Archives: history

Review: The Day the Music Died (Documentary)

A Fresh Start … Part 2

A Fresh Start … Part 1

Writing On …

One Week …

Love and Loss

The Eyes of Texas Are Upon You – Part 2

The Eyes of Texas Are Upon You – Part 1