This week I’m going to use my column from last year at this time. Just a quick update, so to speak, is that my father would have been 101 years old on June 1, of this year. Enjoy!
Since Father's Day is around the bend, I thought I might take up some of this space as well as your time by blathering on about my father, G. Blaine Houserman.
In years gone by I have dedicated this space to him and have told various aspects of his life, etc. I guess this will pretty much follow suit so forgive me if some of this is redundant. If you are anything like I am, you won't remember what the heck I wrote several years ago anyway. Heck, I can't recall what I had for breakfast but for some odd reason, I can bring to light something that unfolded in 1972. I think this serves as a digression so I shall press on at this time.
For those who are not familiar with my father, I pretty much get my insanity from him; I think that sums it up pretty well but I will continue for the sake of something—anything!
Dad was best known for his trumpet playing ability, which he would carry out at some of the most bizarre times now that I ponder. Before I launch into examples of that, I will simply let you know that he was in an area band called the Dixie Doodlers for many years. He also played with other groups and sometimes would take on solo gigs like when he escorted Santa to town every Christmas atop a fire truck.
He carried that trumpet all over the nation and actually the world too. Dad served in WWII in the United States Coast Guard. Part of his duties included doing somewhat of a traveling show called “Tars and Spars” playing back up for the likes of Sid Ceasar and Victor Mature, to name two.
Mother explained recently that this show was basically launched to raise money for the war effort via selling war bonds. They would perform in many cities and the goal was to sell these items. Honestly, I've never been too clear on war bonds but I think you probably are so I shall move along gracefully.
Getting back to his carrying said trumpet all over the place, he would casually “sit in with the band” during many vacations that he and mother took. For one example, we have a picture of him playing aboard the Queen Mary. I guess he just approached and asked if he could play a tune with the group and was given permission to do so.
Also, at one of my brother's weddings he spent a lot of time playing with the band. In fact, the picture we used for his memorial service, which was more like a celebration of his life including the Dixie Doodlers taking center stage, was taken at that wedding.
He was also known to enter Mama Bear's on a third shift during the holidays and playing “Oh Holy Night” for the inebriated crowd. They would all pitch in with the singing too, from what I can gather. I have a picture that I think Judy (Mama Bear) took of this and will try to include it in this column space.
Dad, to whom I referred lovingly as “Germ,” also worked at WMGW Radio years ago when I was but a wee one. He was in the advertising department and also had a radio program (along with the station manager) called The Chairs. I really do take after him now that I ponder as sales are my main gig here at the world-famous Community News and then I have this column and my YouTube video series.
Germ was especially known for his rather “interesting” sense of humor and really for being a non-conformist. He would constantly drum into my head to “not be IN with the In crowd. There is NOTHING IN about being IN!” said he. He didn't hunt, fish, watch television or carry out many of the activities for which this rural area is known.
I was not even a thought back in the days when Houserman's Variety Store was in action but have heard many fun stories about Grandma, Grandpa and Dad as it related to that particular shop. Mother started her career in one corner of the variety store which then bloomed into the Jacqueline Shoppe when Houserman's Variety went out of business.
One of dad's closest friends, Mike Kribbs of Conneaut Lake fame, has told many a saga about how he used to help get the papers organized for distribution at the store, etc. He also told of how my father would “smuggle” him into the fair grounds and allow him to sit on the stage when he was performing some sort of gig. I can't remember the particulars so please forgive me if I'm goofing it up.
I used to entertain my father when I was younger by exploding into an all day dissertation about what was happening on one of Mother's soap operas. I can remember vividly being in the pool kind of hanging off the side whilst explaining to my captive audience of one how So and So murdered Such and Such but will not get away with it due to Person X being a secret witness. For some odd reason, this thrilled him to the marrow.
One of my best memories was the very last time I saw Germ in person. This would have been when he and Mother came to Houston, where I was living at the time. After I got done with work, we decided to have a father/daughter evening but excluded Jill from this scenario! We ended up having dinner and then I introduced him to my favorite and most influential college professor named Dr. George Ross.
We visited with Dr. Ross on the campus of Houston Community College and they hit it off right away. (In fact, when dad died and after I returned to Houston, Dr. Ross came into my work just to check on me and see how I was doing, which I thought was super nice considering he was no longer my teacher at that time.)
After that, we visited a HUGE outdoor fountain type region which was in front of the tallest building outside of the 610 Loop. Then we went to a piano bar type place where, you guessed it, dad whipped out the trumpet and sat in with the pianist.
In between some of these festivities I changed my clothing and I can recall him cleaning my car windows on the inside whilst declaring, “I don’t want to see this kind of mess ever again!”
I was going to tell of how he would sneak me off to Pittsburgh without Mother knowing during the school day but I shall save that for another time because my space is limited.
My father was born on June 1, 1919 and died suddenly on June 10, 1991—a day that will live in infamy! I don’t want to relive getting that news right now as I am attempting to be uplifting in this piece, for once.
In closing, I will say that in my opinion Blaine Houserman certainly left his mark on this area and on the world in general. Even if none of that were true, he certainly left us with memories and reminders of how to live life to its fullest, not go along with the crowd, and to enjoy even the little things. For that, I am eternally grateful.
THE END (Interstate Crosscheck, AIPAC, “Erasing the Liberty” by Phil Tourney, “War is a Racket” by General Smedley Butler)