The germ may have been planted by my dear late Uncle Jim, my mom’s baby brother. That’s him on the left.
He was never given to boast, although he had much to boast about. He played cornet in Michigan State’s marching band in their first ever Rose Bowl in 1954. He took his honors management degree to Columbus, where he earned his PhD from The Ohio State University while starting up what would become a very large family. After dabbling in academia for a year at Louisiana Tech, he took his brood back north to test the waters of the Potomac. A 32nd degree Mason, like his dad, he credits the secret handshake he gave to his interviewer for securing his post at the Department of the Interior. The job let him get outside, which he loved, but still led him into some serious bureaucratic work.
He expanded his family to 10, adopting the last two, calling them all “rugrats”. When he finally retired after 30 years in Interior, he bought a small farm in Kings County and maybe there found his true self. His grandparents had been farmers, his dad bolting for the more secure and far less strenuous urban job of fireman. Uncle Jim grew all sorts of things. His peaches were prized at the local farmers’ market. Apples, too. He loved his sweet corn, and now could enjoy it fresh picked from his own field. He grew you-cut Christmas trees and had his farm designated a Station Stewardship site for local youth groups to come learn about proper care of the land. It was there Kathy and I met up with him and wife Joan for the last time. It was 2002 and Kathy’s time at NASA was running short. Part of the tour, besides the tractor ride through the property and review of the barracks he and son Rick had built for visitors, was a trip downstairs in the main house. It was there Uncle Jim had what he called his “braggin’ wall”. In those decades of public service, he’d bumped into a lot of important people, and their pictures were up there, usually with him. I don’t think he had the pic my Aunt Dorie (Jim’s younger sister) liked to show: Jim sitting with some Saudi potentate, legs crossed, showing off his white socks atop his wing tips. Impressive looking certificates abounded, too. While I came away impressed my Uncle Jim had been a serious and accomplished person, I carried no notion home of replicating the display. Uncle Jim lived 27 years on that farm before moving in with children on the west side of the state. He died nearly 5 years ago at age 87.
Then came COVID and Kathy and I realized we each had extensive poster collections that could be displayed. Hers were space related, of course, and mine leaned to music, particularly the concert posters I’d snatched off walls back in college. We had a few up already, but now we can count in our living room 15 space posters (including a charming pic of 8-year old Kathy with John Glenn) and 10 music posters, and that’s just the upstairs. To spice up things, we have a few Michigan posters, like a print of a wolverine in the wild, signed by Don Canham and Bo Schembechler, and an aerial shot of Michigan Stadium and Crisler Arena. Downstairs, we have such things as a signed portrait of Neil Armstrong in his space suit, a composite of the 137 astronauts active in 1998, a group picture, signed, of the original 7 NASA astronauts, and a composite of mementos from Apollo 11, including a first day cover and several pins and medallions. Side rooms upstairs, especially Kathy’s office, have more.
From there we came up with an idea as I muttered to my wifey that maybe we should take the bare walls in the back hall from our bedroom to the bathroom and plaster them with the various certificates we’d garnered over the years, creating a “hall of memories”. Uncle Jim’s “braggin’ wall” was clearly the inspiration. As 2 academic strivers at it for half a century, we had plenty of impressive-looking paper. I’d framed and hung my diplomas and other medical certificates in my UofM office, so I had the head start. They were just sitting in a box waiting to go. But I don’t think I was prepared for the beast I stirred. Not only does Kathy have 3 UofM degrees to my 2, she spent some time with an outfit you may have heard about: The National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA). Besides taking us to the moon and Mars and maintaining the satellite systems that make modern life possible, they excel in producing posters, patches, and pins, of which my wife I think owns every one. Add to that she earned certificates of appreciation right and left while there, some even in Russian. The notion of a “hall of memories” followed that deep dig into our amassed poster collections, which now hang throughout our house. I’m thinking of having 1611 Harbal designated a gallery and charging admission.
But the “hall” took a little longer, and still is a work in progress. Even though Kathy got a larger area than me, she’s got it more than covered. Our bathroom has a sliding “barn” door, which Kathy discovered has enough clearance for thinly framed objects, and they’re going up as I type. Our first “viewing” was from Cora and Barb, my dear nurses from back in the day who were over for dinner. They seemed to get their biggest kick out of the line of i.d. cards I’d plastered up, letting them see the young handsome doc before they knew him. To keep up with my missus, I had to revisit my very youthful youth.
Of course, I’d saved everything. Up there now are a certificate acknowledging my service as a lieutenant in the school safety patrol in 6th grade (I actually was captain briefly) and one I earned by winning the biological sciences division in the Kalamazoo science fair when I was a junior. I’ve just framed some others to go up, including my certificate for completing the State of Michigan Pleasure Boating Safety Course in ’67, and mining the rich lode of achievements as I graduated from little Vicksburg: a general Certificate of Award from the service clubs of the ‘burg, my certificate of merit as a National Merit Scholar, recognition from the State of Michigan for outstanding performance in the state scholarship competition, and my first one from U of M, designating me as a Regents-Alumni scholar. Yes, 1970 was a very good year for me.
It’s not all certificates. Besides the i.d.s, there’s a ribbon from that science fair, the shoulder patch from the security guard uniform I wore for 4 summers at Fisher Body Comstock, the union card I carried for that job (solidarity forever!) pictures of me with my mentors Bill Arnold and Giles Bole, and the cover from Musculoskeletal Medicine which had some nice art work for my article on arthroscopy. I snuck in a pic of me with my star fellow Sara and dear colleague Ruben.
In the middle, between the two walls by the window, sits a neutral zone sharing some of our treasures. Above the window hang 3 canes, given to me by patients who no longer needed them after my treatments. Below is a bookcase containing our yearbooks (and parents’ yearbooks) plus other things, like a binder containing all my scientific papers, and another 3 binders containing all my best medical slides. On the top shelf of the bookcase sit our 2 prized trophies: Kathy’s Golden Apple for best Kinesiology teacher in 2019 and my crystal trophy from the American College of Rheumatology for my Clinical Scholar Educator Award 2003-5. I have a much bigger trophy from the 1968 Kalamazoo Science Fair Kathy wants me to display, but it’s pretty garish, and would tilt the trophy balance in my favor. Knowing Kathy, she’d find a way to go out and win or discover one to even up. There’s nothing pretty about an arms race.
Kathy’s walls blow mine away. Besides the usual certificates, there’s one from then Governor Engler and others in at least 2 languages, and of course her All America certificate (swimming), plus pictures with astronauts and celebrities (Jay Leno, Jean-Michel Cousteau). Then there’s my favorite, using the space above the transom to display her sports letters and implements. I’m looking for a spot for her swim goggles to complete the triad of her 3 sports career at College of Wooster. Wadda gal.
No, it’s not boasting at all. I look up at that wall and feel all warm and fuzzy for the many years I put into this. If you come to my house, you’ll see this only if you want to. It’s off the beaten path. But I’ll be proud to show it to you and guide you through it. It can’t match the razz-ma-tazz of my spacey wifey, but it’s me and I did it all. Better it’s up on the wall than stuck in some box or binder. Uncle Jim never got to see my wall, but his kids will.
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