SUBMITTED PHOTO Amber Atherton with her surprise order of Spam and Fred Shonk.
| In my early years as a bus driver for Beech Grove Schools, I had the opportunity to meet and have some fun with a middle schooler named Amber Atherton. Her mom and I started our driving careers at the same time. We were only a few weeks into a school year when one of those special times came to me when I could say to myself, “I love it when a plan comes together.” I had the opportunity to make up a story and fool Amber and some of her friends into thinking that several bus drivers were going to carve a bus figure out of a large block of Spam and display it at Beech Grove’s Fall Festival. I told the children that the carving would be done at the home of the lady who drives Bus 16. Amber covered her face with her hands and moaned, “My mom drives Bus 16.” I could tell that she wasn’t excited about the prospect of her friends learning that a carved Spam bus was going to be constructed at her house. It wasn’t long until Amber discovered that I had been messing with her. I was glad to see that she could laugh about it the next time we saw each other. I figured that she would enjoy getting even, but I have tried to keep a few steps ahead by continuing to pester her with thoughts of Spam throughout the 13 years since this all began. Amber is now in Navy. She is stationed on the East Coast and works aboard a carrier that transports Marines. Her mother, Michele Atherton, told me a few weeks ago that Amber was going to be back here for a couple of weeks. We planned on meeting for breakfast at Dale’s Family Restaurant on Thompson Road just east of Emerson Avenue. I was instrumental in picking this restaurant for a couple of reasons: First, it is a great restaurant, and second, I have some inside contacts there. On my way to Dale’s I purchased a can of Spam. I arrived at the restaurant about 30 minutes early and was elated to see my friend Melody Walters, whose family owns the eatery. I met Melody several years ago when I was driving her daughters to Hornet Park Elementary. I told her the story about Amber and the Spam and asked her if she would consider helping add another chapter to this ongoing tail. She thought it would be a real blast. I scampered out of the restaurant and didn’t return until I was sure the other guests had arrived. Upon re-entering the diner it was great to get reacquainted with Amber. When our breakfast was delivered I got a glimpse of her face as she noticed that her order didn’t look right. As it was placed in front of her, her mom broke into laughter ... Amber had been served several slices of fried Spam. We all laughed, and the cameras came out. After pictures were taken, Amber’s real breakfast was delivered. Amber Atherton is an amazing young lady. I feel honored to personally know anyone who is serving our country. Thank you for your service, Amber. You are the best. Now I have to get busy planning the next Spam attack. |
|
0 Comments
Sept. 7 is an important day at our house. That’s the date when Stuart, our therapy dog, came to live with my wife, Lyn, and me about eight years ago. We were told by the folks at the Southside Animal Shelter that Stuart was about a 1 1/2 years old at the time. I sat down and counted back 18 months and discovered that his birth month was probably September. The day I picked was easy: My dad’s birthday was Sept. 7.
This year was a big birthday year because Stuart’s age went from a single digit (9) to a double one (10). If my father, Floyd “Red” Shonk, had still been with us, he would have moved to triple digits. Lyn and I thought a trip to Ritter’s Frozen Custard was in order. Stuart really enjoys the dog dish treats that Ritter’s provides to its canine customers. As we were preparing to go we discovered a small problem, well, actually three small problems. Our newest family members, Alberta, Betty and Jackie, our chicken hens, were out of their fenced area and didn’t want to be penned up. Therefore, I offered to go by myself and return with the custard. As I climbed into my car I noticed that the passenger window was down. I figured that Stuart had been with me on my last outing. He enjoys poking his nose out window. Stuart didn’t go on this trip because I would have needed to put custard in the trunk to keep it away from him. About halfway to the store as I was making a left turn from McFarland Road to Southport Road, our adventurous neighborhood feline, Guessie, really surprised me as he hopped up from the back seat and landed on the storage compartment between the front seats. “Meow,” he exclaimed. Although a bit startled, I was able to complete the turn without a major problem. Guessie had been taking one of his afternoon naps in the backseat. I saw no option other than turning around and returning him to our driveway. Back in our driveway, I opened the passenger window and had to asssist Guessie to the ground. I was off again to purchase some custard. Once home, I carried the custard to the backyard. Stuart was quite a distance away from me, but he noticed that I was carrying something. You would have thought that he had just won the lottery the way he came running wide open. The birthday boy was excited. Needless to say, we all enjoyed our treats. The occasion brought back of memories of my youth and going to the Dairy Queen near the point of U.S. 31 and Madison Avenue. Our family and our neighbors and great friends the Johnson family had a blast going there. Larrie “Bud” Johnson, his brother, Mickey, and I would scamper over to the used car lot that was next to the Dairy Queen and inspect all the cars, even though we weren’t old enough to drive. I have no clue what the other Johnson kids, Judy, Eddie and Margie, or my younger sister, Kathy, did besides enjoying ice cream during those visits. Those are some wonderful memories. Shonk is a 1960 graduate of Southport High School, a ’63 grad of Indiana Central College (now the University of Indianapolis) and a retired bus driver from Beech Grove Schools.  It was my first or second year of working for Beech Grove Schools as a bus driver that I met Sharnita Thomas, who was a middle schooler and was on my late route. That route was used by children who stayed after school for tutoring or because they belonged to clubs.
Sharnita ran cross country in the fall, and her practices would end in time for her to catch my late bus. Since she always claimed the front seat and was the last rider dropped off, we became pretty good friends over the two years that she rode with me. Sharnita was also involved in track and basketball, and I saw several of her games at the middle and high school levels. Her younger sister, Jasmine, another athlete, also rode with me for a few years. Sharnita, who graduated from Purdue, is the School to Career mentor at Beech Grove High. I talked to her Friday, and she seemed pleased that she could sleep in the following day and not be disturbed by an alarm. She said her smartphone featured six different alarms that she could – and did – use to make sure that she got up during the workweek. I don’t think my flip phone has those capabilities. That got me to thinking about alarm clocks. When I was in grade school my dad had a daily milk route. He picked up milk from farmers and delivered it to a milk plant. He had a big old wind-up alarm clock known as Big Ben. I can remember hearing that loud alarm going off each morning. Many years later I had a job that required me to train independent sales people in 17 states. I also operated my own territory. On one occasion I arrived in a small town to spend a week training a new agent. I checked into a mom-and-pop hotel and asked the receptionist to provide me with a wake-up call each morning of my visit. I was informed that no one was on duty at the desk overnight and that a wake-up call wouldn’t be possible. Then the lady reached under the counter and placed a Big Ben alarm clock in front of me. She assured me that it would provide an excellent wake-up announcement. I met with my new salesperson, and we made some calls. We finished for the day and stopped at his house to go over some materials before he took me back to my hotel. I walked down the street to a small diner and had a wonderful meal. I returned to my room and finished the paperwork for the following morning. I got ready for bed, settled in, set Big Ben and anticipated a nice quiet room. NOT! All I could hear was Ben shouting, “TIC TOCK. TIC TOCK.” It then occurred to me that I had never slept in the same room as my dad’s clock. There was no way I was going to be able to sleep with that loud ticking. I got up and placed Ben out in the hall, closed my door and locked it. I had no problem hearing the alarm the next morning, nor did any of the other folks on my floor. While out with the sales rep the next day, I purchased a battery-powered alarm clock. As I was telling Sharnita that story, I thought, “Woohoo!” I better get home and write this before I forget. Shonk is a 1960 graduate of Southport High School, a ’63 grad of Indiana Central College (now the University of Indianapolis). He is married to Lyn Shonk. About eight or nine of the guys I attended high school with meet monthly for breakfast at the Hotcakes Emporium Pancake House & Restaurant on Bluff Avenue. Our waitress, Joyce, always takes care to keep us entertained and, more importantly, under control. And she does a super job.
On Aug. 27 I sat beside my friend Kenny Choat, who started telling me about a story he had told one of his grandchildren. It got my attention when he explained that I was involved. He asked me if I remembered when he and I went on a double date. He reminded me that he was dating his future wife, Bonnie Plummer. Neither Kenny nor I remembered my date. After careful consideration I think I remember, but I will not embarrass her by naming her. As soon as Kenny started telling the story, it all came back to me. He and I met that evening at my dad’s Sunoco service station on Madison Avenue. Kenny was going to drive, and his car was spotless. We were off to pick up our dates. We were not far down the road when I asked Kenny if he could smell that terrible odor that I had noticed. He had not. Again I asked and got the same answer. A couple of minutes later I assured him that something stunk in his car. I leaned over the back of my seat, made a loud gurgling noise and asked Kenny what had caused that awful mess on the floor. He quickly pulled over to examine my discovery. I told Kenny that I wasn’t an expert of the subject, but I thought it looked like someone had vomited. Kenny was smelling the air and turning a bit pale. He finally exclaimed that we had to go back to the service station to clean up the mess. We flew into the station’s parking area, and Kenny ran to get some cleaning supplies. I got out, walked around to the driver’s side, opened the door and picked up my new fake vomit toy. It was made of rubber and appeared quite authentic. I carried it over to my car and tossed it in the trunk. Here came Kenny with this cleaning supplies. If I had possessed a cellphone with a camera at the time, I could have taken a wonderful picture of a confused Kenny as he examined the floor of his car. It seemed to be clean and dry. I finally retrieved the rubber puke and showed it to him. He was astonished. We jumped into the car and once again headed out to pick up our dates. I’m sure we laughed about that all evening. I used that toy a few other times with almost the same results. I looked online and found that are several versions of rubber vomit available today. I might have to make a purchase. Thanks for the memories, Kenny. Shonk is a 1960 graduate of Southport High School, a ’63 grad of Indiana Central College (now the University of Indianapolis) and a retired bus driver from Beech Grove Schools. He is married to Lyn Shonk. |
Fred ShonkShonk is a 1960 graduate of Southport High School, a ’63 grad of Indiana Central College (now the University of Indianapolis) and a retired bus driver from Beech Grove Schools. Archives
August 2024
Categories |
RSS Feed