PUBLISHED IN THE NOVEMBER 8, 2023 EDITION

I’ve been chatting with friends about our younger days and how we coped with those in our lives and enjoyed each day. My life changed during my junior high school days. It was during those years that my father opened the Sunoco Service Station on Madison Avenue.

That building still exists on the east side of Madison Avenue just a block north of Epler Avenue. It was during those junior high days that I got off the school bus at Epler and Madison and walked with friends north on Madison Avenue. My home was just north of Thompson Road.

We walked past the construction of the new Sunoco Station each day. I was fascinated watching the construction and was very excited to get started with our new family business. 

Our family life changed quite a bit once the station was open for business. My dad had to hire and train four new full-time employees. Two of them worked together on each shift. Those fellows would start their shift at noon and work until closing time, which was 10 p.m. They would then open the station the following morning at 6 a.m. and work until noon. They were off duty until the following day at noon.

Dad worked long hours during the busy parts of each day. I started working on the weekends and learning about the business. The station had two gasoline pumps. When a car drove up to the pumps, it would drive over a small hose that would loudly activate a very loud bell. One of two of us would scamper out to serve the customer in that automobile.

We would pump the fuel, wash the windshield and back glass, check the oil, watch and check battery and sometimes air the tires. Sometimes it was a challenge because the fuel cap was hidden behind the license plate or built behind a taillight.

Family dinners were seldom. Lots of times, mom would deliver our dinner to the station. Dad set up a way to check on timely opening and closing. He required the employee in charge to deliver the cash from that shift to our house after 10 p.m. and pick it up the following morning in time for the station to be open by 6 a.m.
Until I obtained my driver’s license, I mostly rode my bicycle to work at the station. I parked it close to the building on the northside. Sometimes when the asphalt was very hot, the kickstand on my bike would poke a hole in the parking area.

I very quickly learned to wash cars. We had lots of customers that had their cars serviced and washed on the weekends. We had weekend and part-time employees to assist with the growing business. I remember a couple of the full-time employees yelling to the new guys that a car was “all done but the windows”. The new guys got stuck with washing the inside windows on each car wash. 

We had a pay-telephone that was attached to the wall in the service area. That was our only way to make a call for several years. Later we had a private telephone installed in the office area. It was difficult to make a private call in the service area. We younger guys learned that a nice quiet pay-phone booth was available in the Woodcroft Pharmacy. It was located in the small strip mall just south of the station. That worked much better.

On a sad note, two of our first employees at the station passed away in the last couple of months. I just found this out in the last couple of days. It really got to me because I had been telling old stories about the station and the guys that I learned from and worked with for a couple of weeks.

Robert (Bob) Toon worked with my dad when dad had his farm to dairy milk route. Bob’s dad had a dairy farm and was on my father’s route. Bob lived near Shelbyville and drove to work each shift. Something happened and he lost his driver’s license for a while. Someone would drive him to work, and he then would sleep overnight in the office of the station and be picked up the next day at the shift’s end.

John M. Stephenson was a couple of grades ahead of me in school. I remember riding with him and his future wife, Patricia, to take her home from school and then we were off to the station. Many years later, I learned that John had become a preacher and had a church in the Greenwood area.

Both of those fellows taught me so much and we had so much fun. I’m very sad that I missed the memorial services for them both. 

Rest in peace guys. But jump and scamper when the driveway bell rings.

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 can be reached through email at fdshonk@aol.com.

PUBLISHED IN THE NOV. 1, 2023 EDITION

I had many friends and acquaintances during my student days at Southport High School. There was this one fellow (a very interesting fellow to say the least) who was a grade ahead of me. He was very involved in school plays and was a very good wrestler. This was not a very common combination of extracurricular activities at that time.

 His name was Randy Galvin. I didn’t know Randy very well. He was a state champion wrestler for coach Chauncey McDaniel. He later went on to Indiana University where he continued with his passions of acting and wrestling.

The wrestling path from Southport to IU worked in both directions. Coach Chauncey McDaniel’s brother was the head coach at Indiana University. While Randy was wrestling his way at Bloomington, my good friend, Bill Bane was in the process of graduating from IU as a wrestler and starting a job at Southport High School as an instructor and assistant wrestling coach. Brothers take care of each other.

Some years later, I discovered that Randy Galvin owned and operated The Black Curtain Dinner Theater. It was located in the Talbott Village neighborhood. I believe his theater was the start of the rebirth of Talbott Village. My wife and I started attending plays and programs there. We enjoyed the food, drinks and performances. It was a fantastic place.

Sometimes, before the show or during intermissions, a fellow entertained the audience by painting pictures. One evening we were seated where we could see the fellow as he was painting. Most of the audience were not able to view him in action during the time he was working.

We watched him from start to finish and did not have a clue as to what he was painting. When he was finished, he turned the painting around for the audience to view it. Everyone was baffled. No one had a clue as to what we were looking at.

The painter peeked around and looked at his painting. He slapped his forehead in one of those “Aha” moments. He then turned the picture over. Amazingly, he had painted a beautiful landscape upside-down.

Several months later, I was driving south on the Madison Avenue Expressway when I came up on a slowed car. I noticed that the driver had an easel set up to his right and was painting as he drove. It was the painter from the dinner theater. I quickly picked up my speed and moved well ahead of the distracted painter driver.
Several years later, I learned that Randy Galvin had passed away. I have continued sharing stories about his wrestling years and his Black Curtain Dinner Theater. I have also conveyed stories about the painter and his remarkable skills.

More years passed before one day as I was reading the daily newspaper, I discovered an obituary for Billyjohn Rainbow, and I had to read it. His name had formally been John William Higer. He was 84-years-old. All of those memories came flooding back to me.

I can now close my eyes and see Randy and Billy John on a large stage having a blast. It’s so much fun to remember. Thanks, guys.

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 can be reached through email at fdshonk@aol.com.

PUBLISHED IN THE OCTOBER 25, 2023 EDITION

Several years ago, maybe around 30, I celebrated one of those birthdays that requires the second number in my written age to be a zero. On that occasion, I was gifted with a young Mottled Houdan rooster. I quickly named him Jack. He was a blue-ribbon winner at the Johnson County Fair.

Jack was presented to me by our daughter, Michelle. He was a surprise birthday gift. The hows and whys of this special gift could fill another article.

After a few days passed, I figured Jack should have some freedom on occasion. I started releasing him from his cage for longer periods of time. Before very long, we noticed that he would fly up onto a branch of a maple tree location in our backyard.

We subsequently purchased a small plastic doghouse and attached it to the top of a newly implanted fence post near his maple tree. We thought Jack would enjoy sleeping, eating and drinking in his own house, but he preferred the tree. He discovered that the house didn’t come equipped with a back door emergency exit.

About a month later when a tornado swept across southern Marion County. Jack’s tree was still standing but it split down the middle. Some of it was still standing but it was a mess. We wondered what the little fellow would do. That evening, he relocated to a large evergreen tree between our driveway and our neighbor’s driveway.  It was a perfect location. The branches would provide shelter for the upcoming winter. Jack was a happy rooster.

About six weeks later, Jack started his evening walk around the yard to inspect everything. He crowed loudly a few times and then leaped onto the favorite branch. He was ready to call it an evening. This daily ritual took place between 5:30 and 6:00 each day.

The next thing Jack knew, children were walking up and down both driveways and ringing doorbells. To him, they looked strange and were very noisy. Our rooster had never encountered anything like this before; all he could think of to do was to help announce their arrival.

After one young boy received his treats from our house, he asked what was making that “cock-a-doodle-do” sound and pointed toward the evergreen tree. I smiled and told him that it was a rooster, which lived in that tree.
The boy marched over to the tree and stared. It was pitch-dark and he was looking into an evergreen tree while trying to locate a rooster with black feathers. After a short while, Jack got tired of the kid staring and started crowing loudly.

The boy jumped and spun around, placing his hands on his hips and yelled at me, “Remote control!”

I displayed my empty hands to him and assured him that it was a real rooster. He turned around to face the tree again. I believe that Jack made some sort of noise and probably flapped his wings a bit. Very quickly, the young boy spun around and took off down our driveway and into the street.

I walked over to the tree and I’m sure I heard Jack chuckling to himself.

You never know what might be happening around here on Halloween.

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 can be reached through email at fdshonk@aol.com.

PUBLISHED IN THE OCT. 18, 2023 EDITION

With Halloween getting closer and closer, my sometimes-crazy memory travels back to the years that our grandsons loved celebrating by dressing in costumes and walking their neighborhood with their parents participating in the Halloween Trick or Treat exercise.

Lyn and I would travel to their house and mind the family home and distribute candy to all that stopped. We enjoyed seeing the boys in costume and passing out candy for them. After a couple of years, we were pretty good at our candy distribution duties, and I was beginning to become bored.

I thought about what I could do to have some fun during our Halloween evening while we were in-charge of their house. I made myself a costume out of an old pair of bib-overalls, a big straw hat, a mask, boots placed on the wrong feet, big gloves and hay sticking out of my sleeves and pants legs. I had the look of a scarecrow.

I placed a large outdoor chair in their front yard, near the street so when families came walking down the sidewalk, I would be close to them. From previous experiences at their house, I knew that the parents would generally stand on the sidewalk while their kids walked up to each house and rang the doorbell. My chair was positioned so that I had a clear view of them, but they couldn’t see my face.

Children and parents often came in a group. There might be four or five little goblins headed for the door while their parents waited. I would sit quietly and motionless until I was fairly sure that one of those adults was looking in my direction. I would then quickly move one of my arms and then return it to its original position.

Blood-curdling screams often followed, with an adult trying to explain that the ”scarecrow” had moved. I had a blast messing with those parents.

One evening, I noticed three teenage girls walking down the street. I wasn’t paying much attention to them until one of them started heading my way. I first figured she was headed to one of the houses behind me. Soon I discovered that was not her plan at all.

She walked directly to me and before I knew what was happening, she started to sit on my lap and called out to her friends, “Look at my new boyfriend.”

As she started to sit, I knew I had a problem. My hands were in my lap, and I was certain that wasn’t going to work out well. I threw my arms into the air just as she was about to land on my lap. Seeing my arms move, she screamed and totally reversed her direction midair.

Upon landing on her feet, she scrambled to the street while screaming, “BAD SNOWMAN! BAD SNOWMAN!” She then disappeared down the street with her friends.

They returned about an hour later. The once-terrified young girl had calmed down, so we had a chance to chat a bit. I asked her why she had referred to me as a “BAD SNOWMAN!” She responded that she was so flustered that she couldn’t think of the word, “Scarecrow”.

This was probably about 25 years ago. I sure haven’t forgotten that evening and I bet she hasn’t either.

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 can be reached through email at fdshonk@aol.com.