I'd like for you to meet someone

Darrel and his lovely wife Terry.

     Typically when you see an online "personal" introduction, it usually involves a proud new mom and dad introducing their newborn child to the world. Technology certainly has made it easier to mass introduce someone instead of sending snapshots to friends and family far and wide. This personal introduction puts a bit of a spin on this "paternal" approach. Instead of a new born, I'd like to introduce every one to my biological father, James "Darrel" Click. With his permission, I've posted a few pictures from his Facebook page. Pictures from his childhood are on the way and I will be adding those as I receive them. 
     Darrel was born in Kentucky and has a twin sister. His family moved to the Dayton area and he graduated from Xenia High School in 1964. In fact, he lived in a home only about 5 minutes from where I live today. He worked for many years as a bulldozer operator for the Great Lakes Dredge and Dock Company, dredging oceans and other bodies of water, in an effort to rebuild land and beaches. He retired several years ago and now owns a successful lawn care company in Sarasota, Florida. Darrel has a daughter and grand children who live in Kentucky, and a step-daughter and step grand-baby who live in Sarasota.  

Darrel and his twin sister, Brenda

     Darrel met my birthmother Rosemary in the summer of 1968. They dated for a few months but like many young relationships do it fizzled out. To be candid, the whole story surrounding my birth and subsequent adoption is still a little sketchy to me. After all, it's been over forty-five years and all I have to go on it what I've been told. I hope to investigate further and connect more of the dots as I progress through this amazing journey. Either way, I'm very happy to report Darrel and I have been speaking almost every week and I've enjoyed getting to know him better. 
     Plans are being made to hopefully meet face to face sometime this fall at my home in Xenia. If it's not too cold, maybe he we can go fishing in Shawnee Park like me and my dad did a few times. Maybe this time I won't need an adult to bait my hook. We'll see. 
     

My Life and the Beautiful Game

     As I've mentioned before in other posts on this blog, much of what I write is to enlighten my newly found biological family about my life and experiences. They've missed so much and in these posts I'm attempting to fill them in on some of the more profound or memorable life moments. For those of you who already know my sorted and bloviated tales, I sincerely beg your indulgence.

For some reason they called me Tank. 

     Right out of the shoot, I must admit I stole the title for this post from Edson Arantes do Nascimento. You might know his better as Pele, perhaps the most legendary soccer player living today. His autobiography is entitled My Life and the Beautiful Game, but it also seemed fitting for this article. Pele, if you didn't know, is Brazilian. and as a child I read everything I could about him. He, and Johnny Bench, were my two childhood sports heroes. This was before youtube and the only way you could see old film footage of his play for the Brazilian National Team was on hard to find VHS tapes or clips on Wide World Sports, which was even more rare given soccer was new to most of America. When I started playing at the age of 8, it was only the second year for the Beavercreek Soccer Association. I remember signing up because some of my classmates were playing and I thought it sounded like fun. I don't know how many BSA teams existed at the time but it was probably less than 15. Now, from the looks of the John Ankeney Soccer Complex in Beavercreek and all the kids I see around town in BSA wear, they probably have around 200. I can't imagine the number of kids who have played in the BSA and in their select program, the Beavercreek Celtics, which began in 1982.
     When I began playing there was no such thing as a "soccer complex." Back in the 1970's we traveled around Beavercreek playing at different sites each week. Fields were located at local schools, churches and a few at Rotary Park, though I think that occurred a few years after the league initially started. Essentially, the goals were made from either 2x4's bolted together or iron piping and were cemented into the ground. As a goalkeeper I ran into one of those immovable posts more than once. Sadly, neither it nor I had any give. Now, goals posts are constructed differently and generally are not cemented into the ground. Things are much safer now for courageous (or stupid, depending on your point of view) goalkeepers.

Lots of padding

     I suppose my coaches put me in the goalkeeper position for the same reason my coaches made me the catcher on the baseball team; area of circumference. Clearly, I took up more real estate than many of my teammates. I was also somewhat fearless and enjoyed the aggressive nature of playing goalkeeper. Plus, I could dropkick the ball to midfield which the coaches appreciated as well. I usually played goalkeeper for 2 quarters, sat out the 3rd quarter and played center midfielder during the 4th quarter. To be honest, I loved playing in the field better. I liked the running, shooting, slide tackling and of course scoring goals. As a midfielder you get to play a lot on both sides of the field, both offense and defense. I remember one game where I took a shot at goal from the middle of the field and scored. It seemed like the longest goal ever, though we were all ten years old and were playing on a smaller than normal field. It was still a thrill. I also remember yelling a referee telling him he stunk and being kicked out of the game. My parents were embarrassed and they made me sit out the next game. But I learned a very valuable lesson that day; not every referee is cut out for officiating. Another memory is when a New York Cosmos player named Ricky Davis came to the soccer fields when they were located on Beaver Valley Road. I was in the middle of a game so my mom managed to get me an autograph. He later went on to become the captain of the U. S. National Team. 

Rick Davis autograph

     I played in the BSA every year through the 9th grade. One year I decided to try football (American football) and hated it. After a week I quit and was placed on a soccer team and never strayed from the beautiful game after that. Sometime in the early 1980's a number of my friends tried out for a new select team called the Beavercreek Celtics. I wanted so badly to tryout but my mom and dad (primarily my dad) said no. I don't know if it was because the fees for playing on the team were too high in his opinion or if there was some other reason but he wouldn't let me try out. It was heartbreaking. I don't know if I would've been good enough to make the team but it really set the course for the rest of my soccer "career." It's no secret that players of any sport will generally improve as they play with and against other players of higher skill. Not playing in the select team program I was relegated to playing in the BSA recreational league throughout my early teens and it was rather lackluster. I was so jealous of my Celtic friends. They had the best uniforms, played in some really neat tournaments, and even won the State Cup one year. I was there watching from the sidelines. Talk about feeling left out. Ouch!
     At some point I made the transition from goalkeeper to midfielder. I recall during an indoor soccer game we were winning handily my coach moved me from goalkeeper to center forward. I ended up scoring a few goals and from then on each game he put me in the goal for a while and then move me to center midfielder. I kept scoring, so when the outdoor season began again I was moved to center midfielder permanently. 

BHS 1985 Reserve "B" team

     In August of 1985 I tried out for the Beavercreek High School soccer team. At the conclusion of the previous season the head coach of the Celtic's select team was named head coach of the Varsity team. The speculation was he would pick his select team players and everyone else would be cut. That didn't happen but every one of his players made one of the four teams. I managed to make the Reserve "B" team and wound up as the starting left back defender--the last line of defense before the goalkeeper. I started every game and rarely sat out. It was a great feeling being part of the team. I worked hard and was thrilled about my future prospects of playing varsity in the next year or so. 
     The following spring most of my teammates who didn't make the Celtic select team were placed on a team called the Hibernians. The coach, a great man who eventually became a great friend named Vern Burk, felt there were many talented players who needed a quality and competitive place to play organized the team. At the time, the BSA did not offer soccer leagues for high schoolers. You either played select soccer in the spring or you didn't play at all. Unfortunately, I was a year older than most of my teammates and was too old to play in the under 16 league. So instead I was put on another team called Captain Crunch and the Funky Bunch. To be honest, most on the team were more concerned with partying than playing soccer. I wasn't happy about the situation and thought being lumped in with this group would severely hurt my chances to make the high school team in the fall. 

No pictures of the Funky Bunch exist
but this seemed fitting. 

     I don't know if being one of the "Funky Bunch" hurt me or not but I was cut from the high school the first week of tryouts. I was crushed. It was the most emotionally painful thing I had experienced thus far in my life. I thought my soccer playing days were over and I sat and did nothing for quite awhile. The only thing that kept me interested in the game was the fact I was working at a local soccer shop. Somehow I managed to get a job at Ryan's Soccer International located in Centerville and I worked there for a few years. Then I got hired at Frye's Soccer Shoppe in Beavercreek and worked there until I left for college. 
     After sulking for a few weeks I decided to dig in and prove to the coaches and my friends I was worthy of playing on the high school team. I talked to Vern Burk, the Hibernians coach, who was also the assistant women's varsity coach, and he got me a job as team manager for the BHS women's team. Along with filling water bottles and making sure the soccer balls were fully inflated, he and the head coach, Andy Bisswurm, gave the opportunity to train the goalkeepers, scrimmage with the team and offer some instruction. I certainly would've preferred playing on the varsity team but it kept me around the game I loved so much. Plus, I learned a bit about coaching and began seeing the game with a different perspective.

News clippings (before the internet)

     In the Spring of 1987, now that my friends were a year older and able to play in the same league I played the year before, many of us were placed on a third tier Celtic team. The top tier Celtic team was made up of the varsity players and few guest players from other area schools. I was also named the team captain and was moved to starting forward. It was a great season--the team finished in second place and I ended the season with 15 goals. Towards the end of the school year the men's soccer coach held a meeting for anyone interested in trying out for the team the following season. After the meeting I stayed and spoke to the head coach and I remember him telling me he had heard about my success on the spring team and told me to keep working. He added, "there's no reason" I couldn't be starting for him in the fall. After he told me that, I thought perhaps the reason I was cut the previous year was because I figured I had it made and wasn't focused or dedicated enough. I was already in the midst of a refocused effort to improve but I dug in even deeper. I knew one my of my weaknesses was my fitness and speed. In an effort to improve I upped my daily running routine to about 5 miles per day and sometimes I would run in my neighborhood dribble my soccer ball. I spent many summer days on the school's practice field running sprints and practicing my skills. Plus, I began a weight training regiment at the high school and was in the best shape of my life. Along with this fitness regiment and practice I figured I had a better than average shot of making the team. In truth, I knew there were players better skilled than me and I only wanted to be on the team to prove them and myself I had the ability to play at a higher level. 

Umbro camp evaluation

     On a lark I decided to try out for the Ohio junior olympic development team. I had no chance of making it but I wanted to see how my skills measured up to some of the better players in the area. As expected I didn't make the team but because I was "under consideration" I gained an invitation to an exclusive soccer camp put on my the Umbro soccer apparel company. The camp, held at Earlham College in Richmond, Indiana was being coached by former English professional players. It was loads of fun and I came away from the camp with many new found skills and load of confidence. 

The Diego Maradonas

     I'd like to say I made the team that fall. I did not. Again, I was cut during the first round of tryouts and the crushing disappointment I felt the previous year was trumped tenfold. I was bewildered by what occurred. So, instead of moping around like I did the year before I decided to coach and volunteered to lead a BSA team we named the Diego Maradonas. It was great fun and it kept me busy, along with returning as the team manager for the women's varsity team. I played more soccer that fall that I likely would've if I'd made the team. Later I would hear from a few who had made the men's varsity team they were surprised I had been cut. Especially so early during the tryout process. I heard a rumor the assistant coach remarked, "If Todd wants to know why he was cut all his has to do is ask." I never asked, and to this day when I see that former coach, who's now the head coach and has been for 25+ years, I've wondered if there was any truth to the rumor. Again, I've never asked. 

In action at LMU

    Surprisingly though, I still managed to be recruited to play at Lincoln Memorial University, a small school in Harrogate, Tennessee. The head coach, a man named Jonas Holdeman, saw me and a few others play in a tournament in Kingsport, TN during the summer of 1988 and offered me a spot on the team. That fall I was part of the team and even got to start a few games here and there. I played only one year of varsity soccer and was thrilled to get the chance to play in a mid-season tournament at the University of North Carolina in Chapel Hill, the mecca of college soccer. Though we lost both games to two UNC teams it was an amazing experience and one I will never forget. I would've liked to have stayed and played three more years but I decided to go into radio and was eager to get started. I left LMU in the spring. 

Lincoln Memorial University Men's Varsity 1988

     Following my competitive playing days I coached for a few years at Beavercreek as an assistant in the women's program. I also coached a college aged women's team one spring in the early 1990's. I really enjoyed it and to this day prefer watching women's soccer over men's soccer. After that family responsibilities and my burgeoning radio career cut in to my time for coaching and playing. I also gained a bunch of weight during my unhappy marriage which ended in divorce. I coached my son's Kindergarten team but he wasn't real interested in soccer. I would imagine if I had been in better shape and able to play with him more at home in the yard perhaps he would've stuck with it. But we still enjoy the occasional game of FIFA World Cup on the Playstation. 
     Maybe if Mary and I have a child or two who grows to love soccer I'll have to brush of my old Adidas Copa cleats (which I still have incase I'm ever called up to play) and teach them a few things about the game. I think the first thing I'll teach them is that playing and having fun is all that matters and making the team isn't everything.

Lessons in life, parenting and baseball

Larry, the hurler

     Several times over the past month I've sat down with the intention of writing an article about my father Larry Hollst. Each time I've begun writing I opened with a different relevant subject from his life. And and each time I've written about a thousand words and then deleted them. Finding the precise words was tougher than I anticipated and if you knew my dad, then you'd know nothing but preciseness would be acceptable. 

     When he passed away on June 7, 2002 it was unexpected. He and my mom were planning a trip out west and I went over to pick him up so he could go get a rental car. It was about 7:10 A.M. when I arrived and about ten minutes earlier my mom, who was a lunch lady at Beavercreek High School, had left for her last day of work for the school year. Sometime between her leaving and me arriving he collapsed and died. I found him in the family room facedown in his pajamas.

Dad and Grandma Hollst at Northwestern

     My dad and I had a typical father-son relationship; sometimes full of laughter and joy and other times full of arguments and periods of silence. He was a tough act to follow, to be sure. He was a standout athlete in high school who passed up on a tryout with the Cincinnati Reds in favor of attending Northwestern University. He was also a golfer, bowler and basketball star in high school. I, on the other hand, was both a mediocre athlete and scholar. He transferred from Northwestern after a few years and finished his degree in business and marketing at LaSalle Extension University in Chicago and then finally the University of Dayton. He also enlisted in the Army Reserves and served for a number of years as a Staff Sargent, stationed mainly at Fort Meade, Maryland working in "Military Unintelligence," as he laughingly called it. I wasn't cut out for the military, he told me more than once. And I don't think he was referring to my flat feet. I also failed out of Lincoln Memorial University in Harrogate, TN and wound up getting my associates degree at a broadcasting school. Not that there's anything wrong with this route but let's just say my diploma isn't printed on parchment or hanging in a fancy frame like his.
     At times he was very critical of my career choice in broadcasting and said so when I was fired from a few radio jobs. He came from a background where "work" was in fact, work. Though it could be a tough racket, to him radio didn't seem much like work. He was successful businessman who worked in the early days of the computer industry at both NCR and then Univac. He sold both the University of Dayton and Hobart Brothers in Troy, their first mainframe computer system back in the early 1970's. At times I know he bragged about me being in radio but he didn't hold his tongue when things blew-up on me. He also wasn't thrilled with how I struggled mightily early on as a single custodial parent. Again, he had no experience with such things and once told my mom he thought I'd fail and they'd end up raising my son. That didn't happen but I certainly couldn't have done it without the help of my family. Shortly before he passed he and my mom separated. I won't go into the gory details but suffice to say I wasn't happy with him. There was silence. A very long period of silence. Thankfully before he passed we managed to work out some of our issues. After he died, therapy and my wife Mary helped me reconcile the rest. 

Dad at Fort Meade

     Instances and circumstances like these throughout my life had a profound affect on how I viewed our relationship. To me, he wasn't a very emotionally available person. We were friendly and got along and enjoyed each other's company but there was a gap in the level of father/son intimacy. I know this intimacy can exist because I feel it with my own son. Sometimes I think I tell him "I love you" too much or worry about his feelings being hurt by my parental criticisms. I can count the number of times my dad told me loved me on one hand and I vowed to never make son question my love for him. As an adopted child I needed to feel this connection. Adoptees are in the unique position of knowing (hopefully) their adoptive parents chose them and made up their minds to love them. That's a beautiful thing to know but if a young child senses distance from one his or her adoptive parents, it's very easy to internalize the notion that one parent loves them less. It was during my early teens I began recognizing some of the many differences between our personalities and abilities and began blaming myself for not being good enough. My struggles in school and not achieving what I had hoped for athletically added to my feelings of inadequacy.

Me and dad at Stone Mountain in Georgia

   Rest assured though, maturity and therapy helped me realize his inability to emote had nothing to do with me. I know my dad loved me and was proud of me. It just wasn't his style to shower down affection and "atta boys" very often. I also know, through almost 46 years of self-analyzation, I was one child who needed craved attention. I'm sure certain some of it spilled over into my adulthood, as well. I'm guessing it's all part of my desire to be loved and accepted and maybe on some deep intrinsic level it has to do with being adopted. So basically the dynamic was, you had a dad, who was raised during an era when men were told not to show their tender side or share their emotions openly, raising a son who felt deeply, craved attention, and needed to express his emotions accordingly. Obviously we were two very different people and clearly there were going to challenges from the very beginning. Again, I look to my relationship with my own son for verification of this notion. He too feels deeply and I know we relate on a level which was foreign to me and my dad.

Dad being wonderfully ridiculous

     All of that being said...my dad was a great guy who was patient beyond belief. He was a great playmate and taught me the game of baseball inside and out. My greatest childhood memories involve him and me playing baseball, watching baseball, talking baseball, and going to the coin shop to buy baseball cards. He was also a wonderful provider who gave both of his children a good start in life and supported us in anyway we needed. He enjoyed finding the perfect Christmas or birthday gift and threw the best birthday parties for his children. He never told me how to think about politics, religion or anything of that nature and allowed me to make mistakes and recover on my own (or at least try to recover on my own before lending a helping hand.) He was a wonderful grandfather who loved playing trains with his grandson Alex, who today still has memories of grandpa. He came to my soccer games and even drove 300 miles round trip one day so he could watch me start my first game in college. He relished embarrassing me in front of my friends but in a loving way. At my first wedding he played a cassette tape of me singing "She's Like the Wind" by Patrick Swayze; at times he was wonderfully ridiculous. He stuck up for me and stood by me and somehow knew exactly which was needed at the time. I wish he'd been alive to meet my wife Mary. He would've loved her for who she is as a person and loved her even more for loving me. And I wish, more than anything, he was here for my mom. 

Alex and dad playing hoops

     He was a great man, a great dad and a great grandpa. And when Mary and I have children of our own I look forward to telling them about their Grandpa Hollst. One of the last things we did together was go on a road trip to the National Baseball Hall of Fame. It was a memorable trip and we spent a lot of time talking as we drove the many miles to Cooperstown, NY. We went in June of 2001 during a rare break from my Dayton Dragons schedule as the Director of Entertainment during the Inaugural Season. He never said so, but I think he was proud of the fact a Hollst was finally drawing a paycheck from a professional baseball club. Even if, instead of hitting home runs or catching a full 9 innings, I was overseeing the launching of hot dogs and t-shirts. He went to several games that season and I know it made him smile. It made me smile. 

Branching out on my family tree

Thomas Patrick Higgins

     On September 6, 1885 in Auglaize County, Ohio Thomas Patrick Higgins was born to Michael and Mary Higgins. His grandfather, Michael Higgins Sr., immigrated to America from Ireland and arrived in New York City on August 25, 1849. This was during the Great Famine of Ireland when more than a million Irish people died and another million fled and immigrated from Ireland.

Michael Meyers

     On September 15, 1885 Mihaly Mayersky was born in Bresburg, Hungary, but considered himself Austrian, as he was born on the border between the two countries. Little is known about his life in eastern Europe, but Mihaly, who later changed his name to Michael Meyers, came to America on a ship called the Chemnitz and arrived in New York City on October 19, 1906.
     Both of these men, born nine days apart, are great-grandfathers of mine: Michael, on my dad's side, and Thomas Patrick, on my biological mother's side. And both men worked hard for their families and found a home in the up and coming manufacturing center of Dayton, Ohio. 
     After arriving in Dayton, Michael secured a manufacturing job, bought a house on Kiser St., and would eventually work for the Mutual Manufacturing Company. Some time in the 1920's he began working as a laborer at the Requarth Lumber Company. He received his American Citizenship in April of 1939 and was eventually promoted at Requarth to lumberyard foreman. He no doubt had a hand in helping convert the factory to support the war efforts during the Second World War.

Requarth Lumber, circa 1925

     Thomas Higgins moved to Dayton shortly before 1910 and was a machinist and tool maker by trade. He worked for a number of local companies including Delco and the Davis Sewing Machine Company of Dayton. Davis initially made treadle sewing machines for Sears and Roebuck but around 1892 they also began making bicycles. Sewing machine manufacturing was eventually phased out and the company began making bicycles exclusively. It was renamed Huffy Corporation. (As an aside, late last year before finding my biological family I purchased an Antique Davis Sewing Machine made in Dayton. Though I could likely never prove it, it's possible Thomas Patrick worked on or made parts for the very machine in my foyer).

Davis Treadle Sewing Machine, circa 1910

     The 1920 Census records show the families of Michael and Thomas living approximately nine minutes from each other separated by only a few city blocks and the Mad River in northeast Dayton near downtown. Michael and his wife Theresa, who married in 1907, had nine children, including five boys and four girls, and they were all raised as devout Catholics. Thomas and his wife, Maude, also both Catholic, reared four boys of their own, though only two would survive to adulthood. There's no family account or historical record to date which indicates Michael or Thomas knew each other. However, St. Joseph Church, erected in 1910, was and remains the closest Catholic church situated between where the two families. It's reasonable to suggest at some point the two men (or their families) may have interacted at some point. 

St. Joseph Church

     Higgins family tradition tells the tale of Thomas being a football player who played in the industrial league of Dayton in the late 1910's. The league, formed by three downtown factories, consisted of teams from The Dayton Metal Products Company, the Domestic Engineering Company, and the Dayton Engineering Laboratories Company, better known by their acronym, DELCO. The recreational league played games for local crowds and played many of their games at Triangle Park. Of course, this is where the first recognized NFL game was played between the Dayton Triangles, made up of players from the three factories, and the Columbus Panhandles. There are rumors Thomas may have played at the semi-professional level but historical records are slim and this claim cannot be supported as of yet. However, a picture from a newspaper article showing Thomas wearing his football uniform is known to exist and efforts are being made to track this photo down. 

Calvary Cemetery

     Sometime in late 1922, Thomas was rocking his son John on the front porch of their Watts Ave. home in Dayton. A storm was brewing over Dayton that evening and lightning struck very near the home. Thomas and John were indirectly hit by the jolt of electricity. Already struggling with diabetes, Thomas' health quickly deteriorated over the next several months and he passed away on January 31, 1923. His son John survived the incident but was forever changed by the experience. Thomas was buried in the rolling hills of Calvary Cemetery in Dayton, overlooking the city and the Great Miami River. 

     On November 1, 1943 Michael was rushed to the hospital with severe stomach pain and was diagnosed with a ruptured duodenal ulcer. A few days later while receiving care at Good Samaritan Hospital, peritonitis set in and he eventually died of infection on November 8. He too, was buried in Calvary Cemetery--a mere 500 feet from Thomas Patrick Higgins.
     Since reconnecting with my biological family and researching their ancestry, I am constantly amazed by the similarities and coincidences I encounter between family lines. Beyond the similarities described between my birth mother and adoptive dad's immigrant families, I have discovered other links that go back much further in the history of my adoptive and biological families.

General Washington at Valley Forge

     On both my adoptive mom's side and my birth father's side, their families came to America in 16th and 17th Century, respectively, and men from both families fought for freedom and security in both the French and Indian War and the American Revolution. According to historic archives, both my sixth great-grandfather Jacob Hoover (on my mom's side), and my sixth great-grandfather John Combs Sr. (on my birth father's side), were members of the Continental Army. In fact, both are believed to have spent the winter of 1777-1778 encamped at the Valley Forge. Jacob in the German Regiment, and John in Scott's Brigade, as part of the 12th Virginia. Prior to the American Revolution, both served in the Colonial Army under General Braddock, and Jacob himself was witness to Braddock's death at the Battle of Monongahella in 1775. At the time, he was under direct command by the General and was a wagoner.
     When I contemplate the historical timelines of my four parental ancestral lines, I am amazed by how closely they parallel--even if separated by 100 or 200 years. While I've never been one to attribute such coincidences to anything more than chance, I can't help but to think these discoveries have been waiting for me to uncover them at the appropriate time. While I may be the one common branch, or knot as it were, the and proud and colorful history of our family tree will be forever linked and gratefully shared with generations to come as it grows richer and fuller through time. It is for those who come after, I dedicate this work. 

Going back in time "On The Air"

     Here's another "back in time" post for my newly rediscovered biological family. Many of them know I worked in radio and TV for a number of years and this is a brief history of what I did and how I ended up where I am today.

    I began my career radio at age fourteen illegally broadcasting on a small transmitter purchased from Radio Shack with profits from my Dayton Daily News paper route. To this day the FCC is none the wiser. After high school I enrolled in a broadcasting school in Dayton and impressed even myself by securing two different broadcasting jobs before graduating.

Nothing better than college radio

     I got my first break in radio at WING-AM. One of my college classes went on a tour of the well-known Dayton station and at the conclusion the program director asked if I was interested in a job. I think we was impressed with my knowledge of the inner workings of radio. Or, he just needed a warm body who would push a few buttons every hour for minimum wage. Within a few weeks I was working and sleeping in the janitors closet during the weekends and working six hours on and six hours off for 2 1/2 days. I did everything from running syndicated programs and Sunday morning church programs to production. And, most importantly, I gave an hour 7 second weather forecast. This is where I learned the broadcasting adage, "Less is more." I learned it to the second. 

Sometimes in radio you have to 
get your hands dirty

     My TV break came from being in the right place at the right time. Being the broadcasting nerd I was at the time I would hang around the college radio studio long after all the other students had left. One day, the main office got a call from WRGT-TV asking if they had anyone who could run a camera. I volunteered and ended up working there for about a year. I left after being offered a full-time on-air position in radio at WGTZ-FM. I started out on overnights and ended up doing afternoon-drive. 
     Since then I've held a variety of positions in radio and been fired from most of them. I can't honestly tell you why I've been fired so much. Well, maybe I can. I was never a good butt kisser and have a tendency to speak truth to power--even if they don't ask for it. There was the time I told the GM of WDJK-FM in Xenia he was running the station into the ground. He fired me about 10 minutes after I got off the air but then he and everyone else at the station were let go two months later after the station was dumped by its owner because it was losing too much money. I certainly never was a good "company boy" and was even voted by my co-workers at WHIO-AM as the person most likely to lead to a coup against COX chairman Jim Kennedy. I have the certificate to prove it.

Grand Marshall 1996 
Beavercreek 4th of July Parade

     Though, some of my work has garnered rave reviews (besides from my mom) and have even won a few awards. To this day people tell me they still remember the shows I hosted or events I produced or promoted. However, most pleasing to me was being named Grand Marshall of the 1996 Beavercreek Fourth of July Parade. The "local boy makes good" story line made my family happy and my parents couldn't have been prouder to see their son waving to the crowd while be chauffeured in the back on a 1968 Dodge Dart convertible squeezed between two Hooters Girls. 

Me and the bloke

     In late 1996 I was named co-host of an alternative radio morning show at WXEG-FM--hence the piercing scars in my left ear, and on my soul. It was a tumultuous four years, both personally and professionally. While there I was dealing with depression, divorce, financial issues, and trying to be essentially a single parent, for all intents and purposes. I was no day at the beach, that's for certain. Plus, there was a great deal of backbiting and passive aggressiveness at the station and it wasn't a great environment. And I had to work with a foreigner. The same day I was fired from that gig in January 2000, I was offered an interview for the position of Director of Entertainment for the Dayton Dragons professional minor-league baseball team. I may not have been the first to launch hot dogs into a crowd but I was the first to launch Happy Meals. We called it, "Do you want fries with that?" Imagine an order of fries scattering above the crowd. It was art. 

On-field shenanigans 

     After a season of practically sleeping at the ballpark, dodging foul balls (and bats) and getting dumped by my fiancee, I returned to radio for more abuse. I was lured to Clear Channel Dayton by the promise of job that I don't believe ever really existed. I was hired to be a program director for a talk station I was told they were putting on the air, but a two weeks after beginning I was told they had "changed their minds about the station." So, I was relegated to promotions director of Mix 107.7. Though, while at Mix I was able to create the Time Warp Prom, which to this day, some 15 years later, is without question a listener favorite. In fact, the event is now held in many other radio markets making lots of money for other people besides me. After being put of my misery there I returned TV. 

Risking life and limb 
in Chopper 7

     While at the number one CBS affiliate in the country, WHIO-TV, I wrote daily news topicals, series promos, image pieces, and wrote and produced two historical documentaries. Both documentaries won regional Edward R. Murrow Awards which are now hanging in my home ruining my wife's decor. The highlight, however, had to be riding in Chopper 7. After several years of happiness and creative contentment, they hired a new guy who was shady and had an aversion to cutlery. I left there to try my hand at broadcasting sales and despised every minute of it, expect the time we went on a team building retreat to a laser tag venue. That was fun! 

Me, content and happy

     Now I do creative and art coordination for an advertising company in Dayton, Ohio and I'm very content and happy once again. I have my own office, a window, and get free bottled water (when in stock). I also host a few music shows on Troy Community Radio on a part-time basis. It's nice to be paid for your hobbies. I enjoyed my time and radio and TV broadcasting and maybe one day I'll return on a full-time basis. Just have to want until Obama's Highway Bill is implemented so some of those bridges I burned can be repaired or replaced. 

It's not only my story

     What you are about to read may be the most intimate and personal thing I've posted on this blog. I say this because they aren't my words but those of one of my recently reunited amazing cousins. With her permission I've decided to post her letter as a gentle reminder, mainly to me and other adopted children, our adoption story doesn't only belong to us. We all may feel like the "main" character of some drawn out human drama but we are really only a player in a bigger story on a larger stage. 

     When I read this email I wept. I wept for my mom and dad who gave me a wonderful upbringing and enough love for ten lifetimes. I wept for my mother Rosemary who made the tough choice to give me up with hope of a better life for me. I wept for my father Darrel, who I've only begun to develop a relationship with. And I wept for the Higgins family; my uncle and aunt, my cousins, and my late grandmother and grandfather, who all lived with me in their hearts for many years before I rediscovered them. 

"Hey Todd,

     First of all, I want to say, welcome to our family!! I hope that you've found us all to greet you with open arms, show lots of love and be slightly weird and awkward in the process. Growing up, I always thought my family was weird and awkward -- I guess all kids feel that way, but as an adult with greater understanding about life and how things work, I can honestly say we're definitely weird and awkward!

     It's so cool to get to finally meet someone that I have heard about for years and never thought I'd actually have the opportunity to meet! I have a terrible memory so I've been trying to sit down and rack my brains with  memories about Aunt Rosie. I'd like to share some of those with you and then also share from my experience as a grandkid to Grandma and Grandpa Higgins (a.k.a. Grandma and Grandpa Glasses, but we'll get to that!)

     When I think about Aunt Rosie, I picture her with a glimmer in her eye -- a glimmer for mischief. I think that's a Higgins characteristic because I saw it in Grandpa, see it in my dad, myself and my brother and now my daughter. It's kind of like we have this brain that is in overdrive with wit and a desire to see how far we can push a situation before we really get in trouble! I loved when Rosie would share stories with me about ways my dad got in trouble as a kid, how she bossed him around, how she stuffed him in her baby doll carriage to give him a ride through the yard and gave him a permanent scar on his back. The stories were great because Rosie was ratting on my dad, but she was also a great story teller!

     I think I was around 8 or so -  she and John wanted me to come visit during the summer. I remember them telling my mom to just "put her on a Greyhound and send her to Missouri" That's a bad idea today and it was especially bad in in 1983!  I did end up going though with Grandma and Grandpa for a couple of weeks. Again, I don't remember much (I'm really no help here!!), but I do remember us making homemade cinnamon rolls which were delish!

     Rosie, John and the boys came to visit us in Texas the first year we moved there -- so that was the summer before my 4th grade year. Again, I don't remember much but I do remember riding bikes with Joe and Dan on Christmas Eve in our shorts. That's Texas for you!

     Thinking back, I realized the last time I saw her was in 2001. I had been living down south, quit my job and Dad and my sister Mary drove down to move me to Pennsylvania. On the way home, we stopped at Rosie and John's. Rosie was always interested in what I was doing in life and at that time in life I felt like a failure. I just quit a job with no other prospects. I was 26 and single with no prospects... She was just an encouragement to be around. I don't remember her saying anything in particular, it was just her. She had so many health issues, she had emotional issues that I don't think anyone truly knew the depths of, yet she always had that smile and that twinkle in her eye. Circumstances were not getting her down.

     I was at work the day she died. I knew she'd been getting sicker and had been in the hospital, but the phone call from my mom was still a surprise. I cried with my coworkers who told me to go home and be with my family. When I got home, I found my dad busily moving through the house fixing all of these random things that had probably been on a "honey do" list for months! He just couldn't sit down. He needed to move. Thinking about that day still brings me to tears. I can't imagine what it must be like to be the last person left from your immediate family. We all expect our parents to go before us, but then when siblings are gone -- I can't imagine what he must have felt. Something you need to know about us Higgins folks: We feel things deeply -- we just don't know how to express it well. It comes out in anger, sometime in silence.....

     That's why finding you became even more important and special. I think you have been a gift to my dad in ways we'll never fathom. I've told him to please write down all he's feeling in this process and I'm so thankful you have been too through your blog.

I'm on a roll here, so I'm just going to keep going. If you need to take a potty break or get a snack, feel free to do so!! :)

     I want to tell you about our grandparents -- Grandma and Grandpa Glasses -- from the perspective of a grandchild. As a kid, I had come up with this name simply because they both wore glasses. (My other grandparents were Grandma and Grandpa Beard based only on the fact that my Grandpa Hahn and a beard.  So creative!) When I hear stories about them wanting Rosie to give you up, this simply isn't the Glasses I knew!

     By the time I knew them, they were different people. They had both accepted Christ and were having their lives changed because of that relationship. In my mind, Grandpa was a big man. Tall with big hands is what I remember. But more important than anything I knew he loved me. I mean, he LOVED me! He was kind of the stereotypical grandpa. He took me fishing in the pond behind their house, we'd feed the ducks with stale bread pieces, we'd watch the Muppet Show together, and he'd share his candy (coffee candy to be exact). He was the first person in my life that died. I was 10 years old and the phone rang. When my mom told me what happened, I just remembered her holding me and me crying. I just didn't understand why he had to go. I still get emotional when I think about it.

     Grandma, well, she was a tough nut to crack. I wish I had a better understanding of her life because I think it would shed so much light into everything. I always knew that she loved me, I just didn't have the same closeness or bond with her that I did with Grandpa. I feel like she probably held me and a lot of people at an arms distance. The word "nurturing" which you might expect in a mom or grandma wouldn't be used in describing her. A few months after Grandpa died, we moved to Texas and she came along to help get us settled in. We had an 80 something Ford station wagon (yes, with wood panel), grandma, mom, dad, a 4th grader, a 2 year old and a 5 month baby drove from Lima, Ohio to Longview, TX in 3 days! I don't know where you stand on God, but it was a miracle that someone didn't throw themselves from that car or get left at a rest stop! It's amazing that we all made it in one piece! Grandma was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer a few years after that and died not long after her diagnosis.

     This is probably all stuff you've heard from dad, but I wanted to tell you from the grandkid perspective. I do believe with my whole heart that you were never gone from their hearts. I'm sure that they thought about you, prayed for you and I'm sure regretted decisions they'd made. I also believe that things happen for a purpose and reasons far beyond what we can even see. You were blessed with an amazing mom and dad. You were chosen by them -- I love the thought of that. You were chose and you were in! In the family and loved.

     I don't really know how to wrap this up -- I don't really want to. I want the conversations to continue! If you think of questions, don't hesitate to ask because maybe they'll help trigger some memories!

     I'm SO looking forward to spending time with you and Mary when you come to visit. I hope we can look at old pictures, share more stories and just spend time together!!  I'm so excited to have a new cousin! I start so many stories with friends and coworker with "My new cousin", they all think you're about 5 months old.

     
     That's all for now! Talk to you soon!

Emily"

Going back in time

      One of the things I've been thinking about since finding my biological family is what parts of my past life are they interested in knowing about. No, not my past life as a Vaudeville juggler but rather life experiences they may have missed out on over the years. They probably want to hear about the biggies like graduation, my wedding(s), my son being born, great jobs, major life disappointments, and other experiences like that. Those are all fine and I look forward to sharing but there's other less monumental experiences I want to share. Hopefully essays like this one will give them a peek into my past experiences. 

Spock performing Vulcan 
mind meld on humpback whale
(Now illegal in California)

     Growing up, I was never a Star Trek fan. I thought the original series was painfully campy and Spock creeped me out. Star Wars, on the other hand, was a different story. Like many children of the 1970's I had Star Warsaction figures, pajamas, bed sheets, and a light saber made with a plastic tube attached to a flashlight. I was even C-3PO and Darth Vader on consecutive Halloweens. My dislike for the franchise deepened when the motion pictures based on the series were released in the 1980's. My least favorite film was Star Trek IV, The Voyage Home. Call me a skeptic, but to this day I cannot buy into the notion of an alien space probe sending signals to Earth via humpback whales. Though, according to Wikipedia, the film was the highest grossing in North America of all the Star Trek movies based on the original cast and garnered more award nominations than any of the other films. Shows you how valuable my opinion is on the subject.
     My palate changed in the 1990's. My ex-wife was a Star Trek fan and she introduced me to The Next Generation, in reruns. The series first aired in the the late 1980's and given my derision for the original I never bothered to watch it. When I married in 1993, the show was on nightly at 11PM on the local FOX affiliate and I became a big fan. For me it wasn't campy, seemed believable, had better production value, and the acting was far superior than the original. So when, while working at WXEG-FM in the fall of 1996, I was invited by Paramount Pictures on a press junket to Los Angeles to interview the cast of the film Star Trek: First Contact, I jumped at the chance.
     In brief, Star Trek: First Contact tells the story of how we earthlings first made contact with alien life. Of course other things happen in the movie like the cybernetic Borgs attacking Earth, the Enterprise crew traveling back in time to 2063, and Zefram Cochran, who discovers warp drive power and meets the Vulcans, appears for the first time in the franchise, played by James Cromwell. This film wasn't the first of the series but it my opinion was the best of the four featuring the The Next Generation cast. 

Nakatomi Plaza in Die Hard

   I, along with my morning show partner at the time, Sandy Collins, arrived in L.A. on Friday, November 1, and was transported to the Hyatt Regency Century Plaza near Beverly Hills. The hotel is located on a street called Avenue of the Stars and it lived up to it's name right away. Upon checking in, I had my first celebrity sighting when I spotted Dom Deluise cursing through the lobby. Sadly though, with the exception of the Star Trekcast, he was the only celebrity I would see that weekend. Sandy and I managed to arrange for our own rooms, given we were both invited and, to my recollection, were the only male/female morning team on the junket. I forget which floor my room was located but I did enjoy a partial view of Fox Plaza, headquarters of 20th Century Fox. You might remember the building as the fictional Nakatomi Plaza in the movie Die Hard. We also received a $150 per diem for use at the hotel during our stay. As it was my first press junket I was somewhat hesitant to take advantage and stick Paramount with unnecessary hotel charges, so I think at the most I spent about $30 on breakfast one morning (yes, $30 for breakfast in that part of town is not unusual). Had I known it would be my one and only press junket, I would've thrown caution to the wind and offered Dom Deluise a free steak dinner in exchange for Smokey and the Bandit II stories. You live and learn, I guess. 
     On our first night there was a reception for all the radio geeks at the Four Seasons Hotel in Beverly Hills. The food was amazing and there was an open bar. I wasn't much of a drinker at the time and at most I think I had a few beers. None of the stars from the movie mingled with us but I did bump into Jonathan Frakes, aka Commander Riker, who also directed First Contact, as he was leaving the hotel. We didn't speak. 
     At the reception, most people socialized and exchanged contact information. Radio is a funny business; when you meet someone else in the biz would immediately begin sharing war stories. I suppose professionals in other fields are the same way but few probably have as many horror stories than those in radio. Or, maybe that's just me. But radio isn't always that bad. After all, on this particular night I was being wined and dined by Paramount Pictures at one of the most exclusive hotels in L.A., if not the world. When it's good, it's real good. When it's bad, well...it leaves a scar.
     The next morning was not one of my shining moments. Either because of jet lag or my 

Two radio dudes chatting
Beavis and Butthead

inability to set the hotel room alarm clock correctly I overslept and missed the bus sent to take our group to see the film Beavis and Butthead do America and interview creator Mike Judge. The universe must have been conspiring against us that morning because Sandy also overslept and missed the bus. I swear, it wasn't planned. I truly felt bad about missing the junket that morning, given the trip was being paid for by those counting on us to deliver rave reviews and Hollywood insight to our listeners. But to be honest, I never much liked “Beavis and Butthead.” While no doubt my absence that morning was disappointing to the press handlers at Paramount, I didn't feel as though I had missed out on much. Plus, if I hadn't missed it, I wouldn't be able to tell the story about the time I ate the most expensive breakfast ever. 
     Unfortunately, we didn't know for sure where the Beavis/Butthead interview and screening were taking place so getting a cab wouldn't have likely helped. Looking back, I guess we could've just gone to Paramount and tried to find out where the junket was that day. Though, I'm sure it would've ended up being more like a scene from a comedy where two Midwest bumpkins with dreams of grandeur and wearing backpacks attempt to sneak onto a movie lot. So instead of being arrested we went to the local mall. 

famous water tower

     Since we missed the bus in the morning we made sure we were ready for the bus that evening which took us to the Paramount Pictures lot for a screening of the Star Trek: First Contact. As we entered the lot we were told repeatedly that photography is not permitted on the Paramount grounds. I vaguely remember signing a waiver form on the bus promising to not photograph or reveal publicly anything I might observe non Star Trek related while on the lot. I swear, I saw nothing. Mostly because it was November and in case you didn't know, even in California it gets dark early. The two things I do remember quite vividly is entering through the famous Paramount Studios front gate and spotting the Paramount water tower in twilight.
     Upon entering the theater we were shown to our seats, which by the way were amazingly comfortable. Remember this was 1996 and many area movie theaters hadn't installed the comfy reclining type seating we are accustomed to today. We weren't, however, treated to any snacks or popcorn. Though, we also didn't have to sit through endless trailers or reminders about “no talking.” The lights went out and the movie immediately began without much fanfare. As you would imagine, while Paramount Pictures may have skimped on the popcorn and Jujubes they didn't skimp on the theater's sound system. The movie (and accompanying sound quality) was amazing. There is a pivotal scene in the film where Zefram Cochran, Commander Riker, and Lt. Geordi La Forge, blast off in a homemade rocket ship to the Steppenwolf tune “Magic Carpet Ride.” The theaters and the seats we were sitting in rattled as the roar of the launch and booming rock music pummeled us. The song lyrics was fitting: “I like to dream yes, yes, right between my sound machine. On a cloud of sound I drift in the night. Any place it goes is right. Goes far, flies near, to the stars away from here.” It was perfect.  

                  

     After the film ended, we loaded back onto the bus (reminded not to take photographs—which some did anyway) and were dropped back at the hotel. Sandy and I decided earlier in the day were going to hit a few bars after the movie and we hailed a cab and headed to the Sunset Strip of West Hollywood. I recall going into a few bars that really weren't my style but it was fun and colorful to say the very least. It was amazing how many people were out partying up and down the Strip, block after block. The only other time I ever experienced so many people partying on the sidewalk for blocks and blocks was the night I walked from Wrigleyville to Lincoln Park along Clark Ave., north of downtown Chicago. It was a Saturday night and Cubs' fans were out in force following a rare night game and an even more rare win.
     The next day the group was once again bused to the Four Seasons Hotel to interview the cast of Star Trek: First Contact. After being warned again against taking photos, asking for autographs, or making any sudden moves, one by one the stars took turns, coming into our elegant conference room, taking a seat at the head of a small clothed covered table, and answered a question from each “reporter.” It was rather embarrassing to be quite honest. While I would never assert I rub elbows with fame on any level, I'm comfortable enough to not lose my sense of decorum when in the vicinity of a celebrity. Unfortunately, the same can't be said for everyone. Beyond the great insights I gleaned from actors like Alfre Woodard, James Cromwell, and Levar Burton, the two things which stand out from that day are 1) the unabashed gushing displayed by some of my radio colleagues upon meeting celebrities and 2) jerky dee-jays hounding Patrick Stewart, who played Captain 

Really? 

Jean Luc Picard, to utter his trademark phrases of “Engage” and “Make it so” into a hand help tape recorder so they could turn it into a “sound drop.” Or, the guy who flat out asked him to do a personalized celebrity I.D. for his show. It briefly became uncomfortable when Mr. Stewart responded to the request with a resounding “NO,” as only a scowling Picard could give, I might add.
     All of the Star Trek actors were very down to earth and the only ego I sensed was that of Brent Spiner, who portrays Lt. Commander Data, a synthetic and artificial intelligent life form. He's the resident know-it-all on their ship The Enterprise and it carried over a bit into the interview. But, he was nice and I thought he was more engaging than most of the other actors. The only thing I have to say about Marina Sirtis, who plays the ships counselor, Deanna Troi, is she is smokin' hot on every level. The one character missing from the day's interviews was Doctor Beverly Crusher, played by Gates McFadden. According to our handlers, she missed the junket because she required an emergency appendectomy the week before in Hawaii. 

    As a newly minted Star Trek, Next Generation fan, I was of course totally blown away by meeting all of these actors who played the iconic characters I watched every night at home before bed. But I must say, probably the highlight of the whole day was meeting Alfre Woodard. Not only is she a stunning woman but more importantly she's an amazing actress and the only Oscar nominated artist I've ever met. To be honest, I had heard of her before our meeting but I wasn't too familiar with the bulk of her work. I certainly knew her from one of my favorite holiday movies Scrooged, where she plays Bill Murray's secretary, but that was about it. If you haven't seen American Violet or 12 Years a Slave, I would offer those are two of her best performances, along with her Oscar nominated performance in Cross Creek (full disclosure, I haven't this film but I assume she's good having been nominated by the Academy).

Deanna Troi relaxing after a long day counseling

     After the interviews were over we were given a small send-off at the Four Seasons and bussed back to the Hyatt Regency. The next morning we caught a flight home and as promised, talked up Star Trek and Beavis and Butthead do America the following week on the morning show ahead of their national release. Now when I watch old Next Generation reruns, I always think of that trip and how close in proximity I was to the people on the screen. Before the interviews began that day I managed to grab the seat nearest to where the movie stars were seated. I was within in arms reach of Picard, Worf, Data, but most importantly  Counselor Troi. There's a joke here to be made about "beaming her aboard" but I'll reserve such allusions for the holodeck.