HB, Char!

April, 2011, Warrington Drive, Ann Arbor, MI -The Birthday Girl, seen here enjoying her morning libation served in our very, very special, ultra-high-quality “Transplanted Detroiter’s” cup, reserved exclusively for ex-Michiganders only. When there are no ex-Detroiter guests here at the house (pretty much all the time), the cup sits on a velvet-topped coaster on its own shelf in the china cabinet, bathed in the soft glow of a small spotlight. That’s how special it is.  

On the other hand, note Massachusetts’native Joel, looking eagerly on, anxious to learn what he would be served his Starbucks in, hoping that he too would be given such a bountiful vessel. Sadly for him, all self-confessed Red Sox fans who stay with us get no-frills 8-oz. Dart Styrofoam cups. C’est la vie!

 

Joel’s cup

 

All the Best on your Big Day, Char!

 (We’ll keep the light on your cup for you.)

 

HB, Little Levi!

Master Levi Heron Burack Janusch Himself

The little guy turns 1 day old today.

  All the Best on Your Big Day, Levi!  

 (And congrats to your parents for surviving your
dilatory entrance into the world.)

 



As we anxiously await news from Grandmont/Hamtramck...other September birthdays...

Note:  I posted this shot a few years ago on the old site and am reposting it in memory of Grandpa, born 9/21/1877, and who, if he were still with us, would be the oldest man alive at 135.  Aunt Eleanor's birthday was  9/20/04, so she would be no spring chicken herself at 108.  RIP to them both.

This is a bittersweet shot of M.E. O'Brien with all six of his daughters and son, John, from his 14-year marriage to his kids' mother, Nellie Harrington, now gone from their lives for more than a-year-and-a-half. Little Rosemary, herself not long for this world, is perched on his leg, her father's big right paw holding her in place, while Martha -- her remarkable hair flowing down her shoulders (the only one of the girls with such long locks) -- is standing just beside her. The rest of the kids are clustered around their father in a semi-circle: John, Kitty, Eleanor, Anne, and Margaret. Like so many such photos from the era, smiles are rare. (In this case, it's as if the photographer is attempting to coax his subjects into cheering up for the camera by making a silly face or by uttering a humorous remark, but the response is, by and large, half-hearted with only Anne and Margaret reacting positively; John and Kitty barely breaking into grins; and the others all but stonefaced). As was his way, M.E. is resolutely not smiling, but at just 41 (this could even be his birthday party on September 21st), with his dear Nell gone, so many young lives to watch over, and living in Detroit, far from his roots and extended family in Copper Country, smiling simply may not have been an option. Incidentally, Eleanor had her 14th birthday on September 20th, so, perhaps, they had all gathered for that occasion, or, for that matter, are having a party for both. She stands just over her father's right shoulder, a picture of grace and serenity, exactly how I remember her over the years.

 

HB, Logan!

Chattanooga, TN, late summer 2012 -The bekilted boys of UNC-Ashville’s premier Ultimate Frisbee squad, the Highland Chuggers ‒ sponsored by Highland Brewery and led on the far right by the Birthday Boy himself ‒ sprint “balls-out”** towards the disc in a recent competition.

(**Fortunately for us all, “balls-out” is used here only in the figurative sense, denoting “maximum effort,” and not in the literal Scottish kiltish sense of “maximum exposure.”)

All the Best on Your Big Day, Laddie!

Great gift idea for the kilt-wearer in the family:
This custommade chair makes sitting in a kilt both
comfortable and practical. 

 Hand-crafted from chestnut, naturally.

 

HB, Nicole!

Hidden HackFester Cam shot by JPM

Nicole is well-known in these parts for her epic bike rides from her home in Detroit to her parents' place in A2, a 45+ mile trip that takes some three hours and has her rolling past the not-particularly-photogenic neighboring communities of Dearborn, Taylor, Inkster, Wayne, Romulus,Ypsilanti, et. al..

It is both an arduous ordeal and quite challenging, given the dearth of bike paths along the way and the corresponding overabundance of vehicular traffic making that same commute. 

How does she do it?  Sheer will power to be sure -- not to mention impressive pedal power. Then there's her inventive imagination that, we surmise, allows her to envision herself not slogging along on a common bicycle, but rather driving in Roaring 20's style and comfort in a magnificent Maxwell, the wind threatening to tear her Schiaparelli hat from her head. 

Or not. Whatever your secret is, young lady, we are duly impressed.

All the Very Best on Your Big Day!  

Recently released: the 1940 Federal Census...

Atkinson Street, Detroit, MI

 

1940 United States Federal Census
about Michael E O'Brien

Name: Michael E O'Brien Age: 62 Estimated Birth Year:     1877 Gender: Male Race: White Birthplace: Michigan Marital Status: Married Relation to Head of House: Head Home in 1940: Detroit, Wayne, Michigan View Map Street: Atkinson House Number: 1181 Inferred Residence in 1935: Detroit, Wayne, Michigan Residence in 1935: Same Place Sheet Number: 1B Number of Household in Order of Visitation: 10 Neighbors: View others on page Household Members: Name Age Michael E O'Brien 62 Lyla C O'Brien 57 Martha O'Brien 29 Annie O'Brien 66

Martha O'Brien, still 20+ months away from her marriage to William J. Marion,
was working as a social worker for the Mothers' Pension Bureau, part of the
 government relief effort of the time.  She was living at home with her father,
Michael; step-mother/aunt, Lyla; and aunt Annie (AKA, Auntie). 

The Great Depression was slowly subsiding and WWII was ramping up
overseas, though the U.S. remained on the sidelines. 

In 1940, M.E. was forced to declare bankruptcy; times were difficult
for the O'Briens, but he continued working in the insurance industry, 
and with Mom's contributions, the situation was not dire. 

I couldn't find an entry for William J. Marion (26 years old), though I did
 find MC (Dad's father) in Sunflower, Alabama; brothers and sisters-in-law
Sam and Kate, Mit and Regina, and Jerry and Elizabeth, all residing
in Detroit; and sisters and brothers-in-law Belle and Clyde Findley and
Clyde Jr., (Hamilton, OH); and Dorthy and Tom Chenoweth and
their daughters, Donna and Liz (our first cousins, but whom we've
never met), in Gulfport, MS. 

We haven't tracked down the whereabouts of Dad's other sister,
Jane -- yet.

More to come....


 

The Kmartization of The Brand...

Ugh...and butt ugly, not to mention totally fugly.

 (Go Blue!)

HB, Big Joe!

The splendid Birthday Boy Himself, back in his haberdashery days, when men
dressed like gentlemen (a coat and a tie even to attend a ball game!), there was
 no such thing as "Casual Friday,"  and "wifebeaters" as outer garb were strictly
limited to stevedores and meat packers and then, only in Brooklyn and the Bronx.

Ahhh, the good old days...the sign "No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service"?  Didn't
exist.  No need.  Show up at church or Sunday brunch in jeans, tennies,
 and a t-shirt?  Never happen.  And knuckleheads wearing their pants halfway down
their glutei maximi?  Only in the circus.

Classy, sartorially-correct, and one of Carbondale's
very best...that's Big Joe. 

 

Another Milestone For These Two...

Twas long ago and far away when Julie and Mark
exchanged their "I do's."  Back then (1970) our population was
a mere 200 million, petrol was a paltry 36 cents a gallon, and you
 could buy a first-class stamp for 6 cents and a brand new AMC Gremlin
 for just $1879 (not that anyone in his right mind did so -- AMC was
doomed and closed its operations for good in 1987).

Through all the years and all the changes in the world, Julie and
Mark have remained committed and constant to each other. 
And while more than half of the marriages in this country 
sooner or later go the way of the Gremlin, the best ones
keep motoring on. 

 Here's to you both on your Big Day!

 

RIP, Paddy O.

Patriarch Patrick J. O'Brien fell to his death in a mine shaft in Calumet, MI,
on this day in 1890.  He was 56.  Twenty years later, his youngest son,
Michael E., would uproot the family and leave the Keweenaw Peninsula
for Detroit (and the rest, of course, is history).

HB, Esteban!

Mayo Clinic, Rochester, MN, circa 1990 - Young Steve, Big Red (his
beloved teddy), and Young Nicole, just prior to their inital
injections of HGH (human growth hormone) to kick start their
delayed development.  Back then, they were "not much bigger than
a chipmunk" (old family joke), but thanks to aggressive treatment, they
have since advanced to the point where now just one of them fits
in the chair. 

All the Best on your Big Day, Stevie Boy!

Gettysburg, PA, 2004 - An older-but-still-young Stevie, shown here to have

reaped the full benefits of his HGH treatment.

On summer sabbatical...

 Back once the creative juices have revived sometime after HackFest 2012, A2. 


In the meantime, contemplate these good people: 
a father, his five surviving daughters, and his son at a family
reunion, the Fenech home, Detroit, Michigan, circa 1965.

It takes a village...

I tossed this apple core out the front door for one of our chipmunk friends, but instead ended
up supporting an entire army of particularly puny ants.  I took this shot about 10 hours into
the process when all hands (and legs) were on deck. 

No idea how they moved those sequoia-like twigs into place -- the whole scene was like
something out of Gulliver's Travels though with ceaseless, orderly activity taking place
on a microscopically epic scale. 

Alas, by morning, the core was gone, no doubt gobbled obliviously down by some
 night creature passing by on its rounds, so I just threw another one out there....

Joyeux Anniversaire à vous, Pierre!

Paris, France, 1992

 Elegant early-adaptor Pierre, seen above clutching
his champagne in eager anticipation of all those tiny bubbles
cascading over his tongue, dancing around his mouth, then
going to his head.  (To think that the best that 6-year-old
 Americans can hope for on festive occasions is a plastic cup
of Kool-Aid or sparkling cranberry juice.  Not fair!) 
  C'est la vie.


All the Best on Your Big Day, Pierre. 
See you soon in NYC!


We don't need no steenking Kool-Aid.

HB, JP!

First tee box, Dearborn Holes Golf Course, a really long time ago.
Note Rouge River coursing in background.  Infamously, together, we
shanked 38 balls into it that day.  Long drive of the day winner, the
 Birthday Boy himself, 81 yards (hooked directly into the woods)

Now that Johnny Boy has reached the profound level of maturity possessed
by his older siblings (with his dear sister boldly leading the way and Mick-Mouse
dragging his feet at the rear), it is fitting to take a brief glance back -- which brings
us to this photo.  It was recently discovered quite by accident in a dusty corner of a
desolate attic at the very bottom of a misplaced antique storage chest underneath
the yellowed, brittle newspaper that lined its bottom. The long-forgotten shot was
taken the first time the brothers ever played golf together...which turned out to be
the last time for decades.

'Tearing up the course' is usually a good thing and suggests a low score as in
'Boy, you really tore it up today!'  However, in this particular case, we literally
tore the place up, young hacks that we were, and having been observed doing
so by the ranger-owner, we were summarily Banned For Life at DHGC
(actually Dearborn Hills, but widely and snidely called Dearborn Holes due
to its unkempt, unruly, unmowed and divot-plagued fairways and greens).

After our abject humiliation, it would be decades before we would regroup on a
 golf course (but, fortunately, have since made up for lost time).  Still, it's always
worth a moment's reflection on that very first time (whatever the category),
however painful such a memory may be.



All the Best on Your Big Day, Johann!