Hometown Places of The Heart

Al Koch
May 2024

A person’s hometown affects their life in a myriad of ways.  It is where the footing and foundation of a life anchors mind, body, and spirit.  The geographic location one becomes part of is not their decision or choice. A person is born and becomes a member of a family in which they had no voice in selection. And whether their hometown’s geographic location on planet earth is urban, rural, suburb, city, large, small, or any size in between, is decided by others.

Some individuals are born into rigid societies with limited social, economic, and emotional opportunities. Personal independence and choices are restricted. Their sovereignty denied and all rights and privileges held in bondage by others in authority, which limits and governs the value of all their days. Many others arrive ensconced in a caring, nurturing family, safe environment, and places that provide access for the positive development of a healthy mind, body, and spirit.

I’ve thought many times about the “Whys” of life.  Of all the places on planet earth, why was I born in the United States of America?  What decision placed me in the State of Indiana, in a Roman Catholic family, in the small hometown miracle of a midwestern little city by Lake Michigan named Whiting?   

Why was I the third child born into the family?  Why the ancestry of German, Irish, Slovak, Austrian, and smidgeons of other ethnicities?  Why did my life begin forty-one years into the 20th Century, on a cold frozen Tuesday afternoon, the twenty-first day of January?  One day far beyond the stars, the “Why” questions will be answered and fully explained.  Nothing in life is happenstance, God’s work has reasoning, purpose, design, and actuation, and it always arrives encased with divine love.

When one considers all the billions of locations, options, and possibilities available on planet Earth and the universe to begin life, it boggles the mind to think of the enormity, magnitude and good fortune bestowed upon an infant who is totally unaware of the gift presented to them.  It is awesome to contemplate and understand the amount of love God has for us.

These blessings are purposeful, designed, intentional, and presented for reasons known to Angels, but unknown to us. Even with the challenges encountered as one grows to maturity—and a number are formidable, devastating, and life-changing—there is within us an inner trust, hopefulness, and prayerful belief that we will be victorious and triumphant over adversity. Life is a test. Will we have the courage, strength and resolve to keep true to ourselves, faithful to the One who made us, and, at journey’s end, be welcomed and invited to share Heaven’s never-ending banquet? Stay tuned. 

For me, growing up in my hometown, Whiting, Indiana, was the best thing that could ever happen to a kid. Viewing life though youthful rose-colored glasses, the neighborhoods of Whiting-Robertsdale were one humungous back yard.  It didn’t take long for a few special places to capture the interest, and later, the heart of a youthful kid trying to figure out the whys and what-for of life.

Certain streets became familiar that served as home-base for this on-the-way-to -grown-up-status: Robertsdale’s Lincoln Avenue, Whiting’s Oliver Street, Cleveland Avenue, and the main thoroughfare of hometown USA, 119th Street.  Years later, our family resided on Stanton Avenue for more than thirty years.

Soon there were places of the heart that anchored and showcased the moments and memories engendered by youthful activities in childhood and adolescence. In random order, here is this writer’s list of hometown places of the heart.:

             Sacred Heart Church and School
Whiting Public Library
Whiting Park
Whiting Memorial Community Center
Whiting City Schools - Primary, MacGregor, and Whiting High School

There are places of business that played a major role in coming-of age adventures. In addition to the municipal locations, and parish listed above, here is a partial list of adolescent-friendly oasis’s that enriched and enhanced our growing up days:

White Castle
Andes` Pizza
Madura’s Dance land
Dave’s Rexall Drug Store
Capitol theater/Hoosier Theater
Neal Price’s Firestone Store
Hot Dog Louie’s Indiana Red Hots
Nick’s snooker emporium
Chadnick’s Oil Can
Burton’s Men’s and Boy’s Clothing Store
Lewin-Wolf Clothing Store
Whiting News Agency
St. John the Baptist Church
Immaculate Conception Grotto
Standard Diamonds
Western Tire & Auto Store
American Trust & Saving Bank
Shoreline Bus Company
Condes’   Grocery
Kinnane Cleaners
Walgreens
Whiting Post office

As a kid, I was familiar with many of the streets, alleys, and empty lots in the two communities of Whiting-Robertsdale. However, I was not introduced to Stieglitz Park, Goose Island, and neighborhoods beyond 121st Street until I was in high school. Many of my classmates lived south of 119th Street, and their friendship added to my appreciation for the Little City by the Lake.

Each by-way was travelled searching for revenue-producing deposit pop bottles, old newspapers, scrap metal, and usable bicycle parts. Regardless of season, these avenues, streets, and alleys served to embellish lasting appreciation for a chance to learn, grow, and live.

Places of the heart are the markers, guideposts, physical structures of one’s life that symbolize beginnings, growth, learning, lessons, maturation, gratitude, appreciation, and achievement.  They represent growth, change, support, contribution, and reflection of yesteryear. Permanently encased within these edifices are moments and memories, images, and improvement of one’s experiences captured during a particular time in life:

Sacred Heart Parish was the Koch family’s spiritual home and where I served my “Salvation Apprenticeship.”  Sacred Heart is where I received the Sacraments, served as altar boy, choir member, and spent eight years pursuing a Catholic education, graduating in June 1954. 

Sacred Heart Church is where my grandparents helped establish the parish on LaPorte Avenue, (The stained-glass window on the eastside of the sanctuary, next to the confessional in memory of my grandfather continues to honor St. Peter displaying the keys to Heaven’s Gate.) My uncle, aunts, and father all attended Sacred Heart Church and school.  My father and mother were married at Sacred Heart Church in September 1933. Subsequenlty, their four children, (Norman, Ronald, Albert, and Barbara), all graduated from Sacred Heart School.  My father’s funeral Mass was held at Sacred Heart Church in September 1965. After all these years, with both beginnings and goodbyes—Sacred Heart Parish served me well with Catholic teachings, faith-based lessons, Biblical Scriptures, and prayerful petitions. 

 I often refer to the Whiting Public Library as ‘The Most Important Building in Town. As a teacher, I asked my social studies students this question:  If your entire city was to be destroyed, and you could save only one building with all its contents, what building would you choose to save?  Their answers were varied.  Mine was always the same: I’d save the library.

The Carnegie Library Castle on Oliver Street is one of the most majestic buildings in Whiting.  Architecturally it has an elegant and ascetic reverence.  The library’s interior beckons readers, researchers, and reasoning.  The Whiting Library offers a full range of printed words, photographs, and graphics. 

The library was the first public building I was allowed to go to by myself.  When I started first grade at Sacred Heart School in September of 1946, our family home was on the 1800 section of Oliver Street.  On Saturday mornings, before ten o’clock, I’d walk toward the library and use the crosswalk between the library and Whiting high school.  Inside I’d walk downstairs to the children’s section. (One had to be in high school before going upstairs to the adult section.)

There would be an arrangement of chairs in a semi-circle for kids to sit on.  The librarian would sit close in front of us and read us a picture-story, holding the book so everyone could see the illustrations and pictures.

Afterwards, we were permitted to select books to take home. Previously, mom came with us and helped us register for a library card.  The library would stamp the card with the date a book was taken out and when it needed to be returned.  The librarian kept all the cards in a file by her desk. Each library patron was assigned a number.  Even after all these years, I still remember my first library card number: K76A. I also remember the pencil with the number stamp attached so the librarian could make a note and stamp the car and book as it was checked out.  All books had to be returned by the following Saturday before other selections could be taken home.

 Each week I’d come home with three to five books.  I loved to read and by Thursday, all the books had been read.  (These were days before TV, and we had choice of board game, listening to the radio, or reading.)  My brothers and I did all three.  To this day, I love going to the library. As a high school student, I used the library for preparing term papers, special reports, and investigating topics of interest.  I loved reading out-of-town newspapers.  I’ve often said the most important gift a parent can give to their child besides unconditional love, is to teach them how to read!

In high school, I struggled with English and failed several semesters. My English teacher, James Ulrich, kept me after school one day and taught me a special lesson.  He handed me a packet of 3x5 cards with the blank side up and told me to turn them over and place them on the desk.  Afterwards he asked: “Al, what do you see?”  I looked and him with a half-smile and said: “These are letters of the alphabet.”   He looked at me firmly and replied: “Albert, these 26 letters are the most powerful symbols known to man.  If you learn how to arrange them in the right way, at the right time, for the right reason—you will achieve your hopes and dreams.” I’m still working on his advice. I appreciate your patience.

Why is the library the most important building in town? Because it contains everything necessary to rebuild and renew should there be a calamity of destruction.  It houses the blueprints, plans, maps, information records and history of the city that would allow replacement, new beginnings, improvements, and restoration. The library showcases the heart, spirit, and treasure of a community. Support the library!

Whiting Park.  This wonderful parcel of real estate is lovingly referred to as Whiting’s municipal recreation and enjoyment center.  Although limited in geographical area, Whiting is blessed with a priceless lakefront.  Residents and visitors can enjoy the ambiance of Lake Michigan, sandy beaches, and lush greenery that encourages tranquility, restful activities, lake front walkways, marina access, and pavilion social gatherings.

As youngsters, we frolicked in the sand, enjoyed the beach, picnicked, played baseball, watched trapshooting, and spent hours on swings, teeter-totters, and displayed bold action derring-do on the riprap, the randomly piled boulders that served as break wall that separated the lake from the parking lot.  In winter, the flooded lagoon became an ice-skating arena and was well used by teenagers and children alike.

As enjoyable as these activities were, my favorite moments at Whiting Park were our high school class reunion picnics, and the solitary meditation sitting on the hillside adjacent to the little stone houses displayed on the terraced landscape.  As a grade-school kid, I’d walk to the park, sit on the hillside, and watch the ships on Lake Michigan.  On foggy days, the lonesome sound of the foghorn accompanied my watch. During adolescence, the park became a place to think, question, contemplate and sort out teenage uncertainties.

Several years ago, when Whiting Park was renovated and redesigned, I took advantage of the opportunity to purchase a park bench.  The plaque bears these words: “Dedicated to Whiting High School’s Finest Class: The Class of 1958.”  As a seasoned geriatric I no longer sit on the hill side and watch the lake. Even so, driving through the park always engenders heartwarming remembrances of classmates, friends, and once-upon-a-time moments.

Whiting Community Center
My dad took me to the Whiting Community Memorial House for the first time in the fall of 1949.  I was in third grade and my dad worked weekends at the Center.  Saturdays he’d managed the main desk.  On Sundays, he managed the bowling alley.  By 1952, as a sixth grader, the Community Center had become like a second home.

During the week, Andy Yanas oversaw the Community Center, and Hardy Keilman ran the bowling alley.  Andy, the Community Center’s Assistant Manager, was also in charge of the pin boys who worked in the bowling alley.  I was at the Community Center several days a week.  There was always something going on at the Center.  Basketball, swimming, bowling, billiards, chess, checkers, and just hanging out with friends.   Built by the Rockefeller family in 1923, the Center served as a memorial to those who fought in The Great War. 

Andy Yanas became a surrogate parent to countless kids.  He was in charge, and we called him chief.  Once inside, your behavior was monitored.  No one wore a hat inside the building.  No one dribbled a basketball outside of the gymnasium.  No one yelled or misbehaved. Violators were warned, and should the infraction happen again, you’d be outside looking in.

At sixteen, I began work as a pinsetter in the bowling alley. We earned ten cents a line. Local industries, businesses, and companies sponsored bowling teams.  Monday through Friday should a pin boy worked a double-double, (set two alleys and both matches—6:15 to 8:15, and 8:30 to 10:30), he could earn $6.00 per night--$30 dollars a week. That was real “folding” money.  A pinsetter could also work open bowling on Saturdays and Sundays and add to his earnings.  Working as a bowling alley pinsetter provided teenaged boys with needed capital to buy yearbooks, class rings, clothes, cover prom costs, and, for a select few, purchase a motorcycle or jalopy. 

The Community Center was where young people developed self-confidence, self-reliance, coping skills and independence.  The Center also served as socialization headquarters for youngsters as well as adults.  Andy Yanas and his staff cultivated an atmosphere of mutual friendliness, welcome, belonging, sharing, and camaraderie. 

All these years later, I still remember Joe MacDonald, the Manager, Andy Yanas, Fred Radar, Ann Anthony, Myrtle Soltwedel, Kathryn Yakish, Hardy Kielman, Joe Wilson, Rich Baranowski, and Men’s Locker room attendant, Wallace Byrd.   And Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Thompson who ran the snack stand adjacent to the bowling alley.

As an octogenarian, remembering the moments and memories at the Whiting Community Center always engenders heartfelt gratitude and appreciation. Whenever these thoughts come to mind, the memories of yesteryear arrive with wistful melancholy. Intertwined combined reflections serve as reminder for all the good people who touched my life and helped me along the way. Going to one’s hometown and visiting places of the heart is one of life’s most treasured fringe benefits.

Whiting City Schools
It might seem a bit odd that a parochial school student would have Whiting City Schools on his personal hometown places of the heart list, here’s why:

At the close of the 2nd grade school, Sister Perpetua at Sacred Heart School did not promote me to 3rd grade.  She wanted me to repeat second grade due to my stuttering and poor oral reading competency.  At that time our family lived on Oliver Street across the way from Whiting School.  My mom talked with Evelyn Stewart, an elementary teacher at the Whiting Primary Building and asked if she would accept me in the remedial reading summer school class.

Miss Stewart agreed, and I became her student during the summer of 1948. 

For the next two and a half months under Miss Stewart’s tutelage my oral reading skills improved, and I conquered and vanquished my stuttering.  By the end of August, the nuns had returned to the convent from St. Mary of the Woods.  My mother made an appointment, took me to the convent and I read for Sister Perpetua and St. Evangeline, the third-grade teacher.  They both agreed I should begin third grade when school resumed after Labor Day.

As a fifth grader, to keep me occupied during the summer, my mom sent me to Mr. Snap’s summer school mathematics and reading class in the MacGregor Building.  Our family moved in February 1949 to Cleveland Avenue.  I’d walk the four blocks to and from school.  In class, Mr. Snap, (he was principal of the MacGregor building), assigned me to help other students who were struggling with math and reading. By summer’s end I felt more confident and eagerly waited for school to start at Sacred Heart.

But the treasure of Whiting City Schools began for me on September 7, 1954, when I became a high school freshman. Meeting classmates, registering for classes, going from classroom to classroom, having a school locker, meeting new teachers, becoming familiar with the buildings and location of assigned classes, school library, study hall, auditorium, and gym.

As a thirteen-year-old teenager, the sights, sounds, and activities of being at Whiting High School were exciting and exhilarating!  

I’ve written several times about my four years at Whiting High School and the impact it had on my life, “From Green and White to Gold”. Teachers and classmates became treasures of the heart.  The Class of 1958, for me, is Whiting High School’s finest class.   After more than six decades, the appreciation and affection for these wonderful people, and the marvelous building on Oliver Street still brings smiles and gratitude for the lessons, learning, and friendships presented to me.  From September 7, 1954, to June 4, 1958, attending Whiting high School, being a hometown teenager and member of the WHS Class of 1958, was like finding treasure at both ends of a rainbow.

Whiting, Indiana was the best place to be a kid in the 40s, 50s, and 60s.  With neighboring Robertsdale, these two communities defined and showcased Hometown USA.  With images of canopied tree-lined streets and avenues, and all the ordinary minutes that became extraordinary moments to remember, places of the heart continue to nourish mind and spirit. 

Admittedly, the youthful rose-colored glasses were set aside immediately after high school graduation and replaced with crystal-clear, reality-based vision.  As one matures, one realizes no one grows up in a straight line.  There are interruptions, uncertainties, challenges, setbacks, failures, achievements, and triumphs.  But through it all, and after all these years, one realizes their “places of heart” are better than perfect---because there is no place like home.

I hope readers have their preferences and special remembrances of their hometown and places of the heart. These markers define important moments as we travel life’s journey.  When remembered they poignantly energize the spirit, comfort the mind, and hug the heart.  Cordially welcome a pensive visit and enjoy your once-upon-a-time moments and memories.