An American Ghost Town: Hawk Springs, Wyoming

On Highway 85 heading North from Cheyenne, just past Bear Mountain, a sign reads, Hawk Springs, Population 50. The sign proves to be out dated and a string of small buildings are located along the corridor. Some of the houses lay in shambles, but a few have trimmed yards with some residents living in them. It is just one of the many small towns in Goshen County that have vanished. Much of the history on these communities have died along with its population. Stories and photos have neither been passed down or have been disregarded with the passing of time. Photos from Hawk Springs past could be out there, with the descendants of those who lived there. Many of whom, probably have no clue to where they came from.

Thinking back through the years, I remember walking the streets of Hawk Springs, Wyoming and dreaming of a time that once was. I could imagine the streets filled with people on horses, carriages, and on foot, making their way to the local stores, train depot, schools, or to the neighbors. Those days, however, had come and gone even before my time. I grew up in Hawk Springs, even then, there was the Longbranch Saloon, a gas station, and even a garage. Even now those things have gone. Now the town sits with a few residents, but the businesses have all closed.

Most of my days I spent wandering the old town, playing in the park, or visiting with some of the elderly residents. I would chat with the Whites, Koneshs, Gregorys, Minnie Hill, or the Marlatts. These folks lived in Hawk Springs since they were kids. Walt Gregory had a plaque on his wall which stated he graduated from the Hawk Springs Kindergarten class. I too had the same plaque. I guess I was the last class of kindergarten. Walt was probably about 70 years old when I talked to him. He ran the gas station on the highway, it was called Walt's station, but the old sign said Standard Oil.

Right next to Walt's station was Mr. Baker's Garage, the old faded sign read, DeSoto. The building was the old DeSoto sales and garage. Inside the garage smelled of gar and oil, but the interior looked as a museum. On the walls were photos of the old Desoto building, old Desoto photos and a pin up calender from 1945. The Calender had a portrait of a young lady with a car behind her.

Across from Mr. Baker's Garage was a park. I remember back in 77 there was the train depot, but it was moved to Cheyenne, Wyoming and turned into a house. Right by the park was the main street, and on the other side was an old restaurant/hotel, fire department, post office, a vacant structure, old grocery, and a couple of vacant lots. Up a couple of streets was the old lumber yard, about another block or so was the old church the community building which was the old elementary school, caticornered was the old high school and about another block was the old truck stop/Sally's Cafe/Longbranch. Heading back down to the main street was another old gas station. Not much really to speak about, maybe except for the memories of the old timers which lived there.

Mrs. Konesh would always be in the yard with his husband, planting flowers, tilling the soil or burning old branches from the enormous trees which engulfed the yard. They would offer lemonade as I would make my way down the street. I'd sit with the couple and they would tell me about the days when Hawk Springs was a busy little town. The couple owned the pool hall/bar which was located in one of the empty lots on main street. Many of the men would come play pool and drink in the 40's and was a gathering place for the residents. The old Hawk Springs Bank was located next door to the hall. These two buildings had burned down in 1954. I was enthralled with the idea this was once a vibrant town. I could only wish the school was still there so I didn't have to ride the bus for two hours to get to the school I went to school over in Yoder or maybe have a friend to associate with. Mrs. Konesh also remembered as a child that this was not the original site for the town. She remembered the people packing up their stuff and rebuilding the town. The waters of the Hawk Springs Reservoir have since covered the town. A dam had been built to create the water district for the farmers. They had used the original site for the lake and the cool waters enveloped the town. Under the water lay the old cemetery and all the headstones still lie beneath. Many of the original structures had been moved to the new Hawk Springs site. She remembered the men dragging the old church to it's new site. The residents all rejoiced when they finally opened the church again.

During the 40's and 50's, the Hawk Springs school always was a rival for the LaGrange School. The people would support the schools and come out to watch every game. When the Hawk Springs Hawks would play the LaGrange Longhorns they would have a full stadium. Next to the old high school was a baseball stadium with it bleachers and diamond mound. The structure is no longer there, however, the ghosts of yesteryear can be heard in the Wyoming wind as it blows across the area. The team was comprised of the Marlatt brothers, Walt Gregory, and the star pitcher was Doug Yates. Mrs. Konesh could remember watching every game played. She had even wished she could go out with the boys and play on the field.

Marlatt once opened the building next to the post office. It contained some of the memorabilia from the school. The pennants of the Hawk Springs Hawks was stored on a shelf, the yearbooks were stacked and a large assortment of stuff from the school were collecting dust.

About a half a block from behind the post office is a pit. The old pit I remember was used for burning rubbish. The smoke would fill the area. I would sit at the edge of the pit. The residents used to tell the pit was the basement for the old movie house. The old building had been burned down several years before the bank. However, they could remember seeing some great classics. When the old Chapman grocery store caught fire in the early 80's, the contents of the store was dumped into the old pit. I remember rummaging through and finding old wrapped candy. A case of pop rocks was still in it's package. The Valentine brothers lived in Hawk Springs at the time and we split the case.

The Valentines moved to Hawk Springs with their mother to be close to her parents, the Lemasters. The Lemasters were Cal and Virginia who owned the Longbranch. The Longbranch was located at the old truck stop along the Highway 85. The longbranch was built on the old site of Sally's Cafe at the truck stop. The old cafe was an old trailer. I remember the booths were red leather and at every table was a red phone.

Cindy Bath, was a waitress at the stop. I remember going in and ordering pancakes. I also remember the cafe burning down. It seems the town has had a lot of fires to it's local businesses. I guess the sign of times means fires occur frequently. The Longbranch was built and a bar was added to the site. The cafe was in the front and the back housed the steak house for the evening customers. The other side of the cafe was the old motel which had been there before Sally's Cafe. I remember reading an article from the Torrington Telegram, the Longbranch burned down, again, in about 2004.

The 1970's the town was a place for travelers to stop and fuel up and head north or south, which ever one might be headed. Some on the way to Cheyenne or up to South Dakota. Interstate 25 was not the way people took. Highway 85 was the main road either direction. August was a especially busy for the area. Bikers from all over would stop at Hawk Springs and camp out on the way to Sturgis. They would make camp in the park and drink the night away at the Longbranch. Teen girls of the area would come to town, if they wanted a bit of excitement; even some of the house wives would partake in the biker festivities.


As a child I remember we had a visitor, a middle aged man came to our door. He asked if he could come in a chat for a bit. He told he had grown up in the house we were living. He had said the house had not change much. His father had built the front part of the house and the row of trees in the back were planted by his grandfather. He could remember his grandmother telling him the house was once the Hawk Springs dance hall. The floors were carpeted in red, but we tore up the carpet and found the old woodblock.

From Beyond The Grave

Sometimes I think, dreams are communications with relatives gone to the great beyond. As a child I would dream I was on a train, and met a man who asked me to find him. I woke to find myself startled and upset. I could not find anyone, for I didn't even know where I was. For many years, this dream would haunt me. I could see his face, he was wearing black, including a cowboy hat. This dream began to change setting as I got older. I was in a cemetery looking at headstones. The one headstone was of my great grandmother and the second was of my great step grandmother. I eventually told my mother about my dream and she dismissed me as if it were a tall tale. Later, she would reveal my findings as fact. The names on the stones were of my great grandmother and my great step grandmother. The old man in the dream I had asked him if he were my grandfather, Henry. The response was; "No, I am Jacob." I had no clue of this name, but when I revealed it to my mother, she said, "Jacob, is grandpa's dad."

Grandpa never really talked about his family. All We knew was that great grandpa had smacked great grandma in the head with an iron skillet. They said she was a dreamer and would not fix the nightly supper for great grandfather. He would come home and find her day dreaming. The roles of husband and wife were quite defined back at the turn of 20th Century. The husband would work the farm and the wife would cook and care for the children. There really was no time to sit idle. If she didn't start baking in the morning, supper would not be ready for that evening. From what I understand, the family committed her to a hospital in Norfolk, Nebraska.

Many years have passed since my grandfather died because of an explosion in his trailer. I never really knew the man, except for what my mother told me about him. She always said he was a drunk, who had another life, that she was not a part. She can recall all the times grandpa would get drunk and then disappear for months at a time. She can also recall the times when he sobered up, he would find some kind of job and everything would be fine. Going through the photo albums I can see some of the good times. Mom seems to not remember those times, but you can see it in her eyes that she loved the old man.

Times have come and gone, but I still feel the lingering effects of the past. The past only gives me an insight of who I am. I am a descendant of a California Gold Rush participant, a Volga German immigrant, and a whole list of lives that once occupied this heavenly planet.

Starting a journey in finding my ancestors was not difficult. I began searching on Ancestry.com. I plugged in my grandfather and grandmother and it seemed to take off. I spent many months tracking census information and birth and death records. After so long, it becomes a bit meaningless. I truly needed more. I found that visiting cemeteries, from Nebraska to California, which gave me a little more information. I connected with each headstone, touching the soil and the marker. While visiting, I ask about other relatives, which are in the great beyond, photos, or stories. It seems, my questions are always answered. I soon began meeting distant cousins who are in search of my same questions. I only visited the Cemeteries in Nebraska and South Dakota, but my search sent me to Findagrave.com to find the distant headstones. Most of the relatives were not listed in the data base, I then became a contributing member, seeking photos of my dear ancestors markers.

Connecting to cousins is a great experience, they might have a bit more of the puzzle that is missing from the tree. A hidden photo that might be hidden in an old album a letter sent many years ago stuck in the bottom of a box, or the family bible. It might still be there. I have connected with many cousins that might have information that is relevant to my quest, or maybe they know someone else that does. My dear cousin Vin is one such cousin, she and her family still had great photos and connected me to other distant cousins who had more photos and family stories. My grandmother on my father's side had no such photos, but to find her sister's line with photos was a wonderful find. After meeting Vin, I was able to meet cousin Ernie. Ernie, had obtained photos from his father. He also helped in my quest. He drove up and down Northern California to speak to other cousins. He obtained a photo of my Great Grandparents and a photo of my grandmother at 5 years old from another cousin. In his search, he discovered the family bible, which had been lost since the 1950's. In a story he told, great grandfather Henry Hamburg, passed away in 1952. On the day of his funeral, Margaret Kinsvater, his niece on his wife's side had taken the family bible. The family began looking for the bible and could not find where it was located. A few years later, it was discovered that she had taken this bible.

It had caused much family trouble between the families. Great Aunt Millie had begged for it's return, however, Ms. Kinsvater would not deliver. My Aunt Lucille, who was living in Washington State decided to do her own research on the family. She contacted Ms. Kinsvater and she agreed to bring the bible to help with her research. As Aunt Lucille was looking at the bible, she ripped out the pages that were needed, with Ms. Kinsvater



There still are more photos out there. I will find them when the time comes.

I obtained a lead Jacob was buried somewhere in South Dakota. The summer of 2011 I went searching for this mysterious cemetery out in a field somewhere by Martin. This cemetery was down a dirt road about ten miles, take a cow path east five miles, turn at an old farm house, take another cow path and on the top of the hill is Gamble Cemetery. These directions will not get you there, but it was a trek that I took my cousin and aunt on. We were in my all terrain vehicle; there would be no other way to get down these cow paths, with all the bumps, potholes and pastures. We finally made it to the cemetery. It was gated with a bob wire fence. As we approached, I didn't know if we were at the right place, the sign was old and faded. The only way to tell was by some of the residents markers. As I photographed the whole cemetery, I noticed, Jacob was not there. It was not a waisted trip. Many of the headstones were needed by some of the FindAGrave members. There were also headstones there that were not recorded. Many of them were from children that passed in the 1920's an 30's.

My Aunt commented on this, "There are a lot of children buried here."
On our way out of the field we noticed an on coming truck. We followed this vehicle out of the cow trails and finally stopped to talk to the owner. It was an elderly lady and her daughter. They were out visiting the rural cemeteries. It turned out, her Aunt was my grandfather's cousin. She had been searching for her Aunt Innis for almost 50 years. The family would not give the family the info needed to find their relative. Cousin Innis was on my list and she was buried in Scottsbluff, Nebraska. The family could rest after 50 years of searching. I guess I was not supposed to find Jacob, but to give information to another seeker.

I have found much information on my ancestors, but to help another seeker is a great feeling. I have been asked by other seekers if I have any more information on lines, but I only have what I have been given.

The dream puts me on a train, I never saw a train on my journey to Gordon, Nebraska, but there once was a train that would pass through there every day, bringing goods and folks to the area. The tracks have been ripped up and the whistle has not blown in over forty years. Maybe my grandfather and great grandfather rode that train.

Reflecting on Cancer

2012 was to be my new awakening; I had planned on changing my life and begin a new. On New Years Eve, I smiled a bit more, believing everything good was to come with the new year; texting everyone on my cell, including Vin. That night cousin Vin went into a coma and a few days later she passed away. I did not know Vin, except for the few times we met, text and emailed. She was a distant cousin that I recently met. We had the same interests and had a few tales that we shared. That was enough to call her friend. We both had been doing family research and I happened upon a site called the Art House Coop. Ravina was her given name, but went by Vin. I tried to contact her through the Art House Coop, not knowing if she still used it. On her profile, she stated that she was diagnosed with cancer and was fighting the battle of her life. I googled her name and found that there was an address for her in Westminster, Colorado. I had no clue if she was at that address or if she had passed. I then wrote a letter, to my delight, I received a response in two days, receiving an email stating that she was living in Colorado, and asked where I was. She also stated that she had many photos of her family line which I could get copies sent to me. I was grateful that she was still alive and in a few communications she told me that she was in remission and was living a vegan life. We soon met.

"I could not believe someone had written me a hand written letter," Vin exclaimed. Not many people use the US Postal Service anymore, especially to write letters. Our meeting was a great day. When I texted Vin, I asked if she and her mom would meet me at the Mexican restaurant on 77th Ave. They both agreed. When I finally made it to the area, Vin texted that her mom was not feeling well and that it would be just herself. I thought that was okay. I did want to meet her mother, but Vin also stated that I could come up to the house to meet her mom. I went to the restaurant and waited until the two arrived. When they walked in, they were astonished to see me. They knew who I was by the way I looked. They said that they thought they had seen a ghost. I guess I resembled her Uncle Norman. When we finished at the restaurant we went back to the house where we sat out on the patio, chatting about photos, family lines, and people I might be interested in talking to. Velma Ruth, Vin's mom, was just as lovely as she could be. When I left the house, Vin said that I had a place to stay if I needed it, and that I was always welcome. A month later, I was working in Denver at a event, selling ice cream. Vin and her friend Debbie came down to the event. I just enjoyed talking about our interests. It was nice to have someone to talk about my hobby. Another month or so, I received word that the cancer had spread.

I needed to search within myself to feel the anguish knowing another family member had cancer. My sister, a few years before, had also been treated for cancer. The long hours we spent in the waiting rooms at the chemo treatment center. My mother would drive my sister to Fort Collins every other week to be injected with the hazardous fluid. The room was filled with men and women from all over the Northern Colorado and Southern Wyoming areas. One patient was only a teen and another was over 90 years old. My mom always stated, why is there so many people with cancer? I really don't know the answer to the question, but many people say it's because of the food we eat, the pesticides on and in the ground, and maybe it's because of cell phones. Vin said she went vegan, for she believed it was in the food. I really don't know. However, if I was diagnosed, I really would not put myself through such misery as chemo.

I recall a statement my grandfather had told my father my years ago, that we were put on this earth to suffer. If this is the case, I don't want to prolong an existence which is riddled with more suffering given by God.

Thinking about life, I wonder, is my life given to me already planned by some mystical god, or am I in control of my own fate. Throughout the years I have tried to make my life go in one direction, however, that road is always blocked. I try to go around, but am never able to get past. Maybe I need to let go of everything and just hide from the world. At times, I seem to be invisible. No one even notices that I exist.

Maybe one day I will be seen.

Reflecting on the past, I can see moments in time that I would like to hide forever in. A time of love: I would like to be on the lake shore in Cheyenne, Wyoming, watching the geese at sunset. A time of prosperity: I would like to be in Lingle, Wyoming, running the newspaper or working at the TV station in Rockford. A time of friendship: I would like to be in Rockford with my friend Sherry, or the day I spent with Vin. These moments in time are locked in my mind, each memory makes me long for those moments. I know I can never go back, but maybe the best is yet to come.

Life with Dynamic Karaoke

Meeting new and different people is the key to understanding what karaoke means to me. I have had the pleasure of mingling with some great and beautiful individuals, whom have brought joy to my life. Often times joy also brings pain. Karaoke is more than just a place to be, or a song to sing. It is an attitude. Some people think it's about competition and making the less talented person feel inadequate. It is about having fun and enjoying the company of those who share in the same experiences.

I can't imagine life without karaoke.

After 9/11, I had lost lifelong dream of working in television, (refer to my blog, 9/11 The Day the World Stopped), I then began working at the Ground Round restaurant in Rockford, Illinois. It was a wonderful place, I met some great people. My friend Sheri, was the manager. Going out every Tuesday and Thursday to a local pub with other co-workers, who would participate in the fun of karaoke. It was more than just singing some popular song, it was about finding what songs you liked to sing. Some songs were often harder than most, but the joy of singing together was the main part of entertainment. We would laugh, talk about what songs we thought each other could or were willing to sing. We not only made time for each other, but made time for the new comers who came in. I remember we were more than friends, we were family seeking each others acceptance. As a group, we would practice the songs that we wanted to sing, sitting out in the cars before karaoke would begin and practice. As loud as we could we'd sing that song that we were going to showcase for the evening. I'd be in my car, Sheri would be in her van, and Reese would be in his car. All our radio's would be blaring and we'd try to match each song, note for note. We'd then go in and socialize with the group. After the night would end, we'd plan on what we were going to sing the next group session of karaoke. Always going through the book to see what was available. Many times I'd pick a sad song, however, sad songs were looked down upon. "That will bring the fun down in the bar," said a frequent bar goer.
Sheri often said, it was my choice and not to listen.

During the week, we'd go down to Sheri's basement. She had a karaoke machine set up with large speakers and a sound system her husband had bought for Christmas. We'd practice new songs. We also made trips to Chicago to buy new CDGs at a small karaoke store; which stocked many disks and karaoke equipment. The owner was always happy to see us, for we'd spend hours going through his music and often asked what he could order for us. He was always willing to find what we wanted; then take the disks back to Rockford and rock out in the basement. I enjoyed spending time with my friend and her twin daughters. This group of friends became family.

October 2003, we sold the house and moved back to Colorado. I really was hesitant about the move, I had found friends and a life that was rich and rewarding. A sad day was leaving the great town of Rockford. I wish I could go back and stay. However, you can't go back. My friend Mike had wanted to return to be close to his family and went back to the old job he hated at the Mexican Restaurant he previously worked. The owner suckered him into returning and sticking him in Fort Collins. On the way back to Colorado, I was under the impression we'd be returning to Denver. I had made plans to revisit old friends that lived there. We had a house lined up in Denver and a whole new life planned in the city. Once we arrived, we were stopped at Johnson's Corner along the interstate. Mike called Louie and he said that the house fell through. I was a bit upset, I really wanted to be in Denver. Mike was on the phone with Louie and he stated he wanted him up in Fort Collins, instead. I bit my tongue on this one. I really wanted to say, No, but I agreed.

November rolled around and I was missing my life in the Land of Lincoln. I went to a few karaoke places that were available in Fort Collins with some of my co-workers. I had not found the kinship that I once had. I was insulted, taunted, and ridiculed by local patrons and staff of these places. I made a performance of Billy Idol and was told by the KJ, that I could not sing or even dance. Hence, I began my own karaoke business. I had shows in Longmont, Aurora, Greeley, and Northglenn, which I was happy with how things started to take off.

Many of the people I had met were the foundation of what I really wanted. I wanted friendship, understanding, and the ability to perform without being discriminated. I met many wonderful people, many of whom needed the same things I was looking for, they gave me back the family I had lost. Some of my new found family came to enjoy the festivities, and others came to drink. I didn't care who came, as long as they had a good time. I grew fond of each person that passed through the door. I have a group of handicapped friends that has enriched my life. They've shown me, karaoke for them was about being understood and accepted. I have always treated them with great kindness. They are my family too, and this group has given their love for Dynamic Karaoke and for me. No one is discriminated.

Many times, the drama of people with their own personal agendas has come up. I don't like people bringing down the house with this kind of childish behavior, so it's best to keep it out. I like to smile and have a good time, I thrive on good energy, however, negativity is viral.

I too get down, but I try to keep it out.

Most holidays I try to dress up the karaoke. I wear flashy holiday ties and try to decorate for the season. During Christmas I get out the red table cloths and keep the spirit up for the season. 2004's Christmas season was a bit stressful. On the 18th I was headed to Aurora from Cheyenne. About ten miles from the state line I encountered a whiteout. The drive was a bit nerving, I couldn't see. I slowed down to be safe on the roadway, the black ice still made it difficult to go on. In my rear view mirror I could see a semi truck speeding up from behind. I thought to myself, someones' gonna get hurt. The semi pulled around me and passed, a second semi was behind him and six cars sped around. I couldn't believe this. About two miles had passed and the ground blizzard almost made the drive a crawl. I kept thinking that I needed to turn around, however, also thought the snow was going to let up over the next pass. I looked more intense through my windshield. Making out in the distance a dark line. As I got closer, the shape became more clearer. The two semi's had jackknifed on the interstate and the cars following had slammed into it, one trailer standing on end. I could see the cars piled up in front of the trucks. I eased on the brakes and tried to slow, skidding a bit before I came to a full stop. Looking up reminded me of watching the Twin Towers on TV. The one truck had it's trailer standing up in the air and the other trailer was on it's side. My stomach was a bit queasy. I got out and went over to the cars. I could count my blessings that I had not been part of the dog pile of metal. I could hear a lady in the bottom vehicle. She was screaming and sobbing, "Is anyone out there? Help!" I rushed over and replied, "I'm out here." I didn't know what to do. I had no phone and I did not see anyone else around. "I'm gonna get help." I was thinking I was gonna get back into my car and drive around the mess. I didn't see anyone else around. I turned and looked behind me and realized there was another wave of cars coming. A vehicle was speeding and braking. I could see in my mind's eye I was gonna be hit by this car. My life flashed for a bit. I then saw the car hit the back of my car and it slammed into the car with the lady trapped inside. "Oh God!" I cried.

I looked back again and saw two semi's coming up the road. They were in both lanes. They were slowing down and creating a barrier for the incident. For the next few hours we were out in the cold waiting for the tow trucks to clear up the interstate. The other travelers from the vehicles were all out of their cars and huddled on the other side of the accident. No one was hurt, but I still can hear the lady in the Taurus.

Many of the regulars and staff heard about the accident. They called to check to see how I was doing. Whether, they were in Aurora, Longmont or any of the other venues across the front range we were family. Caring about one another. I went back the next week to find everyone wanting to hear about the accident.

Sometime after Christmas, I received a call from the manager of the Aurora location. One of my karaoke family was found in her garage. She had strung herself up. I had no idea why. I had just seen her the night before. She and her friends had come in for our weekly night of karaoke fun. She had been in good spirits and I could not believe what she had done. Lauren was her name and she was hanging out with Lee and his girlfriend. At the end of the night, she asked if I would sing with her, one of her favorite songs, "Picture" by Kidd Rock and Sheryl Crow. This was the last song of the evening and the last song she sang. When I took the call, I was frozen. I could not believe she would do this. I heard from her friends that she was depressed, fore she was dealing with another friend who was shot and killed in the Aurora mall.

June 2008, the restaurant was filled with karaoke haters. The staff always hated to be working karaoke. They would grumble and tell everyone how they really wanted to not have the regulars there. They would refuse to serve and just try to run off my regulars. They said they didn't tip enough, or they didn't drink enough. I had a group of people go to the bar and no service was given. I complained, but the staff were never changed out. The new management said, not everyone likes karaoke. That doesn't mean, they didn't have to do their jobs, serve the paying guest. I just became frustrated and after a drunk patron violated another patron, I put my two weeks in. I even recommended another KJ for my position. I just can't see being somewhere to make the establishment money and they can't get staff to clean tables, serve drinks and food, and keep the guests in check. The staff went as far as refusing to serve my handicapped guests. They usually came in and would spend $150 in food and finish off the evening with drinks.

I officially retired.

A few months later, I received a call from my friend Joey. "Mike, we need you to find a place for karaoke." Joey and her group had been to other places and went back to the Mexican Restaurant. The special needs group had found they were not being treated with kindness anywhere else. I thought about it for a bit, and replied, I will try. After a few weeks, I discovered a place in Old Town Fort Collins, the Gelazzi Italiano Cafe. The little gelato shop was a great place to bring some of my regulars back. The cafe served alcohol, coffee, and gelato. It might really be a good place.

Many regulars have come and gone. I enjoy seeing new faces and the familiar ones as well. I always smile when they come into Gelazzi and have a great time. I think about all the times that I smile and that is when old friends come see me. I miss a lot of people that have decided they like the bar scene much better. However, they are not the reason I enjoy it. I love to feel the spirit of karaoke in the respect each one has for each other. They accept each other as family and bring joy and not drama to my soul. I see the smiling eyes of my karaoke family and it brings light to my existence. At times I ponder, what will happen to these people if my show will close. Sometimes the regulars have forgotton that I'm trying to create goodwill, some have become selfish and use my show for their own cheap entertainment.  Please buy something, it keeps the show going. 

Since, the past few months, I deleted the Karaoke at Gelazzi Show.  Gelazzi will soon be no more and I am seeking other employment.  I helped manage the place and produced some of the best gelato, I have awards to prove this.  I have found another place called the Canyon Grill up by Horsetooth Reservoir.  It's a nice place and all of the regulars are welcome to attend.  This place finds time to accept my long time friends, Joey and Friends.

They will go on.

The dynamics of Dynamic Karaoke is people who want to have fun and enjoy the company of others. No Drama, Please.

Don't Feed The Squirrels!

Rockford is one of those towns that make people think they had gone to heaven.  The streets are not paved in gold, but are lined with immaculate green yards, complete with gardens.  Each yard could be identified by the floral and the distinctive trees that ornate the roadside.  I had moved to Rockford two years prior, and had moved into our first house the end of the previous summer.  I had not noticed the garden until the following spring.  The perennials began to come up at the end of April, to my surprise was a cherished treasure of greens, reds, purples, pinks and whites.  Living out west I had not had the experience with what wonders the garden's of Illinois would pleasure me.  By the middle of May, my garden had come into full bloom. I looked at each flower and plant with great anticipation. Hidden in the bountiful garden was a row of strawberry plants and next to that, raspberries.

Along with the garden came the inherited creatures that lived in the trees and in the foliage.  We were clipping the enormous rose bush out by the garden's gate.  The branches had not been clipped for a few years and the dead limbs overhung the fence.  Mike and I had taken on the task to make the garden a place of tranquility, again.  Mike bent over to find a plastic looking toy crouched by the bush.  It lay there, still.  He reached over and was startled when the toy began to move.  It crawled from under the bush and dashed underneath another.  Mike was startled, he had thought the spider was a toy.  The size of the spider gave him the willies.  The neighbors came over and he told his encounter with the spider.  A yellow and green spider, with the ability to move very quickly.  The neighbor laughed and said that was a banana spider and not to touch.  It was a very poisonous arachnid.  At night, bats could be seen in the air.  The neighbors on the other side were out in the backyard, the young girl was throwing a ball in the air.  The bat swooped down and tried to catch the ball.  After a few tried the bat decided to go for the girl and was then tangled in her hair.  I remember she was laughing, then all of a sudden a scream was heard, as the bat dived towards her head. The trees also housed the ever so friendly family of squirrels.  Many of them could be seen hoping branches and running along the fences.  They would chase each other and seem as if they knew the backyard garden better than anyone else in the neighborhood. What a wonderful sight, to watch these critters as they live their lives in heavenly Rockford.

We had decided to put up a small bird house and feeder for the red robins and other birds in the area, and put out a feeder for the squirrel family.  We'd filled the bird feeder with the various seeds they loved to enjoy and ears of dried corn for the squirrels.  We put loose corn around the tree and in the beds of perennials. Sitting out on the porch I'd watch as the critters would come and feast on the seeds and corn.  What a wonderful life, I would think to myself. As I looked over the fence, and toward Irene's house, more wonderful creatures would populate the neighborhood. 

June rolled around and a new squirrel come into the garden.  He was not the average friendly resident that had been in the garden.  He was an older male, with gray on his back and head. He was also missing one of his hind feet and tail.  This one must have been in an accident or was caught in the motor of a vehicle.  Watching him, he seemed to hiss as he climbed the tree to make it to the corn trough.  I eyed the new resident, he was not my friendly neighborhood squirrel.  I felt sorry for the little creature, he must have a rough life using his front paws to climb the tree. Day after day, he would return, snacking on the ears of corn he would retrieve from the area, sometimes he would take a cob and climb up the tree with his two muscular arms.

Each morning, my little puppy would hurry downstairs to go out the back door.  As he exited, he would howl his little beagle voice, chasing the residents of the tree.  They would scamper up the trunk and to the high branches.  Xander would continue howling until he realized they were not going to come down.  He then would sniff about the yard, waiting for the next critter to unveil itself.   After about an hour he would return back into the house, feeling exhausted by the excitement of the garden. The residents then would return to the harvesting of the corn.

The end of July came and our family of squirrels had grown.  There must have been twelve to fifteen of them in the back yard, waiting for the ears of corn.  They waited and watched me as I would open the back door to go outside. It was a bit funny, I would watch as I would throw the loose corn.  They all moved with my hand, not knowing which side I was going to throw.  Back and fourth they would move.  Even Xander was a bit cautious of the behavior of the residents. I didn't think much about the behavior, however, they became quite used to my presence and had no fear.  I walked out on the back porch and the large number of critters rushed Xander

"Speak to me, God."

"I laughed so hard I thought I'd die," a poem I read as a kid from the Hodgepodge Book. This poem makes  me laugh every time I think of it. However, it has real meaning.

In the Summer of '85, I was a young teen with ideas and dreams.  Most of my days were spent dreaming of a way to get away.  I lived in Hawk Springs, Wyoming, a small rural town with nothing to do, except dream.  At the time there were a few other kids my age living in town.  There was Steve from up the street and Tom who lived in the next house over.  We were not the best of friends, but we sometimes would hang out.  We might head over the junkyard or over to turtle pond.  Most of our days were spent thinking about getting away.  The year before, we took our bikes and rode until we reached the next town over.  That was an accomplishment, it was almost fifteen miles away.  When we got there we went over to Gary's house, Gary was one of our classmates.  We then talked about going further to the next town over from there, Torrington. We never did finish that feat. However, in '85, we seemed to go in different directions, Steve was more interested in hanging out with an older guy named Larry. Tom was busy mowing the lawns, and I was left with either hanging with my grandfather, who was living in the trailer behind the house, or hanging with my brothers. Neither one of those options suited me. I was then beckoned to hang with the older neighbor.  At the beginning of the Summer, the neighbor would entice us to hang with him.  He would drive us to Torrington, to hang out with some of our classmates that lived there.  We'd need to come up with money to pay for the gas.  The neighbor would always want to go to town, but had no money. He'd always provide the transportation if we had the money.

August 1st, "I did die."

That afternoon, the older neighbor came over to my house.  He was wanting to go into Torrington.  He said we could go to the drive-in and hang out with some of my friends.  I enjoyed hanging out and having a good time.  I didn't have enough money, so he suggested to check with Steve and Tom.  I made my way over to Steve's and found he was leaving with Larry to go to the Bluffs and Tom was out mowing the front yard of his Uncle's house and said he was told not to hang out with Pete anymore.  That was the deal breaker.  I then went over to grandpa's and he had given me ten dollars.

Leaving a few hours later, we'd talked about what we going to do that evening, planning on cruising main and heading over to the drive-in.  All the excitement of what the evening might bring, resolved the fear that I had in the back of my mind.  I didn't like going to Torrington without Steve and Tom, but Pete reassured me that everything was going to be fun. Once we arrived in town, we drove up and down main street, searching out people we might know.  Pulling into the Mini Mart, he stopped to talk to a man in a white Impala.  The man had blond long hair and seemed to know Pete quite well.  He motioned to me that we were going to cruise around with him for a bit.  I made my way to the back seat, which was upholstered in red leather.  The fuzzy white dice hung over the rear view mirror, which swung back and forth with each turn.  After riding around for a bit we made it to the top of the hill over looking Torrington.  I could see the swimming pool and the houses which lit up the area.  I gazed over the row of lights and could see Dj's house.  We had hung out with her the time before and I longed for that day to return.  I wanted to walk on down to her house and call home so my mom could come get me.  I thought for a bit, and asked myself, what would she say, I was going to the show, and I was not there.  The man in the Impala returned us back to the car.  The car was an 1959 Oldsmobile, with different colored panels and missing the hood of the engine.  I climbed back in the car, it was getting late.  I laid down on the torn seats and closed my eyes.  When I woke again, it was raining.  The downpour stalled the motor of the car.  I asked him to take me home, he insisted that once the rain stops that we will head back to Hawk Springs.  He finally got the motor started and he kept on driving around.  We passed Dj's house again and went passed the ball park.  I kept thinking that I should get out and walk to her house. I closed my eyes again.

Some weeks later I woke in the hospital.  My mom and dad were sitting in the room, watching and waiting for me to wake.  I could feel the painful catheter inside my bladder.  The halo around my head was screwed into my skull with four large bolts, the doctor said that I had broke my neck and referred to it as the hangman's break.  I could not believe where I was, tied to a bed with all my junk showing.  I was told that I was in an accident.  The '59 Olds' top had been sheered from the automobile, the motor had been savagely smashed into the passanger side.  I had been slumped under the motor and the dash.  Shards of glass shattered and embedded on to the seat and into my flesh. I still have shards working their way out of my body, at times.  When Winter rolls around I can still feel the pain shoot through my neck and body.

Pete was arrested but nothing really ever happened to him.  The neighbors, never came up to visit me in the hospital and always blamed me for the accident.  I was not the one driving, and I certainly was not the one who decided to drink.  If only I would have listened to the voice in my head.

Maybe god spoke to me?

I always ask God, why didn't you take me that night?

The ongoing poem continues, "and they buried me."

Update:  Pete was again caught drunk driving in Torrington, WY.  He had no license to drive and only received three months in county jail. WTF

The Girl With Bloody Hands

In the Winter of 1978, my family lived in Hawk Springs, Wyoming.  A small town between Torrington and Cheyenne.  This town had not much to offer small children, it had it's bar, post office and an old abandoned school.  I had to be bussed an hour or so to the next town over to attend classes.  Every once in a while a family would move into town with kids, but most of the time it was just my brothers and I.  The residence of Hawk Springs were aged folks who had spent most of their lives in the community.  There once was a restaurant, a DeSoto dealer, a couple of gas stations and a movie house; but all had dried up long ago.

That year was quite chaotic.  My sister had broken up with her boyfriend and had moved to Wheatland with a man we called baggy pants.  There was a cartoon back then which was called Baggy Pants and the Nitwit, and we always referred to them as so.  Mom would laugh when they would come to the door, for the song would always get stuck in her mind.  It wasn't too good for her, we had to go to Wheatland and rescue her from Baggy Pants.  She had come home one evening from working at the Brown Derby, a local restaurant, and found him passed out in the chair.  He had a shotgun and was waiting for her to return.  She then called mom and we quickly drove to Wheatland, on the back roads through Chugwater and over to Wheatland.  When we arrived, we found that he had also removed her tires off the car. That day she left and never returned.  From then on he was referred to as Drip.

Most nights were spent doing homework and watching television.  I never missed any of the shows on CBS.  We only could get two stations and sometimes when the sky was cloudy we could get a third.  As most of the winter was cloudy we could get good reception all winter long; even with the rabbit ears.  Mom always said that when we get some money we could get an antenna for the house so we could finally see what was on the the third channel.

I was a latchkey kid, my family had split up when I was very young and mom never remarried.  She hated dealing with the stuff that goes on with a violent family life.  After school, I'd return home with my brothers and we'd sit and watch TV until my mom or older brother came home.  It was quite good watching Star Trek or some of the shows that came on after school. 

On a very cold evening, we were all home.  Doing the usual, watching whatever came on CBS.  It could have been Dallas, or some sitcom, Alice or the Jeffersons; when we got a knock on the door.  It was a strange teenage girl.  She stood in the doorway.  I recognized her from the park earlier in the day.  She and her family had been hanging out in the Hawk Springs Park, right across from the post office. I yelled for mom.  Mom sent my older brother to talk to her.  She asked if we wanted to get rid of  one of the puppies that our dog recently had .  It sounded crazy, but when my brother was talking to her, she implied that she didn't want the puppies; but the mother dog.  I remember crying and saying that they couldn't have my dog.  Mom then sent us downstairs so they could talk with out the noise from the little kids.  I could hear them trying to take Misty from her area by the porch.  I could hear her growl and fight with whoever was trying to lead her away.  Misty would not go.

Once the car drove off, I and my smaller brother ventured back upstairs.  We were upset that they were going to give away our dog.  It all turned out that she would not go, so instead took one of the puppies. Mom was upset from the whole situation as well, she didn't trust anyone and tried to be calm about the whole matter.  My brother then told us the girl had blood on her hands and they feared what might happen.  They were trying to get whatever the girl and the people wanted and get them away from the house.  Ben, had went outside to talk to the people in the car when the mother dog would not go.

Every weekend, my brothers and I would go to Torrington to visit with my father.  We'd always get into the white International truck and head on down the road.  The truck had no radio, so my sister had sent one to my brother as a birthday gift.  The little black radio we'd listen to on the way.  We'd always hear the latest news.  On one such occasion the news anchor reported that a headless naked body was found in Wheatland.  That news had hit the playground like a storm that following Monday.

2008, I had gone to my 20 year reunion.  We had dinner at the Little Moon Lake Supper Club and spent a little time with my old classmates.  I liked seeing everyone; they  had grown and most had families that seemed to be ready to graduate from school. I stayed with my brother that weekend in Torrington.  The following morning, as I prepared to leave, my brother asked me if I remembered the incident with the girl who wanted our family dog.  I replied, Yes.  He stated that he went out to the car and remembered the men in the vehicles.  He told me to Google, Henry Lee Lucas.  He said he would never forget that face of that man in the car.