What does a Flint Expatriate like Jeff Stork do when he moves to Palm Springs? He starts a blog called the Palm Springs Automobilist, of course.
Update: Believe it or not, there's a website devoted to the Chevette Sandpiper like the one Jeff is working on in the photo. By the way, that yellow paint looks suspiciously close to the "Bamboo Cream" of my grandma's Buick Electra 225.
Jeff Stork remembers the holidays in Flint with his father, Robert...
One of the happiest recollections of Flint was holiday shopping with my father. In those days, and we are talking pre-energy crisis late sixties and early seventies, my little hometown was a prosperous place where the factories hummed along producing luxurious Buick Electras and shiny Chevy pickups, and a thriving downtown with prosperous merchants supplied the locals with their shopping needs.
The holiday season kicked off with the Glitterball. It was the glam party of the season, hosted by the University Club atop the Penthouse of the Genesee Towers. From the giant picture windows, one would look down nineteen stories onto the prosperous community below. Mom would spent a month making sure her holiday ensemble was "just so", even having her mink stole glazed beforehand (in those innocent, pre-PETA days).
Dad was a partner in a prominent CPA firm downtown and almost all of the local merchants were clients of his, so going shopping was downtown like visiting one endless holiday party with old friends. I nicknamed him the "Mayor of Flint," long before that would imply the felony convictions and sordid background that recent mayors have had.
We had a fabulous time. We'd start at James, Inc, the downtown men's store where Jim McLogan would offer me hot cider. Dad would have a glass of champagne at Betty Richards while choosing a smart suit dress or sweater ensemble for mother. From there we'd work Saginaw Street- drop in on the Goldsteins at Roberts David Alan for cookies, see the Hoyts at Harry's Camera and even check out Greenblatt's Furs. Lunch at the Masonic Temple was part of the ritual. We were treated like royalty every where we went. Every store had lights and holiday treats and friendly people to meet.
Of course it all started to change with the opening of Genesee Valley, the first major suburban shopping mall in 1970. Downtown retailers tried to hold on, many opened suburban satellite locations that in time replaced the originals, and by the eighties it was a pale imitation of itself.
But in the innocent days of my childhood, nothing could hold a candle to Christmas Shopping downtown with my own "Mayor of Flint".
Has anyone noticed that Flint Expatriates is a year old today? I'm sure your gifts will be arriving in the mail any day now.
A birthday calls for a celebration of some sorts. Let's start with a little music.
Damn, I think I just ruined the party with that disturbing number. Regardless of the bad music, it's been a good year. We've covered everything from Village of Wolves to a brawl at Chuck E Cheese to the saga of Gypsy Jack, a legendary Flintoid whose legendary home may finally be safe in the hands of a well-meaning Canadian. There's even been a glowing profile of the site in The Flint Journal. (I'm still not quite sure how that came to pass, but I'm not complaining.)
And while blog posts are supposed to be short, snappy and nearly instantaneous, I think the best part of Flint Expatriates has been the longer posts that required some thought and reflection. Most of those items were written by someone other than myself, which should tell me something. Here are just a few of the longer items, in no particular order, that are well worth a second look: Gerry Godin'stales of a river rat.
Stephen Rodrick's late-night adventure with conservative icon William F. Buckley.
My thanks and appreciation goes out to Flint Expatriate readers for all the posts, comments and generous donations. It's been a lot of fun. Okay, let's be honest, sometimes it's been really depressing, but forget about that now. Instead, let's begin year two with some Boone's Farm and that Flintoid song:
I spent my formative years in a collection of hockey arenas, and it seems like I’ve never been to Toledo when it wasn’t ten-cent beer night.
Let me explain. When I was 14, my father, Robert Stork, formed a consortium with his friends and bought the Flint Generals of the International Hockey League. Dad was the senior partner in Dupuis and Ryden, a respected CPA firm in town. His coworker, Jack De Yonker, was also an investor, along with clients Bernie McAra (son of the late Harry McAra, a Genesee County Circuit judge) and Dr. Eugene Chardoul, current owner of the Generals.
We were all well acquainted with the team, as Dad's firm had been their CPA since inception. We used to meet at the home of Generals founders Frank and Helen Gallagher and walk across Center Road to the arena. Yes, they literally lived across the street. Talk about a short commute.
It was very much a family business for us. My mother, the late Patricia Stork, managed the box office and worked each game night. She truly loved the team and was a hockey fan to her last days. I worked souvenirs in high school, choosing the lucky number winners for each game and managing the inventory of miniature sticks and pucks, which came from Czechoslovakia and cost 23 cents each.
We followed the Generals on the road. As a teenager, my buddy Steve and I were allowed to hop the team bus and ride with the team — pretty cool for a 15 year old —including weekend trips to play the Milwaukee Admirals for back to back series when they joined the IHL. Mom and I also drove to many games, sometimes with friends but often just the two of us.
We made a lot of friends during that time. Doug and Betty Rewbotham and the Wilsons from the Booster Club; Len and Luann Hoyes from the Journal; Pete and Ann Sark from WFDF; and just fans that mom got to know from the box office. John and Mary Andrewski were a retired couple that we saw in every city of the league. Carolyn Kilbury was a devoted fan before she was an employee. It was like an insiders club. There were fans at home games but true fans followed the team on the road, and they were like an extended family.
My dad's proudest hour came in late 1979. He agreed to a fundraiser exhibition game against the struggling U.S. Olympic Team to help them raise money. They spent two days in Flint, touring and preparing for the game. Although they defeated our beloved Generals easily, we all adopted them as our own and cheered them loudly. We felt personal pride when they won the gold in 1980.
For each city, there is something memorable that sticks in my brain.
Muskegon's arena was literally bordering on Lake Michigan. The poor old abandoned S. S. Aquarama was moored outside. The ship became like a landmark to me. It wasn't until years later that I researched her and figured out what she was.
Port Huron was a hell trip on unfinished two-lane M21. The halfway point was a dive called Velma's Road House outside of Capac. The arena didn’t have seats behind the goals, and the announcer was the worst in the league. I called him Mr. Monotone.
Saginaw's arena was attached to a downtown mall, part of a redevelopment plan that had some traction in the mid-seventies. They were the first team I know of to use "Rock and Roll Part II" as their theme song.
Grand Rapids played in an ice arena that started out as a sports venue, became a supermarket, then a theater, then back to an arena. I swore the ice surface was not level.
The Kalamazoo Wings had their act together. They were the Red Wings farm team, and were the best-marketed and best-presented team in the league. Even their Zamboni was better than ours — it had mag wheels.
But I swear, every time we played in Toledo it was ten-cent beer night. Who knows, maybe it’s always ten-cent beer night in Toledo. They'd put on extra window washers to keep the glass relatively clear of spilled brew, slobber, and who knows what else so that the more sober fans could follow the action. After the game, we would all carry a hockey stick so that we could make it to the team bus. Then we'd go to Tony Packos for world famous hot dogs.
Flint Expatriate Jeff Stork, who now lives in "the shining metropolis of Los Angeles," has a nice photo collection capturing the crisp angles and well-cut lawns of the Flint Cultural Center at his World o' Jeff blog. There's also quite a few posts related to Flint that are worth checking out.
What does a Flint Expatriate like Jeff Stork do when he moves to Palm Springs? He starts a blog called the Palm Springs Automobilist, of course.
Flint Expatriate Jeff Stork recalls his early years on the road with the Flint Generals:
We followed the Generals on the road. As a teenager, my buddy Steve and I were allowed to hop the team bus and ride with the team — pretty cool for a 15 year old —including weekend trips to play the Milwaukee Admirals for back to back series when they joined the IHL. Mom and I also drove to many games, sometimes with friends but often just the two of us.
Muskegon's arena was literally bordering on Lake Michigan. The poor old abandoned S. S. Aquarama was moored outside. The ship became like a landmark to me. It wasn't until years later that I researched her and figured out what she was.
But I swear, every time we played in Toledo it was ten-cent beer night. Who knows, maybe it’s always ten-cent beer night in Toledo. They'd put on extra window washers to keep the glass relatively clear of spilled brew, slobber, and who knows what else so that the more sober fans could follow the action. After the game, we would all carry a hockey stick so that we could make it to the team bus. Then we'd go to Tony Packos for world famous hot dogs.
Flint Expatriate Jeff Stork, who now lives in "the shining metropolis of Los Angeles," has a nice photo collection capturing the crisp angles and well-cut lawns of the Flint Cultural Center at his World o' Jeff blog. There's also quite a few posts related to Flint that are worth checking out.
