Sadly, this postcard doesn't include the caddy shack, where I spent too many summer days lolling around and waiting for the chance to lug a golf bag around for one of the Flint elite in exchange for very little money and, typically, lousy tips. But I will give a belated shout out to Jerry Spickler (I may be getting the name wrong after all these years), who I remember as a smart, funny guy who also happened to be a generous tipper.
My mom worked in the admitting office at McLaren for many years. She could sometimes pull a few strings and get you private room if you wanted it. I loved having lunch and milkshakes at the dimly lit little diner/coffee shop just off the main lobby. Our family befriended a lot of the foreign residents from Peru, Saudi Arabia and various other exotic locales. I've often wondered what your vision of America would be like if Flint was your only exposure to the country. (A lot of these guys played soccer with my brother in the Flint summer leagues, bringing some skill to an extremely rough brand of soccer that often resembled hockey or football more than futbal.) And I even got to visit the morgue once with my mom, where I discovered they really do have toe-tags on the bodies.
Two postcards from the 1988 "Greetings from Flint" series by Kenneth A. Hannon, sponsored by the Greater Flint Arts Council.
It's summer. It's hot. And you might be longing for another calming image of the Flint River from bygone days like so many others you've seen on Flint Expatriates...
One of the strangest feelings for an expatriate on a visit to Flint is the discovery that many of the city's landmarks aren't there anymore. That's what the frequently misinterpreted quote by Gertrude Stein about Oakland — "There's no there there" — was really about. It wasn't meant to imply Oakland lacked substance. It was a reflection of Stein's dismay when she discovered the city of her childhood no longer existed. At least we have these vintage postcards to remind us of what Flint once was.
