I was crawling around, and over, musical instruments practically from the moment of my birth. Dad was a professional musician, and a band and orchestra director. In addition, he was a piano technician, and bought and sold instruments back in our hometown in Pennsylvania. I'd often tag along while Dad and Mom went to some church or other to work on the church's instruments.

Ever go to a flea market or a yard sale? These are fantastic places to find a virtual cornucopia of items you won't see at the local mall. I've been a history buff ever since my childhood. Once in awhile at one of these sales, an object pops up that directly relates to my historical interests. At that point, it usually goes home with me.

There's no doubt about it. The Lakewood Observer Project has been a fantastic way to promote all that's good about our fair city. Those of us who write for this paper are acutely aware of our responsibility to show our town in a positive light.

As dawn's sunlight speared the high forest at Little Mountain, it caught the curling trails of smoke from numerous campfires in a surreal visage of earlier times. As the light began to spread through the forest, silhouettes of stained canvas and butternut pyramids began to emerge from the mist. From these open tent flaps, groggy men and boys emerged from their bivouacs to begin the business of the day... and the business of the day was war.

The azure sky turned to royal blue, streaked with orange and crimson, in the western heavens over Lakewood Park. Friends and family stretched out on their lawn chairs and on the wooden benches in front of the Lakewood Hometown Bandstand.

As far as Lakewood and the Northern Ohio area go, we have known our share of warfare, although the stories are little-known and more than a little interesting.

I went to the public meeting of Lakewood VFW Post 10646's installation of officers on Thursday, May 3rd. I was there at the invitation of my good friend and Post member Harvey Streitel. They meet monthly at the Lakewood Senior Center at 16024 Madison at Northland Avenue.

By the time you read this, the images of that troubled young man with those two black guns will finally have faded into the background.

Funerals for those victims of the Virginia Tech massacre will probably all have been held, and we will have moved forward; resolving to do better, to be more aware, to remember the fallen...

The time? About 1956. The place? The family's combined music and play room. The lesson learned? Well, not about music, at least not this time.

The general facts of the case are fairly straightforward, although I'll take a bit of journalistic license with the particulars, as 51-year-old memories tend to fade somewhat.

After living fifty-five years, I've had the opportunity to see quite a few strange things come and go. Many of the fads that we grew up with now reside only in our memories. With the annual holiday onslaught of new fads, computers, and electronic gadgetry now behind us, I thought it might be fun to think about the "classics." That is, stuff that never goes out of style.

There's no doubt in my mind that the guitar has become THE representative instrument of our times. I seldom go down Detroit or Madison Avenues without seeing someone toting a black guitar bag. Guitar-accompanied music wafts from the doors of homes, coffee houses, churches, and bars around Lakewood virtually around the clock. Whether your taste in music runs to rock, folk, jazz, country, or classical, the sound of the guitar will be there helping to mark the pulse of this city.

So the question remains: Do you run the toilet paper over the top, or down the wall?

My dear late mother was a down-the-wall gal, in no uncertain terms. I'm sure she felt that toilet paper looked better that way, being more neatly snuggled up against the pink and blue ceramic tiles that still grace our bathroom today. Dad and I, on the other hand, had to have that paper running over the top, no doubt about it. When we needed a huge toilet-clogging handful quickly, we needed it! (Of course, whether you, dear reader, needed to know all this remains an open question.)

These days, a trip to the toy store may well lighten your wallet by a hundred bucks or more. When I was a lad, and Dad's payday rolled around, we often made a trip to a hobby store--where I was allowed a few dollars allowance for a model of my choice. It's a more amazing tale, though, to go back to Dad's day and see what kind of amusements were available to young folks in the deep dark days of America's Depression.

There I was, sitting in the comfortable and spacious anteroom of Doctor Thomas Leatherman, DDS, in Lorain County.

I had a real problem. My former dentist had tried several times to numb me for a procedure, and had been unable to do so. Dr. Tom was an old friend, and he thought he could take care of the problem. Although I had known Dr.Tom since he'd been a teenager, I just did not think that I wanted to drive out to Lorain to have dental work done. Now, I was desperate...and more than a little apprehensive.

Before I get into more Lakewood-related topics, there's something I would like to share. I have tried my best to be honest with you, and to bring you as much opinionated information as possible. I wish that I could tell you more at times, but if I did so, legal issues could result. They say that you can't be sued for an opinion, but there are gray areas--and these often serve to blunt freedom of speech far better than some dictator.

A leisurely drive along Lakewood's streets will reveal an abundance of beautiful houses of worship erected to God by faithful men and women many years before you and I were born. These buildings range from the simple to the sublime and came to us at a time when faith was a powerful engine at the heart of America's development as a nation.

Of all the famous and not-so-famous musicians that I've met or played with, Robert Lockwood Jr. has to be among the most remarkable people in the business.

The other night, I was on Lake Avenue on my way to a friend's house. It must have been about 8:30 p.m. Just before I turned onto my friend's side street, a large 8-point buck darted out in front of my car. As I screeched to a stop, the whitetail deer also calmly stopped in a neighbor's yard before proceeding towards the Rocky River valley. 8-point, by the way, refers to the number of points that might be on a male deer's antler rack. Hunters love to take deer having large "racks" like this one.

That second week of October, 1951, was, in the words of my dear late mother, the most beautiful week of the year. From her hospital room, she could see the multi-colored leaves of fall grace the Western Pennslvania mountains with a sublime blanket of variegated beauty. Perhaps it seemed all the more beautiful because of the precious bundle that she held in her hands. Of course, that bundle was me.

Of all the human beings who walk the earth, the captain is one of those most respected, admired... and even feared. Whether running a ship, an aircraft, or some other conveyance, the captain is the man (or these days, woman!) whose very word is law.

Now I'll admit I'm a little squeamish when it comes to teeny-weeny wiggly little things that swim around in water. Come to think of it, I'm probably a bit squeamish when it comes to on-land wigglies too, particularly when it comes to a me-or-them scenario!

One of the many special things about living in Lakewood is having the opportunity to meet many incredibly fascinating people. In my many years of living here, I've met race car drivers, sea captains, great musicians, and of course, all of you- at least through the magic of the press!

Since the founding of our country, America has taken an interest in the education of her children. Even back in Ohio's pioneer days, a part of every community had a tract of land available for public education. These were generally one-room schoolhouses, having eight grades sitting in rows, with a recitation bench at the front of the room. A pot-bellied stove usually kept things habitable during the long winter months, although children near the stove generally roasted, and those farther away nearly froze to death. In the summer, of course, children stayed at home to help their families with the farming and housework.

Recently, I was out in the shed, starting the clean-out process that we all face from time to time. Standing up, I bumped my head into an old racing bicycle gathering dust, hanging from the rafters. Gazing at the sleek blend of metal alloy and wires and at the complex gearbox brought me back to another time. . .when as a teenager I conceived, organized, and helped run the Lakewood Day Bicycle Races.

The warm, brown gunstocks of the rifles contrasted starkly with their cold, blued steel barrels in a surreal visage of juxtaposition. In the school gymnasium, the students opened the actions of these rifles, loaded, locked their bolts into place, and prepared to fire.