History Repeats Itself

It was early in the 1988 baseball season that I took dad to his last Reds baseball game. Dad had been suffering for some time, off and on, with Leukemia. And, remembering that dad, Bobby and I had attended together the first ever game played at Riverfront Stadium, and later a World Series game against the Baltimore Orioles I thought he might enjoy getting out of the house to, once again, see a live game.

Dad had enjoyed sports as a young man; playing city league football, baseball and tennis. While, genetically, the Gauselman men were not of major league stature, dad enthusiastically enjoyed all sports as an amateur (he also played golf every week) or as a spectator.

One of my fondest memories is sitting on the floor in the family living room, in front of dad's easy chair, watching professional sports on television while he scratched my head. It was in this manner that I became a fan, to this day, of the Green Bay Packers and the Cleveland Browns long before the Cincinnati Bengals were ever formed.

But, getting back to the baseball game --- It was at this last Reds game together that I learned that dad had attended the first ever major league baseball night game with his father on the 24th of May, 1935 at Crosley Field.

In hindsight, I later realized that we had each attended our fathers' last Reds baseball games; dad with his and me with mine...53-years apart! 

First Flight Out

Kristi was just a toddler when I first took her to Lunken Airport to watch the airplanes taking off and landing.


My brother Bobby and I first took an interest in flying when we were boys and frequently went down to the airport for weekend rides that were offered by commercially licensed general aviation pilots. So it was only natural that I would care to introduce my daughter to aviation at an early age.


But I had no intention of taking Kristi for a ride that day, until she began putting up a fuss, insisting she wanted to go.


After some persistent rejection on my part, and informing her that I did not have enough cash on me to pay for it, I finally relented. We approached the pilot, who had space for one more (paying) passenger and advised him of our predicament. As there was no one else in line, he agreed to take us for the cash I had on hand.


Everything was fine as we boarded the co-pilot (right-hand) seat of the Cessna-172 aircraft until, that is, the pilot started the engine. With Kristi in my lap, in some fear, she started crying and screaming to the sound of the engine noise. We held on as the plane taxied to the end of the runway, then began its takeoff run.


And this is where Kristi's first ride in an airplane took a turn to a more amusing heading.


With her head buried in my chest, tears racing down her cheeks, Kristi suddenly popped her head up to see what was happening as the 172's wheels left the ground and the nose headed skyward. Then, after quickly scanning the horizon from port to starboard, like a turtle, her head just as quickly retreated back into the shell of my chest.


Interesting, I thought. Maybe a little positive encouragement would calm her and retrieve a bit more of her participation for her first brief 20-minute flight.

As we flew over the city I searched for sights that I knew Kristi was familiar with that I could point out for her to see: the Ohio river with its boats, Union Terminal, the downtown area, etc. Even grandma's house. And each time I did so she popped her head up as she had first done and peered out the starboard window. Her big brown eyes brightly taking in the aerial view. That is, until she had gotten her fill of what I was showing her and she realized our altitude. In her vernacular, 'we were really up high'. It was then that her uncertainty would return.


So, as it was, Kristi and I celebrated her first flight. Oh, yes! One last thing. All the remainder of that day, the fear was quickly forgotten and Kristi proudly, courageously  and enthusiastically talked about how she first flew in an airplane.


I can't say how Kristi feels about flying these days. But I know she has flown commercially for business and pleasure. As for me? My head is still in the clouds!

Christmas Traditions

When I was but a boy, like all children, I and my sister Margie looked forward to Christmas and the coming of Santa Claus bearing gifts. In our family, gifts were opened on the night of Christmas Eve. This meant that I and Margie were required to go to bed early in anticipation of a long night. After a nap with mom’s supervision, and dreams of Santa and his sleigh and reindeer on the roof, and after dad slammed the door and shouted “Ho! Ho! Ho!” (we had no fireplace) we were called downstairs to the most beautiful of holiday sights.

From the bottom of the stairs, and looking across the foyer and living room, we spotted warm sparkling Christmas colors shining from our tree, aunts and uncles and other family awaiting our arrival, and a tidal wave of brightly packaged gifts spilling from under the Christmas tree out across the floor. What a sight! And what a night of ripping open our many and delightful gifts.

Now, truth be known, as the years evolved, we learned to fake our sleep and listen for the family’s arrival. And, when we thought no one was watching, we snuck our way to the top of the stairs and identified the hats, scarves and purses of the individual family members set on the lamp table and chair at the bottom of the stairs in the foyer, snickering in anticipation.

What wonderful and delightful memories of a childhood and a time that seems so simple, loving and magnificent now. I only wish that future generations also have such warm memories of their own.

Bats & Bowling Balls

One Tuesday evening dad came home at nearly midnight from bowling with his church league to find the family all waiting for his arrival on the front porch. Confused over this unusual setting at such a late hour, he discovered that mom and their four children had abandoned the house because a bat had somehow found its way in. Not thrilled with the prospects of having to hunt down and dispose of this creature, but knowing his duty and responsibility as head of the house, dad disappeared in search of the elusive creature. After not hearing from him over a period of time we went in search of our dad --- to find him traipsing through the rooms of the house swinging our sister Carol’s tennis racket over his head.

His Angel Serenaded

Having begun losing her hearing due to spinal meningitis as a toddler, our aunt Agatha mentioned to her parents that she couldn't hear her favorite musical record playing on the phonograph and asked them to turn up the volume. This was the first indication that her parents knew of Agatha's loss of hearing.

Later, at her wedding to Wm.J.Rickard III, {who, by the way, was also deaf since the age of 16} her groom had that same record played at the ceremony. Many years after that, at her funeral, WJR III had this song played once again in her memory.

The song: "Angel Serenade".

Grandpa's First Impression

My daughter, Kristi, was first beginning to talk when we had visited her grandparents in Hyde Park. Having, up to this point, only spoken a few individual words I was surprised when she spoke her first complete sentence. On our way home, after receiving some affectionate teasing from her grandfather, she said “Grandpa, he aggravates me!”