Living In Hanover
By James Donahue
When I first arrived at Jonesville, Michigan, to work in the oil field there I was told I had to find a place to rent as soon as possible. My only social life occurred at night when we hit the bars. Fortunately that was where I made contact with a woman who ran a rooming house in town. She said she had a room I could rent and agreed to rent it. This happened the night before I left the motel to keep my date in Detroit. That was the weekend Ted Case was attacked. Fortunately I had a place to move into when I returned the following Sunday.
It was a strange place and I only lived there about a week. There were several other men staying in the large two-story house. The woman who ran the place was middle-aged and unattached. She was friendly. I thought she was a bit too friendly, not only with me but with all of the occupants. I had a sense that she was providing personal services in addition to room rental and I did not feel comfortable about it. That week I met Terry Streeter, another Central Michigan University student working on the Long and Wetzel crew. Terry said he found a two-bedroom apartment in Hanover, a nearby village, and was looking for a roommate. He invited me to move in. I was glad to get out of my situation in Jonesville and moved to Hanover.
Our apartment was located directly over a downtown store . . . I think they sold hardware. It was spacious with a large living room, a bedroom in front just off the living room, a kitchen and the second bedroom at the rear. The place was even furnished so we didn’t have to look around for furniture and kitchen appliances. There was a bar located directly across the street, so the beer drinking remained a part of my life even when I went home. Terry and I jokingly called the place Hangover.
The only things Terry and I had in common were an interest in beer drinking and chasing women. He was a physical education major with no interest in the fine arts. I enjoyed good books and classical music. One of the first things I bought after moving into that apartment was a stereo record player. The first album I bought was either Tchaikovsky’s Pathetique Symphony or Rachmaninoff’s Second Symphony. I loved to lie in bed at night and go to sleep while listening to the music. Streeter, however, made it clear that he hated this music and threatened to smash the recordings if I played them when he was in the apartment. He brought in country and western music, so that is what we listened to.
Streeter and I drove into Pontiac one Saturday night on a lark. When we found the downtown we were disappointed to find that the night life in that city was almost non-existent. Either that, or we just did not know where to find it. We saw a bar that was open and went in. What we found in there was a shock. The place was full of people who appeared to be strikingly beautiful women. There was not one man in the bar other than Terry and me. Even stranger, none of the “women” appeared interested in us. It was my first experience with cross-dressers . . . if that is what they were.
Obviously Terry was as puzzled as I was about the situation. I sensed that we did not belong there and suggested that we leave, but Terry wouldn’t have it. He walked up to the bar and ordered drinks for both of us. While I sipped my drink, Terry tried to flirt with one of the characters nearby. He was getting nasty stares, which made me even more sure that these were not women. I finally persuaded him to follow me out of the bar. We had a good laugh after I explained what I thought we had walked into. A typical phys-ed student Streeter was not too bright.
Streeter obviously did not enjoy living with me and moved out of the Hanover place not long after that. Consequently, I then had the whole apartment to myself. I found that I liked living on my own. I could listen freely to my choice of music and come and go as I wished.
My old college friend, Mark Frost, got married that summer and I was invited to the wedding. It was to be on a Saturday so I made sure I had the day off from my job. I left Hanover early in the morning and drove north to Hart, Michigan, on the Lake Michigan coast, and got there in time to attend the ceremony. The afternoon reception was a grand affair. The liquor was flowing and everybody was having a good time. I stayed too long, ending up that evening on the beach with young people that were extending the party. I decided it was time to start for home sometime around midnight. It was one of the strangest drives I ever made.
I remember first feeling very tired as the effects of all of the alcohol and the party began wearing off. I stopped at an all-night diner for a cup of coffee, and then continued on. If you look at the map of Michigan, you will see that it is a relatively long drive from Hart south to Hanover. There were few super-highways in place in 1959, and none to follow on my route, so I had to drive through Grand Rapids and a few other good sized cities. At one point I got so drowsy I thought I might fall asleep at the wheel. I thought about checking into a motel, but for some reason decided against that. So I pulled off on a side street and curled up on the seat for a nap. It was not long before there was a tapping on my window. It was a police officer. I was told I could not park there and I must move on. So I drove on into the void.
It became strange as the night wore on. I started hallucinating. I saw objects suddenly appear in the road in front of me and I would slam on the brakes, only to discover that my mind was playing tricks. Trees moved across the road before my eyes. Things became so bizarre it felt at times as if I was in another world. The sun was shining and the birds were singing when I drove into Hanover, parked my car and stumbled up the iron staircase to my apartment. There I crashed and slept most of the day and through the following night.
In addition to visits by Bernice on some of the weekends, there was another girl in Hanover who seemed to take an interest in me. She used to come around to see me whenever she thought I might be home and alone. She was fun and I remember one night we went swimming in a small nearby inland lake she knew about. She knew the gossip about everybody in town.
There was another incident in that apartment that I remember. I decided one day to take a long soaking hot bath in the tub to try to get some of the crude oil out of the pours of my skin. It was getting so bad the sheets on my bed were turning black. I filled the tub with hot water, as warm as I could stand and got in, just letting the water run. There was an overflow hole in the tub and I just let the excess water flow through it as I lay back in the water, enjoying the pleasure of the heat on my achy muscles. All of a sudden there was a knock at the door. It was the people from the hardware store below my apartment. That was when I discovered that the overflow hole was not connected to a drain. The water was coming down through the store ceiling. So much for my soaking bath.
I had stopped smoking but started smoking again while living in Hanover. One weekend when Bernice was there, we were off to a bar in a nearby town and having a good time. A young man next to me pulled out a pack of Lucky Strikes and lit up. On impulse I asked him for a cigarette. Thus I began smoking again.
I got engaged to get married during this period too. I was in Detroit for the weekend and Bernice and I decided to go off to a public beach she knew about to spend a day in the sun and swim. I remember we were lying on our towels on the beach, basking in the summer sun and talking as young lovers do. She asked what we should do about “our problem.” I pretended not to know what she was talking about. She got a little more specific. She said she meant “us.” That was the afternoon we decided we wanted to get married. That was the most radical thing I think I had ever done. In fact, it seemed almost as if everything became surreal from that moment on. The consequences of my marrying a committed Roman Catholic had not been seriously considered. That this girl lived and worked in the heart of Detroit and liked the city life, while I was a country boy that hated crowds was a potential conflict that had not been considered. All we knew was that we thought we were in love. And at the time I suppose we were. But that engagement was not to last.
I lived in that apartment until my employment with Long and Wetzel ended late in August and it was time to go back to college.
By James Donahue
When I first arrived at Jonesville, Michigan, to work in the oil field there I was told I had to find a place to rent as soon as possible. My only social life occurred at night when we hit the bars. Fortunately that was where I made contact with a woman who ran a rooming house in town. She said she had a room I could rent and agreed to rent it. This happened the night before I left the motel to keep my date in Detroit. That was the weekend Ted Case was attacked. Fortunately I had a place to move into when I returned the following Sunday.
It was a strange place and I only lived there about a week. There were several other men staying in the large two-story house. The woman who ran the place was middle-aged and unattached. She was friendly. I thought she was a bit too friendly, not only with me but with all of the occupants. I had a sense that she was providing personal services in addition to room rental and I did not feel comfortable about it. That week I met Terry Streeter, another Central Michigan University student working on the Long and Wetzel crew. Terry said he found a two-bedroom apartment in Hanover, a nearby village, and was looking for a roommate. He invited me to move in. I was glad to get out of my situation in Jonesville and moved to Hanover.
Our apartment was located directly over a downtown store . . . I think they sold hardware. It was spacious with a large living room, a bedroom in front just off the living room, a kitchen and the second bedroom at the rear. The place was even furnished so we didn’t have to look around for furniture and kitchen appliances. There was a bar located directly across the street, so the beer drinking remained a part of my life even when I went home. Terry and I jokingly called the place Hangover.
The only things Terry and I had in common were an interest in beer drinking and chasing women. He was a physical education major with no interest in the fine arts. I enjoyed good books and classical music. One of the first things I bought after moving into that apartment was a stereo record player. The first album I bought was either Tchaikovsky’s Pathetique Symphony or Rachmaninoff’s Second Symphony. I loved to lie in bed at night and go to sleep while listening to the music. Streeter, however, made it clear that he hated this music and threatened to smash the recordings if I played them when he was in the apartment. He brought in country and western music, so that is what we listened to.
Streeter and I drove into Pontiac one Saturday night on a lark. When we found the downtown we were disappointed to find that the night life in that city was almost non-existent. Either that, or we just did not know where to find it. We saw a bar that was open and went in. What we found in there was a shock. The place was full of people who appeared to be strikingly beautiful women. There was not one man in the bar other than Terry and me. Even stranger, none of the “women” appeared interested in us. It was my first experience with cross-dressers . . . if that is what they were.
Obviously Terry was as puzzled as I was about the situation. I sensed that we did not belong there and suggested that we leave, but Terry wouldn’t have it. He walked up to the bar and ordered drinks for both of us. While I sipped my drink, Terry tried to flirt with one of the characters nearby. He was getting nasty stares, which made me even more sure that these were not women. I finally persuaded him to follow me out of the bar. We had a good laugh after I explained what I thought we had walked into. A typical phys-ed student Streeter was not too bright.
Streeter obviously did not enjoy living with me and moved out of the Hanover place not long after that. Consequently, I then had the whole apartment to myself. I found that I liked living on my own. I could listen freely to my choice of music and come and go as I wished.
My old college friend, Mark Frost, got married that summer and I was invited to the wedding. It was to be on a Saturday so I made sure I had the day off from my job. I left Hanover early in the morning and drove north to Hart, Michigan, on the Lake Michigan coast, and got there in time to attend the ceremony. The afternoon reception was a grand affair. The liquor was flowing and everybody was having a good time. I stayed too long, ending up that evening on the beach with young people that were extending the party. I decided it was time to start for home sometime around midnight. It was one of the strangest drives I ever made.
I remember first feeling very tired as the effects of all of the alcohol and the party began wearing off. I stopped at an all-night diner for a cup of coffee, and then continued on. If you look at the map of Michigan, you will see that it is a relatively long drive from Hart south to Hanover. There were few super-highways in place in 1959, and none to follow on my route, so I had to drive through Grand Rapids and a few other good sized cities. At one point I got so drowsy I thought I might fall asleep at the wheel. I thought about checking into a motel, but for some reason decided against that. So I pulled off on a side street and curled up on the seat for a nap. It was not long before there was a tapping on my window. It was a police officer. I was told I could not park there and I must move on. So I drove on into the void.
It became strange as the night wore on. I started hallucinating. I saw objects suddenly appear in the road in front of me and I would slam on the brakes, only to discover that my mind was playing tricks. Trees moved across the road before my eyes. Things became so bizarre it felt at times as if I was in another world. The sun was shining and the birds were singing when I drove into Hanover, parked my car and stumbled up the iron staircase to my apartment. There I crashed and slept most of the day and through the following night.
In addition to visits by Bernice on some of the weekends, there was another girl in Hanover who seemed to take an interest in me. She used to come around to see me whenever she thought I might be home and alone. She was fun and I remember one night we went swimming in a small nearby inland lake she knew about. She knew the gossip about everybody in town.
There was another incident in that apartment that I remember. I decided one day to take a long soaking hot bath in the tub to try to get some of the crude oil out of the pours of my skin. It was getting so bad the sheets on my bed were turning black. I filled the tub with hot water, as warm as I could stand and got in, just letting the water run. There was an overflow hole in the tub and I just let the excess water flow through it as I lay back in the water, enjoying the pleasure of the heat on my achy muscles. All of a sudden there was a knock at the door. It was the people from the hardware store below my apartment. That was when I discovered that the overflow hole was not connected to a drain. The water was coming down through the store ceiling. So much for my soaking bath.
I had stopped smoking but started smoking again while living in Hanover. One weekend when Bernice was there, we were off to a bar in a nearby town and having a good time. A young man next to me pulled out a pack of Lucky Strikes and lit up. On impulse I asked him for a cigarette. Thus I began smoking again.
I got engaged to get married during this period too. I was in Detroit for the weekend and Bernice and I decided to go off to a public beach she knew about to spend a day in the sun and swim. I remember we were lying on our towels on the beach, basking in the summer sun and talking as young lovers do. She asked what we should do about “our problem.” I pretended not to know what she was talking about. She got a little more specific. She said she meant “us.” That was the afternoon we decided we wanted to get married. That was the most radical thing I think I had ever done. In fact, it seemed almost as if everything became surreal from that moment on. The consequences of my marrying a committed Roman Catholic had not been seriously considered. That this girl lived and worked in the heart of Detroit and liked the city life, while I was a country boy that hated crowds was a potential conflict that had not been considered. All we knew was that we thought we were in love. And at the time I suppose we were. But that engagement was not to last.
I lived in that apartment until my employment with Long and Wetzel ended late in August and it was time to go back to college.