Did dad throw you backyard ground balls, come to your games, tell you secrets that he did not tell mom? Did you wash and wax his car? Shine and buff his shoes? Did he wear your high school and college letter jackets to work when you left home to see the world? Did you converse with him enough to let him know how much you cared? Do not miss the opportunity. We miss too many without trying.

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My dad was born January 01, 1915. Died 12/02/1984, having lived 69 years.

As a child, he lived in a small apartment in an alley at the foot of a bridge over which railroad tracks ran over Cleveland's St. Clair Street (or Superior Avenue, I think). The tracks unloaded at the dock of the large paint manufacturing company (Sherwin Williams, I think) at Lake Erie's edge.

As a kid, I remember being told that wheelchair bound grandfather had polio. I do not remember meeting dad's mom. I do remember being told that when World War II started Uncle Steve, my dad's older and bigger brother, joined the Marine Corps, where he served for 30 years as a Master Sergeant.

Steve was a burly guy who liked drinking beers and brawling. I was told my dad was often left to finish those brawls. Steve and George became known as the "Mad Hunns." The Moniker stuck so well to my dad that he changed his name.

Mom and dad's first double date with Uncle Tony and Aunt Ann did not go well. Uncle Tony knew dad well and referred to him as "Hunn."

Mom knew him by his real name, George Savanovich. By the end of the evening, mom was sitting by her rear seat doorknob and strongly suggested that dad not bother calling. In Croatian, mom's native language, "Hunn" translated as "homoseksualac" or "gay."

Back then, even among liberal Croatians, having your beautiful daughter associate with a "homoseksualac" was not smiled upon.

Grand Ma was not mad when Uncle Steve enlisted. She was heartbroken. After he enlisted, she was never seen again. Some say she mourned the enlistment of her son on a stormy night while walking the rocks and piers of Lake Erie and fell in.

Since his brother was in the war, dad was wheelchair bound, and mother dead, my dad did not have to serve in the war. Instead, he started selling newspapers as a 10-12-year-old kid and ended up being a truck driving newspaper delivery man for the Cleveland News, Press, and Plain Dealer for about 40 years.

Dad had a job, took care of his father, and could afford nice clothes, so he did what was considered sane for the depression lingering times. He chased the prettiest girl and best dancer in the neighborhood, my Golden Mom to be.

Dad danced around his bumpy name, and two of Cleveland's finest dancers made observers jealous as mom and dad smooth stepped over many dance floors that were so prevalent in the 30's thru 50's.

I would shine my dad's shoes, for those special occasions, like when he went dancing with mom. I liked the reflective shine on my dad's French-toed shoes. Guess I was proud of what I could do with polish, spit, and the shine-inducing cloth. Dad, a newspaper deliveryman, would tip me with pocket change, which newspaper store deliverymen always had, and I would like that too.

One day dad surprised my buddies Roz, Marty, and me by coming to our baseball practice at Byers Field, which he never did. He came to the games but not our practices. I had my sturdy, hand painted black and red Schwinn bike, which dad bought second-hand. Marty was on the handlebars, Roz on the back fender, and I pumped away until we crossed what is today the Parma Town Shopping Center's parking lot to Parma's city swimming pool.

The pool was adjacent to Ridgewood Lake park, where we would ice skate in the winter and sit under the shade trees that surrounded the lake in the summer.

What also tended to surround the lake was a pack of well-armed older teenagers whose cotton t-shirts were rolled up to encase a pack of cigarettes, while advertising their muscles below their nicotine poison.

Marty, Roz, and I were talking as I pumped the Schwinn by the pool. Then Roz went silent and my legs seemed stronger. Marty and I looked behind us to see a gang of 10-20 surrounding Roz. Marty and I went back to the crowd, as more gangers headed in our direction to see their leader in action. Let us call their leader Skoda, who was an inch or two bigger, couple years older, and 20 pounds more than Roz.

Roz had developed a reputation at our Saint Charles grade school in Cleveland's then fastest growing suburb. Roz had not lost a wrestling match in the schoolyard throughout grade school, but he did not want to fight any more. He had become a "pacifist" before we knew what that meant.

"Hear you're a tough guy, Rozman," Skoda said, as he flicked punches at Roz in the arena that the increasing crowd kept shrinking. Roz was in good shape-playing football, basketball, and baseball. Skoda was bigger and maybe stronger and when his gang shrunk the arena to about 6 foot in diameter, Skoda hit Roz. Roz immediately got Skoda in a neck hold and said, "If you really have to fight, then you bring two of your friends to the reservoir (AKA large grass field where St. Charles practiced football) and I'll bring two of my friends and you can have your fight."

Skoda responded, "No, we'll do it now. You and me. We'll go up to Byers baseball diamond and settle this now."

The problem was that none of his gang stayed behind. Skoda's gang of now 50 to 60 formed another tight arena around third base, and the fight started again with the same outcome - Skoda threw punches and Roz got him in another head lock.

Roz made the same "reservoir" offer, but Skoda countered by saying that he and Roz should go out to right field by themselves and fight there. They got up to around first base when Skoda sucker punched Roz. Roz recovered and wrestled Skoda to the ground.

About this time a 1948 powder blue Oldsmobile drives up and parks around the third base foul line. Out steps my father.

My dad, all of maybe 5' 8", had a brawler's reputation, which I had little evidence to believe. To me my dad's reputation stemmed from his poker playing ability, classy dressing, and smooth dancing shoes. I remember dance floors being emptied, so mom and dad could strut their swirling stuff.

At home, dad did not talk much. Even when the phone rang for him, he did not talk much. Dad carried a small notepad in his back pocket into which he wrote notes and numbers. Dad taught me the meaning of "small time bookie." I also surmised, from his racetrack successes, that being a bookie helped you win on the ponies, especially on the daily doubles.

My dad also hid his emotions pretty well, except for the many times my sister suffered debilitating surgeries due to diabetes. Dad was a hard worker who only once raised his hand to hit the bigger me, because I made my sister cry.

Unfazed by the mob of 50 plus, my dad strides into the crowd and tells Roz to get in dad's Oldsmobile. With that, the other chief gang leader, let's call him Demko, bounds up to the shotgun window and says, "Rozman, you are the yellowest M_ _ _ _ _ F_ _ _ er I know!"

Then this buffed gang leader punches Roz square in the mouth through the open window. Teeth crack, blood gushes, Roz cries, roles to the floor. The crowd cheers and jeers and runs down the road from the baseball field.

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Months later I am standing in the courthouse hall with my dad, who is wearing one of his slickest suits,. I'm looking down proudly at the reflector shine that I put on his French toed shoes when the father of Demko comes up to shadow the shine and asks, "You, ya George Hunn?" The questions start and continue in Mafioso staccato style.

As if second nature to him, my dad immediately parries God Father staccato gang talk as though he's lived it all his life.

Mr. Demko keeps reminding my dad that his son is a "Gud kid" Has never dun nuthin wrong" Has never bin in no trouble" Has a clean recurd and I wants to keep it that way" Ya know what I mean? Ya understand?"

He pesters my dad about how he will testify in court today. My dad banters with him as though this kind of intimidating talk is blather that he just brushes off the sleeves of his slick suit.

One of my dad's repeated replies went something like, "So, whad you wan me ta do?... Whad ya askin me ta do? Ya want me to make sumptin up? " Tell some lies?...

"I'm just goin to go up there and tell the judge what I saw" Just going to tell the truth" So, what xactly did ya wan me ta do?"

I do not remember dad ever talking about that court case. I wish I had asked my quiet, hardworking, poker playing, smooth dancing, brawling dad more about his life. My sister thinks "Georgie," as she called him, was quiet because he thought a big part of his life was too "insignificant" to mention.

Let me close with some questions.

Do you know who Jimmy Hoffa is?

If not, look him up. You can learn a lot about the Teamsters, union organizing, earlier political times, and mobsters learning about Hoffa.

Jimmy Hoffa disappeared in July 1975.

Shortly thereafter Demko's bulletin-riddled, smelly body was found in the trunk of a parked car at a Florida Airport. Newspaper reports that mom saved named him as Jimmy Hoffa's "barber."

You can learn a lot about kids and fathers by watching the shine they reflect on each other.

Have you talked with your dad enough so that if he left tomorrow you would know enough shiny dad stuff? Why not do it before the barber gives your dad his next haircut?

There are few "insignificant" dad stories. Dads have hidden ways to be truly buff. Quarantine times and Father's Day may be a good time to learn that.

Authors Website: http://peopleslobby.us/

Authors Bio:

Dwayne served in the Peace Corps in the slums of Mumbai, India, worked several Habitat Projects, and was on the start-up team of the California Conservation Corps. He has a Ph.D. from Claremont Graduate University, has been a builder, teacher, political organizer, small businessman, affordable housing developer, and a rock-piler at Rubel's Castle. Some pics and stories at http://peopleslobby.us/more-projects/rubelia.

Some story tidbits about his recent well-regarded book about Rubel's Castle are available at http://peopleslobby.us/more-projects/rubelia.

In 2013 Rubelia was designated a National Historic Monument, right up there with Hearst Castle. CBS clip: Rubel's Castle is on verge of listing on National Registry http://losangeles.cbslocal.com/2013/08/07/rubel-castle-in-glendora-on-the-verge-of-getting-national-historic-recognition/

Dwayne is presently Executive Director of People's Lobby Inc (PLI, 501c4)and People's Lobby's Education Foundation (PLEF, 501c3). You can read PLI's American World Service Corps Congressional Proposal (AWSC) at
http://peopleslobby.us/awsc-congressional-proposal

Rebuilding People'Lobby web site is available at http://peopleslobby.us/

Congresswoman Woolsey (D, CA) offered to introduce it in the 111th Congress, then retracted. Please contact your Congressional reps and ask them to become an original sponsor or cosponsor. The AWSC citizen-initiated congressional proposals could be, with you pushing your representatives, among the most significant legislation passed and implemented in decades. Imagine having 21 million Americans cost effectively doing good at home or abroad over the next 27 years.

In December 2009 Ralph Nader choose People's Lobby's book, "Ordinary People Doing the Extraordinary, The Story of Ed & Joyce Koupal's People's Lobby" as one of the Ten Best Books to Read for 2009. You can purchase the book from PeoplesLobby.us or learn more at http://peopleslobby.us/more-projects/books.

"This country runs on laws. If you want to change the country, write its laws," People's Lobby's founders Ed and Joyce Koupal used to say. If you want to enlighten public policy, involve millions of Americans in addressing public needs, prepare for climate weirding, etc., help make it happen. The AWSC addresses with people action many of our most pressing and costly needs. To sign the reopened American World Service Corps petition/letter, which contacts Congress for you: Paste http://www.change.org/petitions/view/field_21_million_american_world_service_corps_volunteers_over_the_next_27_years
Please help make the AWSC happen. To learn more about People's Lobby, visit the web site at www.Peopleslobby.us.

Recent books both available on line and from publishers: Every Town Needs a Castle (Prelude to next book, Every Country Needs a World Service Corps)
http://peopleslobby.us/more-projects/rubelia


Ordinary People Doing the Extraordinary (Nader's 2009 TopTen Books to Read List)
http://peopleslobby.us/archives/736
Library: http://peopleslobby.us/organizations/peoples-lobby/library