By Tim “Shoe” Sullivan

It was great to be a 12-year-old boy in Stevens Point in the summer of 1961.

It was a quiet time, a peaceful time, and kids didn’t seem to have a care in the world. Stevens Point was not a town where the most exciting part of the day was standing on the corner of Main and Division and watching the “go” light turn green.

There was plenty of stuff to do, and kids didn’t really care if the Soviet Union launched Sputnik I or something called the Berlin Wall was being constructed. We didn’t even know that Pampers were introduced to the world. In 1961, you could turn on your radio and listen to “Tossin’ And Turnin’” by Bobby Lewis, “I Fall To Pieces” by Patsy Cline, Roy Orbison’s “Cryin’”, and “Take Good Care Of My Baby” by Bobby Vee. You could also go downtown to Graham & Lane and buy records like Del Shannon’s “Runaway” which you would then play for hours on your toy record player.

And nobody played rap. It wasn’t invented yet (thank God).

In 1961, school was over and you were done taking your goiter pills which tasted pretty good actually. You were starting to get used to that nifty thing called television as you sat on the floor and watched “Wagon Train”, “Bonanza”, “Gunsmoke”, “Perry Mason”, and cartoons like “Mighty Mouse”. (“Here I come to save the day! That means that Mighty Mouse is on the way!”).

Nobody cared or even knew in Point that Barack Obama, George Clooney, and Wayne Gretzky were born in ‘61.

The summer of 1961 was when you would scrape up a few pennies and go to the local neighborhood grocery store to buy some more baseball cards which you could trade or put in your bicycle spokes. You could also sit around the radio with your buddies and listen to Earl Gillespie as he called the Milwaukee Braves’ games while you rooted for Mathews, Aaron, and Adcock to smash some more home runs.

World problems? Forget it. No time for that baloney. Not when you could grab your trusty cane pole, dig up some worms, and head over to the Wisconsin River behind Pagel Mill to catch bullheads by the dike. Every time you caught something, it was a damn bullhead. And you had to really watch out ‘cuz they had those nasty things that would spike you.

When you got tired of catching bullheads, a kid could wander over to the shore right next to the Clark Street Bridge and catch carp by the dozens. In fact, it was around that same area many years later when Mike Duffin and Bobby Sanders were just screwing around fishing from shore during a party when Bobby landed a musky which just missed being a state record.

Now if you were after Northern Pike (which everyone just called “Northerns”), here’s where you would go: Think of Pfiffner Park and the bandshell. In between that bandshell and the Clark Street Bridge is that small pond with the fountain. There’s a little railroad trestle bridge on the edge of the pond. We would sit on that trestle and cast daredevils into the river and catch lots of Northerns. The bandshell wasn’t there back then, of course.

1961 was when John F. Kennedy was in charge of the country and a bag of potato chips wasn’t half empty when you just opened it. And you could guzzle cans of chicken noodle soup by the bucket since nobody knew about sodium. 1961 was when a 12-year old boy played Little League baseball.

I was one of the lucky kids to have the great Garth Whitaker as my manager, and our Firefighters team never ran out of baseball bats because Garth ran the Sport Shop downtown. We played our “home” games at Mead Park across the river and thought we were hot stuff by starting out 7-0 with pretty easy wins against teams like the Odd Fellows and B’nai B’rith (the Odd Fellows were always called the “Oddballs”).

Unfortunately, we then had to go “on the road” to Korfmann Field across from the Point Brewery to take on the other division, and that didn’t go so well. Those teams like the Kiwanis, Rotary, JayCees, and Medics were loaded with talent. And I still think our rapid slide in the standings was my fault.

We were playing Rotary, and the coach’s kid was pitching against us. I was batting eighth. That guy walked our first seven hitters! I’m getting ready to bat and Garth says, “Now wait for a good pitch.” Sure. I didn’t ride my Schwinn bike all the way to Korfmann just to take a walk. So the guy on the mound was actually crying as he pitched. They would’ve taken him out if he walked me, too.

So I dug in and struck out on three pitches over my head. Their pitcher went on to only give up a few measly hits and no more walks and we lost.

With our losing streak now at one, we faced the Medics next. Good Lord. Here our Firefighters were 7-1 and we had maybe three home runs all season. Pretty sure they came from Tom Jensen, John “Yatch” Herek, and perhaps Dave Garber or Mike Simonis. So the Medics went out there and smacked the first three pitches from us over the barn behind the left-field fence. Jerry DeNuccio and Freddie Zivicki for sure. Maybe Bob Cooper (who went on to become my great dentist).

The Medics kicked our butts and we went on to finish in second behind the Moose. On the bright side however, Garth always took us to the A&W root beer stand after the game, win or lose. Little League in Stevens Point really rocked in ‘61.

Paper routes were a good way to make some spending money in ‘61. Like almost everyone in town our age, I delivered Stevens Point Daily Journal. Our boss was Ed Richter, a great guy who treated everybody fairly. Still remember when he invited all of the carriers over for a big chicken dinner at the Hot Fish Shop. He picked up the tab.

However, I’m pretty sure two brothers who shall remain nameless were not invited to the dinner. They were rich kid jerks who weren’t too serious about delivering newspapers. Fact is, they had their own “scoring system”. If you folded up your paper and threw it and hit someone’s door, that was good for one point. Throw it in the bushes and you got two points.

If you chucked the paper onto the roof of the house, that was good for three points. Those guys were gone in a week.

I also delivered the Milwaukee Journal on Sundays. Those things had tons of pages. You would take your red wagon down to the Journal offices, load up your papers, and go on your route. We’re talking about maybe 30 houses.

Here’s what was really neat back then — nobody ever locked their doors. You would take the newspaper to the door, open the door, and inside on the porch would be the money, always in the same spot. Under a rug. Behind a flower pot. You name it. I don’t think that’s the case now. And if you did a good job, there might even be a $5 tip for you around Christmas, and that was like a fortune.

In 1961, most of the money earned with the snow shovel or paper route went to Wanta’s Bowling Lanes downtown. Man, I loved that place. The first thing you noticed when you walked in was the cigar smoke. Tons of cigar smoke, and it smelled great.

You could shoot pool or pay a nickel for bowling shoes and roll a few games while keeping your own score. If your parents were there, you could go to the bar and get one of Big Ern’s famous hot beef sandwiches. Ernie Wanta, a big guy with a great sense of humor, owned the joint. He loved to play cards, especially “screwie-looie”, and if you mentioned Wanta’s Bowling Alley, he’d always correct you and say, “It’s Wanta’s Bowling LANES, not ALLEY!!”

It seemed like the whole town of Point was always at Wanta’s. I also noticed something in the bar. Most of the men sitting there were veterans of World War Two, but I never actually heard anyone talking about it. The talk was usually about bowling, the Milwaukee Braves, building the airport, and whatever was going on in Point.

If a 12-year-old kid had any money left on Saturday after bowling, the next stop would be the Fox Theatre. Well, first you would go to Clarence Hansen’s popcorn stand. Then it was right up to the balcony to watch the movie at the Fox, duck from the flying bats, and throw Jujubes down at the girls below. You just hoped the ushers like Moose Maslowski didn’t catch you or he’d escort you out the door.

Yup, 1961 was great fun in Stevens Point. Fishing, Little League, bowling, the Fox Theatre. Heck, there was even time left to raid tomatoes in Old Lady Orville’s garden.