June 23, 2013
Editor:
Dave Uphoff
With the death of John W. Denson on June 9th, I lost a close friend and a member of my childhood gang. Another close friend and fellow member of the "Beasty Buddy" gang of the 1950's, Tom "Bino" Guinee, died three years ago. I am at the age when friends start to pass away and it is a sobering experience which I am sure others my age will agree with. The Denson family was one of the most prominent families in Minonk in the first half of the 1900's. John's grandfather C. R. Denson ran the Minonk News-Dispatch for over 60 years and his father John O. Denson was also an editor at the newspaper. The last time I talked to John we both commented on how lucky we were to be raised in Minonk during the 1950's. A time when there were no wars, good ole "Ike" was our beloved president, and boys spent the summer playing baseball and the girls helped their mothers doing household chores. Alas, we had no cell phones or computers to combat boredom. We created our own fun. John and I were both baseball card collectors and I am eternally grateful to him for giving me his 1953 Bowman baseball cards that completed my set. The summer John and I graduated from high school we worked together on a highway crew that took care of route 116 between Toluca and Roanoke. Our major task was to fill the cracks in the highway with a gluey mixture of tar and asphalt we called 'mulch'. We called ourselves the 'mulchmen'. It was during that summer John and I were first exposed to philosophy. One day we were sitting around on a break when one of the crew members, who had just lost his wife, said - "You know, you're either dead or alive - one of the other". Whereupon one of the other crew members said, - "It sure took a hell of a lot of brains to figure that one out", oblivious to the other crew member's mourning of his wife's death. John and I both became heavy smokers while working on the highway crew as the whole crew smoked. One worker in particular would light one cigarette off the end of the one just finished and had a cigarette hanging from his mouth all day. John and I both went to the University of Illinois where we spent a lot of time studying and a lot time drinking beer at the Capitol Restaurant on Green Street. Although we weren't room-mates, I would visit John at his house where often I would find him killing bugs that infested his room by spraying aerosol deodorant at the bug and lighting a match at the same time to torch the insect.
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Summers during college were spent working construction and going out on the town on Saturday night. One of our favorite spots was 'The Stork Club' in Streator which had a great country music band. John and I both had unique taste in country music. Our favorite tune back then was 'Oklahoma Stomp' by Spade Cooley. Every time we went to 'The Stork Club' we would request that tune to the band's steel guitar player, 'Li' Dale Ross, who was the son-in-law of 'Dutchy', the owner of 'The Stork Club'. Tommy Guinee would join us for our trips to Streator also but he didn't care for country music. He just enjoyed the camaraderie of being with the gang. After college I moved to Chicago to begin my career. Two years later John got out of the army and we got an apartment together in the Lincoln Park neighborhood. John and I were both heavy smokers and we would routinely puff away 2 packs a day of Kools at 35 cents a pack. On the night of June 13, 1967, on my 26th birthday, John and I were sitting in Max's Bar and Grill at Clark and Fullerton. I said to John, "Craze "(his nickname), this is my last cigarette as I dashed the butt into the ashtray on the bar. John said, "Me too Parrot(my nickname)", and he put his out as well. That was the last cigarette I ever smoked. John, however, started and stopped several times after that and last quit 10 years ago. John bought a beautiful 1964 red Austin-Healey sports car while we were living in Chicago. One day I decide to go to Minonk for a visit. John said he would follow me for awhile as he was going somewhere else for a visit. While traveling on the Eisenhower Expressway, I slowed down for a traffic jam. Unfortunately, John didn't stop in time and he plowed into the back of my 1967 Buick Wildcat and totaled the front end of his car. I can still see poor John's head pop up above the windshield as he hit my car. If the car had a roof he would have been killed. John and I both agreed that any day over 70 years of age is a bonus and we should appreciate each day as if it might be our last. So to my buddies John and Tom, I miss you both but enjoy the memories of the good times we had together.
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