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by Detroit’s City Council! Probably the whole campaign—had simply been intended, as a ā€œpreemptive strikeā€! There had begun a series, of serious talks, in Washington—having to do with actually shutting down similar spots! Closing them—all across the nation! The ā€œrationaleā€ was that—by conserving energy (electrical energy)—such moves would, measurably, help the war effort!

Some months later, the City of Detroit did enact what they’d labeled a ā€œbrownoutā€! The, seriously-enforced, regulation prohibited all businesses, from activating their outside, mostly-neon, signs! Stores could not even illuminate their glass showcases, inside! All dedicated for the war effort!

There had even been a rumble—a scary one—that Major League Baseball should/would cancel the entire 1942 season! Even in the early-forties, the Washington Senators were playing virtually all of their home games—under the arc lights. The idea of closing down MLB, was killed—practically from the beginning—by President Roosevelt! He seemed to be unworried, about all that wattage—being burned, on a nightly basis—at dear old Griffith Stadium.

Our favorite couple arrived, at Edgewater—at a little past 2:30PM! During the entire trip, Valerie had virtually never stopped praising Jason’s ā€œdriving skillsā€! Or his ā€œobviousā€ proclivities—for ā€œselecting fine carsā€!

The roller coaster looked to be even more rickety—than its reputation had indicated. Had even hinted at! The male member, of the dating team—never a fan, of such things—made a mental note, to never ride! Not on that one!

He’d remembered his grandfather talking—many times—about The House That Jack Built. That was the first facility, that the couple visited. There was a maze—through which they’d had to travel, to get into the house proper. It was not a ā€œhall of mirrorsā€. The tall-and-narrow ā€œwallsā€ were made up, exclusively, of top-to-bottom panes—of clear glass. You could see through them. Through the myriad of them. That turned out to be a problem—for one 11—or 12-year-old kid! He’d thought that he’d had a clear path—to the exit! And he’d bounced—severely—off of one of those, hardy, see-through, ā€œwallsā€! The ultra-loud collision had—literally—knocked the kid, on his rear!

Once through that maze, there were the usual items! Mirrors—ones that made you look as wide as you were tall, ones that made your body appear to have assumed the form of the letter ā€œSā€ā€”or, possibly, ā€œassembled by a committeeā€, etc. etc. etc.

The second floor was slanted so steeply—that it took great effort to walk upward, to simply get to the ā€œother sideā€, of the immense room! It almost felt as though they’d installed a magnet! An, almost-irresistible, force—drawing a body backward! To where he or she had entered!

To exit the place, a person had to negotiate himself/herself through the glass maze once more! That had been the aforementioned young boy’s nadir!

Outside the facility, was located a tall, slender, completely-enclosed, booth—that advertised the fact, that there was an ā€œinvisible manā€ inside! When one looked through the eye-level ā€œpeepholeā€ā€”all he/she saw, was a sign on the far wall! It said, ā€œWell?ā€. Talk about feeling—like some kind of idiot!

There was also a true ā€œpenny arcadeā€. Actually, Skee-Ball set you back a whole nickel, Jason and Valerie dropped a multitude of five-cent pieces there!

There were the usual variety of ā€œtest your skillsā€ booths—where one was challenged to knock some object down, with a baseball! Another featured a plainly-difficult challenge—to ring a small hoop, over some large object.

There was another of those entities—where the barker kept shouting, ā€œShoot archery!ā€. Jason had never handled a bow-and-arrow before. But, after blowing a little over $3.00, he finally won a small Kewpie Doll, for his ā€œofficialā€ girlfriend.

Another attraction found a man—beside a giant scale—proclaiming to have the ā€œGod-given talentā€, of guessing a person’s weight! (ā€œWithin five poundsā€. If he missed—you got your quarter back.)

Valerie was tempted—at first! But—after having watched a couple other women accept the challenge—she decided that the guy was ā€œtaking too many liberties:, with his handsā€! (Although—she’d had to admit—both of the women had seemed to have enjoyed the ā€œprocedureā€. One of them had seemed especially joyful!)

When it finally came down to ā€œthat rickety damn rollercoasterā€ā€”as it just about had to—Jason steadfastly refused to venture onto the ride! Valerie, though, finally convinced him—to ā€œgo ahead… and take the plungeā€! He’d gotten the distinct impression that she might be questioning his manhood! After experiencing the ā€œthrill-a-minuteā€ excursion, he then renewed his vow to never ā€œride that thingā€ again! (Threats to his manhood be damned!)

It turned out to be a wonderful outing! Simply wonderful!

The afternoon—was to turn into a great evening! due to another hand-me-down from Jason’s maternal grandfather: There was a rather-small restaurant—called The Blue Ribbon—on Grand River, just southeast from where Schoolcraft crosses that ā€œmain dragā€, at a 45-degree angle.

When Grandpa Piepczyk had been a little boy (which would be right about now) the old man’s father had begun working seven-days-a-week—at the Plymouth plant. Our Boy couldn’t remember—not exactly—but, he felt that his granddad had advised him, that the ā€œon-holdā€ automobile manufacturing facility had converted, to where they were churning out military halftracks.

In any case Jason’s great-grandfather had seldomā€”ā€œalmost neverā€ā€”gotten a day off, during the entire duration. The workers—of that day—were, virtually all, making their devoted contribution, to the war effort. The young-at-the-time Piepczyk’s two foremost memories of World War II, were his father’s exhausting work schedule—and eating, virtually (well, literally, he’d thought) dining, every Sunday night, at The Blue Ribbon.

This was Sunday evening! It could really have been considered to be Sunday night (Jason figured). He and Valerie had been headed—in his glorious new Dodge—for a wondrous Marcus restaurant!

Our Hero had remembered—just how wonderful their hamburgers had tasted! He had sampled their wares, on his first day ā€œbackā€ in 1942. At the glorious unit—across from left field, at Briggs Stadium. He’d been delighted to learn that there was another Marcus branch—on Grand River, just northwest of Schaeffer Highway.

Jason had sold Valerie—at their departure, from Edgewater Park—upon the idea, of ā€œgrabbing a biteā€, at that local Marcus. But, when he’d first spotted The Blue Ribbon, he’d wheeled the spiffy motor car, into the eatery’s parking lot—cutting off, some poor guy, in a 1939 Packard!

ā€œDo you

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