Remembering Sunday afternoons at Myers Lake

A picnic lunch, swimming & listening to Tiger baseball on the radio

When I was a kid, growing up on a farm, our family didn’t have too many opportunities to enjoy outings far removed from the local area. We always had to be back to milk the cows. One of those opportunities for adventure came once or twice every summer when my mom and dad, on a hot Sunday, decided to pack a picnic and head over to Myers Lake, located several miles northeast of our place just off Silver Lake Road.

The lake in those bygone days had a public beach and bordering that shoreline were dozens of small sites where people could park their car and use the grill and picnic table. There was a bath house for putting on or taking off the swim suit, a barn-like building where day visitors could roller skate, and the attraction of three or four kiddie rides including a small Ferris wheel.

Once arrived, we kids had a pretty free rein to wander around the area. The roller skating rink had numerous windows that would be open to allow in the breeze, and as we walked by we could hear music and see the skaters circle about. We would also head down to the concession stand, located next to the bathhouse, to see what treats might be available. As I recall we never had ample cash to buy anything. My parents were not generous in their allowance, but hope springs eternal.

Swimming was, of course, the main event. The rule of waiting an hour until after you ate your meal was in full force in those days. Mothers never wavered.  Probably a wise adage; still a torture for a youngster eager to splash around in the water when the thermometer was in the high 80s and there was an overpowering urge to join the older kids by swimming out to the raft in deep water.

One of my fond images of those visits was walking along the driveway, past all of those cars parked in their respective sites. The women would be fussing around the picnic table, either setting out the food and tableware or packing them away. The men folk would be resting in a lawn chair, napping or sipping on a beverage. Nearly all of the cars had their radios on, with the Tiger ball game turned on.

You could walk along, passing car after car, and never miss a detail.

Baseball, heard on a radio at a public place like Myers Lake, was a shared experience. The adults could eat their fried chicken, sip lemonade or a can of beer, watch the kids play, and listen to Ernie Harwell and George Kell describe the play-by-play action. Back then Charley ‘Paw Paw’ Maxwell was known as the Sunday Slugger due to his habit of hitting home runs on the Sabbath. ‘Paw Paw’ was a nickname given to him due to Charley being a native son of that southwest Michigan town.

Al Kaline, though, back then and to this day was my favorite ball player. I was too young have seen the great Fowlerville Flash, Charley Gehringer. Had I seen him perform as I did Kaline, I suspect I’d have been a conflicted young fan. Both of them were quiet, unassuming gentlemen, along with being exceptional ballplayers—both at the plate and in the field.

Simple memories of a seemingly simpler time? Perhaps. Or maybe just a fond recollection of long-ago Sunday summer afternoons when a young farmer and his wife, looking for a brief change of routine and some relief from the constant routine hard work and from the oppressive summer heat, packed up the three kids, brought along a picnic basket full of food, and headed off for the amenities of a nearby lake.

Baseball, heard on the radio, just added to the pleasure of the adventure.

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Steve Horton is a mid-Michigan journalist and editor-publisher of the ‘Fowlerville News & Views’—a weekly newspaper. www.fowlervillenewsandviews.com