the
Case Western Reserve University volume xlv, issue 26 friday, 4/18/2014
Observer Spring Cleaning Baseball sweeps pair of doubleheaders at home
see pg. 16 Arianna Wage/Observer
Spartan reliever Neal Krentz focuses on home against Bethany College on Sunday.
Editor’s note: One step forward, one look back I hated the weekends when I was growing up. Every Sunday, after breakfast but before lunch, my father would knock on my bedroom door and beg me to wake. Within an hour this loving request would escalate into household pandemonium, complete with raised voices, a barking dog and a refereeing mother. Battle worn, I would stumble to the shower and hide there until the hot water ran cold, hoping he would grow impatient and leave without me. But he never did. After exhausting every escape route, I would climb into his white ’97 Lumina, a vehicle that had the external complexion
of an albino leper (for whatever reason, 1997 was a bad year for Chevrolet, white paint and covalent bonding). We would drive 20 minutes to the next county over, all the while popping country tapes into the sedan’s cheap cassette deck. Arrival was marked by severe turbulence, as the tires dipped in and out of parking lot potholes the size of war zone craters. The pavement stretched endlessly, yet it never had to accommodate more than just a few rows of cars.
eled parking lot, the Valley View Flea Market was a home away from home for many characters. Bob and Frank sold records. Val sold guitars. Jeff ran an auction. I don’t know what George sold, and quite frankly I don’t think he knew either. But it didn’t matter. Every weekend they could be found behind rows of antiques and collectibles, making bargains and shooting the breeze. And every weekend, my father made me join them. We would talk news and politics, music and life. For them, it was regular, familiar, comfortable. For me it was hell on earth. After all, I was an adolescent plucked
from his preppy lifestyle and immersed in a seemingly foreign space. The drive home was always the same. Like payment for my compliance, my dad would take me to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant—Charlie Staples’ Bar B Que, Kravitz Deli. Over fried chicken or a sandwich he would tell me the same thing every weekend: “Don’t judge them, Tyler. You’re no better than they are.” I never believed my father to be a profound man, but editing The Observer has changed my perception.
News
A&E
Opinion
Sports
pg. 3 CWRU impacted by stabbings
pg. 8 Local brews, great food
pg.12 Up in smoke: Marijuana use
pg. 15 Tennis aims for UAA tournament
*** Despite its leaky ceiling and dishev-
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