"Oh, my. Oh, no. Ohhhhh...my goodness. Ooooooo, oh, no, I'm so embarrassed."
It was Grandma Rhoa (pronounced "Roy"). When she and her sister Marlas walked into The Getaway Saloon that evening, they didn't expect to run smack into the Principal and the Music Director at the front table, but Mark and I were right there, front and center, enjoying The Getaway's Monday night special - a $4.00 strip steak with potato, Texas toast and your choice of coleslaw, fruit, or three-bean salad. One dollar extra for sautéed mushrooms (well worth it) and 50 cents for a glass of water. The 50 cent water rule is for cheapskates like Mark and me - they figure if you're getting a steak dinner for $4.00 that you ought to spring for a beer or two...at least a soft drink.
The Getaway is a well-known neighborhood tap along Red Arrow Highway, just north of Bridgman and right next to the Michigan State Police Post. Red Arrow Highway was "The Way" to get from Chicago to southwest Michigan lake homes until the 1960's when Interstate 94 was completed, and now it's mostly locals and old timers who know about The Getaway's nightly specials, but there's always a good crowd. A nice place where they have a five foot high wooden screen separating the bar's smoking section from the non-smoking restaurant section - a five foot screen in a room with a nine foot ceiling. The Getaway is a place where they cheer for Chicago sports teams, especially the Cubs, and where it isn't unusual to see celebrities - a couple State Representatives, one State Senator, even a millionaire U.S. Congressman and, on occasion, Muhammad Ali. Yes, even the Champ eats there from time to time, dropping over from his estate and former training camp in nearby Berrien Springs. Lots of local color...including the Principal and Music Director from Christ Lutheran.
Don't believe me about the Champ? I've got a picture of Diane mugging with Ali one day when he dropped by Trinity, Berrien Springs, to visit her kids. Yep, the man who lit the Olympic torch on a world-wide stage lives nearby and commonly drops by the local Post Office to pick up his mail, has been seen by virtually hundreds riding in a convertible as Grand Marshall for the annual Berrien Springs Pickle Festival parade, and occasionally eats a $4.00 steak dinner at The Getaway Saloon in Bridgman.
"Don't tell Rhonda! Please don't tell Rhonda you saw me here." Grandma Rhoa and Marlas are in their eighties and even though she tells us about hanging out at The Getaway since she was a teenager, she knows Rhonda, her daughter, would not approve of her being in a bar. We find out that Grandma Rhoa's cousin, Fred, is the cook who grills up these fabulous steaks, and she calls him out to introduce us...and remind all of us 'not to tell Rhonda.'
Rhonda used to belong to a Lutheran church, but several years ago she and the family transferred membership to The Evangelical Free Church By The Babbling Brook That Meanders Through The Quiet Meadow, a small church with a large sign out front. Rhonda was a child of the 60's, an activist from junior high on, she had protested vigorously, even placing her petite body in the path of large earth-moving equipment when the Nuclear Plant was being built in Bridgman, warning everyone about the dangers of radiation contamination and as late as 1972, still sharing the local legend about Melon Heads, a group of people who live on a dead-end dirt road near the plant and allegedly suffer multiple deformities and birth defects caused by exposure to the plant's radiation...even though no workers at the plant ever displayed such maladies. Her protests stopped abruptly in 1975 when she married Bob, an engineer at the Nuclear Plant, and Rhonda started a job at the plant's Visitors Center where she led tours extolling the benefits and cleanliness of nuclear power. The plant brought hundreds of jobs to the Bridgman community and a boost in tax revenue that allowed the locals to build a state-of-the-art public high school with Olympic-sized pool for its 217 students...and it virtually eliminated local property taxes.
Rhonda is now a Dogooder, that being Bob's last name which she took for her own in 1975 when they got married. Having sowed her wild oats during the early 1970's, hundreds of acres of wild oats according to Grandma Rhoa, Rhonda left the Lutheran church, the church of her childhood, over serious concerns regarding cheap grace and a lack of commitment on the part of life-long Lutherans. Rhonda's spiritual walk had outgrown the Lutheran church and become a full-blown journey. She was now very active at Babbling Brook, especially in the Tuesday Morning Ladies' Bible Class and Prayer Group where she and the others prayed regularly for President Reagan and local politicians (that they might become Evangelicals), were active in community crusades and generally tried to protect the people of southwest Michigan from themselves.
Rhonda's most recent campaign was against the Pokagen Band of the Potawatomi Tribe of Native Americans. No, it wasn't that she was prejudiced against Native Americans, just their casino's which the Pokagen's recently announced they wanted to build in New Buffalo. As Rhonda's faith matured, she had morphed from a NIMBY (Not In My Back Yard) regarding the Nuke Plant in Bridgman into a NIYBYE (Not In Your Back Yard Either) as it pertained to the proposed New Buffalo casino. Rhonda had taken her mom (Grandma Rhoa) and seven-year-old daughter down to New Buffalo with picket signs one day and contacted the local newspaper about a photo op - all three appeared on the front page of the newspaper, standing atop a grassy knoll and holding up large hand-painted signs protesting "Vice." The photographer, a local guy who had dated Rhonda during her 'wild oats' days, knew Rhonda's maiden name was Rhoa (pronounced "Roy"), and suggested a cut-line under the picture that would read: "Vice-Rhoa's Combat Local Sin," but Rhonda vetoed that idea. She had never much liked being Rhonda Rhoa and all the teasing it brought - she was now a Dogooder and humbly proud of it. Still, the caption ended up reading: "Casino Runs Up Against Vice Rhoa And Dogooders!" The Pokagens didn't take kindly to Rhonda driving the twelve miles down from Bridgman to New Buffalo to save them from themselves and pretty much told her to get on back to Bridgman and her nuke plant.
"Grandma Rhoa, we're not going to tell Rhonda. Don't worry. So, what have you two ladies been up to today?"
"Bridge Club - Monday is our bridge day."
"How did you do?"
"What do you mean?"
"You know. How much did you win? Did you two do all right?"
"Oh, my. Gosh...we don't play for money."
"C'mon. You can tell us - we're not going to tell Rhonda. Trust me."
"No, we don't play for money, Principal Strohacker. Really."
"Honestly? Not even a few dimes and nickels? You know, you shouldn't lie to Pastors, Lutheran Principals, or Music Directors. The 12th Commandment."
"No. We don't play bridge for money." There was a pause...a significant pause, and Grandma Rhoa added. "No...uhhh, when we want to win some money...we go down to 'the boats.'"
(The Pokagen's casino isn't finished...yet, so the ladies are crossing the state line and going down to the Blue Chip in Michigan City where casinos are only allowed on water - a trench dug three miles inland from Lake Michigan where a huge boat "floats" in about seven inches of Great Lakes H2O.)
"Yes, 'the boats,' you know? I won so much the last time we were there that I bought myself a new hat! But..."
"Yes, Grandma Rhoa, I know...don't tell Rhonda."
(Author's note: At the time this was written, perhaps over ten years ago, the land-based casino in New Buffalo hadn't even broken ground, but it has since been built and has opened. No, I haven't stopped by there to check on Grandma Rhoa and Marlas.)