John Resnik

When Alex married Lindsey Murphy, our family got introduced to long distance running.  Lindsey picked up competitive running in her junior year of high school.  We all found out she was really, really good.  In Lindsey’s first year of college, at Lake State in the Northern Peninsula of Michigan, Jayme, Alex and I were at the meet where she broke the school record for the two mile.  Unfortunately, a senior team mate was slightly ahead of her and got her name in the record books.

Lindsey, and her brothers Josh and Sean, ran distances seemingly without effort.  They formed a team and ran across the state once.  Stories of Josh finding a place to number two while running in the country were a source of enjoyment.

Never an accomplished runner, I think the most I had ran by that time would have been three miles, I was intrigued to hear them talk.  They frequently didn’t talk about how far they would run, but how long they would run, as in “I went and ran 30 minutes”. For some reason, that sounded more possible.  I couldn’t run a long distance, but could I run for 30 minutes, or 20, or 15?

We already had a membership at the Lapeer County rec center, so I decided to use it.  There is an indoor track where 13 laps equals a mile.  I decided to run 20 minutes.  I didn’t die. Felt proud.  Did it off and on for a while. Began referring to myself as a long distance runner.

Tori called one day and asked if I wanted to train with her to do a 10k.  Turns out, that’s 6.something miles.  She was not much more of a runner than me, so if she could do it…anyway, there was no way I was going to turn her down.  I said yes.

Tori and I worked off the same training plan.  When we were together, usually every other month one way or another, we would run together; otherwise, it gave us something to talk about and compare notes.  I learned that if it is written, I must do it.  We both stuck to the plan pretty religiously. The plan involved a peak run of eight miles two weeks prior to the race.  Seemed a little silly, but now I kind of was a long distance runner.

The Run for Mercy was near Tori’s house in the spring of 2011.  Jayme joined Tori, Jake and I for a 5k, and the rest of us finished the 10k without dying.  Almost had fun.

In January of 2013, Kensington church started a team to train for the Chicago Marathon.  Never to do anything small, their goal was 1000 runners.  Experience was not necessary.  The marathon was ten months away in October and everyone could do it. They showed a video of an overweight guy who trained last year and made it.  Lindsey ran it two years earlier, and we were all there to cheer her on. The money you raised was going to drill water wells in Africa.  Jayme and I signed up.  We talked Alex into it later that day.  I printed out the training program.

It was written, it must be done.  I started training that week.  One to two miles per run at first, 2-3 times per week.  I started to learn the drill – long runs on weekends. Do some fast running in the middle of your jogs.  Kensington had teams, but I was a long ways away, so I just kept my coach posted on my progress.  Most of my running was at the rec center.  I felt like a Nascar driver – a lot of right turns.  But it became a habit – stretch in the area above the pool, smell the chlorine, put on my headband, walk to the track, get a drink, turn on my ipod that kept songs I would only let myself listen to while running, and people watch and listen to great music while making a lot of right turns.  Not a bad way to spend half an hour or so.

The weekend long runs were more exciting.  Jayme would join me, her on a bike and me running, and we would head out from Winding Pine drive in Metamora, to the village of Metamora, then out into the beautiful countryside that lay beyond.  It must be one of the most spectacular places in the U.S. The wealthy folks from Detroit put their horse farms here back in the day for a reason.  The trees were eighty feet tall.  The roads were dirt and windy.  Wildlife everywhere.  Snow in the cold months only made it prettier.  Not a sound, with the occasional exception of a car.  The occasional horseback rider or bicyclist.  Quaint farms.  Smell of fresh air.

The most scenic drive in America, at least I think that’s what the sign said, took a 10 mile loop outside of Metamora. Took a few months to work up to that.  By August, the long runs went 15+ miles and took us past the Devil’s Ridge golf course near Oxford and back.

My biggest challenge came at the Back to the Beach half marathon in May.  I had run ten miles a few times, so I should be able to do 13.1.  Alex came there to support me since Jayme was out of town.  It was a warm day, 84 degrees by late morning.  A killer hill or two early in the race that I should have walked.  After 10 miles I was done.  I could no longer run.  It was hot, I was exhausted.  I saw Alex, he encouraged me to keep running. I said I can’t. He said “You just have a 5k to go, you do those all the time.” I walked, jogged when I could, maybe 20% of the time, then I’d walk again.  I finally finished.  The only guy I beat was on a stretcher with an IV.  Alex drove me home, I was discouraged.  I missed work the next day, couldn’t get out of bed.

I would have given up, except I got on the computer just to see how bad I did.  Walking the last three miles didn’t help my time.  But I looked at my last place time, multiplied it by two, and realized that if I could keep up even that pace, I could complete the Chicago Marathon in a qualifying time.  From that time on, I had one person I wanted to beat at Chicago – the guy who picks up the cones at the end of the race.

Alex and Jayme had come to their senses by spring.  In mid-summer, ten weeks prior to the race, Jake decided to take a shot.  Training for a marathon in ten weeks is no small task, in the summer, in a hot state.  But he did it. On October 20, 2013, Jake and I were at the starting line at the Chicago marathon.  It was 6 am.  We were wearing sweats we would take off and leave at the starting point along with everyone else.  It was a beautiful day.  A terrific event.

While training, I had always told myself that the worst thing that could happen is that I would not be able to run a marathon.  Not a tragedy.  Now I was at the starting point.  We had a lady take our picture.  Jake, me and 44,000 others started running.

The Chicago marathon is a cool event. People line the streets cheering on the runners, pretty much the entire 26.2 miles.  Different neighborhoods set up their own areas, with music, signs, and tons of people hanging out.  Our families, complete with little ones, made a decision to see us outside of the hotel where we were staying, because running round the city trying to catch up to a runner isn’t easy.  As it turns out, I ran an amazingly steady, if not very fast pace, so they could time my arrival pretty well.  Four hours and thirty minutes later, I was done.  The toughest part might have been walking another mile to get to them and then another mile to get to the hotel.  Hardest point of the race was around mile 12 where I thought my knee was going to quit on me.  Each time I had increased my mileage during training, my left knee would act up, and normally the brace would keep it in check.  I remember thinking, “poop, I might have to quit.”  I slowed down a little.  Turned out okay.  We ran through the city, through the neighborhoods, past Soldier Field, and Jake claims he missed that one.  I said later, “how did you not see Soldier Field?”  He said he was pretty focused at the time.

I beat the cone guy, and a few thousand others.  Finished in four-five hours.  Had fun.

So, at 53, I ran my first marathon.  I say my first, because, who knows I may do it again.  Since then I’ve done a few half marathons, and now three sprint triathlons.  I’m much healthier, and I’ve had a lot of fun.  I have a lot to thank Lindsey, and everyone else, for.

In the fall of 2013, I got a call from Alex on a Thursday night.

His group of friends had located a former police station in Pontiac that they wanted to buy.  They wanted to put a tutoring center in it. They thought it would take fifteen thousand dollars or so to buy it.  The auction was next Tuesday.  They had already looked at the building, and the folks from the City of Pontiac who were selling the property were hoping the kids would get it.  The other potential buyer wanted to put a gentleman’s club in it and liked it because the basement had no windows.

Alex and Lindsey had been married a couple of years earlier.  Jonah was nearing two.  Their group of friends had decided they would do what they could to save the world, one section at a time.  They would start with Pontiac, because it was close by and had the third highest crime rate in the U.S. (Every year, Detroit, Pontiac, and East St. Louis would battle it out for one, two and three.)  Their plan was that they would all move to Pontiac, they would all start a church that would attract people of various ethnicities, and they would start a tutoring center.  Their goal was then to start a tutoring center in each of the top ten highest crime rate cities in the U.S.  There were probably ten to twelve couples, all in their twenties, who hatched this plan.

Jayme and my initial thoughts were of concern: Pontiac was a rough place.  We rarely entered the city limits, and would intentionally avoid it.  It was a poverty-filled town of fifty thousand people in the middle of prosperous Oakland County.  Would Alex, Lindsey, Jonah, and our other grandchildren be safe?

On the other hand, how do you not root for a group of twenty somethings who are trying to make a dent in the problems of the world?  I remember doing some of the things I did when I was young, and none were quite this noble.  The kids had a meeting on the second floor of the Lafeyette Grand in Pontiac that Friday night.  Jayme was unable to go but I attended.  I didn’t get shot.  Alex, Lindsey and their friends were adorable and infectious.  No one knew if it would work.  We wrote a check.

By the time of the auction on Tuesday, in four days, the kids had raised sixteen thousand dollars, just enough to be the winning bidder.  The building was brick but in rough shape.  They did a few work weekends to clean it up.  They raised another thirty thousand to replace all the windows.  They opened in the spring of the following year.

Their concept was that the kids in Pontiac don’t get the after school opportunities that other suburban kids do.  A snack or a meal, a few games, a little help with the homework, and a little love might go a long way.  The kids believed that the folks in Oakland County would drive to Pontiac one day a week to make a bond with a deserving child.  Drug dealers in Pontiac put big TV’s and video games in houses to attract youth.  This would be an alternative.

The center has now been open for several years.  Another has opened in Detroit and there are a few others.  The annual gala is a highlight of Jayme and my year.  The kids bought a foreclosed house in Pontiac, and spent six months fixing it up.  They moved in with Jayme and I for that time.  I’ve always felt that the Hispanics have it right and that multi-generational housing is the way to go.  During this six months, we got a steady dose of dance parties, sharing bananas with Jonah, stairway mooch, and “old bucket head” running around our living room with a movie popcorn basket on his head.  And we got to spend time with some of the best young people you could ever run across.  That just happened to love us as well.

I told Alex after their house renovations were completed that they should sell the house, bank the check, and stay with us.  They moved to Pontiac.

While there, they ran across a young man named Selvin.  Selvin was in junior high at the time, and they just hung out with him and did what they could to help.  They got to know Selvin’s mom and step dad and made sure they didn’t mind.  Over the years, Selvin comes to the house a few times a month and they talk often.  Jonah and Arthur love him.  He’s a terrific young man.  He held down a job with Little Caesar’s for several years while attending high school – “nobody makes sauce as good as me” – and was tremendously reliable for his manager.  He has attended junior college, and now has a job in a factory making sunroofs for cars.  I’m sure he will impress them there as well.  He is working on getting back to college.  He owns a car, and cares for it.  He is not yet a father.  He is a great kid.

I told Alex and Lindsey when they started, that they were doing a great thing, and doing it while trying to run their lives – work in their jobs, raise kids, care for the house.  I told them that this kind of momentum is hard to keep up, and not to be disappointed if they lose steam in six weeks or six months.  It’s now been over five years.  They still live in Pontiac, they still run the Centers for Success.  The church ultimately closed – after several years – but that’s a different story.

Jayme and I are incredibly proud of them and glad we’ve been able to help.

Dad was raised one of 13(?) kids in Poplar Bluff, Missouri.

Poplar Bluff was a small town in the “boot heel” (southeast corner) of Missouri.  His dad (my Bobo), John, brought his young wife to America from Austria, just before World War I took the lives of most of the young men of that area.  If it weren’t for that decision, and Bobo’s bravery, I might not be here today.

Dad’s mom passed away within a few months of having her last child.  The older sisters took active roles in taking care of the younger ones.  Bobo was an enterprising man, and ran a welding shop in addition to running the farm.  Dad and his twin brother Rudy were among the younger ones; I believe they had nine older siblings.  Bobo’s work ethic and many talents allowed their family to be relatively well-to-do. There was a car that the kids could pile into to go to school.  They usually had a little cash due to Bobo’s welding. But they all worked hard. There were chores before and after school, and summer days were sometimes sun up to sun down.  They farmed, gardened, and butchered for their meals. Trips to town were for Sunday church.

I’m not sure what Dad did right out of high school, but before long, he and Rudy (they didn’t separate twins) were sent to World War II.  Dad and Rudy served in the European theater, and dad was injured toward the end of the war. Both dad and Rudy headed to California shortly after the war to find their fortunes.  Dad worked at an aircraft plant.

Shortly after, Dad’s older brother Dan moved to Whitewater, Kansas, to open a car dealership. Dad moved to Kansas also, to Potwin, eight miles away, and opened a gas station.

The kids had grown, and Bobo no longer needed to work long days farming, so he moved to Potwin to live with Al.  According to Dad’s stories, which I believe, they hand dug the foundation to the filling station in Potwin, and people helped them lay the bricks.  With Dad repairing cars and Bobo, in his Austrian accent asking the locals, “How’s your has?” (that’s Austrian for “how’s your gas?”), and not much overhead, they did well.  Before long, Dad was selling appliances out of the filling station. Not long after that, they needed to build on.

Potwin, Kansas, after the war was a growing place, and everyone needed appliances.  You may not have thought you needed a refrigerator until your neighbor got one. Radios were a staple, and televisions were arriving—first black and white, then color. And always bigger.  Fortunately for Dad, they broke down a lot, and Lew Whiteside knew how to fix them. Lew would show up at your house with a specially-designed box of vacuum tubes and other parts, and before he left, you could watch your programs again.

As the Vickers refinery grew, Potwin needed more housing.  The city built a road for “the new addition”, and Dad started building houses.  He sold most of them but kept a few to rent.

He fell in love with Beth Elkins.  Beth’s husband, Raymond, had died of a stroke. leaving her with two young boys.  Dad adopted Bob and Bill, had a daughter Kathie, and a few years later, me.

Dad didn’t sit still much.  The government needed Post Offices to better handle the mail.  Dad built Post Offices in Potwin, Whitewater, and Towanda and rented them to the government.  He built or bought 10-15 rental houses and maintained them. He ran a growing business and was active in the community.  He made a lot of friends. He and mom traveled the world with General Electric because of all the ranges and room air conditioners he was selling.

Dad wasn’t your typical small-town business man.  Potwin was 15 miles away from El Dorado, a town of around 15,000, and 40 miles away from Wichita, a city of 250,000, the largest in Kansas.  Dad did his best to get folks from these bigger towns to travel to Potwin to get their appliances. As I understood from him, my siblings, and Dad’s fellow GE dealer friends, Dad would buy train car loads of appliances if he could get a good enough deal.

He was clever with his advertisements: “Al Potwin from Resnik, Kansas” and “The Little Bitty Man with the Big Deals.”   He was a character when you would go see him in the store. It was an adventure. He would go through your wife’s purse.  He would ask the well being of your “hoodly doodly.” He always made you feel special, and believe that you got a great deal.  There really wasn’t any reason to buy appliances from anyone else. You would spend time with a great guy with a sharp sense of humor who would get you a good deal, and Lew would come to your house and fix it if it quit working.

Dad would set you up on payments, Mom would mail you a bill each month.  There were “counter checks” out front in case you forgot your checkbook. And oh yeah, you need a toaster.

Dad had a lot of energy, and a huge love for people.  He was extremely generous.

In one of Jayme’s favorite stories, we were at Mom and Dad’s house and the doorbell rang late one night.  A young mother was there to tell Dad her husband had left her, she was headed to Oklahoma to be with family, she would have to move out of the rental house, and she couldn’t make the rent payment.  Dad’s reaction was to give her the cash he had in his pocket for gas money, and grab several items out of the refrigerator to give to her kids who were waiting in the car. Others would have been angry that they didn’t get the rent.  Dad emptied the fridge. I saw similar instances, too numerous to count. He was a great guy and I miss him dearly.