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My mother wouldn’t turn down a mid-winter trip to Florida. While it was mid-20 degrees in the Wisconsin frozen tundra, it would be 60 degrees warmer in Fort Lauderdale. It was the closest location they could afford near Miami and the ocean. Their hotel was next to the Galt Ocean Mile Hotel on Galt Ocean Drive. Prominently redundant and unknown to my parents.
After they settled into their small beachfront hotel room, my father immediately hit the waves with an inflatable mat. When he washed up on the beach, my mom waved him over to her Bain de soli tanning spot and blanket. There were some sizeable young men on the adjacent beach, rowdy and throwing a ball.
She commented how the bulky men were like children, respecting no barriers, as they ran, tumbled and kicked up the warm sand. They had one tattered football.
My father smiled and explained that it wasn’t a generic welcome sign, plastered on the neighboring hotel. It welcomed the Green Bay Packers, because they were staying there. The young men on the beach may have been blowing off some steam without their helmets and pads, waiting for the next day, Jan. 14, 1968.
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The Packers were safely tucked away in Fort Lauderdale, next to my parents, twenty-five miles from Miami and Super Bowl II.
Victory in the second Super Bowl was not a gift. Waiting for the Packers were familiar players from the AFL Champion Oakland Raiders like Fred Biletnikoff, George Blanda, Gene Upshaw and Daryle Lamonica.
The Raiders were supported by those who were walking into infamy, such as their Linebacker Coach, John Madden. Yes, that John (Turducken) Madden. If these names mean nothing to you, then maybe skip to the next article.
Super Bowl morning, my parents thought they were up very early and scampered over to the Galt Ocean Mile Hotel hoping to see a Packer in the lobby.
The hotel’s shaded and palmy breakfast room was wide open and stacked with enough food for Patton’s army. The Packers were up much earlier and were enjoying their umpteenth course. The warming trays stretched across a wall, stacked with a farm’s output. The breakfast buffet seemed endless and constantly re-stocked by the hotel staff.
My parents stood in awe as the Packers were finishing their early morning meal. My Dad clutched his 16mm movie camera, while my mom was giddy. Perhaps recognizing pale white Wisconsin fans, several players began to wave them into the breakfast room. Forrest Gregg’s cigar smile said it all.
In those days, hotels were generous with their stationery and pens. My father rushed to the front desk and grabbed both. He would handle the movie camera and prompt my mom, holding "Galt Ocean Mile Hotel" stationery and pen in hand, toward various Packers. Whether on the beach or at breakfast, my mom didn’t know the players. They were all just big and bulky. She was in her early thirties and based on her recorded smile, didn’t mind being hugged by gentle giants.
The sheets of hotel stationary were filled with dozens of autographs. Imagine the breakfast conversations between my parents and Packer legends, including: Bart Starr, Max McGee, Henry Jordan, Ray Nitschke, Fuzzy Thurston, Jim Taylor, Willie Davis, Jerry Kramer and many, many more. All happily chatting and signing, one after another. It was an exclusive moment of being at a Packer team breakfast, game day. Priceless.
When my mom thought she was finished, my father guided her toward one more man. He was older than the players and stood by the window, quietly signing an autograph for one other lady. When she stepped aside, he grabbed the paper held by my mom. My father stood near, filming the brief exchange. He asked where they were from and signed his name with a large bold stroke: Vince Lombardi.
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The 16 mm footage is silent, but the confidence of the Packers beamed through the grainy film. The next time my parents would see these Packers would be later that day at the Orange Bowl, when they were battling the Raiders.
The Green Bay Packers beat the Oakland Raiders, 33-14, cementing the Packers Glory years. My Dad’s camera captured a few plays during the game, but the real excitement happened that morning.
The final score went into football history, while the experience and framed autographs are glowing memories. My Dad’s silent footage became the home movie of the Gingold-Packers 68’ vacation. Sell it, never. Super Bowl lore is to be treasured and handed down, whether frozen or sunbaked.
Jeffrey N. Gingold is a freelance writer and internationally acclaimed and award-winning author of "Tunnel, Smuggle, Collect: A Holocaust Boy" and "Facing the Cognitive Challenges of Multiple Sclerosis."
This article originally appeared on Milwaukee Journal Sentinel: My parents met Lombardi, Green Bay Packers before Super Bowl | Opinion
Continue reading...
After they settled into their small beachfront hotel room, my father immediately hit the waves with an inflatable mat. When he washed up on the beach, my mom waved him over to her Bain de soli tanning spot and blanket. There were some sizeable young men on the adjacent beach, rowdy and throwing a ball.
She commented how the bulky men were like children, respecting no barriers, as they ran, tumbled and kicked up the warm sand. They had one tattered football.
My father smiled and explained that it wasn’t a generic welcome sign, plastered on the neighboring hotel. It welcomed the Green Bay Packers, because they were staying there. The young men on the beach may have been blowing off some steam without their helmets and pads, waiting for the next day, Jan. 14, 1968.
Letters: Trump hijacks WI GOP gubernatorial primary by tapping Tiffany
Green Bay Packers readying to play in Super Bowl II
The Packers were safely tucked away in Fort Lauderdale, next to my parents, twenty-five miles from Miami and Super Bowl II.
Victory in the second Super Bowl was not a gift. Waiting for the Packers were familiar players from the AFL Champion Oakland Raiders like Fred Biletnikoff, George Blanda, Gene Upshaw and Daryle Lamonica.
You must be registered for see images attach
The Raiders were supported by those who were walking into infamy, such as their Linebacker Coach, John Madden. Yes, that John (Turducken) Madden. If these names mean nothing to you, then maybe skip to the next article.
Super Bowl morning, my parents thought they were up very early and scampered over to the Galt Ocean Mile Hotel hoping to see a Packer in the lobby.
The hotel’s shaded and palmy breakfast room was wide open and stacked with enough food for Patton’s army. The Packers were up much earlier and were enjoying their umpteenth course. The warming trays stretched across a wall, stacked with a farm’s output. The breakfast buffet seemed endless and constantly re-stocked by the hotel staff.
My parents stood in awe as the Packers were finishing their early morning meal. My Dad clutched his 16mm movie camera, while my mom was giddy. Perhaps recognizing pale white Wisconsin fans, several players began to wave them into the breakfast room. Forrest Gregg’s cigar smile said it all.
In those days, hotels were generous with their stationery and pens. My father rushed to the front desk and grabbed both. He would handle the movie camera and prompt my mom, holding "Galt Ocean Mile Hotel" stationery and pen in hand, toward various Packers. Whether on the beach or at breakfast, my mom didn’t know the players. They were all just big and bulky. She was in her early thirties and based on her recorded smile, didn’t mind being hugged by gentle giants.
The sheets of hotel stationary were filled with dozens of autographs. Imagine the breakfast conversations between my parents and Packer legends, including: Bart Starr, Max McGee, Henry Jordan, Ray Nitschke, Fuzzy Thurston, Jim Taylor, Willie Davis, Jerry Kramer and many, many more. All happily chatting and signing, one after another. It was an exclusive moment of being at a Packer team breakfast, game day. Priceless.
Final autograph came from legendary coach Vince Lombardi
When my mom thought she was finished, my father guided her toward one more man. He was older than the players and stood by the window, quietly signing an autograph for one other lady. When she stepped aside, he grabbed the paper held by my mom. My father stood near, filming the brief exchange. He asked where they were from and signed his name with a large bold stroke: Vince Lombardi.
Letters: The Milwaukee Rep theater worth celebrating and supporting
The 16 mm footage is silent, but the confidence of the Packers beamed through the grainy film. The next time my parents would see these Packers would be later that day at the Orange Bowl, when they were battling the Raiders.
The Green Bay Packers beat the Oakland Raiders, 33-14, cementing the Packers Glory years. My Dad’s camera captured a few plays during the game, but the real excitement happened that morning.
You must be registered for see images attach
The final score went into football history, while the experience and framed autographs are glowing memories. My Dad’s silent footage became the home movie of the Gingold-Packers 68’ vacation. Sell it, never. Super Bowl lore is to be treasured and handed down, whether frozen or sunbaked.
Jeffrey N. Gingold is a freelance writer and internationally acclaimed and award-winning author of "Tunnel, Smuggle, Collect: A Holocaust Boy" and "Facing the Cognitive Challenges of Multiple Sclerosis."
This article originally appeared on Milwaukee Journal Sentinel: My parents met Lombardi, Green Bay Packers before Super Bowl | Opinion
Continue reading...
