The Purple Gang and Me

A Stodghill Says So blog:

While living in Detroit when I was four and five I learned all about the Purple Gang from older and wiser boys of ten and twelve. The Purple Gang, as all lovers of crime are aware, was the dominate player in Detroit's Prohibition Era mob warfare. However, those older and wiser boys swore the gang consisted of a bunch of pansies.
Later, when I was ten or twelve myself, I realized that most wise talk from me came from things I overheard said by adults. That, I suspect, was true of those who disparaged the Purple Gang. Perhaps it came from parents perturbed by the price of beer or bathtub gin and blamed this on the Purples. There is one other possibility, the tendency of women who had been around the block more than a few times to favor clothing of that color.
Whatever the reason, the second-favorite pastime of boys in the neighborhood was playing cops and robbers. Only wandering down to Navin Field a few blocks away when the Detroit Tigers were playing at home topped that activity. At the end of the seventh inning, usually about 4 p.m., the gatekeepers quit manning the gates and that meant we could get in free to see the Tigers whip some contemptible bunch of losers from St. Louis or Philadelphia.
Anyway, I was considered too little to be allowed to play in those cops and robbers games except on days when there was a shortage of boys. Girls, being inferior in every possible way, were never allowed to play. The younger, weaker and dumber boys were forced to be the Purple Gang. Those who were older and wiser were the fearless cops who would gun down the Purples one by one by pointing an index finger and crying, "Bang, bang, you're dead!"
This sort of thing led me to believe that if the entire membership of the Purple Gang were to show up some day all I would have to do is yell, "Boo!" and they'd flee for their lives.
I'm sure I had learned this was not true long years before reading Whiskey River by Loren D. Estleman, a wonderful fictionalized account of Detroit during the years when alcoholic beverages were outlawed and at times a man might have to walk an entire block before finding a speakeasy or blind tiger. Estleman is impeccable in conducting research so Whiskey River is an excellent source of information. The name comes from the practice of mobsters bringing whiskey into the country from across the river in Canada or even driving it in caravans across the ice when the lake was frozen over. A favorite trick of the Purple Gang, whose members were smarter than I realized at the age of five, was to hijack shipments of liquor after someone else went to the trouble of crossing the river or the ice.
I did notice one thing back in 1929 and 1930: The boys who scoffed at the Purple Gang as a bunch of sissies on a sunny afternoon were not quite so mouthy after darkness fell.

The second verse of Elvis Presley's Jail House Rock
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Spider murphy played the tenor saxophone,
Little joe was blowin on the slide trombone.
The drummer boy from illinois went crash, boom, bang,
The whole rhythm section was the purple gang.
Lets rock, everybody, lets rock.
Everybody in the whole cell block
Was dancin to the jailhouse rock
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"At the end of the seventh inning, usually about 4 p.m., the gatekeepers quit manning the gates and that meant we could get in free to see the Tigers whip some contemptible bunch of losers from St. Louis or Philadelphia."
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Shame on you Dick, you know that winning doesn't mean anything, and they shouldn't even have kept score.

I know, Don. That does seem to be the way many people feel today. Sad, isn't it?

I must be a sucker for punishment -- losing just makes me want to go back for more. If I go back enough times I either learn I can't win at it or I get better and maybe even win once in a while! In either case, I do have fun at what ever it is, or I wouldn't go back for more.

Perhaps I didn't pay attention when the lesson on it was passed out, but I had never heard of the 'purple gang' and did not catch the reference to it in 'Jailhouse Rock'. (Or just didn't know what it was.) I get a lot of education on this forum!

Who said winning doesn't mean anything and you shouldn't even keep score?

You should have been in Wisconsin when the Packers won the Super Bowl a few years back. In reality it was like we all won, the whole state of Wisconsin, the whole population young and old.

The kids all wore green and gold to school and then got a half a day off.

We went to Chicago for the weekend. When we went out to dinner, I said, "There is something very wrong here." I couldn't put my finger on it, until I realized everyone wasn't wearing green and gold, except us.

You just don't have to keep score for kids to go out and play for fun, and winning isn't everything for someone in middle school who also needs to learn that losing isn't everything either.

But keeping score is a good thing, and winning is something to celebrate. A few weeks ago I sat for two hours in a 30 degree ice rink to watch the girls high school hockey team score the winning goal in overtime! You weren't there or you would have seen me cheering exuberantly with all the other parents, grandparents and siblings, cheering that the girls won, (and cheering that we could finally go home and get warm.)

Love ya,

Carol

For anyone to win, someone has to lose. Makes sense.
In business they talk about "win-win" situations where everyone wins and no one loses. How could that apply to a game of sports?

Abe,

There are usually more losers than winers, especially when it comes to some of the individual sports like track. I think it comes to the losers cheering on the winners, trying to keep up, having that magic carrot on the stick out there, seeing what someone can accomplish.

My middle daughter loved track and cross country and we loved those seasons as she was a much happier person when she was running every day. She came in last or next to last, but always improved her time, always wished for more. She's the mom of my hockey playing granddaughter, in fact was very instrumental in getting the girls' team in place a few years ago.

But one of the girls who ran from another school the years she did went on to the Olympics, and every girl who had ever joined in a race with her cheered for her, and every girl who had ever joined in a race with her was at her races at the Olympics in their minds and hearts.

And Dick tells about his heroes and those who accomplished great things, and you and Gisela did as well, and I bask in the accomplishments of family.

(If I could put pictures on this messageboard I'd put one here of my son and his step daughter and her boyfriend, all wearing medals after their last triathlon.)

And I've watched my grandson play in the fifth quarter, and the boys play baseball behind our house making up and arguing about the rules, and the scrappy girls hockey team, and all those people at the triathlon whose sanity I question.

Geesh, I feel like I'm writing a book here about athletics and I am one of the biggest clutzes you've ever known. (Just ask my husband and kids.)

Love ya,

Carol

Carol, I've put a few pictures on the board by cutting and pasting. Never have had much luck with the "serving" method.