Hunting For Hoffa

Spring is here in Michigan. Do you know how I know?

Sure, it's been raining a lot, and the grass is green, but the reason I know that spring is here, is because the hunt for Jimmy Hoffa was started again.

Every spring it seems some tipster comes out of the background to tell us where Hoffa is after 30 plus years. This summer, he could be in Milford on a horse farm. Milford is where I grew up. Milford is a surburb that was pretty and quaint you might say.

We had a dime store, The D &C that sold everything from costume jewelry to ceramic swans to wax lips, and all for under $3.00. It was the kind of town growing up, where I could walk around at night without the fear of being abducted.

Nightlife? Not really. High school was spent in fields on the weekends, with kegs of beer and if things were good a bonfire. Or if we stayed in town, we'd go to the Kroger parking lot, and stand around. No kidding. At the time, we only had one fast food restaurant, McDonalds, and one small movie theater that only charged $3 to get in.

In later years, after I turned 21, my brother and our friends would hang out at the Red Dog Salon, a great local dive bar. I spent many Friday nights drinking, sitting and watching others play pool. Sometimes, I'd shoot a crooked game of darts.

It's odd to think that my little hometown could possibly be the final resting place of the Teamsters leader, but who knows?

All I know is that Milford has a lot of good memories for me, and in retrospect it wasn't a cool place to be, but it was safe and secure, for everyone who lived there.

Maybe I'll venture back this summer for the annual Milford Memories summer festival.

Lots of crafts, and beer outside. What more could you ask for?

And to Jimmy, wherever you are, I hope you're at peace.