Stodghill Says So

An opinionated posting on a variety of subjects by a former newspaper reporter and columnist whose daily column was named best in Indiana by UPI. The Blog title is that used in his high school sports predictions for the Muncie Evening Press.

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Location: Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio, United States

At the age of 18 I was a 4th Infantry Division rifleman in the invasion of Normandy, then later was called back for the Korean War. Put in a couple of years as a Pinkerton detective. Much of my life was spent as a newspaper reporter, sports writer and daily columnist. Published three books on high school sports in Ohio and Indiana. I write mystery fiction for Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine and others. Three books, Normandy 1944 - A Young Rifleman's War, The Hoosier Hot Shots, and From Devout Catholic to Communist Agitator are now available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble and other booksellers. So are four collections of short mysteries: Jack Eddy Stories Volumes 1 and 2, Midland Murders, and The Rough Old Stuff From Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine.

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Sunday, January 11, 2009


Yesterday I wrote something about my late friend, Floyd Creech. Every so often I have an uncontrollable urge to re-write stories I have written about him in the past.
After deadline, Floyd and I often went out to lunch together. I discovered early on that he hated it when I changed my order to match his. From then on I did it at every opportunity. I'd order a hamburger, then he'd order a grilled cheese. I'd say, "That sounds good, change my order to what he's having." Floyd would see red. "Don't you have a mind of your own? Can't you think for yourself?" And on and on while I sat there grinning.
One day we went to the Mandarin Inn, a Chinese eatery. There was a new waitress, a recent arrival from Sweden. Floyd ordered a Spanish omelet but got a weird concoction as its filling. The owner walked by, took one look at and grabbed Floyd's plate. "That's our hot Mexican chili!" he said.
Floyd was angry, I was laughing. "Floyd, you're the only American who could go into a Chinese restaurant, order a Spanish omelet from a Swedish waitress and be served Mexican chili." He didn't find it amusing.
Another time we had lunch at the little restaurant a few doors down from the newspaper. Something about his order displeased Floyd so he jumped up and at the top of his voice shouted, "This would be a great place for somebody to open a restaurant!" As everyone turned to look and I started laughing, Floyd stalked down the aisle to the door and grabbed for it. The doorknob came off in his hand.
There weren't many dull moments working with Floyd. What he felt was my ill-timed laughter drove him wild, but he got his revenge when we worked together on a full-page feature blasting the city administration and the recreation department for the miserable condition of the baseball diamond in a park. He was supposed to go with me to cover a dinner meeting the night the story ran, but didn't show up. When I got to the table I found I was seated between the mayor and the recreation director.

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