Joe Groshek – Humorous Illustrator

Being a boy growing up in Milwaukee in the late ’60’s, ’70’s, and 1980’s, there were few things that influenced you in an instant, that changed the direction of your life forever.  There were four of those for me.  Here are my first two;

1. Baseball:  In 1969 the Seattle Pilots became an American League team. That only lasted one year there.  I was too young to remember when the Braves left town in 1965, but I do remember hearing how heartbroken the city of Milwaukee was.  Wisconsinites love their sports teams, and when the Braves left Milwaukee for Atlanta, this was a hard steel-toed kick to the emotional groin that some loyal fans just could not recover from. 

 The pledge to never attend or watch another baseball game….ever….period (especially those GD Braves in Atlanta) was heard throughout town.  I was turning seven when the Pilots became the Brewers in 1970.  I remember my Dad taking me to one of their first games of the season.  Jumping into our olive green Buick LeSabre, sitting in traffic awaiting entry to the parking lot, and finally entering the short tunnels up to the stands at Milwaukee County Stadium was like walking up a ramp to heaven…..it was thrilling!

My Dad bought a Brewers Yearbook to keep score (which he always did for the hundreds of other games we went to since).  He bought me a hat and and banner to hang on my wall, (which it did for years).  Sitting in the stands with my Dad was absolutely glorious, and for that moment as a seven year old kid, life couldn’t get any better than that.

2. The Green Bay Packers: I was too young to remember the “Glory Years” of the Packers domination in the 1960’s. As a kid, Sundays in Milwaukee consisted of;  Waking up, getting dressed, going to church, stopping at Grebe’s Bakery for ham and rolls, coming home, eating brunch, and watching AWA All-Star Wrestling from 11-12am hoping that the self proclaimed “Milwaukee’s Favorit Son” the Crusher would be wrestling.  Go ahead, Google him…..he was a beer swilling fun loving crazy guy that we loved to watch beat the crap out of guys such as Ray Stevens and Nick Bockwinkle.  This was way before Hulk Hogan and the other nutjobs in the WWE.  

Then at noon, my Dad would sit down on the couch with a freshly opened bottle of PBR (sometimes my uncles would come over) and prepare to watch the Packers with him.  Now at this time, the Packers had lost most of their great players from the ’60’s due to retirement, or trades since Saint Vince Lombardi had left in 1969 to coach the Washington Redskins….a sad, sad time in Wisconsin.  The early ’70’s teams kind of just slagged along, trying to live up to our expectations, and failing miserably.  That however did not stop us from continuously, loyally, cheering them on with players such as the legendary Bart Starr, Ray Nitchke, and the awesome running backs John Brockington and MacArthur Lane.  They still provided a glimmer of hope to bring us another championship season and a 3rd Superbowl. 

Watching my Dad adjust himself on the sofa, preparing for his three hour screamfest at our massive 20 inch screen black and white TV set was always fun to observe.  At halftime, my Mom would walk into the living room handing my Dad another beer and setting up a TV tray with potato chips, pretzels, or my Dad’s favorite Ma Baensch herring and Ritz crackers.  It was comical watching Dad and sometimes my uncles bending over their plates with those tiny herring forks, slapping a gelatinous square of fishy goodness on a Ritz, and gobbling them up like it was their last meal.

Now watching the Packers play on Sunday wasn’t just a game, it was a ritual that takes place to this day.  Traffic in Wisconsin during a Packer game is non-existent.  A guy being seen out in public doing anything other than watching the game, was instantly observed as someone from out of town.  How dare you be from Wisconsin and be seen walking in the mall or any other store unless it was the hardware store where you had to buy something to fix something at home that needed immediate attention; (ie: broken water heater, furnace, garbage disposal, or anything on the car or roof)….then and only then were you excused, but by God you better be listening to the game on WTMJ radio (62 on your AM dial). 

If you went to 11:00am mass on Sunday at a catholic church in Wisconsin on game day, you were almost guaranteed a short service with the priest shortening his sermons to 3 minutes or less, sometimes during an important game he would tell the congregation outright , “there will be no sermon today” (with no explanation necessary) and we would be out the door in 35 minutes. 

Is it wrong to pray for a short mass?  Does cheering whispers of “YES” throughout the church when finding out you are at a ”No Sermon Mass”  automatically inch you another step closer to hell?  I can imagine the collection plates being a little extra heavy and more silent, filled with paper money stained with fingerprints of appreciation from all the men. You have to be from, or living in Wisconsin to understand this. 

Now God forbid if the Packers lost, there is an unwritten rule in Wisconsin; “You NEVER talk about the game ever again!”    Being at your job the following Monday was like being at a funeral parlor, you walk slowly to where you need to go, quietly nodding Good Morning to your co-workers, and going about your business in silence……but if the Packers won!…..there was screams of  jubilation that could be heard as far away as those God Forsaken cities Chicago and Minneapolis!  Games were joyfully discussed at Sunday dinner and far into the night.  I have no doubt that after each Packer win, the population in Wisconsin increased 9 months later.  

Listening to Sports Talk Radio on the way to work Monday morning, hearing the DJ’s break down the game into minute increments of gratification that carried you through the work day and again into the night.  By Tuesday, you started mentally preparing yourself and the Packers for the next game, examing player stats for the opposing team, and praying for mid-week injuries to occur to their best players. 

To some people, the Packers are a way of life.  You just don’t go outside anywhere unless you are properly attired in some form of Green and Gold.  Male babies are born with names of our favorite players, they leave the hospitals adorned in a tiny green and gold stocking cap, and then their proud fathers put them on the waiting list for season tickets which at this time has over 81,000 names on it.  Most likely one will never obtain a Season Ticket in their lifetime unless you either inherit it, or by the grace of God, someone sells theirs to you…..and that would mean this wonderful person has no next of kin to offer this amazing gift to.  

 Do I love my Packers?………with all my heart!!

Hello to all who are now reading my Blog!……welcome aboard!

I’m Joe Groshek, a Humorous Illustrator from Milwaukee Wisconsin currently living in Jacksonville, Florida. I do hold other titles which I’ll get into as I ramble along…..however, for now, please allow me to introduce myself further.  Along with my parents, I have 2 sisters and 1 brother.  I come from a huge family of fun over the top personalities that growing up in Wisconsin, kept everything fun and exciting almost everyday. 

My Dad comes from a family of 1o brothers and 2 sisters, and due to our alarming and potent fertile genetics, these 12 people produced 57 kids, and then these kids produced over 90 and counting.  Today is my Grandma’s 94th Birthday, (Happy Birthday Grandma!) and she can still remember everyone of their names, trust me, I’ve sat playing Pinochle with her as she rattled each name off……amazing!! 

Now for those who are not familiar with Wisconsin for other than Cheese, Beer, and the Glorious Green Bay Packers, we have a very unpredictable weather system.  It can get into to the upper 90’s during the day, and into the 30’s at night, and this is in July for God’s sake!   My parents grew up on farms in the North Central part of the state, going to the same high school, my Dad was a great athlete excelling in Football and Wrestling and was the State Champion in his weight class in 1959.  My Mom was the head cheerleader, and they became Homecoming King and Queen their Senior year…..in other words, they were destined to be together, and they still are, just recently celebrating their 49th wedding anniversary. 

Like all my Dad’s brothers and sisters, they graduated from high school and immediately moved down to Milwaukee to find jobs.  I loved going back to my parent’s home town as a kid and hear the locals tell me stories about my Dad and how great he was in sports, and was always a perfect gentleman, having lots of friends and hanging out in the local bars as a teenager. 

The stories quickly moved from “Great Athlete” to an “Amazing Brawler”.  Now my Dad would never tell me any of these stories himself, but the locals would gladly tell me tales of my Dad’s heroics at the local taverns.  Lets just say, he never started a fight, but he always finished it…..and from what I’m told, there were quite a few of them.  I’m not sure if my Dad really wanted me to hear about these things, but yet he never stopped the guys from telling them either, and I’m very glad he didn’t, as these stories just added a little more to the top of the “Pride Mountain” I already had for him, he became a little more “Cooler” than all other Dads, and I couldn’t wait to share these stories with my friends. 

 Then the locals would bring up my Uncles, all great in sports, and awesome brawlers in their own right.  A few joined the Armed Forces right out of school, but most became regular blue collar guys.  Hard Workers?…..Oh my God, if you could see their work ethics!  They all were “Jacks of all trades”, knowing a little about everything, and being damn good at each. 

 Their motto seemed to be ”Do it right the first time, and do not stop until the jobs completed!”  It still amazes me to this day, with them all being in their 60’s and 70’s now, how hard they work, and continue to have these same ethics, trying to instill them on us (me and my Male cousins).  Of course we could never really do things the way they would do it, fixing cars, building things, etc.  So we became their “GoFor” statues, meaning we would stand still right next to them with one hand in our pocket, and the other hand holding their beer (Pabst Blue Ribbon), occasionally sneaking a sip when they weren’t looking.  Waiting for the moment when they would say “Go downstairs and in my toolbox, get me the big philips screwdriver and a 7/16 inch wrench”.

When that was said, I would instantly pull the bottle of beer away from my lips and take off down the stairs, into the basement, hit the lights, run into the workroom where every tool on the planet was neatly resting in several tool boxes, workbench drawers, or hanging from hooks on the wall.  Not to mention the thousands of nuts, screws, and bolts in hundreds of little drawers, clearly labeled by size, and in an order that only my Dad could find blindfolded. 

Ok, so I’m looking for the BIG Philips screwdriver….hmmmm….there were only 20 of them,….. ranging from the nubby one, to the 14 inch monster.  Now that day, my dad was working on our Buick LaSabre, so I figured the 14 inch was too big, but he DID say the BIG one, so I grabbed it out of the big red toolbox, and now was looking for the 7/16 inch wrench…..”Oh man”  I thought, did he want the one with the open end, the closed end, the adjustable, the one with the bend in it, the long skinny one,…..I forgot to ask….he didn’t elaborate as to which one he needed!!  Panic struck in,…. my hands starting to sweat, knowing full well if I brought back the wrong one, I’ll have to make the trip back down to the basement humiliated that I couldn’t “Do it right the first time”!!!!……then BAM!….a thought hit me, why don’t I bring ALL of them, keep them hidden in my pocket and ask him which one he wanted, when he’d tell me, then I could just magically flip it into his big monsterous grease filled hand……God I was clever! 

FLyingback up the stairs, turning off the lights, I ran up to my Dad’s legs dangling from underneath the car.  I asked him which wrench he needed, when he said the open ended one, I proudly handed it to him….no thanks was needed, just the quietness of being “Right the first time” was thanks enough.  I grabbed his beer to take a quick sip of it, and then he asked for the Philips screwdriver…….slamming it into his hand with pride, the silent thanks was broken by the words” What’s this, No, not this one, I need one smaller than this, the one with the yellow handle!” 

Now in my mind, I just became the biggest “Tool” in the box, failure and disappointment of not getting it “Right the first time” quickly burned through my veins……..almost wanting to cry,….almost,….. but then that would make me a “Big Fat Little Wussy TOOL!!”  I ran back into the house, down the stairs, into the workroom, opened all the tool boxes and found 5 BIG yellow handled Philips screwdrivers!  Grabbing all 5 I ran back to my Dad’s legs, fanning out the screwdrivers so he could pick the one he needed, he looked up, scanning them all and pulled out the one he needed, then with a glance of approvement he went back under the car and continued to do whatever it was he was doing under there. 

Exhausted by nervousness, I grabbed his beer and took a big swig, not realizing I just finished it off!!  Oh NO!!….with another wave of panic running through my body, I asked my Dad if he wanted another beer, and thank God he said YES!  Running yet a third time down to the basement and into the Fridge, I grabbed one of about 50 bottles of Pabst, popped it open with the bottle opener attached to the wall, and slowly walked up the basement steps taking another swig of the icy cold yumminess!!

Now the funny part of this story is, I could’ve been between 5 and 21 years old….but it doesn’t matter, I was pretty much the “GoFor” for my Dad until I moved out of the house at 23.  Not because I couldn’t fix things, I could to a point, but my interests were more wanting to go to my bedroom to draw cartoons, listen to my Steve Martin Comedy albums, and read MAD Magazines……which I did very well!  My brother Rick however, was fixing things with my Dad when he was 3 years old.  Sometimes I feel I missed out on sharing those kinds of moments with my Dad like my brother did, but at least we had a few things in common, one being we were very good working with our hands…..my Dad with his tools, and me with mine,….a pencil, a pen, and two Regal Nylon Tip Drum Sticks!  I consider myself lucky in that respect, at least my Dad’s talents didn’t skip a generation.

Hello Everyone, I apologize for the delayed reply, I’m in the process of starting my Blog, and looking forward to your reviews, comments, etc.   I plan on discussing subjects that will be of high interest to many of you, especially in the world of Art (cartooning, comics, caricatures, humorous illustrations, editorial cartoons, Greeting Cards) MAD Magazines and MAD Memoribilia, Comics, Music (Drums, Drummers, Drumming), Rock, Heavy Metal, 80’s Hairbands,  Medical equipment, Human behavior, Life lessons (Good and Bad), the 1960’s, 70’s, 80’s, 90’s and beyond. Sports and Sports memoribilia, Football (ie: Green Bay Packers), growing up in Wisconsin, big families, disfunctional families, things you should know, things you shouldn’t know, things to think about past, present, future. ….and things that make you go Hmmmmm!

No Topic is off limits, and I give great advice for subjects to ponder that can be life altering. 

What I could do if I could change the world and make it a better place for everyone, finding faults in past and present issues, cheering accomplishments, and my all-time favorite question to myself: “What I would do if I was President?”

How many times do you remember the past, and remember the things your parents taught you, and told you things that would happen to you as you got older and wiser, and realized they were right all along? The phrase “just wait until you have kids of your own one day!”…..means nothing when you are a kid, but means everything when you have them.

The respect factor in the world today is non-existant…..what kids could learn from their parents and grandparents if they could see 5, 10, 20 years in the future.  The advice they get is priceless, and it doesn’t cost anything but a moment of their time and attention.

To know a little about everything, and be able to share it with people that can remember what it was like to be young and crazy, and to wish they knew then what they know now.

Yes, get ready,…..and come along for a wild ride into my past, present, and future.

Be good,

-Joe-