James Windell:
CLASS OF 1958
Waterford Township High SchoolClass of 1958
Waterford, MI
Saint Paul Lutheran SchoolClass of 1954
Farmington, MI
James's Story
I was the funny kid in high school (at least, I thought I was) who listened to jazz and admired Stan Freeberg and Bob and Ray. After college, I became a juvenile court probation officer and after a few years of that became a psychologist but stayed in the Oakland County Juvenile Court, until I went into private practice. After 15 years of being a psychologist -- working with kids and depressed women -- I returned to the juvenile court to run adolescent treatment groups and then develop a high-conflict divorce group.
I began teaching criminal justice at Wayne State University in 2001, and finally left the court to concentrate on being a college instructor and writing.
Although I was writing most of my life, it never occurred to me that that was something I could do professionally until I became a newspaper columnist. I wrote the Coping with Kids column for many newspapers over 35 years, but that led to me writing my first book in 1990. Since then, I have written and published 33 books, and am working on several new books.
In November, 2015, my book, co-authored with Kristin Meekhof, "A Widow's Guide to Healing" was published. It has been hailed as an inspired book and our goal is to keep it as one the best-selling grief and loss book for widows. My 2018 books published are "Cognitive Behavioral Protocols for Medical Settings: A Clinician's Guide" (published by Routledge) and "Who Shaped the American Criminal Justice System: Innovators and Pioneers" (published by Cognella).
If there is anything really left on my bucket list it is to have one of my books on the New York Times' best-selling list -- at least for one day! My wife, Jane, says I need to write novels in order to do this. But I stubbornly disagree. Well, okay, I sort of agree. Which is why I'm working on two novels now. My first play, called Strange Fruit, received a staged reading in August, 2017. We're hoping it will next go to a production in a local or New York theater.
Jane and I have been married for 17 years. I have two adult children who still seem to like me. And I have a great stepson, who has more connections on LinkedIn than I do. My daughter Jill and I are writing a book about dogs. I suspect that sometime in the future my son and I will write a murder mystery together, although in 2017 we agreed to work on a musical together. Jane is working on her Ph.D. in early childhood education. I'm just teaching and writing.
When Jane retires in 20 years, maybe we will do more traveling. Maybe I'll still be waiting to get on the NYT best-seller list.
Maybe I'll even get better at keeping in touch with my two best friends from WTHS -- Ken Godwin and Bruce Bancroft. Like that will really happen!
December 23, 2021: It's been a while since I updated my profile. When I look to see who has visited my profile, it brings back faces and images -- and memories -- from so long ago. I wonder about the lives of the people I recall from high school. It would be nice to catch up with so many people I remember.
But while I can't ask questions about your life and your current circumstances, at least I can share some of my own. Jane and I live in Bloomfield Hills, but we bought a lake house this past fall and we go there as much as we can. I expect we will spend more and more time there during the next few years. It is a wonderfully snug house in Reading, Michigan and it serves as a respite from our jobs.
Jane's job is director of Early Childhood Education at Schoolcraft College, where she also is a professor. I teach criminal justice at Wayne State University and Oakland University. We both really enjoy working with young people and seeing to it that they get a proper education in our fields. We both despair at times about the inadequate writing skills kids in college have these days. All we can try to do is help them be better prepared to write an intelligent, coherent paper for the next class they take.
I continue to write and I must say the pandemic was a godsend for introverted authors -- like me. My 39th book comes out in April (it is called "Sentencing Youth to Life in Prison) and I will be finishing a book on crime and intelligence analysis this winter. But I'm working on four or five other books that may or may not get finished this year. I finished another play during the pandemic, but it may not get produced until we can all get together safely again. I do a weekly blog for the Michigan Psychological Association and I edit books for other authors.
We have no young grandchildren, although there is still hope since Jane's son is still young enough to have children with his wife. But who knows? In the meantime, we can spend our money on our cabin and we can spend our time with all the college students we teach each semester. They become like our children at times as we try to guide them in the right directions in life.
What else do you want to know? I haven't had COVID, I love our dog Ernie, and I still run (every day during the warm weather). That's all folks. Let me know how you're doing.
Jan. 12, 2022:
As a senior at WTHS in 1958 I was voted class wit or wittiest guy in the Senior class universe – or something to that effect.
Someone reminded me of that the other day and it got me thinking. Actually, as perhaps Abraham Lincoln would say, if he were in any position to say it, approaching four score and two years of life, I do a lot of thinking about my life. Maybe that’s a condition of aging. But what do I know. This is my first time becoming an elderly guy. Anyway, that aside, and getting back to my having been selected by my WTHS classmates as being so witty, I’ve been thinking
One thing I’ve been thinking about is this: Am I still capable of writing anything remotely witty?
Okay, I recognize that this is not what I typically think about. And I know that it is not one of the great questions that we as a society have to cope with. I mean, it does not at all compare to such questions as when will the pandemic end? What do we do if Russia invades the Ukraine? Should we be concerned about North Korea’s shooting off a hypersonic missile? Or even How can we watch our quota of NFL games if games are cancelled or postponed due to COVID-19?
But, still, it is something that I was wondering about at 4:00 am one morning recently. Not about those big questions, but about my ability to be funny in my writing. The thing is, you see, I think I was a witty kid in high school. Although I thought then – and think now – that there were plenty of funnier and wittier people in that class. Denny Kind and Jim Davis come to mind. But in high school and for a few years afterwards, I could write funny stuff. But as I reflect back on the decades since high school, and I consider the thousands of things I have written and published, only a handful of those things I wrote were intended to be funny.
Why is that? Why haven’t I pursued a life of writing witty and clever things? Why didn’t I try to make more people – including myself – laugh more?
Perhaps if the dream Jim Davis and I had in high school (to be television comedy writers; there is a funny story connected to this which I will tell in a future posting here) had come true, then I probably would be writing a different blog here today. I would undoubtedly be ruminating on the question of whether I could write anything serious.
But getting back to my initial, existential question, I have to ask what happened to me. Why did I become such a serious guy? At least in my writing career? As a person, I think I still have a sense of humor. I still make my wife laugh – sometimes. I think I was pretty funny when I gave a toast at my son’s wedding a few years ago. I mean, I don’t know why my daughter-in-law didn’t talk to me after that. No, I’m kidding. Both Heather and Jason thought I was hilarious. Of course, they had been drinking champagne (which I, by the way, helped finance) for more than an hour at that point in the reception.
Maybe life makes us all much more serious, sedate, sober, goal-directed. Going to college, starting out in a career, getting married, having children, paying mortgages and traversing the whole divorce thing drains most of us of the funny side of life – at least temporarily. Like when we are pretending to be grownups during our twenties. There’s not much funny about struggling to find a first good job or figuring out how you are going to buy a reliable car. It sort of saps you have that carefree, humorous take on life that we could afford as teenagers.
As I look at what I’ve been writing in the past decade, I see that none of the books, articles, columns or blogs had any chance of being humorous. If I had tried to be comical, my stuff would never have been published. My New York literary agent lacks a sense of humor. She’s all business when it comes to her earning her 15 % from what I write. If I had proposed a funny book, she would likely have said, “In today’s market, funny doesn’t sell. Give me something serious and I can market that for you.”
So, I’m still left with the question of whether I am still capable of writing humor. Maybe, if I continue writing and posting my random blogs here I will find out. Maybe destiny intended for me to be a dead-serious author and writer. Maybe I watch TV news too much. There’s little to laugh about after watching the six-thirty national news. Typically, after the news I want to have a strong Bloody Mary.
Sometimes I indulge that desire.
Feb. 15, 2022:
In my previous note or blog, or whatever I’m doing in filling up my profile space, I mentioned that Jim Davis and I had a dream when we were high school seniors of being TV comedy writers.
Not that we had any clue as to how you go about becoming a TV writer. But we both really liked Soupy Sales, who had a late-night comedy and entertainment show on TV that originated out of Detroit. In fact, it was broadcast from a studio high up in the Maccabees Building on Woodward Aven...Expand for more
ue at Warren.
So, one of us, I’ll blame Jim Davis since he is not here to defend himself, said we should go down to Soupy’s show and ask him if we could become writers for his show. We both thought this was a brilliant idea. Why not? Just go down and ask him? Right? That’s probably what you would have done at the time, too. We weren’t even drinking or anything when we hit on this idea.
A few weeks later, I don’t remember the month, but it was freezing cold, so it might have been January or February, we decided to go to Detroit to talk to Soupy. Jim picked me up at my house and we headed down Woodward Avenue to the Maccabees Building. We talked about our plans on the way down. We’d go into show, which came on after the 11:00 pm news, and after the show was over we would just go up and talk to him. It was, in our minds, a flawless plan. What could possibly go wrong?
We parked right on Woodward, not far from the Maccabees Building. We walked into the building and told the security guard we were going to the Soupy Sales Show.
“Do you have tickets?” he asked.
We said no. We didn’t know we needed tickets.
“You have to get those in advance,” the guard said. “So you can’t go in tonight?”
“Can’t you make an exception?” Jim asked.
“No,” the guard said. “There are rules.”
Okay, we said. “By the way,” I asked, “on what floor is the show?”
He told us. And we left.
But we weren’t defeated. We were both resourceful kids. “Let’s go in through a back door,” Jim said.
“Right,” I said. We ducked around the corner and found a door that allowed performers to get in at night. Strangely enough, there was no security guard at the door. We found an elevator and took it up to the fifth floor where there was a WXYZ-TV studio that Soupy used for his Soupy’s On show.
We walked into the studio and just stood there watching the show. Soupy loved jazz and Dizzy Gillespie was a guest that night. About the time that Dizzy was finishing a solo performance, a security guard – actually the same one we encountered on the street level – motioned to us to follow him. We complied, trying to look innocent.
When he got us far enough away from the studio so he could talk he said, “You got to leave. You can’t be here.”
“Really,” I said, widening my innocent blues.
“Yes,” he said. “Really!” He was serious.
He escorted us to the door and told us to stay out.
Did I tell you how resourceful we were?
As soon as we got outside in the frigid cold, Jim said he had an idea. I was all ears.
“I know where he parks his car,” Jim said. How he knew this I still don’t know to this day. “We’ll wait until he leaves and before he gets to his car we will talk to him,” Jim said.
“Great!” I said. “That will work.” I couldn’t imagine anything going wrong with this strategy.
We found a little alcove in the Maccabees Building and pulled our caps over our ears and waited. We figured it would be maybe a half hour. We could brave the winter weather.
As we waited a couple of downtrodden men came along and tried to panhandle some change. We didn’t have any. Finally, just about the time when we thinking it was too cold to continue our vigil, we saw this short guy with a cap coming our way. Jim said it was Soupy. Oh, boy. We could hardly wait.
As soon as he got up to our little alcove, we both jumped out.
“Hi!” we said in unison.
Soupy Sales looked like he was having a heart attack. He didn’t say anything.
Jim, who was quick on his feet in a conversation, said, “We really enjoy your show.”
I am nothing if not a fast learner and I chimed in, “Yeah, we really enjoy your show.”
Soupy still looked suspicious although he didn’t seem to be grabbing his chest.
“Thanks,” he said. “I’ve got to go.”
“Nice meeting you,” Jim said. I followed suit.
Soupy walked away from us and we watched him as he walked down Woodward Avenue. When he turned into the garage, we walked to Jim’s car in the opposite direction.
We were halfway home, going back to Waterford, before either of us spoke.
“It was great watching his show and meeting Soupy,” Jim said.
“I know,” I said.
Neither of us said what we were really thinking. Why didn’t we ask him about writing for his show? If one of us had asked that question, we would have had to face up to things we really didn’t want to face. Like we knew nothing about writing comedy or what it took to be a TV writer. Or whether teenagers could actually work on a TV show. We never thought about those kinds of things.
I don’t remember that we ever admitted to each other how scared we were and how we had blown our chance of asking about something that was clearly important to both of us.
The epilogue to the story is that Jim Davis did go on to have a successful career as an on-air talent on both radio and television in Detroit. I did write comedy for a local radio talk show host on a small AM station. A few years later in my mid-twenties I did an interview with a popular Detroit radio station when there was an opening for a comedy writer for the Dick Purtan Show.
I didn’t get the job.
March 15, 2022:
I always considered us lucky to have grown up in the 1950s. Why? Because it was the Golden Age of rock ‘n’ roll. We were fortunate enough to be there as rock ‘n’ roll developed from the rawness of the Black rhythm and blues singers and groups of the late 1940s and early 1950s into a unique and vibrant style of popular dance music.
Not only did we get to listen to the great pioneers of rock ‘n’ roll everyday on the radio and watch teens dance to the music on American Bandstand every afternoon after school, but at WTHS it was broadcast in the gym during lunch hours. We were surrounded by Elvis, the Platters, Danny and the Juniors, Little Richard, Chuck Berry and so many other musicians who are now legendary.
But for me, I was intrigued by the blues and by Black singers who were the true founders of rock ‘n’ roll. No thanks to my parents.
My life before coming to WTHS in the 9th grade was dominated by the fact that my parents and grandparents were thoroughly involved in the Pentecostal church. In our house, that meant that my sisters and I were subject to strict rules in most areas of our life. Growing up, the only music I was exposed to was hymns and gospel music I heard at church. No other kind of music was ever played in our home. But I did get a small plastic radio when I was about 10 or 11 years old. I think it was a Zenith, but it opened up new worlds of music to me.
Then, when I was 11, I went with my dad to a hardware store. I elected to stay in the car to listen to the car radio while he went in to buy some tools for a home project he was working on – and which I had no interest in. I was switching dials looking for something interesting when I heard a type of music that was new to me. My ears perked up. I was absolutely fascinated by what was coming out of the car radio speakers.
I didn’t know it then, but what I heard was the sounds of George Lewis and his Ragtime Jazz Band. It was a watershed moment in my life. So much so that I can remember the name of the songs – “Down by the Riverside” and “Didn’t He Ramble” -- they played on that Saturday afternoon.
I was hooked. From that day on, I was on a mission to not only hear more jazz but to understand it. I wanted to learn all I could about New Orleans jazz. On Saturdays, I would go to our local library and check out as many books on jazz as I could carry. I did that for months. I would read about jazz musicians, but, of course, had no way to hear their music. Not until I got a part time job in high school and could buy jazz LPs.
And working as a bagger at Wrigley’s, I could afford to go out on dates as well as buy records. When I went to friend’s homes, I would usually take the latest jazz LP I bought and force everyone to listen to Gerry Mulligan or Dizzy Gillespie – or whatever record I just purchased. I can recall when I was dating Nancy Young, I would take jazz records to her house to put on her record player. How she – and her parents – must have hated that! No one I knew, aside from Jim Davis, knew anything about jazz or cared. But that didn’t stop me.
When I was a junior at WTHS and going out with Diane Elliott, I took her to Masonic Temple in Detroit to see Louis Armstrong. I don’t remember much about the date other than the concert. I can still remember who was in Louis’ band and what they played. I don’t know if Diane Elliott ever thought about that date and that concert in later years, but she should have. She had what I consider a thrill of a lifetime – seeing the greatest jazz musician who ever lived. It’s not often you can say that you had the privilege of seeing the greatest anything in person.
In my senior year at WTHS, my friends and I wanted to do something special on New Year’s Eve. I don’t remember how I pulled it off, but I persuaded them all to go to a jazz concert in Detroit. I’m not sure even who went to this concert; I certainly do not remember my date – although it could have been Nancy Young. I believe Ken Godwin and a date went, and probably Bruce Bancroft and a date as well. But I can vividly recall the concert. The headliner was the Dave Brubeck Quartet and the opening act was the Maynard Ferguson band.
Since the concert took place on New Year’s Eve in Detroit, as you might suspect, the weather was unpredictable. It was snowing as we drove to Detroit. But that didn’t get in the way of us arriving on time. Maynard Ferguson, the great trumpet player, opened up the concert. Ferguson was fantastic, as he always was at that time in his career, shrieking high notes as he riffed on jazz standards. After an hour and a half of what I considered pure bliss, the band stopped and an announcer came on stage. He told the audience that Brubeck and his quartet were flying to Detroit from Chicago, but they couldn’t land at the Detroit airport because of snowy conditions. They were in a holding pattern in the air until the runway could be cleared. T
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