The Autographs By: Jim Gandolf

The Autographs 

Poem

By: Jim Gandolf 

©️08122026

Back in the seventies, bright and unspooled,

Where simple delights and sweet summer days ruled,

The Indianapolis Indians stepped to the plate!

Just AAA ball, but to me, they were great.

No big-league dimensions could lessen their yield;

They were caped superheroes out there on the field.

And then came the speedway, the hum and the roar,

Where I sat with a pencil to keep up the score.

A proud little stat-getter, watching each lap,

With a chart on my knee and a tilt to my cap.

Through practice and qualifying, tracking the pace,

I’d hunt for the heroes who ran in the race.

I chased down the drivers for ink on a page,

And movie stars visiting trackside the stage.

I collected their names with a wide-eyed delight,

Capturing magic and holding it tight.

Though time took the paper and signatures pressed,

The heart of those moments stays locked in my chest.

Then May seventy-eight brought the dream into view:

My very first Race Day beneath skies of blue!

The thunder of engines, the rumble, the space.

A core memory burned that no time can erase.

The autographs vanished as years slipped away,

But nothing can dim the sweet glory of May.

Jim Gandolf 

Note: I never looked at getting an autograph as a business. It was to document how much fun a child could have that grew up next to the, “Greatest Spectacle in Racing.” The Indianapolis Motor Speedway, The Indianapolis 500 Mile Race! Central Indiana affect!

Sand Dollar By: Jim Gandolf

Sand Dollar Memorial of my Life

Poem 

By Jim Gandolf 

©️08032026 

The pine trees whispered in the northern breeze,

As waves washed softly on the freshwater seas.

With tents pitched close to Lake Michigan’s side,

Where blue met sky and the shoreline was wide,

Our father would send us on grand, heroic quests—

Two young brothers, listening to his tests:

"Go find me a sand dollar out in the surf,

Search every inch of this sandy earth!"

So off we would march down the golden strand,

Scouring the water, the rocks, and the sand.

It was tough, it was tricky, a mission so grand,

With endless white shores and no treasure in hand.

All we could gather as hours flew by

Were worn freshwater shells under summer’s bright sky.

We never did find one—we couldn't, of course,

Bound by the lake and its sweet water source.

But the thrill was the hunt, and the joy was the race,

With the sun on our backs and the wind in our face.

Laughter shared with a brother and guide,

Side-by-side on that Michigan tide.

Years swept along like the drift of the sand,

And time took the boys and the Dad by the hand.

Now the beach is still, and they’ve both passed along,

Leaving only the lake and the echo of song.

When I grew older, at an estate sale one day,

A small piece of history came walking my way:

A real sand dollar, dipping in gold,

Holding the sunshine from days long of old.

I wear it today close against my own chest,

A gleaming reminder of our favorite quest.

Not just for the shell that we never could claim,

But for two loving heroes who called out my name—

Keeping us young on those wonderful shores,

Searching for treasures forever and more.

Jim Gandolf 

Note: My Father, and brother Joe in the early 1970’s loving the time on the beach of Lake Michigan on the Michigan side of the lake. I remember the good times now and then. I wrote about this when I was in Port, Washington high school as a sophomore.

Now The Silence Sits By Jim Gandolf

Now The Silence Sits

Poem 

By Jim Gandolf 

©️08012026

Silence sits a little heavier now in the spaces where your laughter used to land. 

I catch myself looking over my shoulder, forgetting for a split second, about to tell you something funny, something mundane, something that only you would understand.

The world keeps moving at its relentless pace, clocks ticking, suns setting, traffic humming by, unaware that a piece of my world stopped cold. It feels unfair how quiet the earth remains when a voice that bright just goes quiet.

I miss the easy rhythm of our days, the unspoken language built over years, the way we could share a whole conversation with just a single, knowing look.

Now, you live in the quiet corners of my mind— in a familiar song coming over the radio, in the sudden warmth of an old memory, in the habits I picked up just from being around you.

I am learning that grief is just love with nowhere to go, so I will carry it. I will hold onto the joy of having known you at all, even when the missing hurts.

You were here, you were loved, and as long as I am breathing, a part of you remains.

Jim Gandolf 

P.S. We argued, stood by each other, danced in the rain together, we fought together, and faced adversity in every way. So many memories are still with me over you. 

Now The Silence Sits