Dayton, Ohio – The Davis Linden Building, an historic landmark located at 400 Linden Avenue in Dayton, Ohio, has long been a beacon for creative professionals seeking customized commercial spaces. Owned by Matt Dieringer of Dieringer Development, the facility continues to thrive and expand, offering a nurturing environment for artists, businesses, sculptors, photographers, and other creative professionals.
Over the years, the facility has seen good times and bad. But Matt Dieringer’s vision for the Davis Linden Building has been, and will continue to be, one of growth and community. “We are committed to provide spaces that not only meet the unique needs of our tenants but also foster a sense of belonging and collaboration,” says Dieringer. This commitment is evident in the building’s diverse range of tenants, each contributing to a vibrant and supportive community.
One of the most notable tenants is Michael Bashaw, a musician and sculptor who has located his studio in the Davis Linden Building since the 1980s. Bashaw’s long-term presence is a testament to the building’s ability to provide a stable and inspiring environment for creative professionals. “My grandfather was a tenant in the building in the 1950s, so I was well aware of it,” says Bashaw. “I was originally looking for a space where I could work on my sculpture and do music rehearsals. I’m very grateful and very fortunate to be here.”
“I’m on year two and have already outgrown one space,” says tenant Tiffany Lewis, owner of Immortelle Bijouterie, an era-inspired jewelry and clothing shop. “I love the atmosphere here – the big windows, the open concept, and that there are other artists here.”
Becca Brumfield, the building’s office manager, shared her view as both a tenant and employee. She described The Davis Linden Building as a center of creativity, business, and community. Her husband, Trevor, operates one of Ohio’s last full-service typewriter repair and sales shops, TB Writers Plus, located in the building since 2023.
The dedication of the Davis Linden Building’s management to promote a sense of community among its tenants is one of its defining features. This collaborative spirit is what sets the facility apart from other commercial spaces. In that spirit, the management will soon unveil “The C2 Initiative,” based on the idea of Creativity and Commerce. The initiative is intended to expand on that sense of community with memberships, access to shared creative space, and much more.
As Dieringer Development continues to invest in the growth and development of the Davis Linden Building, the future looks bright for this creative hub. With its commitment to providing customized spaces and fostering a strong sense of community, the Davis Linden Building will undoubtedly remain a cornerstone of Dayton’s creative scene for years to come.
For more information about the Davis Linden Building and its available spaces, visit their website, www.davislindenbuilding.com/, or call 937-498-8635.
The Davis Linden Building is located in the Huffman Manufacturing District of East Dayton.
Deer In Headlines Special Edition – October 14, 1993
It had been a long day for the freshman saxophone player and his high school marching band friends. By now, it was 4:30 in the afternoon, and the day had begun for them nearly eleven hours ago. They’d earned the opportunity to compete in a tri-state marching band competition in Huntington, West Virginia, some 200 miles from home.
The mid-October afternoon had become hot and muggy. Even the seats in the stadium were perspiring. The adventure had begun early that morning with all the spirit of the world’s most excellent universities. The performances were over, and they sat impatiently awaiting the judging results.
This is the view of the real Greeneview High School marching band during their first song of the contest—from the families’ perspective. (Photo by Lois Deer, 10-17-1981)
The bands were divided into three classes based on the size of their home schools. This group’s small, rural high school was in the last division, called class B, at this show. That meant it would be a long, hot wait by the time they went through each division, of each class, of each award. It was nerve-wracking, it was hot, and it was discouraging, but they waited. Patiently – well, sort of.
The university stadium buzzed with nervousness and emotion as the first awards were called. “Fifth place, class AA, goes to…,” A loud cheer bellowed from 100 yards down the bleachers, drowning out the anxious and irritated sigh from the young saxophonist and his group. The noise subsided. The announcer spoke again. “The fourth-place award goes to…” Another excited cheer came from the stands. The little band had worked hard all summer for this. It was one of the best shows they’d ever done, but this performance got off to a shaky start.
Their arrival at the host stadium was almost the exact time they were supposed to go on the field for their practice run, and things were rough. Heat exhaustion cost them one of the flag corps at the start of their competition show. The Astroturf-covered football field, new to most of the marchers, created its own set of problems. These kids were used to trotting through mud and grass. Now, wearing the slick-souled dress shoes, they had to contend with spongy ground and slippery artificial grass.
If that wasn’t enough, one of the trombone players nearly decapitated a field judge with his slide. During his morning pep talk, the director said, “Judges were fair game…” Meaning, if they got in the way, just keep doing what you’re supposed to do. Unfortunately, the aggravated trombonist took the recommendation literally. Somehow, they got through it all, and there they were. Hot. Sticky. Impatient. Every ingredient was added to create a group with a bad attitude, who, by this time, faintly resembled people sitting in a traffic jam.
A lot was riding on this, though. Everyone was here. Parents and family friends had accompanied the band on the four-hour Greyhound bus ride that morning. The busses pulled out of the school lot at 6 a.m., scored by the groans of how you’d expect average high school kids to at that time on a Saturday morning.
Most slept on the ride down. Many brought weekend homework. Others reviewed their music to ensure they remembered that one bad note at the football game the night before. Whatever the case, they made it, and everyone was pumped. And a little scared. Friday night football games were never like this. The tension grew and hovered in the air over the little group just the way that bricks don’t.
The young saxophonist eyed the band’s director. He was down on the track on the opposite side of the field, pacing back and forth in front of the reviewing stand like an expectant father. Another announcement blared from the public address speakers. The director’s curly afro hair and kinky beard glistened in the fall sun with impatient perspiration, giving him more the appearance of a heavy metal rock singer than a high school band director.
Then again, everyone was starting to look like that. The group grew increasingly discouraged with each passing award. The announcer was up to their class now, and the fourth-place award was called. Rats! The saxophonist slumped back against the bleachers with an irritated gasp. So did everyone else.
“There’s no way, ” he thought. “All these huge bands from three states? We can’t possibly have a chance at anything higher than fourth.” That seemed to be the general opinion of the others as well.
Another award. More cheering. None of it from them. Now, the announcer was up to second place, and the morale-broken musicians began standing, a few at once. Each gathered their things to return to the busses and the quiet little farm town. Some had already left the stadium.
“Well, so much for that,” someone said. “This is embarrassing, ” said another, like a line plucked from a Peanuts cartoon. Even their band director dejectedly headed towards his disappointed students. The announcer began to speak again, but no one in the group was listening. It was over. They tried, but the odds were against them, and the game was rigged.
“Second place, class B goes to…” A long pause.
This seemed to be the announcer’s annoying trademark, meant to instill drama. It didn’t work. It was just irritating. When their band took the field for the show, he sounded like he’d been mugged midway through his address. “You may take the field for comp…” Everyone held their breath. “…etition.” Whew!
Suddenly… the words no one expected to hear. No, more than that. They were impossible, improbable, incomprehensible words.
“Second place, class B goes to… Greeneview High School Marching Band from Jamestown, Ohio!”
For a solid breath, someone blinking would have rung like a gong. No one moved. No one spoke. Those shambling out stopped and turned around. There was an oxygen-steeling collective gasp.
A slow, quiet calm settled over the group as their brains processed the words they’d just heard. Suddenly, explosive screams of joy shattered the silence. They cheered, cried, and hugged. In the stadium section where their families were, everyone was on their feet, jumping, crying, and yelling. Even the other schools called cheers of congratulations, and they were equally shocked by the news.
The little band’s director stood in silent shock for a moment, and then it hit him. His eyes were as big as saucers when he turned to face the band from across the field, raising one arm in victory to them as if this little band’s second-place win were Olympic gold. It might just as well have been, but that wouldn’t have meant as much to them.
At the reviewing stand far below, their field commander and flag corps captain proudly marched to the awards table and saluted the presenters. Their vibrant red, white, and Colombian blue uniforms were almost as brilliant as the sun itself as they spun around in a military-like snap to salute the ecstatic audience. The pair accepted the two-and-a-half-foot trophy and rejoined the line of representatives standing at attention in front of them – both in tears.
Back in the stands, the young saxophonist and his friends watched and beamed. This was truly their most honored time together. The young man shaded his eyes as he took a moment to look at these people and tried desperately to soak it all in before it was over. They had no idea what they meant to him. So much of their lives lay before them. But this day… this was a day they’d never forget. “Someday, this is going to make a great story,” he thought.
The bright sunlight brought a tear to his eye. Then again, maybe it wasn’t the sunlight at all. He wiped it away. The thundering applause, congratulations, and excitement continued for what, in reality, was only about a minute or two. But it wrang out for what seemed like a lifetime to… The Little Band That Could.
———
Epilogue
My name’s Gery Deer, and that’s a true story from October 17, 1981. I was the “young saxophonist,” and I was right. I never forget that day, and it did make a great story. The band, Greeneview High School Marching Band of Jamestown, was under the direction of Richard Turner.
Band Director Richard Turner, the contest trophy, and me – Gery Deer in my newly-minted Greeneview school jacket.
I wrote this story after visiting Cooper Stadium in Columbus, Ohio, to see Greeneview perform in another competition show many years later. They competed in the Ohio Music Education Association’s state finals, and it was fascinating how little things changed from one era to the next. It was like reliving that day all over again.
Two of my four nieces were in the band in those days—now three decades ago. The oldest was the band’s field commander, a senior at the time, and a saxophone player like her uncle. The next oldest was a clarinetist and a freshman. They didn’t win their contest but took an honorable mention. Either way, I think they will still reflect on their day, as I do mine, and remember the feeling.
No one could have been prouder of my family and my school except maybe my parents, who were there again to watch their grandchildren as they did their own. And they, too, will remember. They say we can never be kids again. Well, no one could have gotten closer to it than I did that day. But to the “next generation,” I say, “When it seems like us old folks don’t understand, try to remember, we were there too.”
BEAVERCREEK, Ohio – March 12, 2024 – The seventh annual Rafi’s Amigos Golf Outing is scheduled for Friday, May 31st, 2024, beginning at 8:00 AM EDT, at Beavercreek Golf Club, 2800 New Germany Trebein Rd., Beavercreek, Ohio. For the second year, proceeds will fund a one-day, immersive experience at Air Camp for Junior Reserve Officer Training Corps (JROTC) students from three Greene County Schools. Full details are available at https://www.askrafi.com/events/7th-annual-rafis-amigos-golf-outing
José “Rafi” Rodriguez, Colonel (Retired) USAF, president of Rodriguez Financial Strategies, LLC, organizes and hosts the event. “I started Rafi’s Amigos Golf Outing to raise funds for causes dear to my heart, and I am grateful for the incredible community support,” Rodriguez said.
Jose “Rafi” Rodriguez (second from right) with representatives of Air Camp, who will host JROTC students benefiting from the golf outing.
Originally from Puerto Rico, Rodriguez joined the Air Force ROTC at the University of Puerto Rico in Mayaguez, where he was a distinguished graduate. After a 26-year career in the Air Force, Rodriguez retired as a senior officer while serving at Wright Patterson Air Force Base in Dayton.
Over the last six years, Rafi’s Amigos Golf Outing, which Rodriguez describes as a “scramble,” raised money for several regional organizations, such as United Way of Greater Dayton Area, and continues to grow. Last year’s event exceeded expectations by several thousand dollars, allowing 40 students and their instructors to attend Air Camp.
Air Camp again was a natural partnership given Rodriguez’s background, the region, and the goal—to support the youth of his community. Based in Dayton, Ohio, Air Camp, Inc. was founded in 2006 by Dr. Vince Russo and Dick Reynolds, Lieutenant General (Retired) USAF.
Russo currently serves as the organization’s President and Chairman. “Early on, we decided to use aviation as the learning medium because the real language of aviation is math,” he said. Our goal is to use aviation to help the students understand the importance of Science, Technology, Engineering, and Math (STEM) and inspire them to pursue careers related to those fields.” More information about Air Camp is available at aircampusa.org.
This year’s presenting sponsor is the White-Allen Auto Group / White-Allen Family of Companies in Dayton. Tim White is the president and grandson of the company’s founder. White explained why his company has supported the golf outing for the last several years. “When you’re dealing with the future of STEM education for the young members of society, that’s a wonderful mission to get behind.”
Rodriguez proudly chose “Rafi’s Amigos” because he wanted it to be where people could enjoy a community event for a great cause. “Amigos” is the Spanish word for ‘friends,’ I consider this an event where friends come together, old or new, to support a common cause in our community,” Rodriguez explained. “I hope people will come to support these future leaders of our country.”
The other day, I was sitting in a coffee shop when I overheard a conversation between four senior gentlemen at the nearby table. Based on their appearance, I guessed they were in their late 70s, active and clear-minded. The cold Ohio winter had them dressed appropriately in jeans, heavy walking shoes, sweaters, down jackets, and winter caps. These men obviously knew each other quite well and shared common interests.
It was not my intention to eavesdrop, but they were talking loudly enough you could pick up their voices from well across the shop. Anyone could see this meeting was a crucial part of their social life. One of them even mentioned how much he enjoyed getting together regularly and noted how much he learned from the others.
In fact, they all seemed to relish the conversation, which covered a wide range of topics from sports to live theater. I found a brief interaction they had about The Phantom of the Opera of particular interest. While some topics, like the state of American politics, sparked more spirited discussion, they remained respectful and considerate towards one another.
The Algonquin Roundtable
At one point, one of them told a detailed story about how he’d been working on the roof of his home. Suddenly, he found himself stranded up there because his ladder had fallen. He called out for his wife, but she apparently didn’t hear, which left him there for some time. Fortunately, all worked out for the best, and through the laughter, his comrades were giving him a good bit of grief about fooling around on a roof “at his age.” I imagined their adult children giving each of them the same speech in a more serious tone, only to be ignored later.
We occupied one corner of the shop for about an hour, though I believe my subjects had been there for a while before I arrived. They’ll never know it, but they gave me back a moment from my childhood.
When I was around 10, Dad occasionally took me for breakfast at the small diner where my mother waitressed (her word). Early each morning, a group of movers and shakers from our tiny farm town arrived, one at a time, and occupied the same corner booth.
The pack was usually a mix. Among them, you might find some combination of the local banker, a town doctor, the police chief, the undertaker, the barber, or even the mayor. As they drained one pot of Joe after another, they discussed whatever came up, solved all the world’s problems, and, of course, kept those solutions to themselves. If only they’d just told someone how to do it. It was like the small-town equivalent of the Algonquin Roundtable.
That gathering was far more than social, and the booth’s occupants probably weren’t as ancient as they would have appeared to me when I was a boy. But this was a staple for all of them, a necessary gathering of the minds that continued until each of them was too elderly or infirm to attend.
These days, you might see a mix of people, men, and women, even varying ages, who do the same thing – a regular gathering with no other purpose but to share stories, discuss world affairs, or just complain about the weather. Whatever it is, it’s good for the psyche – and your overall health.
There are countless studies on the benefits of socialization as we get older. Strangely enough, many seniors, either due to depression, their living situation, or choice, often prefer isolation. My parents weren’t big socializers, though my mom enjoyed family parties and time with her siblings. Dad, not so much. Their “roundtable” consisted simply of family and a few close friends. I’d say I’m more like Dad, though I hope a little less self-isolating. I’ve never been particularly comfortable in social situations.
However, I have managed to learn how to deal with my own social anxiety. I think I’m better at socializing than I used to be. As a child, I wouldn’t have understood the importance and value of the coffee shop roundtable to those who were there. But as I rocket towards 60, I’m starting to understand and appreciate the importance and necessity of those connections.
The Jamestown Comet 