the Waggener Epic

As remembered by the fuzzy mind housed in my fuzzy head.  rlw

 

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Introduction The story behind this story
Chapter 1 A time out of sync or The Timber and mules of Southeast Missouri
Chapter 2 Go West Young Man
Chapter 3 250 Miles Equals 200 Years
Chapter 4 The Builder
Chapter 5 A Blank Time & Quick Courtship
Chapter 6 The War Years
Chapter 7 Another Mouth to Feed (me)
Chapter 8 Bunker Hill, Illinois   "Where's that?"
Chapter 9 Helmcamp Farm Days 
Chapter 10 Moving to Town, Almost 
Chapter 11 East of Town    12/26/02
Chapter 12 More East of Town  
   
   
   

 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Introduction
 

The story behind 
this story
Strange or maybe better said ironic how things begin. 
 
My son, Roger Lee, unknowingly, conceived this effort.  We were enjoying some time sitting on the patio with his lovely wife, Ruth.  Something spawned a family story telling bout and when I started to run down finally, Rog said that I should write down some of the stories about our family.  That begun a thought process that had begun much earlier but never with much force. 

Just as most of the people remembered are gone on, most of the stories that I recall will be gone with them if I don't apply myself to this project.  There will not be much of major significance recorded here but some modest experiences that have provided the soil from which this branch of Waggeners has grown.  Some of the stories I hope you'll find humorous and others may be a clue as to how each of us has become who we are.
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Chapter 1

A time out of sync or The Timber and mules of Southeast Missouri
The episode starts in Ash Hill Missouri in 1908 the birth of Bert W. Waggener, my  dad.  As you proceed you may get the impression that I think he was some kind of saint – if you consider that saints were human with human frailties then you may be correct to some degree.  I don't want to leave the impression that he was without fault but that he did minimize them impressively.  He was not famous or wealthy nor do I think he would have wanted to be.  He was a real, definitive, unpretentious, forceful person.   He never said much about his early days nor talked of his childhood.  His mother died very early in his life and he was left with his father John Marshal Waggener.  Very little is known of J. M. Waggener except that he was born in Shawneetown, Illinois in the 1870’s.

I now realize how very little dad ever said about his upbringing but here is what I remember him saying. Dad was born and raised (in those days and places raised was up to the age of 12 or 13) Scoupus Hill, Mo. A place lost in time completely. As of about 1961 there was no record of it having existed.

John Marshal Waggener was a back woods trapper and hunter as and when it was necessary to eat. It is hard for me even to think of my parents actually living in log cabins without floors and transportation being via horses and mules. The chronological years ago do not relate to the time period due to the location. It was primitive to the extent of 100 years equaling more like 200 years ago. News and developments did not penetrate the area regularly and few people would choose to live or exist there even then. Another fact that seems impossible for me to conceive is that that area as I knew it from childhood trips "downhome" was flat and barren.

Dad recalled it as it was when he was a child, densely wooded and fertile. The first employment for the John M. Waggeners was apparently hauling timber from the woods to the road construction areas with mules. This must have been around 1920-1925 as cars and trucks were in common use most places but mules remained the primary transportation even in construction there. My granddad, John M., had a team of mules but I have guessed wasn't very dedicated in their regular use. Dad was employed in the cutting and loading of the logs and occasionally allowed to drive the mules for income, I believe in lieu of granddad having to. These logs were as large as 5' in diameter, completely inconceivable to me that there were trees left that large in an area that was sand and rocks with only scrub brush left when I was a child. Imagine loading those logs on a wooden wagon frame pulled by a single team of mules without a crane or even hoists. As dad related it to me and as best as I recall it was a precarious and dangerous venture at best. A trained team of mules was an absolute requirement, not just trained to pull but trained to load also and their level of training AND willingness was the main source of their monitory value. 
The wagon frame had vertical staves attached to one side and provisions for staves to be inserted on the other side to hold the logs in transit. The loading process began with positioning the wagon directly parallel to the log and chocking the wheels to prevent rolling while loading. The team was then unhitched leaving the single tree (part of the harness that attached the two mules together and provided a single point to hook to). A tool was used (Pee Vee-thanks to Kurt Parks for reminding me of the name) that was shaped like a large "C" that had an inward pointed sharp tip on one end and an eye for attaching a chain on the other. The point was driven into the log midway along it's length and a chain was attached to the other end with the "C" going around the circumference of the log. The chain was hooked to the single tree with the mules on the far side of the wagon facing away and perpendicular to the log. (insert drawing here). The driver was located off to the side of the line of pull with the reins to the team. Most signals were verbal but the reins were used for urging the mules when they had a different agenda. I remember the commands for right and left were gee and haa and I believe the stop and pulls commands were usually gee up and whoa.

The above information was gleaned from dad while he was relating a story about one of his younger brothers who had begged and begged their dad to use his team to haul logs as the pay was much greater than working cutting and preparing the logs to haul. The gist of the story was that their dad wasn't given to over utilization (read don't work if you don't need to eat) of his team. The brother (whose name is beyond me) prevailed in borrowing the team and in his first attempt to load the wagon was a second late in whoa'ing the team. The dreaded outcome was that the log rolled across the wagon and hit the staves too hard, turning the wagon over and almost rolling over the mules.
 

      Needless to add, the wagon was broken and the team spooked. The price to be paid was plain- replace the damaged equipment and work with the mules till they were willing to load again all while maintaining the regular workload and income. This was a significant price to a lad that could not have been older than 12 or 13 years old and already expected to work a full day which was not limited to 8 hours in those days. I wish I could remember the point that dad was making when he told this story, I do remember that I got so engrossed in the story and the questions that I asked that the point was lost even then.

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Chapter 2

Go West Young Man
When dad was around 14 years old (about 1924) he decided to go to California to work in the timber industry there. It's important to remember that 14 years old then and there were a little different than 14 today. A 14 year old then had been working all his life and had life sustaining skills due to the primitiveness of the area.

Dad had saved enough money to buy a Model T Ford (already much used Model T) and 21 tires for it, that being his best guess and all his resources. His brother decided to go along and before they were actually ready to leave his dad decided he'd go along for the ride. Only two stories survived what must have been an eventful and long journey.

They worked along the way doing whatever odd jobs they could get to provide gas money and food. It had been a long trip already but after a couple of weeks and not much work they came up very short of money. There was gas in the car and a couple of cans tied onto the car but no cash money. He didn't remember exactly where it took place but there wasn't anything available to hunt and they didn't have any fishing gear but they did have a major hunger. The only thing they could find to eat were a mess of crawdads in a small creek along the road. As the story was told I was compelled to ask what dad thought of crawdads as a food item. He explained that they didn't have salt or seasoning at all and "when you just take a mess of crawdads and some creek water in a bucket and boil them, if you're hunger enough they're OK but I'm sure glad I haven't had any since."

The tires held out until they reached Needles, California. The last new tire had to be taken down from the roof of the Model T and be mounted. Dad lasted for about a year working in the timber and returned to Missouri. Granddad stayed in California and later begun another family. I have an uncle Mark Waggener in Garden Grove California that remembers seeing me when I was around 4 years old. I have no recollection of him of course. Uncle Mark is about 10 years older than I am. If you realize that Granddad Waggener was born around 1873 and you know how old I am and do some math you'll realize the old man must have been a real corker.

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Chapter 3

250 Miles Equals 200 Years
Around 1930 dad relocated to the Alton, Illinois area. He came by bus with a trunk with his belongings.  I have that trunk and the remains of the bus baggage sticker are still on it. Things were not good anywhere in the country at that time but in southeastern Missouri things had not ever held much promise. Dad hitched and walked around the area looking for work unsuccessfully.  His circle of endeavors continually expanding until he became desperate for a place to stay and food. Finally in the Fosterburg area he approached a farmer who was working in a field. He offered to work at whatever the farmer needed for food and lodgings. The farmer was hesitant to enter into any agreement and reluctant to employ anyone without wages and wages were totally out of the question for him. After a lot of discussion the farmer agreed and dad had a job, a place and food.  As on any farm in those days there was more than enough work and dad proved himself an able and willing farm hand.  Able and willing enough that the farmer, in spite of the original agreement, gave him one dollar a day wages for the days he worked.  Between crops there were days that the farmer didn't want him to work thereby saving the dollar. These days were used to look for more profitable employment. He had heard that Laclade Steel  was hiring some day labor so when he was free he went there and stood with hundreds of others in the lot in front of the office. The system was that lots of people showed up and someone came out of the office and looked them over and pointed to individuals and said "you there, you're in". That meant you got a days work but no special treatment the next morning. It was competitive after being selected, trying to do the best you could so that MAYBE someone would notice and remember.  Dad was selected the first morning and worked every day there after. That was the beginning of 38 years of employment interrupted twice by dad's interest in trying other things.

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Chapter 4

The Builder
Dad got married sometime after this period and fathered three children, Roy Erwin, Frances Jo and Frank Joseph.  He decided to build a new house after the kids were born.  He had never done anything like that so he bought a lot on North Alby Street in Alton, Illinois. Then he got some plans and went to the lumberyard and asked for help. He did everything himself, dug the foundation by hand and all. When he got to the laying out the floor the lumberyard explained how to measure diagonally to make sure it was square.  After all the ribbon boards were laid and the floor joists in place he measured and promptly panicked.  His floor system was 1/2 inch off from square. He was about ready to tear it all apart and start over when he thought he should check with the lumberyard first.  He went in and told the man that had been helping him and the man broke out in laughter.  Dad thought "oh boy I really did it now".  When the man finally settled down he said "Bert there probably aren't 10 houses in Alton that are that close to square." The house was finished with out more panic.  About a year after it was finished the family was out getting ice cream and was returning when the police stopped all traffic on Alby Street. Dad got out after a bit and asked "what was going on?"  The officer said "some guy's house is burning." Dad knew it had to be a neighbor so he ran to help.  Yes, you've figured it out. It was their house and it had burned completely to the ground.  My mother often tried to talk Dad into building or having built a new house but he would never even discuss it.  She could never understand but I could. 

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Chapter 5
 

A Blank Time & A Quick Courtship
This is a period that I don't have much information about but it seems like it would be a major jump to leap ahead to the next (known) era without some explanation.  Chronologically this time is mid 1930's till around 1940 given a significant gray area and overlapping. This are the years of my siblings till they were about 8-9 years old.  Dad's wife and their mother died during this time and I'm sorry to say I don't know anything about that or her. It seems strange now considering the fact that her family remained a part of Dad's family even after he remarried and I was born. We visited her mother regularly and her brother (Uncle Brian Jones) came to our house often in my earliest years of recall. None of this seemed strange to me at the time but it does cause me some amazement as I remember those times.  My recollection of "grandma" Jones was that she was someone that was difficult to really like but Uncle Brian was neat. He told jokes and smiled a lot. Some of the jokes weren't especially welcomed in the, then current, household as I recall. Now here I am jumping ahead without introducing my mother at the appropriate time. 
With the loss of his wife, Dad was left with 3 young children, a living to make and no helpmate. Certainly not an enviable position to be in especially without being surrounded with family and friends. I have no indication of the reasoning or motivation that prompted Dad to return to his homeland to find a solution but he did. Enter Altha Blunt, my mother. I also don't know much about the resulting courtship except that some conditions applied. All I really know is that church was included and booze, partying and general foolishness was specifically EXCLUDED. 

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Chapter 6

The War Years
Somewhere about now there was a major labor struggle going on with Dad's employer (Laclede Steel). As long as I can remember Dad always thought that the employer had a right to run their company how they saw fit and that employees could then decide if they wanted to work there.  It wasn't that he thought the company was always right but that he believed they had the right to make their decisions and the employee had the right to quit, as he demonstrated several times.  He had a family to support and bills to pay and didn't see the reasoning behind the workers conflict. As a result and I shouldn't minimize the need to additional income but whatever the actual motivation, Dad worked full time and walked the company perimeter another shift carrying a 12 gage shotgun everyday. He never said much about it other than to say that he didn't think he could have shot anyone over a difference of opinion. World leaders could not share his respect of others at the time as WWII was just beginning. Dad was not drafted because of his family status and his work in the steel industry.  The war for him consisted of long hours of physically pulling steel through a gas fired melting furnace.  I was able to witness this process some years later when the company had an open house for the family of employees and long before modernization's arrived.
 
The steel was made at the same location by melting scrap steel (when I was there the main ingredient was old locomotives) plus the other ores necessary for new quality steel. The steel was rolled into coils about 12" wide and 1/2" thick and several feet in diameter, then taken to the pipe department where it was uncoiled and reheated in great long furnaces. This is the phase that Dad was involved in at the time. The furnace was LONG, exactly how long I don't remember except that as a small boy it was a very long walk from one end to the other. The steel was pulled through,  Dad had to hook the leading end with a very long hooked steel pole and actually pull it through to the far end so that it could be attached to the machine that continued the pulling process. The heat was unbearable by today's standards and the work extremely physical, especially considering Dad's stature- 5'9" and 165 lb.. Each time (only minutes between loads) a new coil was needed the process begun a new. After this process the hot steel was pulled through bell shaped dies to form pipe.
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Chapter 7

 
Another Mouth to Feed (me)
June 7, 1945 another mouth to feed entered the world.  I don't remember being told much from my early days, the little that I recall follows.
My brother Roy was responsible for my name, apparently it was something of a problem and his solution was accepted. 
My sister Frances willingly took an active role in my care.

In about 1946 the family relocated to S/E Missouri (Marblehill/Lutesville area) so that Dad could farm.  Farming was something that he could relate to and enjoy.  Farming in general in that area and time was not a likely bet but Dad had a dream I believe. I don't know the why's but I know that it wasn't a successful venture. His dream had to do with growing things including children in a familiar atmosphere. 
This farming endeavor was very short lived but food remained necessary. 

Dad hired out to other farmers in the area. There was very little work or more accurately said, very little money to pay for work. 

One job that was always available was cutting fence posts from hedge trees. If you've been fortunate enough to be be inexperienced with hedge trees then I must point out that they are HARD wood and have their own protective devices attached (stickers).  They have been traditionally used as fences by being allowed to grow where a fence was needed. They grow like bushes when left unattended and a lot of cutting was required to get a straight piece long enough for a post. A single post did not pay a lot so a days work was an intimidating undertaking.

When I was a young lad we visited this area often. On one such occasion we visited and stayed the night at one of the farmer's house that Dad had worked for. The work, in this case, was helping build the farmhouse we stayed in. It was quite a structure, built in the fashion of farm houses from 100-200 years ago with two entrances on the full width front porch, one entered the parlor and one entered the space the family used as a livingroom. It was typical to build these houses on pilings or columns of stone instead of a full foundation. I remember being able to see between some of the pilings and the frame of the house and wondered about it. My wonderings were satisfied that evening as the sun set and the temperature cooled.  We were sitting on the porch and I could hear the moanings and groanings begin. I asked what that noise was and Dad and the farmer both chuckled. They explained that they had built the house from green oak timber and as the temperature changed the structure would twist and turn as the oak readjusted itself, still seasoning after some 10 years. They explained to me how they had worn "brace & bits" with shoulder harness's to drill each hole before a nail could be driven due the the hard, green oak. Imagine drilling by hand each and every nail hole in green oak, enough to build a 5 bedroom two story house.

While growing up an expression was used whenever threatening weather approached quickly, "a picnic with the Jackson's".  The expression came from a incident from this time period. The Sanford Jackson family were close friends then and a picnic with them was the occasion that originated the expression.  Picnics in those days were usually held way out in the woods where the natural beauty was worth the trip. All of both families rode in the same wagon to this picnic and as the plans were to spend the entire day, the horses were un harnessed and the wagon completely unpacked.  Everyone was "doing their own thing" as picnics go and a  significant storm came with no warning. There were numerous stories about "who did what" and "how each reacted" as the lightning struck and the rain fell. Everyone running for any shelter they could find. I think the misery of hitching the horses,  packing everything up and the long ride home in an open wagon while a dramatic storm was going on was the actual source of the expression.  Generally it meant an unexpected miserable time was coming.

This whole time in Marblehill, MO. was not remembered with much joy and the emotional effect has been felt in all of us through the years. 

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Chapter 8

Bunker Hill, Illinois   "Where's that?"
Truth be told, I'm not positive why we ended up in Bunker Hill, Illinois. My sense of it is that the folks wanted a small town environment both for themselves and for us kids.  Bunker Hill was within reasonable driving distance for Dad to get to Laclade Steel, I'm not sure if he got the job first or if we moved to Bunker Hill and then Dad went back to Laclade. However it happened we ended up in a big old two story house in B.H. I don't remember much about these times as I was very small. 

I do remember the tornado of 1949.  Anyone living there would remember it. I remember Dad getting us all in the basement/cellar just before it hit. My brother Joe was worried about the dog and ran out to get it into the basement with us.  He did make it back with the dog safely. I don't remember the storm actually hitting but I recall the aftermath well.  First of all when we got out of the basement our roof was intact only upside down in the front yard. Limbs and branches were everywhere.  Dad had a model "A" Ford pickup truck parked beside the house that appeared OK.  It wasn't until he went to crank it that he realized there was a problem. He opened the hood and the entire engine space was filled- packed with debris. So full and packed it was that it wouldn't start before being cleaned out.   

I also remember looking into my brother's bedroom and seeing the chimney collapsed on their beds. Bricks had fallen when the roof came off and fell all over the room. A moment of thankfulness was had by all that Roy & Joe were not in their room when it happened. 

We were extremely blessed during that time. Many in town lost their lives or loved ones and many homes were totally destroyed. It's the reason that B.H. doesn't have large old trees that most midwest small towns have.  It always looked a little bland to me- maybe that's one of the reasons. 

From this house a few years later we moved to the "Helmncamp" house, as it was always referred to.

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Chapter 9    

Helmcamp Farm Days

The Helmcamp farm was located southeast of Bunker Hill, IL about 5 or 6 miles then. “Town” has extended somewhat to lessen that amount slightly but it remains in “the country”.  The farm was owned by the Helmcamp family consisting of Mr., Mrs. and, if memory serves” four daughters.  Their youngest daughter was about the same age as I was. They were a fine, hard working farm family, kind and generous also.  They had built a new house about ½ mile from the original farmhouse site. Their old farmhouse was to our home for some years. 

As was fairly common in those days, the front entry of the old farmhouse faced a yard that didn’t allow access from the driveway.  I can never remember the front door even being open let alone someone using it. It was a typical farmhouse of its era with a large screened in back porch along the entire backside. This porch was the entry hall, closet, washroom, mudroom, and general storage area as well as the primary entrance. There was a modern style double garage about 75 feet away, several small buildings closer to the house and an old barn still in use by the Helmcamps. The smaller buildings included the required facilities for the household. Fortunately the necessary smaller building was only about 25 feet from the back door.  

Our household began here with just the immediate family but was expanded to include my mother’s sister, Annie. It was that time when my siblings were going through their teenage years and Dad was struggling to make ends meet. He still worked for Laclede Steel and drove the 20 or so miles each way, nothing today but remember that most of his trips were made in a car that was old when he bought it.  Most of that time mother worked at a clothing factory in Gillespie, Illinois and I can’t remember how she got back and forth to work. I can’t remember us having more than a main car that dad drove and the model A Ford pickup. My aunt did most of the “watching Roger” chores so that I was taken care of while dad & mother worked. Annie was not educated nor disciplined as a result of having no upbringing at all (another whole story) and was not accustomed to living in a regular household.  There were many struggles associated with her presence but there was no place else for her. In all objectivity, Annie was a sweet, caring person and to this day I’m uncertain if she was slightly mentally handicapped or just not at ease in a changed and changing world.

My life at this time was filled with things like exploring buildings and surrounding areas. The garage had an attic with a pull down ladder that I couldn’t reach. The attic was used once for a Halloween party for the teenagers of Berean Baptist church. Pastor Brown officiated at the party and I thought that was something special – he was a very kind and warm man but I never expected him, being a preacher and all, to be fun.  It was a standard Halloween party, I guess, for the time period.  It was decorated with straw and very dark, and there were games and stories and the associated weird things being passed around to supplement the stories.  I carried on until someone took me out there but I wasn’t interested long. The slimy stuff in the dark with spooky stories were enough to send me running for the house quickly.  My best guess is that I was about 3-4 years old at the time. I’ve always been totally responsible for my own discomfort, even then.

My brothers were allowed to take the pickup to town, usually on the pretext of some important mission. Rarely did dad go through town on his way home from work but one of the few times he did he spotted the model A pickup in front of the local “pool hall”.  A closer examination proved that the boys were inside. He just stuck his head inside and said “I’ll see you boys at home in a few minutes” and left.  You have to remember that pool halls in those days were not related to places of the same name today and certainly no place at all for a couple of Baptist teenagers with the last name of Waggener. This fact was proven when the boys got home in a very few minutes after dad left.  They were met at the door and directed to the barn.  A short physical description of the individuals will help you visualize the scene: dad 5’9” 165 lbs., Roy 5’10 180lbs., Joe 6’1” 175 lbs., two somewhat oversized teenagers walking smartly in front of a very unhappy small man. I can easily remember the sight as they moved toward the old barn about 150’ from the house.  The boys knew something unpleasant was awaiting them. I snuck along behind without difficulty due to everyone’s attention being elsewhere. Dad took them inside and I watched through a gap in the boards as dad took an axe from the wall and headed for the end of the barn.  Now this barn was still used and had a rope hayrack to put loose hay in the loft.  Dad swung the axe and scared me about to death but he was just chopping off a length of hay rope (hay rope was about 1 ¾ “ diameter). He then explained to Roy & Joe that they would be standing while they ate their supper tonight as a result of their need to visit the pool hall and that if they decided to move around during the whipping that he would see to it that it would be a lot longer before they could sit down.  It was not a pretty sight but those boys just stood and took their punishment – being too big to cry, almost, but it hurting both physically and egotistically.  Rest assured they stood to eat supper. I can’t say that they never visited the pool hall again, that would be a very unrealistic idea knowing both of them but I’ll guarantee that they were a lot more careful after that.

For the readers that have a memory of Dad, I’ll add that he was different in those days. He was serious even then but there was still a hint of humor and fun in him. He would make fudge for everyone during winter evenings and occasionally even play a game with the kids. It was important for him to see to it that we had a few playthings, regardless iof finances. One of the things I remember specifically was a 4’ “flyer” sled.  We were close to hills and winter got long for all of us. I was allowed to tag along with the older kids to sled. Joe was walking holding the sled across the pasture to get to the hill when he decided to run with the sled and do a belly flop and see how far he could go. Well that was really fun the first couple of times but remember we were walking across a pasture- pasture means that cows used it for more than eating. Just as Joe floppy down on the sled the runner hit a cow pie and came to a complete stop instantly. Joe did not come to an instant stop – actually he didn’t stop till his nose hit the front cross bar on the sled. The sled survived fine but his nose was broken.  That took the fun out of sledding that day.

This pasture had a pond in it that we swam in. I think the only reason I ever learned to swim was to keep from touching the bottom of the pond. It seems that cows don’t have compulsions about using their drinking water as a toilet also. I never liked dairy cows after that. 

Roy fished in the pond a lot. He was the sportsman of the family. One of his favorite fishing activities was trotline fishing. Trotline fishing is stringing a fishing line with short lines with a hook and bait every few feet. You throw the line in a way to get it across a body of water and wait till morning to retrieve your catch, which is often a number of fish.  It was during one of his trotline fishing episodes that his throw went wrong and one of the hooks caught his upper inside arm.  It took a trip to Dr. Hess in town to get the bleeding stopped and a number of stitches to get it closed. It left a 4” scar on the inside of his bicep – a scar that later identified him.

It was during this period that I meet my life long friend, Orland Snedeker I recall waiting out along the lane to hear Mrs. Snedeker’s car coming to bring Orland.  First I could hear it coming up the hill and then I could see it emerge from the woods as it crested the hill. It was a real treat to have someone to play with at that age and who would ever guess that a friendship from those times would last over 50 years.

A swarm of honeybees located in the clapboard siding around the front door that was never used. Dad became concerned that they’d get into the house so he undertook to evict them. He got a ladder and climbed up to it and began removing the shingles carefully but the bees objected quickly. Dad got the hive out before some of them decided that a concentrated effort might stop him. Unfortunately they concentrated on the edge of his left ear. Several stung him before he could react and that cost him a lot of pain. It took him some time to get around to repairing the shingles after that. He did return to the task but he was a wiser and QUICKER man as a result of the incident

Dad smoked cigars in those days and I remember sitting on his lap after he got home from work once.  It’s the only recollection I have of sitting on his lap but I remember he had a cigar in his mouth and I thought “hey that’s neat except it really stinks.”

I have no recollection of our moving from the Helmcamp house but my memories begin again as we clean the house in town but that’s the next chapter.

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Chapter 10

Moving to Town, Almost

The decision to move to town was precipitated by a number of issues I think- among those were 3 older teenagers that were active in school and church and, maybe most significant, an opportunity to BUY a house, especially one with 12 acres. Some very old and debilitated folks had lived in the house previously.  Somehow the local banker had acquired it and because of it’s condition offered it to dad with terms that made it conceivable. It was a very large, old brick house, well built but very nasty to even walk through. The only modern convenience it had was a coal fired, stoker fed furnace, running water was available only if one of us kids ran with the bucket.

In my minds eye I can still recall my brothers hauling debris and garbage out of the house with a borrowed wheelbarrow.  The old folks that had lived in it were de-capacitated to the extent that, for a long time, they had not been able to carry anything outside so it was pushed into the closest corner and left. Every corner was piled with garbage and other, even less desirable, substances. Preparing it for habitation was a long and arduous task that not many people would have been able to handle. Fortunately for me, I was still too young to have to do a lot of this preparation and dad worked everyday so the work was done in his off hours with Roy & Joe’s reluctant assistance.  Mother & Frances would clean after the worst of the mess was hauled out and burned.

The well, fortunately, was in an open, roofed extension to the side of the kitchen so that getting water wasn’t a major undertaking.  It did actually required letting a bucket, on a rope, down into the well and winding the rope back onto a windrow. The well was reputed to have some distinction as a local source of water for locals when other wells had failed due to drought.  The only quality of this well that I can personally attest to is that it was deep and even on a hot summer day the water was cold and refreshing.

Annie had been returned to Bloomfield, Missouri’s county rest home. She was very unhappy living with us in those days and the conflict with 3 teenagers had made household harmony impossible. Three teenagers with a less than passive stepmother was enough conflict.

One of the assets of the property was room for all the garden a whole family could maintain and more.  Dad & mother both enjoyed to fresh produce and dad missed farming so gardening was more than necessity yet remained necessity only to us kids. It seems that just as I grew old enough to help with the garden, the older kids were beyond it and moving away so I had the honors. For dad, as frustrated farmer, having some land and water as well as a job to provide the money to survive was as good as he’d had it in a long time. I know that he had visions of a small truck farm with all the appropriate livestock and crops to become less dependent on “store bought” and make it easier to pay the bill at the grocery store each payday. The chance to farm again, on whatever level, was a significant release for him.      It has taken me 50 plus years to learn that growing things is an experience in itself and a source of satisfaction unto itself.

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Chapter 11*

East Of Town
It was during this period that lots of things happened to us and our relationships. Some of the things that happened were probably a result of timing and others were "going to happen" as soon as all the conditions were met. In my mind almost all of the situations that complicated our families life were precipitated by experiences that I became aware of while living "east of town".  That recollection is likely based on my age as opposed to the actual occurrences and should be thought of that way. Roy, Joe and Frances all grew from early teens to post high school teens while we lived in that big old brick house east of town so that in it's self accounts for a lot happening. I went form a small boy to a teenager there and most of us can recall some of those traumas. I know that many of the experiences I recall in this period will be out of chronological order but . . .

The Nash

 Dad drove to work at Lacede Steel in Alton so a dependable car was a requirement. His selection of cars was limited by funds so that he thought in terms of getting the best car for the money always without concern for style or brands. Early in this period a 1947 Nash 4 door was acquired - An urban tank- tall, slow, ugly but strong . A fact that was proven during one of our regular trips "back home" for Dad & Mom. It was a cold and rainy night along an almost deserted Missouri road and I was dosing in the back seat. Suddenly I woke to shouts- a horse was trotting along the side of the road, barely visible in the rain. The horse spooked when it realized our presence and turned directly into the side of the Nash. Horrible sounds of bending metal and a deep terrified whiney from the horse penetrated the night. Dad got the Nash stopped and jumped out into the rain to check for damage on the car and the horse. The Nash, previously a study in sculpture with wide fenders and massive design features now had a smooth flat side and the horse was GONE.  In those days and in that area people stopped to check on someone stopped along the road during a storm, in the middle of the night so it was that a car came along and stopped. The driver was a local man who helped Dad check the car then dad asked about the horse. The man said that it could belong to almost anyone along that stretch of road but that it was probably badly hurt judging from the side of our Nash.  Dad thought that the horse "HAD TO BE FOUND" and taken care of - helped if possible or put down if beyond help. The local man agreed without much enthusiasm or optimism, the storm hadn't let up at all, pouring cold rain made it miserable and difficult to see. About this time another man stopped to see if he could help with whatever was going on. After he heard the story he thought he might know who the horse belonged to- someone who lived close and wasn't great about maintaining his fences. He promptly went off to check with the assumed owner. Dad and the first man who stopped made plans to set off in search of the horse. Mom was not pleased with Dad's attitude about finding the horse but he was adamant- something that he did really well when he felt it was important. The two men started out with a couple of flashlights in search of the wounded horse. Let me inject here that even flashlights have been improved vastly over what we had then- then a tiny beam of light that had to be conserved to keep from running the batteries down was as good as it got. Our wait in the car seemed like an eternity especially with mom's anxiety and the raging storm. After what seems like forever, Dad and the other man returned leading a horse. They had located the horse that had exhausted it's self running away from the scene of the impact. Soon the other man who had gone looking for the potential owner returned with the man who proved to be the owner in fact. With 4 men with flashlights going over the horse from nose to tail only a small cut was found and the horse was deemed fine. Not so with the Nash - some pulling away of fenders from the wheels was necessary but beyond that it had survived. It had not only survived but served Dad well for a long time after that incident, totally smashed side and all. It was some time later when on a December Saturday morning I went outside and found Dad washing that old smashed up Nash. It was cold- too cold to be hand washing a car in my opinion but not Dad's. It was the first time I remember Dad saying those words that I've quoted many times since "if ya don't take care of what you got then ya don't deserve anything better". 

-a work in progress-

  Chapter 12*

More East Of Town
My oldest brother Roy was a very socially active teenager during those years. By working on local farms he was able to buy a 46 Ford sedan [insert picture]. It was a sharp car, far from new but nice. His driving habits were a issue all the time he lived there. His 46 Ford had very wide white walls, popular at the time. Dad would be up early and doing chores or going to work and regularly noticed that the white walls were badly scuffed and he KNEW what caused that. Taking turns way too fast. Tires won't do that now but back then they would roll over that far- usually without blowing but not always. Dad's sermons had no effect on Roy but they sure made a n impression on me.  One of the farms he worked at was just down the road and up a hill. I'm pretty sure that the reason he worked there was not just closeness or that Eddy Brummer paid him regularly but more closely related to the daughter of the family, Janet. As I recall she was attractive even to a little boy not actively interested in girls yet. There were many episodes in that relationship that involved the entire family. Several won't be told here but one remains firmly embedded in my mind. The Brummer family was wealthy according to our standards. Eddy had bought a new Chrysler convertible and it was his pride and joy. One weekend Eddy & Mrs. Brummer were out of town but Janet stayed home in the questionable company of Roy. It wasn't an authorized visit and Saturday evening Roy & Janet decided to that they'd take her dad's car for a ride. Roy being behind the wheel of a brand new convertible that was a lot faster than any car he'd driven at the time along with, shall we call it, teenage enthusiasm lead to an almost disastrous end. I don't recall what the accident was attributed to but the result was Janet being in the hospital for quite a while and Roy sliding down the highway on his back and a totaled new convertible. Roy's injuries weren't life threatening but painful. Probably not as painful as Dad and Eddy Brummer would have inflected if they could have gotten their hands on him right after they were discovered. Janet recovered without permanent damage, Roy was without a job and not real popular around our house for a while. The romance went on for a long time after that causing a lot of conflict in our house and with the Brummer family. It was from this location that Roy exited the family by joining the Air Force. While in basic training he was not allowed to have a car with him. Roy's approach to that problem was to hitch hike from Texas and could do it almost as quickly as most folks could drive. Understand that in those days hitch hiking was not uncommon and that a young man in uniform was pretty well assured rides.  When he stopped retuning regularly it was fairly traumatic- he was the one I could count on for humor and comradeship.

 

 

 

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