Dick and I have know the Hamlins since our boys were in grade school. I worked at the Eudora Post Office for 23 years so really got to know Bill from that experience. He was always a joker and had something to say to make us all laugh. He was known for coming in to check his mailbox when we were not open and hollar and demand he be allowed to have home service (see note below). That was not going to happen in Eudora, Ks. The real classic thing was that we had acquired the "she-boss from hell" which no one liked. One day Bill came in and demanded he have the delivery at his house. We all knew the act but "she" didn't. No one bothered to explain it to her. She was ready to call the cops. After she found out the deal, she mellowed a bit but it didn't last long. We were always happy to see Mr. Bill come in. On the other hand, Mary Lou is one of my best "shopping pals"! We have done a lot of things together, such as Red Hat Society, water exercise, stained glass, and just shopping. Dick and have had so many ups and downs in our life and Mary Lou has been one of the people who have always been there for us. She is a joy to be around. I am thinking she deserves a medal, trophy or something of that sort for putting in 50 years with "Mr. Bill". Just kiddin. Bill and Mary Lou are a great couple and hope they have many more good years together. Sorry we can't be at the anniversary celebration. We will be at our school reunion for the week-end. Bill and Mary Lou, love you both. Dick and Kathleen Brown, Eudora, Ks.
Note from Kim: When we moved to Eudora in 1972, the postal service had already started to scale back postal delivery in residental areas. They designated specific areas were mailboxes were to be posted together so that the mailman could handle several homes with just one stop. The place where the postal service said that we could put our mailbox was several blocks from our house...about the same distance that the post office was from our house. Mom and Dad decided not to put up a mailbox and instead rented a post office box. Somebody walked down to the post office every day to pick up the mail...I still remember the combination and I bet my brothers and sister do too. When Dad went to get the mail, there was always shouting...well that is Kathleen's story.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Summertime
ML's brother Jim writes...
We went to Tug Lake one nice sunny day for a picnic. We alway grilled our food on these days. We had brats this day. All the kids were playing and running around while Bill and I cooked the brats. Mary Lou and Jan (Jim's wife) kept an eye on the kids. Eeverything was going fine until Bill and I got distracted for some good reason. In the mean time something was going wrong with our grill --it was catching on fire. When we look back it was really smoking and the flames were quite high. Seeing this was the only food we had ,we had to rescue the brats. The brats were a little black (all the way through). They didn't taste to bad for Bill and I because we made them, but the kids and women didn't think so.
We went to Tug Lake one nice sunny day for a picnic. We alway grilled our food on these days. We had brats this day. All the kids were playing and running around while Bill and I cooked the brats. Mary Lou and Jan (Jim's wife) kept an eye on the kids. Eeverything was going fine until Bill and I got distracted for some good reason. In the mean time something was going wrong with our grill --it was catching on fire. When we look back it was really smoking and the flames were quite high. Seeing this was the only food we had ,we had to rescue the brats. The brats were a little black (all the way through). They didn't taste to bad for Bill and I because we made them, but the kids and women didn't think so.
In Awe
ML's brother Jim writes...
We lived in Jersey City suburb of Tomahawk across a railroad track. People were aways hitting our mailbox and driving off so my dad had put telephone poles pretty deep in the ground. That way if they hit them again they would not drive off.
I had just gotten to know Bill from playing football and he gave me a ride home.
As we came over the track Bill forgot he was driving and just stared "WHO IS THAT GIRL ON THE PORCH" was all he said. We were headed right for the telephone pole mailbox post while Bill ogled the girl on the proch. I told him to watch out for the Mailbox which broke him ogling and there was no car wreck that day.
I told him then the girl on the porch was my sister.
We lived in Jersey City suburb of Tomahawk across a railroad track. People were aways hitting our mailbox and driving off so my dad had put telephone poles pretty deep in the ground. That way if they hit them again they would not drive off.
I had just gotten to know Bill from playing football and he gave me a ride home.
As we came over the track Bill forgot he was driving and just stared "WHO IS THAT GIRL ON THE PORCH" was all he said. We were headed right for the telephone pole mailbox post while Bill ogled the girl on the proch. I told him to watch out for the Mailbox which broke him ogling and there was no car wreck that day.
I told him then the girl on the porch was my sister.
Muted
ML's brother Jim writes...
Bert and I didn't know about this for a few years later (quite a few actually) .
We had been hunting all day and Bill never would stand that day. He made all the drives [He was never the guy waiting for the deer to be driven towards him.] (You never knew what he was doing any way so we thought nothing of it). Then the truth came out. I don't know if it was a slip of the tongue of guilty conscience.
HE FORGOT HIS SHELLS AT HOME AND HUNTED ALL DAY [WITHOUT BULLETS]
Bert and I didn't know about this for a few years later (quite a few actually) .
We had been hunting all day and Bill never would stand that day. He made all the drives [He was never the guy waiting for the deer to be driven towards him.] (You never knew what he was doing any way so we thought nothing of it). Then the truth came out. I don't know if it was a slip of the tongue of guilty conscience.
HE FORGOT HIS SHELLS AT HOME AND HUNTED ALL DAY [WITHOUT BULLETS]
Blue Air
ML's brother Jim writes...
We had just made a long drive (deer hunting) and in Harrison there are a few hills. I was standing on the bottom of a hill on the highline talking to a hunter that wasn't one of our gang. Bill was coming down off the hill. He was about half way down and I told him to go back up because we were driving to the Pine Hill--which was over some more hills. He proceeded telling me &$#@%@@:"$@ no. Then he saw that it was a lady I was talking to and almost ran back up the hill. Turns out he had to come back down because we weren't making that [next] drive.
We had just made a long drive (deer hunting) and in Harrison there are a few hills. I was standing on the bottom of a hill on the highline talking to a hunter that wasn't one of our gang. Bill was coming down off the hill. He was about half way down and I told him to go back up because we were driving to the Pine Hill--which was over some more hills. He proceeded telling me &$#@%@@:"$@ no. Then he saw that it was a lady I was talking to and almost ran back up the hill. Turns out he had to come back down because we weren't making that [next] drive.
Trapped in the Back Seat.
ML's brother Jim writes...
It was very cold and the highways were in winter driving condition. All the pot holes and cracks were filled and the surface was smooth. Solid ice actually. (Jim's Brother-In-Law) Carl and I picked up Marylou and Bill in Merrill and were bringing them to Tomahawk. We drove our regular speed 60 or 70 and thought nothing of it. We were told later Mary Lou was very scared and cried most of the way home. I think she was pregnant with Scot at that time. Carl and I still feel badly about that because we did not know and we were driving nomally.
It was very cold and the highways were in winter driving condition. All the pot holes and cracks were filled and the surface was smooth. Solid ice actually. (Jim's Brother-In-Law) Carl and I picked up Marylou and Bill in Merrill and were bringing them to Tomahawk. We drove our regular speed 60 or 70 and thought nothing of it. We were told later Mary Lou was very scared and cried most of the way home. I think she was pregnant with Scot at that time. Carl and I still feel badly about that because we did not know and we were driving nomally.
Harrison Extended Family
Cousin Phil (Punky) Lemmens writes...
Hi from Door County county,Wisconsin
Growing up in Harrison on the mail route road, the eldest child in my family, it was my good fortune to have Mary Lou as my "big sister." Memories are a little foggy now from those early days but just thinking about it brings pleasant feelings and a smile to my face. Later memories are the wedding dances. Bill and mary Lou were "hoofers". They know how to enjoy and it is infectious. Bills humor has always made us laugh. May your next 50 years be full of more dancing and laughter.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Without a Trace
ML's brother Bert writes....
It was a nice day to be in the woods. Sunny, warm and deer season. All one could ask for. I was to meet Bill and Jim in early afternoon. I would wait at the "telephone pole" for them. It was called the telephone pole for reasons I never knew. I never saw telephone poles or wire there. Oh well let us move on.
I was waiting at the telephone pole. Soon the others came. Hunting could begin. As I moved to meet them, some movement to my right caught my eye. Deer! Several of them! Some had horns! Great!!!! Jim saw me react, but not shoot. I told them what I had just seen. The following plan to acquire some venison went into operation.
I would return to the pole [and wait-- taking the "stand" as hunters call it]. They would go around and try to bring the deer back. If you were ever the one who was on a stand you know what it is to be bored. After what seemed like three hours twelve minutes and thirty seven seconds movement caught my eyes. The deer were returning. The plan was pure genius. Before me were the deer.
I would hear noise to my right front and the deer would move left. I would then hear noise to my left front and the deer would move right. Always moving closer to me. Then the moment of truth. Just in front of me, perhaps thirty five yards, were five, yes FIVE bucks. Taking careful aim I proceeded to empty my rifle. The deer moved to the right. Five shots rang out [from a distance]. The deer were headed back at me. I am reloaded and ready. Three more shots but the deer keep going.
I would learn that Jim was to my right front and Bill to my left. Bill had fired the five shots. Jim, being the demanding person he is, made us check to see that we were as bad as we looked [that we really had missed all those deer with all those shots], and we almost were. This is where our tale begins.
It seems that in front of Bill was an unseen doe and he got it. While missing the bucks he had seen, he had still not been skunked after all [Bill had another not exactly legal deer]. We dressed out the deer. Bill was acting as if he had just robbed the bank and had the feds after him. He said he would take it out and we should get away. We made a compromise. He would take the deer to the highline and I would meet him there with the car.
It had snowed the night before and the ground was covered. Nothing had yet disturbed it. I backed the car into the highline to meet Bill. I did not see him yet. I got out and went to the trunk to open it. Placing the key in the lock I turned it. I looked up to see Bill at the north side of the highline, I was on the south side. Before the lid was all the way up a deer landed in the trunk and the lid was on its way back down. Bill was standing next to me.
As I looked to the north side of the highline I got the surprise of the day. The new snow was unmarked. He had not only crossed the highline in less time than it took to open a spring loaded trunk lid, he had done it without leaving a mark in the new snow. There were no footprints or drag marks in the new snow. It all happened so quickly that I had missed what had to have been one of the most amazing feats in human history. [how do you] move fifty yards down hill dragging a deer and not disturb the new fallen snow. I still am in awe.
It was a nice day to be in the woods. Sunny, warm and deer season. All one could ask for. I was to meet Bill and Jim in early afternoon. I would wait at the "telephone pole" for them. It was called the telephone pole for reasons I never knew. I never saw telephone poles or wire there. Oh well let us move on.
I was waiting at the telephone pole. Soon the others came. Hunting could begin. As I moved to meet them, some movement to my right caught my eye. Deer! Several of them! Some had horns! Great!!!! Jim saw me react, but not shoot. I told them what I had just seen. The following plan to acquire some venison went into operation.
I would return to the pole [and wait-- taking the "stand" as hunters call it]. They would go around and try to bring the deer back. If you were ever the one who was on a stand you know what it is to be bored. After what seemed like three hours twelve minutes and thirty seven seconds movement caught my eyes. The deer were returning. The plan was pure genius. Before me were the deer.
I would hear noise to my right front and the deer would move left. I would then hear noise to my left front and the deer would move right. Always moving closer to me. Then the moment of truth. Just in front of me, perhaps thirty five yards, were five, yes FIVE bucks. Taking careful aim I proceeded to empty my rifle. The deer moved to the right. Five shots rang out [from a distance]. The deer were headed back at me. I am reloaded and ready. Three more shots but the deer keep going.
I would learn that Jim was to my right front and Bill to my left. Bill had fired the five shots. Jim, being the demanding person he is, made us check to see that we were as bad as we looked [that we really had missed all those deer with all those shots], and we almost were. This is where our tale begins.
It seems that in front of Bill was an unseen doe and he got it. While missing the bucks he had seen, he had still not been skunked after all [Bill had another not exactly legal deer]. We dressed out the deer. Bill was acting as if he had just robbed the bank and had the feds after him. He said he would take it out and we should get away. We made a compromise. He would take the deer to the highline and I would meet him there with the car.
It had snowed the night before and the ground was covered. Nothing had yet disturbed it. I backed the car into the highline to meet Bill. I did not see him yet. I got out and went to the trunk to open it. Placing the key in the lock I turned it. I looked up to see Bill at the north side of the highline, I was on the south side. Before the lid was all the way up a deer landed in the trunk and the lid was on its way back down. Bill was standing next to me.
As I looked to the north side of the highline I got the surprise of the day. The new snow was unmarked. He had not only crossed the highline in less time than it took to open a spring loaded trunk lid, he had done it without leaving a mark in the new snow. There were no footprints or drag marks in the new snow. It all happened so quickly that I had missed what had to have been one of the most amazing feats in human history. [how do you] move fifty yards down hill dragging a deer and not disturb the new fallen snow. I still am in awe.
The Shot
ML's brother Bert writes...
The day’s hunt was over and we were on our way to Eddy’s. Bill, Uncle Ed and I had been out this afternoon. Jim had gone to work at noon. It was in the days of the party permit. This was when four hunters got together and got a doe permit [for the group]. [under the party permit] the shooter was required to wear an armband when they shot the deer. This was a rule we always took to heart. [If you shot a deer without a license or the party permit, you were legally a poacher].
As we came around the corner by the dam road there were two deer on the west side of the road. Bill hadn't yet shot a deer so I thought...if I could block them, Bill could get a shot at one. The first problem was to let Bill know what I had in mind since we were in two [separate] cars [and couldn't easily talk to each other].
We got one deer blocked but we were now by Swans house. I told Bill to get out and shoot it. The deer was somewhat cooperating with us. It gave him time to load his gun. The deer then thought better of what was going on and headed for the hills.
If you have ever seen a deer flat out run, with no bounding, you know what speed is. It was going at about 60 degrees to us and 125 to 150 yards out when Bill shot. It looked like a snow blower was turned on as the deer went down. [It was] one heck of a shot.
Then we heard someone behind us. There, in Swans yard, were six people watching us. But Bill was not wearing the arm band. I quickly told him to get it on. One problem, he didn't have it--it seems Jim had taken it with him when he went to work. We sent Uncle Ed to Jim's to get the armband [so we could tag the deer and take it home]
We pulled off the road and unloaded the snowmobile to go get the deer. Before we got going one of the people watching came over to talk to Bill. It seemed that one of them was a reporter for the paper in Rheinlander. He thought that he had just seen the best shot ever and wanted the name of the shooter to write about it. At least it wasn’t a [game] warden watching.
We went out and got the deer. It was placed on the trailer next to the snowmobile and we went to the bar to await Uncle Ed. When he got there Bill put on the armband and I tagged the deer. We were no longer poachers.
The day’s hunt was over and we were on our way to Eddy’s. Bill, Uncle Ed and I had been out this afternoon. Jim had gone to work at noon. It was in the days of the party permit. This was when four hunters got together and got a doe permit [for the group]. [under the party permit] the shooter was required to wear an armband when they shot the deer. This was a rule we always took to heart. [If you shot a deer without a license or the party permit, you were legally a poacher].
As we came around the corner by the dam road there were two deer on the west side of the road. Bill hadn't yet shot a deer so I thought...if I could block them, Bill could get a shot at one. The first problem was to let Bill know what I had in mind since we were in two [separate] cars [and couldn't easily talk to each other].
We got one deer blocked but we were now by Swans house. I told Bill to get out and shoot it. The deer was somewhat cooperating with us. It gave him time to load his gun. The deer then thought better of what was going on and headed for the hills.
If you have ever seen a deer flat out run, with no bounding, you know what speed is. It was going at about 60 degrees to us and 125 to 150 yards out when Bill shot. It looked like a snow blower was turned on as the deer went down. [It was] one heck of a shot.
Then we heard someone behind us. There, in Swans yard, were six people watching us. But Bill was not wearing the arm band. I quickly told him to get it on. One problem, he didn't have it--it seems Jim had taken it with him when he went to work. We sent Uncle Ed to Jim's to get the armband [so we could tag the deer and take it home]
We pulled off the road and unloaded the snowmobile to go get the deer. Before we got going one of the people watching came over to talk to Bill. It seemed that one of them was a reporter for the paper in Rheinlander. He thought that he had just seen the best shot ever and wanted the name of the shooter to write about it. At least it wasn’t a [game] warden watching.
We went out and got the deer. It was placed on the trailer next to the snowmobile and we went to the bar to await Uncle Ed. When he got there Bill put on the armband and I tagged the deer. We were no longer poachers.
New Year's Eve 1957/58
ML's brother Bert writes...
Mom and Dad (Mary and Earl) will be gone for the night so it is time to party. It is known that they will not be home until at least 3:00 am so the party can go till one. That leaves time to clean the house and be gone to other parties before they got home. That was the party plan. The party went on and when the time came, as people left each was given a bag of empty beer cans to take with them. Only a few were left when we cleaned the house. All had gone well. The party was over. And things had gone as planned.
That is..
Mom and Dad (Mary and Earl) will be gone for the night so it is time to party. It is known that they will not be home until at least 3:00 am so the party can go till one. That leaves time to clean the house and be gone to other parties before they got home. That was the party plan. The party went on and when the time came, as people left each was given a bag of empty beer cans to take with them. Only a few were left when we cleaned the house. All had gone well. The party was over. And things had gone as planned.
That is..
- if we had planned on Mike Morris getting into a fight and knocking the Christmas tree over.
- if we had planned for Frank to sat in his window and watch all the girls running back and forth to the outhouse.
- if we had planned for someone to steal Joann’s bank
- if we had planned for everyone that took beer cans to dump them only 200 yards from the house.
- if we had planned for Mom to get sick.
Because that is what really happened. Mom (Mary) got sick and she and Dad had come home at about 11:00. Upon seeing all the cars at the house they went to Mike’s and watched it all go on.
All is well that ends well with parents who understand it.The Note
ML's brother Bert writes...
There was this one time that there might have been a hunting accident in a bar. The hunter Me, the victim, my sister's husband. This alone prevented it.
I should start at the beginning.
On a cold and raining day we were hunting east of the mail route. There was just Bill and me. We were not in the woods when I lost track of Bill. He had hunted for some time and this was no real concern. I would hunt as planned and we would meet at the truck later.
Mid afternoon I get back at the truck and there is no sign of Bill. I wait. I call and blow the horn and still no Bill. There is only one thing to do, go back in [the woods] and find him.
I am in the woods till dark and still no sign of him. [This has gone on long enough and ] I now decide I must get back and get help. I return to the truck and try to decide what to do next.
Just then my eyes fall on a strange piece of paper on the dash. The paper is about the size of a square of toilet paper and looked like it may have been used for that. On the underside of it were three words, “Went to Eddy’s”.
I would, in time, empty the gun before getting to "Eddy's" (a local bar). My mind cleared as I drove over. As it turns out, (cousin) Bud had come out early that afternoon. He and Bill had decided it was too wet to hunt so they went to the bar.
To this day I don’t know what was the worst thing that happened that day. Was it thinking Bill was lost, or missing out on a afternoon at the bar? I often think [it was] the latter.
There was this one time that there might have been a hunting accident in a bar. The hunter Me, the victim, my sister's husband. This alone prevented it.
I should start at the beginning.
On a cold and raining day we were hunting east of the mail route. There was just Bill and me. We were not in the woods when I lost track of Bill. He had hunted for some time and this was no real concern. I would hunt as planned and we would meet at the truck later.
Mid afternoon I get back at the truck and there is no sign of Bill. I wait. I call and blow the horn and still no Bill. There is only one thing to do, go back in [the woods] and find him.
I am in the woods till dark and still no sign of him. [This has gone on long enough and ] I now decide I must get back and get help. I return to the truck and try to decide what to do next.
Just then my eyes fall on a strange piece of paper on the dash. The paper is about the size of a square of toilet paper and looked like it may have been used for that. On the underside of it were three words, “Went to Eddy’s”.
I would, in time, empty the gun before getting to "Eddy's" (a local bar). My mind cleared as I drove over. As it turns out, (cousin) Bud had come out early that afternoon. He and Bill had decided it was too wet to hunt so they went to the bar.
To this day I don’t know what was the worst thing that happened that day. Was it thinking Bill was lost, or missing out on a afternoon at the bar? I often think [it was] the latter.
Spook night
ML's brother Bert writes...
It was march and spring was coming fast. Bill, M.L. and I were going for what could well be our last snowmobile ride of the season. Things went well as we stopped at several watering holes throughout the evening. It was now time to go home. We were north of highway 8 when we started home.
The weather decided to turn to spring. The sky opened up and the rain came down as if to see how brave we were. We were in the middle of a thunder storm. This time of the year there are no leaves on the trees so they take on a look of skeletons, the night is at its darkest due to the cloud cover, the trails are narrow--an elbow stuck out may well connect with a tree, and the ground is still covered with snow.
We enter these woods to go home. The setting would have been ideal in a horror movie.
The darkness was so intense the headlights could hardly shine through it. Then the lightening would flash across the sky. The snow would appeared to turn blue. The trees appeared as black as skeletons with their shadows dancing on the snow.
This was the world we traveled through on our way home. The only change being when we went from hardwood to evergreen trees and back.
This was a night I will never forget. I am glad I was out to see it that night, but I hope to never repeat that night.
It was march and spring was coming fast. Bill, M.L. and I were going for what could well be our last snowmobile ride of the season. Things went well as we stopped at several watering holes throughout the evening. It was now time to go home. We were north of highway 8 when we started home.
The weather decided to turn to spring. The sky opened up and the rain came down as if to see how brave we were. We were in the middle of a thunder storm. This time of the year there are no leaves on the trees so they take on a look of skeletons, the night is at its darkest due to the cloud cover, the trails are narrow--an elbow stuck out may well connect with a tree, and the ground is still covered with snow.
We enter these woods to go home. The setting would have been ideal in a horror movie.
The darkness was so intense the headlights could hardly shine through it. Then the lightening would flash across the sky. The snow would appeared to turn blue. The trees appeared as black as skeletons with their shadows dancing on the snow.
This was the world we traveled through on our way home. The only change being when we went from hardwood to evergreen trees and back.
This was a night I will never forget. I am glad I was out to see it that night, but I hope to never repeat that night.
Oops.
ML's brother Bert writes...
Bill and I had been doing things around the yard and decided we were hungry and would like a hamburger. Being the caring people we are, we went in and asked M.L. if she and the kids wanted to go along to get a burger. She said no. So off we went.
A few hours later when we got back she wanted to know what had taken so long. That was when things took a bad turn. I explained that the closest McDonalds was in Wausau and it took time to go that far. Her answer to that was if she had known [the whole plan], she and the kids would have gone along.
[ I now cross my fingers and place my hand behind my back ]. The fact that we were going to McDonalds was not left out on purpose so you wouldn't want to go along....no matter what you thought and sugggested at the time.
Bill and I had been doing things around the yard and decided we were hungry and would like a hamburger. Being the caring people we are, we went in and asked M.L. if she and the kids wanted to go along to get a burger. She said no. So off we went.
A few hours later when we got back she wanted to know what had taken so long. That was when things took a bad turn. I explained that the closest McDonalds was in Wausau and it took time to go that far. Her answer to that was if she had known [the whole plan], she and the kids would have gone along.
[ I now cross my fingers and place my hand behind my back ]. The fact that we were going to McDonalds was not left out on purpose so you wouldn't want to go along....no matter what you thought and sugggested at the time.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
The Language Barrier
Son Steve writes...
As I have mentioned in another post about Chicken Chow Mien I started Kindergarten only a week or two after we moved from Tomahawk to Eudora. One day the teacher sent home a note with me for mom and dad. The note informed them that the teacher had set up a meeting with a speech pathologist to help me with my speech impediment and they were invited to come speak to the speech expert.
Being good parents they were concerned and met with the school appointed speech expert. The young woman explained to my parents that there was definitely something wrong with my speech but they had not pinpointed exactly what it was yet. She explained that they needed my parents’ permission for a battery of tests to determine exactly what my problem was and how to treat it.
Mom and dad listened politely to the whole presentation and then said “we don’t really think there is anything wrong with the way he talks. We just don’t hear it.” To which the young woman flushed and said “uh you aren’t from around here are you?” Mom and dad explained that the family had just moved to Kansas from Wisconsin a few weeks earlier.
At that point the extremely embarrassed speech expert and the equally embarrassed teacher said, “oh, well in that case we don’t think anything is wrong.”
Another instance where language posed a barrier was on a trip to Tulsa, Oklahoma.
People involved with TV and movies often say that they try to sound like people from the Midwest because they don’t have an accent. Well those people never traveled to Oklahoma.
It was yet another of dad’s long weekend planned trips but this time it was more personal. Tulsa was the hometown of one of dad’s boyhood heroes, Will Rogers. When the home of a boyhood hero is within driving range you go.
We packed up the car and headed south out of town toward Tulsa. Dad had a vague idea that Oklahoma was south of Kansas and Tulsa was somewhere in Oklahoma, how hard could it be. This was one of the first short trip that we made after we arrived in Kansas, I mention this because everyone in the family still had the Wisconsin accent because it had not had time to fade yet.
After several hours of driving we entered Oklahoma, where the wind comes seeping down the plains, and the wavin’ wheat can sure smell sweet, when the wind comes right behind the rain……sorry got carried away there. Anyway we crossed the border into Oklahoma, now all we had to do was find Tulsa. Turns out that finding Tulsa wasn’t as easy as we had hoped. Little did we know that unlike Wisconsin which has only one north/south road Oklahoma actually has 2. So against his better judgment dad stopped to ask directions. At this point I am reminded of a particularly odd quirk that my father displays when he stops somewhere in the car, he walks wherever he is going and runs back. So dad walked over to the gas station and soon came running back. Mom asked “Well what did he say?” “I don’t know.” Was dad’s answer, “I couldn’t understand him.”
OK so we tried again, this time I went with dad, after all we now knew that I did not have a speech impediment. The conversation went something like this:
Dad – “Which road do we take to get to Tulsa?”
Dumb look from gas station guy.
Me – “He said which road do we take to get to Tulsa?”
Guy – “Oh, you take the Cimarron Turnpike, highway 44.”
Dum look from dad.
Me- “He said take highway 44 the something ur other turnpike.”
Dad – “ok thanks.”
Guy – “OK thanks.
On we went to Tulsa and sure enough it was on the Cimarron Turnpike. We found Will Rogers museum, it was closed. So we went to the Fredrick Remington museum instead, I guess he was from Tulsa too, who knew?
But the highlight of the trip was finding a little dumpy restaurant, dad always seemed to find them, that served this marvel of the gastronomic arts known as “Broasted Chicken”. Broasting is something like frying in a pressure cooker. The skin gets extra super crispy and the meat stays moist. It is actually unbelievably good. After the gas station incident dad made me do all the talking so I got to order for the first time ever. Pretty cool!
As I have mentioned in another post about Chicken Chow Mien I started Kindergarten only a week or two after we moved from Tomahawk to Eudora. One day the teacher sent home a note with me for mom and dad. The note informed them that the teacher had set up a meeting with a speech pathologist to help me with my speech impediment and they were invited to come speak to the speech expert.
Being good parents they were concerned and met with the school appointed speech expert. The young woman explained to my parents that there was definitely something wrong with my speech but they had not pinpointed exactly what it was yet. She explained that they needed my parents’ permission for a battery of tests to determine exactly what my problem was and how to treat it.
Mom and dad listened politely to the whole presentation and then said “we don’t really think there is anything wrong with the way he talks. We just don’t hear it.” To which the young woman flushed and said “uh you aren’t from around here are you?” Mom and dad explained that the family had just moved to Kansas from Wisconsin a few weeks earlier.
At that point the extremely embarrassed speech expert and the equally embarrassed teacher said, “oh, well in that case we don’t think anything is wrong.”
Another instance where language posed a barrier was on a trip to Tulsa, Oklahoma.
People involved with TV and movies often say that they try to sound like people from the Midwest because they don’t have an accent. Well those people never traveled to Oklahoma.
It was yet another of dad’s long weekend planned trips but this time it was more personal. Tulsa was the hometown of one of dad’s boyhood heroes, Will Rogers. When the home of a boyhood hero is within driving range you go.
We packed up the car and headed south out of town toward Tulsa. Dad had a vague idea that Oklahoma was south of Kansas and Tulsa was somewhere in Oklahoma, how hard could it be. This was one of the first short trip that we made after we arrived in Kansas, I mention this because everyone in the family still had the Wisconsin accent because it had not had time to fade yet.
After several hours of driving we entered Oklahoma, where the wind comes seeping down the plains, and the wavin’ wheat can sure smell sweet, when the wind comes right behind the rain……sorry got carried away there. Anyway we crossed the border into Oklahoma, now all we had to do was find Tulsa. Turns out that finding Tulsa wasn’t as easy as we had hoped. Little did we know that unlike Wisconsin which has only one north/south road Oklahoma actually has 2. So against his better judgment dad stopped to ask directions. At this point I am reminded of a particularly odd quirk that my father displays when he stops somewhere in the car, he walks wherever he is going and runs back. So dad walked over to the gas station and soon came running back. Mom asked “Well what did he say?” “I don’t know.” Was dad’s answer, “I couldn’t understand him.”
OK so we tried again, this time I went with dad, after all we now knew that I did not have a speech impediment. The conversation went something like this:
Dad – “Which road do we take to get to Tulsa?”
Dumb look from gas station guy.
Me – “He said which road do we take to get to Tulsa?”
Guy – “Oh, you take the Cimarron Turnpike, highway 44.”
Dum look from dad.
Me- “He said take highway 44 the something ur other turnpike.”
Dad – “ok thanks.”
Guy – “OK thanks.
On we went to Tulsa and sure enough it was on the Cimarron Turnpike. We found Will Rogers museum, it was closed. So we went to the Fredrick Remington museum instead, I guess he was from Tulsa too, who knew?
But the highlight of the trip was finding a little dumpy restaurant, dad always seemed to find them, that served this marvel of the gastronomic arts known as “Broasted Chicken”. Broasting is something like frying in a pressure cooker. The skin gets extra super crispy and the meat stays moist. It is actually unbelievably good. After the gas station incident dad made me do all the talking so I got to order for the first time ever. Pretty cool!
The Good Life
Son Steve writes...
One Labor Day weekend in about 1977 or so before the discovery of Pig O Leigh dad, mom and I set out on an adventure that is fondly remembered (at least by me and dad) as “The Good Life”.
I was in 5th or 6th grade at the time and dad decided that we needed to take a trip for the long Labor Day weekend. It was a real treat going somewhere for a vacation that didn’t involve getting rained on at a lake or the 11 hour drive to Tomahawk. So I was very excited when dad announced that we would be going to Bagnell Dam in Missouri.
Apparently dad had heard about this great place to take your family that wasn’t too far away. It had bumper cars, arcades, put-put golf, t-shirt shops, restaurants, live entertainment (albeit a Hillbilly variety show…seriously, I am not just making fun of Missouri this time) and most importantly plenty of places to stay. Sounded like a nice place to checkout.
So on Friday after dad got home from work (mom was off on Fridays and worked Saturdays) at 5:30 we packed up and off we went on yet another fine adventure. The 3 and a half hour drive from Eudora to Osage Beach, where the actual dam is located, was fairly uneventful with the exception of a small town hospital that we passed that smelled like farts.
When we arrived at the dam it was about 9 pm. First things first, we need to find someplace to eat. We went along the tourist strip and found some food, I think mom had catfish, and I am pretty sure dad and I probably ate a burger, this is known as Missouri Surf and Turf. After satisfying our appetites the next order of business was finding a place to spend the night.
At this point I am reminded of a pregnant virgin and her carpenter husband looking for a place to stay, only the place we ended up was not as clean as a stable and the angels were Hell’s Angels. Come to find out that although there are “plenty of places to stay” they tend to fill up on holiday weekends if you don’t have a reservation.
As with most of the Hamlin family adventures this one was only half planned, who would have thought that a popular tourist town exactly half way between Kansas City and St. Louis would be full on the last weekend of summer? So we franticly searched for a place to spend the night. This was about the time when mom gave up being a good sport and began calling dad William George. There was a lot of William George’s and “let’s just go home’s” uttered before we happened upon the “cottages” that had a vacancy.
The cottages were literally at the foot of Bagnell Dam so later when we told people we had spent the weekend at the dam it was completely true. The cottages were whitewashed one room sheds with black tar paper roofs and a small front porch, just big enough for the one straight backed wooden chair with it’s many layers of paint peeling off, green, blue, yellow, orange, apparently each year it got a new color. Because the place was cheap the other occupants surrounding us were mostly bikers and young soldiers with their families, and by the time we arrived they were all well on their way to being fall down drunk.
Undeterred we checked out our cottage, immediately dad, trying to lighten the situation, began saying “This is the Good Life”, it stuck from that moment on this trip was remembered as “The Good Life”. The room had one exposed light bulb and two full sized beds. I called a bed and dove in only to find myself laying on top of a dusty mattress with my head on the floor and my feet in the air as the bed gave way under my weight. We had a good laugh until dad sat on the other be and he went ass of tea kettle himself. Then even mom had to laugh, she was starting to thaw. We got the beds “fixed” and then discovered that in order to use the bathroom (a toilet in a closet) you had to move the bed out of the way to open the door (thus setting off the chain reaction of beds falling on the floor again) and then sit on the toilet with you knee against the door to keep it closed.
Being the end of August it was much too hot at 10:00 pm to stay in this stuffy little cottage not to mention that there was so much drinking and commotion going on around us that there was no way to ignore it, so we decided to look around. We introduced ourselves to some of the other guests who invited us to join them and offered dad a beer. As with every other gathering I can recall, at some point in time dad started telling the “Man With the Golden Arm” and of course scared the crap out of some unsuspecting and very drunk young soldier who invariably flipped over backwards off of his camp stool while everyone laughed and had a good time at his expense.
We did eventually go to sleep that night and I think we went home the next day rather than try to find somewhere else to stay, but even if we did find somewhere else to stay and spent another night but it really doesn’t matter because all any of remember from that trip was “The Good Life”.
One Labor Day weekend in about 1977 or so before the discovery of Pig O Leigh dad, mom and I set out on an adventure that is fondly remembered (at least by me and dad) as “The Good Life”.
I was in 5th or 6th grade at the time and dad decided that we needed to take a trip for the long Labor Day weekend. It was a real treat going somewhere for a vacation that didn’t involve getting rained on at a lake or the 11 hour drive to Tomahawk. So I was very excited when dad announced that we would be going to Bagnell Dam in Missouri.
Apparently dad had heard about this great place to take your family that wasn’t too far away. It had bumper cars, arcades, put-put golf, t-shirt shops, restaurants, live entertainment (albeit a Hillbilly variety show…seriously, I am not just making fun of Missouri this time) and most importantly plenty of places to stay. Sounded like a nice place to checkout.
So on Friday after dad got home from work (mom was off on Fridays and worked Saturdays) at 5:30 we packed up and off we went on yet another fine adventure. The 3 and a half hour drive from Eudora to Osage Beach, where the actual dam is located, was fairly uneventful with the exception of a small town hospital that we passed that smelled like farts.
When we arrived at the dam it was about 9 pm. First things first, we need to find someplace to eat. We went along the tourist strip and found some food, I think mom had catfish, and I am pretty sure dad and I probably ate a burger, this is known as Missouri Surf and Turf. After satisfying our appetites the next order of business was finding a place to spend the night.
At this point I am reminded of a pregnant virgin and her carpenter husband looking for a place to stay, only the place we ended up was not as clean as a stable and the angels were Hell’s Angels. Come to find out that although there are “plenty of places to stay” they tend to fill up on holiday weekends if you don’t have a reservation.
As with most of the Hamlin family adventures this one was only half planned, who would have thought that a popular tourist town exactly half way between Kansas City and St. Louis would be full on the last weekend of summer? So we franticly searched for a place to spend the night. This was about the time when mom gave up being a good sport and began calling dad William George. There was a lot of William George’s and “let’s just go home’s” uttered before we happened upon the “cottages” that had a vacancy.
The cottages were literally at the foot of Bagnell Dam so later when we told people we had spent the weekend at the dam it was completely true. The cottages were whitewashed one room sheds with black tar paper roofs and a small front porch, just big enough for the one straight backed wooden chair with it’s many layers of paint peeling off, green, blue, yellow, orange, apparently each year it got a new color. Because the place was cheap the other occupants surrounding us were mostly bikers and young soldiers with their families, and by the time we arrived they were all well on their way to being fall down drunk.
Undeterred we checked out our cottage, immediately dad, trying to lighten the situation, began saying “This is the Good Life”, it stuck from that moment on this trip was remembered as “The Good Life”. The room had one exposed light bulb and two full sized beds. I called a bed and dove in only to find myself laying on top of a dusty mattress with my head on the floor and my feet in the air as the bed gave way under my weight. We had a good laugh until dad sat on the other be and he went ass of tea kettle himself. Then even mom had to laugh, she was starting to thaw. We got the beds “fixed” and then discovered that in order to use the bathroom (a toilet in a closet) you had to move the bed out of the way to open the door (thus setting off the chain reaction of beds falling on the floor again) and then sit on the toilet with you knee against the door to keep it closed.
Being the end of August it was much too hot at 10:00 pm to stay in this stuffy little cottage not to mention that there was so much drinking and commotion going on around us that there was no way to ignore it, so we decided to look around. We introduced ourselves to some of the other guests who invited us to join them and offered dad a beer. As with every other gathering I can recall, at some point in time dad started telling the “Man With the Golden Arm” and of course scared the crap out of some unsuspecting and very drunk young soldier who invariably flipped over backwards off of his camp stool while everyone laughed and had a good time at his expense.
We did eventually go to sleep that night and I think we went home the next day rather than try to find somewhere else to stay, but even if we did find somewhere else to stay and spent another night but it really doesn’t matter because all any of remember from that trip was “The Good Life”.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
A HALF A CENTURY - YIKES !!
High School friend Judy writes...
The Hamlins - Gee we go back a l-o-o-n-n-g way. Actually Jack and Mary Lou go back at least to 6th grade and the band. I met Mary Lou our freshman year in H.S. having gone to grade school at St. Mary’s. So we have many, many memories. We spent lots of time together with parties, babysitting, boyfriends, and school activities. And Lou was a lover - Neal (Jack’s brother), Myron, Mike, and Terry - before the love of her life arrived at T.H.S. in the fall of ’57. We double dated in high school, got married and had our babies pretty close together. Spent those early years working , (Jack and Bill together at the mill), washing diapers, partying, camping . And speaking of camping, one of our trips was probably one of those occasions you are looking to reminisce about at their 50th. The Rundles, the Hamlins and the Leggetts decided to attempt this wonderful adventure at Franklin Lake campground near Eagle River in July of ’66. The Rundles and Leggetts - being of lesser means - chose to pitch a borrowed Boy Scout 8-man tent. Of course they both had 3 month old boys who needed their bottles boiled and their cloth diapers changed - a monumental challenge in the “wilderness”. The Hamlins, being a tad more affluent, rented a popup camper for their family. Having jumped most of the hurdles imposed by such an endeavor, evening came and it was time to relax. The drinks came pretty fast and so did the bugs. But Bill was not to be daunted by that - it was party time and if that meant drinking his drinks bugs and all, so be it! Unfortunately the bugs weren’t the only obstacle that came our way that night - about an hour into the partying the thunder, lightning and rain came, too. What a rush - trying to get dripping lanterns, camp stoves, coolers and picnic baskets along with 2 babies in port-a-cribs, 4 adults and 4 kids into the tent - while, of course, Buggy Bill and his family were high and dry, smugly comfortable in their popup. But we are survivors and the rest of the trip was fun.
Then there were the many times we went out clubbing or to wedding receptions, etc. with Bill and Lou. And darn it all - Jack and Bill were always the best couple on the dance floor!
We were saddened when Hamlins moved to Kansas but have managed to visit them there 3 or 4 times. The last time, since it had been several years between visits, we drove aimlessly around Eudora for a long time looking for their house and finally hailed a policeman who offered to escort us. Unfortunately he drove around aimlessly, as well, for a few minutes before he finally found the Hamlin’s “hidden” house! Now we hope they never have an emergency.
We’ve worked on some 10 class reunions together (and hopefully there will be more) which have all been special as we are the only 2 couples from the class of ‘58 that married. The internet has made it possible to communicate regularly and keep track of kids, grandkids and now great-grandkids! Bill and Jack get together in the Newwood when Bill’s “up north” to enjoy the stump burning, ATVing and outdoors. We’ve both been to “The Antiques Road Show” and enjoy our “old” artifacts. Speaking of which, there’s that Midget Mason Jar………
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Planning Anniversary Parties
We plan to have two anniversary parties for Mom & Dad--one in Kansas and one in Wisconsin.
On Saturday, June 27, 2009 Mom and Dad will renew their wedding vows at a Saturday evening service at Holy Family Catholic Church in Eudora, KS. There will be a reception following. On Sunday, July 5, 2009 we will be hosting a pot-luck picnic at Veterans Park in Tomahawk, WI. More details will be added here later.
On Saturday, June 27, 2009 Mom and Dad will renew their wedding vows at a Saturday evening service at Holy Family Catholic Church in Eudora, KS. There will be a reception following. On Sunday, July 5, 2009 we will be hosting a pot-luck picnic at Veterans Park in Tomahawk, WI. More details will be added here later.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Grass 'N Mud
Granddaughter Hannah writes...
I don't want to steal Jason's thunder, but I consider it my duty to share this story. I can promise every bit is true and accurate, as I, being one of many innocent bystanders, witnessed the whole thing. From the loud crash at the cabin door to the thick aroma emitted from the bucket of water as he pulled the underpants out two very long days later, I saw it all.
Jason w
as 11, so it must have been 1998, and he had been several years potty trained. Grandma and Grandpa had taken us north to the cabin for our annual 4th of July liaison and the first thing Jason wanted to do was hoist the canoe on his monstrous back and head down to Lake Somo. It was maybe a quarter mile walk down to landing and Jason, blindly trudging, balanced the front end on his huge melon and dragged the tail of the silver beast behind him. We laughed, mocking his confidence, but he must have made it to the water, since that's where it hit him.
He decided to do some casting from one of the thin docks. Tossing his line out, reeling it back in. Over and over. Out. In. Out. In. There was little success fishing from the dock, but Jason had the patience. After failing for half an hour, he gathered his gear and loaded up the canoe. As he lifted his first leg to climb in, a deep howl resounded from his belly. He stood dead still, leg stiff in the air with his eyes wide open.
"I gotta run!" he thought. If he was to make it to the cabin he would have to take the quarter mile at a dead sprint. He took off, running up the stairs beside the Lodge and cutting through the parking lot. He nearly clotheslined himself on the useless volleyball net as he ran into the small grove of trees on the edge of the Lodge property. He darted from side to side, like an agile cat, dodging tree after tree. Then, as quick as he'd been running, he stopped, lifted one leg and let a bellowing fart, making room and buying him a few extra seconds. He was only 50 yards from the cabin door and already we could hear him yelling "MOVE!"
Grandma and I had been washing dishes, Grandpa was out back fixing something and I think Zac was reading a National Geo on the couch (Hamlin men love those Native ladies). Grandma and I looked at each other as the cabin door burst open and before we could say anything, the bathroom door slammed shut behind Jason.
"It smells like he pooped his pants" Grandma said quietly. A huge grin began to take over her face as we heard a muffled voice from the bathroom:
"OH MAN! OH NO! OHHHHH MMMMAAAANNNNNN!" Jason repeated as the smell slowly devoured the cabin. Grandma began to shake silently as tears of laughter streamed down her face.
"What's the matter, Jason?" She asked in between cackles.
"I think I pooped my pants." He said, as if unsure as to whether the underpants were full of that, or chocolate pudding. Immediately, I called home.
"Jason hahahahah pooped hahahahahhahahahahah his hahahahahahahah pants hahahah!!!!!" I laughed into the phone. Strangely, dad didn't find it very amusing. So I hung up and joined to rest of the family in laughter.
Grandpa came in the back door. "What the holy hell is that smell?" he asked. We each laughed harder than we'd ever laughed before. At one point, Zac was literally rolling on the floor.
Then, the bathroom door swung open and Jason emerged, clearly exhausted, and proceeded to tell us what had happened. He was a good sport, I must admit, until he found out that I had called dad.
"It didn't poop my pants, HANNAH!" he screamed "when I was running through the trees I slipped and fell and grass 'n mud got in my pants!"
Grandpa helped him to fill a five gallon bucket with water so he could soak the 'grass 'n mud' stained underpants. Two days later, when he lifted them out with what SHOULD have been a ten foot pole, we instantly traveled back in time and laughed (and gagged) reminiscently.
He held on to it, too. Grass n' mud. For YEARS! (Much like the cookie dough incident involving Zac and a tube of Pillsbury chocolate chip, but that's a different story, and probably more inappropriate than this). In fact, Jason's first email address was GrassNmud98@aol.com. No lie!
On a personal note, this is one of my fondest childhood memories. I can vividly remember standing in the kitchen with Grandma when Jason ran by. Each time I tell the story, no matter who the audience, I can't help but laugh throughout.
I don't want to steal Jason's thunder, but I consider it my duty to share this story. I can promise every bit is true and accurate, as I, being one of many innocent bystanders, witnessed the whole thing. From the loud crash at the cabin door to the thick aroma emitted from the bucket of water as he pulled the underpants out two very long days later, I saw it all.
Jason w
as 11, so it must have been 1998, and he had been several years potty trained. Grandma and Grandpa had taken us north to the cabin for our annual 4th of July liaison and the first thing Jason wanted to do was hoist the canoe on his monstrous back and head down to Lake Somo. It was maybe a quarter mile walk down to landing and Jason, blindly trudging, balanced the front end on his huge melon and dragged the tail of the silver beast behind him. We laughed, mocking his confidence, but he must have made it to the water, since that's where it hit him.He decided to do some casting from one of the thin docks. Tossing his line out, reeling it back in. Over and over. Out. In. Out. In. There was little success fishing from the dock, but Jason had the patience. After failing for half an hour, he gathered his gear and loaded up the canoe. As he lifted his first leg to climb in, a deep howl resounded from his belly. He stood dead still, leg stiff in the air with his eyes wide open.
"I gotta run!" he thought. If he was to make it to the cabin he would have to take the quarter mile at a dead sprint. He took off, running up the stairs beside the Lodge and cutting through the parking lot. He nearly clotheslined himself on the useless volleyball net as he ran into the small grove of trees on the edge of the Lodge property. He darted from side to side, like an agile cat, dodging tree after tree. Then, as quick as he'd been running, he stopped, lifted one leg and let a bellowing fart, making room and buying him a few extra seconds. He was only 50 yards from the cabin door and already we could hear him yelling "MOVE!"
Grandma and I had been washing dishes, Grandpa was out back fixing something and I think Zac was reading a National Geo on the couch (Hamlin men love those Native ladies). Grandma and I looked at each other as the cabin door burst open and before we could say anything, the bathroom door slammed shut behind Jason.
"It smells like he pooped his pants" Grandma said quietly. A huge grin began to take over her face as we heard a muffled voice from the bathroom:
"OH MAN! OH NO! OHHHHH MMMMAAAANNNNNN!" Jason repeated as the smell slowly devoured the cabin. Grandma began to shake silently as tears of laughter streamed down her face.
"What's the matter, Jason?" She asked in between cackles.
"I think I pooped my pants." He said, as if unsure as to whether the underpants were full of that, or chocolate pudding. Immediately, I called home.
"Jason hahahahah pooped hahahahahhahahahahah his hahahahahahahah pants hahahah!!!!!" I laughed into the phone. Strangely, dad didn't find it very amusing. So I hung up and joined to rest of the family in laughter.
Grandpa came in the back door. "What the holy hell is that smell?" he asked. We each laughed harder than we'd ever laughed before. At one point, Zac was literally rolling on the floor.
Then, the bathroom door swung open and Jason emerged, clearly exhausted, and proceeded to tell us what had happened. He was a good sport, I must admit, until he found out that I had called dad.
"It didn't poop my pants, HANNAH!" he screamed "when I was running through the trees I slipped and fell and grass 'n mud got in my pants!"
Grandpa helped him to fill a five gallon bucket with water so he could soak the 'grass 'n mud' stained underpants. Two days later, when he lifted them out with what SHOULD have been a ten foot pole, we instantly traveled back in time and laughed (and gagged) reminiscently.
He held on to it, too. Grass n' mud. For YEARS! (Much like the cookie dough incident involving Zac and a tube of Pillsbury chocolate chip, but that's a different story, and probably more inappropriate than this). In fact, Jason's first email address was GrassNmud98@aol.com. No lie!
On a personal note, this is one of my fondest childhood memories. I can vividly remember standing in the kitchen with Grandma when Jason ran by. Each time I tell the story, no matter who the audience, I can't help but laugh throughout.
Sharing the Cabin with Friends
High School friend Gwen writes...
During the August of 2008, the THS class of 1958 gathered in Tomahawk to reunite after 50 years. For some of us it was almost 50 years since we saw each other, I being one of those. It was a joyous weekend for me, and my husband Paul, enjoyed it equally even though he knew no one prior to that weekend.
It was you, Mary Lou and Bill who made the weekend so memorable for us. You invited us to stay with you at your little red cottage on Somo Lake. From the first moment to the last, you made us feel comfortable and welcome. Perhaps the highlight of each evening was the return to the cottage and the bonfire Bill lit. He saved the best for the last night when he set a hollow stump on the fire. We watched it act like a chimney by shooting flames up through the hole in the center. It was enchanting, especially for us since we no longer doing any camping, and wouldn't have access to such a treasure.
Thank you for granting us such a pleasurable reunion. We loved your cottage and love you as well!
Mary Lou, you will always remain in my fondest memories of THS as being a part of the quartet that sang "To Sing Awhile". Too bad we didn't sing more songs together. I am sorry that Jane and Mary Jo were not with us last summer to reminisce about the 'good old days'!
May God bless you and grant you many happy, healthy years ahead.
With love,
Paul and Gwen O'Brien
P.O.B 452
Hereford, AZ 85615
It was you, Mary Lou and Bill who made the weekend so memorable for us. You invited us to stay with you at your little red cottage on Somo Lake. From the first moment to the last, you made us feel comfortable and welcome. Perhaps the highlight of each evening was the return to the cottage and the bonfire Bill lit. He saved the best for the last night when he set a hollow stump on the fire. We watched it act like a chimney by shooting flames up through the hole in the center. It was enchanting, especially for us since we no longer doing any camping, and wouldn't have access to such a treasure.
Thank you for granting us such a pleasurable reunion. We loved your cottage and love you as well!
Mary Lou, you will always remain in my fondest memories of THS as being a part of the quartet that sang "To Sing Awhile". Too bad we didn't sing more songs together. I am sorry that Jane and Mary Jo were not with us last summer to reminisce about the 'good old days'!
May God bless you and grant you many happy, healthy years ahead.
With love,
Paul and Gwen O'Brien
P.O.B 452
Hereford, AZ 85615
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
What is that Awful Smell?
Son Steve writes...
Unlike my older brother and his PF Flyers I had wide, fat feet which would only fit in one style of shoe brown Hush Puppies. And the only place that sold brown Hush Puppies was in Wausau. Back then we only bought clothes and shoes once a year and that was at the end of the summer right before school started, well that isn’t totally true, I often got long underwear for my birthday in January. I wasn’t in school yet but I still got to get new shoes.
Brown Hush Puppies, while not as cool as PF Flyers, did have their strengths. For one they were completely water proof, which had the unfortunate side effect of not letting moisture out of the shoe from the inside. PF Flyers could make you run faster and jump higher but brown Hush Puppies could create an impenetrable force field around you protecting you from unwanted intruders and back to school shoppers.
Case in point, one summer afternoon, on our yearly trip to Wausau for school clothes and shoes. It was a hot day, not Kansas hot but we didn’t know any better yet. Anyway it was a hot day, we were in the car for the one hour drive to Wausau and I decided to take off my brown Hush Puppies to let my feet cool off. Being the youngest I will freely admit that I was somewhat spoiled so I was in the front seat with mom and dad, which gave me unrestricted access to the cool air vents in the station wagon.
I casually propped my hot sweaty feet up in front of the air vent and listened to the moaning begin from my siblings in the back seat. That moaning turned to yelling and at some point perhaps vomiting. For on this day I was not wearing socks with my brown Hush Puppies so in the year old shoes my sweaty feet had become exceptionally bad smelling. The smell that filled the station wagon an instant later was horrifying. The police once asked to bottle that scent to use for tear gas but it was impossible to duplicate in the lab.
When we arrived in Wausau the story took a turn for the, well, worse. Sitting on the sidewalk outside of the clothing stores waiting for the older kids to get their school clothes (for some reason mom and dad didn’t let me go in the stores) I noticed that the side walk on my side of the street was empty. Then I noticed people would walk toward me, get within range of my feet, cross the street with their hands over their noses walk past me, then cross the street back to my side of the street out of range. Several times passers by were heard to mutter phrases like “did you smell that kid’s feet” and “my God what is that horrible smell?”.
I didn’t get a new pair of brown Hush Puppies that day. I am pretty sure the shoe store wouldn’t have let me try on shoes that day. So dad stuffed my old brown Hush Puppies back on me for the one hour ride home. I don’t remember as much moaning and screaming on the way home so the smell must have been slightly less offensive with the shoes on.
Unlike my older brother and his PF Flyers I had wide, fat feet which would only fit in one style of shoe brown Hush Puppies. And the only place that sold brown Hush Puppies was in Wausau. Back then we only bought clothes and shoes once a year and that was at the end of the summer right before school started, well that isn’t totally true, I often got long underwear for my birthday in January. I wasn’t in school yet but I still got to get new shoes.
Brown Hush Puppies, while not as cool as PF Flyers, did have their strengths. For one they were completely water proof, which had the unfortunate side effect of not letting moisture out of the shoe from the inside. PF Flyers could make you run faster and jump higher but brown Hush Puppies could create an impenetrable force field around you protecting you from unwanted intruders and back to school shoppers.
Case in point, one summer afternoon, on our yearly trip to Wausau for school clothes and shoes. It was a hot day, not Kansas hot but we didn’t know any better yet. Anyway it was a hot day, we were in the car for the one hour drive to Wausau and I decided to take off my brown Hush Puppies to let my feet cool off. Being the youngest I will freely admit that I was somewhat spoiled so I was in the front seat with mom and dad, which gave me unrestricted access to the cool air vents in the station wagon.
I casually propped my hot sweaty feet up in front of the air vent and listened to the moaning begin from my siblings in the back seat. That moaning turned to yelling and at some point perhaps vomiting. For on this day I was not wearing socks with my brown Hush Puppies so in the year old shoes my sweaty feet had become exceptionally bad smelling. The smell that filled the station wagon an instant later was horrifying. The police once asked to bottle that scent to use for tear gas but it was impossible to duplicate in the lab.
When we arrived in Wausau the story took a turn for the, well, worse. Sitting on the sidewalk outside of the clothing stores waiting for the older kids to get their school clothes (for some reason mom and dad didn’t let me go in the stores) I noticed that the side walk on my side of the street was empty. Then I noticed people would walk toward me, get within range of my feet, cross the street with their hands over their noses walk past me, then cross the street back to my side of the street out of range. Several times passers by were heard to mutter phrases like “did you smell that kid’s feet” and “my God what is that horrible smell?”.
I didn’t get a new pair of brown Hush Puppies that day. I am pretty sure the shoe store wouldn’t have let me try on shoes that day. So dad stuffed my old brown Hush Puppies back on me for the one hour ride home. I don’t remember as much moaning and screaming on the way home so the smell must have been slightly less offensive with the shoes on.
Studded Snow Tires
Son Steve writes...
I was 5 when we moved from Wisconsin to Kansas so I don’t have a great deal of memories of living in Tomahawk, but I do have one that sticks out.
One cold and wintery night my best friend Billy was over at the house playing. It was time for Billy to go home, probably supper time but I don’t remember that part. It was dark, cold and snowy like it always is in my memories of Wisconsin.
Dad had just purchased a new set of studded snow tires for the car. I say they were new but knowing dad and our family’s financial situation at the time I am guessing they were “No Huntin” brand. Anyway dad was very proud of these new tires and wanted to show off their capabilities, so he offered to drive Billy home, more than a block away.
We bundled up in our best warm clothes (I hope mom didn’t put tights on me but I am sure she did, another childhood memory from my days in Tomahawk) and headed off into the night to find the car. Dad put us in the front seat of the car, started her up (I don’t remember the make and model of the car but I am pretty sure it was a station wagon of some sort) unplugged the extension cord, jumped in and let her warm up.
After the warming up period was complete dad slapped the shifter into reverse, looked at Billy and I and said “are you ready?”. “Yeah!!!!” was the resounding reply, after all, we had been hearing tales of the miracles that these new tires could perform and now we were about to be among the first to witness this new standard of tire performance.
The frivolity had barely settled when dad stomped on the accelerator. The station wagon lurched backwards with tremendous acceleration followed by a deafening crash and an equal and opposite deceleration. We turned around to find that the whole world had turned red, or so it seemed to a 4 year old kid. Actually it was tail lights of the car illuminating the tree that dad had just backed into.Yes that’s right dad had slammed full speed into a tree backwards. Thanks to the new studded snow tires we were able to get enough traction to really ram that sucker
I was 5 when we moved from Wisconsin to Kansas so I don’t have a great deal of memories of living in Tomahawk, but I do have one that sticks out.
One cold and wintery night my best friend Billy was over at the house playing. It was time for Billy to go home, probably supper time but I don’t remember that part. It was dark, cold and snowy like it always is in my memories of Wisconsin.
Dad had just purchased a new set of studded snow tires for the car. I say they were new but knowing dad and our family’s financial situation at the time I am guessing they were “No Huntin” brand. Anyway dad was very proud of these new tires and wanted to show off their capabilities, so he offered to drive Billy home, more than a block away.
We bundled up in our best warm clothes (I hope mom didn’t put tights on me but I am sure she did, another childhood memory from my days in Tomahawk) and headed off into the night to find the car. Dad put us in the front seat of the car, started her up (I don’t remember the make and model of the car but I am pretty sure it was a station wagon of some sort) unplugged the extension cord, jumped in and let her warm up.
After the warming up period was complete dad slapped the shifter into reverse, looked at Billy and I and said “are you ready?”. “Yeah!!!!” was the resounding reply, after all, we had been hearing tales of the miracles that these new tires could perform and now we were about to be among the first to witness this new standard of tire performance.
The frivolity had barely settled when dad stomped on the accelerator. The station wagon lurched backwards with tremendous acceleration followed by a deafening crash and an equal and opposite deceleration. We turned around to find that the whole world had turned red, or so it seemed to a 4 year old kid. Actually it was tail lights of the car illuminating the tree that dad had just backed into.Yes that’s right dad had slammed full speed into a tree backwards. Thanks to the new studded snow tires we were able to get enough traction to really ram that sucker
Chicken Chow Mein
Son Steve writes...
Let me start by saying I hate Chinese food. Why I hate Chinese food is a long story that started with bare feet and ended with “the Hamlin curse”.
When we first moved to Kansas in August of 1972 our house wasn’t ready for us to move into so we stayed at the Holiday Inn in Lawrence for a few days. Like most motels there was a restaurant in the parking lot. I don’t know the name of the restaurant, I think my mind might be blocking as often happens when the brain wants to forget a particularly traumatic event.
Anyway it was summer and like most kids I didn’t like wearing shoes in the summertime, this isn’t the stinky feet story, that is for another time. So when we went to the restaurant for dinner that evening I was barefoot. Upon seeing that I had no shoes the waitress told my parents “I can’t serve him because he doesn’t have shoes on.” I remember my mom saying “a five year old kid you have to be kidding”. She wasn’t.
So we go around the table making our order and I ordered Chicken Chow Mein. While we waited for our food mom took me back to the room to get a pair of shoes. So back I went with shoes on, problem solved, or so I thought.
At this point in the story I think I should explain what the Hamlin curse is because I think this is where it all started. Whenever I go out to eat with other people, it can be one other person or it can be 50 it doesn’t matter, something always goes wrong. Some incidents are worse than others ranging from a whole table of us not being served at a Christmas party to getting Sprite instead of water. The only constant is that something always goes wrong. It happens so often that I don’t even get upset anymore.
Anyway back to 1972, we went back to the restaurant with shoes on and joined the family for dinner. Soon everyone’s order showed up and everyone began eating, everyone that is except for me. No chicken chow mein to be found anywhere. “Um excuse me miss, my son didn’t get his order.” I brought you everything that you ordered. “um, no you didn’t, he ordered chicken chow mein.” Well I didn’t turn it in because he didn’t have shoes on.
That was the moment that I no longer liked Chinese food. Everyone ate, I watched and waited for chicken chow mein. Everyone finished their meal, no chicken chow mein. Everyone left to go back to the room (except me and mom) no chicken chow mein. We finally gave up on the chicken chow mein and went back to the room.
And with that the Hamlin curse was born.
To this day I have not ordered nor eaten chicken chow mein, and I have not had a meal out with other people where something didn’t go wrong.
Let me start by saying I hate Chinese food. Why I hate Chinese food is a long story that started with bare feet and ended with “the Hamlin curse”.
When we first moved to Kansas in August of 1972 our house wasn’t ready for us to move into so we stayed at the Holiday Inn in Lawrence for a few days. Like most motels there was a restaurant in the parking lot. I don’t know the name of the restaurant, I think my mind might be blocking as often happens when the brain wants to forget a particularly traumatic event.
Anyway it was summer and like most kids I didn’t like wearing shoes in the summertime, this isn’t the stinky feet story, that is for another time. So when we went to the restaurant for dinner that evening I was barefoot. Upon seeing that I had no shoes the waitress told my parents “I can’t serve him because he doesn’t have shoes on.” I remember my mom saying “a five year old kid you have to be kidding”. She wasn’t.
So we go around the table making our order and I ordered Chicken Chow Mein. While we waited for our food mom took me back to the room to get a pair of shoes. So back I went with shoes on, problem solved, or so I thought.
At this point in the story I think I should explain what the Hamlin curse is because I think this is where it all started. Whenever I go out to eat with other people, it can be one other person or it can be 50 it doesn’t matter, something always goes wrong. Some incidents are worse than others ranging from a whole table of us not being served at a Christmas party to getting Sprite instead of water. The only constant is that something always goes wrong. It happens so often that I don’t even get upset anymore.
Anyway back to 1972, we went back to the restaurant with shoes on and joined the family for dinner. Soon everyone’s order showed up and everyone began eating, everyone that is except for me. No chicken chow mein to be found anywhere. “Um excuse me miss, my son didn’t get his order.” I brought you everything that you ordered. “um, no you didn’t, he ordered chicken chow mein.” Well I didn’t turn it in because he didn’t have shoes on.
That was the moment that I no longer liked Chinese food. Everyone ate, I watched and waited for chicken chow mein. Everyone finished their meal, no chicken chow mein. Everyone left to go back to the room (except me and mom) no chicken chow mein. We finally gave up on the chicken chow mein and went back to the room.
And with that the Hamlin curse was born.
To this day I have not ordered nor eaten chicken chow mein, and I have not had a meal out with other people where something didn’t go wrong.
Walking to School
Son Steve writes...
As anyone reading this will probably know the Hamlin family moved from Tomahawk, WI to Eudora, KS in August of 1972. This happened to coincide with me beginning kindergarten.
If you have ever been to Kansas in August you know that it is the hottest month of the year and for some reason the most humid. Temperatures regularly top 100 degrees at this time of year in Kansas, which makes this tale especially amazing.
Our house in Eudora was exactly 1 mile from the grade school that I attended. Each morning mom would get me ready for school and armed with a small bottle of water off we went to trek the mile to the school. Now I won’t say it was up hill both ways or driving snow or any of those old cliché’s but it was Kansas and it was August.
Mom had to walk me to school each day because we didn’t have a second car and dad took the one we had (a station wagon of course) to work in Lawrence. So we really had no choice, I would like to say that were ahead of our time and thinking green and all that but we just didn’t have a second car.
Anyway, off we went to school every day, then mom would turn around and walk home and then being kindergarten she would come back at noon to pick me up. So while I walked 2 miles a day mom walked 4. Did I mention that this was August in Kansas.
Being a 5 year old kid I don’t remember the effect me the heat had on me, but you have to remember we had just moved from Wisconsin a few days earlier. I can’t imagine how uncomfortable mom must have been walking 4 miles a day just to take me to school and back in 100+ degree temperatures. In August it never really cools off, the night time lows rarely get below 90 degrees, so even the mornings were hot and sticky.
I don’t remember how long this situation lasted before we got a car or mom found me a ride but even a week is admirable for a mother to endure to get her kindergartner to school.
As anyone reading this will probably know the Hamlin family moved from Tomahawk, WI to Eudora, KS in August of 1972. This happened to coincide with me beginning kindergarten.
If you have ever been to Kansas in August you know that it is the hottest month of the year and for some reason the most humid. Temperatures regularly top 100 degrees at this time of year in Kansas, which makes this tale especially amazing.
Our house in Eudora was exactly 1 mile from the grade school that I attended. Each morning mom would get me ready for school and armed with a small bottle of water off we went to trek the mile to the school. Now I won’t say it was up hill both ways or driving snow or any of those old cliché’s but it was Kansas and it was August.
Mom had to walk me to school each day because we didn’t have a second car and dad took the one we had (a station wagon of course) to work in Lawrence. So we really had no choice, I would like to say that were ahead of our time and thinking green and all that but we just didn’t have a second car.
Anyway, off we went to school every day, then mom would turn around and walk home and then being kindergarten she would come back at noon to pick me up. So while I walked 2 miles a day mom walked 4. Did I mention that this was August in Kansas.
Being a 5 year old kid I don’t remember the effect me the heat had on me, but you have to remember we had just moved from Wisconsin a few days earlier. I can’t imagine how uncomfortable mom must have been walking 4 miles a day just to take me to school and back in 100+ degree temperatures. In August it never really cools off, the night time lows rarely get below 90 degrees, so even the mornings were hot and sticky.
I don’t remember how long this situation lasted before we got a car or mom found me a ride but even a week is admirable for a mother to endure to get her kindergartner to school.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Skating Backwards and Other Feats of Daring
Daughter Teri writes...
A lot of my memories go back to cold and frozen winters in Wisconsin. Growing up close to the Wisconsin River, we had what we called a pond in the back yard. We couldn't wait for it to freeze over for the winter. After dad made sure it was frozen enough for us to play on, us older kids would spend the day shoveling the show off of our very own "ice rink". After dinner we would all put our snow suits on strap on our ice skates and away we would go. Mom had to stay in the house with Steve who was little at the time, but was watching out the picture window, as we made our way to the pond. Me, being the third child, was always in awe of the great moves that Kim and Scot were able to do. After all the were only 1 or 2 years my senior. I always wanted to be able to skate like them. Little did I know that they were taught by a true professional. Our father. So, I thought I could learn a few of his tricks too. As a young and impressionable girl you are to always taught to trust your father, after all he loved me and he would only want to help me right? Well, remember who we are talking about here. He would alway agree and promise that "I will teach you to skate backwards". Cool right, I could hardly skate forwards but how cool would it be to be able to skate "backwards". Yeah,Yeah I would say, thinking I was going to look like all those professional skaters. He would line me up in front of him, and with Kim and Scot cheering him on, he would proceed to push me backwards, right into the snowbank. They would all get a good laugh out of it, and I'm sure that I would scurry up to the house crying to mom. I don't think I ever master that whole skating backwards thing but, it sure brings back a lot of great memories. I love you Mom and Dad, thanks for the great memories.
My first Easter as a Hamlin
Daughter-In-Law Laura writes...
I married into the Hamlin family in 1992 marrying the baby of the family(Steve). My first Easter at the Hamlin home in Eudora was quite memorable. In my family we always celebrated Easter by having an easter egg hunt(real eggs that we had decorated) in our big country backyard. We usually had the hunt in the morning or sometimes in the afternoon after attending church and having a big family dinner. If we did have candy, it was always later in the day after we had eaten a meal.
Well, was I in for a new adventure in 1993. We arrived at the Hamlin home I believe the evening before Easter. On Easter Sunday we all attended mass and then came home to the Hamlin home. It was probably around 10 or 10:30 am and the Easter Egg Hunt began. The grandkids at that time were Zac, Hannah, Jason, Caleb, Jordan and Travis. All of the grandkids went out and hunted to their heart's delight and found tons of chocolate candy, jelly beans, malted milk eggs and much more. Everyone returned indoors and sat around the living room visiting and eating candy. This continued for the next 2 hours or more! I watched as the adults stuffed their faces with candy and more candy and the children continued doing the same. I finally asked Steve at around 1 pm if we were going to have lunch anytime soon as I was about to pass out from hunger. Little did I know that I was supposed to be eating candy for the past 2 hours to keep my blood sugar up. I finally went to the frig and found a piece of cheese or a sandwich to keep from passing out.
Finally around 2:30 in the afternoon we had lunch. For some reason the children didn't really feel hungry and just kind of picked at their food! Shortly after lunch, Caleb walked over to the couch and proceeded to PUKE(Spew,Vomit,Barf) whatever you like to call it, in Hannah's shoes and all over the couch. Wow, I would have never guessed that that might happen! After only 4-5 hours of eating candy one of the kids got sick! It was certainly a memorable holiday for me.
I married into the Hamlin family in 1992 marrying the baby of the family(Steve). My first Easter at the Hamlin home in Eudora was quite memorable. In my family we always celebrated Easter by having an easter egg hunt(real eggs that we had decorated) in our big country backyard. We usually had the hunt in the morning or sometimes in the afternoon after attending church and having a big family dinner. If we did have candy, it was always later in the day after we had eaten a meal.
Well, was I in for a new adventure in 1993. We arrived at the Hamlin home I believe the evening before Easter. On Easter Sunday we all attended mass and then came home to the Hamlin home. It was probably around 10 or 10:30 am and the Easter Egg Hunt began. The grandkids at that time were Zac, Hannah, Jason, Caleb, Jordan and Travis. All of the grandkids went out and hunted to their heart's delight and found tons of chocolate candy, jelly beans, malted milk eggs and much more. Everyone returned indoors and sat around the living room visiting and eating candy. This continued for the next 2 hours or more! I watched as the adults stuffed their faces with candy and more candy and the children continued doing the same. I finally asked Steve at around 1 pm if we were going to have lunch anytime soon as I was about to pass out from hunger. Little did I know that I was supposed to be eating candy for the past 2 hours to keep my blood sugar up. I finally went to the frig and found a piece of cheese or a sandwich to keep from passing out.
Finally around 2:30 in the afternoon we had lunch. For some reason the children didn't really feel hungry and just kind of picked at their food! Shortly after lunch, Caleb walked over to the couch and proceeded to PUKE(Spew,Vomit,Barf) whatever you like to call it, in Hannah's shoes and all over the couch. Wow, I would have never guessed that that might happen! After only 4-5 hours of eating candy one of the kids got sick! It was certainly a memorable holiday for me.
Piano Moving and Other Hazardous Activites
Son Steve writes...
In most families moving furniture is not considered hazardous, I said MOST families, not our family.
It all started one fine Saturday morning in central Kansas. The sun was out, the temperature was 75 and the south wind had not yet awoken from it’s nightly nap to rage at the day at 50 mph. It was on this typical July morning that I picked up the moving truck from my local truck rental agency in Salina. Knowing that the heaviest piano ever constructed was waiting for me in Hays (about 100 miles away), I was facing the drive with trepidation.
The drive was uneventful, as most drives across the western Kansas are, buffalo roamed, deer played, (that whole antelope thing is a bunch of crap!) and skies were not cloudy all day, only for a few hours in the afternoon when a storm blew in and got all the stuff that was still in the back of pickup trucks all wet. I wish I could say that discouraging words were seldom heard, but well, we were moving a piano after all.
Arriving at my new bride’s old house in Hays I suddenly got a chill and a sense of foreboding. Then I saw it, her grandmother’s piano, a beautiful mahogany full size upright piano with a cast iron soundboard. How bad can it be I thought to myself, I have moved pianos before, it isn’t a big deal. I was wrong.
Moving the piano out of the old house was a breeze. Backed the truck up in the front yard, extended the walkway plank out of the back of the truck right to the door jam of the house. Me on one side and two of my friends on the other, we were 25 and bullet proof, what could an old piano do to harm us?!? We got the piano into the back of the box truck, loaded Laura’s remaining possessions and waved goodbye to Hays, Kansas.
After another exhilarating drive across the grassy plains of western Kansas, described by early explores alternately as “The Great American Desert” and “A Rolling Mass of Nothing”, the piano and I arrived back at our new home in Salina. Awaiting us was my father and mother, my new stepson, several friends and a few curious onlookers who had heard the legend of grandma’s piano.
Almost immediately the trouble began, the new house had two 40” maple trees in the front yard, one of which was parked directly in front of the front door, so backing the box truck up to the front door, as we had done at the old house, was out of the question. We could have cut down the tree I suppose, and the engineer in me thought this was the most logical solution to the problem, how long could it take to grow a new one? But my new bride was instant that she knew more about trees than I do so the tree remained.
Without backing the truck up to the door the walkway was useless, well not entirely it did get in the way later causing the nearly fatal mishap that was to happen later.
\In a matter of a few minutes all the items were removed from the back of the truck, everything that is except the piano. How do you get a 1000 lb piano out of the back of a truck that is 4 feet off the ground? With a ramp of course! The walkway plank extended to the ground making a ramp just wide enough for the piano. We lifted it off the back of the truck onto the ramp and slowly slid it down to the ground. In fact it worked so well that someone suggested that we prop it up the front stairs of the house to ramp into the house in a similar manor.
With the ramp in place there was only enough room for one person in the doorway of the house, did I mention I was 25 and bullet proof?, so I got a good grip the old girl, lifted her up and got ready to move her into the house. About that time I felt what can only be described as a strange sensation on the side of my head followed by a sudden narrowing of my field of vision, my foot slipped off the door lintel onto the ramp turning my ankle as it slid off the ramp onto the concrete step. While all of this was happening I heard my new stepson say “mom, Steve’s head was stuck in the door”. What?!?, that would explain the pain, near loss of consciousness and falling off the lintel/ramp/step. How could this have happened? Well the explanation was really very simple, my father and the other 50 people gathered around had decided to push on the piano at the exact instant that I lifted the other end. Normally this would have worked perfectly by the sudden movement knocked me off balance, pinning my head between the corner of the piano and the door frame. Unfortunately the freight train that is my father and all who were assisting him on this particular day could not stop suddenly and continued to push their end of the piano oblivious to my condition.
Fortunately I inherited a hard head from one of my parents (you can determine for yourself which one) and no permanent damage was done to me, the piano or the door frame and after two or three more futile attempts at getting the piano through the doorway the mission was finally accomplished with no further injuries.
Craig-O-Leigh
Son Steve writes...
Craig-O-Leigh or Pig-O as it is affectionately referred to amongst any of us lucky enough to fall victim to it’s charms, was a small run down resort in Pineville, MO.
My first trip to Pig-O was when I was in 7th grade. My parents and their friends Veet and Rudy Cleveland decided to go on a canoe trip in southern Missouri. Clevelands brought their youngest son Shawn who was 3 or 4 years older than me.
After a rather uneventful 5 hour drive from Eudora to Pineville we arrived to find that no one in Pineville had ever heard of Craig-O-Leigh, not a good sign seeing as how this was supposed to be a “resort”. Finally after asking all 13 people in town one grizzled old pioneer had heard a legend about a Hollywood film director who had moved to the Pineville area in the 1930’s to open a resort. “That must be it” dad said, “how do we get there?”
And thus the real adventure began, at the end of a barely maintained mostly dirt road that lead east out of town we found a collection of rundown “cabins” that looked like something out of a “Beverly Hillbillies” introduction. Each had a wooden shingle nailed to the side with a name on it. On this particular adventure we stayed at “Clyde”, later as more of the family members joined the Pig-O experience we moved to “Ivanhoe” the two story cabin, but that is a tale for another time, for now we will concentrate on “Clyde”.
Clyde was a small 2 room (well 3 if you count the closet that was turned into a bathroom/shower at some point in time) shack, shack is being kind. The floorboards were full of holes, cracks and protruding nails. A screened in porch served as the bedroom with two full size “beds”. Needless to say a high school student did not want to share a bedroom with his parents so Shawn decided to sleep outside on the picnic table (but more on that later).
Mom and Veet were less than impressed with Craig-O-Leigh even when they found out that the “Jesse James Cave” was near by. Turns out that the place really had been started by an ex-Hollywood movie director and his crowning achievement was a film about Jesse James, a local hero to the area whom gained some notoriety as an outlaw in the late 1800’s. The aforementioned cave was used in the movie as a hideout for Mr. James and his “gang”.
Upon walking a narrow path around a rock bluff hill there was indeed a cave. From the east side of the cave extended an unkempt and deteriorating stairway that led down to the road below. Legend had it that the cave was shown to tourists until the 1940’s for some nominal cost and the stairway remained from that time.
As exciting as the cave turned out to be it was not the reason we had drive to southern Missouri over Labor Day weekend. We came to canoe, something none of us had ever done before.
Canoeing doesn’t really sound that hard, you put all your stuff in a canoe jump in and float down the river. At some designated point along the river the “resort” staff picks you and the canoe up and you ride back to the “resort” on an old dilapidated school bus. That’s all there is to it, not too complicated, we thought.
By the end of August the rivers in southern Missouri are pretty dry. So instead of floating we had to do a lot of dragging (read portaging) the canoe. When we were in the water overhanging branches and sunken stumps were constant obstacles to be feared. On several occasions one or more of our group of 3 canoes was upside down and had to be dragged to the side of the river to be righted. Remember how I said you put all your stuff in the canoe? Well the first time you tip over you can guess what happens to your stuff, including your sun tan lotion. Which brings me to my fondest memory of the trip.
You know how when you are on the water the sun’s power is intensified from the sun reflecting off the water? Well I know that too, now. Unfortunately I didn’t know it then. After a whole day of playing in the water, floating, dragging, turning the canoe back over and chasing flotsam down the river, my Norwegian/Belgian skin was fried to a crisp, especially my legs. To this day I do not wear shorts outside during the summer. I was so burned that I could hardly stand it. Someone, I believe it was my mom, but it could have been Veet recommended that I put lotion on my burned legs to keep them from peeling. Peeling? Hell I thought they were going to burst into flames, but I did what I was told. Now you probably know that the best thing for a burn is to leave it out to breath and perhaps use a small amount of aloe on it. Well I know that too now. Needless to say the lotion did not keep my legs from peeling but it did keep them from breathing and thus made them hurt even more.
So when night came, after at least a 90 degree day, the cool weather was too much to resist so I joined Shawn outside to try to sleep. As I stated earlier Shawn has scoped out the picnic table when we had first arrived so I found a couple of lawn chairs to sprawl out in. At this point I think it is important that I describe the terrain surrounding Pig-O. The “resort” lies in a cleft of a rocky crag of hills. The entire place is covered with broken and jagged rocks about the size of a softball, any one of which could easily have been used by cavemen as an axe. The ground is very uneven and falls are a constant source of terror. Clyde was at the headwaters of a dry creek bed that flowed through the camp. In the wet season the creek would swell to a raging torrent capable of tearing the flesh off of any living thing caught in it’s path, but that didn’t happen on this trip. Anyway, Clyde was on one face of the canyon left by the dry creek and you parked above the cabin to the west.
The picnic table was south of the cabin perched on the edge of the canyon. It was in the bottom of this canyon (about 20 feet down) that we found Shawn the next morning. It was never clear if Shawn rolled off the table or if he got up to heed natures call in the middle of the night but either way the first light of day found him scraped and bruised 10 yard from where he had gone to sleep the night before. That was the first of many Cleveland injuries at Craig-O-Leigh.
That was how it all started. My dad had such a great time that he decided that Pig-O would be our families Labor Day destination for several years to come, and each year Clevelands joined us. Each year the event grew and one of t
he Clevelands got hurt.
My last trip to Craig-O-Leigh was Labor Day Weekend 1995 with my stepson Travis Seirer.
Craig-O-Leigh holds many fond memories. I am sure that others have memories of their own to add.
Note: Teri contributed these Pig-O photos from the years when the Hamlin and Cleveland families made the trek to Pineville for Labor Day.
Craig-O-Leigh or Pig-O as it is affectionately referred to amongst any of us lucky enough to fall victim to it’s charms, was a small run down resort in Pineville, MO.
My first trip to Pig-O was when I was in 7th grade. My parents and their friends Veet and Rudy Cleveland decided to go on a canoe trip in southern Missouri. Clevelands brought their youngest son Shawn who was 3 or 4 years older than me.
After a rather uneventful 5 hour drive from Eudora to Pineville we arrived to find that no one in Pineville had ever heard of Craig-O-Leigh, not a good sign seeing as how this was supposed to be a “resort”. Finally after asking all 13 people in town one grizzled old pioneer had heard a legend about a Hollywood film director who had moved to the Pineville area in the 1930’s to open a resort. “That must be it” dad said, “how do we get there?”
And thus the real adventure began, at the end of a barely maintained mostly dirt road that lead east out of town we found a collection of rundown “cabins” that looked like something out of a “Beverly Hillbillies” introduction. Each had a wooden shingle nailed to the side with a name on it. On this particular adventure we stayed at “Clyde”, later as more of the family members joined the Pig-O experience we moved to “Ivanhoe” the two story cabin, but that is a tale for another time, for now we will concentrate on “Clyde”.
Clyde was a small 2 room (well 3 if you count the closet that was turned into a bathroom/shower at some point in time) shack, shack is being kind. The floorboards were full of holes, cracks and protruding nails. A screened in porch served as the bedroom with two full size “beds”. Needless to say a high school student did not want to share a bedroom with his parents so Shawn decided to sleep outside on the picnic table (but more on that later).
Mom and Veet were less than impressed with Craig-O-Leigh even when they found out that the “Jesse James Cave” was near by. Turns out that the place really had been started by an ex-Hollywood movie director and his crowning achievement was a film about Jesse James, a local hero to the area whom gained some notoriety as an outlaw in the late 1800’s. The aforementioned cave was used in the movie as a hideout for Mr. James and his “gang”.
Upon walking a narrow path around a rock bluff hill there was indeed a cave. From the east side of the cave extended an unkempt and deteriorating stairway that led down to the road below. Legend had it that the cave was shown to tourists until the 1940’s for some nominal cost and the stairway remained from that time.
As exciting as the cave turned out to be it was not the reason we had drive to southern Missouri over Labor Day weekend. We came to canoe, something none of us had ever done before.
Canoeing doesn’t really sound that hard, you put all your stuff in a canoe jump in and float down the river. At some designated point along the river the “resort” staff picks you and the canoe up and you ride back to the “resort” on an old dilapidated school bus. That’s all there is to it, not too complicated, we thought.
By the end of August the rivers in southern Missouri are pretty dry. So instead of floating we had to do a lot of dragging (read portaging) the canoe. When we were in the water overhanging branches and sunken stumps were constant obstacles to be feared. On several occasions one or more of our group of 3 canoes was upside down and had to be dragged to the side of the river to be righted. Remember how I said you put all your stuff in the canoe? Well the first time you tip over you can guess what happens to your stuff, including your sun tan lotion. Which brings me to my fondest memory of the trip.
You know how when you are on the water the sun’s power is intensified from the sun reflecting off the water? Well I know that too, now. Unfortunately I didn’t know it then. After a whole day of playing in the water, floating, dragging, turning the canoe back over and chasing flotsam down the river, my Norwegian/Belgian skin was fried to a crisp, especially my legs. To this day I do not wear shorts outside during the summer. I was so burned that I could hardly stand it. Someone, I believe it was my mom, but it could have been Veet recommended that I put lotion on my burned legs to keep them from peeling. Peeling? Hell I thought they were going to burst into flames, but I did what I was told. Now you probably know that the best thing for a burn is to leave it out to breath and perhaps use a small amount of aloe on it. Well I know that too now. Needless to say the lotion did not keep my legs from peeling but it did keep them from breathing and thus made them hurt even more.
So when night came, after at least a 90 degree day, the cool weather was too much to resist so I joined Shawn outside to try to sleep. As I stated earlier Shawn has scoped out the picnic table when we had first arrived so I found a couple of lawn chairs to sprawl out in. At this point I think it is important that I describe the terrain surrounding Pig-O. The “resort” lies in a cleft of a rocky crag of hills. The entire place is covered with broken and jagged rocks about the size of a softball, any one of which could easily have been used by cavemen as an axe. The ground is very uneven and falls are a constant source of terror. Clyde was at the headwaters of a dry creek bed that flowed through the camp. In the wet season the creek would swell to a raging torrent capable of tearing the flesh off of any living thing caught in it’s path, but that didn’t happen on this trip. Anyway, Clyde was on one face of the canyon left by the dry creek and you parked above the cabin to the west.
The picnic table was south of the cabin perched on the edge of the canyon. It was in the bottom of this canyon (about 20 feet down) that we found Shawn the next morning. It was never clear if Shawn rolled off the table or if he got up to heed natures call in the middle of the night but either way the first light of day found him scraped and bruised 10 yard from where he had gone to sleep the night before. That was the first of many Cleveland injuries at Craig-O-Leigh.
That was how it all started. My dad had such a great time that he decided that Pig-O would be our families Labor Day destination for several years to come, and each year Clevelands joined us. Each year the event grew and one of t
he Clevelands got hurt.
My last trip to Craig-O-Leigh was Labor Day Weekend 1995 with my stepson Travis Seirer.
Craig-O-Leigh holds many fond memories. I am sure that others have memories of their own to add.
Note: Teri contributed these Pig-O photos from the years when the Hamlin and Cleveland families made the trek to Pineville for Labor Day.
The Worst Vacation EVER!
Daughter Kim writes...
I work in the tech industry. In 1999 I went back to be engineering director at a small company where I had worked for most of 1990s as a computer programmer. Because I was familiar with the "legacy" programs, I automatically became the Y2K compliance guy. It was my job to convince management and our customers that our installed software was not going to implode on January 1,2000. I worked countless nights and weekends and by fall, it seemed I was sleeping at that place in order to get the Y2K compliance project wrapped up.
At the same time, Southwest Airlines came into the KC airport and offered$50 round trip tickets to Chicago. I had been working so hard and so many long hours that I decided that I wanted to splurge on a vacation and take all the nieces and nephews to Chicago to the Science and Industry Museum for their Spring Bre
ak(a place I remembered with awe from when I was a kid).
I conspired with all the Moms and Dads and convinced at least one adult from each family to go along on the trip with me and Grandma and Gramps and the kids. Chicago had just opened a brand new convention center. I booked rooms there. One of my friends grew up in Chicago and a friend of the family ran a limo service. So I booked limos to pick us up at the airport and take us to the hotel. On Christmas morning, the kids each opened a package that told them they were going to Chicago for Spring Break in March. It was a glorious Christmas. Everybody was so excited.
Then March came in like a lion as they say. The trip was a complete disaster. Everything that could go wrong did. I am not exaggerating. Literally, everything that could go wrong DID! I was so tired and stressed after all my long hours working that I couldn't stop crying at my dream vacation gone bad.
Come to think of it, the blog is actually the perfect forum for this story because everybody that went on the trip can add the part of the disaster that they remember best.
John, Joann, Tom, Zac, Jason, Hannah, Caleb, Jordie--none of you guys have blogged here yet. You were all part of this giant disaster. I expect each of you can add something that I've since chosen to forget.
Now let's start the story...
Those of you that don't live in Kansas may not know that Kansas is the primo spot for meteorologists. They love it here. We have tornados, floods, extreme hot, extreme cold and it is completely unpredictable. Often the temperature drops or rises 40 or 50 degrees in one day. On the day we are scheduled to leave for our Spring Break Chicago trip it is snowing. Snowing a lot. We called the airport to confirm our flights and all things were go so we headed out the the airport. Everybody checked in. We all got our boarding passes and then we sat. And sat. And sat. Now this was pre-9/11 air travel so there were people everywhere in the terminal. All of them were waiting just like we were. Some were trying to get on planes. Some were there to see off traveling relatives and would return to their KC area homes as soon as planes left the ground. Our group was mostly pre-teen and teenage kids so we parked ourselves on the floor against the wall--leaving the chairs for older people. As time passed, people started milling around. No one can just sit for that long. As kids will do, my nieces and nephews found a way to keep themselves occupied.
When we checked in, Southwest airlines gave each of us a boarding pass. These were large re-usable plastic cards with a passenger count number printed on them (not seat numbers like the more traditional airlines). So we had cards with numbers like 19, 38, 24. We had a big group so we had lots of cards among us. Now remember that the kids were sitting on the floor along the walls and people were walking in the hallways passing by them like it was a parade or something. Next thing I know, the people walking by are stopping and pointing. Some of these people are irritated, some are laughing and the kids are all giggling. The boys had collected everybody's boarding passes and were "rating" the girls that walked by them in the "parade" by holding up the plastic boarding cards with the numbers on them. Moms of girls that got high scores pointed and laughed. Moms of girls that got low scores were offended. Some of them berated the boys which caused huge outbursts of laughter as soon as the offended Mom rounded the corner in the terminal hall.
Finally, the decision was made. Too much snow and the planes were grounded. Everyone would have to come back tomorrow for rescheduled flights. The next day, we got up really early, went back to the airport. Flights were leaving KC! We boarded our plane and we were off. Unfortunately, the storm that grounded us the night before had moved in a northeasterly direction and no planes were landing in Chicago. I'll stop here and let somebody else pick up on the Ohio part of our trip from KC to Chicago.
At the same time, Southwest Airlines came into the KC airport and offered$50 round trip tickets to Chicago. I had been working so hard and so many long hours that I decided that I wanted to splurge on a vacation and take all the nieces and nephews to Chicago to the Science and Industry Museum for their Spring Bre
ak(a place I remembered with awe from when I was a kid).I conspired with all the Moms and Dads and convinced at least one adult from each family to go along on the trip with me and Grandma and Gramps and the kids. Chicago had just opened a brand new convention center. I booked rooms there. One of my friends grew up in Chicago and a friend of the family ran a limo service. So I booked limos to pick us up at the airport and take us to the hotel. On Christmas morning, the kids each opened a package that told them they were going to Chicago for Spring Break in March. It was a glorious Christmas. Everybody was so excited.
Then March came in like a lion as they say. The trip was a complete disaster. Everything that could go wrong did. I am not exaggerating. Literally, everything that could go wrong DID! I was so tired and stressed after all my long hours working that I couldn't stop crying at my dream vacation gone bad.
Come to think of it, the blog is actually the perfect forum for this story because everybody that went on the trip can add the part of the disaster that they remember best.
John, Joann, Tom, Zac, Jason, Hannah, Caleb, Jordie--none of you guys have blogged here yet. You were all part of this giant disaster. I expect each of you can add something that I've since chosen to forget.
Now let's start the story...
Those of you that don't live in Kansas may not know that Kansas is the primo spot for meteorologists. They love it here. We have tornados, floods, extreme hot, extreme cold and it is completely unpredictable. Often the temperature drops or rises 40 or 50 degrees in one day. On the day we are scheduled to leave for our Spring Break Chicago trip it is snowing. Snowing a lot. We called the airport to confirm our flights and all things were go so we headed out the the airport. Everybody checked in. We all got our boarding passes and then we sat. And sat. And sat. Now this was pre-9/11 air travel so there were people everywhere in the terminal. All of them were waiting just like we were. Some were trying to get on planes. Some were there to see off traveling relatives and would return to their KC area homes as soon as planes left the ground. Our group was mostly pre-teen and teenage kids so we parked ourselves on the floor against the wall--leaving the chairs for older people. As time passed, people started milling around. No one can just sit for that long. As kids will do, my nieces and nephews found a way to keep themselves occupied.
When we checked in, Southwest airlines gave each of us a boarding pass. These were large re-usable plastic cards with a passenger count number printed on them (not seat numbers like the more traditional airlines). So we had cards with numbers like 19, 38, 24. We had a big group so we had lots of cards among us. Now remember that the kids were sitting on the floor along the walls and people were walking in the hallways passing by them like it was a parade or something. Next thing I know, the people walking by are stopping and pointing. Some of these people are irritated, some are laughing and the kids are all giggling. The boys had collected everybody's boarding passes and were "rating" the girls that walked by them in the "parade" by holding up the plastic boarding cards with the numbers on them. Moms of girls that got high scores pointed and laughed. Moms of girls that got low scores were offended. Some of them berated the boys which caused huge outbursts of laughter as soon as the offended Mom rounded the corner in the terminal hall.
Finally, the decision was made. Too much snow and the planes were grounded. Everyone would have to come back tomorrow for rescheduled flights. The next day, we got up really early, went back to the airport. Flights were leaving KC! We boarded our plane and we were off. Unfortunately, the storm that grounded us the night before had moved in a northeasterly direction and no planes were landing in Chicago. I'll stop here and let somebody else pick up on the Ohio part of our trip from KC to Chicago.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Go West Young Man...
Son Scot writes...
Where to start? Ma, I guess that’s who started this one. She said to me “you and your father should deliver that guitar to Jason”, so I guess it starts with Ma and a guitar.Jason, of late, is living in Livermore CA, 30 or so miles east of San Francisco. He has been playing some open mic type gigs and was in need of a decent guitar. I designed what I intend to be a good solid no frills instrument for him and gave it one special feature, a Wolfman inlay, of mother of pearl. You see, to us he is and always will be Jason, to the rest of the world he is Wolfman, Wolf to his friends. I’m not sure just when or where he picked up this moniker but he is Wolf.
Pop and I had thought that we would re
nt a car but when we saw Jason’s truck we decided that we would rather just drive it. It’s not much to look at but it runs good, well, it runs…it’s a 1980 Chevy pickup and he has installed a high tech theft deterrent system…the bed of the truck is half full of trash. It turns out that in California the cost of dumping trash is so high that a thief will just keep on looking rather than take on that burden. We did our part and added a pretty good collection of empty drink containers and food wrappers. (you’re welcome Wolfie!)
Pop and I toured the plains and mountains of the area (me driving) while Jason toiled away at his job during the day and then we went out for dinner and music at night. On one occasion we stayed out until after 9:00pm! We enjoyed day trips to Santa Cruz and San Francisco and a memorable afternoon wandering in a beautiful grove of majestic Sequoia trees.
Where to start? Ma, I guess that’s who started this one. She said to me “you and your father should deliver that guitar to Jason”, so I guess it starts with Ma and a guitar.Jason, of late, is living in Livermore CA, 30 or so miles east of San Francisco. He has been playing some open mic type gigs and was in need of a decent guitar. I designed what I intend to be a good solid no frills instrument for him and gave it one special feature, a Wolfman inlay, of mother of pearl. You see, to us he is and always will be Jason, to the rest of the world he is Wolfman, Wolf to his friends. I’m not sure just when or where he picked up this moniker but he is Wolf. Ma gave me only one instruction, “your father is not to drive in California, he’s awful!” Awful or not he picked me up in the pre-dawn darkness and we were off. Off like a herd of turtles…it seems that the geniuses at American Airlines dictate that the route from Kansas City to San Francisco passes through Chicago. We’ve some experience of this black hole of travel so we were less that enthusiastic about this layover. I guess the Chicago curse has expired, or maybe it only applies if Kim is along. We were soon winging our way to the coast.
We arrived safe and sound, the three of us, Dad, me and the Wolfman. A steady cold rain greeted us, a steady cold rain and Jason along with his lady friend, Gina.
Pop and I had thought that we would re
nt a car but when we saw Jason’s truck we decided that we would rather just drive it. It’s not much to look at but it runs good, well, it runs…it’s a 1980 Chevy pickup and he has installed a high tech theft deterrent system…the bed of the truck is half full of trash. It turns out that in California the cost of dumping trash is so high that a thief will just keep on looking rather than take on that burden. We did our part and added a pretty good collection of empty drink containers and food wrappers. (you’re welcome Wolfie!)
Pop and I toured the plains and mountains of the area (me driving) while Jason toiled away at his job during the day and then we went out for dinner and music at night. On one occasion we stayed out until after 9:00pm! We enjoyed day trips to Santa Cruz and San Francisco and a memorable afternoon wandering in a beautiful grove of majestic Sequoia trees. Neither pictures or words can convey 
the nature of those fleeting moments, surrounded by those giants, walking on the compacted remains of centuries of leavings toped by a winters worth of snow. It really was the icing on the cake in very many ways.
the nature of those fleeting moments, surrounded by those giants, walking on the compacted remains of centuries of leavings toped by a winters worth of snow. It really was the icing on the cake in very many ways. 
I will forever be grateful to everyone involved in making this journey so special. We met new friends, stood at the feet of giants, followed a path into the clouds, and a thousand other things that will continue to occur to me as time and distance provides the perspective that I cant seem to find just yet.
P.S. Pop did have to drive one time in California, no matter how “awful”, I celebrated the great reception that my guitar received with a few glasses of beer and Pop got us the six blocks to the hotel in good shape (sorry Ma).
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
the PF Flyer Story
Son Scot writes...
PF Flyers...Make You Run Faster and Jump Higher...that was the TV add. Remember that?
What red blooded American boy wouldn't want to run faster and jump higher? In my family, and probably yours as well, you got new tennies in the spring and new school shoes in the fall. Both pairs at least a size to big so that you would grow into them. Right? Well, my folks didn't have much money so each spring they took my sisters and me down for our annual tennies. My brother would have still been an accident waiting to happen at that point in time, say 1965 or 66. We always got those navy blue deck shoes, you know, cheapest shoe in the store. Hell, you couldn't run faster or jump higher in those sorry sacks of shit...know what I mean? Knowing that the blue deck shoes were coming didn't stop me from begging for PF Flyers...I really NEEDED to run faster and jump higher! What kind of parents wouldn't want that for their only son???
This had to have been a Saturday afternoon because my dad got off work at noon on Saturdays and my mom had to work until 6pm. I guess we got up to most all of our mischief on Saturday afternoons. Throwing 5 foot paper airplanes off the roof of the house, sailing toy boxes in the pond, an endless series of nearly disastrous home improvement projects and best of all trips out to my grandma Hamlin's farm, actually her brother's place but we always said "Grandmas Farm".
At the farm we would chop wood, dig holes, climb on piles of old lumber laced with rusty nails, you name it, the farm had it all. Probably one of the coolest things that it had was a sess pool. This was a like a septic tank except it was open on top. The human waste collected here and after some settling of the heavier matter the liquid would drain off and evaporate. Pretty cool, yeah?
What did all this have to do with PF Flyers? I'm getting to that.
The reason that I'm sure that this would have happened on a Saturday afternoon is that had it been any other day my mom would have been there. Had my mom been there I would never have gotten a pair of black high top PF Flyers nor would I have ended up treading human waste in the sess pool!!!
My dad was and is, a nut. He was very good at entertaining three kids on the cheap. He would let us sit up on the back of the back seat of our old ratty convertible with the top down and wave the beauty queen wave as we drove through town...that was the good life! He would take out his teeth, cover his face with shaving cream and make funny faces and sing songs for us. All the time, my mom saying "William, you are such a fool!!!"
How I talked him into buying the PF Flyers I do not know. What I do know is just as soon as I laced those babies on I really could run faster and jump higher, not to mention corner quicker and probably stop shorter as well! Oh how I taunted my sisters! I wasn't worried about them getting mad at me...after all, what could they do about it? They wouldn't be able to catch me even if they wanted to. They had deck shoes for cripes sake! The thing that I didn't take into account is that girls are smarter than boys and that they tend to hunt like a wolf pack, running their prey into the ground by keeping up a constant steady pressure. More on that subject later.
I just kept on running my mouth, at the shoe store, in the car, when we stopped at the A&W (kids got free root beer, remember?)and all the way out to the farm. PF Flyers this, PF Flyers that...what a little shit I was. (wow, there is some irony for you)
The taunting continued as we started into whatever it was that had taken us out to the farm in the first place. I just HAD to get those girls to chase me, how else was I to convince them, once and for all, of the superiority of my new shoes? You will have to try to picture me, running up, touching, pinching, poking, only to dash away. Then, at some distance, thumbs in the ears, fingers and tongue wiggling...na-na-na-nana...you cant catch me! Perhaps a little bump and grind at this point, a little shake the ol' butt at em, nanny-nanny-boo-boo...stick your face in dog poo!
Oh, that got em going! The chase was on!
I ran, I jumped, never looking back...no need to look back...they would be nowhere in sight, of this I was sure. Well at some point I did look back, and what I saw made me all the more confidant. While one of them was still in hot pursuit, the other had already started to hang back...I was sure that this was a sign that she had realized the folly of her actions and given up. On I ran, running faster than ever, jumping higher than the sky! I turned again to see if the other one had given up and discovered something that at the time I didn't quite understand. You see, it was the other sister that was now in hot pursuit and the one who had been hot on my tail was now hanging back...weak, slow, stupid girls, I thought.
Little did I know that the were employing one of the oldest tactics known in warfare. Keep the enemy moving by applying constant pressure all the while conserving your strength until his strength wanes...shit!!! I was in serious trouble...hell, they could very well keep this up all day! And I was indeed starting to get winded.
I didn't even want to consider what might be in store for me if they ever got their hands on me! I wasn't too worried about Teri, she was a kind and gentle kid and a confirmed follower, it was Kim that scared the living crap out of me! She was smart, and cool, and cunning, all in all...a dangerous foe. I know that the tactic that they used was all Kim...she would have given clear and concise instructions and stood for no deviation from her plan. She could just as easily give you a super wedgie, leaving you writhing on the ground, to dig it out, as she could give a pat on the head. Could administer and Indian burn that would leave you scared for life, or a dead leg that may well cause permanent paralysis!
Oh...I was in serious trouble...that is unless...
Unless...I could think of some way to get away...out of reach...an escape so daring, so bold, so outrageous that it would go down in family lore along side of the classics... like the boat propeller scar on my dad's ass cheek.
I had to think fast...I was quickly running out of gas.
This may be a good time to point out that decisions made in desperation should be avoided...
The thought occurred to me that even though my powers of faster running seemed to be failing me, that surely my higher jumping was still in full effect, after all, I hadn't, to this point, use the jumping powers much at all.
So I quickly devised a plan...I would run, full out, head long, directly at the sess pool. Kim, in a moment of total self-satisfaction, would think that she had run me to ground, trapped me, on one side, a rock, on the other the fabled hard place!
Little did she know!!! My plan, THE plan, was to lead her to the edge of the promised land...only to escape her clutches at the last instant. Yes...I would in one glorious jump, clear the sess pool leaving her standing, mouth agape in the wonder of it all. I would stand, victorious, on the far side. Never again would she kick me "where it hurts"...never again to apply her patented horse bite.
I WOULD BE FREE!!
PF Flyers...Run Faster, Jump Higher...well we're right back where we started out from. Why is that?
They didn't claim to make you jump farther...higher, yes...farther, not so much!
Higher would have been great...had I been playing basketball. But I was planning to jump across a bottomless pit of human waste...farther would have come in handy!
With my breath burning fire in my lungs I stole one final look back. I am sure that it was the hunters instinct because when they sensed that I would soon be trapped they had both joined in the chase, both of them were hot on my tail, wild eyed with anticipation.For one brief second I had the thought, wouldn't it be grand if they were so intent on capturing me that they forgot where they were and found themselves unable to stop in time and as I sailed over the sess pool to freedom they both plunged head long into it!!!
So it was, with that vision in my head and a grin on my face, I made my epic leap...higher and higher I flew...I had crossed about half the width of that pool when I first doubted the wisdom of THE plan...shortly after thateyes squeezed shut against the horror of my folly...I landed four square in that ocean of shit!!!
Now, I would like to be able to report that the depth of that pool, always rumored to be bottomless, was but a few harmless inches...no, the rumors were true...bottomless!!! Well, I never did touch the bottom at any rate.I bobbed to the surface...spitting and blinking, shit in my mouth, shit in my eyes, shit, shit, shit!!!!!
The laughing didn't start immediately...the girls ran screaming for help...the sides if that pool were vertical and slick with the residue of decades of ...well, you get it. So in my new PF Flyers I screamed and clawed at the side for something to grip while the girls ran for help.
Once my dad had hauled me out of there by my hair and hosed me off with the garden hose...the laughing started...it still goes on to this day...
As I'm sure you know I took quite a bit of poetic license in the telling of this story. I did try to jump over the pool of shit in my new PF Flyers, I did end up dipped in shit. The girls were chasing me, though I cant remember why.Kim was not at all mean, just smart and cunning.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
