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!

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”.

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………

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.

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 was 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