by Grant B. Walsh
One rich, one poor, both rich.
One lovely, one common, both lovely.
The paradox of the age.
One teen chosen for the life of a royal title:
Her joy, her pain, her sickness, her torment.
Happiness and wealth without joy and serenity,
Public disclosure of all that is personal.
Finally, a death that is early and shocking.
Another teen called to a life of poverty,
Serving the poor, the infected, the starving.
Bathing the leper and sharing God’s mercy.
Teaching of Jesus and life-giving grace.
Love and compassion is ground held in common.
Concern for the needs of the needy brings hope.
One in the halls of the castles of Europe,
The other on the stage of piety and service,
Speak to the cries of the children and dying.
A monument of memory is just the right thing.
Perhaps it’s cut flowers fit for a king.
Perhaps it’s a journey to churches of old.
No, better, it’s service that stirs the soul.
For flowers will die and wither away;
It’s only what’s done for others will stay.
Love God with your whole heart is what he commanded,
And love one another, the thought was expanded.
Love is the essence of God’s gift to man.
He gave His dear Son as a part of the plan.
That gift of a life, for you and for me,
Demands a commitment His mercy to see.
The Princess saw people and cried for their pain;
The Pauper served Jesus in wind and the rain.
Give food and give money to show that you care;
Give my life and myself is my penitent prayer.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Monday, March 8, 2010
A Tribute to Henry Millis and Claire Miller
Story by Nina M. Herne Walsh
Poem by Isabelle Hawks
Published in -- "Richburg-Wirt Historical Society" newsletter. “A Tribute to Henry Millis and Claire Miller.” March 2008, pp.5-6.
This is indeed a happy occasion
As we offer our sincere congratulations
For years of faithful service – to Henry and Claire,
For two more worthy Christians can’t be found anywhere.
They have served in the church for many years,
And have seen times of happiness and tears.
Many are the kind words which we could speak,
For they are Deacons who have really “deaked.”
We have heard Claire quote Scripture by heart
When the rest of us could only get a start!
Many are the portions which he can tell.
We all wish we could do it half as well.
He has worked at the church both early and late,
And had trouble making the old furnace “percolate.”
But we were always sure it would be all right,
Even if he did stay up half of the night.
Henry sang in the choir in his younger days,
And offered his voice as a tribute of praise.
Even when riding his horse, he had a lusty voice,
As he rode to his leases on the horse of his choice.
One day he got hurt badly, I think he passed out,
And no one but his horse was about.
So when he came to, he prayed there alone.
The Lord gave him strength, and the horse took him home.
But he didn’t always ride a horse.
Later on they got a car, which seemed worse,
‘Cause you just don’t tell a car “giddy-up.”
Yet he managed pretty well, with Mabel’s help.
Claire never indulged in a horseless carriage,
Not even in days after his marriage.
He usually walked to work, and back again,
Using the two good legs God gave to him.
Claire’s lease never operated on Sunday – that’s sure,
He always shut down at midnight the night before.
The men knew he was a Christian, there was no doubt.
The testimony of his life always shone out.
Now tonight we commend you both to our precious Lord:
You who have been so faithful to His Word.
And if your remaining years be many or few,
We all join in saying sincerely, “May God Bless you.”
My brother, Gary Herne, found a copy of this poem by Isabelle Hawks tucked into one of our mother’s family photo albums. Isabelle was The Richburg First Day Baptist Church’s poet-in-residence, creating verse for many occasions. Since I have a vague memory of hearing Isabelle present this, though I do not recall any details of this celebratory event, it must have taken place in the early 60’s before I graduated from high school in 1964. Isabelle’s daughter, Marlene Rogers, has a scrapbook containing her mother’s poetry. The page with this poem has the heading – “Written for the Christmas Service Banquet for Clair Miller & Henry Millis” – with Psalm 84:10 noted.
Marlene and her sister Marion were adults by the time their mother was widowed at age 42. Isabelle supported herself and her son Bernie by working in the cafeteria at the Richburg Central School. Her lively, jovial personality made her a favorite with everyone. Affectionately known as Izzy, she will always come to mind as a dedicated woman of God. Being a leading layperson, she taught my Sunday School class through junior high years, sang in the choir, was a cook and counselor for camps at Odosagih, and held Youth Group parties in her home. The Bible Conference at Odosagih in Machias, NY, was heaven on earth for her. It was there, at only 56 years of age, that she went to sleep in July of 1965 and awoke in God’s presence.
Henry Millis and Claire Miller were both elderly men in the church during my childhood. At the age of two, God spared Henry, along with several other family members, from the 1883 Ballard house fire which has been reported in earlier issues of this newsletter. The house belonged to his grandparents and sat at the apex of Jordon Hill – the same property where Henry and Mable lived when I was familiar with him as our “egg man,” delivering fresh eggs to our home. Mom (Etha Moses Herne) always invited him in to sit at the kitchen table and chat with her. It wasn’t until I began delving into my genealogy, after my mother’s death, that I learned he was her second cousin once removed. He was a tall, lanky man with a “loose” ankle, giving him an unusual gait. Henry died in 1966 at age 85.
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Claire had an amazing ability to memorize Scripture as Isabelle recounts in this poem. He could recite entire books of the Bible! One of his duties as janitor of the church was to prepare Communion and care for the Communion supplies. It was a family joke that my parents were always the last to leave church. They chatted with everyone after services leaving me looking for ways to entertain myself. Communion Sunday was easy – I picked up all the Communion glasses. Mr. Miller would slyly slide a dollar bill into my hand as appreciation for the help. I didn’t do it to be paid, and I felt guilty accepting the money, but my parents explained that Mr. Miller might be insulted if I did not accept his offering. Claire was 86 when he passed away in 1968.
This photo of Isabelle and Claire working together in the old church kitchen is a memorable scene. Claire was frequently found up to his elbows in dish water after a function. None of these three precious souls lived to see the “new” church erected in the 1970’s. The current sanctuary sits on the backyard of the property where Claire and Irene Miller’s house stood.
Poem by Isabelle Hawks
Published in -- "Richburg-Wirt Historical Society" newsletter. “A Tribute to Henry Millis and Claire Miller.” March 2008, pp.5-6.
This is indeed a happy occasion
As we offer our sincere congratulations
For years of faithful service – to Henry and Claire,
For two more worthy Christians can’t be found anywhere.
They have served in the church for many years,
And have seen times of happiness and tears.
Many are the kind words which we could speak,
For they are Deacons who have really “deaked.”
We have heard Claire quote Scripture by heart
When the rest of us could only get a start!
Many are the portions which he can tell.
We all wish we could do it half as well.
He has worked at the church both early and late,
And had trouble making the old furnace “percolate.”
But we were always sure it would be all right,
Even if he did stay up half of the night.
Henry sang in the choir in his younger days,
And offered his voice as a tribute of praise.
Even when riding his horse, he had a lusty voice,
As he rode to his leases on the horse of his choice.
One day he got hurt badly, I think he passed out,
And no one but his horse was about.
So when he came to, he prayed there alone.
The Lord gave him strength, and the horse took him home.
But he didn’t always ride a horse.
Later on they got a car, which seemed worse,
‘Cause you just don’t tell a car “giddy-up.”
Yet he managed pretty well, with Mabel’s help.
Claire never indulged in a horseless carriage,
Not even in days after his marriage.
He usually walked to work, and back again,
Using the two good legs God gave to him.
Claire’s lease never operated on Sunday – that’s sure,
He always shut down at midnight the night before.
The men knew he was a Christian, there was no doubt.
The testimony of his life always shone out.
Now tonight we commend you both to our precious Lord:
You who have been so faithful to His Word.
And if your remaining years be many or few,
We all join in saying sincerely, “May God Bless you.”
My brother, Gary Herne, found a copy of this poem by Isabelle Hawks tucked into one of our mother’s family photo albums. Isabelle was The Richburg First Day Baptist Church’s poet-in-residence, creating verse for many occasions. Since I have a vague memory of hearing Isabelle present this, though I do not recall any details of this celebratory event, it must have taken place in the early 60’s before I graduated from high school in 1964. Isabelle’s daughter, Marlene Rogers, has a scrapbook containing her mother’s poetry. The page with this poem has the heading – “Written for the Christmas Service Banquet for Clair Miller & Henry Millis” – with Psalm 84:10 noted.
Marlene and her sister Marion were adults by the time their mother was widowed at age 42. Isabelle supported herself and her son Bernie by working in the cafeteria at the Richburg Central School. Her lively, jovial personality made her a favorite with everyone. Affectionately known as Izzy, she will always come to mind as a dedicated woman of God. Being a leading layperson, she taught my Sunday School class through junior high years, sang in the choir, was a cook and counselor for camps at Odosagih, and held Youth Group parties in her home. The Bible Conference at Odosagih in Machias, NY, was heaven on earth for her. It was there, at only 56 years of age, that she went to sleep in July of 1965 and awoke in God’s presence.
Henry Millis and Claire Miller were both elderly men in the church during my childhood. At the age of two, God spared Henry, along with several other family members, from the 1883 Ballard house fire which has been reported in earlier issues of this newsletter. The house belonged to his grandparents and sat at the apex of Jordon Hill – the same property where Henry and Mable lived when I was familiar with him as our “egg man,” delivering fresh eggs to our home. Mom (Etha Moses Herne) always invited him in to sit at the kitchen table and chat with her. It wasn’t until I began delving into my genealogy, after my mother’s death, that I learned he was her second cousin once removed. He was a tall, lanky man with a “loose” ankle, giving him an unusual gait. Henry died in 1966 at age 85.
.jpg)
Claire had an amazing ability to memorize Scripture as Isabelle recounts in this poem. He could recite entire books of the Bible! One of his duties as janitor of the church was to prepare Communion and care for the Communion supplies. It was a family joke that my parents were always the last to leave church. They chatted with everyone after services leaving me looking for ways to entertain myself. Communion Sunday was easy – I picked up all the Communion glasses. Mr. Miller would slyly slide a dollar bill into my hand as appreciation for the help. I didn’t do it to be paid, and I felt guilty accepting the money, but my parents explained that Mr. Miller might be insulted if I did not accept his offering. Claire was 86 when he passed away in 1968.
This photo of Isabelle and Claire working together in the old church kitchen is a memorable scene. Claire was frequently found up to his elbows in dish water after a function. None of these three precious souls lived to see the “new” church erected in the 1970’s. The current sanctuary sits on the backyard of the property where Claire and Irene Miller’s house stood.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Peaceful Prayer
By Nina Walsh
Many are crying for peace, paix, paz,
But there is no amani.
There can be no pokoj.
Not while there are
Terrorists and insane rulers
Hell-bent on destroying
Democracy and Christianity.
Why should we lay down our arms
Giving the enemy the nod?
Why should we roll over
And wait for death?
Irrational hatred has proliferated
To the point of global cataclysm.
Villains use scare tactics
Daily diminishing our freedoms.
We must be vigilant
On every front.
We must fight the battle
To maintain our basic freedoms.
Shalom is an expensive commodity.
A nuclear holocaust is on the horizon,
Peace-sayers, deceived by
A consuming desire for мир,
Call for withdrawal of troops,
Decrease of defense budgets,
Duped that insulation will bring mir.
Insulation will bring annihilation.
We need to pray a peaceful prayer
For protection from the
Maniacal barbarian infidels.
Many are crying for peace, paix, paz,
But there is no amani.
There can be no pokoj.
Not while there are
Terrorists and insane rulers
Hell-bent on destroying
Democracy and Christianity.
Why should we lay down our arms
Giving the enemy the nod?
Why should we roll over
And wait for death?
Irrational hatred has proliferated
To the point of global cataclysm.
Villains use scare tactics
Daily diminishing our freedoms.
We must be vigilant
On every front.
We must fight the battle
To maintain our basic freedoms.
Shalom is an expensive commodity.
A nuclear holocaust is on the horizon,
Peace-sayers, deceived by
A consuming desire for мир,
Call for withdrawal of troops,
Decrease of defense budgets,
Duped that insulation will bring mir.
Insulation will bring annihilation.
We need to pray a peaceful prayer
For protection from the
Maniacal barbarian infidels.
Friday, March 5, 2010
In Conversation
Prepared by Nina H. Walsh
For the Cemetery Walk during Pioneer Oil Days 2008
WILLIAM HENRY HERNE, JR. & ETHA LUCILLE MOSES HERNE
1912 - 1976 1912 - 1988
BILL: As a kid, they called me Freckled Bill from Herne Hill. I was born in Scranton, PA on March 5th 1912. I was the 4th child in a family of 11 children. By the time I was 2, we were living in Corning, NY. As the second eldest son, I was required to drop out of school to help support the family. One of my early jobs was setting pins in a bowling alley. Then I became a retail clerk in a men’s clothing store, a haberdashery. I love that word. In fact, I enjoy words – their sounds, their usage, their meanings. As an adult I kept a dictionary beside my easy chair and perused it frequently.
ETHA: I was born in my Grandmother Etha Viola Putnam's house in Pleasant Valley, on June 17, 1912. My first name is after my grandmother’s first name.
When I was young, my family lived in Olean for a few years, then we moved back to Richburg. We lived on Factory St. next door to my Grandma Matie Moses and her two youngest, Uncle Ralph Moses and Aunt Ethel Moses who married Fernon Phillips. A few years later, we moved to a renovated house on Main St. next door to Floyd and Grace Saunders’ house. Floyd’s second wife, Ruth Saunders, still lives there.
BILL: My next job came from my brother-in-law who had a business of delivering newspapers. I drove one of his trucks delivering the New York Herald Tribune to the Allegany County area. In the spring of 1932, someone in Bolivar suggested that I would enjoy watching a well being shot in Richburg that day. I drove up there and found a bunch of people standing in a yard across the street from the shoot.
ETHA: He stood with the crowd on the sidewalk in front of *my* house!
BILL: In the group, I spied a gorgeous young lady with long, dark ringlets, named Etha Moses. It was her lawn that I happened to be standing on. I told her, "You don't know this now, but someday you are going to marry me."
ETHA: That summer, I had my long ringlets cut off. I thought I looked so much more sophisticated, so I sent Bill a picture of myself. He replied,
BILL: “Why in Sam hill did you cut your curl's off for? Didn't you realize, I admired them?”
Every time I managed to see her, I popped the question: “When are you going to marry me?” She usually just laughed me off, but one day in the spring of 1933, she knocked my socks off.
ETHA: “How about this summer?”
About two weeks before our chosen wedding date, some of my great aunts were visiting Grandma Putnam. They complained that they were going to miss our wedding and asked that we move the date up so that they could attend. We couldn't see any reason why not; I already had my dress. So we called Rev. Mason, who invented the gumball machine, and he agreed to come to the house the next day. We had the wedding on July 25th 1933, in my parents’ home with the favorite great aunts present. We honeymooned in Niagara Falls, the first time either of us had been there.
BILL: I quit working for the paper, because now I lived in Richburg – in that little house behind Betty Bartoo’s – the one that was recently torn down. I worked on the construction of the new two-story addition to the Richburg Central School. When that was finished, I took a job working for Etha’s grandfather, Frank L. Putnam. Frank was getting on in years, so the Putnam Oil Company was run by his sons, Elson and Mitchell Putnam. Gosh darn, if Uncle Elson didn’t tick me off. I quit more than once, but Eshie would make me apologize and go back to work.
ETHA: Along with that job came a company house on the top of Richburg Hill. We had a water well and a generator for making electricity. We had a small farm with a large vegetable garden, some chickens, goats, a cow, and a pig or two. Bill loved the animals! He had names for all of them, and they loved him too. I never understood how he could butcher them.
I had gone to Sunday School as a young girl, but Bill and I did not attend church. The thought stuck me one day in the early 40s that that my two little boys knew nothing about God and that we were all going to hell. I knelt down and asked Jesus to come into my heart; a life-changing decision. Every Saturday night, we got together with Al and Ellabelle Monahan to play cards. As a child, I had learned at church that cards were a tool of the devil. If I was going to be a Christian, I had to clean up my life, so I threw the deck of cards into the wood stove. That next Saturday, Bill went to get them from the cupboard. When he didn’t find them, he called,
BILL: “Eshie, what’d you do with the cards?”
ETHA: It wasn’t long before he too became a born again Christian, and the Monahens also. Our Saturday night gatherings became Sunday night parties after the Sunday Evening Service. The church became the focus of our lives, and we became active members of the Richburg First Day Baptist Church. We both taught Sunday School classes for many years, were active in the Missionary Society, and I sang in the choir while Dad was an usher.
ETHA: My grandmother, Etha Putnam, died on Christmas Day 1946. She was buried on the 28th, the day I gave birth to Nina May in Binghamton. No one told me that my beloved grandmother had died until after Nina May was born; they feared my grief might affect my heart during the impending delivery. We moved into my Grandma’s home at the corner of Main and Depot Streets a couple of months later. Since that house is currently owned by my grandson, Brad Herne, that house has been in our family for almost 100 years! Seven generations have lived in it (Ira Putnam, Frank & Etha Putnam, Nina Putnam Moses Brown, Bill & Etha Moses Herne, Brad & Dawn Herne, and their three sons).
BILL: In 1951, a position opened up for a custodian and bus driver at the school working under Harry Hardman. After Harry died, I became the Head Custodian. I worked for the school for 26 years. The principals loved me because I was so handy – I could fix anything and saved tons of money since they didn’t have to hire repairmen.
ETHA: I was afflicted by a fear of loud noises. There is a name for that – phonophobia. It wasn’t just any loud noise that bothered me; it was sudden loud noises – like guns and balloons popping – which made me scream until my throat hurt. My children were never allowed to have a balloon in the house. I think it started when someone threw a firecracker at me when I was a child. Before buying a ticket to the school play every year, I would ask if a gun was going to go off. Loud noises frightened me so badly that I was afraid I might have a heart attack.
BILL: In the 50’s, the Cold War was raging and everyone feared a nuclear attack from Russia. I joined the Civil Defense to help in any way I could. I was involved in the community in other ways too – I was on the board of the Colonial Library; at various times, I was a trustee or a deacon of the Richburg First Day Baptist Church. I taught the SOS (meaning Serving Our Savior) Sunday School class for many years, and served as a volunteer fireman.
ETHA: He also was very faithful to the Jail Service Ministry one Sunday afternoon a month at the Belmont Jail. No matter what the rest of the family wanted to do, he was committed to holding that service for the men.
I was never very healthy. I was born with a hole in my heart which prevented me from running as a child and doing any strenuous physical activity throughout my life. Dr. Hackett recommended that I quit high school just a few months before graduation, because I had a nervous breakdown which almost became St. Vitus’ Dance. I would have been the valedictorian. After David was born, I had Rheumatic Fever which further damaged my heart. Dr. Hackett warned us to never have any more children. But we did. Dr. Hackett felt inadequate to deal with my problems and suggested that I spend the last weeks of my pregnancies in a city with an obstetrician. So before both Gary and Nina May were born, I went to Binghamton and stayed with my sister Helen Wheeler until the babies came.
I began working at the Richburg Colonial Library as the children's librarian two afternoons a week at $.32 an hour in 1960. When the head librarian, Mary Baker, retired about ten years later, I became the Librarian. I loved working in the library and was there for a total of 22 years, retiring in 1983 at age 71.
BILL: By the late 60s, the school was required to install a new sewer system. The person who operated it needed a high school diploma in order to attend a two-week course at Cornell University. Even though I left high school to help feed our large family, I was what you call a life-long learner. I was always reading, learning new things, so I easily passed the New York State High School Equivalency Exam and took that course at Cornell. The Richburg Principal presented my diploma at the June graduation ceremony. Eshie framed it and hung it in the kitchen.
ETHA: I was very proud of him.
BILL: When we began construction for the new Richburg First Day Baptist Church, I took on the position of Clerk of the Works. I poured my heart and soul into that building. I saw a beautiful, simply designed, stainless steel bell tower at a church in Buffalo. We couldn’t afford the stainless steel, but we had plenty of oil pipe lying around. I figured the oil pipe would work just as well and add a bit of history to the bell tower. My grandson, Davey, was a young man and eager to help. We built that bell tower across the street over there and installed the electronic bell system. Only Davey and I knew how to operate the bells.
ETHA: By the time I was 61, the hole in my heart was causing extreme fatigue. I spent my days lying on the sofa. Medical science had advanced to a point where doctors were confident they could fix my heart. After my open heart surgery at the Buffalo General Hospital, I had energy I had never had before.
BILL: My varicose veins were giving me a lot of trouble, so I decided to get them looked after before my retirement coming up March 1977. I took some sick days and had the surgery in November 1976. The problem was that the doc didn’t seem to be too smart. He didn’t give me any blood thinners following surgery. A few days after coming home from the hospital, my leg was swollen up and hurting, so we went back to the doc. He told me that I needed to exercise that leg more. Well, it turns out that he told me the absolute opposite thing of what I should have done. On Sunday morning, November 20, I heard my daughter, Nina May Walsh, sing The Lord's Prayer live over WDCX radio from their church, Knox Presbyterian in Kenmore. My son Gary called that day to see how I was doing. David and Janet came up to the house too with their kids. Before retiring, I had my normal bedtime snack – a huge bowl of ice cream, and went to bed at around midnight. Something was wrong! I jumped out of bed, ran to the bathroom, thinking I was going to vomit. Eshie was so scared! She called Braden Skinner to come with the ambulance. The rest is history. Now we know that that darn blood clot in my ankle released from my leg due to my exercising and went to my lung.
On the Sunday morning after my funeral, Davey was not at the Richburg Church. During the sermon, the electronic bell began ringing erratically and no one knew how to stop it. I had my last laugh!
ETHA: At 70, I was afflicted with temporal arteritis. Prednisone was the only medication which gave me any relief, but I also knew it would shorten my life. On November 28, 1988, I left my old body on a bed at WCA Hospital in Jamestown with my daughter-in-law, Janet, and grandson Davey at my side.
BILL: Out of a family of eleven children, six of them boys, I was the only one who had sons to carry on the family name. My sons, David and Gary, each had two sons. David's older one, Davey, has one son, and he now has a son. David’s younger son, Brad, has three sons. Gary's older son has one son and the younger has three. Today, I am the progenitor of two sons and three generations of grandsons which currently add up to fourteen living males bearing the name Herne.
ETHA: Some of my other community activities included teaching Released Time Religion Classes (when they were still allowed), membership in the town’s Literary Club, and, for many summers, serving as camp counselor or cook for a week or two at the church camp at Odosagih. One of my greatest honors was something Bill did for me: he paid for the pulpit in the new church.
BILL: And I attached a plaque reading, “In honor of Etha Herne, the best preacher this church ever had.”
For the Cemetery Walk during Pioneer Oil Days 2008
WILLIAM HENRY HERNE, JR. & ETHA LUCILLE MOSES HERNE
1912 - 1976 1912 - 1988
BILL: As a kid, they called me Freckled Bill from Herne Hill. I was born in Scranton, PA on March 5th 1912. I was the 4th child in a family of 11 children. By the time I was 2, we were living in Corning, NY. As the second eldest son, I was required to drop out of school to help support the family. One of my early jobs was setting pins in a bowling alley. Then I became a retail clerk in a men’s clothing store, a haberdashery. I love that word. In fact, I enjoy words – their sounds, their usage, their meanings. As an adult I kept a dictionary beside my easy chair and perused it frequently.
ETHA: I was born in my Grandmother Etha Viola Putnam's house in Pleasant Valley, on June 17, 1912. My first name is after my grandmother’s first name.
When I was young, my family lived in Olean for a few years, then we moved back to Richburg. We lived on Factory St. next door to my Grandma Matie Moses and her two youngest, Uncle Ralph Moses and Aunt Ethel Moses who married Fernon Phillips. A few years later, we moved to a renovated house on Main St. next door to Floyd and Grace Saunders’ house. Floyd’s second wife, Ruth Saunders, still lives there.
BILL: My next job came from my brother-in-law who had a business of delivering newspapers. I drove one of his trucks delivering the New York Herald Tribune to the Allegany County area. In the spring of 1932, someone in Bolivar suggested that I would enjoy watching a well being shot in Richburg that day. I drove up there and found a bunch of people standing in a yard across the street from the shoot.
ETHA: He stood with the crowd on the sidewalk in front of *my* house!
BILL: In the group, I spied a gorgeous young lady with long, dark ringlets, named Etha Moses. It was her lawn that I happened to be standing on. I told her, "You don't know this now, but someday you are going to marry me."
ETHA: That summer, I had my long ringlets cut off. I thought I looked so much more sophisticated, so I sent Bill a picture of myself. He replied,
BILL: “Why in Sam hill did you cut your curl's off for? Didn't you realize, I admired them?”
Every time I managed to see her, I popped the question: “When are you going to marry me?” She usually just laughed me off, but one day in the spring of 1933, she knocked my socks off.
ETHA: “How about this summer?”
About two weeks before our chosen wedding date, some of my great aunts were visiting Grandma Putnam. They complained that they were going to miss our wedding and asked that we move the date up so that they could attend. We couldn't see any reason why not; I already had my dress. So we called Rev. Mason, who invented the gumball machine, and he agreed to come to the house the next day. We had the wedding on July 25th 1933, in my parents’ home with the favorite great aunts present. We honeymooned in Niagara Falls, the first time either of us had been there.
BILL: I quit working for the paper, because now I lived in Richburg – in that little house behind Betty Bartoo’s – the one that was recently torn down. I worked on the construction of the new two-story addition to the Richburg Central School. When that was finished, I took a job working for Etha’s grandfather, Frank L. Putnam. Frank was getting on in years, so the Putnam Oil Company was run by his sons, Elson and Mitchell Putnam. Gosh darn, if Uncle Elson didn’t tick me off. I quit more than once, but Eshie would make me apologize and go back to work.
ETHA: Along with that job came a company house on the top of Richburg Hill. We had a water well and a generator for making electricity. We had a small farm with a large vegetable garden, some chickens, goats, a cow, and a pig or two. Bill loved the animals! He had names for all of them, and they loved him too. I never understood how he could butcher them.
I had gone to Sunday School as a young girl, but Bill and I did not attend church. The thought stuck me one day in the early 40s that that my two little boys knew nothing about God and that we were all going to hell. I knelt down and asked Jesus to come into my heart; a life-changing decision. Every Saturday night, we got together with Al and Ellabelle Monahan to play cards. As a child, I had learned at church that cards were a tool of the devil. If I was going to be a Christian, I had to clean up my life, so I threw the deck of cards into the wood stove. That next Saturday, Bill went to get them from the cupboard. When he didn’t find them, he called,
BILL: “Eshie, what’d you do with the cards?”
ETHA: It wasn’t long before he too became a born again Christian, and the Monahens also. Our Saturday night gatherings became Sunday night parties after the Sunday Evening Service. The church became the focus of our lives, and we became active members of the Richburg First Day Baptist Church. We both taught Sunday School classes for many years, were active in the Missionary Society, and I sang in the choir while Dad was an usher.
ETHA: My grandmother, Etha Putnam, died on Christmas Day 1946. She was buried on the 28th, the day I gave birth to Nina May in Binghamton. No one told me that my beloved grandmother had died until after Nina May was born; they feared my grief might affect my heart during the impending delivery. We moved into my Grandma’s home at the corner of Main and Depot Streets a couple of months later. Since that house is currently owned by my grandson, Brad Herne, that house has been in our family for almost 100 years! Seven generations have lived in it (Ira Putnam, Frank & Etha Putnam, Nina Putnam Moses Brown, Bill & Etha Moses Herne, Brad & Dawn Herne, and their three sons).
BILL: In 1951, a position opened up for a custodian and bus driver at the school working under Harry Hardman. After Harry died, I became the Head Custodian. I worked for the school for 26 years. The principals loved me because I was so handy – I could fix anything and saved tons of money since they didn’t have to hire repairmen.
ETHA: I was afflicted by a fear of loud noises. There is a name for that – phonophobia. It wasn’t just any loud noise that bothered me; it was sudden loud noises – like guns and balloons popping – which made me scream until my throat hurt. My children were never allowed to have a balloon in the house. I think it started when someone threw a firecracker at me when I was a child. Before buying a ticket to the school play every year, I would ask if a gun was going to go off. Loud noises frightened me so badly that I was afraid I might have a heart attack.
BILL: In the 50’s, the Cold War was raging and everyone feared a nuclear attack from Russia. I joined the Civil Defense to help in any way I could. I was involved in the community in other ways too – I was on the board of the Colonial Library; at various times, I was a trustee or a deacon of the Richburg First Day Baptist Church. I taught the SOS (meaning Serving Our Savior) Sunday School class for many years, and served as a volunteer fireman.
ETHA: He also was very faithful to the Jail Service Ministry one Sunday afternoon a month at the Belmont Jail. No matter what the rest of the family wanted to do, he was committed to holding that service for the men.
I was never very healthy. I was born with a hole in my heart which prevented me from running as a child and doing any strenuous physical activity throughout my life. Dr. Hackett recommended that I quit high school just a few months before graduation, because I had a nervous breakdown which almost became St. Vitus’ Dance. I would have been the valedictorian. After David was born, I had Rheumatic Fever which further damaged my heart. Dr. Hackett warned us to never have any more children. But we did. Dr. Hackett felt inadequate to deal with my problems and suggested that I spend the last weeks of my pregnancies in a city with an obstetrician. So before both Gary and Nina May were born, I went to Binghamton and stayed with my sister Helen Wheeler until the babies came.
I began working at the Richburg Colonial Library as the children's librarian two afternoons a week at $.32 an hour in 1960. When the head librarian, Mary Baker, retired about ten years later, I became the Librarian. I loved working in the library and was there for a total of 22 years, retiring in 1983 at age 71.
BILL: By the late 60s, the school was required to install a new sewer system. The person who operated it needed a high school diploma in order to attend a two-week course at Cornell University. Even though I left high school to help feed our large family, I was what you call a life-long learner. I was always reading, learning new things, so I easily passed the New York State High School Equivalency Exam and took that course at Cornell. The Richburg Principal presented my diploma at the June graduation ceremony. Eshie framed it and hung it in the kitchen.
ETHA: I was very proud of him.
BILL: When we began construction for the new Richburg First Day Baptist Church, I took on the position of Clerk of the Works. I poured my heart and soul into that building. I saw a beautiful, simply designed, stainless steel bell tower at a church in Buffalo. We couldn’t afford the stainless steel, but we had plenty of oil pipe lying around. I figured the oil pipe would work just as well and add a bit of history to the bell tower. My grandson, Davey, was a young man and eager to help. We built that bell tower across the street over there and installed the electronic bell system. Only Davey and I knew how to operate the bells.
ETHA: By the time I was 61, the hole in my heart was causing extreme fatigue. I spent my days lying on the sofa. Medical science had advanced to a point where doctors were confident they could fix my heart. After my open heart surgery at the Buffalo General Hospital, I had energy I had never had before.
BILL: My varicose veins were giving me a lot of trouble, so I decided to get them looked after before my retirement coming up March 1977. I took some sick days and had the surgery in November 1976. The problem was that the doc didn’t seem to be too smart. He didn’t give me any blood thinners following surgery. A few days after coming home from the hospital, my leg was swollen up and hurting, so we went back to the doc. He told me that I needed to exercise that leg more. Well, it turns out that he told me the absolute opposite thing of what I should have done. On Sunday morning, November 20, I heard my daughter, Nina May Walsh, sing The Lord's Prayer live over WDCX radio from their church, Knox Presbyterian in Kenmore. My son Gary called that day to see how I was doing. David and Janet came up to the house too with their kids. Before retiring, I had my normal bedtime snack – a huge bowl of ice cream, and went to bed at around midnight. Something was wrong! I jumped out of bed, ran to the bathroom, thinking I was going to vomit. Eshie was so scared! She called Braden Skinner to come with the ambulance. The rest is history. Now we know that that darn blood clot in my ankle released from my leg due to my exercising and went to my lung.
On the Sunday morning after my funeral, Davey was not at the Richburg Church. During the sermon, the electronic bell began ringing erratically and no one knew how to stop it. I had my last laugh!
ETHA: At 70, I was afflicted with temporal arteritis. Prednisone was the only medication which gave me any relief, but I also knew it would shorten my life. On November 28, 1988, I left my old body on a bed at WCA Hospital in Jamestown with my daughter-in-law, Janet, and grandson Davey at my side.
BILL: Out of a family of eleven children, six of them boys, I was the only one who had sons to carry on the family name. My sons, David and Gary, each had two sons. David's older one, Davey, has one son, and he now has a son. David’s younger son, Brad, has three sons. Gary's older son has one son and the younger has three. Today, I am the progenitor of two sons and three generations of grandsons which currently add up to fourteen living males bearing the name Herne.
ETHA: Some of my other community activities included teaching Released Time Religion Classes (when they were still allowed), membership in the town’s Literary Club, and, for many summers, serving as camp counselor or cook for a week or two at the church camp at Odosagih. One of my greatest honors was something Bill did for me: he paid for the pulpit in the new church.
BILL: And I attached a plaque reading, “In honor of Etha Herne, the best preacher this church ever had.”
Mischief
(a play script – nonfiction)
By Nina Walsh
CHARACTERS: Duke, my son’s boxer, and Hershey, my chocolate lab
SET: Three rooms; one with a door; one has a counter with a container of cookies; one with a large dog bed. As in Charlie Brown, humans remain invisible and silent.
ADDITIONAL PROPS: Christmas scarf, tug toy
BACKGROUND MUSIC AT OPENING: How Much Is That Doggie In the Window?
SCENE 1 -- ROOM WITH A DOOR
ENTER: HERSHEY
ENTER: DUKE RUSHES INTO ROOM
DUKE: Oh, Hershey, Hershey, Hershey! I can’t believe it! Am I really here? I am so excited! I can hardly stand it!
HERSHEY: Hi, Duke!
DUKE: Hang on, Hersh. I am so excited that I have to run!
(Duke runs through every room, finally returning)
DUKE: This is sooooo cool! I thought we were coming here, but I wasn’t sure. No one told me where we were going. Aren’t you happy to see me, Hersh?
HERSHEY: Oh, yes, I am; I am! I am really glad you are here. It is always fun being with you. I haven’t been feeling real well lately. My allergies have been kicking up again. I even had surgery on my nose last week!
DUKE: Surgery! I’m sorry! That’s no fun! Can you play?
HERSHEY: Oh, yes, I can play, but I am tired.
DUKE: You are sounding old!
HERSHEY: I am! Seven years old is old!
DUKE: When I had my knee surgery, they didn’t let me play for weeks and weeks. I don’t know why they did that. I would have recovered so much better if they had let me play. And you know what? I don’t think the surgery helped me one bit! My leg still hurts a lot. I run until it hurts, then I just keep running but don’t use the sore leg. I am so clever! I can run on three legs and it doesn’t slow me down at all! What was wrong with you nose?
HERSHEY: Oh, I had a lump. It was nothing, but Mom was real upset about it – especially when it started bleeding. Mom took me to a new doctor. You have been there – it is the one we took you to last year when you needed your shots.
DUKE: I remember. He was a real nice guy. Doctors usually are nice humans.
HERSHEY: Remember that doctor I told you about who is a relative? The one who lives halfway between my house and your house?
DUKE: Yes.
HERSHEY: The last time we left your house, we stopped there on our way home. He gave me a shot for my miserable itching.
DUKE: Did it help?
HERSHEY: Yes, lots!
DUKE: I’m glad to hear that!
HERSHEY: Until recently, when the itching started again. My new vet said I couldn’t have another shot because of the surgery, but he told Mom to buy some pills to help it.
DUKE: And does it help?
HERSHEY: Pretty much, but it is not as good as the shot. They are tiny pills which I don’t mind taking.
DUKE: Yo! Let’s let them know that we need to go potty! I’ve got to get outside soon!
HERSHEY: It’s nice to have you here, Duke. I’ll bet anything that we get to go for a walk tomorrow – just because you are here!
DUKE: I hope so! Grandma is so cool, and she is such a push over! All I have to do is beg and whine, and she gives in.
HERSHEY: I know. I think you almost get away with more than I do. It must be because you are the grandchild. However, she does tell everyone that I am her favorite child!
DUKE: Where am I going to sleep? With you, Grandma, and Grandpa?
HERSHEY: Yeah! Sure! I don’t know if they will let you get on the bed. There is room for you in my bed. Maybe sometime in the night, when they are asleep, you can jump up on their bed if you like. That’s what I used to do. But, I guess I am getting older. I just don’t have the ambition to get up in the night and jump on the bed.
DUKE: Do you still get up in the night to go potty?
HERSHEY: Oh, yeah. I have to do that, but I can’t jump up on the bed then, because they are awake. They fall asleep, and I fall asleep, and I don’t bother getting up again until morning.
DUKE: Well, I am going to see what I can get away with. I’ll jump up on their bed as soon as bedtime comes.
HERSHEY: You can try. But you are welcome to sleep with me.
EXIT: DUKE, HERSHEY
SCENE 2 -- BEDROOM
(Later that evening – at bedtime)
REENTER: DUKE, HERSHEY
DUKE: You were right! No way are they going to let me stay on their bed.
HERSHEY: There is plenty of room here, but I would really appreciate it if you don’t sleep on me! That is another thing about getting older. It hurts when you sit on me now. That’s what happens when you get older. You just kind of hurt all over.
DUKE: I’m sorry, but I love you so much and am so happy to be with you that I want to snuggle with you!
HERSHEY: Pleasant dreams.
DUKE: You too!
EXIT: DUKE, HERSHEY
SCENE 3 - ROOM WITH A DOOR
(morning)
REENTER: DUKE
DUKE: It’s time for me to do my whining and prodding routine with Grandma to see if she will take us for a walk!
(Duke whines and jumps around)
(minutes later)
REENTER: HERSHEY
HERSHEY: I knew it! Because you are here, Grandma is willing to take us out for a nice long walk!
DUKE: She’s getting the keys! We’re going in the car! Yippee!
HERSHEY: This means we are headed for the beach!
DUKE: Is that where there is the soft stuff all over the ground?
HERSHEY: Yes, and there are lots of wonderful smells to sniff! And there is a big lake there to swim in!
DUKE: I’m not sure I like swimming, but it is handy for getting a drink.
HERSHEY: I can’t think of anything more fun than fetching a stick thrown into the lake!
EXIT: DUKE, HERSHEY
SCENE 4 -- ROOM WITH COUNTER
(an hour later)
REENTER: DUKE, HERSHEY
DUKE: I am totally pooped!
HERSHEY: Me too! I think that is the point of the walk. Mom wants us to snooze the rest of the day. By the way, how are Chevy and Yellow?
DUKE: They are fine, but they drive me crazy, or maybe I drive them crazy!
HERSHEY: Yellow never did like me. Does she like you?
DUKE: Not really. But I don’t give her a chance to like me. If she comes too close, I jump at her and she goes flying.
HERSHEY: Have you calmed down enough yet to let Chevy rub against you and sleep with you?
DUKE: He is so annoying. Why does he want to rub me? Yuck! He likes lying in the sunlight too, so sometimes when I am enjoying the sunshine, I let him lie there with me. He thinks he has conquered me. Nothing could be farther from the truth!
HERSHEY: Awww, come on. He is sweet. You mean you never give him a lick?
DUKE: I didn’t say that! Yeah. I’ve given him a lick. He kinda grows on you.
Yo! They are going out and telling us we have to stay home and be “good boys.” No way! If I can’t go, I’m not going to be a good boy! Come on, Hersh! Let’s find something to get into that we are not allowed to have.
HERSHEY: Oh, Duke. There is nothing that I want except sleep.
DUKE: Something smells good on this counter!
(Duke jumps knocking the cookies on the floor. Duke grabs as many cookies as he can, runs around dropping cookies in each room)
DUKE: You sure you don’t want some, Hershey?
HERSHEY: No. They just make me vomit anyway.
EXIT: DUKE, HERSHEY
SCENE 5 -- ROOM WITH A DOOR
(the next morning)
REENTER: DUKE, HERSHEY
DUKE: Time to whine for a walk.
HERSHEY: It’s working! She is getting her walking shoes!
DUKE: Where do you think we are going today?
HERSHEY: She is getting the leashes. That means we are walking to the park.
DUKE: Oh, boy; oh, boy! This is so exciting I can hardly stand it!
HERSHEY: Me too! Me too! What is taking her so long to get out the door!
EXIT: DUKE, HERSHEY
(an hour later)
REENTER: DUKE, HERSHEY
DUKE: That was fun! I liked that retriever puppy! We could have had a lot of fun if we weren’t on leashes.
HERSHEY: I like the smells the best. I love finding bits of interesting food people have left behind. My stomach isn’t feeling so well right now. I must have found something that wasn’t good. It probably was that hard blue stick I found that I had to swallow whole.
DUKE: They are going shopping and leaving us alone again! They’ll be sorry!
HERSHEY: Come on, Duke! We don’t always have to go with them. Besides Mom promised to buy us something.
DUKE: She did? Wow! What do you think she will get? Some treats?
HERSHEY: She mentioned a Christmas scarf.
EXIT: DUKE, HERSHEY
(later.)
REENTER: DUKE, HERSHEY SPORTING A CHRISTMAS SCARF
HERSHEY: What do you think, Duke? Isn’t it handsome?
DUKE: I think it looks dumb. I’m glad she didn’t get me one!
HERSHEY: It is not dumb! It is from Old Navy! I am a fashion dog! You just don’t understand.
DUKE: You’re right: I don’t understand and I don’t want one! I’ll bet Dad told her it looked dumb too and that he wouldn’t let me wear one. But I did want a present! If they leave us again, they will know I am unhappy!
HERSHEY: Awww, Duke. Forget it! Come on, let’s play tug.
(later)
DUKE: Dad is packing up. Looks like we will be leaving.
HERSHEY: So soon? It seems like you just arrived. Mom has the camera out. We are going to have to pose and look happy when we are feeling sad.
DUKE: It sure was fun being here! Remember three years ago when I came home from the pet store to live with you?
HERSHEY: Of course! I was only four then. You were the cutest little boxer I had ever seen.
DUKE: You were and are the greatest lab I have ever seen! You were just like a father to me! You taught me everything I know!
HERSHEY: Except getting into mischief! I didn’t teach you that!
DUKE: Awww, come on! Are you telling me that you never did anything wrong.
HERSHEY: Well, I sure can’t say that! Mom says that I was “the worst puppy on the face of this earth until I turned ten months old.”
DUKE: You were bad? What did you do that was so bad?
HERSHEY: Oh, lots of things! I knocked pictures off the walls, I pulled down hanging plants, I ate a hole in the wall, I chewed on the windowsills and kitchen table. Hey, you have that kitchen table at your house now. Have you ever noticed the edges?
DUKE: Yeah! They don’t look so hot. You mean you ate actual chunks out of the table?
HERSHEY: I’m afraid so.
DUKE: You were pretty bad! So what made you change?
HERSHEY: We moved to San Diego. Mom brags that I became the perfect dog overnight.
DUKE: How could that happen?
HERSHEY: Mom says, “It was either California, magic, maturity, living with Dad again, or a combination.” Actually it was doggy park.
DUKE: Doggy park?
HERSHEY: Yeah. We went every afternoon just before dinner. The same dogs were there everyday. We had a wonderful time together! They were my best friends ever, until you.
Hey! Why don’t I go home with you?
DUKE: You can try! But I’ll bet Dad won’t let you come with me. Nor would Grandma allow you to leave her! Two cats and me are enough animals for Dad’s little house!
HERSHEY: You’re right. But still, I’m going to jump into the truck with you and see what they do!
EXIT: DUKE, HERSHEY
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By Nina Walsh
CHARACTERS: Duke, my son’s boxer, and Hershey, my chocolate lab
SET: Three rooms; one with a door; one has a counter with a container of cookies; one with a large dog bed. As in Charlie Brown, humans remain invisible and silent.
ADDITIONAL PROPS: Christmas scarf, tug toy
BACKGROUND MUSIC AT OPENING: How Much Is That Doggie In the Window?
SCENE 1 -- ROOM WITH A DOOR
ENTER: HERSHEY
ENTER: DUKE RUSHES INTO ROOM
DUKE: Oh, Hershey, Hershey, Hershey! I can’t believe it! Am I really here? I am so excited! I can hardly stand it!
HERSHEY: Hi, Duke!
DUKE: Hang on, Hersh. I am so excited that I have to run!
(Duke runs through every room, finally returning)
DUKE: This is sooooo cool! I thought we were coming here, but I wasn’t sure. No one told me where we were going. Aren’t you happy to see me, Hersh?
HERSHEY: Oh, yes, I am; I am! I am really glad you are here. It is always fun being with you. I haven’t been feeling real well lately. My allergies have been kicking up again. I even had surgery on my nose last week!
DUKE: Surgery! I’m sorry! That’s no fun! Can you play?
HERSHEY: Oh, yes, I can play, but I am tired.
DUKE: You are sounding old!
HERSHEY: I am! Seven years old is old!
DUKE: When I had my knee surgery, they didn’t let me play for weeks and weeks. I don’t know why they did that. I would have recovered so much better if they had let me play. And you know what? I don’t think the surgery helped me one bit! My leg still hurts a lot. I run until it hurts, then I just keep running but don’t use the sore leg. I am so clever! I can run on three legs and it doesn’t slow me down at all! What was wrong with you nose?
HERSHEY: Oh, I had a lump. It was nothing, but Mom was real upset about it – especially when it started bleeding. Mom took me to a new doctor. You have been there – it is the one we took you to last year when you needed your shots.
DUKE: I remember. He was a real nice guy. Doctors usually are nice humans.
HERSHEY: Remember that doctor I told you about who is a relative? The one who lives halfway between my house and your house?
DUKE: Yes.
HERSHEY: The last time we left your house, we stopped there on our way home. He gave me a shot for my miserable itching.
DUKE: Did it help?
HERSHEY: Yes, lots!
DUKE: I’m glad to hear that!
HERSHEY: Until recently, when the itching started again. My new vet said I couldn’t have another shot because of the surgery, but he told Mom to buy some pills to help it.
DUKE: And does it help?
HERSHEY: Pretty much, but it is not as good as the shot. They are tiny pills which I don’t mind taking.
DUKE: Yo! Let’s let them know that we need to go potty! I’ve got to get outside soon!
HERSHEY: It’s nice to have you here, Duke. I’ll bet anything that we get to go for a walk tomorrow – just because you are here!
DUKE: I hope so! Grandma is so cool, and she is such a push over! All I have to do is beg and whine, and she gives in.
HERSHEY: I know. I think you almost get away with more than I do. It must be because you are the grandchild. However, she does tell everyone that I am her favorite child!
DUKE: Where am I going to sleep? With you, Grandma, and Grandpa?
HERSHEY: Yeah! Sure! I don’t know if they will let you get on the bed. There is room for you in my bed. Maybe sometime in the night, when they are asleep, you can jump up on their bed if you like. That’s what I used to do. But, I guess I am getting older. I just don’t have the ambition to get up in the night and jump on the bed.
DUKE: Do you still get up in the night to go potty?
HERSHEY: Oh, yeah. I have to do that, but I can’t jump up on the bed then, because they are awake. They fall asleep, and I fall asleep, and I don’t bother getting up again until morning.
DUKE: Well, I am going to see what I can get away with. I’ll jump up on their bed as soon as bedtime comes.
HERSHEY: You can try. But you are welcome to sleep with me.
EXIT: DUKE, HERSHEY
SCENE 2 -- BEDROOM
(Later that evening – at bedtime)
REENTER: DUKE, HERSHEY
DUKE: You were right! No way are they going to let me stay on their bed.
HERSHEY: There is plenty of room here, but I would really appreciate it if you don’t sleep on me! That is another thing about getting older. It hurts when you sit on me now. That’s what happens when you get older. You just kind of hurt all over.
DUKE: I’m sorry, but I love you so much and am so happy to be with you that I want to snuggle with you!
HERSHEY: Pleasant dreams.
DUKE: You too!
EXIT: DUKE, HERSHEY
SCENE 3 - ROOM WITH A DOOR
(morning)
REENTER: DUKE
DUKE: It’s time for me to do my whining and prodding routine with Grandma to see if she will take us for a walk!
(Duke whines and jumps around)
(minutes later)
REENTER: HERSHEY
HERSHEY: I knew it! Because you are here, Grandma is willing to take us out for a nice long walk!
DUKE: She’s getting the keys! We’re going in the car! Yippee!
HERSHEY: This means we are headed for the beach!
DUKE: Is that where there is the soft stuff all over the ground?
HERSHEY: Yes, and there are lots of wonderful smells to sniff! And there is a big lake there to swim in!
DUKE: I’m not sure I like swimming, but it is handy for getting a drink.
HERSHEY: I can’t think of anything more fun than fetching a stick thrown into the lake!
EXIT: DUKE, HERSHEY
SCENE 4 -- ROOM WITH COUNTER
(an hour later)
REENTER: DUKE, HERSHEY
DUKE: I am totally pooped!
HERSHEY: Me too! I think that is the point of the walk. Mom wants us to snooze the rest of the day. By the way, how are Chevy and Yellow?
DUKE: They are fine, but they drive me crazy, or maybe I drive them crazy!
HERSHEY: Yellow never did like me. Does she like you?
DUKE: Not really. But I don’t give her a chance to like me. If she comes too close, I jump at her and she goes flying.
HERSHEY: Have you calmed down enough yet to let Chevy rub against you and sleep with you?
DUKE: He is so annoying. Why does he want to rub me? Yuck! He likes lying in the sunlight too, so sometimes when I am enjoying the sunshine, I let him lie there with me. He thinks he has conquered me. Nothing could be farther from the truth!
HERSHEY: Awww, come on. He is sweet. You mean you never give him a lick?
DUKE: I didn’t say that! Yeah. I’ve given him a lick. He kinda grows on you.
Yo! They are going out and telling us we have to stay home and be “good boys.” No way! If I can’t go, I’m not going to be a good boy! Come on, Hersh! Let’s find something to get into that we are not allowed to have.
HERSHEY: Oh, Duke. There is nothing that I want except sleep.
DUKE: Something smells good on this counter!
(Duke jumps knocking the cookies on the floor. Duke grabs as many cookies as he can, runs around dropping cookies in each room)
DUKE: You sure you don’t want some, Hershey?
HERSHEY: No. They just make me vomit anyway.
EXIT: DUKE, HERSHEY
SCENE 5 -- ROOM WITH A DOOR
(the next morning)
REENTER: DUKE, HERSHEY
DUKE: Time to whine for a walk.
HERSHEY: It’s working! She is getting her walking shoes!
DUKE: Where do you think we are going today?
HERSHEY: She is getting the leashes. That means we are walking to the park.
DUKE: Oh, boy; oh, boy! This is so exciting I can hardly stand it!
HERSHEY: Me too! Me too! What is taking her so long to get out the door!
EXIT: DUKE, HERSHEY
(an hour later)
REENTER: DUKE, HERSHEY
DUKE: That was fun! I liked that retriever puppy! We could have had a lot of fun if we weren’t on leashes.
HERSHEY: I like the smells the best. I love finding bits of interesting food people have left behind. My stomach isn’t feeling so well right now. I must have found something that wasn’t good. It probably was that hard blue stick I found that I had to swallow whole.
DUKE: They are going shopping and leaving us alone again! They’ll be sorry!
HERSHEY: Come on, Duke! We don’t always have to go with them. Besides Mom promised to buy us something.
DUKE: She did? Wow! What do you think she will get? Some treats?
HERSHEY: She mentioned a Christmas scarf.
EXIT: DUKE, HERSHEY
(later.)
REENTER: DUKE, HERSHEY SPORTING A CHRISTMAS SCARF
HERSHEY: What do you think, Duke? Isn’t it handsome?
DUKE: I think it looks dumb. I’m glad she didn’t get me one!
HERSHEY: It is not dumb! It is from Old Navy! I am a fashion dog! You just don’t understand.
DUKE: You’re right: I don’t understand and I don’t want one! I’ll bet Dad told her it looked dumb too and that he wouldn’t let me wear one. But I did want a present! If they leave us again, they will know I am unhappy!
HERSHEY: Awww, Duke. Forget it! Come on, let’s play tug.
(later)
DUKE: Dad is packing up. Looks like we will be leaving.
HERSHEY: So soon? It seems like you just arrived. Mom has the camera out. We are going to have to pose and look happy when we are feeling sad.
DUKE: It sure was fun being here! Remember three years ago when I came home from the pet store to live with you?
HERSHEY: Of course! I was only four then. You were the cutest little boxer I had ever seen.
DUKE: You were and are the greatest lab I have ever seen! You were just like a father to me! You taught me everything I know!
HERSHEY: Except getting into mischief! I didn’t teach you that!
DUKE: Awww, come on! Are you telling me that you never did anything wrong.
HERSHEY: Well, I sure can’t say that! Mom says that I was “the worst puppy on the face of this earth until I turned ten months old.”
DUKE: You were bad? What did you do that was so bad?
HERSHEY: Oh, lots of things! I knocked pictures off the walls, I pulled down hanging plants, I ate a hole in the wall, I chewed on the windowsills and kitchen table. Hey, you have that kitchen table at your house now. Have you ever noticed the edges?
DUKE: Yeah! They don’t look so hot. You mean you ate actual chunks out of the table?
HERSHEY: I’m afraid so.
DUKE: You were pretty bad! So what made you change?
HERSHEY: We moved to San Diego. Mom brags that I became the perfect dog overnight.
DUKE: How could that happen?
HERSHEY: Mom says, “It was either California, magic, maturity, living with Dad again, or a combination.” Actually it was doggy park.
DUKE: Doggy park?
HERSHEY: Yeah. We went every afternoon just before dinner. The same dogs were there everyday. We had a wonderful time together! They were my best friends ever, until you.
Hey! Why don’t I go home with you?
DUKE: You can try! But I’ll bet Dad won’t let you come with me. Nor would Grandma allow you to leave her! Two cats and me are enough animals for Dad’s little house!
HERSHEY: You’re right. But still, I’m going to jump into the truck with you and see what they do!
EXIT: DUKE, HERSHEY
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Monday, March 1, 2010
The Genealogy of a House Fire
By Nina M. Herne Walsh
The March 2004 issue of the Richburg-Wirt Historical Society newsletter contained the account of the fire at the Ballard Home in 1883 submitted by Virginia Cooley Cecchi. I too had uncovered that story in my genealogy searching from information passed down by Irene Millis through Laurie Goodrich Deschler of Cuba. Until recently, I did not realize that I was related to Virginia, but now know that we are 4th cousins. In my childhood while waiting for the mail truck to arrive, I enjoyed many happy hours chatting in the Richburg Post Office with Virginia’s mother, Phyllis Cooley, the Postmistress and her assistant, Dude Burdick. This chart shows the relationship between Virginia and me:
Lemuel Rogers & Hannah Stewart Rogers
(Nina’s & Virginia’s Great Great Great Grandparents)
Ethel Rogers siblings Pamelia Rogers Ballard
Matie Rogers Moses 1st cousins Maryette Ballard Millis
Frank Moses 2nd cousins Juanita Millis Cady
Etha Moses Herne 3rd cousins Phyllis Cady Cooley
Nina Herne Walsh 4th cousins Virginia Cooley Cecchi
The following is additional information about the Ballard house fire, creating a more detailed picture.
Lemuel and Hannah Stewart Rogers were among the first settlers of the Town of Wirt. We know they lived in Wirt when their son Ethel was born in 1830. Lemuel died in 1879, and is buried along with his wife and daughter-in-law, Lottie Ellsworth Rogers, in graves marked by a square column monument near the back right of the original section of the Richburg Cemetery. Lemuel and Hannah had six children, among them Pamelia Rogers born in 1823 and Ethel P. Rogers. Ethel fought in the Civil War with Company B of the 189 Regiment, New York Army. The diary he kept of his time at war has found in the 1980’s by Winnie Putnam in her barn loft which had belonged to Ethel’s granddauther, Ethel Rogers Phillips. Correspondence was a major highlight of a soldier’s day. The diary records writing to and receiving letters from his wife Catharine Lebar Rogers, his sisters Pamelia Rogers Ballard and Julia Rogers Ryno, nephew William Ballard, his two brothers, Almon and Orin who were also soldiers, as well as some other correspondents.
Charles Ballard’s real estate was worth $3000 and his personal estate was valued at $881 in the 1870 census. He was a farmer and Pamelia kept house. They had very big hearts, as it would appear that they took in foster children. In the 1860 census, an 8 month old baby named Douglas Lebar lived with this family. In the 1870 census, a 7 year old child,
Minnie Harrison, lived with this family. They were generous, gracious people. It is no wonder that their home was bursting with family in March 1883.
The house sat at the crest of Jordan Hill on the south side of the road facing northwest towards West Clarksville. That particular night, the house was inhabited by Charles and Pamelia both 59 years old, their son William, age 28, their 36 year old daughter, Maryette Ballard Millis who was a school teacher, and Charles' mother, Hannah Biggers Ballard. Maryette’s five children were there also: Lulu Angie – age 8, Leona - 7, Irene - 5, Juanita - 3, and Henry Lee - 2. Upstairs was an apartment where Pamelia's 79 year old mother, Hannah Stewart Rogers, lived with her son and Pamelia's brother, Alanson, age 53. It is likely that Alanson was not “normal,” as a guardian had to be named for him to accept his inheritance. He was able to work as a farm hand in adult life, but did not fight in the Civil War though relatives his age did go to war. We are not aware that he ever married, and he lived with his mother through adulthood.
After Irene and Juanita had been put to bed, Maryette poured crude oil on coals in a wood stove. The oil container exploded in her face, catching her heavy duck apron on fire. Her father tore the flaming apron from her, seriously burning his arms and hands. William rescued little Henry Lee, handing him to this mother declaring, "Here he is!" Maryette grabbed the sleeping Irene and Juanita, then passed them out the window to her brother William. Lulu Angie managed to flee with Leona to safety. Charles, in spite of his burned hands and arms, succeeded in raising a ladder to a second floor window, and rescued his 200 pound mother-in-law, Hannah Rogers. We have no knowledge of how Alanson survived. Once everyone had escaped from the burning house, Maryette collapsed and had to be revived. She, Irene, and Juanita had a very narrow escape. Irene's and Juanita's hair was singed.
The fresh blood of a hen was placed on Maryette's facial burns, and covered with cotton. She was left with only one scar on her nose where there had been a small hole in the cloth. Her father suffered permanent scars on his hands and arms.
DeWitt Millis, Maryette's husband, had been traveling in the south, perhaps Virginia. He had returned and was at the old Clark House in Bolivar when he overheard that there was a fire at the Charles Ballard home. He hurried to the farm and discovered the reality.
The most amazing detail that has sifted down is that all twelve people in the house averted death on that dreadful evening!
The five children grew up to become valuable contributors to the Richburg community:
Lulu Angie Millis, who was later known just as Angie, married Gene Whitcomb and lived on Richardson Street behind the Red & White Store.
Leona Millis married Harry Goodrich who was a prominent local civic leader and served as a New York State Assemblyman for six years. Their son, “Dee,” married Isabelle Owens, sister of Pauline Owens Stohr, the mother of my aunt-by-marriage -- Donna Stohr Moses. Dee and Isabelle were both youthful friends of my mother, Etha Moses Herne, and are pictured in her high school album of snapshots. Laurie Goodrich Deschler is the daughter of Dee and Isabelle and supplied the photos of the Millis family from her archives.
Irene Millis remained a maiden lady and was interested in genealogy.
Juanita Millis married Edgar Cady, and is the grandmother of Virginia Cooley Cecchi. I do have memories of “Nita” Cady as a tall slim elderly woman active at the Richburg First Day Baptist Church.
The “new” house, which sits on the site of the house which burned, was occupied by Henry Lee Millis in my youth. Henry was our eggman, delivering eggs to our house regularly. I remember his unusual gait – his feet dropped from the ankles has he lifted each foot. He would come to our backdoor and enter calling, “Yoo-Hoo,” as was the custom in those days. He often took time to sit at the kitchen table having a chat with my mother. I had no idea then that he was related, but my mother must have known.
Charles and Pamelia Rogers Ballard are buried in the Richburg Cemetery along with Charles’ parents. Their tall square column monument is about halfway back on the right half of the original section of the cemetery.
The graves of many mentioned in this story are in the Richburg Cemetery or Bolivar’s Maple Lawn Cemetery. Virginia’s parents, Phyllis and Homer Cooley, are buried next to my uncle and aunt – Francis and Bernice Moses. Both Uncle Francis and Homer were jovial, well-loved characters, and both are descendants of the Lemuel and Hannah Rogers. Though they were good friends, I wonder if they knew that they were third cousins by marriage! I recall them telling about trying out their graves. They once lay side by side in the grass on their plots measuring to see if they would fit!
The March 2004 issue of the Richburg-Wirt Historical Society newsletter contained the account of the fire at the Ballard Home in 1883 submitted by Virginia Cooley Cecchi. I too had uncovered that story in my genealogy searching from information passed down by Irene Millis through Laurie Goodrich Deschler of Cuba. Until recently, I did not realize that I was related to Virginia, but now know that we are 4th cousins. In my childhood while waiting for the mail truck to arrive, I enjoyed many happy hours chatting in the Richburg Post Office with Virginia’s mother, Phyllis Cooley, the Postmistress and her assistant, Dude Burdick. This chart shows the relationship between Virginia and me:
Lemuel Rogers & Hannah Stewart Rogers
(Nina’s & Virginia’s Great Great Great Grandparents)
Ethel Rogers siblings Pamelia Rogers Ballard
Matie Rogers Moses 1st cousins Maryette Ballard Millis
Frank Moses 2nd cousins Juanita Millis Cady
Etha Moses Herne 3rd cousins Phyllis Cady Cooley
Nina Herne Walsh 4th cousins Virginia Cooley Cecchi
The following is additional information about the Ballard house fire, creating a more detailed picture.
Lemuel and Hannah Stewart Rogers were among the first settlers of the Town of Wirt. We know they lived in Wirt when their son Ethel was born in 1830. Lemuel died in 1879, and is buried along with his wife and daughter-in-law, Lottie Ellsworth Rogers, in graves marked by a square column monument near the back right of the original section of the Richburg Cemetery. Lemuel and Hannah had six children, among them Pamelia Rogers born in 1823 and Ethel P. Rogers. Ethel fought in the Civil War with Company B of the 189 Regiment, New York Army. The diary he kept of his time at war has found in the 1980’s by Winnie Putnam in her barn loft which had belonged to Ethel’s granddauther, Ethel Rogers Phillips. Correspondence was a major highlight of a soldier’s day. The diary records writing to and receiving letters from his wife Catharine Lebar Rogers, his sisters Pamelia Rogers Ballard and Julia Rogers Ryno, nephew William Ballard, his two brothers, Almon and Orin who were also soldiers, as well as some other correspondents.
Charles Ballard’s real estate was worth $3000 and his personal estate was valued at $881 in the 1870 census. He was a farmer and Pamelia kept house. They had very big hearts, as it would appear that they took in foster children. In the 1860 census, an 8 month old baby named Douglas Lebar lived with this family. In the 1870 census, a 7 year old child,
Minnie Harrison, lived with this family. They were generous, gracious people. It is no wonder that their home was bursting with family in March 1883.
The house sat at the crest of Jordan Hill on the south side of the road facing northwest towards West Clarksville. That particular night, the house was inhabited by Charles and Pamelia both 59 years old, their son William, age 28, their 36 year old daughter, Maryette Ballard Millis who was a school teacher, and Charles' mother, Hannah Biggers Ballard. Maryette’s five children were there also: Lulu Angie – age 8, Leona - 7, Irene - 5, Juanita - 3, and Henry Lee - 2. Upstairs was an apartment where Pamelia's 79 year old mother, Hannah Stewart Rogers, lived with her son and Pamelia's brother, Alanson, age 53. It is likely that Alanson was not “normal,” as a guardian had to be named for him to accept his inheritance. He was able to work as a farm hand in adult life, but did not fight in the Civil War though relatives his age did go to war. We are not aware that he ever married, and he lived with his mother through adulthood.
After Irene and Juanita had been put to bed, Maryette poured crude oil on coals in a wood stove. The oil container exploded in her face, catching her heavy duck apron on fire. Her father tore the flaming apron from her, seriously burning his arms and hands. William rescued little Henry Lee, handing him to this mother declaring, "Here he is!" Maryette grabbed the sleeping Irene and Juanita, then passed them out the window to her brother William. Lulu Angie managed to flee with Leona to safety. Charles, in spite of his burned hands and arms, succeeded in raising a ladder to a second floor window, and rescued his 200 pound mother-in-law, Hannah Rogers. We have no knowledge of how Alanson survived. Once everyone had escaped from the burning house, Maryette collapsed and had to be revived. She, Irene, and Juanita had a very narrow escape. Irene's and Juanita's hair was singed.
The fresh blood of a hen was placed on Maryette's facial burns, and covered with cotton. She was left with only one scar on her nose where there had been a small hole in the cloth. Her father suffered permanent scars on his hands and arms.
DeWitt Millis, Maryette's husband, had been traveling in the south, perhaps Virginia. He had returned and was at the old Clark House in Bolivar when he overheard that there was a fire at the Charles Ballard home. He hurried to the farm and discovered the reality.
The most amazing detail that has sifted down is that all twelve people in the house averted death on that dreadful evening!
The five children grew up to become valuable contributors to the Richburg community:
Lulu Angie Millis, who was later known just as Angie, married Gene Whitcomb and lived on Richardson Street behind the Red & White Store.
Leona Millis married Harry Goodrich who was a prominent local civic leader and served as a New York State Assemblyman for six years. Their son, “Dee,” married Isabelle Owens, sister of Pauline Owens Stohr, the mother of my aunt-by-marriage -- Donna Stohr Moses. Dee and Isabelle were both youthful friends of my mother, Etha Moses Herne, and are pictured in her high school album of snapshots. Laurie Goodrich Deschler is the daughter of Dee and Isabelle and supplied the photos of the Millis family from her archives.
Irene Millis remained a maiden lady and was interested in genealogy.
Juanita Millis married Edgar Cady, and is the grandmother of Virginia Cooley Cecchi. I do have memories of “Nita” Cady as a tall slim elderly woman active at the Richburg First Day Baptist Church.
The “new” house, which sits on the site of the house which burned, was occupied by Henry Lee Millis in my youth. Henry was our eggman, delivering eggs to our house regularly. I remember his unusual gait – his feet dropped from the ankles has he lifted each foot. He would come to our backdoor and enter calling, “Yoo-Hoo,” as was the custom in those days. He often took time to sit at the kitchen table having a chat with my mother. I had no idea then that he was related, but my mother must have known.
Charles and Pamelia Rogers Ballard are buried in the Richburg Cemetery along with Charles’ parents. Their tall square column monument is about halfway back on the right half of the original section of the cemetery.
The graves of many mentioned in this story are in the Richburg Cemetery or Bolivar’s Maple Lawn Cemetery. Virginia’s parents, Phyllis and Homer Cooley, are buried next to my uncle and aunt – Francis and Bernice Moses. Both Uncle Francis and Homer were jovial, well-loved characters, and both are descendants of the Lemuel and Hannah Rogers. Though they were good friends, I wonder if they knew that they were third cousins by marriage! I recall them telling about trying out their graves. They once lay side by side in the grass on their plots measuring to see if they would fit!
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
The Heart Breaker
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My mother’s photo albums from her high school years and young adult life were disintegrating. I salvaged them by creating one archival scrapbook, keeping the style and sequence the same as her original albums. As you would expect of a teenager’s album, her pages contained family, friends, school activities, and beaucoup boyfriends, or suitors, as she would have called them!!! It is shocking how many boys were “sweet on her!” I wish she had identified more of them, or that I had listened more intently when she told me stories! These are some of the names that are identified in her albums, but many are nameless: Bob Almy, Bill Ries, Francis Bartoo (I knew him and his family well), Art Smith, Walter Stubble, John Walburn, Richard (“Ritchie”) Chamberlain, Jimmy Waldock (He was my ophthalmologist), Warren Crisjohn, Paul Shoots, Dee Goodrich, Paul Wolf, Howard La Fever, “Alabama,” Neil Laurence, John Jr., Jess (“Jesscuss”) Maitland, and Mel. A set of pictures I find amusing is a group of eight boys posing in a professionally pleasing style under a tree in her front yard. The second photo has my mother is in the center behind them with her arms around those next to her. What a queen bee!
While pouring over the photos, I learned many things about my mother. She was extraordinarily limber doing splits and yoga style positions with her foot to her head. A stunning revelation was that Mom made the decision to marry Dad suddenly! I knew that he had told her on the day they met in 1932, “You don’t know this now, but you are going to marry me someday.” Every time he saw her, he asked when she was going to marry him. What I was not aware of is that she was seriously dating other men mere months before her marriage! In April 1933, she went with the Bartoo family on a trip to Washington, DC. Then on April 21, 1933, there is a picture of her hugging an unnamed boyfriend! It was probably May when Dad asked her his standard question again. She shocked and delighted him by responding, “How about this summer!” On June 11, he gave her a diamond ring, and July 25, 1933, they were married!
When dispensing of my mother’s belongings after her death in 1988, I gave my daughter, Karin, a box of love letters. She was especially close to her Grandma and cherished having the letters. I didn’t have the time then. If they yielded significant information, I knew that Karin would tell me. Now that I have the mournful chore of sorting through my daughter’s belongings, I brought the box of letters home. There are thirty-some letters, all written between 1927-1928, when she was only 15 to 16 years old! The authors included a couple of the beaus in the list above as well as new names: Harold Lehman from Andover, NY; Harold Miller from Warren, Ohio; Bob Gray, a student at the U of P, from Philadelphia, PA; Ron H. Campbell from Olean, NY who sounds like he is a married man; Richard Chamberlain and Paul de Paul, both from Cuba, NY. How did she meet these men when she lived in tiny Richburg, NY? She carried on amorous correspondence with several simultaneously. Most of them came to visit her regularly as they were able, according to their letters, and all of them vowed their love to her in English, French, or Latin.
My mother’s handwriting was uniquely unique! It might be termed a Leaning Tower of Pisa Font as her letters slanted at a forty-five degree angle to the left. She wrote very slowly, forming each letter flawlessly every time. She was a perfectionist, which may account for some of Karin’s and my behaviors. As a child, I was embarrassed that it took her so long to write a check at the checkout counter of a store. I had always assumed that she had developed that style of penmanship while learning to write. The stack of letters contains none written by her. There is a draft copy on scratch paper. The penmanship is not hers as the words are stretched with the letters squished fairly flat. It wasn’t until I reread the draft and noted that the author said that yesterday was her birthday, and the letter was dated June 18, 1928. My mother’s birthday was June 17! She had written this letter! Here is what she scribbled in haste and fury:
“Paul, You haven’t got the brains God gave an angleworm!! Just what do you think I am, a simpleton???? I ought to sue you for breach of promise – but you aren’t worth the room you take up!!!
“Well, to get down to business! Just what do you think you are, a sheik? You think you can catch any girl you want to – you big flirt --- Liar! Do you realize that yesterday was my birthday and you didn’t even send a card or come over with ‘Jas.’ Or send word, or even send a letter! Well I should worry!!! Listen, Big boy, you must think I am crazy about you! Paul, you are just a poor sport! I was good to you – In fact, too good – and look now how you appreciate it.
“Oh well – we used to be good friends, Paul de Paul, but those days are over – I’m afraid. They are crumbled and shattered. Those joys that we knew and the cobwebs we spun with are beaded with dew!
“Enclosed you will find the money to pay for the “C.” So sorry you think it part my fault but…. ”
There is a photo in her album of a boy wearing a sweater with a large “C” on it and the notation reads, “Paul’s mad, and I’m glad.” The next letter from Paul contains the check signed by Etha for $1.25 which he returned to her saying that she was not to blame for the “C.” “I guess I shouldn’t have brought it over for you to wear, too.” Later he says, “I don’t think I’ll get a new letter for my sweater because it’s getting too old and worn out.” The best he could do at an apology was, “I don’t think I’d better come over with Jas. after the way I’ve done. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to see me and I don’t imagine anyone else in Richburg would.”
I think she was more interested in Ritchie than Paul, as I remember hearing about Ritchie. After the row with Paul, his buddy Ritchie wrote that he didn’t think he should come to visit any more and that her mother would probably agree.
The photos verify that she continued the flirting, dating game until 1933, likely breaking a few hearts along the way.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
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Friday, May 15, 2009
Driving Dramas
I needed to drive to North Carolina to visit my grandson and to bring home some things I had left at their house which could not come on the plane. Grant did not have the time to make such a long trek, and I really did not want to make that drive without Guinness accompanying me as my bodyguard. Karin was not fond of Guinness and never wanted him to visit. But Steve's attitude is more lenient, and he welcomed Guinness saying that Kevin would love him.
My route took me south of Erie, Pennsylvania, on 79. I noted a big rig ahead of me driving erratically, sashaying from lane to lane. Then I noted an SUV attempting to pass the truck. The trucker jerked into the left lane cutting off the SUV. The SUV moved to the right lane and tried to pass again. The monstrous truck took his half of the road out the center. The SUV couldn't win at this game, so slowed down, moving back from the truck. Now that the rig had trumped, he drove more sanely. I was now close enough to see the license plate -- PT0068ON. I sped on past the truck praying he wouldn't be mad at me. I noted that his ugly dark blue devil cab was barreling down behind me, so I went faster. I thought -- if I am stopped for speeding, I will tell the cop to go after this wild trucker. As long as I stayed twenty miles over the speed limit, I increased the distance between us. Eventually, he was off my horizon.
On the way home a week later, I was headed to an college friend's house in the panhandle of West Virginia sandwiched between Ohio and Pennsylvania. My GPS guided me off the Interstate in Ohio and onto a small, scenic river road. At first, it was only two lanes, but it eventually became four lanes. Cruising my usual ten miles over the speed limit, I passed an ugly, old black car with three guys in it. The driver pulled out of the right lane and started tagging me. I assumed that he perferred that I be stopped for speeding instead of him. After a while, he was not just following me, but was tailing me. I considered touching my brakes to make him back off, but didn't which may have been fortuitous. I was becoming annoyed with his tailgating, when Guinness awakened and stood up. Immediately, the car passed me, not to be seen again.
When I told Grant the story, he thinks the car was stalking me. These red necks saw a Lexus from Canada with an older woman -- an easy target and one who likely had money. The usual technique is to bump a vehicle, causing it to stop, giving them the opportunity to rob or worse. After he planted that idea, I remembered that the car had passed me at one point, then pulled into the right lane allowing me to pass them again. They were probably getting a good look at their prey. Thank God for Guinness!!!
My route took me south of Erie, Pennsylvania, on 79. I noted a big rig ahead of me driving erratically, sashaying from lane to lane. Then I noted an SUV attempting to pass the truck. The trucker jerked into the left lane cutting off the SUV. The SUV moved to the right lane and tried to pass again. The monstrous truck took his half of the road out the center. The SUV couldn't win at this game, so slowed down, moving back from the truck. Now that the rig had trumped, he drove more sanely. I was now close enough to see the license plate -- PT0068ON. I sped on past the truck praying he wouldn't be mad at me. I noted that his ugly dark blue devil cab was barreling down behind me, so I went faster. I thought -- if I am stopped for speeding, I will tell the cop to go after this wild trucker. As long as I stayed twenty miles over the speed limit, I increased the distance between us. Eventually, he was off my horizon.
On the way home a week later, I was headed to an college friend's house in the panhandle of West Virginia sandwiched between Ohio and Pennsylvania. My GPS guided me off the Interstate in Ohio and onto a small, scenic river road. At first, it was only two lanes, but it eventually became four lanes. Cruising my usual ten miles over the speed limit, I passed an ugly, old black car with three guys in it. The driver pulled out of the right lane and started tagging me. I assumed that he perferred that I be stopped for speeding instead of him. After a while, he was not just following me, but was tailing me. I considered touching my brakes to make him back off, but didn't which may have been fortuitous. I was becoming annoyed with his tailgating, when Guinness awakened and stood up. Immediately, the car passed me, not to be seen again.
When I told Grant the story, he thinks the car was stalking me. These red necks saw a Lexus from Canada with an older woman -- an easy target and one who likely had money. The usual technique is to bump a vehicle, causing it to stop, giving them the opportunity to rob or worse. After he planted that idea, I remembered that the car had passed me at one point, then pulled into the right lane allowing me to pass them again. They were probably getting a good look at their prey. Thank God for Guinness!!!
Friday, April 10, 2009
Does AAA mean The Amos and Andy Auto Show?
Last night, I returned Aunt Donna to her retirement complex at 9:30 after having spent a delightful day together. As I drove out of her parking lot, something was definitely wrong with my son's Honda Odyssey I was driving. As I pulled onto the street, I again felt the unusual sensation that the car was not right. At the next entrance, I drove back into the parking lot, then noted that there was a yellow caution light on the dash. I pulled out the manual to see what it could be: low tire pressure. I got out of the car to see if a tire had a visual problem. The driver’s front tire was flat to the rim! I pulled under a street light where no other cars were parked and called AAA. They said it would be 45 minutes before they could get there. First, I awakened my son to tell him I had a flat and would not be back to his house until late. He said he would come help me if I needed him, but I assured him he could go back to sleep as AAA was on their way. I asked him where the spare was and he explained how to get it out. Then I awakened my husband, Grant, 1500 miles away. He wanted me to call him back when it was fixed and again when I reached Greg’s house. I told him I would only call if I had more trouble, because I wanted him to sleep! He was leaving early in the morning to catch a plane to come here.
I did not want to disturb Aunt Donna; she was probably crawling into bed by the time I finished my phone calls. I had no book to read, except the vehicle manual. I looked up how to get the spare tire out, then snoozed until the phone rang at 10:20 to say they were on the way. Shortly before 10:30, I saw a very long flatbed tow truck barreling down the street with its lights flashing. It zipped right past me, plus it was so large that I assumed it was not my rescue vehicle. A minute later, it returned racing past me again. This time, I saw it turn in down the street a ways, and knew that they couldn’t find me. My phone rang. I answered with. “You can’t find me; can you? You have sped past me twice now.” I explained again where I was and they were beside me in seconds.
The passenger jumped out of the cab – a short, nerdy-looking guy with glasses whom I will call Amos. I showed him the tire and told him where to find the spare. He had trouble figuring out how to get into it, so I offered him the manual turned to the right page, which he accepted gratefully. I would have assumed that a tow truck person would know how and where to find the spare in every type of vehicle! Meanwhile, the driver, whom I will dub Andy, appeared – a huge African-American. Greg later told me that there always is a bouncer type of guy on a tow truck team, because their clients usually are in a very bad mood as result of an accident or major malfunction, having their vehicle impounded, or other situation where they might need to be aggressive with a belligerent client. Andy thought the tire looked just fine and that they should try to pump it up. Amos didn’t agree but went along with Andy. Amos tried to attach the air hose and held it in place. Andy said, “You don’t have to hold it. Here,” and showed him how to attach it. Amos was impressed. Andy asked Amos to sit behind the wheel to tell him when the dash light went off indicating the tire was full. I told them that I doubted that would happen, because we had to take my Lexus to the dealership to have them turn off the tire pressure light after adding air. I was envisioning the tire exploding due to these goons. When it was full, Andy asked Amos to drive the car backwards bit by bit so that he could check for the leak. He was sure that it was a slow leak and that it would be fine to drive on, back to Fort Worth – 30 minutes away on the highway. I was becoming a bit uncomfortable with that thought! Fortunately (if that is the right word), the tire flattened again within minutes. Amos told me to the side that he wasn’t going to let Andy send me home with a defective tire on. Then Amos was going to jack up the car, but had difficulty with the jack, so Andy had to do it. I asked, “How long have you two worked together?”
Amos replied, “He’s my brother-in-law! He married my sister. On their wedding day, I kept telling him, ‘Just say I do; just say I do.’”
They switched tires, and Amos couldn’t figure out how to let the jack down without Andy’s help. They finished at 11:00.
I thanked them for their assistance, and they were polite and gracious in their responses. They indicated that I was the nicest client they had had in a long time. Greg had told me the same thing – that their normal client would not treat them with any respect. I was home at 11:30. Grant called as soon as I was home – not happy that I had left him hanging. But I wanted him to sleep!
I am always grateful for God’s benevolent care. The flat happened at the most convenient spot possible, and the entire fiasco was uneventful.
I did not want to disturb Aunt Donna; she was probably crawling into bed by the time I finished my phone calls. I had no book to read, except the vehicle manual. I looked up how to get the spare tire out, then snoozed until the phone rang at 10:20 to say they were on the way. Shortly before 10:30, I saw a very long flatbed tow truck barreling down the street with its lights flashing. It zipped right past me, plus it was so large that I assumed it was not my rescue vehicle. A minute later, it returned racing past me again. This time, I saw it turn in down the street a ways, and knew that they couldn’t find me. My phone rang. I answered with. “You can’t find me; can you? You have sped past me twice now.” I explained again where I was and they were beside me in seconds.
The passenger jumped out of the cab – a short, nerdy-looking guy with glasses whom I will call Amos. I showed him the tire and told him where to find the spare. He had trouble figuring out how to get into it, so I offered him the manual turned to the right page, which he accepted gratefully. I would have assumed that a tow truck person would know how and where to find the spare in every type of vehicle! Meanwhile, the driver, whom I will dub Andy, appeared – a huge African-American. Greg later told me that there always is a bouncer type of guy on a tow truck team, because their clients usually are in a very bad mood as result of an accident or major malfunction, having their vehicle impounded, or other situation where they might need to be aggressive with a belligerent client. Andy thought the tire looked just fine and that they should try to pump it up. Amos didn’t agree but went along with Andy. Amos tried to attach the air hose and held it in place. Andy said, “You don’t have to hold it. Here,” and showed him how to attach it. Amos was impressed. Andy asked Amos to sit behind the wheel to tell him when the dash light went off indicating the tire was full. I told them that I doubted that would happen, because we had to take my Lexus to the dealership to have them turn off the tire pressure light after adding air. I was envisioning the tire exploding due to these goons. When it was full, Andy asked Amos to drive the car backwards bit by bit so that he could check for the leak. He was sure that it was a slow leak and that it would be fine to drive on, back to Fort Worth – 30 minutes away on the highway. I was becoming a bit uncomfortable with that thought! Fortunately (if that is the right word), the tire flattened again within minutes. Amos told me to the side that he wasn’t going to let Andy send me home with a defective tire on. Then Amos was going to jack up the car, but had difficulty with the jack, so Andy had to do it. I asked, “How long have you two worked together?”
Amos replied, “He’s my brother-in-law! He married my sister. On their wedding day, I kept telling him, ‘Just say I do; just say I do.’”
They switched tires, and Amos couldn’t figure out how to let the jack down without Andy’s help. They finished at 11:00.
I thanked them for their assistance, and they were polite and gracious in their responses. They indicated that I was the nicest client they had had in a long time. Greg had told me the same thing – that their normal client would not treat them with any respect. I was home at 11:30. Grant called as soon as I was home – not happy that I had left him hanging. But I wanted him to sleep!
I am always grateful for God’s benevolent care. The flat happened at the most convenient spot possible, and the entire fiasco was uneventful.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
My Vision of Karin
In the first month after Karin’s death, I had nightmares about her. Like my mother, my dreams often include my deceased relatives, but not Karin yet. Before awaking this morning, I dreamed that Steve had emailed me several files of journals which Karin had written that he found on her computer. I was thrilled to receive these, but before I read them, I had more of a vision of Karin than a dream. She appeared before me wearing a purple floral dress similar to a Laura Ashley one she had in high school. We hugged tightly as I sobbed and sobbed. She comforted me saying it was OK. I asked how she was, and she told me not to worry about her, that she was fine. While hugging, I could see her indistinct face in a mirror. She said that she was no longer in pain, and, to prove it, she bent, twisted, and twirled her body around before leaving me.
Maybe my brain is ready to introduce her into my pleasant dreams. And I did dream about her again last night (Ap. 8). She was helping to plan her funeral -- not particularly pleasant, but very Karin. She wanted a white hearse, so we blew that one.
Grant received my email about my dream, called, and said the HE dreamed about Karin for the first time that same night! She had just become engaged to an unknown person. We were very happy and excited for her. Greg came in; she told him; he made a typical snide comment, then hugged and congratulated her. :-0 And we are not together! He is at home and I am in Texas.
Maybe my brain is ready to introduce her into my pleasant dreams. And I did dream about her again last night (Ap. 8). She was helping to plan her funeral -- not particularly pleasant, but very Karin. She wanted a white hearse, so we blew that one.
Grant received my email about my dream, called, and said the HE dreamed about Karin for the first time that same night! She had just become engaged to an unknown person. We were very happy and excited for her. Greg came in; she told him; he made a typical snide comment, then hugged and congratulated her. :-0 And we are not together! He is at home and I am in Texas.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Borderline Stress Test
Early Tuesday morning, May 2, I left home with Hershey, my constant companion, to spend a few days with my family in Michigan. While driving, I called my sister-in-law. Her granddaughter answered. We had not talked in ages, so we gabbed a long time, then I had my usual lengthy chat with my sister-in-law catching up on each other’s activities including my current trip. After we said goodbye, I realized that the 401 had narrowed to two lanes on each side, thus I had not even seen London plus missed my exit for Sarnia. I was on my way to Windsor, and stuck with driving through Detroit.
As I pulled up to the US customs booth, the agent said, “Hello. How are you today?” I thought that was a rather cheery greeting especially at the Detroit border crossing where they are known for their officious inflexibility. I replied, “Fine.”
He took my passport. “Do you know your license plate number?”
“1 N..,” I hesitated because my husband had bought new personalized plates for me in April using my middle initial instead of maiden name initial, so I had to think. “MW, I think. They are brand new.”
“Have you seen a doctor recently?”
“Yeeeees,” as my mind was swirling with outrageous thoughts: Good grief! Why would he ask that? Is my health record connected to my license number? Is Big Brother watching? Were the results from my SPECT Cardiolite stress test yesterday so bad that they think I may have a heart attack while driving and have notified the authorities to watch for me on the road?
“Did you have a bone scan?”
“Yeeeees.” Then I added, “My bone density is very good for an old lady of my age.”
“I am sure it is.”
Another agent walked up to me. “Have you had a stress test lately?”
“Yeees, yesterday.” Unsettling thoughts were exploding in my brain! “How would you know that?”
“You are radioactive. Would you please pull up to that man over there. You will need to fill out some paperwork inside.” The indicated individual waved me in his direction as the second agent walked my passport over to him. I was directed to drive between two posts and make a tight circle around back to him. I still had not figured out what was going on. After completing the loop, I joked, “I can do it faster. Do you want me to drive around again?”
“No. That was good enough. Will your dog bite me?”
“No, but he will lick you.”
After he directed me to accompany the second agent into the building, I confessed, “My stress test yesterday was very stressful, but this is too.” They concurred. As I walked in, he drove my vehicle between the posts. Later I deduced that they were verifying that it was me, not my vehicle, which was radioactive.
Inside, they offered me a chair as three agents surrounded me, one with a Geiger counter-type machine which he held close to my body and backed away. I asked how long I would be radioactive. “Usually about three weeks.”
“Three weeks! I have to cross the border again on Thursday! Aah, but the Canadians don’t care. They usually don’t even ask my citizenship.” The female agent explained that Canadian border agents receive the same training that they receive. I remarked, “I guess I don’t look much like a terrorist threat to them.”
One of them questioned where I was going and why. I explained, “I am on my way to my brother’s in Rochester Hills, and my dog is going to see my nephew who is a vet. He is the only vet who understands his allergies.”
The door opened, and the agent returned my car keys, stating, “You were right.”
“You mean he licked you?”
“He sure did.”
I was then given my passport and released. The female agent continued chatting about dogs and canine allergies as she escorted me to my car.
I wonder what my blood pressure was during that episode.
Three days later, while driving toward the Port Huron/Sarnia crossing, I was feeling unsettled about what might happen at the border as I recalled an incident from the previous month. It was blizzard conditions as I approached Customs. The Canadian officer asked for my license number. “I don’t know it!”
“Why don’t you know it?”
“Why should I? No one ever asks for it.”
“Then get out and tell me what it is.”
“If I do that, I will have to pull either forward or backward. Which would you like me to do?”
In a huff, she stormed out of her booth, and went to look. “Is the storm preventing you from seeing my plate with your cameras?” No answer. But she released me.
I pulled into the stall at Sarnia. The customs officer queried where I live and how much I was bringing back. Period.
As I pulled up to the US customs booth, the agent said, “Hello. How are you today?” I thought that was a rather cheery greeting especially at the Detroit border crossing where they are known for their officious inflexibility. I replied, “Fine.”
He took my passport. “Do you know your license plate number?”
“1 N..,” I hesitated because my husband had bought new personalized plates for me in April using my middle initial instead of maiden name initial, so I had to think. “MW, I think. They are brand new.”
“Have you seen a doctor recently?”
“Yeeeees,” as my mind was swirling with outrageous thoughts: Good grief! Why would he ask that? Is my health record connected to my license number? Is Big Brother watching? Were the results from my SPECT Cardiolite stress test yesterday so bad that they think I may have a heart attack while driving and have notified the authorities to watch for me on the road?
“Did you have a bone scan?”
“Yeeeees.” Then I added, “My bone density is very good for an old lady of my age.”
“I am sure it is.”
Another agent walked up to me. “Have you had a stress test lately?”
“Yeees, yesterday.” Unsettling thoughts were exploding in my brain! “How would you know that?”
“You are radioactive. Would you please pull up to that man over there. You will need to fill out some paperwork inside.” The indicated individual waved me in his direction as the second agent walked my passport over to him. I was directed to drive between two posts and make a tight circle around back to him. I still had not figured out what was going on. After completing the loop, I joked, “I can do it faster. Do you want me to drive around again?”
“No. That was good enough. Will your dog bite me?”
“No, but he will lick you.”
After he directed me to accompany the second agent into the building, I confessed, “My stress test yesterday was very stressful, but this is too.” They concurred. As I walked in, he drove my vehicle between the posts. Later I deduced that they were verifying that it was me, not my vehicle, which was radioactive.
Inside, they offered me a chair as three agents surrounded me, one with a Geiger counter-type machine which he held close to my body and backed away. I asked how long I would be radioactive. “Usually about three weeks.”
“Three weeks! I have to cross the border again on Thursday! Aah, but the Canadians don’t care. They usually don’t even ask my citizenship.” The female agent explained that Canadian border agents receive the same training that they receive. I remarked, “I guess I don’t look much like a terrorist threat to them.”
One of them questioned where I was going and why. I explained, “I am on my way to my brother’s in Rochester Hills, and my dog is going to see my nephew who is a vet. He is the only vet who understands his allergies.”
The door opened, and the agent returned my car keys, stating, “You were right.”
“You mean he licked you?”
“He sure did.”
I was then given my passport and released. The female agent continued chatting about dogs and canine allergies as she escorted me to my car.
I wonder what my blood pressure was during that episode.
Three days later, while driving toward the Port Huron/Sarnia crossing, I was feeling unsettled about what might happen at the border as I recalled an incident from the previous month. It was blizzard conditions as I approached Customs. The Canadian officer asked for my license number. “I don’t know it!”
“Why don’t you know it?”
“Why should I? No one ever asks for it.”
“Then get out and tell me what it is.”
“If I do that, I will have to pull either forward or backward. Which would you like me to do?”
In a huff, she stormed out of her booth, and went to look. “Is the storm preventing you from seeing my plate with your cameras?” No answer. But she released me.
I pulled into the stall at Sarnia. The customs officer queried where I live and how much I was bringing back. Period.
Monday, November 3, 2008
The Putnam Family Myth
My mother told me many times that she was the favorite grandchild of her maternal Putnam grandparents. It only stood to reason. She was the first grandchild, and she, Etha L. Moses, was named for her grandmother, Etha V. McCoy Putnam.
My great grandfather died before I was born, as did my great grandmother – by only three days. Her death was Christmas Day, and I was born on the day she was buried – December 28. She was the only person who was told what my name would be if I were a girl – Nina May, making me the namesake of my grandmother, Nina May Putnam Moses, the daughter of Etha Putnam. That was a significant piece of information to ruminate in my young mind as I grew up in Etha Putnam’s world.
Nina Moses, my grandmother, inherited her parents’ home. She sold it to my parents and held the mortgage for them. We moved in when I was an infant. The furniture, knickknacks, linens, dishes, and carpets in my childhood home were a mix of my parents’ purchases and the items the three Putnam heirs relinquished. I used Etha Putnam’s insulin bottles, which I found around the house, as milk bottles in my play kitchen.
Repeatedly, my mother related stories of her wonderful, loving grandparents and the special things they did for her. For Christmas one year, the Putnams had purchased Lane cedar chests for their three granddaughters. Grandma and Grandpa allowed my mother to have a peek at the gifts before Christmas as they wanted to see her reaction privately. They gave her a loving note, which she saved in the bottom of her chest, explaining where to look in their house to find her gift, and reminding her to keep it a secret until Christmas Day. They privileged my mother in many ways, warning her not to mention anything to her siblings or cousins. My mother adored these grandparents. Who wouldn’t love grandparents who made you feel special above all others?
Following my mother’s death, the genealogy bug bit me. As part of my research, I asked living relatives their memories of our family. While reminiscing a few years ago, a cousin told me some suspicions of family dealings. This cousin surmises that Great Grandpa Putnam made a special monetary gift to their family, because, as this cousin said, “My [parent] was the favorite grandchild.” I was shocked! I declared that my mother was their favorite.
None of the grandchildren were alive at that moment of discovery, but I was constrained to ask the other great grandchildren if they had been told that their parent was the favored grandchild. They had! Frank and Etha Putnam had succeeded in convincing each grandchild that he or she was the most special one without their ruse being discovered before all of the grandchildren were gone. Plus, each grandchild was so convinced that they were the favored one that they passed that information on to their children.
My initial reaction to this knowledge is that they were appalling grandparents to have lied to their grandchildren. That was a dangerous game to play with young emotions. Their fib compelled their grandchildren to have more love and respect for them. I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if the grandchildren had found out the truth – that they were all loved very much, but not exclusively. I am quite sure that if I had been told that, I would have taunted my brother in our regular disagreements with, “Naaa naa n’na na… I am Grandma and Grandpa’s favorite grandchild!” And then, when the truth was discovered, my internal explosion would have destroyed my love for and my faith in them.
The real truth is that they told each grandchild that they were the favorite one, because they were! I am sure that they loved each grandchild individually. All six grandchildren died knowing they were the favorite. Now that is a beautiful story.
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