I wanted an electric train a long time before I got one. Once Dad took me to a friend’s house. I don’t remember his name. The man lived in a nice house in Schaffer Addition. The houses there were new and expensive. This man’s house had a finished basement. I had never been in a house like that before. In his basement he had huge pencil collection. It covered one whole wall of one of the rooms. There were hundreds of them attached to a pegboard on the wall. He also had a large button collection. It was all very impressive! But the most impressive thing was in another room of the basement. It was an electric train.
The train was on a table high platform that took up the whole room. There was a two-foot walkway all the way around the outside. There were a couple places where you could duck under and come up in an open spot in the middle. The platform had the train track, switch yard, a miniature village on opposite ends of the room and, in between, mountains, tunnels and realistic county side. The detail was amazing! It looked just like real life shrunk down to fit on that platform.
The man ducked under the platform and came up at a control panel. There he could start and stop three different trains. He could control switches and send trains down different track. He could even control lighting in the houses and buildings in the villages. I was hooked. It was amazing!
One Christmas, not too long after that visit, I got an electric train. It was fabulous! It was an HO scale train. For awhile I would set it up on the dining room floor and run the track under the table and back out in a big circle. That wasn’t good enough, though, because I had seen nirvana in that basement.
Dad cut large sheet of plywood to a four foot by seven-foot piece. He placed it, using the posts on each end over the spare bed in my bedroom. The board was about eight inches above the mattress. It was perfect! I could set up my train and leave it up for long periods of time. The board could easily be removed if we had company and needed the bed.
I painted the board with the help of my mother, laid out the track and slowly started adding houses and buildings. For a long time I had a Styrofoam mountain with a tunnel through it. I didn’t like it much because it was flimsy and I didn’t think it looked real. The Explorer Scouts had a big electric train set up at the fair grounds and after visiting it and seeing what they had done I decided I would build my own mountain.
I shaped the mountain using chicken wire. Once I had the mountain and the tunnel the way I wanted it, I soaked strips of newspaper in a plaster paste. I laid the strips over the chicken wire until it was completely covered. When it dried it looked like a big white mountain. I painted the mountain brown and the peak white like it was covered with snow. I thought all mountains were that color. Several visitors commented that the mountain should be green but I didn’t care. My Dad didn’t either. He loved it and was amazed at my construction.
(Somewhere there is a picture of the train on the bed but I haven’t located it. If anyone has it please send me a copy.)
Over time I added cars, track, and another engine. I was very proud of the layout. I played with it and rearranged it often. I took the engines apart completely many times and put them back together. In the process I learned about what made them work. I learned that you had to use a transformer to change the electricity from alternating to direct current and that the circuit had to be complete before it would work.
Every kid ought to have an electric train!
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Cub Scouts
There are saints out there in the world. I know many and my parents would be in that group. Sunday school teachers and teachers, in general, are in that category, too, as well as many others. One unsung group has to be Cub Scout Den Mothers. What would possess someone to take on supervision of 10-12 young boys, I don’t know? They meet one evening during the week and attend a pack meeting of all dens once a month. That is a big commitment no matter how you look at it.
I was in Pack 28. It included the area south of the railroad tracks and north of highway 34. We had a Pack meeting the last Thursday of every month. It was held at the National Guard Armory. Big events of the year included the Blue and Gold Banquet and the Pine Wood Derby. I got second place in the derby in 1958. I still have the car Dad and I made and the award they gave me for second place. I actually had it won until a kid showed up late. They let him race me even though he hadn’t participated up to that point. He beat me and I guess that is the bottom line.
I was in Den 2. We were the only Den that met year around. We met on Monday evenings at the Liechty’s. Mrs. Max Liechty was the Den Mother. She was the senior Den Mother of Pack 28 because she had actually survived it for more that three years. The life expectancy of a Den Mother in those days was somewhere between three and seven months. It has increased over the years with the introduction of drugs like Prozac and other calming medications.
Mrs. Rabedeaux assisted Mrs. Liechty when she could. Other members of our Den were Roger Milks, Tom Weir, Allen Barnes, Jerry Liechty, Robert Ross, Garry LeMaster, and David Rabedeaux. Joe Liechty was the Den Chief. He was 3 years older than us and a Webelo.
The Webelos were older Cub Scouts who met on a different night. Everybody wanted to be a Webelo because they got to make neat things with leather. Somewhere I think I still have the belt I made when I finally became a Webelo. Webelos made things with wood, too. Webelos were cool! Of course, the ultimate goal for everyone was to be a Boy Scout.
I think I learned a lot as a Scout. I learned about how to get along with others, about dignity, and about respect. Without Scouting I would have probably learned those things some other way but Scouting worked for me. We also learned about ritual through uniforms, practices, salutes, oaths, and rules. Many of them seem silly now but they were really important then. Silly or not, learning about ritual is important. It is not the ritual by itself but the process that is important, as it has been across time. Ritual is in everything whether you believe it or not.
There are other things I learned from scouting, too. Things I am not so proud of. Things like swearing. We actually practiced our swearing in Scouts. Not when the adults were around, of course, but we did practice. The whole idea of swearing is to make it sound like you mean it. Not so easy for an eight year old who doesn’t even know what most of the words mean. But we tried! Then we would critique each other. Kids who grew up in a home with swearing had the edge. My home wasn’t like that. I don’t think I ever heard my mother swear and my father only a few times when I was much older. Consequently, I could never do it very well and usually laughed when I tried. A definite “no no” in swearing. If you’re going to swear effectively not even a smile is permitted.
So, thanks to Scouting, I guess I grew up ritual enhanced, but profanity impaired.
I was in Pack 28. It included the area south of the railroad tracks and north of highway 34. We had a Pack meeting the last Thursday of every month. It was held at the National Guard Armory. Big events of the year included the Blue and Gold Banquet and the Pine Wood Derby. I got second place in the derby in 1958. I still have the car Dad and I made and the award they gave me for second place. I actually had it won until a kid showed up late. They let him race me even though he hadn’t participated up to that point. He beat me and I guess that is the bottom line.
I was in Den 2. We were the only Den that met year around. We met on Monday evenings at the Liechty’s. Mrs. Max Liechty was the Den Mother. She was the senior Den Mother of Pack 28 because she had actually survived it for more that three years. The life expectancy of a Den Mother in those days was somewhere between three and seven months. It has increased over the years with the introduction of drugs like Prozac and other calming medications.
Mrs. Rabedeaux assisted Mrs. Liechty when she could. Other members of our Den were Roger Milks, Tom Weir, Allen Barnes, Jerry Liechty, Robert Ross, Garry LeMaster, and David Rabedeaux. Joe Liechty was the Den Chief. He was 3 years older than us and a Webelo.
The Webelos were older Cub Scouts who met on a different night. Everybody wanted to be a Webelo because they got to make neat things with leather. Somewhere I think I still have the belt I made when I finally became a Webelo. Webelos made things with wood, too. Webelos were cool! Of course, the ultimate goal for everyone was to be a Boy Scout.
I think I learned a lot as a Scout. I learned about how to get along with others, about dignity, and about respect. Without Scouting I would have probably learned those things some other way but Scouting worked for me. We also learned about ritual through uniforms, practices, salutes, oaths, and rules. Many of them seem silly now but they were really important then. Silly or not, learning about ritual is important. It is not the ritual by itself but the process that is important, as it has been across time. Ritual is in everything whether you believe it or not.
There are other things I learned from scouting, too. Things I am not so proud of. Things like swearing. We actually practiced our swearing in Scouts. Not when the adults were around, of course, but we did practice. The whole idea of swearing is to make it sound like you mean it. Not so easy for an eight year old who doesn’t even know what most of the words mean. But we tried! Then we would critique each other. Kids who grew up in a home with swearing had the edge. My home wasn’t like that. I don’t think I ever heard my mother swear and my father only a few times when I was much older. Consequently, I could never do it very well and usually laughed when I tried. A definite “no no” in swearing. If you’re going to swear effectively not even a smile is permitted.
So, thanks to Scouting, I guess I grew up ritual enhanced, but profanity impaired.
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Madison Street Construction Company
We loved boxes…cardboard boxes. Cranes Furniture store was just across the street from the Harlan Hotel. The back door faced the alley and then the lumberyard. They had a place outside the back door where they put the large boxes that the refrigerators and other large appliances came in. We made it a habit to check on that spot regularly. We were soon on to the appliance delivery schedule from the factory and we knew when a new supply of boxes would be available.
We could go up to Cranes and select our boxes and drag them home right down the middle of the street. The cardboard rubbing the concrete made a loud roar as we drug it along. We would sometimes drag two or three boxes home in one day. My Dad didn’t like it because they cluttered up the yard and were hard to get rid of. Besides that, if you left them in one spot too long it killed the grass.
We constructed all sorts of things using those boxes. We made houses and battleships, forts and towers, and much more. We would play with them for days before we grew tired and went on to something else.
We built a tower in the far southeast corner of the yard using wood stored in the shed and cardboard from boxes. We went as far as putting the posts in the ground to make it sturdy. When Dad saw he was both angry that we had used his wood and tools, and amazed that we could build such a structure. He asked a lot of questions about how we had done it. I think he was kind of proud of me this time.
He let us keep it for a couple weeks and then with his supervision we burned it to the ground. It was a spectacular fire. The flames leaped at the electrical and phone wires that were high up above it. For a brief moment we thought we might have to put it out but the flames settled down some and we let it burn.
We used boxes to construct elaborate castles, complete with a drawbridge and other amenities. They would last two or three days and then we would grow tired of it, or it would rain and the boxes would get soft and collapse. When they were of no use to us anymore we would pull them to the trash barrel and they would become history.
We used a series of boxes to create a maze once. I guess we were way ahead of our time since they are so popular now. At Halloween we made a spook house and charged kids a dime to go through. That didn’t work to well because we scared ourselves so much that we didn’t want to do it.
Even today, I find myself admiring a good piece of cardboard or a nice box. I keep a few pieces around just in case I might need one. You never know when one might be useful. I kept one large box from our siding and window project all summer long. I finally put it in the dog kennel in November to protect Abby from the wind.
We could go up to Cranes and select our boxes and drag them home right down the middle of the street. The cardboard rubbing the concrete made a loud roar as we drug it along. We would sometimes drag two or three boxes home in one day. My Dad didn’t like it because they cluttered up the yard and were hard to get rid of. Besides that, if you left them in one spot too long it killed the grass.
We constructed all sorts of things using those boxes. We made houses and battleships, forts and towers, and much more. We would play with them for days before we grew tired and went on to something else.
We built a tower in the far southeast corner of the yard using wood stored in the shed and cardboard from boxes. We went as far as putting the posts in the ground to make it sturdy. When Dad saw he was both angry that we had used his wood and tools, and amazed that we could build such a structure. He asked a lot of questions about how we had done it. I think he was kind of proud of me this time.
He let us keep it for a couple weeks and then with his supervision we burned it to the ground. It was a spectacular fire. The flames leaped at the electrical and phone wires that were high up above it. For a brief moment we thought we might have to put it out but the flames settled down some and we let it burn.
We used boxes to construct elaborate castles, complete with a drawbridge and other amenities. They would last two or three days and then we would grow tired of it, or it would rain and the boxes would get soft and collapse. When they were of no use to us anymore we would pull them to the trash barrel and they would become history.
We used a series of boxes to create a maze once. I guess we were way ahead of our time since they are so popular now. At Halloween we made a spook house and charged kids a dime to go through. That didn’t work to well because we scared ourselves so much that we didn’t want to do it.
Even today, I find myself admiring a good piece of cardboard or a nice box. I keep a few pieces around just in case I might need one. You never know when one might be useful. I kept one large box from our siding and window project all summer long. I finally put it in the dog kennel in November to protect Abby from the wind.
Sunday, January 08, 2006
Our Dogs
41. Coco, Velvet, and Skipper
There were three family dogs during my childhood: Coco, Velvet, and Skipper. Coco was around when I was born and Skipper was there when I left and lived for sometime after that. I often wonder what the dogs think. You know, what do they think of us? I think you could say that we didn’t own any dogs. They owned us.
Coco was Nancy’s dog. I can only very vaguely remember him. I don’t think he liked me very much. He was around during my toddler years and I suspect I was too aggressive for him. Most of the time he steered clear of me. I don’t know if Coco died of old age or some kind of calamity. Whatever it was it was kept from me.
Our next dog was Velvet. Velvet, part cocker spaniel, was Loretta’s dog. Velvet had a great temperament and was a welcome visitor in spots all over town. In those days dogs had free roam of the community…a practice that might reduce the rodent and deer population in urban areas now. My mother would say that, “Velvet is making his rounds.” It did, indeed, seem that there was a pattern to the way he circulated threw the neighborhood. He knew where he might find something to eat or a handout from a friendly neighbor.
Velvet loved children and so the school playground was a regular stop on those “rounds.” Velvet would move from one group of children to the next soaking up all of the petting and ear scratching he could get. He loved to be rubbed on the belly. He seemed to know when the recesses were and would wait for the kids to come out.
Velvet loved to go with Dad and I when we went arrowhead hunting and was really good at showing up wet and muddy when it was time to get in the car and go home. My Dad would keep a towel in the trunk just for that reason. If Velvet was really muddy, which happened often, he had to ride in the trunk all the way home. He knew the routine and would hop right in when he got to the car.
Velvet had a bad habit of following me about everywhere I would go. If I walked downtown to see my Dad at Hoaglin’s, Velvet had to wander along, too. I often would try walking back home and telling Velvet to stay but it didn’t usually work. It was a good thing that people in cars were careful because Velvet seemed oblivious to traffic and would wander across busy streets and sometimes stop in the middle to sniff some flattened road kill.
Stan Light, a local entrepreneur and junk dealer, lived in a house just up the hill from the swimming pool in Saunders Park. Velvet was drawn to the pool because of all the children there and followed me there often. Stan Light had two big Weimaraners, vicious territorial dogs. One fateful day Velvet followed me to the pool. I didn’t see Velvet again until I got home that day. Velvet was lying on the floor in the nook by the bathroom door. My father explained that Velvet had been badly mauled by the Weimaraners. They had been to Dr. Hunt, the vet, and he had done all he could. For hours we tried to comfort Velvet and finally mother sent us to bed.
It only seemed like it had been a few minutes and Mother called us back downstairs. Velvet had died. That night we buried Velvet in a spot under a red bud tree in the back yard.
Our next dog was a mostly Beagle, but part something else dog, we called Skipper. We brought Skipper home on May 5, 1960. Skipper was my dog, or rather, I was his. Skipper was like Velvet in many ways. He roamed freely all over the community but seemed to be a little more car savvy. Skipper appeared to look both ways before he crossed a street. I know you will think that is crazy but that dog would look both ways, wait on traffic if necessary, and then cross the street.
Skipper also had a sense of humor and had a visible smile on his face when he was happy. He loved to be outside and go arrowhead hunting with Dad and me. Dad often got upset with him because of his unique ability to get muddy no matter how dry it was or how far we were from any water source. Consequently, Skipper road home in the trunk many times. Then he had to have a bath before coming in the house.
Sometimes Skipper would nap and dream he was chasing rabbits. He would bark and wake himself up and we would all laugh. He would act a little embarrassed but laugh at himself, too. Skipper was a good dog. I miss him.
There were three family dogs during my childhood: Coco, Velvet, and Skipper. Coco was around when I was born and Skipper was there when I left and lived for sometime after that. I often wonder what the dogs think. You know, what do they think of us? I think you could say that we didn’t own any dogs. They owned us.
Coco was Nancy’s dog. I can only very vaguely remember him. I don’t think he liked me very much. He was around during my toddler years and I suspect I was too aggressive for him. Most of the time he steered clear of me. I don’t know if Coco died of old age or some kind of calamity. Whatever it was it was kept from me.
Our next dog was Velvet. Velvet, part cocker spaniel, was Loretta’s dog. Velvet had a great temperament and was a welcome visitor in spots all over town. In those days dogs had free roam of the community…a practice that might reduce the rodent and deer population in urban areas now. My mother would say that, “Velvet is making his rounds.” It did, indeed, seem that there was a pattern to the way he circulated threw the neighborhood. He knew where he might find something to eat or a handout from a friendly neighbor.
Velvet loved children and so the school playground was a regular stop on those “rounds.” Velvet would move from one group of children to the next soaking up all of the petting and ear scratching he could get. He loved to be rubbed on the belly. He seemed to know when the recesses were and would wait for the kids to come out.
Velvet loved to go with Dad and I when we went arrowhead hunting and was really good at showing up wet and muddy when it was time to get in the car and go home. My Dad would keep a towel in the trunk just for that reason. If Velvet was really muddy, which happened often, he had to ride in the trunk all the way home. He knew the routine and would hop right in when he got to the car.
Velvet had a bad habit of following me about everywhere I would go. If I walked downtown to see my Dad at Hoaglin’s, Velvet had to wander along, too. I often would try walking back home and telling Velvet to stay but it didn’t usually work. It was a good thing that people in cars were careful because Velvet seemed oblivious to traffic and would wander across busy streets and sometimes stop in the middle to sniff some flattened road kill.
Stan Light, a local entrepreneur and junk dealer, lived in a house just up the hill from the swimming pool in Saunders Park. Velvet was drawn to the pool because of all the children there and followed me there often. Stan Light had two big Weimaraners, vicious territorial dogs. One fateful day Velvet followed me to the pool. I didn’t see Velvet again until I got home that day. Velvet was lying on the floor in the nook by the bathroom door. My father explained that Velvet had been badly mauled by the Weimaraners. They had been to Dr. Hunt, the vet, and he had done all he could. For hours we tried to comfort Velvet and finally mother sent us to bed.
It only seemed like it had been a few minutes and Mother called us back downstairs. Velvet had died. That night we buried Velvet in a spot under a red bud tree in the back yard.
Our next dog was a mostly Beagle, but part something else dog, we called Skipper. We brought Skipper home on May 5, 1960. Skipper was my dog, or rather, I was his. Skipper was like Velvet in many ways. He roamed freely all over the community but seemed to be a little more car savvy. Skipper appeared to look both ways before he crossed a street. I know you will think that is crazy but that dog would look both ways, wait on traffic if necessary, and then cross the street.
Skipper also had a sense of humor and had a visible smile on his face when he was happy. He loved to be outside and go arrowhead hunting with Dad and me. Dad often got upset with him because of his unique ability to get muddy no matter how dry it was or how far we were from any water source. Consequently, Skipper road home in the trunk many times. Then he had to have a bath before coming in the house.
Sometimes Skipper would nap and dream he was chasing rabbits. He would bark and wake himself up and we would all laugh. He would act a little embarrassed but laugh at himself, too. Skipper was a good dog. I miss him.
Thursday, January 05, 2006
Timeless
Oh, gentle heart
I hear you sing
of life and tears
and precious things.
To live a life
Where most don't care
of hearts and hopes,
of dreams,
of birth.
How little is the future worth?
To hoard the hope of fellow man.
To rob the poor,
to rape the land
with grinding power
and untold wealth
we've twisted in
upon ourselves.
Perry O. Ross, October 2, 1981
I hear you sing
of life and tears
and precious things.
To live a life
Where most don't care
of hearts and hopes,
of dreams,
of birth.
How little is the future worth?
To hoard the hope of fellow man.
To rob the poor,
to rape the land
with grinding power
and untold wealth
we've twisted in
upon ourselves.
Perry O. Ross, October 2, 1981
Monday, January 02, 2006
Silver Dollars
On Christmas morning I couldn’t wait to get up! It was the only day of the year I would wake up early and not be able to go back to sleep. Since my parents were always early risers they would be up and dressed by the time I got downstairs. It would take about three minutes for me to open my gifts and then the excitement was over for a couple of hours. It would build again as we packed food and presents in the car and headed for Grandpa’s house.
We always went to Grandpa’s for Christmas. There we would have Christmas with Grandpa, my great- uncle Lew, my uncle Everett and aunt Neva, their sons Bobby and Harold and their families. The meal was always huge and the food delicious. My favorite part was the pumpkin pie we had for dessert with fresh whipped cream on top.
We didn’t exchange gifts with all of the folks at this event but usually had something for Grandpa and Uncle Lew. The only gift I got and it was the same every year…silver dollars. The amount varied from year to year depending on Grandpa’s mood, I guess. It would usually range between three and eight. They were the big silver dollars and in those days actually had quite a bit of silver in them. They were thick and heavy and sunk deeply in my pocket. My mother usually took charge of them after I handled them for a while. I know she was sure I would lose them.
Often the dollars ended up being deposited in my account at the Savings and Loan. A few times Mom kept them for me in a hidden spot at home. She showed me once where they were and said, “Now these are yours!” That was a mistake because telling me where they were and that they were mine was a risky thing to tell a nine or ten year old boy.
One day, about a week after Christmas, I went to the stash and withdrew the entire amount. In this case, it was about twelve dollars. I remember the day well! It was cold and snowy. I remember walking up to Hoaglin’s Dime Store with those twelve silver dollars creating a bumpy bulge deep in my pocket. Why I didn’t distribute them to other pockets I don’t know? I did take them out and count them several times. Twelve.
Hoaglin’s had models in two locations. One was at the end of an isle at a sale table and the others were in the regular location at the back of the store. I looked at all of the models at the sale table. There were battleships, planes, and cars. Then I went to the regular spot where there were more. I moved back and forth between the two locations pondering my choices and calculating the cost. Several times I had three or four boxes in my arms only to change my mind again.
Finally, after selecting two from the sale table and four from the regular spot I went the register. I thought the price would be right at twelve dollars but it turned out to be less. I ended up with one silver dollar and some change left. Delighted I headed home with two bulging shopping bags.
Of course, you know what happened. My Mom found out! I reminded her that she had said they were mine. It did no good. She let me choose one, a model airplane, and the rest were back in the bags. We went back to Hoaglin’s. I was horribly embarrassed while my mother chastised the store clerk for taking silver dollars from a young boy. Whew! While they were talking the clerk had me return the models to the table where I got them. We went home with eight of the silver dollars and the one I didn’t spend made nine.
That model airplane, assembled, hung from the ceiling in my room the rest of the time I lived at home. Where it is now, I’m not sure?
We always went to Grandpa’s for Christmas. There we would have Christmas with Grandpa, my great- uncle Lew, my uncle Everett and aunt Neva, their sons Bobby and Harold and their families. The meal was always huge and the food delicious. My favorite part was the pumpkin pie we had for dessert with fresh whipped cream on top.
We didn’t exchange gifts with all of the folks at this event but usually had something for Grandpa and Uncle Lew. The only gift I got and it was the same every year…silver dollars. The amount varied from year to year depending on Grandpa’s mood, I guess. It would usually range between three and eight. They were the big silver dollars and in those days actually had quite a bit of silver in them. They were thick and heavy and sunk deeply in my pocket. My mother usually took charge of them after I handled them for a while. I know she was sure I would lose them.
Often the dollars ended up being deposited in my account at the Savings and Loan. A few times Mom kept them for me in a hidden spot at home. She showed me once where they were and said, “Now these are yours!” That was a mistake because telling me where they were and that they were mine was a risky thing to tell a nine or ten year old boy.
One day, about a week after Christmas, I went to the stash and withdrew the entire amount. In this case, it was about twelve dollars. I remember the day well! It was cold and snowy. I remember walking up to Hoaglin’s Dime Store with those twelve silver dollars creating a bumpy bulge deep in my pocket. Why I didn’t distribute them to other pockets I don’t know? I did take them out and count them several times. Twelve.
Hoaglin’s had models in two locations. One was at the end of an isle at a sale table and the others were in the regular location at the back of the store. I looked at all of the models at the sale table. There were battleships, planes, and cars. Then I went to the regular spot where there were more. I moved back and forth between the two locations pondering my choices and calculating the cost. Several times I had three or four boxes in my arms only to change my mind again.
Finally, after selecting two from the sale table and four from the regular spot I went the register. I thought the price would be right at twelve dollars but it turned out to be less. I ended up with one silver dollar and some change left. Delighted I headed home with two bulging shopping bags.
Of course, you know what happened. My Mom found out! I reminded her that she had said they were mine. It did no good. She let me choose one, a model airplane, and the rest were back in the bags. We went back to Hoaglin’s. I was horribly embarrassed while my mother chastised the store clerk for taking silver dollars from a young boy. Whew! While they were talking the clerk had me return the models to the table where I got them. We went home with eight of the silver dollars and the one I didn’t spend made nine.
That model airplane, assembled, hung from the ceiling in my room the rest of the time I lived at home. Where it is now, I’m not sure?
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