We sold nightcrawlers from our house for several years. Becky really got it all started when she saw how much others were charging for a dozen worms and remembered how easy they were to collect when she was younger. She made a big sign for our front yard, we collected several dozen one evening and we were in business. Well, maybe it’s not all that easy.
Going out once in awhile and hunting nightcrawlers can be fun but when you are doing it almost every night it gets a little tiresome. Fingers actually get soar from grabbing the things. Generally, you drive your thumb and index finger into the ground trying to catch the worm and then hold on until it tires and then slowly pull it out of the ground trying not to break it.
It was a competitive market! We started out selling them for 75 cents a dozen. That forced other sellers to lower their price. As the summer progressed the price went up, as worms were harder to find in the hot weather. Because I had a sales tax permit I could buy worms in bulk form Rose’s Bait Shop in West Burlington. I had to have the permit for my house painting business.
Rose’s actually imported their worms from Canada. They came in Styrofoam cooler like boxes they called lugs. A lug of worms was determined by weight but usually was about 400 worms. Smaller worms meant more worms. We liked that because it meant more profit and a small Canadian worm was still plenty large for a fisherman. Their large worms were huge!
The profit, of course was much better when we were finding our own worms so we tried to do that as often as possible. During the years we sold worms we averaged over $1000 per summer. Not bad for a part time job and nice summer income. We reported the income for sales tax and paid the 3 cents on a dollar to the state. Yes, we also reported it all on our income taxes.
We initially kept the worms in the refrigerator and sold them right out of our front door. Becky quickly grew tired of worms in the refrigerator and we moved them to a large cooler on the back porch. We started directing people to the back door to pick them up.
That worked well! Many fishermen just came down the alley and came to the back door. Sometimes they woke us up early looking for worms. Other times we were gone and lost customers, which we didn’t like. We had some regular customers who asked if we could leave worms out on our patio for them. We put them in a smaller cooler and left a cup in it for payment. That worked well and they always left the money.
As time went by we moved the large cooler to the patio and gradually customers got used to the self-service nightcrawler business. That’s when the trouble started! You can read about that in the next installment.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Church Youth Trips
Becky and I went on lots of church youth trips during the seventies. We were a young couple involved in the church and so we got asked often to be part of youth activities. We were even the youth group’s leaders for a few years. We also did youth Sunday school several times. But, the big thing was the trips.
One of the first trips we went on was the youth ski trip to Mt. LaCrosse near La Crosse, Wisconsin. We did know much about leading a group of kids and we knew nothing about skiing but we went anyway. It’s not really a mountain but a big hill.
We started out on the bunny hill and did Ok. They had a rope tow to the top of the big hill so that was the next challenge. It was a long not so steep hill. We went up and came straight down and then up and down again. We could go straight but didn’t know how to turn. After awhile it wasn’t too exciting.
Becky crashed on the hill behind me and was twisted in a painful position. She was unable to move and screamed for my help. Now, the only way I knew to go up hill when skiing was the rope tow but that wasn’t an option. I ended up crawling about 20 yards up the hill to get to her. She had twisted a knee so her skiing was over for the day. Her swollen knee made the long trip home a painful trip.
We took a weeklong trip with the youth group one summer. We took the girls with us on this one. We went to a Presbyterian Camp for a week’s work cleaning and repairing the camp for the camping season. From there we went to Minneapolis we stayed in a church basement. While there we toured an inner city refuge and the group went to a play at the Guthrie Theater. I didn’t get to go because someone needed to stay back at the church and watch Heather.
We made about six trips to Dubuque with church kids. We went there with the confirmation group and visited New Mallory Abby and a Greek Orthodox Church. We stayed all night in the Catholic Seminary and enjoyed having breakfast with the cloistered monks.
Several times while in Dubuque we went skiing at Sundown. It was a better slope than Mt. LaCrosse and offered several routes and challenges. It also had lift chairs that we liked much better than the towropes. We got better and better at it as we continued to go.
Becky perfected several acrobatic moves. More than once after one of the spectacular tumbles I thought surely she was seriously hurt, or worse only to find her giddy with joy. Fortunately, neither us were ever hurt seriously and none of the kids were a problem. We did get a little tired of sleeping on the hard floor of a church.
One of the first trips we went on was the youth ski trip to Mt. LaCrosse near La Crosse, Wisconsin. We did know much about leading a group of kids and we knew nothing about skiing but we went anyway. It’s not really a mountain but a big hill.
We started out on the bunny hill and did Ok. They had a rope tow to the top of the big hill so that was the next challenge. It was a long not so steep hill. We went up and came straight down and then up and down again. We could go straight but didn’t know how to turn. After awhile it wasn’t too exciting.
Becky crashed on the hill behind me and was twisted in a painful position. She was unable to move and screamed for my help. Now, the only way I knew to go up hill when skiing was the rope tow but that wasn’t an option. I ended up crawling about 20 yards up the hill to get to her. She had twisted a knee so her skiing was over for the day. Her swollen knee made the long trip home a painful trip.
We took a weeklong trip with the youth group one summer. We took the girls with us on this one. We went to a Presbyterian Camp for a week’s work cleaning and repairing the camp for the camping season. From there we went to Minneapolis we stayed in a church basement. While there we toured an inner city refuge and the group went to a play at the Guthrie Theater. I didn’t get to go because someone needed to stay back at the church and watch Heather.
We made about six trips to Dubuque with church kids. We went there with the confirmation group and visited New Mallory Abby and a Greek Orthodox Church. We stayed all night in the Catholic Seminary and enjoyed having breakfast with the cloistered monks.
Several times while in Dubuque we went skiing at Sundown. It was a better slope than Mt. LaCrosse and offered several routes and challenges. It also had lift chairs that we liked much better than the towropes. We got better and better at it as we continued to go.
Becky perfected several acrobatic moves. More than once after one of the spectacular tumbles I thought surely she was seriously hurt, or worse only to find her giddy with joy. Fortunately, neither us were ever hurt seriously and none of the kids were a problem. We did get a little tired of sleeping on the hard floor of a church.
Monday, July 16, 2007
The Legend of the Camelback Lure
The Legend of the Camelback Lure
My Grandpa Perry was a great fisherman and he often fished with his brother-in-law, Louis Van Doren. I remember Grandpa being a big fellow who had a full head of hair, seldom wore a hat, and always had a smile on his face. Uncle Lew was a small thin man who often wore a straw fedora and always had a toothpick in his mouth. They fished for catfish, carp, bass, bluegill, and about anything else that swam in the rivers and streams around the family farm in Henry County.
Uncle Lew was always interested in the best fishing techniques and read magazines and many books about it. He experimented with baits like Grandpa’s Gooey Catfish Bait and the anise dough ball for carp. He was always looking for the perfect bait.
I am not sure if he ever found it but he did find the perfect lure, or rather, he made it. There wasn’t much he couldn’t make out of wood. Lew had seen lures advertised in magazines but in the 1930s had no money to spend on them so he started fabricating his own out of wood and other available components. He once told me the first few looked good but didn’t perform right in the water. After much experimentation he came across the perfect design.
The lure, made of wood and leather, behaved just like a fish when you drug it through the water. That behavior is what many commercial lure makers struggle to create. It is not as easy to achieve as you might imagine.
The lure was in two segments, the body and the tail, attached together with a thin strip of cowhide. It was about five inches long, had two treble hooks and was in its day, a real beauty. He called it the Camelback lure cause it sort resembled the back of a camel. I only saw it once. When I was about eight years old Lew got it out to show me.
He kept it in a small cigar box with some of his other homemade lures. I remember holding it in my hand and then he put it back in the box. He even had an old newspaper article about it folded up in that box. He said it was a big mistake to do the interview for the article because it just drew more attention to it. I never saw the article or the lure again but he often told stories about all the fish he caught.
Lew said he ended up making about 5 more just like it for friends and Grandpa. He said they were all amazing but none worked quite as well as the original. He attributed that to one slight difference that he would not divulge.
The unbelievable thing is that the lure never failed to catch a fish. That’s right! With every cast or troll it caught a fish. Unbelievable? Yes, but it is the truth or that is at least what my Grandpa and Uncle Lew said. Being Quakers I don’t think either one would ever tell a lie.
That lure seemed to work on almost any kind of fish. It was irresistible. Bass, carp, bluegill, catfish and even walleyes and northerns went for it. Word spread pretty fast about that lure and when folks saw Lew fishing somewhere they would gather around and watch in amazement! Grandpa Perry talked up the lure every time he got a chance. It got to be so bad that Lew would wear a disguise when he fished but people soon figured that out and flocked around.
That and the fact that fishing trips got much shorter because it only took a few casts to catch his limit caused Uncle Lew to put that lure in semi retirement. Besides that he said it took the fun and challenge out of fishing. He only used it when he had a big fish fry coming up.
I have always wondered what happened to those lures? Uncle Lew died in the sixties and Grandpa in 1972. I don’t remember seeing them in the things they left behind. Years later, I met an old fisherman fishing at Oakland Mills. When I told him my name he said, “You Perry Mendenhall’s grandson?” Of course I said “yes” and he started talking about that lure. He had seen Lew use it many times and Grandpa use his, too.
The old fella swore it was all true and claimed he had one of the replicas for a time, too, but lost it years ago catching a huge catfish in the very spot he was sitting at that moment. Believing catfish can live to be 50-60 years old he was hoping to catch that fish again and get his lure back. I don’t know if he ever did?
I have asked members of my family about the Camelback lure but no one seems to know what became of it. Oh, they all remember it, but each one describes it slightly differently. I do remember what it looked like because I saw it. I sure wish I had it now!
All fishing stories are true and some of them really happened.
My Grandpa Perry was a great fisherman and he often fished with his brother-in-law, Louis Van Doren. I remember Grandpa being a big fellow who had a full head of hair, seldom wore a hat, and always had a smile on his face. Uncle Lew was a small thin man who often wore a straw fedora and always had a toothpick in his mouth. They fished for catfish, carp, bass, bluegill, and about anything else that swam in the rivers and streams around the family farm in Henry County.
Uncle Lew was always interested in the best fishing techniques and read magazines and many books about it. He experimented with baits like Grandpa’s Gooey Catfish Bait and the anise dough ball for carp. He was always looking for the perfect bait.
I am not sure if he ever found it but he did find the perfect lure, or rather, he made it. There wasn’t much he couldn’t make out of wood. Lew had seen lures advertised in magazines but in the 1930s had no money to spend on them so he started fabricating his own out of wood and other available components. He once told me the first few looked good but didn’t perform right in the water. After much experimentation he came across the perfect design.
The lure, made of wood and leather, behaved just like a fish when you drug it through the water. That behavior is what many commercial lure makers struggle to create. It is not as easy to achieve as you might imagine.
The lure was in two segments, the body and the tail, attached together with a thin strip of cowhide. It was about five inches long, had two treble hooks and was in its day, a real beauty. He called it the Camelback lure cause it sort resembled the back of a camel. I only saw it once. When I was about eight years old Lew got it out to show me.
He kept it in a small cigar box with some of his other homemade lures. I remember holding it in my hand and then he put it back in the box. He even had an old newspaper article about it folded up in that box. He said it was a big mistake to do the interview for the article because it just drew more attention to it. I never saw the article or the lure again but he often told stories about all the fish he caught.
Lew said he ended up making about 5 more just like it for friends and Grandpa. He said they were all amazing but none worked quite as well as the original. He attributed that to one slight difference that he would not divulge.
The unbelievable thing is that the lure never failed to catch a fish. That’s right! With every cast or troll it caught a fish. Unbelievable? Yes, but it is the truth or that is at least what my Grandpa and Uncle Lew said. Being Quakers I don’t think either one would ever tell a lie.
That lure seemed to work on almost any kind of fish. It was irresistible. Bass, carp, bluegill, catfish and even walleyes and northerns went for it. Word spread pretty fast about that lure and when folks saw Lew fishing somewhere they would gather around and watch in amazement! Grandpa Perry talked up the lure every time he got a chance. It got to be so bad that Lew would wear a disguise when he fished but people soon figured that out and flocked around.
That and the fact that fishing trips got much shorter because it only took a few casts to catch his limit caused Uncle Lew to put that lure in semi retirement. Besides that he said it took the fun and challenge out of fishing. He only used it when he had a big fish fry coming up.
I have always wondered what happened to those lures? Uncle Lew died in the sixties and Grandpa in 1972. I don’t remember seeing them in the things they left behind. Years later, I met an old fisherman fishing at Oakland Mills. When I told him my name he said, “You Perry Mendenhall’s grandson?” Of course I said “yes” and he started talking about that lure. He had seen Lew use it many times and Grandpa use his, too.
The old fella swore it was all true and claimed he had one of the replicas for a time, too, but lost it years ago catching a huge catfish in the very spot he was sitting at that moment. Believing catfish can live to be 50-60 years old he was hoping to catch that fish again and get his lure back. I don’t know if he ever did?
I have asked members of my family about the Camelback lure but no one seems to know what became of it. Oh, they all remember it, but each one describes it slightly differently. I do remember what it looked like because I saw it. I sure wish I had it now!
All fishing stories are true and some of them really happened.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Colorblind House Painter
There are jokes about colorblind house painters. That made it tough for me! I usually tried not to slip and tell a customer I was colorblind. I painted houses for several summers in the 1970s. I liked it because I was outside and could work when I wanted to.
The first summer I painted a house on White Street up near the railroad tracks. A friend wanted to work with me so I let him join in. He had a truck and a ladder so that worked well. We did a couple houses and split the money.
The next year he wanted to go on his own. He thought he could make more money on his own. I was a little disappointed but decided to go ahead on my own. I used car top racks and borrowed my Dad’s ladder.
I learned a lot about house painting. I learned how to calculate how much paint would be needed for a job. It is all based on the number of square feet that need to be covered. Other things like the absorbency of the surface or the number of coats that are being applied have to be considered.
I always let the customer choose the color and kind of paint they wanted and I even preferred that they purchase it directly from the store if possible. I just told them how much to get and I was usually pretty accurate. I preferred the more expensive paints because they seemed to spread easier.
Houses first had to be prepared for the paint. Sometimes that meant hours of scraping. I discovered that on many houses you could scrape for days and not seem to make any progress. The process of scraping took of the loose paint but also loosened up other spots. The more you scraped the more was loosened up and soon you realize you have to stop doing that or you will be scraping until all of the paint is off the house.
It was sometimes hard to find a safe place to put the ladder on a house. Siding was sometimes soft or rotten. I did break one pane of a second story window when I got the ladder too close. I was able to repair it quickly.
I painted some pretty high places including the bell tower on the First Presbyterian Church. That was kind of scary! A crane was used to lift a painting platform up next to the tower and we painted from there.
I painted high places on many houses, too. Sometimes I had to stretch as far as I could to cover all of the spots. It was very scary at times. I fell only once and it was down the ladder and I caught myself before I got to the ground. I was very sore for a while but not seriously injured.
I think I was a good painter and had several satisfied customers even though I am colorblind. I just tried to make sure I covered every spot with the paint. Usually, it was white on white so it wasn’t much of a problem.
The first summer I painted a house on White Street up near the railroad tracks. A friend wanted to work with me so I let him join in. He had a truck and a ladder so that worked well. We did a couple houses and split the money.
The next year he wanted to go on his own. He thought he could make more money on his own. I was a little disappointed but decided to go ahead on my own. I used car top racks and borrowed my Dad’s ladder.
I learned a lot about house painting. I learned how to calculate how much paint would be needed for a job. It is all based on the number of square feet that need to be covered. Other things like the absorbency of the surface or the number of coats that are being applied have to be considered.
I always let the customer choose the color and kind of paint they wanted and I even preferred that they purchase it directly from the store if possible. I just told them how much to get and I was usually pretty accurate. I preferred the more expensive paints because they seemed to spread easier.
Houses first had to be prepared for the paint. Sometimes that meant hours of scraping. I discovered that on many houses you could scrape for days and not seem to make any progress. The process of scraping took of the loose paint but also loosened up other spots. The more you scraped the more was loosened up and soon you realize you have to stop doing that or you will be scraping until all of the paint is off the house.
It was sometimes hard to find a safe place to put the ladder on a house. Siding was sometimes soft or rotten. I did break one pane of a second story window when I got the ladder too close. I was able to repair it quickly.
I painted some pretty high places including the bell tower on the First Presbyterian Church. That was kind of scary! A crane was used to lift a painting platform up next to the tower and we painted from there.
I painted high places on many houses, too. Sometimes I had to stretch as far as I could to cover all of the spots. It was very scary at times. I fell only once and it was down the ladder and I caught myself before I got to the ground. I was very sore for a while but not seriously injured.
I think I was a good painter and had several satisfied customers even though I am colorblind. I just tried to make sure I covered every spot with the paint. Usually, it was white on white so it wasn’t much of a problem.
Sunday, July 08, 2007
Construction Worker
I worked one summer as a construction worker. My cousin, Melvin Smith, owned a construction business and offered me a job. I found out later that he didn’t think I would last more than one day at it and most of the crew felt the same way. In fact, they took bets on whether I would show up the second day.
That first day was a tough one but I honestly never even considered quitting. We were working on digging a basement under an existing house in Trenton. All the work that could be done with heavy equipment had been done and we were now doing the last of it by hand with shovels and wheelbarrows. We filled the wheelbarrows with dirt and then pushed them up a ramp and out of the hole. It was heavy, hard, dirty work.
There were sarcastic comments about schoolteachers that I didn’t pay much attention to. Thinking back on it I think they were going to show this soft kid a lesson or two about hard work. They did but I showed them a thing or two, too.
By the time we broke for lunch I was worn out. They hadn’t told me that I was supposed to bring my own lunch. One of the kinder older guys gave me part of his sandwich but I mostly just rested. We only got a half an hour and then we were back at it. The same badgering went on all afternoon. I was really happy when four o’clock came!
The next morning I showed up at the lumberyard early and ready to go to work. Someone said, “The schoolteacher came back!” The second day wasn’t much easier but the badgering tapered off as they got to know me. I worked side by side with them the rest of the week and was finally one of them. Aside from the occasional sarcastic remark about what an easy job teachers have there wasn’t much that made me feel like I was picked on. Soon they were making similar comments about each other.
One guy did tell me that if it weren’t for construction workers I wouldn’t have a job because there would be no schools. I didn’t comment much and let the conversation move forward.
They did try to trip me up with the old construction worker gags like telling me to go get the henweigh out of the truck, hoping I’d ask, ”What’s a henweigh? Of course, the answer is about 5 pounds. They also tried to send me back into the lumberyard to pick up a piecost. I didn’t fall for that one either.
I actually grew to love the work! We were outside all day and I liked that. Also, there was absolutely no stress. I didn’t have to make any decisions. I just did what I was told and went home at the end of the day and didn’t think about it again until the next morning. It was also gratifying to see visible results of the day’s work.
That first day was a tough one but I honestly never even considered quitting. We were working on digging a basement under an existing house in Trenton. All the work that could be done with heavy equipment had been done and we were now doing the last of it by hand with shovels and wheelbarrows. We filled the wheelbarrows with dirt and then pushed them up a ramp and out of the hole. It was heavy, hard, dirty work.
There were sarcastic comments about schoolteachers that I didn’t pay much attention to. Thinking back on it I think they were going to show this soft kid a lesson or two about hard work. They did but I showed them a thing or two, too.
By the time we broke for lunch I was worn out. They hadn’t told me that I was supposed to bring my own lunch. One of the kinder older guys gave me part of his sandwich but I mostly just rested. We only got a half an hour and then we were back at it. The same badgering went on all afternoon. I was really happy when four o’clock came!
The next morning I showed up at the lumberyard early and ready to go to work. Someone said, “The schoolteacher came back!” The second day wasn’t much easier but the badgering tapered off as they got to know me. I worked side by side with them the rest of the week and was finally one of them. Aside from the occasional sarcastic remark about what an easy job teachers have there wasn’t much that made me feel like I was picked on. Soon they were making similar comments about each other.
One guy did tell me that if it weren’t for construction workers I wouldn’t have a job because there would be no schools. I didn’t comment much and let the conversation move forward.
They did try to trip me up with the old construction worker gags like telling me to go get the henweigh out of the truck, hoping I’d ask, ”What’s a henweigh? Of course, the answer is about 5 pounds. They also tried to send me back into the lumberyard to pick up a piecost. I didn’t fall for that one either.
I actually grew to love the work! We were outside all day and I liked that. Also, there was absolutely no stress. I didn’t have to make any decisions. I just did what I was told and went home at the end of the day and didn’t think about it again until the next morning. It was also gratifying to see visible results of the day’s work.
Sunday, July 01, 2007
Tower School
I worked as an educational consultant for two years at Tower School. It was on the top floor or the Mental Health Institute and thus the name. I liked being able to say I was an educational consultant. I worked two nights a week for about two hours each.
The truth is I was a tutor along with several others and worked with kids from the children’s unit at the hospital. We worked mostly on reading and had one or two kids for each of the two hours. Many were very needy and all had serious mental health issues. While I was fascinated with many of their stories I was also saddened by their misfortune.
All of them attended a day school at the institute and this program was designed to supplement it. The day program had a principal and this tutor program was lead by a professor from Iowa Wesleyan College. The two guys didn’t see eye to eye and their dislike for each other spilled into the evening program. The guy in charge of the evening program had a Ph. D. and insisted on being called doctor. I didn’t mind doing that but thought he was rather arrogant in insisting on it.
The night principal had a routine he expected everyone to follow. At the end of your session with a child he wanted you to parade the child before him. Then he proceeded to interrogate the kid about what they knew. Most were quite intimidated by the ritual and would beg to avoid it if they could. I sympathized with them and never quite got the point of the activity. I think it was more about authority and control than anything else.
Overtime we did build relationships with the kids we worked with. I remember one boy being so excited that he was getting a home visit over the weekend and would get to see his father. That weekend he went to the basement and got a rifle and went upstairs and killed his father and then went back to the basement and shot himself. We were, of course, shocked!
Another time when I was tutoring a student he was sitting in an old fashioned chair with the writing surface that was part of the arm of the chair. As we were talking he slowly slid out of chair and on to the floor. He started chewing on the arm of the chair and too my amazement was taking large chunks of wood off with each bite.
One of the boys, a teenager, was brilliant! He had an incredible memory and could tell you who won the World Series for whatever year you choose and all the details of each game. He was incredibly bright and from a wealthy family on the west coast. How he ended up in Mt. Pleasant, Iowa I don’t know. He left before the year was over and went back to be with his family. I don’t know why he was there in the first place?
Other than the above and a few other isolated incidents the kids were a lot like any other kids you might encounter.
The truth is I was a tutor along with several others and worked with kids from the children’s unit at the hospital. We worked mostly on reading and had one or two kids for each of the two hours. Many were very needy and all had serious mental health issues. While I was fascinated with many of their stories I was also saddened by their misfortune.
All of them attended a day school at the institute and this program was designed to supplement it. The day program had a principal and this tutor program was lead by a professor from Iowa Wesleyan College. The two guys didn’t see eye to eye and their dislike for each other spilled into the evening program. The guy in charge of the evening program had a Ph. D. and insisted on being called doctor. I didn’t mind doing that but thought he was rather arrogant in insisting on it.
The night principal had a routine he expected everyone to follow. At the end of your session with a child he wanted you to parade the child before him. Then he proceeded to interrogate the kid about what they knew. Most were quite intimidated by the ritual and would beg to avoid it if they could. I sympathized with them and never quite got the point of the activity. I think it was more about authority and control than anything else.
Overtime we did build relationships with the kids we worked with. I remember one boy being so excited that he was getting a home visit over the weekend and would get to see his father. That weekend he went to the basement and got a rifle and went upstairs and killed his father and then went back to the basement and shot himself. We were, of course, shocked!
Another time when I was tutoring a student he was sitting in an old fashioned chair with the writing surface that was part of the arm of the chair. As we were talking he slowly slid out of chair and on to the floor. He started chewing on the arm of the chair and too my amazement was taking large chunks of wood off with each bite.
One of the boys, a teenager, was brilliant! He had an incredible memory and could tell you who won the World Series for whatever year you choose and all the details of each game. He was incredibly bright and from a wealthy family on the west coast. How he ended up in Mt. Pleasant, Iowa I don’t know. He left before the year was over and went back to be with his family. I don’t know why he was there in the first place?
Other than the above and a few other isolated incidents the kids were a lot like any other kids you might encounter.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Angie's Fish
I have always loved fishing and many times Becky went along with me. When the girls we young they went along, too. Sometimes when Heather was really small we even packed up her playpen and took it along with us.
One of my favorite pond fishing spots was on Marcia and Dale Commack’s farm. I got to know Marcia because she taught special education in the classroom next to mine at Saunders. Marcia and I were pioneers in a sense because we started mainstreaming special education to my regular education classroom in 1971. It is now quite common and is called inclusion.
Dale and Marcia lived on a farm east of Salem. I had an open invitation from them to fish there anytime I wanted. I took my Dad out there several times and also a few friends. The Cammacks actually had two ponds. One was nearer the house and the other, a catfish pond, was out a ways across a field and a small rise.
One day we took Angie and Heather and went fishing there. Ron and Marcia Marshall went along with us. Angie was about 5 years old and Heather was just an infant. We put Heather in the playpen and Becky, Angie, and I along with the Marshalls, started fishing. The front pond was a great bluegill pond and we caught several very nice ones.
Angie was set up with a pole and bobber and caught several bluegills. All of a sudden she had another fish and started yelling at me to come and help her. I told her to just reel it in like she had done with the others but she said it was pulling too hard. I encouraged her to pull harder and she said she couldn’t do it. At last I realized she did have a big fish and went to help her. I held on to the pole with one hand while she reeled in a huge bass. We were all thrilled!
I fished at that pond many times. I made the mistake of taking a few friends out there. The pattern was to always stop at the house on the way in and on the way out to show the Cammacks what we had caught. I always introduced the friends to the Cammacks.
After taking two guys out there one evening they went back three evenings in a row without telling me and their boldness irritated the Cammacks and me. They said I could continue to fish but didn’t want anyone going out there if they weren’t with me. My unscrupulous friends almost ruined the whole thing for me.
I continued to fish at that pond for several years but never took anyone else but my father or my immediate family along with me.
One of my favorite pond fishing spots was on Marcia and Dale Commack’s farm. I got to know Marcia because she taught special education in the classroom next to mine at Saunders. Marcia and I were pioneers in a sense because we started mainstreaming special education to my regular education classroom in 1971. It is now quite common and is called inclusion.
Dale and Marcia lived on a farm east of Salem. I had an open invitation from them to fish there anytime I wanted. I took my Dad out there several times and also a few friends. The Cammacks actually had two ponds. One was nearer the house and the other, a catfish pond, was out a ways across a field and a small rise.
One day we took Angie and Heather and went fishing there. Ron and Marcia Marshall went along with us. Angie was about 5 years old and Heather was just an infant. We put Heather in the playpen and Becky, Angie, and I along with the Marshalls, started fishing. The front pond was a great bluegill pond and we caught several very nice ones.
Angie was set up with a pole and bobber and caught several bluegills. All of a sudden she had another fish and started yelling at me to come and help her. I told her to just reel it in like she had done with the others but she said it was pulling too hard. I encouraged her to pull harder and she said she couldn’t do it. At last I realized she did have a big fish and went to help her. I held on to the pole with one hand while she reeled in a huge bass. We were all thrilled!
I fished at that pond many times. I made the mistake of taking a few friends out there. The pattern was to always stop at the house on the way in and on the way out to show the Cammacks what we had caught. I always introduced the friends to the Cammacks.
After taking two guys out there one evening they went back three evenings in a row without telling me and their boldness irritated the Cammacks and me. They said I could continue to fish but didn’t want anyone going out there if they weren’t with me. My unscrupulous friends almost ruined the whole thing for me.
I continued to fish at that pond for several years but never took anyone else but my father or my immediate family along with me.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Coon huntin'
“You never been coon huntin’? Anybody born in Iowa aught to go coon huntin’ at least once!” Those were old Jim’s comments one afternoon when we were butchering deer in a shed. Jim was a hunter and fisherman. He ran two or three trap lines every winter and spent countless hours out in the woods. He was a big strong guy who was well known for his fondness for the bottle.
I had never been coon hunting, but had heard a lot about it. I mostly stuck to rabbits, pheasant, and deer once a year. I have always loved to be out of doors and it doesn’t take much of an excuse to get me there. In the summer, my spare time was spent fishing. It still is. More recently I have lost the desire to kill something but still long to be outside.
Jim was adamant that he was going to take me coon hunting! He started pressing me for a time that I could go. Now you have to understand that coon hunting is done at night with dogs with names like Ole’ Blue, Boomer, Red, and Marley.
Generally, you take the dogs to some location in the woods and turn them loose and sit down and wait. Eventually, you’ll hear them bark. Well, it’s not a bark but a combination of a howl, a bark and a scream. That means one of the dogs is on the trail of a coon. The others rush to that dog and join in the racket. The hunters get up and wander off into the woods following the sounds of the dogs.
As you can imagine this is fraught with dangers. Who knows what hole you are going to step in or stream you are going to have to wade to find the dogs. When the dogs actually tree the coon, the sounds change pitch and an experienced hunter knows they have cornered the animal.
So, I made a date with Jim. It was a Friday night in October. He picked me up about 10:00 and we headed out into the country. Now, I am a person who likes to know where I am and I was hoping we would be hunting in some spot I was familiar with. That didn’t turn out to be the case.
We went north of town to some of Jim’s old stomping grounds. We parked along a gravel road and that is when I asked Jim if we had permission to hunt here. He said, “Nope.” But not to worry. If we were stopped by anyone I should let him do the talking.
He hoisted his two dogs over the fence and we climbed over after them. The dogs were long gone by the time my feet touched the ground on the other side. The sky was overcast and dark. I followed Jim into the woods feeling my way with my feet. He had a flashlight but didn’t want to turn it on. After stumbling and falling a few times we finally reached a spot where he said we could sit down and wait. I looked around as best I could in the dim light but saw nothing but weeds and bare ground to sit on. That was it. We sprawled there on the ground to wait for the chorus to start up.
Jim reached into his coat and pulled out a rather large flask of Blackberry Brandy and took a long pull on the bottle, wiped his lips and handed it to me. Not being much of a hard liquor drinker I wasn’t sure what to expect. It was at first sweet and pleasing but then I swallowed. My throat burned and it hit my stomach like water hitting a hot frying pan! I was speechless and my eyes were watering.
Of course, not wanting to look like a novice, I hid my discomfort the best I could. We sat there in the dark on the ground speaking in soft voices and waited for hours. Jim didn’t put his flask away but drank from it and handed it to me many times. Thinking back on it now I don’t know why I just didn’t fake drinking it.
Finally, in the far distance we heard a dog bark, then another. Jim jumped up. I tried to get up but staggered and fell back. I made it on my second try and we headed off through the brush. Now, not only was it dark, unfamiliar terrain, but we were drunk. We staggered through woods arguing about which way the sounds were coming from.
I gave into Jim and he was right. We found the dogs not under a tree but barking at a hole in the ground on a hillside. Jim quickly surmised the coon had been forced by the dogs to take refuge in the hole. He said, “We got to dig ‘em out!” I, dizzy from the alcohol and long walk, thought we should just give up and go home.
Jim had a big old knife and he started chopping at the hole. Suddenly, he stopped and reached up to his shoulder into the hole. Laying flat on the hillside he said the coon was in there sure enough because he could feel him but not get a hold of him. He said, “You try it.” “Not a chance! I said, your arms are longer.”
He dug away at the hole furiously now. Stopping every once in awhile and reaching in to touch the critter. I kept expecting him to bring back a bloody hand from some bite or scratch. He seemed unconcerned. Finally, he said, “We’re going to have to shoot him!” Jim had carried a single shot rifle with him all evening. Let’s see now…a gun, alcohol, dark unfamiliar woods…what’s wrong with this picture?
He loaded the gun, stuck it in the hole and fired. Then he reached and pulled at the critter. After a little bit he said, “I must have missed.” He said here, you hold the gun and pull the trigger when I tell you. He slid his arm and the gun in at the same time. When he was ready he told me to pull the trigger. I did and he said, “Oh shit! You shot me!” He saw the shock on my face and then laughed and said, “Just kidding.” He tugged and pulled on the critter and out came an opossum. More swearing! An opossum hide was worthless but he decided to take the carcass home, cut it up, and put it in the freezer. He would use it for coyote bait in his traps later that winter.
I don’t remember much of going home. Probably because we had a couple more pulls on that bottle before we staggered back to the car. I never went coon hunting or even had the urge to go again.
I had never been coon hunting, but had heard a lot about it. I mostly stuck to rabbits, pheasant, and deer once a year. I have always loved to be out of doors and it doesn’t take much of an excuse to get me there. In the summer, my spare time was spent fishing. It still is. More recently I have lost the desire to kill something but still long to be outside.
Jim was adamant that he was going to take me coon hunting! He started pressing me for a time that I could go. Now you have to understand that coon hunting is done at night with dogs with names like Ole’ Blue, Boomer, Red, and Marley.
Generally, you take the dogs to some location in the woods and turn them loose and sit down and wait. Eventually, you’ll hear them bark. Well, it’s not a bark but a combination of a howl, a bark and a scream. That means one of the dogs is on the trail of a coon. The others rush to that dog and join in the racket. The hunters get up and wander off into the woods following the sounds of the dogs.
As you can imagine this is fraught with dangers. Who knows what hole you are going to step in or stream you are going to have to wade to find the dogs. When the dogs actually tree the coon, the sounds change pitch and an experienced hunter knows they have cornered the animal.
So, I made a date with Jim. It was a Friday night in October. He picked me up about 10:00 and we headed out into the country. Now, I am a person who likes to know where I am and I was hoping we would be hunting in some spot I was familiar with. That didn’t turn out to be the case.
We went north of town to some of Jim’s old stomping grounds. We parked along a gravel road and that is when I asked Jim if we had permission to hunt here. He said, “Nope.” But not to worry. If we were stopped by anyone I should let him do the talking.
He hoisted his two dogs over the fence and we climbed over after them. The dogs were long gone by the time my feet touched the ground on the other side. The sky was overcast and dark. I followed Jim into the woods feeling my way with my feet. He had a flashlight but didn’t want to turn it on. After stumbling and falling a few times we finally reached a spot where he said we could sit down and wait. I looked around as best I could in the dim light but saw nothing but weeds and bare ground to sit on. That was it. We sprawled there on the ground to wait for the chorus to start up.
Jim reached into his coat and pulled out a rather large flask of Blackberry Brandy and took a long pull on the bottle, wiped his lips and handed it to me. Not being much of a hard liquor drinker I wasn’t sure what to expect. It was at first sweet and pleasing but then I swallowed. My throat burned and it hit my stomach like water hitting a hot frying pan! I was speechless and my eyes were watering.
Of course, not wanting to look like a novice, I hid my discomfort the best I could. We sat there in the dark on the ground speaking in soft voices and waited for hours. Jim didn’t put his flask away but drank from it and handed it to me many times. Thinking back on it now I don’t know why I just didn’t fake drinking it.
Finally, in the far distance we heard a dog bark, then another. Jim jumped up. I tried to get up but staggered and fell back. I made it on my second try and we headed off through the brush. Now, not only was it dark, unfamiliar terrain, but we were drunk. We staggered through woods arguing about which way the sounds were coming from.
I gave into Jim and he was right. We found the dogs not under a tree but barking at a hole in the ground on a hillside. Jim quickly surmised the coon had been forced by the dogs to take refuge in the hole. He said, “We got to dig ‘em out!” I, dizzy from the alcohol and long walk, thought we should just give up and go home.
Jim had a big old knife and he started chopping at the hole. Suddenly, he stopped and reached up to his shoulder into the hole. Laying flat on the hillside he said the coon was in there sure enough because he could feel him but not get a hold of him. He said, “You try it.” “Not a chance! I said, your arms are longer.”
He dug away at the hole furiously now. Stopping every once in awhile and reaching in to touch the critter. I kept expecting him to bring back a bloody hand from some bite or scratch. He seemed unconcerned. Finally, he said, “We’re going to have to shoot him!” Jim had carried a single shot rifle with him all evening. Let’s see now…a gun, alcohol, dark unfamiliar woods…what’s wrong with this picture?
He loaded the gun, stuck it in the hole and fired. Then he reached and pulled at the critter. After a little bit he said, “I must have missed.” He said here, you hold the gun and pull the trigger when I tell you. He slid his arm and the gun in at the same time. When he was ready he told me to pull the trigger. I did and he said, “Oh shit! You shot me!” He saw the shock on my face and then laughed and said, “Just kidding.” He tugged and pulled on the critter and out came an opossum. More swearing! An opossum hide was worthless but he decided to take the carcass home, cut it up, and put it in the freezer. He would use it for coyote bait in his traps later that winter.
I don’t remember much of going home. Probably because we had a couple more pulls on that bottle before we staggered back to the car. I never went coon hunting or even had the urge to go again.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
505 West Clay
After a year and 8 months of living in a rented farmhouse we moved to a house on West Clay in Mt. Pleasant. Although Becky was not thrilled with the house or its size it was ours. Well, not quite ours but we were buying it.
Our house in the country was sold when the Garners moved away, so we had to find a new place. I didn’t think we had much of a chance of buying a house and thought we would have to rent. We were heavily in dept from my college and living experiences during that time. On a teacher’s salary it was going to be hard for us to find something.
My Dad talked with Stan Macbeth and said we should see him about a house. He was a local realtor and the former mayor of Mt. Pleasant. He was a gregarious sort of follow who always acted like he was glad to see you.
Stan took us to a few houses that I don’t really remember much about and then took us to 505 West Clay. It was a small bungalow on a lot with some great shade trees. It was a stones throw from Saunders Park and the swimming pool. I thought it had huge potential. We couldn’t get the money from the bank and our parents didn’t have any money to loan us so Stan suggested we try the Farmers Home Administration (FHA) for a government subsidized loan for low income people in rural areas.
We had resisted food stamps or any government help in our lives as a matter of principle but this time I didn’t think we could afford to pass it up. The house qualified. The next question would be do we? We filled out all of the forms and met with officials. We were on a tight timeline and needed to get out of our other house.
It wasn’t going to be a “slam dunk”! The local board of the FHA didn’t think we were a good risk and the local administrator said our only chance would be to meet with them and convince them we could handle this. We did and they did. It was one of those painful experiences when someone you hardly know goes through your finances and it is plain that you have not done so well. Somehow by the grace of God, we convinced them.
We settled into our home in the fall of 1973. We didn’t have much but it was going to be ours. The house had a kitchen and dinning room attached to a living room and two bedrooms and, of course, the bath. The Bath was not the greatest. It had an old claw foot tub and there were ugly brown arrows painted on the wall. I don’t know what the point of the arrows was.
Our neighbors on the west were Eunice and Charlie Shappell and their children, Susan, Marion and Rick. One the east, across the alley was Winifred Van Allen. Behind our property on the north side was a big empty lot. My Dad said he remember a few times when a circus came to town and set up on that lot. Long before that my plat book showed that there was a school on the northwest corner of that lot. The Van Allen family owned it and the other half of the block.
Originally, our lot and the Shappell lot were one and had a large house on it. About half of the large house was torn down and the bricks and materials were used to build our house. Shappell’s house was part of the original house. Our house was a fortress! The walls were about three feet thick and solid brick. It heated easily in the winter and stayed cool in the summer. I’ll tell more about our time there and the changes we made in the house in future pieces.
Our house in the country was sold when the Garners moved away, so we had to find a new place. I didn’t think we had much of a chance of buying a house and thought we would have to rent. We were heavily in dept from my college and living experiences during that time. On a teacher’s salary it was going to be hard for us to find something.
My Dad talked with Stan Macbeth and said we should see him about a house. He was a local realtor and the former mayor of Mt. Pleasant. He was a gregarious sort of follow who always acted like he was glad to see you.
Stan took us to a few houses that I don’t really remember much about and then took us to 505 West Clay. It was a small bungalow on a lot with some great shade trees. It was a stones throw from Saunders Park and the swimming pool. I thought it had huge potential. We couldn’t get the money from the bank and our parents didn’t have any money to loan us so Stan suggested we try the Farmers Home Administration (FHA) for a government subsidized loan for low income people in rural areas.
We had resisted food stamps or any government help in our lives as a matter of principle but this time I didn’t think we could afford to pass it up. The house qualified. The next question would be do we? We filled out all of the forms and met with officials. We were on a tight timeline and needed to get out of our other house.
It wasn’t going to be a “slam dunk”! The local board of the FHA didn’t think we were a good risk and the local administrator said our only chance would be to meet with them and convince them we could handle this. We did and they did. It was one of those painful experiences when someone you hardly know goes through your finances and it is plain that you have not done so well. Somehow by the grace of God, we convinced them.
We settled into our home in the fall of 1973. We didn’t have much but it was going to be ours. The house had a kitchen and dinning room attached to a living room and two bedrooms and, of course, the bath. The Bath was not the greatest. It had an old claw foot tub and there were ugly brown arrows painted on the wall. I don’t know what the point of the arrows was.
Our neighbors on the west were Eunice and Charlie Shappell and their children, Susan, Marion and Rick. One the east, across the alley was Winifred Van Allen. Behind our property on the north side was a big empty lot. My Dad said he remember a few times when a circus came to town and set up on that lot. Long before that my plat book showed that there was a school on the northwest corner of that lot. The Van Allen family owned it and the other half of the block.
Originally, our lot and the Shappell lot were one and had a large house on it. About half of the large house was torn down and the bricks and materials were used to build our house. Shappell’s house was part of the original house. Our house was a fortress! The walls were about three feet thick and solid brick. It heated easily in the winter and stayed cool in the summer. I’ll tell more about our time there and the changes we made in the house in future pieces.
Sunday, June 03, 2007
Hope Haven
As I have said previously, I worked as an associate in the summer program at Hope Haven. It was a position created for me to give me something to do in-between bus trips. I transported people to the center and arrived there about 8:00 AM daily. I took them home at 3:00 PM. To make the job viable, because I couldn’t earn enough just driving the bus, they gave me this position to fill out the day.
The unfortunate thing was that by doing that I displaced someone who had worked there for several summers. The other summer workers loved the person and that made me the bad guy. They didn’t want to like me and they were determined not to let me win them over.
I got the dirtiest jobs and the duties no one else wanted to do. The two teachers and the other three associates loved to order me around and remind me that I didn’t know anything about special needs people. They were right, of course, but I was eager to learn and wanted to do the right thing. I had experience working with behavior disorder kids and felt confident I could learn the nuances of working with physically and mentally challenged kids.
The kids in this program ranged from severe autistic to wheelchair bound to severe mental disabilities. There was one adult person for every two or three kids. The adults were busy all the time tending to the needs of the kids. There was barely time to go to the restroom. Lunch was out of the question because I had to sit between two kids to help them eat. By the time it was over each day they had food all over themselves and me, too. I wasn’t usually too hungry after all that anyway.
We did take the kids on field trips from time to time and it worked well that I could drive the bus. On some trips the kids would get very excited and we didn’t seem to have enough hands to keep them out of danger. I always had this terrible fear that one of them would get away from us somehow and get lost or worse, get injured in some way. Fortunately, that never happened.
Over time the staff softened and actually begin to like me a little. The whole thing was a lesson for me in how to treat others with dignity and respect. I was able to earn it but it took a few weeks.
I earned respect from the management as well. They were very pleased with my work. A couple years later they asked me to serve on the board of directors. I did serve two terms and during that time was offered the Assistant Director position at Hope Haven. Although it was tempting, it was a direction I really didn’t want to go at that time. I have fond memories of my time at Hope Haven as an employee and then a board member. I think of the kids and the families from time to time and wonder how they are doing.
The unfortunate thing was that by doing that I displaced someone who had worked there for several summers. The other summer workers loved the person and that made me the bad guy. They didn’t want to like me and they were determined not to let me win them over.
I got the dirtiest jobs and the duties no one else wanted to do. The two teachers and the other three associates loved to order me around and remind me that I didn’t know anything about special needs people. They were right, of course, but I was eager to learn and wanted to do the right thing. I had experience working with behavior disorder kids and felt confident I could learn the nuances of working with physically and mentally challenged kids.
The kids in this program ranged from severe autistic to wheelchair bound to severe mental disabilities. There was one adult person for every two or three kids. The adults were busy all the time tending to the needs of the kids. There was barely time to go to the restroom. Lunch was out of the question because I had to sit between two kids to help them eat. By the time it was over each day they had food all over themselves and me, too. I wasn’t usually too hungry after all that anyway.
We did take the kids on field trips from time to time and it worked well that I could drive the bus. On some trips the kids would get very excited and we didn’t seem to have enough hands to keep them out of danger. I always had this terrible fear that one of them would get away from us somehow and get lost or worse, get injured in some way. Fortunately, that never happened.
Over time the staff softened and actually begin to like me a little. The whole thing was a lesson for me in how to treat others with dignity and respect. I was able to earn it but it took a few weeks.
I earned respect from the management as well. They were very pleased with my work. A couple years later they asked me to serve on the board of directors. I did serve two terms and during that time was offered the Assistant Director position at Hope Haven. Although it was tempting, it was a direction I really didn’t want to go at that time. I have fond memories of my time at Hope Haven as an employee and then a board member. I think of the kids and the families from time to time and wonder how they are doing.
Monday, May 28, 2007
School Bus Driver's Permit
When I was summer school science director I had to get a bus driver’s permit each year so I could drive the busload of kids to each of the areas where we did the science activities. To get that license I had to take a test and drive a school bus for the officer. I also had to get a physical each year.
Driving the bus was easy and so was the test. The physical was easy, too, except that every time I took it I failed the colorblind test. Dr. Rankin had to write a letter each year saying that the colorblindness didn’t affect my driving. Dr. Rankin was always intrigued by my colorblindness and asked me the same questions about it each year. My guess is he just didn’t remember what I told him the year before. The only other thing would be that he was just interested in it?
The summer science program continued for some time. I passed the job off to someone else eventually so I could do other things. I did keep getting the bus driver’s license for a few years. The only time I drove the bus was with my own students. It made field trips easy and inexpensive for the district because they didn’t have to pay a driver to take us out. Eventually, some of the drivers did complain that because I did that it took away their opportunity to earn some extra money.
I was about to give it up when another opportunity presented itself. Hope Haven, in Burlington needed a summer driver to transport kids from Henry County to the center each day for the summer program. John Becker, who was on the board there, knew that I had a permit and told me about the job. It included not only driving a route and then on to Burlington, but to keep me busy in-between they offered me an associate position in the summer school program there.
At first I was a little insulted and told them I was a teacher. They offered me more money and I took the job.
During the year they always had an associate ride the bus but that wasn’t the case for me. I was on my own. The only training I got was one dry run with the supervisor. Then I was ready to go. I picked up one group at the high school in Mt. Pleasant, made a few other stops and then off to New London. I had one rider just west of town and then one stop in town. Then it was on to the Des County Home and then Hope Haven. I did the route in reverse on the way home. Never once did I ever have a problem!
On weekends I parked the big old bus in front of our house. It seemed to work out OK and I don’t remember any complaints from the neighbors. That was the last of my bus driving. Maneuvering a big old bus around is kind of interesting but not as difficult as you might think. I career as a bus driver ended with a perfect accident free record.
Driving the bus was easy and so was the test. The physical was easy, too, except that every time I took it I failed the colorblind test. Dr. Rankin had to write a letter each year saying that the colorblindness didn’t affect my driving. Dr. Rankin was always intrigued by my colorblindness and asked me the same questions about it each year. My guess is he just didn’t remember what I told him the year before. The only other thing would be that he was just interested in it?
The summer science program continued for some time. I passed the job off to someone else eventually so I could do other things. I did keep getting the bus driver’s license for a few years. The only time I drove the bus was with my own students. It made field trips easy and inexpensive for the district because they didn’t have to pay a driver to take us out. Eventually, some of the drivers did complain that because I did that it took away their opportunity to earn some extra money.
I was about to give it up when another opportunity presented itself. Hope Haven, in Burlington needed a summer driver to transport kids from Henry County to the center each day for the summer program. John Becker, who was on the board there, knew that I had a permit and told me about the job. It included not only driving a route and then on to Burlington, but to keep me busy in-between they offered me an associate position in the summer school program there.
At first I was a little insulted and told them I was a teacher. They offered me more money and I took the job.
During the year they always had an associate ride the bus but that wasn’t the case for me. I was on my own. The only training I got was one dry run with the supervisor. Then I was ready to go. I picked up one group at the high school in Mt. Pleasant, made a few other stops and then off to New London. I had one rider just west of town and then one stop in town. Then it was on to the Des County Home and then Hope Haven. I did the route in reverse on the way home. Never once did I ever have a problem!
On weekends I parked the big old bus in front of our house. It seemed to work out OK and I don’t remember any complaints from the neighbors. That was the last of my bus driving. Maneuvering a big old bus around is kind of interesting but not as difficult as you might think. I career as a bus driver ended with a perfect accident free record.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Summers
I don’t know how many times in my teaching career I heard people say, “Boy, I’d like a job where you only have to work nine months out of the year!” I would always respond, “Yeah, I’d like one like that, too!” They would always say, “You have one! You’re a teacher aren’t you?” My only response would be, “Let me know if you find a teacher who only works nine months out of the year!”
The truth is teachers put in countless hours in the summer planning and preparing lessons for the year. All teachers are required to continue to take classes to remain licensed. Many curriculum writing projects take place over the summer.
Take the teachers out of vacation bible schools, summer camps, summer recreation programs, swimming lessons, and summer group trips and you wouldn’t have anyone to do it. I once counted in our church in Mt. Pleasant that 8 out of the 11 Sunday school teachers were educators during the week.
Not only do teachers go to summer school for their ongoing education but they often teach summer school themselves. I taught summer school in the Mt. Pleasant district for several years. I started out as a teacher’s assistant the first year and then had my own classroom for a few years after that. Summer school was held in a building near the high school called The Annex. It was really the building that was a pool hall when I was in high school. It now houses a dentist and some other offices.
Maynard Bittle started a summer science program for elementary students. It involved each grade, first through fifth, in summer school having a day of outdoor science education each week. It was revolutionary during its time and highly effective.
When Maynard left the position I became the summer science director. It required me having a school bus driver’s permit. I had to plan a morning’s activities in the field for each group. Summer school was six weeks long so each group got six days.
We did all kinds of cool things! I loved being out of doors and was inspired by the response of the kids. Many had never been on similar adventures. We went geode hunting in Muddy Creek south of New London. We had great success and everyone always came home with a geode. Once we found some Indian artifacts at the site. I imagine if you went back there today you would fine some.
We went fishing at Gibson Park. You have to be sorta nuts and a glutton for punishment to take a group of 20 2nd graders fishing. Tangled lines, icky worms, and hooked earlobes are all over the place.
We went fossil hunting in a local quarry and in the creek where the bugs walk on water. After a day of wading in the water up to their knees and carry large muddy rocks to the bus we looked pretty bad when we pulled into the school at the end of the morning.
We did the tree identification walk on Iowa Wesleyan campus. An astute college president had overseen the planting of over a hundred different varieties of trees on campus. We all learned about the characteristics of each tree and its uses.
These and other adventures occupied our summers for several years. Eventually, I went on to others things that occupied my summers but in my 18 years as a teacher I never had more than a week or two off.
The truth is teachers put in countless hours in the summer planning and preparing lessons for the year. All teachers are required to continue to take classes to remain licensed. Many curriculum writing projects take place over the summer.
Take the teachers out of vacation bible schools, summer camps, summer recreation programs, swimming lessons, and summer group trips and you wouldn’t have anyone to do it. I once counted in our church in Mt. Pleasant that 8 out of the 11 Sunday school teachers were educators during the week.
Not only do teachers go to summer school for their ongoing education but they often teach summer school themselves. I taught summer school in the Mt. Pleasant district for several years. I started out as a teacher’s assistant the first year and then had my own classroom for a few years after that. Summer school was held in a building near the high school called The Annex. It was really the building that was a pool hall when I was in high school. It now houses a dentist and some other offices.
Maynard Bittle started a summer science program for elementary students. It involved each grade, first through fifth, in summer school having a day of outdoor science education each week. It was revolutionary during its time and highly effective.
When Maynard left the position I became the summer science director. It required me having a school bus driver’s permit. I had to plan a morning’s activities in the field for each group. Summer school was six weeks long so each group got six days.
We did all kinds of cool things! I loved being out of doors and was inspired by the response of the kids. Many had never been on similar adventures. We went geode hunting in Muddy Creek south of New London. We had great success and everyone always came home with a geode. Once we found some Indian artifacts at the site. I imagine if you went back there today you would fine some.
We went fishing at Gibson Park. You have to be sorta nuts and a glutton for punishment to take a group of 20 2nd graders fishing. Tangled lines, icky worms, and hooked earlobes are all over the place.
We went fossil hunting in a local quarry and in the creek where the bugs walk on water. After a day of wading in the water up to their knees and carry large muddy rocks to the bus we looked pretty bad when we pulled into the school at the end of the morning.
We did the tree identification walk on Iowa Wesleyan campus. An astute college president had overseen the planting of over a hundred different varieties of trees on campus. We all learned about the characteristics of each tree and its uses.
These and other adventures occupied our summers for several years. Eventually, I went on to others things that occupied my summers but in my 18 years as a teacher I never had more than a week or two off.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Heather
Heather’s due date was April 5 but nothing happened. By the 10th of April, Becky was pretty uncomfortable. At a doctor visit, Dr. Rankin said that if nothing had happened soon they would “strip the membrane” on Friday the 13th. I wasn’t worried about it being on Friday the 13th and actually feel the 13th is a lucky day. That is probably because I was born on September 13th.
What I was worried about was this “strip the membrane” business. I didn’t know exactly what it meant and it sounded very ominous! I didn’t want to appear stupid so I didn’t ask but wanted to say, “ So, what does that mean?” I don’t recall hearing the term before that time so I cringed when I heard it and hear it I did! It seemed like that week I must have heard it a thousand times. It was as though everyone knew the term bothered me and they enjoyed watching me react. Even now it causes an adverse reaction with me.
Friday came and no baby! Becky went in to the doctor’s office about 2 o’clock that afternoon and the doctor did the “strip the membrane” business. He said it won’t be long now and sent Becky home. It wasn’t until about 10 o’clock that night that there was some action.
We took Angie to my parent’s house and we went to the hospital. Becky was having contractions but they were too far apart. Gradually, they got closer and closer but as time wore on Becky became exhausted! Becky’s Mom arrived sometime in the morning and I took a break and went home for a while to rest. The pains were getting pretty intense and when it looked like the baby would soon be born, they gave Becky an epidural, which helped her a lot. But, since there was no pain the nurses had to tell her when to push. The miracle happened at 2:58 PM!
The doctor said that Becky and the baby were fine! I went downstairs at the hospital and filled out the papers for Heather Anne Ross. Sometime after that though there was concern!
Someone said Heather was a Bileruben baby. No one offered us any information about exactly what that was and I think we were afraid to ask. I think it was my mother who finally explained it to me. It was fairly common and my mother said they used to take care of it by setting a new baby in the sun until their liver begins to fully function. Untreated it can lead to mental retardation. We were horrified but everyone assured us that she would be fine.
They put tiny Heather in a bed with a plastic cover over it and a bright light. They put a black mask over her eyes and otherwise she was totally uncovered. She looked so helpless in there that we were in tears. Every once in while they would come and test her blood by poking a needle in her heal. Soon it was black and blue and we felt so powerless to help her.
After 24 hours like that they said we could take Heather home. We were relieved and by then knew much more about what was wrong. Our relief was short lived however. When Becky took Heather into Dr. Rankin’s office the next day he said she needed to go back under that light. Becky called me in tears from the hospital. When was this going to end!
It did end after 24 more hours under that light and those horrible needle holes in now her other heal. We took her home for good the next day and finally felt some return not to normalcy but more what we expected.
What I was worried about was this “strip the membrane” business. I didn’t know exactly what it meant and it sounded very ominous! I didn’t want to appear stupid so I didn’t ask but wanted to say, “ So, what does that mean?” I don’t recall hearing the term before that time so I cringed when I heard it and hear it I did! It seemed like that week I must have heard it a thousand times. It was as though everyone knew the term bothered me and they enjoyed watching me react. Even now it causes an adverse reaction with me.
Friday came and no baby! Becky went in to the doctor’s office about 2 o’clock that afternoon and the doctor did the “strip the membrane” business. He said it won’t be long now and sent Becky home. It wasn’t until about 10 o’clock that night that there was some action.
We took Angie to my parent’s house and we went to the hospital. Becky was having contractions but they were too far apart. Gradually, they got closer and closer but as time wore on Becky became exhausted! Becky’s Mom arrived sometime in the morning and I took a break and went home for a while to rest. The pains were getting pretty intense and when it looked like the baby would soon be born, they gave Becky an epidural, which helped her a lot. But, since there was no pain the nurses had to tell her when to push. The miracle happened at 2:58 PM!
The doctor said that Becky and the baby were fine! I went downstairs at the hospital and filled out the papers for Heather Anne Ross. Sometime after that though there was concern!
Someone said Heather was a Bileruben baby. No one offered us any information about exactly what that was and I think we were afraid to ask. I think it was my mother who finally explained it to me. It was fairly common and my mother said they used to take care of it by setting a new baby in the sun until their liver begins to fully function. Untreated it can lead to mental retardation. We were horrified but everyone assured us that she would be fine.
They put tiny Heather in a bed with a plastic cover over it and a bright light. They put a black mask over her eyes and otherwise she was totally uncovered. She looked so helpless in there that we were in tears. Every once in while they would come and test her blood by poking a needle in her heal. Soon it was black and blue and we felt so powerless to help her.
After 24 hours like that they said we could take Heather home. We were relieved and by then knew much more about what was wrong. Our relief was short lived however. When Becky took Heather into Dr. Rankin’s office the next day he said she needed to go back under that light. Becky called me in tears from the hospital. When was this going to end!
It did end after 24 more hours under that light and those horrible needle holes in now her other heal. We took her home for good the next day and finally felt some return not to normalcy but more what we expected.
Sunday, May 06, 2007
The Last Trip
The last of the three summer trips that Becky and I participated in was probably the most eventful. During at least one of the summers there were two trips but Becky and I only went on one each summer for three year. Participants paid to go along. I don’t remember how much but I would guess it was three or four hundred dollars. Many earned their own money to go. They also needed spending money and were responsible for their own gear. The latter was a new challenge for some but they learned quickly that they suffered if they lost or misplaced something important.
For the last trip we traveled across Nebraska and stopped at a park and campground called Mormon Island just outside of Grand Island. It was a beautiful setting in the middle of wide-open Nebraska. Late that night some young Japanese travelers came into the campground in their VW and set up a tent not far from us. It wasn’t long before a park officer and a deputy sheriff roared up, light flashing, the officers jumped out of their vehicles and started shouting and ordering the Japanese to leave the campground. There was a lot of pushing and shoving by the officers. John Becker and I felt like we should intervene but knew if we did we would be gone, too. I was never so embarrassed to be an American! One of the officers shouted as they shoved them and their gear back into the VW, “We had enough or your kind in World War II!”
We traveled into Wyoming the next day and stayed near Sheraton. From there it was on to Jackson Hole for the night. We had a beautiful campsite and met a bunch of Jewish kids traveling. We had a great time that evening around the campfire as we all sang and they taught us to do the hora. We fell asleep that night listening to a large group of Mormons singing hymns. It was the Mormon Tabernacle Choir on a retreat. We heard them a second time in rehearsal a few days later in Salt Lake City.
We stayed in Bountiful, Utah. The campground was in a huge grove of Bing cherry trees and we got there just in time. We gorged on the delicious fruit. While we were there we visited Mormon Square and toured the visitor center there. We weren’t allowed to go in the temple but still had a very interesting time.
The kids were on their own when we visited places like that. We always gave them a schedule of when to meet and strange as it may sound we never lost a kid. At the end of that day in Salt Lake City we did find out that one of our group members did spend his entire day going up and down on an elevator in one of the cities tall buildings. Obviously, it was very easy to entertain some of us.
While we were in that area we also went for a swim in the Salt Lake. I don’t recommend it. Oh, it fun to be so buoyant but you are miserable when you get out and the salty water begins to dry on you. We also visited the huge Kennecott Copper Mine.
The last day in the area Becky became very ill with what we now think was toxic shock. We were forced to take her to the emergency room. They really weren’t much help and said she would just have to wait for the diarrhea and vomiting to pass. Becky and I ended up staying in a motel room that night just so she could get some rest. The other adults were very jealous but didn’t really want to trade places with Becky.
We traveled from Salt Lake to western Colorado. We had a very interesting time at Dinosaur National Monument and then after a very long day, camped along the river in Glenwood Springs.
They next day we drove to Granby, then over Trailridge Road, and then on to Estes Park where we stayed at the Red Arrow Campground. We liked that spot and had stayed there on a pervious trip. We had originally planned to stay in a campground down in Big Thompson Canyon but had changed our mind because of the proximity of the Red Arrow Campground to the activities in the area.
Rain set in and curtailed our activities. Typically, it rains briefly everyday, passes and the sun comes out. That was not the case this time. The second day, a large group of us climbed Longs Peak. It rained on us almost continuously the last five hours of the trip back. That evening in the activity center at the campground they told us it had rained two and a half inches. That was almost unheard of there. Soggy gear and bad tempers seemed to take over.
The next day, a Saturday, was worse. It rained ten and a half inches that day. It was July 31, 1976. One hundred and forty-four people were killed that day as a fifty-foot wall of water raced through the canyon devastating everything in its path.
I remember taking some of our kids to Our Lady of the Mountain Catholic church for the eight o’clock service because we planned to leave for home early next morning. I waited for them in the van. I watched the pouring rain and waves of water two or three inches deep sweep across the parking lot. I saw a highway patrol car and a county maintainer truck race down into the canyon with lights flashing. Neither survived.
We spend that night sleeping on the floor with a lot of other campers in the activity center because our gear was soaked. In the morning they informed us we couldn’t leave if we were going east or south because all of the roads were closed. We did get to leave about 10:30 but had no idea what we had just survived.
As we went south through Boulder and then east toward Iowa the story unfolded on the radio. First, it was just one life was lost and then more. It gradually occurred to us that we had by chance just sidestepped a tragic event. We stopped in western Nebraska to let our kids call home and spread the word that all were safe and well. The whole incident traumatized us and the group never had another trip.
For the last trip we traveled across Nebraska and stopped at a park and campground called Mormon Island just outside of Grand Island. It was a beautiful setting in the middle of wide-open Nebraska. Late that night some young Japanese travelers came into the campground in their VW and set up a tent not far from us. It wasn’t long before a park officer and a deputy sheriff roared up, light flashing, the officers jumped out of their vehicles and started shouting and ordering the Japanese to leave the campground. There was a lot of pushing and shoving by the officers. John Becker and I felt like we should intervene but knew if we did we would be gone, too. I was never so embarrassed to be an American! One of the officers shouted as they shoved them and their gear back into the VW, “We had enough or your kind in World War II!”
We traveled into Wyoming the next day and stayed near Sheraton. From there it was on to Jackson Hole for the night. We had a beautiful campsite and met a bunch of Jewish kids traveling. We had a great time that evening around the campfire as we all sang and they taught us to do the hora. We fell asleep that night listening to a large group of Mormons singing hymns. It was the Mormon Tabernacle Choir on a retreat. We heard them a second time in rehearsal a few days later in Salt Lake City.
We stayed in Bountiful, Utah. The campground was in a huge grove of Bing cherry trees and we got there just in time. We gorged on the delicious fruit. While we were there we visited Mormon Square and toured the visitor center there. We weren’t allowed to go in the temple but still had a very interesting time.
The kids were on their own when we visited places like that. We always gave them a schedule of when to meet and strange as it may sound we never lost a kid. At the end of that day in Salt Lake City we did find out that one of our group members did spend his entire day going up and down on an elevator in one of the cities tall buildings. Obviously, it was very easy to entertain some of us.
While we were in that area we also went for a swim in the Salt Lake. I don’t recommend it. Oh, it fun to be so buoyant but you are miserable when you get out and the salty water begins to dry on you. We also visited the huge Kennecott Copper Mine.
The last day in the area Becky became very ill with what we now think was toxic shock. We were forced to take her to the emergency room. They really weren’t much help and said she would just have to wait for the diarrhea and vomiting to pass. Becky and I ended up staying in a motel room that night just so she could get some rest. The other adults were very jealous but didn’t really want to trade places with Becky.
We traveled from Salt Lake to western Colorado. We had a very interesting time at Dinosaur National Monument and then after a very long day, camped along the river in Glenwood Springs.
They next day we drove to Granby, then over Trailridge Road, and then on to Estes Park where we stayed at the Red Arrow Campground. We liked that spot and had stayed there on a pervious trip. We had originally planned to stay in a campground down in Big Thompson Canyon but had changed our mind because of the proximity of the Red Arrow Campground to the activities in the area.
Rain set in and curtailed our activities. Typically, it rains briefly everyday, passes and the sun comes out. That was not the case this time. The second day, a large group of us climbed Longs Peak. It rained on us almost continuously the last five hours of the trip back. That evening in the activity center at the campground they told us it had rained two and a half inches. That was almost unheard of there. Soggy gear and bad tempers seemed to take over.
The next day, a Saturday, was worse. It rained ten and a half inches that day. It was July 31, 1976. One hundred and forty-four people were killed that day as a fifty-foot wall of water raced through the canyon devastating everything in its path.
I remember taking some of our kids to Our Lady of the Mountain Catholic church for the eight o’clock service because we planned to leave for home early next morning. I waited for them in the van. I watched the pouring rain and waves of water two or three inches deep sweep across the parking lot. I saw a highway patrol car and a county maintainer truck race down into the canyon with lights flashing. Neither survived.
We spend that night sleeping on the floor with a lot of other campers in the activity center because our gear was soaked. In the morning they informed us we couldn’t leave if we were going east or south because all of the roads were closed. We did get to leave about 10:30 but had no idea what we had just survived.
As we went south through Boulder and then east toward Iowa the story unfolded on the radio. First, it was just one life was lost and then more. It gradually occurred to us that we had by chance just sidestepped a tragic event. We stopped in western Nebraska to let our kids call home and spread the word that all were safe and well. The whole incident traumatized us and the group never had another trip.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
The Southern Trip
The first year we went on what we called the northern trip because we went up into Montana and generally stayed in the upper part of the 48 states. The second year we took a southern trip meaning we went into New Mexico and the four corners region.
The same group of adults went on this trip. The other people in the group were far more experienced when it came to travel than Becky and I. While we were usually wide eyed and inexperienced the others had already been to all the places we were visiting. The advantage was they knew what to avoid and what was worth seeing.
We traveled long days and what seemed like short nights sleeping on the ground in a sometimes-dry tent. Becky and I weren’t much different than the kids in the group. We were kids ourselves. Sometimes I wonder if the group regretted having us along.
The first day on this trip we left at 6 A.M. and traveled to into Kansas. I don’t think the wind ever stops blowing in Kansas. We traveled as far as we could in a day. I am not sure how far we got but ended up camping in a nice county park the first night. The kids had slept in the vans all day and kept us up most of the night. The next morning, after breakfast the group chaperones met and decided there would be no sleeping in the vans. We decided we would use the radio and loud conversation to keep everyone awake so they would sleep that night.
The second day we traveled the rest of the way across Kansas and then into Colorado. After what seemed like an eternity we could see mountains in the distance. It seemed to take even longer to actually get close to those mountains. We turned southwest off of Interstate 70 on U.S. 24 and headed for Colorado Springs. Did you know the stoplights in Colorado Springs are horizontal instead of vertical? That can be tricky for a colorblind boy. I think I ran several trying to stay with the other two vans.
While we were in Colorado Springs we visited the Air Force Academy, and the Garden of the Gods. We also visited the Manitou Incline. To get near the top you ride in rail cars that are pulled by cable up the side of a very steep mountain.
Ron Marshall and I climbed that last two or three hundred feet to the top of the mountain. I remember being amazed at how fearless Ron was. He stood on the very precipus and looked over the edge while I was hugging the rock several feet back.
From Colorado Springs we headed southwest on a narrow back road through a narrow canyon to Canon City. Canon City is the home of the Colorado State prison. There we visited the Royal Gorge. I remember the hummingbird feeders and the dozens of birds that visited them and the deer that would eat out of your hand.
I remember too, the tram ride across the gorge. Over a thousand feet above the Arkansas River and over two thousand feet long, I was uneasy from the moment I got into the car. When we got across I didn’t want to go back but, of course, I had to because there were only two ways back; the tram and walking across the bridge. The bridge was even worse for me so I took the tram back and never before or sense has solid ground felt so good to me.
From there we headed south on Interstate 25 and then west to a spot near a tiny town called Eagles Nest, New Mexico. We camped there and visited Taos, New Mexico the next day. It was a famous artist colony in those days. We walked all over the little town looking at the art and the hippies that inhabited the place. We took a horseback ride near Eagles Nest but my horse didn’t like the idea of going on and turned back. The rest of group, not knowing what else to do, followed me back.
From Eagles Nest we headed north back into Colorado. We visited the Black Canyon of Gunnison. It was huge and some said more beautiful than the Grand Canyon. We kept heading north and camped for the night in a remote spot. From there we traveled to a spot near Evergreen, Colorado where we spent the night. To get there we had to go over a high pass near the Continental Divide. Narrow roads and harrowing turns led us past Leadville and Climax to our campground.
We spent the night at Evergreen, toured Coors Brewery in Golden, and then headed to Granby and then over Trail Ridge Road to Estes Park. On the way we stopped at a roadside turquoise and silver stand and I bought a silver and coral ring which I have worn on my right hand everyday since.
We stayed in Estes Park for four days. The idea was to get as acclimated to the elevation as we could and then climb Longs Peak. It extends well above the tree line at 14,256 ft. Typically, above 10, 000 ft. Climbers use oxygen because the atmosphere is so thin. The day before we climbed a nearby mountain, Twin Sisters.
We left camp at 2:00 in the morning. The idea is to get off the top of mountain before noon and the afternoon rainstorms. The top of a mountain is the last place you want to be when lightening is all around you.
We climbed in the dark for hours and finally when the sun came up we could see the peak. It took us four more hours to get there. At about 11:00 that morning we scrambled hand over hand up the last 300 ft. and reached the top. There all the kids were waiting for us. Some had been there for as much as two hours. We had a group picture, looked around a little and then headed back down. Becky was the only adult female to make it to the top. We were back down to our Van about 5:30 P.M. It was an exhilarating experience even though we had walked and climbed almost continuously for the last 15 hours. Needless to say we slept well that night.
We departed early the next morning and traveled all the way back to Mt. Pleasant, arriving late that evening.
The same group of adults went on this trip. The other people in the group were far more experienced when it came to travel than Becky and I. While we were usually wide eyed and inexperienced the others had already been to all the places we were visiting. The advantage was they knew what to avoid and what was worth seeing.
We traveled long days and what seemed like short nights sleeping on the ground in a sometimes-dry tent. Becky and I weren’t much different than the kids in the group. We were kids ourselves. Sometimes I wonder if the group regretted having us along.
The first day on this trip we left at 6 A.M. and traveled to into Kansas. I don’t think the wind ever stops blowing in Kansas. We traveled as far as we could in a day. I am not sure how far we got but ended up camping in a nice county park the first night. The kids had slept in the vans all day and kept us up most of the night. The next morning, after breakfast the group chaperones met and decided there would be no sleeping in the vans. We decided we would use the radio and loud conversation to keep everyone awake so they would sleep that night.
The second day we traveled the rest of the way across Kansas and then into Colorado. After what seemed like an eternity we could see mountains in the distance. It seemed to take even longer to actually get close to those mountains. We turned southwest off of Interstate 70 on U.S. 24 and headed for Colorado Springs. Did you know the stoplights in Colorado Springs are horizontal instead of vertical? That can be tricky for a colorblind boy. I think I ran several trying to stay with the other two vans.
While we were in Colorado Springs we visited the Air Force Academy, and the Garden of the Gods. We also visited the Manitou Incline. To get near the top you ride in rail cars that are pulled by cable up the side of a very steep mountain.
Ron Marshall and I climbed that last two or three hundred feet to the top of the mountain. I remember being amazed at how fearless Ron was. He stood on the very precipus and looked over the edge while I was hugging the rock several feet back.
From Colorado Springs we headed southwest on a narrow back road through a narrow canyon to Canon City. Canon City is the home of the Colorado State prison. There we visited the Royal Gorge. I remember the hummingbird feeders and the dozens of birds that visited them and the deer that would eat out of your hand.
I remember too, the tram ride across the gorge. Over a thousand feet above the Arkansas River and over two thousand feet long, I was uneasy from the moment I got into the car. When we got across I didn’t want to go back but, of course, I had to because there were only two ways back; the tram and walking across the bridge. The bridge was even worse for me so I took the tram back and never before or sense has solid ground felt so good to me.
From there we headed south on Interstate 25 and then west to a spot near a tiny town called Eagles Nest, New Mexico. We camped there and visited Taos, New Mexico the next day. It was a famous artist colony in those days. We walked all over the little town looking at the art and the hippies that inhabited the place. We took a horseback ride near Eagles Nest but my horse didn’t like the idea of going on and turned back. The rest of group, not knowing what else to do, followed me back.
From Eagles Nest we headed north back into Colorado. We visited the Black Canyon of Gunnison. It was huge and some said more beautiful than the Grand Canyon. We kept heading north and camped for the night in a remote spot. From there we traveled to a spot near Evergreen, Colorado where we spent the night. To get there we had to go over a high pass near the Continental Divide. Narrow roads and harrowing turns led us past Leadville and Climax to our campground.
We spent the night at Evergreen, toured Coors Brewery in Golden, and then headed to Granby and then over Trail Ridge Road to Estes Park. On the way we stopped at a roadside turquoise and silver stand and I bought a silver and coral ring which I have worn on my right hand everyday since.
We stayed in Estes Park for four days. The idea was to get as acclimated to the elevation as we could and then climb Longs Peak. It extends well above the tree line at 14,256 ft. Typically, above 10, 000 ft. Climbers use oxygen because the atmosphere is so thin. The day before we climbed a nearby mountain, Twin Sisters.
We left camp at 2:00 in the morning. The idea is to get off the top of mountain before noon and the afternoon rainstorms. The top of a mountain is the last place you want to be when lightening is all around you.
We climbed in the dark for hours and finally when the sun came up we could see the peak. It took us four more hours to get there. At about 11:00 that morning we scrambled hand over hand up the last 300 ft. and reached the top. There all the kids were waiting for us. Some had been there for as much as two hours. We had a group picture, looked around a little and then headed back down. Becky was the only adult female to make it to the top. We were back down to our Van about 5:30 P.M. It was an exhilarating experience even though we had walked and climbed almost continuously for the last 15 hours. Needless to say we slept well that night.
We departed early the next morning and traveled all the way back to Mt. Pleasant, arriving late that evening.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Summer Trips
Becky and I went on three trips with junior high students in the Mid 70s. Maynard Bittle, John and Betty Becker, Ron and Marsha Marshall organized them. They asked us to come along as chaperones. They were great adventures with kids. Maynard tried to incorporate as much science education as possible into the trips. Becky and I had not traveled much and were just as excited about it as the kids. Each one of the kids had to pay three or four hundred dollars to go.
We camped all the time and cooked all of our meals. Each person had the responsibility for their own gear and duties at each meal. It was well organized and generally came off remarkably smooth. The trips usually lasted from fourteen to sixteen days.
The first year we went it was a northern trip. We traveled to Pipestone Minnesota the first day and toured the quarry where the Indians found the stone to make pipes. From there we traveled into South Dakota and camped our first night. The next days we traveled through the Badlands, Black Hills and stayed near Rapid City.
From the Black Hills we traveled west and briefly visited Devil’s Tower and then after stopping for groceries headed north towards Montana and the Little Big Horn. After the groceries stop the van I was driving lost the other two. I knew where we were headed but was unsure whether I was ahead of them or behind. I drove pretty fast thinking I could catch up. Near the tiny town of Lodge Grass on the Crow Reservation in Montana I had a blow out. Fortunately, I was able to pull off the road safely.
As we changed the tire the other two vans pulled up. After sandwiches we stayed together the rest of the way to Little Big Horn where we toured the monument. It is an impressive place well worth the visit.
We spent the night in that area and then traveled all the way to Bozeman the next day. We bought more groceries and then headed north of Bozeman to a remote campsite about forty miles. In the next few days we climbed Mt. Sacagawea, visited a ranch, and went trout fishing. The last evening there while carving with my knife, I cut my finger and we had to make a trip to the emergency room in Bozeman to get nine stitches.
From Bozeman we traveled southwest through the haunting Madison Canyon. There, in 1959, campers were buried under a huge landslide. Twenty-six people were killed but few bodies were found because they were buried under the slide.
We entered Yellowstone from the Western side and stayed just out of the park in the town of West Yellowstone. We toured the park for two days, seeing the falls, many geysers, and Old Faithful.
From Yellowstone we went to Gray Bull, Wyoming. We camped in that area for a few days and attended a rodeo and visited a museum. Maynard arranged a guided trip for us out to a remote area where we hunted for fossils.
After one more stop in the middle of Nebraska we arrived back home. It was a fantastic adventure!
We camped all the time and cooked all of our meals. Each person had the responsibility for their own gear and duties at each meal. It was well organized and generally came off remarkably smooth. The trips usually lasted from fourteen to sixteen days.
The first year we went it was a northern trip. We traveled to Pipestone Minnesota the first day and toured the quarry where the Indians found the stone to make pipes. From there we traveled into South Dakota and camped our first night. The next days we traveled through the Badlands, Black Hills and stayed near Rapid City.
From the Black Hills we traveled west and briefly visited Devil’s Tower and then after stopping for groceries headed north towards Montana and the Little Big Horn. After the groceries stop the van I was driving lost the other two. I knew where we were headed but was unsure whether I was ahead of them or behind. I drove pretty fast thinking I could catch up. Near the tiny town of Lodge Grass on the Crow Reservation in Montana I had a blow out. Fortunately, I was able to pull off the road safely.
As we changed the tire the other two vans pulled up. After sandwiches we stayed together the rest of the way to Little Big Horn where we toured the monument. It is an impressive place well worth the visit.
We spent the night in that area and then traveled all the way to Bozeman the next day. We bought more groceries and then headed north of Bozeman to a remote campsite about forty miles. In the next few days we climbed Mt. Sacagawea, visited a ranch, and went trout fishing. The last evening there while carving with my knife, I cut my finger and we had to make a trip to the emergency room in Bozeman to get nine stitches.
From Bozeman we traveled southwest through the haunting Madison Canyon. There, in 1959, campers were buried under a huge landslide. Twenty-six people were killed but few bodies were found because they were buried under the slide.
We entered Yellowstone from the Western side and stayed just out of the park in the town of West Yellowstone. We toured the park for two days, seeing the falls, many geysers, and Old Faithful.
From Yellowstone we went to Gray Bull, Wyoming. We camped in that area for a few days and attended a rodeo and visited a museum. Maynard arranged a guided trip for us out to a remote area where we hunted for fossils.
After one more stop in the middle of Nebraska we arrived back home. It was a fantastic adventure!
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Moving to the Farm
One of the teachers I worked with, Myra Garner, told me that her and her husband had bought a farm as a tax shelter. He worked in an upper management position in a local company. They were from Georgia and Myra had a wonderful southern accent. The farm had a house on it that they planned to rent out and Myra thought it would be perfect for our young family.
Becky and I went out and looked at the place. It wasn’t much but offered a lot more room than our apartment. It had a kitchen with a dinning area and two other rooms and a bath downstairs and two bedrooms upstairs. They were doing some work on the house and thought we would be able to move in sometime that winter.
Rent for the house was $80. a month. We thought we could handle that and moved in during the late fall of 1971. It had a garage for the car and several acres to wander. There was a second smaller house on the farm that the Garners kept and used as a place to stay occasionally. They had two teenage boys who came out and stayed sometimes.
They had cattle on the farm and although Mr. Garner had no experience as a farmer. He worked hard to learn all about it and seemed to relish the opportunities. He didn’t have a lot of cows and borrowed a bull to inseminate them. His plan was to produce beef to send to market. He probably would have but in less than two years he was transferred back to a plant on the east coast.
My cousins, Russell and Rose Ross lived about a half mile away. They had lost their son, Stanley, in the Viet Nam war a couple years earlier. A friend, Maynard Bittle, and his family lived a couple miles away and we knew some other folks in the area. My Dad knew many of the people around there and talked a lot about the White Oak Church that was up on the blacktop a quarter mile away.
I didn’t mind living in the country but every time you needed something it meant a trip to town. We quickly learned to plan better so that didn’t happen too often. It was quiet and sometimes lonely on the farm.
We ended up having to move after about a year and eight months on the farm because the Garners were selling it to move back where they came from. Myra resigned her teaching position and they packed up everything and were gone. We briefly entertained the idea of trying to buy the farm ourselves but just didn’t have anything for a down payment so we were out. It probably was for the best because the farmhouse was not in good shape and would have cost a lot to maintain. The new owners eventually did build a new house on the place.
Heather was born while we lived on the farm. That is a story I’ll tell another time.
Becky and I went out and looked at the place. It wasn’t much but offered a lot more room than our apartment. It had a kitchen with a dinning area and two other rooms and a bath downstairs and two bedrooms upstairs. They were doing some work on the house and thought we would be able to move in sometime that winter.
Rent for the house was $80. a month. We thought we could handle that and moved in during the late fall of 1971. It had a garage for the car and several acres to wander. There was a second smaller house on the farm that the Garners kept and used as a place to stay occasionally. They had two teenage boys who came out and stayed sometimes.
They had cattle on the farm and although Mr. Garner had no experience as a farmer. He worked hard to learn all about it and seemed to relish the opportunities. He didn’t have a lot of cows and borrowed a bull to inseminate them. His plan was to produce beef to send to market. He probably would have but in less than two years he was transferred back to a plant on the east coast.
My cousins, Russell and Rose Ross lived about a half mile away. They had lost their son, Stanley, in the Viet Nam war a couple years earlier. A friend, Maynard Bittle, and his family lived a couple miles away and we knew some other folks in the area. My Dad knew many of the people around there and talked a lot about the White Oak Church that was up on the blacktop a quarter mile away.
I didn’t mind living in the country but every time you needed something it meant a trip to town. We quickly learned to plan better so that didn’t happen too often. It was quiet and sometimes lonely on the farm.
We ended up having to move after about a year and eight months on the farm because the Garners were selling it to move back where they came from. Myra resigned her teaching position and they packed up everything and were gone. We briefly entertained the idea of trying to buy the farm ourselves but just didn’t have anything for a down payment so we were out. It probably was for the best because the farmhouse was not in good shape and would have cost a lot to maintain. The new owners eventually did build a new house on the place.
Heather was born while we lived on the farm. That is a story I’ll tell another time.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Teaching
I started teaching in the fall of 1971. My first year teaching salary was $7, 050.00. When I showed the contract to my father and he was upset. Oh, he was very happy for me, but that was more money per year than he had ever made.
My room was on the top floor near what was the principal’s office at that time. As you entered the room there was a cloke room on either side. One was the girls and the other the boys. Each had its own restroom and sink. There were hooks all along the wall to hang up coats. The small rooms weren’t much different than when I was in 4th grade there.
The classroom itself was smaller than I remember it as a kid but still was a nice size for a classroom. Windows lined the north side of the room and there were bookshelves along the wall under them. The room was equipped like a regular classroom. The floors were the original wooden boards. The marks where the desks had originally attached to the floor were clearly visible under several layers of varnish. The classroom really had not changed much in the last 20 years or so.
That first year I had 32 students registered for my class. Because of the high numbers two of them were placed at Harlan Elementary. That left me with 30 students for my first year as a teacher. That was a challenge but the students were a bright group and seemed to prosper in spite of my inexperience.
There wasn’t much support for new teachers in those days and the district had a mish mash curriculum. Teachers pulled together whatever material they could find to teach. When I looked at the reading materials there were pieces of three different programs but not enough of any one to use with the whole class. I checked with the third grade teacher, Nadine McCoy and she was using yet another program.
Unsure what to do I went over and visited a 4th grade teacher at Harlan. She had different materials as well. After talking with her I decided to use the materials I had and hope to make the best of it. A couple days later the principal stopped in and said the Harlan teacher was telling everyone I didn’t know what I was doing. I explained that I had simply asked her for advice since no one at Saunders seemed to be able to help me. In those days I guess it wasn’t a good idea to ask for help.
One day after recess a 4th grade girl came in and said the boys had called her a dirty name at recess. She was from a family that included three pretty wild boys so I couldn’t imagine there would be too many words she hadn’t heard many times. I asked her what the word was but she refused to tell me. After some time she pulled out the front of her dress and pointed at her tummy. I said, “Pregnant?” and she said that was it. I tried everything I could think off to convince her that wasn’t a dirty word. We even looked it up in the dictionary.
When her mother came in at parent teacher conference time I told her the story. The mother smiled and said, “Perry, when you have boys as ornery as mine, pregnant is a dirty word!”
My room was on the top floor near what was the principal’s office at that time. As you entered the room there was a cloke room on either side. One was the girls and the other the boys. Each had its own restroom and sink. There were hooks all along the wall to hang up coats. The small rooms weren’t much different than when I was in 4th grade there.
The classroom itself was smaller than I remember it as a kid but still was a nice size for a classroom. Windows lined the north side of the room and there were bookshelves along the wall under them. The room was equipped like a regular classroom. The floors were the original wooden boards. The marks where the desks had originally attached to the floor were clearly visible under several layers of varnish. The classroom really had not changed much in the last 20 years or so.
That first year I had 32 students registered for my class. Because of the high numbers two of them were placed at Harlan Elementary. That left me with 30 students for my first year as a teacher. That was a challenge but the students were a bright group and seemed to prosper in spite of my inexperience.
There wasn’t much support for new teachers in those days and the district had a mish mash curriculum. Teachers pulled together whatever material they could find to teach. When I looked at the reading materials there were pieces of three different programs but not enough of any one to use with the whole class. I checked with the third grade teacher, Nadine McCoy and she was using yet another program.
Unsure what to do I went over and visited a 4th grade teacher at Harlan. She had different materials as well. After talking with her I decided to use the materials I had and hope to make the best of it. A couple days later the principal stopped in and said the Harlan teacher was telling everyone I didn’t know what I was doing. I explained that I had simply asked her for advice since no one at Saunders seemed to be able to help me. In those days I guess it wasn’t a good idea to ask for help.
One day after recess a 4th grade girl came in and said the boys had called her a dirty name at recess. She was from a family that included three pretty wild boys so I couldn’t imagine there would be too many words she hadn’t heard many times. I asked her what the word was but she refused to tell me. After some time she pulled out the front of her dress and pointed at her tummy. I said, “Pregnant?” and she said that was it. I tried everything I could think off to convince her that wasn’t a dirty word. We even looked it up in the dictionary.
When her mother came in at parent teacher conference time I told her the story. The mother smiled and said, “Perry, when you have boys as ornery as mine, pregnant is a dirty word!”
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Student Teaching
(This is the first story of my life in the 1970s. Fifty-one more will follow.)
I student taught at the elementary school in Crawfordsville, Iowa, part of the WACO Community School District. I spent the spring semester of 1971 in Marilyn Ries’s 4th grade classroom. She was a great teacher and I was very fortunate to be able to learn from her.
We had two cars in those days. One was a 1954 Chevy Becky’s parents had given her. It wasn’t really a bad car but after we had it awhile reverse went out of it. You had to be careful where you parked. If you had enough space to pull in to parallel park you were fine but if you parked diagonally then you would have to push it out of the spot by hand and then jump in and drive away.
The other car we had was a red Opal Cadet. It was a small car with an equally small engine. It took a couple miles to get up close to the speed limit if there was more than one person in the car. If you were driving into the wind you couldn’t get up much past 45 miles per hour. It got great gas mileage! The doors were thin and it was about as solid as and empty pop can. The car, made by Buick, is no longer manufactured.
So, when it came time to commute to Crawfordsville the Opal seemed like the way to go. I car-pooled with Anita (Brent) Hampton and one other person who I have forgotten. When it was my turn to drive we packed all of our books and bodies in the tiny Opal and headed off. We had to leave ten minutes earlier if I was driving simply because the Opal was so slow. I am happy to say we made it safely there everyday even if some trips took longer.
I was a brash young teacher in those days and maybe a little too bold and progressive for some of the older teachers at the Crawfordville building. More than once they shook their heads at me. Once, after we had launched a home made model airplane from the third story window of the building, one of the teachers told me, over lunch, she hoped I grew up before I started teaching. Fortunately, another mature teacher immediately said, “I hope he doesn’t! He is going to be a great teacher just as he is!”
Midway through student teaching Mrs. Ries told me she was going to give me an “A” for the course. In April, Ottumwa Community School District asked me to come to an interview. Kathy (Garretson) Helman and I drove over for the opportunity. We were interviewed at the district’s central office that was in a huge, but elegant old house. They offered me a contract on the spot and pressured me to sign. I told them that I would need more time and took the contract home.
The temptation was great to sign that contract but I knew I had a shot at a job in Mt. Pleasant, too. John Becker had promised me a job. John was an old friend from the swimming pool and principal at Saunders Elementary, my old school. When he saw the contract from Ottumwa he hurried things up for me and Mt. Pleasant offered me a contract, too. I signed it and took a job across the street from the house I grew up in, replacing my fourth grade teacher.
I student taught at the elementary school in Crawfordsville, Iowa, part of the WACO Community School District. I spent the spring semester of 1971 in Marilyn Ries’s 4th grade classroom. She was a great teacher and I was very fortunate to be able to learn from her.
We had two cars in those days. One was a 1954 Chevy Becky’s parents had given her. It wasn’t really a bad car but after we had it awhile reverse went out of it. You had to be careful where you parked. If you had enough space to pull in to parallel park you were fine but if you parked diagonally then you would have to push it out of the spot by hand and then jump in and drive away.
The other car we had was a red Opal Cadet. It was a small car with an equally small engine. It took a couple miles to get up close to the speed limit if there was more than one person in the car. If you were driving into the wind you couldn’t get up much past 45 miles per hour. It got great gas mileage! The doors were thin and it was about as solid as and empty pop can. The car, made by Buick, is no longer manufactured.
So, when it came time to commute to Crawfordsville the Opal seemed like the way to go. I car-pooled with Anita (Brent) Hampton and one other person who I have forgotten. When it was my turn to drive we packed all of our books and bodies in the tiny Opal and headed off. We had to leave ten minutes earlier if I was driving simply because the Opal was so slow. I am happy to say we made it safely there everyday even if some trips took longer.
I was a brash young teacher in those days and maybe a little too bold and progressive for some of the older teachers at the Crawfordville building. More than once they shook their heads at me. Once, after we had launched a home made model airplane from the third story window of the building, one of the teachers told me, over lunch, she hoped I grew up before I started teaching. Fortunately, another mature teacher immediately said, “I hope he doesn’t! He is going to be a great teacher just as he is!”
Midway through student teaching Mrs. Ries told me she was going to give me an “A” for the course. In April, Ottumwa Community School District asked me to come to an interview. Kathy (Garretson) Helman and I drove over for the opportunity. We were interviewed at the district’s central office that was in a huge, but elegant old house. They offered me a contract on the spot and pressured me to sign. I told them that I would need more time and took the contract home.
The temptation was great to sign that contract but I knew I had a shot at a job in Mt. Pleasant, too. John Becker had promised me a job. John was an old friend from the swimming pool and principal at Saunders Elementary, my old school. When he saw the contract from Ottumwa he hurried things up for me and Mt. Pleasant offered me a contract, too. I signed it and took a job across the street from the house I grew up in, replacing my fourth grade teacher.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
The Sixties
The sixties took me from age twelve to age twenty-two, from 6th grade to a senior in college, from single to married, from a kid to a parent. Probably more happened in that ten years than any other ten-year period in my life.
I was never a stellar student but was positively influenced by my parents, my sisters, and some of those around me. Even in the worst of times I was annoyingly positive and naïve. Neither attribute causes people to take you very seriously; at least until they know you better.
The country was in great turmoil much of the time. Somehow I decided I was a Republican. I don’t know why because my parents weren’t and did not get actively involved in politics. I joined the campaign of a candidate for county supervisor. He was victorious and defeated a candidate who had held the seat for many years.
I got involved in Bob Ray’s run for the Governor. Soon, I found myself as county chairman for his campaign. We had fun and he won the election easily. During the process I got in on a lot of back room politics. I had honestly believed that these people had the best interests of the state in mind. I soon realized that was secondary to power. Bob Ray was a nice person. I can’t say that for many of the other people involved in the campaign.
The whole thing soured me on politics and the Republicans. For years after that I was not tied to any political party and didn’t trust those who were. Having seen it from the inside I was disgusted with the motives and behavior of those involved. I have always been embarrassed that I was part of it.
In order to graduate from Iowa Wesleyan College I needed to do a Responsible Social Involvement (RSI) project. Every student had to do something. It involved putting in forty hours doing something to help others and then writing it all up in a paper. My involvement in politics didn’t count. I guess they didn’t think it was responsible or social.
My project involved teaching remedial reading to struggling students at Lincoln Elementary School. I went there for two hours a day for about six weeks. It really cut into my work time but I really didn’t have a choice. I had to do something and it was the only thing that I could come up with.
I worked with licensed reading teachers and learned a lot from them. I was able to use much of what I had learned when I became a teacher myself. I think I actually helped some kids and so it was a positive thing for me.
This is the last piece I will write about the sixties for a while. There are many other stories to tell about that time in my life but they will have to wait. The next 52 pieces will be about the seventies. There is a lot to tell about those days as well.
I was never a stellar student but was positively influenced by my parents, my sisters, and some of those around me. Even in the worst of times I was annoyingly positive and naïve. Neither attribute causes people to take you very seriously; at least until they know you better.
The country was in great turmoil much of the time. Somehow I decided I was a Republican. I don’t know why because my parents weren’t and did not get actively involved in politics. I joined the campaign of a candidate for county supervisor. He was victorious and defeated a candidate who had held the seat for many years.
I got involved in Bob Ray’s run for the Governor. Soon, I found myself as county chairman for his campaign. We had fun and he won the election easily. During the process I got in on a lot of back room politics. I had honestly believed that these people had the best interests of the state in mind. I soon realized that was secondary to power. Bob Ray was a nice person. I can’t say that for many of the other people involved in the campaign.
The whole thing soured me on politics and the Republicans. For years after that I was not tied to any political party and didn’t trust those who were. Having seen it from the inside I was disgusted with the motives and behavior of those involved. I have always been embarrassed that I was part of it.
In order to graduate from Iowa Wesleyan College I needed to do a Responsible Social Involvement (RSI) project. Every student had to do something. It involved putting in forty hours doing something to help others and then writing it all up in a paper. My involvement in politics didn’t count. I guess they didn’t think it was responsible or social.
My project involved teaching remedial reading to struggling students at Lincoln Elementary School. I went there for two hours a day for about six weeks. It really cut into my work time but I really didn’t have a choice. I had to do something and it was the only thing that I could come up with.
I worked with licensed reading teachers and learned a lot from them. I was able to use much of what I had learned when I became a teacher myself. I think I actually helped some kids and so it was a positive thing for me.
This is the last piece I will write about the sixties for a while. There are many other stories to tell about that time in my life but they will have to wait. The next 52 pieces will be about the seventies. There is a lot to tell about those days as well.
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