I don’t like cats. I have never liked cats. They make me sneeze and I don’t find them appealing in any way. The trouble is they like me. I don’t know what it is but cats seem to be attracted to me? It seems like every time I go someplace where there is a cat around it ends up coming over and rubbing against me or wanting to sit on my lap. It’s very annoying!
We had a cat when we lived on West Clay Street. Angie had returned from a weeklong retreat with it I think? I wasn’t very happy about it but what could I do? The girls loved the kitten and named it Hilda. I thought that was a suitable name for a feline.
This cat lived in our basement and was only upstairs to pass through the kitchen, back porch and out the backdoor. She did, on occasion, love to show her independence by taking a path through the whole house. That was something that annoyed Becky and, of course, me too!
Although the girls professed to love the kitten they fed it on an irregular basis. Sometimes she had food provided and at other times she had to forage for whatever she got to eat. She had a regular route through the neighborhood and I always hoped she would catch and eat the mice in the basement. She wasn’t too good at that. Too much work I think?
One winter I trapped so many mice in the basement that I skinned them and had the hides made into gloves. I couldn’t wear them though because the all of the cats in town followed me around when I did.
Early one summer morning when Hilda was still a kitten I was awakened by a terrible racket in the basement. I went down there only to discover that the kitten had gotten into some fuel oil that I was siphoning out of a large tank. The little kitten was covered with the stuff! Each time she took a step she let out a horrible howl and would extend a leg out in front of her and shake it like crazy. When I saw the cat howl, step, extend, shake and then do it all over again with the other foot I couldn’t contain myself. I burst out laughing and it continued for some time.
Finally, I realized the cat wasn’t laughing so I needed a plan. I got a bowl of water some dish soap, and I, still in my underwear, carried the kitten out to the patio. Then I shampooed her six times. Somewhere in the middle of it all my neighbors, Charlie and Eunice Shappell, on their way to work came out their back door and caught me in all my glory. They stopped, looked at me, shook their heads, and headed off to work. They never did ask I me to explain what I was doing early that morning on the patio with that cat.
If that kitten liked me before he loved me now because, I think, he attributed me with saving his life.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Curses
I really don’t believe in curses but there are some times when you just wonder? Particularly when certain kinds of problems just don’t seem to go away.
When we looked at the house on West Clay we noticed that in the basement one of the covers on the large sewer pipe was missing. It was just an open hole and the realtor said that it was no problem and could be fixed easily. I should have known better.
Plumbers just looked at it and shrugged. They said the spot where the cover screwed in was broken and the only thing to do was replace the whole thing. That was something they didn’t seem to want to do and I certainly couldn’t afford. Now, you can’t have an open sewer pipe in your basement because not only does it make the whole house smell bad but also it poses an explosion risk because methane is highly flammable.
The hole was about eight inches in diameter. I tried covering it with plastic bags and duck tape. That sort of worked but my Dad didn’t like it. He carefully measured the hole and then, in true Mennonite tradition, fashioned a wooden plug for the hole. It was perfect and even plumbers marveled at how well it worked!
Sewer problems solved. Not so fast! They were only just beginning!
Our sewer started backing up. A neighbor said, “That house had always had sewer problems!”
We tried everything! I dumped more chemicals down the drain than Dupont produces in a year. I am probably, single handily, responsible for the dead zone in the Gulf of Mexico. Oh, some things worked for a while but the problem always came back.
The old fellows I talked to said it was the Moleburg tile. I am not sure that was the name but whatever it was tended to crack and let roots in and that is what clogged up the sewer.
It was roots all right! My neighbor, Charlie Shappell, did something, which turned out to be a routine. About every three months we would have to send a twisting sewer taped through the line. It always came back with a great big ball of roots. Sometimes we had trouble pulling it out because the roots were packed so tight around the tip.
I have to tell you that rooting out a sewer is not a pleasant task for what should be obvious reasons. In our time in that house I bet I did it at least 20 times. I paid to have others do it, too.
Noting seemed to solve the problem. Finally, I dug up the sewer by hand for the first of three times because I couldn’t afford to have it done. I cleaned it as best I could but the roots would always eventually come back.
At last, I thought, I paid the plumbers to come and replace that old pipe with new plastic that was root proof and would solve my problem. It didn’t!
For some strange reason they replaced the entire line to the street except the last three feet before it came into the basement.
The last thing we did as owners of that house was pay to have that last three feet of pipe replaced because, of course, the sewer was plugged and the new owner wanted it fixed.
Shhhhh!!!! We have escaped the sewer curse for now but I am still looking over my shoulder now and then.
When we looked at the house on West Clay we noticed that in the basement one of the covers on the large sewer pipe was missing. It was just an open hole and the realtor said that it was no problem and could be fixed easily. I should have known better.
Plumbers just looked at it and shrugged. They said the spot where the cover screwed in was broken and the only thing to do was replace the whole thing. That was something they didn’t seem to want to do and I certainly couldn’t afford. Now, you can’t have an open sewer pipe in your basement because not only does it make the whole house smell bad but also it poses an explosion risk because methane is highly flammable.
The hole was about eight inches in diameter. I tried covering it with plastic bags and duck tape. That sort of worked but my Dad didn’t like it. He carefully measured the hole and then, in true Mennonite tradition, fashioned a wooden plug for the hole. It was perfect and even plumbers marveled at how well it worked!
Sewer problems solved. Not so fast! They were only just beginning!
Our sewer started backing up. A neighbor said, “That house had always had sewer problems!”
We tried everything! I dumped more chemicals down the drain than Dupont produces in a year. I am probably, single handily, responsible for the dead zone in the Gulf of Mexico. Oh, some things worked for a while but the problem always came back.
The old fellows I talked to said it was the Moleburg tile. I am not sure that was the name but whatever it was tended to crack and let roots in and that is what clogged up the sewer.
It was roots all right! My neighbor, Charlie Shappell, did something, which turned out to be a routine. About every three months we would have to send a twisting sewer taped through the line. It always came back with a great big ball of roots. Sometimes we had trouble pulling it out because the roots were packed so tight around the tip.
I have to tell you that rooting out a sewer is not a pleasant task for what should be obvious reasons. In our time in that house I bet I did it at least 20 times. I paid to have others do it, too.
Noting seemed to solve the problem. Finally, I dug up the sewer by hand for the first of three times because I couldn’t afford to have it done. I cleaned it as best I could but the roots would always eventually come back.
At last, I thought, I paid the plumbers to come and replace that old pipe with new plastic that was root proof and would solve my problem. It didn’t!
For some strange reason they replaced the entire line to the street except the last three feet before it came into the basement.
The last thing we did as owners of that house was pay to have that last three feet of pipe replaced because, of course, the sewer was plugged and the new owner wanted it fixed.
Shhhhh!!!! We have escaped the sewer curse for now but I am still looking over my shoulder now and then.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
First Aid Classes
I became a first aid trainer in the early seventies. It was probably a mistake but was a natural off shoot of all of my water safety training. First aid was a big part of that training, too.
John Becker and I went to Burlington two nights a week for three weeks to take part in what was called Multi-Media First Aid. It got its name from the sound practice of having the participants view a video, read about the each technique, and then practice the technique. It was a very effective way to learn. We completed the course and were certified to train others.
The Henry County Red Cross bought all of the books and materials to teach the class. It was an Occupational Heath and Safety (OSHA) approved course and was required of all construction businesses that employed more than fours workers and all firemen and police officers. We were in great demand to teach the course!
The draw back to the whole thing was that we were volunteers and could not, because of Red Cross rules, take any payment for teaching the classes. John quit doing it after the first year, but I continued for some reason.
I taught two large groups from the local concrete company. The owner was very appreciative and kept wanting to give me something for doing it. I wanted a patio behind our house. I knew how to do the concrete and had friends who would help. The company provided the cement free of charge and we ended up with a nice large patio. Angie and Heather left their handprints in it near the southeast corner. I am sure they are still there.
I trained the Mt. Pleasant Police Department. That was a nice thing because it is always a good thing to be on good terms with the police. They handled the whole thing very seriously mostly, I think, because they had all been in many situations where they could put the training to good use. They always had valuable tips to share.
I trained some difficult groups of construction workers. They usually didn’t want to be there and didn’t even try to learn the material. There was an exam at the end and it wasn’t unusual to have a few of them fail. Then they were mad because they had to pass it. A couple of times I let them retake the test.
Once one of the course participants was drunk and very disruptive. His foreman was in the class and he made the guy leave during the break and he never came back. I suppose he lost his job but I really don’t know.
I taught a large group of the employees at the Rural Electric Association (REA), the Mental Health Institute (MHI), Metromail, and several other places. It was always interesting and enjoyable. I think I learned a lot during that time.
The most unusual group I taught was the nursing department at Iowa Wesleyan. College. I was really apprehensive about it because I didn’t feel qualified to teach nurses. They were very kind to me and said they really hadn’t had any real training in first aid. I don’t know if that was true or not but they were very nice about it. I learned a great deal from them in the process.
John Becker and I went to Burlington two nights a week for three weeks to take part in what was called Multi-Media First Aid. It got its name from the sound practice of having the participants view a video, read about the each technique, and then practice the technique. It was a very effective way to learn. We completed the course and were certified to train others.
The Henry County Red Cross bought all of the books and materials to teach the class. It was an Occupational Heath and Safety (OSHA) approved course and was required of all construction businesses that employed more than fours workers and all firemen and police officers. We were in great demand to teach the course!
The draw back to the whole thing was that we were volunteers and could not, because of Red Cross rules, take any payment for teaching the classes. John quit doing it after the first year, but I continued for some reason.
I taught two large groups from the local concrete company. The owner was very appreciative and kept wanting to give me something for doing it. I wanted a patio behind our house. I knew how to do the concrete and had friends who would help. The company provided the cement free of charge and we ended up with a nice large patio. Angie and Heather left their handprints in it near the southeast corner. I am sure they are still there.
I trained the Mt. Pleasant Police Department. That was a nice thing because it is always a good thing to be on good terms with the police. They handled the whole thing very seriously mostly, I think, because they had all been in many situations where they could put the training to good use. They always had valuable tips to share.
I trained some difficult groups of construction workers. They usually didn’t want to be there and didn’t even try to learn the material. There was an exam at the end and it wasn’t unusual to have a few of them fail. Then they were mad because they had to pass it. A couple of times I let them retake the test.
Once one of the course participants was drunk and very disruptive. His foreman was in the class and he made the guy leave during the break and he never came back. I suppose he lost his job but I really don’t know.
I taught a large group of the employees at the Rural Electric Association (REA), the Mental Health Institute (MHI), Metromail, and several other places. It was always interesting and enjoyable. I think I learned a lot during that time.
The most unusual group I taught was the nursing department at Iowa Wesleyan. College. I was really apprehensive about it because I didn’t feel qualified to teach nurses. They were very kind to me and said they really hadn’t had any real training in first aid. I don’t know if that was true or not but they were very nice about it. I learned a great deal from them in the process.
Sunday, August 05, 2007
Nightcrawlers for Sale II
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! But first let me tell you about the set up.
The cooler sat on the patio just outside thejkl;o back door that led first to an enclosed porch and then into the kitchen. The cooler usually contained several dozen worms in Styrofoam cups, a frozen bottle of water and a cup with some change in it. Buyers would come and take as many dozen as they wanted and leave their payment in the cup. It worked remarkably well for some time.
Once in awhile we might be short a little money but other times there seemed to be extra in the cup. Then we started missing cups of worms. We were amazed that people would steal fishing worms but it was happening. It got worse! Someone started taking all of the worms and money.
I was infuriated! We stopped putting so many worms out in the cooler and were careful to not leave much money there. Still it was continuing. There was another worm seller across the highway and I began to suspect him. He was an ex con who rode around town on a bicycle.
I set up all kinds of elaborate schemes to catch the culprit whoever it was. One involved running a fine thread around the yard and attaching it to a bell in our bedroom window. That would have worked but every dog or cat that went through the back yard set it off. Early one morning I heard the bell jangle and then heard a bicycle in the alley. It didn’t register with me for a minute or two and then it was too late.
Becky and I took turns sitting on the back porch with the lights off and waiting for the thief. Late one night when Becky was sitting there, a thief came across the neighbor’s patio and crept by the back door to the cooler. At that moment Becky turned a flashlight on and shined it in his face. I am not sure who was scared more, Becky or the crook. He turned and ran and Becky came and got me but by the time I got out there he was nowhere to be found.
Another time I was sitting in the dark on the porch and I heard a terrible racket on the neighbor’s patio. Then a stark naked guy came gingerly stepping through our yard. He stopped near our clothesline and turned back towards the neighbors and said, “Larry! Come on!” A second naked guy came through the yard and they both headed off towards the alley. I heard them swearing all the way. I heard them him hit Van Allen’s fence, too.
Then a policeman appeared in our backyard. I went out and told him which way they had went. The boys had been skinny dipping in the pool, which was about a half block away, and had ran when the police came leaving their clothes behind.
One evening, after dark, Becky and I were sitting on the front porch when we saw a figure walking up the street and then cut between our house and the neighbors. Becky went back through the house and I followed the guy to the back of the house. We had him dead to rights! I recognized him right away and he was very surprised. I turned him into the police but I don’t think much ever happened to him for that charge but soon after he was implicated in some other thefts and got in serious trouble.
We got out of the worm business but for a long time after that people would stop at our house and ask if we were still selling worms.
The cooler sat on the patio just outside thejkl;o back door that led first to an enclosed porch and then into the kitchen. The cooler usually contained several dozen worms in Styrofoam cups, a frozen bottle of water and a cup with some change in it. Buyers would come and take as many dozen as they wanted and leave their payment in the cup. It worked remarkably well for some time.
Once in awhile we might be short a little money but other times there seemed to be extra in the cup. Then we started missing cups of worms. We were amazed that people would steal fishing worms but it was happening. It got worse! Someone started taking all of the worms and money.
I was infuriated! We stopped putting so many worms out in the cooler and were careful to not leave much money there. Still it was continuing. There was another worm seller across the highway and I began to suspect him. He was an ex con who rode around town on a bicycle.
I set up all kinds of elaborate schemes to catch the culprit whoever it was. One involved running a fine thread around the yard and attaching it to a bell in our bedroom window. That would have worked but every dog or cat that went through the back yard set it off. Early one morning I heard the bell jangle and then heard a bicycle in the alley. It didn’t register with me for a minute or two and then it was too late.
Becky and I took turns sitting on the back porch with the lights off and waiting for the thief. Late one night when Becky was sitting there, a thief came across the neighbor’s patio and crept by the back door to the cooler. At that moment Becky turned a flashlight on and shined it in his face. I am not sure who was scared more, Becky or the crook. He turned and ran and Becky came and got me but by the time I got out there he was nowhere to be found.
Another time I was sitting in the dark on the porch and I heard a terrible racket on the neighbor’s patio. Then a stark naked guy came gingerly stepping through our yard. He stopped near our clothesline and turned back towards the neighbors and said, “Larry! Come on!” A second naked guy came through the yard and they both headed off towards the alley. I heard them swearing all the way. I heard them him hit Van Allen’s fence, too.
Then a policeman appeared in our backyard. I went out and told him which way they had went. The boys had been skinny dipping in the pool, which was about a half block away, and had ran when the police came leaving their clothes behind.
One evening, after dark, Becky and I were sitting on the front porch when we saw a figure walking up the street and then cut between our house and the neighbors. Becky went back through the house and I followed the guy to the back of the house. We had him dead to rights! I recognized him right away and he was very surprised. I turned him into the police but I don’t think much ever happened to him for that charge but soon after he was implicated in some other thefts and got in serious trouble.
We got out of the worm business but for a long time after that people would stop at our house and ask if we were still selling worms.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Nightcrawlers for Sale
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.
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 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!
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