Rhyming Game

Our whole family were driving on Hwy 48, north of Englewood. I must have been about 20, because my sister Kym was with us and participating in our conversations, so she must have been at least six or seven. Dad was driving and we were playing a game.

Someone would see an object, say its name and the next person would have to rhyme and so on, each taking a turn until someone was stumped.

House, mouse, blouse, etc. Tree, fee, bee ... street, feet, meet ...

Then it was my turn and I saw a little pond with some birds swimming on it and said, "Duck!" One of your aunts said, "Buck!" and another quickly chimed in with "luck!"

Then Dad said, "Let's play a different game."

How Dad Quit Smoking

My Dad started smoking in his late teens, as was common with young men of his generation.  He usually smoked Lucky Strikes, which was a popular, "manly" cigarette, known for (and valued due to) its high tar and nicotine.

Dad stopped smoking sometime in the mid-60's.  As I remember, it was a year or two after we moved to Stonequarry Road.  He did not make a big deal out of it, or even mention it.  Someone noticed and asked.  At the time, we all (Mom, my sisters and other family and friends) just figured he decided that it was bad for his health and an unnecessary expense.

Those letters on the bottom - LS/MFT say
Lucky Strike/Means Fine Tobacco

But it turned out there was more to the story.

I suspect that it's probably nearly impossible for youngsters to believe, but in those days you could buy a pack of cigarettes from a vending machine.

Remembering this, I realize that it was very odd that these machines existed as parents would send their kids to the store for cigarettes, but only if they gave them a note to show to the cashiers.  And the cigarettes were stored in a location that was not accessible to customers - you had to ask for them.

Perhaps the machines were not considered a problem as they were usually only located in places where children were not commonly present, like bars, workplaces, bowling alleys, veterans' organizations, gas stations and suchlike.

And cigarettes were really cheap in those days too.  When I first became aware of their cost, I'm pretty sure that they were 25₵ a pack.  Yes, just a quarter.

OK, so what's all this got to do with Dad and how he quit smoking?  I think this story says a lot about Dad's personality - his pride, his determination and his resolve.

In 1968, after I got out of High School and started college, I got a job working at Delco-Moraine, a GM factory that mostly manufactured brake and transmission parts.  It was the same place where Dad was a manager in charge of production lines which made most of the disc-brake parts used in GM vehicles.

Working there I got to know many of Dad's friends, co-workers and employees.  One guy I really liked was named Ruben.  Ruben was a jobsetter - his duties were to relieve other workers, do minor repairs and help out when someone's station backed up or they had some problem.

Talking to Ruben one day the subject of smoking came up and Ruben asked me, "Did you ever hear the story of how your Dad quit smoking?"

I was unaware that there was any "story" associated with Dad quitting and said so.

So Ruben tells me:

One day your Dad and I were talking.

And, in the course of this conversation, one or the other of us says, "Hey, I need a pack of cigarettes."  The other says, "Me too."

So we walked over to the vending machine.  Arriving there, we discovered that they had just raised the price of a pack from  25₵ to 30₵.

"G-d d-mn it!" your Dad says, "I'm not paying 30₵ for an f-ing pack of cigarettes!"

Reasonably, I replied, "But Bill, what choice do you have?"  I laughed, "What are you going to do?  Stop smoking?"

"H-ll, yes." your Dad replied, "I'll quit.   I'm not paying 30₵ for a d-mn pack of cigarettes!"

So I went back to our Department and told the rest of the guys, "Hey everybody, guess what?  Locker's going to quit smoking because they raised the price a nickel!"

We laughed and laughed.  Everyone was teasing him.  One guy started a pool about how long he'd last.  For a dollar you could pick the date you thought he'd start up again.

But he never did.

Merry Christmas!

My Eighth Grade Class - St. Chris

This is my Eighth grade class at St. Christopher School 1963-1964.

Follow this link to Larry Youngblood's Facebook Post:

Top Row: Victoria Maddin, Tom Locker, Susie Trick, Jim Fox, Kathy Stoner, Alice Search, Kathy Moritz, Kathy Muldoon, Monk Moreo, Steve Schwab, Steve R. Smith

Second Row: Matthew Leyes, Stephen Covert, Ed Sabec, Mitchell Potterf, Jim Ewing, Mike Seskevics, Steve G. Smith

Third Row: Ron Thill,  Larry Vance, Jim White, Dick Meyer, David Leppla,  Mike Clark, Craig Puthoff, Larry Youngblood

Bottom Row: Sister Stella, Susan Partlow, Debby Hartman, Jeannie Trick, Belinda Brown, Sherry Hegg, Jackie Follick, Elaine Schieltz, Nanette Landreville, Ellen Conover, Theresa O'Donnell, Debbie Studer


Here are the Facebook comments about this photo:

Susan Partlow Landversicht - Such fun sharing these with my grandchildren here with me today due to school closing.

Michael E. Rado - The good ole days of Catholic school. I don't have any bad memories.

Jeannie Youngblood - What would parents do without grandparents on snow days!! We've put in our share too-----good memories!

Victoria Maddin Stem - I was wondering if anyone still had a class photo....this is so great

Tom Locker - 37 kids.

Marsha Plaut Powers - You are easy to spot...same pretty face!

Tom Locker - Thanks Marsha!

Dave Smith - I recognized a lot of friends!

Connie Strehle - Susie Trick top row third person.

Connie Strehle - I also found Dick Meyer and David L( sp) ? Oh there is Craig Putoff (sp) nan where are you?

Connie Strehle - Oh Nanetta I just found you bottom row 8 in. That picture is fun to look at!

Pam Longacre - Holy sh-- Larry. David looked just like you at this age. That was a Weird feeling.

Susan Tracey - I see you Jim!

Pete Britton - Hard to believe we were ever that young. Wish I could do it all over again.

Larry Youngblood - Connie...David Leppla!

Craig Puthoff - I'm 3rd row down on the right... Next to Larry Youngblood. It's PutHoff. Lolol

Craig Puthoff - Jeez...50 years ago...already. Where does time go?

Jim Fox - I tried to tag Matt Leyes but somehow Facebook translated my typing to some unknown language.

Jim Fox - Is the kid in the upper right corner Steve Smith?

Craig Puthoff - Question: Did any of us have a date/dates together after 8th grade? Me: I had a New Years Eve Party date with Kathy Moritz...about 1970. Nice girl

Craig Puthoff - We had 2 Steve Smith's....Steven R. & Stephen G. That's Steve R.

Jim Fox - Thanks Craig, I knew there were two Steve Smiths and I thought that was one of them.

Susan Partlow Landversicht - Too many of our classmates are gone. Dick Meyer has asked me about arranging a reunion this year for our 50 years. I suggested getting together at the festival. Any interest?

Craig Puthoff - Yes...I'd be interested in doing that...great idea, Dick.

Tom Locker - I think that we've named almost all the photos. Stilll missing top row, #5, the girl between Jim Fox and Alice Search, second row, the boy between Mitchell Potterf and Mike Seskevics and, also on the second row, the last boy on the right, above Larry Youngblood.

Jim Fox - Tom, could the guy above Larry be the other Steve Smith?

Larry Youngblood - I ran into Alice Search back in about '75 when I was teaching at the Hobart Welding School. She was taking Welding for Artists, I think.

Larry Youngblood - Sue...what festival? St. Chris I assume. What time of year would that be? I have not associated myself with St. Chris since the 8th grade.

Craig Puthoff - Yes...that is Steve G. smith. I saw him about a month ago. He lives near Washington, DC.

Tom Locker - Jim Fox - I tagged Steve G. Only two left!

Craig Puthoff - Did you get Victoria Madden? What about Belinda Brown?

Victoria Maddin Stem - I'm the first one on the top left.

Susan Partlow Landversicht - Yes, St Chris' festival. I believe it is held in June. I will call and find out the particulars later this month. Tom, would June be a good month for you to come back to Ohio?

Susan Partlow Landversicht - I believe it is Jim Ewing next to Mike.

Tom Locker - Yes - I can probably make it the last half of June.

Susan Partlow Landversicht - I will post the dates as soon as I find out.

Susan Partlow Landversicht - I know one of the Schwab boys passed, was it Steve?

Susan Partlow Landversicht - Last one -- I believe the missing name is Stonerock, first name may have been Kathy.

Larry Youngblood - Yes, Kathy Stonerock!! I remember, now...

My Fifth Grade Class - St. Chris

This is the Fourth & Fifth grade class at St. Christopher School 1960-1961.  I was in this class, but missed photo day. My Grandfather hurt himself which required a several day hospital stay. We were with him in Boston.  There were 48 kids in this class (47 pictured plus me).

Follow this link to Larry Youngblood's Facebook post:

Top Row: Ellen Conover, Anita Trick, Pat Walter, Mike Hawley, Mike Gaylord, Nanette Landreville, Unknown, Julie Larkin

Second Row: Becky Van Dyke, Jim White, Don Tolle, Steve Kistler, Christine Worman, Mike Clark, Kathy Schwab, Tom Hertlein, Pam Miller, Emily Moreo, Danny Fessler, Mike Geis

Third Row: Patrick Martin, Larry Youngblood, Ron Thill, Belinda Brown, Susan Partlow, Mary Ann Klenke, Josephine Elliott, Tommy Sliger

Fourth Row: Candy Tesno, Maria Korte, Virgina Himes, Kathy Kleinschmidt, Shari Heggs, Steve Covert, Mike Baltis, Joe Clement, Ann Suess, Kathy Yates, Dave Conters, Mike Patterson

Bottom Row: Mrs Boggs, Calvin Hartman, Mike Henderson, James Brown, Mike Johnston, Gus Van Acor, Susie Strukamp, Kenny Roland, Father Edwin Aufderheide

Here are the Facebook comments about this photo:

Jeannie Youngblood - The young man with a bow tie to the right of the weather vane doesn't have a beard, but he does resemble my sweetie!

Jan Williams Mahaffey - Big class!

Victoria Maddin Stem - Picked out Sue and Larry right away. I didn't join them till 7th grade.

Connie Strehle - Where are you Anita?

Anita Trick Moulds - Ok Connie, it's kind of embarrassing that I am not sure, but by process of elimination I think I am on the top row to the right of the diary?? Maybe?? I don't remember seeing this picture before. Crazy that I recognize most everyone in this picture except myself...proof that it's all beginning to slip away! Oh the joys of growing old...

Larry Youngblood - Yes, Anita, that is you to the right of the diary!!! Must admit...had a big crush on you back then!!!

Jan Williams Mahaffey - Did everyone wear a Col. Sanders tie?

Larry Youngblood - Jan, see how most of the girls have some kind of a school uniforn on? The restof the girls must have been rebels! Bowties must have been the thing to do back then. I personally would not be caught dead in one today!

Sue Moorman Vallo Starr - @Jo (Elliott) middle row, third from right?

Emily Moreo Friend - Hated those uniforms. they were hideous.

Emily Moreo Friend - I see Ann Suess, Kathy Kleithschmidt and Danny Fessler not named

Emily Moreo Friend - But this was a double class, I don't remeber if I was 4th or 5th? how strange to not remember this.

Susie Black - I must not have been a rebel because I am styling a bow on my neck. I love those beanies. Hilarious

Tom Locker - Emily, this was your 4th grade year. Larry, Nanette, Ellen, Ron, Sue and a few others were 5th graders. I was in this class but missed picture day.

Susan Partlow Landversicht - You were 4th grade, a year behind me.

Susan Partlow Landversicht - I have often wondered what happen to Julie and Patty Larkin. Anyone know?

Emily Moreo Friend - And I am still lost and behind most of the time.

Susan Partlow Landversicht - Next to Steve Covert I believe is Shari Heggs -- not certain of the spelling.

Tom Locker - I remember something about the Larkins - they had a sister born on February 29, 1960.

He Walks Just Like His Father.

My Dad was a great storyteller.  He could make the most insignificant sorts of incidents memorable to all.

I can easily visualize Dad telling one of these stories.  He would get this great smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye.  He would start off very seriously, but he could never maintain that long.  Pretty soon he'd start to giggle.  He got so much joy out of sharing these with those he loved.

Towards the end of his life Dad would tell his favorite stories pretty often.  Some of us thought this was an indication of minor dementia, that he'd forgotten he'd just told this.  Now that I've thought more about this though, I don't think that was the case.  I think he knew that he'd told the story recently, but that he got so much happiness telling his stories, and he knew that we got just as much joy hearing him tell them, that he could not resist.

In our family laughter can easily be triggered by just saying any number of short phrases -- "Turn Around?"  "Ma-TRO-Buis?" "Pull Over If You See a Good Spot" "He Knows the Near Way!" "Flat Tire"


One of the most famous though, is the story of the man who walks just like his Father.

Here is the story as Dad would tell it:

One summer we were driving up to Boston.  This was probably in the late 70s and only Kim & Bill were with us since they were the only kids still living at home.  On this trip we had decided to visit Marge's cousin, Jack Meade, who lived on Staten Island in New York.

Marge had met Jack, but Jack was about 10 years younger than Marge and the last time they'd seen each other was when Jack was just a kid, so Marge wasn't sure she'd be able to recognize him.  We'd never been to his house, so when we got to Staten Island we stopped at a McDonald's near the area where we thought he lived and called, telling him where we were.

Jack said he knew exactly where the restaurant was and that he'd be over to meet us in a few minutes.

So we sat there snacking, looking out the windows waiting for our guide to show.

After a few minutes a guy walked through the parking lot. He didn't appear to be coming into the McDonald's, just passing through, but Marge looked closely at him and said, "Bill, I think that's him.  He walks just like his Father."

So I quickly went out the door and whistled.  That got the guy's attention and he turned towards me.  "Hey," I said, "We're over here!"

He turned and gave me a quizzically look, but didn't say anything.  He looked about the right age, so when he turned and started to walk away, I started following him.  "Hey, Jack?" I yelled, "Where are you going?"

He turned and looked at me, so I started walking a little faster, then, so did he.  Next thing I knew we were running down the street.  When he jumped over a hedge and tripped, I was able to catch up to him.  He jumped up and took a swing at me, so I knocked him down again.

"Jack," I said, "What the hell's the matter with you?  I'm Bill Locker, your cousin Dolly's husband."

"What the hell's a matter with me?" he replied, "What the hell's the matter with you?  My name's not Jack and I don't have any cousins named Dolly."

Well, this embarrassed me a little, so I apologized to the poor guy and went back the the restaurant.  While I was gone, the real Jack had shown up, so we left and went to their home.

**********************

Now here's the way Mom and Uncle Bill say it happened:

The stories are the same until about the time your Nana said, "Bill, I think that's him.  He walks just like his Father."

The guy she said this about actually did come into MacDonald's.  Dad went over to him and said, "Are you Jack Meade?"

The guy said, "No," so Dad sat back down and waited until he did show up.

Island Lake - Tahoe NF - 2013

Edgewood - 1955 to 1965

Sense of Direction

I’m often accused of having a good sense of direction.  I usually have a feeling for which way North is.  I can usually find my way anywhere I’ve been before and sometimes even to places I’ve never been.  Here are a few stories about this.

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Murlin Heights Elementary

When I started school in Vandalia, in 1956, the town was growing quickly.  There were so many new homes going in, and we were in the early wave of the “Baby Boomer” kids, so Vandalia didn’t have enough schools for all of us.  They were building a new school, Stonequarry Elementary, that I was scheduled to go to (at the southeast corner of Dogleg and Stonequarry Roads, it's now a church), but it wasn’t ready when the year began.

So I began school at Murlin Heights Elementary, but was only there for a few days. Then we were sent to Vandalia Elementary (VE) where our class was seated in the gym, with about three other classes.  The “classrooms” were divided by curtains hanging from ropes stretched across the gym.

Vandalia Elementary

We attended “VE” for a good while, not sure how long, but I remember that the first day we went to Stonequarry the weather was a bit cool.


I remember, very clearly, another thing about our first day at Stonequarry.  The School Bus picked us up that morning as usual and took us to VE where the students who attended that school were to get off, while those who were to go on to Stonequarry remained on the bus.  But for some reason, the driver decided that I and other boy, Rickie Heeter, who was my best friend in First Grade, were confused about where we were supposed to go.

Tommy Locker

We told him we were now at Stonequarry, but he insisted that we were VE students and had to get off the bus.  So there stood two six-year-olds, outside a school which wasn’t theirs, where none of their classmates, teachers or friends were, watching the bus drive off.  Rickie started crying.  I don’t remember feeling scared.  I knew where I was, I knew where I lived and I knew how to get there.  I told Rickie, “I’m going to get my Dad!” (At that time Dad worked the evening shift.)

 

Rickie Heeter

So off I went.  I had started walking towards my house before the bus was out of sight.  Our house on Spartan Avenue was more than a mile from VE and on the other side of US 40, at that time one of the Nation’s major east-west highways.  I think I knew the route partly because Dad worked evenings and, as we only had one car, we would sometimes walk from our house over to the library, which was then near the corner of Dixie & Kenbrook (Kenbrook was called Nelson at that time), very near VE.

It probably took me about a half-hour to get home.  My Dad’s sister, Aunt Norma, lived on Donora Drive, very near us, and I had to pass her house to get home.  She noticed me walking past and, realizing that I should have been in school, called out to me, “Tommy, where are you going?”

Our neighborhood was so new it wasn't on the map yet!

To get my Dad!” I responded.

Well, Mom and Dad were a bit surprised to see me!  I explained what had happened and Dad drove me back over to VE.  We found Rickie in the office, still crying (why we didn’t think of just going into the office initially I don’t know – we were six).  Dad took both of us to Stonequarry and explained the situation to our teacher, Miss Cole.

Stonequarry Elementary

One last memory of this event – Dad often told this story and he would say that I had “walked a mile and three tents.”  I couldn’t remember seeing any tents while I was walking home.  Sometimes when we would drive along the route I’d walked I looked for those tents.  Eventually of course, it dawned on me that he was saying a mile and three tenths.

************************

One summer when I was 19 or 20 I drove with Mom and some of my younger siblings up to Boston for vacation.  Driving home it was getting late and I was pretty tired, having driven most of the way.  By this time we were just north of Columbus, maybe an hour and a half or two hours from home, but I was just getting too sleepy to continue.

I woke Mom up and told her that I was going to pull over and sleep for a while.  She said that she felt fine and would drive the rest of the way.  I climbed into the backseat and soon fell asleep.

At this time, the Interstate Highway system was not complete and to get on the Interstate from Columbus to Vandalia required several miles of traversing city streets.

In the backseat I felt the car turn and was suddenly wide awake.  I sat up and said, “We’re going the wrong way.”

Mom explained that no, we had just gotten to US 40 and we’d be home soon.  Just at that moment the headlights illuminated a sign very like this one.

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In May of 1994 I visited my friend Mark in London.  Mark grew up in London and enjoyed showing off his city to me.

Late one afternoon he said to me, “There’s something  I want to show you over in the Docklands part of East London, down by the Thames.”

So we jump in his car and head from Hammersmith, west of London, towards the Docklands.  Now, we were traveling generally east, and since it was late afternoon the sun was right behind us.  We drove along, talking and laughing.  As Van Morrison says in Coney Island, “The Craic was good.”

Mark was driving, of course, but as we drove along I noticed that the sun was gradually moving from more of less directly behind us to coming in the windows on the left side of the car.  We were going north.

Now, I knew that we were north of the Thames when we started and that the Docklands were near the river, so it seemed to me that we were not getting any nearer to our destination, but it was Mark’s city and I assumed he knew where he was going.

But after driving another little while, Mark said, “I thought we’d be there by now.”

I told him that I didn’t think we were getting any closer to the Thames.  He was surprised and wanted to know why I thought that.  When I explained my reasoning he couldn’t believe it, “I’ve lived here all my life and never used the sun to help me find out where I’m going.”

"But Mark," I said, "we were north of the Thames when we started and we're going north now.  We can't possibly be getting any closer to the River."

We never did get to the Docklands and he wouldn’t tell me what he had wanted to show me.

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In 1993 Mom and Dad visited California.  Accompanied by Bill we spent about a week driving around the state from Truckee where Bill and I were living then, down the coast to San Diego and back up through Bishop and Mammoth returning to Truckee.

We visited several friends and relatives along the way and we had been on the road several days when Mom mentioned that we hadn’t looked at a map the entire trip.  Then it became a challenge to complete the trip without using a map.

Over the years my career as a Forest Ranger had taken me to many nooks and crannies of California over the years -- going to fires in different places -- so I was pretty familiar with the road systems and the general “lay of the land” and we were able to do it.

Butler High School Directory

During the 66-67 school year the Class of '67 made and sold a Student Directory as a fund raiser (click image for a high resolution view).

Here is a scan of the page my name was on.  When I recieved my copy I was dismayed to find that my phone number was wrong!  At that time our number was 898-2246.  So I want to take this moment to apologize to all the Butler girls who tried to call me during these days (and I know that was most of you!).  I wasn't ignoring you.  It was the fault of the Class of '67!  And really girls, you have no one to blame but yourself - my address was right so you could have come over.

I remember a day shortly after I had gotten this, my cousin (Beavercreek HS) and a good friend (West Carrolton HS) saw it in my room.  Both of them were really excited.  My cousin said, "It's better than a 'little black book'!"  My friend agreed with him, "You mean you've got the phone number of every girl at your school?  Oh my gosh, what I wouldn't give for that!"

After this, every time we were out in Vandalia and saw a good-looking female Butler student (in other words - any Butler co-ed!) as soon as we got back to my home they would rush to look her up in it .  Neither of them every had the nerve to call anyone though.

Page containing Scott McKnight's name as requested by his brother, Bruce McKnight.

Vandalia, Ohio - 1954

This is the 1954 Vandalia-Butler Phone Book put together by the Chamber of Commerce.  We moved to Vandalia (751 Spartan Avenue) in May of 1955.

These are a number of photos that were in the book.  Click on the pictures to see a much larger version.

Everyone probably remembers the trapshoot.
Lots of us had our first job here.

ATA HQ - National Road at Helke Road

The Airline Shopping Center
In the early 60's my Mom worked as a beautician at the Cut 'n' Curl -
the second floor windows with awnings on the left.

Dayton Airport in Vandalia

Butler Township

Vandalia Town

Daddy Con & the Drive-in

I don’t think my Grandfather, Daddy Con, ever learned to drive.  At least I never saw him drive.  He didn’t have a television for many years, and when he did finally get one he rarely watched it. He just got it because he knew that his Grandkids enjoyed watching it when they visited.

I’m pretty sure that Daddy Con wasn’t a movie-goer either, but I remember one time when he went to the drive-in movie with us.  My own memory of the actual event is very hazy, but I well remember Dad telling the story.

I can’t really say what year this happened, but it was before Kim was born in 1962.  We all piled into our car, probably the green & white ’56 Ford Fairlane.  Mom, Dad and me were probably in the front seat with Daddy Con, Helen & Chris in the back.  I have no idea what movie we saw that night, and by the time the second feature rolled around all us kids plus Daddy Con were asleep.

'56 Ford Fairlane

Now, as I said, Daddy Con didn’t spend a lot of time in cars.  We kids were sleeping restlessly and causing the Ford to move about a bit.  And of course Daddy Con had had a few bottles of “Old India Pale Ale” so our movement probably made him think that the car was moving.

As Daddy Con dozed in the back with us kids he felt “nature’s call.”  He sat up against the front seat and looked out the windshield at the movie in front of us.  That apparently increased his feeling that he was in a moving vehicle, because he tapped Dad on the shoulder and said, “Bill, if you see a good spot, pull over.”

Ancestor Stories

We have some colorful ancestors.  In County Cork they like to tell how the family estate was settled.  In 1601 the Cahalanes were among the cavalry who had come down from the one of the northern Counties with the army of O’Neill and O’Donnell to throw the English out.

The Irish and their Spanish allies attacked the English at Kinsale but were defeated.  The Cahalanes escaped to the west towards Skibbereen.  They were followed and harassed by some English cavalry.  Finally, after many hours, they grew annoyed with by this constant English nuisance.  They turned back towards the English at the brow of a hill about 40 miles from Kinsale and “with one stroke of his mighty sword” the Chief of the Cahalane Clan slew three, four, five (the number varies depending on who is telling the story) of the English and the rest fled.

The brow of the hill where this occurred was a place called Maulatrahane.  The Cahalane clan thought their victory was a good omen and they have lived there since.

Another unusually colorful ancestor is Henry Branch, my Great-great-grandfather.  Harry, as he was known, was the son of Irish immigrants.  They initially came to Canada but moved down to Horseheads, New York where, a few years later, in 1853, Harry was born.

Shortly after the Civil War Harry decided to run away from home to join the circus. And he did.  He worked as a trapeze acrobat for a few years until he fell and seriously injured himself in Greenville, Ohio. He was nursed back to health by the family of Joseph Townsand and then, to repay his debt, he worked for them as a servant.

He planned to eventually rejoin the circus when they returned to the area.  But he met a young Greenville girl named Synthia Walker.  They married and moved to Bradford, Ohio where they raised a family.  Harry worked as a baker in the Ogden House. He eventually started his own bakery.

My Funniest Christmas Present

I’m the oldest of five and there’s a 15-year difference between me and my younger brother, Bill.

One of our family Christmas traditions when we were young was that the siblings exchanged their gifts to each other on Christmas Eve.  One Christmas when I was in college, so I was probably 19 or 20, and Bill was four or five, he gave me a very interesting gift.

When it was Bill’s turn to give out his presents he gave me a thin package about 12 inches long.  I unwrapped it and found a clear, flat piece of plastic.  One side was a standard 12-inch ruler and the other edge was curved on one side and flat on the other.

I looked at it with curiosity, not immediately exactly sure what it was.

Bill beamed at me, “Do you like it?”

“Oh yeah,” I answered, hiding my confusion, “this is really great!  I can’t wait to use it.”

His smile got even brighter, “What is it?”

I, and all the rest of the family burst into laughter.  Fortunately, I had just set the item down on the wrapping paper and realized that it was a combination ruler/magnifier, something designed for older people to read small text. 

I explained to Bill how it worked and we examined a few books and other objects with it.  He found it fascinating and played with it a great deal that evening.  Of course, when he got his presents from Santa the next morning it was back in my possession.

I actually found this gift to be pretty useful.  As I recall, I kept it with my school supplies and used it to read equations in my textbooks.

September 11, 2001

The hijacking of passenger aircraft attacks on the Pentagon and the World Trade Towers occurred on Tuesday September 11, 2001.  In Bishop it was just before 6:00 o’clock am when the first attack occurred.

I was still a Fireman then, and that day I was the “Duty Officer” which meant that I would be responsible for managing any activities that the firefighting resources on the Inyo National Forest might be called on to perform.

At about 6:30am the phone rang.  I was already up, even though I didn’t go on duty until 8:00am.  It was your Grandma, Deborah.  She told me that there had been an accident in New York – a plane had flown into a building.

We did not have cable TV in Bishop, and there were are no broadcast stations there at that time, so I turned on the radio and also logged into the internet to find out was going on.  I wasn’t overly concerned as I knew that, sometimes, especially in bad weather, inexperienced and/or careless pilots sometimes did foolish things.

It didn’t take long listening to the radio and reading on the internet before I knew that there was much reason to be concerned.  I immediately called our Dispatch Office and they were freaked out.  The FAA had called them and wanted to know how many airliners we could park at the Bishop Airport.  The FAA was considering not letting any aircraft fly near big cities and direct them to land at smaller airfields where the were few, if any, tempting targets for the terrorists.

The Bishop Airport was built as a training base for WWII bomber crews, so the runways are long and wide, easily big enough for jet airliners.  I went to the Airport and consulted with the Airport Manager trying to determine where, how and how many aircraft the field could handle.  As you can imagine, the timeframe was very short.  Before we had made any determination the FAA canceled the request.

I then went back home for a while as we were worried about your Aunt Doris who was living in Brooklyn at the time.  She could see the towers from her apartment.  She was never in any danger.  Our cousin John Meade, a FDNY Fireman, was off-duty that day.  He did lose his Father-in-law and a Brother-in-law.

Sailing With James

“Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing — absolute nothing — half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats. Simply messing about in boats — or with boats. In or out of 'em, it doesn't matter. Nothing seems really to matter, that's the charm of it. Whether you get away, or whether you don't; whether you arrive at your destination or whether you reach somewhere else, or whether you never get anywhere at all, you're always busy, and you never do anything in particular; and when you've done it there's always something else to do, and you can do it if you like, but you'd much better not”
                         - Water Rat in The Wind in the Willows


My posts on this website are usually stories from the past, but this one is more of a diary entry.  Today (July 14, 2012) James and I went out to the Lake Washington Sailing Club.  It was a workday when the members spruce up the clubhouse and grounds.  As soon as we got there James ran into one of the sailing instructors he knows who asked him if he wanted to go out in one of the Sabots that he has been sailing in his lessons.

Although we were supposed to be there to get some work done, I agreed to let him sail instead (how many chances does one get?).

He puttered around in the Sabot while some other students were getting instruction.  He also got a chance to try a Minifish sailboat, which he thought was a little too “wobbly.”

When I finished my work, we went out together, him in the Sabot and me in the Minifish.  This was the first time that we have ever done this and I’m not a good enough writer to express how much joy this gave me.

I know that using this song with sailing footage is corny and sentimental, but I love this video I’ve made from footage I took today.

Daddy Con & the Midwesterner

Here is a story about Daddy Con that your Aunt Christine passed on.



Mom once told Christine that Daddy Con often spoke about the time when he was working at Maverick Mills (a textile factory) in East Boston (near where Maverick subway station is now) and an engineer came from someplace inland, somewhere in the Midwest.

Mom thought that he might have said the man came from Oklahoma.  But in any case this was the first time that the man had ever been near the ocean.



Maverick Square - near where Daddy Con worked.



One day as they were working together the engineer happened to look out into the distance.  He said to Daddy Con, "What is the name of that water I see over there?  Is there a pond or a small lake or river over there?"

 Daddy Con was tickled as he replied to the man, "A pond! That's the Atlantic Ocean there, me laddie!"

They were looking straight into Boston Harbor.

Bobby, the Mama Sow & Me

When I was about nine or ten, my Aunt Shirley and her family lived on a farm in Lytle, Ohio.  I think that my Mom was going to Beauty School during some of the time they lived there and we spent a lot of time there one summer.

My cousin Bobby (Aunt Shirley’s oldest son) is about a year and a half younger than me and we were always great friends.  That summer we did all kinds of fun things, swimming, climbing trees, riding bikes, making bows and arrows, catching turtles, crawdads and fish in the nearby stream, just about everything that a couple of all-American boys did in the 50’s.

A constant theme of our talks was how much we wanted a horse.  We’d spend many happy times up in a tree or along the creek describing our ideal horse, what we’d name it, what it would look like, what tricks we’d teach it, etc.

Well, the chances of getting a horse were pretty low, so we looked for alternatives.  One day we thought we had struck gold.  The farm had one pig – a huge old sow with about 8 or 10 piglets. 

She was probably about this big --
we probably weighed about 60 pounds each.

As we were wandering around the farm we noticed her come out of the shelter in her pen.  We realized that if we got up on the top of the shelter, when she cam near by we could jump down onto her and get a “horsy ride!”

That’s right – we two geniuses were planning on jumping onto the back of a 300-400 pound Mama sow.

Well, the reason that you are reading this now is because, during the time that we two incredibly patient boys waited for her to come near, she never did.  If she had done so, I’m sure she would have stomped us both to death and eaten our silly butts.

Some time after this, not exactly sure how long afterwards, we mentioned our plan to Bobby’s Dad, Uncle Junior.  His face went white and he told us that if he ever saw either of us anywhere near that sow’s pen he’d “tan our hides!”

By the way - neither of us ever got a horse.

Famous Relatives?



Babe Ruth

Two famous people we might be related to: Babe Ruth was of German heritage.  So are we on my Dad’s side.  And the maiden name of one of my Great-great-grandmothers was Ruth.  Ruth is not a common surname, so there is some chance that we might be related, but to the best of my knowledge, none of our older relatives ever claimed a relationship.

Daniel Boone

Anna Duncan (Grandma Stubbs, my Dad's maternal Grandmother) and her brother Jim often told us that they were related to Daniel Boone.  And they were from Maysville, Kentucky, which isn't far from Boonesborough (Kentucky's first town - founded by Boone).  Boone often visited Maysville during his life and he had several children who also lived in the area.

I don't know what to make of these stories. I looked into it, but genealogy records in Kentucky are scarce due to floods and fires. I spent some time in Maysville and was unable to obtain any information about Anna Duncan's parents. On the other hand, in general, these oral history stories tend to have many elements of truth to them.

Grandma & Jim O’Toole

I’ve mentioned that my Mom’s Father, Daddy Con was a big baseball fan.  So was my Dad’s Mother.  Grandma’s team was the Cincinnati Reds and if they were playing you could be sure that either her radio or TV would be tuned to their station.

Four generations of Reds Fans!
Dad, Grandma, Great-Grandma & me

Grandma was more than just a casual fan.  She knew the game.  Here is a short story that illustrates the depth of her understanding.

In 1964 she and I were at her house listening to a Reds’ game (I was 14).  Jim O’Toole was pitching for the Reds and doing a great job.  I don’t remember the actual numbers, but it was a low-scoring game which the Reds were winning.  Late in the game the score was 1-0 or 2-1, something like that.  O’Toole’s batting position came up.  A lot of times, late in a close game the manager, (Fred Hutchinson in this case), would pinch-hit for the pitcher and bring in a reliever to finish up.

In this case, O’Toole was doing such a masterful job against the opposing team, Fred let him hit so that he could stay on the mound.

Before I tell you what happened next, let me tell you a little about Jim O’Toole.  For a few years there in the early 1960’s O’Toole was one of baseball’s premier pitchers.  He’d started an All-Star game, had pitched well in a Pennant Race and a World Series and had received MVP votes.  He was one of my favorite pitchers and he was Irish.

So O’Toole came up to bat in the 8^th or 9^th inning.  After this at bat he would only need three more outs to wrap up a stellar performance.  He hits a triple!  I was ecstatic!  Triples are exciting!  Lots of running, throwing, sliding, close plays.  This is cool!  Maybe we’ll get another run.

Grandma did not share my excitement.

“Grandma, don’t you think that’s great?  A triple!”

“Well,” she said, “it was a good hit, but he’s already pitched almost a whole game and now he’s just had to run hard around the bases.  I hope he doesn’t run out of gas next inning.”

So, what do you think happened?

The Reds were not able to get O’Toole home, so he stood at third base for the rest of the inning.  When he took the mound again, he quickly found himself in trouble with a walk and a base hit. Suddenly the game was tied.  Hutchinson relieved him and O’Toole was off to the showers with, at best, a no-decision.

I don’t remember how the game ended, but that I learned that when it came to baseball, Grandma knew exactly what she was talking about.