D for Dropout Day? By Grandpa Jim

Looks like there were an even dozen "regular readers." (I know of five or six who weren't able to respond, too.) There will be no more posting, I'm afraid. I think I'll reorganize my e-mail groups and work more with them. That enables me to compose in Word, transfer to e-mail, save two or three steps, and spares the nuisance of "reverse chronological order." (A felllow could go over the edge trying to work with that, believe me. I saw straight-jackets beckoning several times.) I even have hopes that one day I might cope with the "my documents" unique style of organiza-tion. (Mine seems to have a will of its own...sometimes bouncing back and forth between date-and-alphabet. I never did solve the difference between save and save as!)

Daughter Donna is with us for long weekend, culminating with Jean's 79th birthday Monday. (I've sometimes called her "my little groundhog.") (But only because she belongs in the "Good Sport Hall of Fame.")

Blogging has made me abundantly aware of how much has passed me by. Technologically, I'm probably still back with the calculator, no...the abacus, probably, and even then, I could use one...I just didn't know why it worked. My Dad was asked by one of my students in about 1960 if, having been born in 1882, what was the most impressive invention he had witnessed? And was it putting things into outer space? He said, "No. I'll NEVER comprehend doing THAT. I'd have to say it was when a submarine sailed under the North Pole!" (He had served in the navy and could relate to that.)

I don't know if, even pressed to do so, I could teach today. I would probably reveal how little I know about so much that they know, I'd have them rolling in the aisles most of the time. (But I do know the usage of "cool," however. Know why? Because it has come back from an earlier era!!!)

OCTUPLETS????? Mama sure could be forgiven for saying, "Oh, my aching back!" (Note...this is a saying that was every bit as popular as "cool" in its day.) It's a good thing she has those six other children at home...she'll need their help. I wonder at what age the six will be able to leave the nest? There are two more siblings than the six of them to tend to.

God Bless each and every one of you. Love, Grandpa Jim.

D minus 1 by Grandpa Jim

Rarely do we ever get much insight into a person through a few, brief words. Yet, it is just that which shone some light on my father.

I was home on leave from the navy and was busy catching up with friends and trying to hold onto the sights and sounds of my hometown and its memories. Too busy, I thought to myself, as the time arrived when I was about to go back to Great Lakes Navy Station.

A few hours before departing, I apologized to Dad and told him I regretted not being home with him more. He said, “Don’t apologize. Whenever I wondered where you were, I’d spot your hat there on the hook, and just knowing you were home was all I needed.”

D minus 1 and 1/6th by GJ

Fact-Based Films

Just have to recommend, in case you aren’t already a fan, that you give some trial to fact-based, or true-life, type movies. When this idea came to me about ten minutes ago, I quickly jotted down ten subjects that came to mind. I’m sure I have many more that I could list, but just wanted to impress you with what is out there on the surface, at least. (1.) Elderly man drives LAWN MOWER across most of Iowa to make one last call on estranged brother. (2.) Doctor discovers a means to bringing back patients thought to be semi-comatose. (3.) Doctor wins rightful MD degree despite outrageous, humorous, and humane antics. (4.) Physics teacher drives a class of L.A. deprived HS students to reach college credit-bearing test scores.

(5.) Violin teacher teaches small children well enough to give concert at Carnegie Hall. (6.) Teacher develops writers among under-privileged Bronx students. (7.) Elderly man races totally unfit motorcycle to new record speed. (8.) HS orchestra teacher works miracles with HS class. (9.) Football coach mentors challenged man by letting him be HS FB mascot. (10.) Man returns to home after 30(?) years in prison as train robber only to discover hard way that modern methods make it impossible, now. This whole post took less than 30 minutes to share with you. Try ‘em, you’ll like ‘em. Love, GJ.

D minus 1 and 1/2 by GJ

Can’t help but reflect on the employment crisis today. Eldest daughter, Donna, was “downsized” several years ago from a wonderful salary to part-time pitiful salary. Gender, age, and over-qualifications were against her, as if any one weren’t enough. People are being “let go” (isn’t that a wonderful euphemism?) by the tens of thousands every day. At one end of the spectrum are some who will survive for a myriad of reasons. At the other end are talented, people-person, intelligent, and multi-tasking workers such as Donna who are genuine victims.

I was unemployed a dozen times over my lifetime, I suppose, but never was I a victim like so many today. And I don’t mean this is any sarcastic sense. One reason is that it was possible in my time to move in with somebody better off! Try piling on the housing crisis. Then, heap upon that layer of crisis, the economic crises involving credit, low interest on savings, and high prices. Where are the “better offs?”

Can you imagine trying to survive on unemployment insurance in 2009? (And it isn’t called temporary for nothing!)

I can’t help but pray that our Dear Lord would inspire the family, the friends, the neighbors, the churches---whomever--- to feel for the true victims of today. Bless their hearts, they are facing conditions quite similar to those in Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath. Join me in that prayer, please.

Another D minus 2 by GJ

Can anybody venture an opinion as to how my blogging compares? I get the impression, sometimes, that it is too easy for me. I often make lists of topics, memories, folks, adventures and pretty soon I have hundreds of words pouring out of my memory “bank.” (Some average close to 500 words and that’s too many, I hear.) It would seem, therefore, that my wordiness has been my downfall. Maybe I could have used a link that steered people to “wordy blogs?” Or, one that refers you to “lots of detail?” I received an e-mail yesterday about movie stars of old. Instantly, I thought of a handful, then a dozen, then…whoa! I dare not get started. I could write 500 words on “character actors” alone. They are my passion. I shall not give in.

D minus 2 by Grandpa Jim

A family question that could have been answered by a memoir: how was it that Mom became known as “lead foot?” It was only recently that I thought of an answer. Mom grew up with the automobile, just like boomers grew up with the computer. Dad, who was ten years older, never pretended to understand cars or what made them tick. He never enjoyed driving, even though he had to do it, occasionally. He never “took to it,” as they say. Mom, on the other hand, couldn’t wait to get behind the wheel. Believe it or not, when I was small, it was common to see a driver cruising down the street with a child on his lap, often doing some steering!

Another D-4 by GJ

Wish I could recall more details of the time Brother Chick and I had to corral a runaway team of horses. We had been walking alongside the hay wagon, picking up loose hay with pitchforks and throwing it on the wagon as the horses plodded along without a driver. Something “spooked” the animals and off they went! Chick yelled at me to close the gate, clear across the field to the rear of us. I ran as fast as my 14-year-old legs would let me, and managed to get the gate closed in plenty of time, mainly because the horses were galloping around the perimeter of the field. It was at this same time, minutes before, or afterward, that Leona came down to the hayfield to inform us that our Uncle Jim had died of a heart attack. The two events always helped me recall each other…ever a BLESSING!

D Minus 4 by Grandpa Jim

“Sharing” will end next Saturday, 1/31. It has been a valuable experience for me. I find that I remembered more than I thought I would and less than I wanted to. For one thing, I wish I could remember the names of all the fellows who took me hunting for my first and only time. Somebody loaned me the 20-gauge, single-shot shotgun and I managed, miraculously, to get a pheasant. As I cleaned the bird to ready it for Jean to cook, I can still see the beautiful feathers up close and personal. (They are magnificent birds!) It was, I think, in the summer of 1955 or 56. I seem to recall that one of the best pals (contemporary) I ever had, George Killinger, was along. (I do know that he SHOULD HAVE BEEN.)

I couldn’t help but recollect the voices yelling to me that it was “Yours, Jim…it’s all yours,” or something to that effect. Sort of sounded like the Captain on the intercom when he yelled, “NOT OURS, Big Dog… NOT OURS, CEASE FIRE!” (Or something to that effect) when I almost shot down one of our own bombers in 1944.)

Q's, Q's and more Q's? by GJ

I can't get over how few questions I've ever received. If one scans (surfs?) back over seven months of this blog, one sees recollections that go back to "legends" of the 1800's and school in the 1930's and WWII and right up to recent events. Yet it looks like I told too much, because nobody ever wanted to know more, I guess. It appears that my posts have been too long. I've been told that people don't want to read long stories. That they are "conditioned" to "word bytes," just as they are to "sound bytes." And for that, I apologize. I wish I had known more about today's interests and needs. Could it be that we retired teachers just HAVE TO go into DETAIL? Well, I can blame it on that, anyway. If I create a new blog, I think I'll have someone program the posting so that it cannot exceed X number of words. (Worth a try?)

ABOUT THAT BOOK...by GJ

About Greene's book...the subtitle is: "JOURNAL of Family Memories." It's like a MANUAL for writing a memoir! Writing just one page would be better than nothing. I regret not having kept a journal of navy days. Or family vacation adventures. Or holidays, etc. There was one time, for instance, when witnesses claim I saved a shipmate's life. I always thought that was questionable, myself. I did help him get back to the ship when he was struggling in the water, but it's debatable whether or not he could have made the short distance alone. A better story is that when Jean and I went to visit him, many years later, all he could recall was that I once sold his shirt (almost) off his back! This says something...I just don't know what!

WRITING'S BETTER THAN REGRETTING by GJ

I happen to have or have had connections with a lot of Baby Boomers. One thing stands out among the vast majority: they want to know more about history and the past and their heritage. Many will regret it IF YOU DON'T TELL THEM! The best way for you to tell them is to leave a memoir for them. Write it, dictate it, record it, tape it, video it, repeat it...it doesn't matter how you go about it. THEY WILL APPRECIATE IT. Boomers: don't let history repeat itself. Hold a big family reunion and get everyone to tell a family story. If somebody can't be there, have them send in their contributions. If you regret never having asked questions, don't pass that regret on!
Want some help? There's a book that has some fantastic questions in it. Try a good book store or Hallmark's and see if they have "To Our Children's Children," by Greene and Fulford. It is like a journal with questions that are wonderfully designed to help you remember! Just open it up, read the first page and start writing in it. OR...get someone to jot down answers for you...whatever!

Comment by an Anonymous

I can't remember my last 4 jobs. Great with the details!!!I for one will miss your blog. I am just nosy and stumbled across your blog quite a few months ago and check in periodically to see what I can see.Thanks for the memories.Conni B.

Speak Up and Snuggle Up by GJ

With just a little over a week to go, I want to ask a favor. If you have visited my blog, whether
merely a few, or quite a few times, would you please “register,” by sending me an e-mail? I’d just like to know who might have been in my “audience” for the last seven months. On the last day, a week from now, I’ll post the results of this request.

By the way, does anybody have any input on something called Facebook? A young boy (nephew to our grandson) has invited me to join, and I want to, but am going to need some navigating help and was wondering about it.

Had an especially good day yesterday, when a lot of things just fell into place. I mentioned, a couple of posts ago, that I was taking on a cause with a veteran’s “home,” (nursing) over on Gulf Coast. I was able to call a volunteer there and he greased the skids by giving me some facts. There are about 25 veterans in residence, about 70% are WWII, 20% Korean War, and 5 to 10% Viet Nam era. This really helps me plan the kinds and numbers of stamps to send them. My basic plan is to send stamps over the next five or six months, just to increase their inventory. I’m enjoying it, already. During that time, I’ll see if I can find someone to follow up for me.

Did you ever have one of those days? It’s probably my imagination, which does go into orbit occasionally, but every couple of months or so, I seem to run across several smiley, pleasant, out-going folks when I’m doing errands at grocery store, bank, post office, whatever. Yesterday, for instance, everybody at the credit union was so CHEERFUL! There’s one cashier who is from Scotland and I love her brogue. Been here in US for three years and says their climate is not much like here. Got a card from her mother, she said, and it was 16 below there. Gets a kick out of how Floridians bundle up when temperature gets below 60.

You “bundle up,” too, you hear? Snuggle up, too…that’s a good thing, you know. Even after 61 years, that’s a welcome invitation from my Jeanie. (Not that I’d ever initiate it, of course.) God Bless every one of you.

For "detail-minded folks..." by GJ

A Summary of 70+ jobs

Age: 16-17 High School junior, 1943-44, first four jobs.
Soda jerk, dishwasher, movie usher, bowling pin-setter.

Age: 17-21, U. S. Navy, 1944-48.
PRIMARILY SIGNALMAN, gunner, coxswain, life guard,
storekeeper, mailman.

Age: 21-22, post-Navy/pre-college 18 months, 1948-49.
Editor, cleaning route driver, store clerk (sewing machines)
taxicab driver, editorial artist, factory worker, tire repairman,
commercial neon sign-designer, store clerk (vaccum cleaners,)
automotive parts clerk.

Age: 22-25, student at U. of Illinois, 1949-52, three years.
Coal-shoveler, tree-planter, furnace-tender, furniture-
mover, juke-box repairman, phone sales, delivery driver,
taxicab driver (2) (a second city.)

Age: 25-55, teacher, 1952-82, 30 years, except for 15 months.*
PRIMARILY SPEECH AND ENGLISH, drama, debate,
composition, English department chairman (one year,) play
director, set- builder and designer, producer, debate coach.

TEMPORARY/part-time, while teaching, summers, etc.
Youth club-manager, flea market manager, school bus driver,
gas-station attendant, radio announcer, educational advisor to
U. S. Army in Korea, movie reviewer, TV Guide assistant
editor, dairy route supervisor, talent agent for a TV cowboy,
bakery route driver, personnel manager, owner-operator of
a diner (serving, grilling, managing) house-husband, industrial
“spy.”

Age: 55-present, 1982-2009, retired, 27 years (in May.)
Self-employed publisher, editor, graphics consultant, technical
writer, mock juror, courier, adjunct professor (two community
colleges, one private university.)
.
* Took off 15 months, 1957-58. (See above temporaries for a few.)

Don’t hold me to numbers, dates, etc. This is strictly as memory serves (or doesn’t.)

Whew! Got tired just recalling it. Think I’ll take a nap.

Spinning More Stats by Grandpa Jim

This could be a penultimate (next to final) post...

Some of you may recall that I posted a memoir about how many times Jean and I have moved in our 61 years together. My point was that you can do all sorts of things with statistics. (One could “spin it” to appear that we moved every six months!)

It brings to mind that, having nothing else to do, I got to wondering about all of the “jobs” I’ve had. It turns out that I can spin this to appear that I’ve had 77 in my 81 years! (Take away four years as too young, and I switched jobs every year!!!) (Take away four years for military, 18 for education, and 26 more for retirement, and it spins out to almost a new job every five months!

Now nobody is going to swallow that, of course. Why? Because many were summer jobs, many were very temporary, many were held at the same time as others, and finally, many were merely parts of other positions. For example, I was a signalman in the navy, but when Japanese planes were in the vicinity, I became a gunner. I was a teacher of speech and English at the same time, but it can be spun to look like two jobs.

While a student on any level, I held 10 summer jobs that I can remember, and maybe more. I also held 10 full-time jobs in one 18-month period after discharge from navy, 1948-1949. (I was trying to find my niche, and it can be spun to look like changing jobs every 1.8 months!)

Most fun for me was writing a movie review column for a weekly newspaper while also teaching. Second most fun was as radio announcer one summer between school terms. The two most boring were as factory worker, where my sole duty was to install screws into the bases of record players, and as an “editorial artist” for the Chicago Sun-Times. (One of my early posts here dealt with that job and creating the headline for Babe Ruth’s death.)

My most “under-qualified” role was as an “editor” of a fifth grade Sunday School magazine for the D.C. Cook Publishing Company. (I got it right out of the navy with only an 11th grade education. It took the boss and me almost three months to reach the correct conclusion.) Most “over-qualified” was the job above, at Sun-Times, where I had the same qualifications and only needed 5 of the 11 grades.

The hardest physical labor I ever did was shoveling coal. A friend and I were hired to unload a freight car full of coal as students at U. of I. (This was one of those jobs that inspired me to finish college.) Similar to this was an occasional day or two loading hay into the barn for brother Chick, but this doesn’t count…it was sort of “volunteer work.” (When you are 14 or 15 and ten years younger and six inches shorter, all work for a brother is voluntary.)

The most fascinating, was a three-day job as a form of industrial espionage in a summer role between teaching semesters. Years later, I had a one-day “spying” job at O’Hare Airport. I had to count passengers as they boarded a plane and report to one of that airline’s competitors. The most gratifying “moments” came when the announcements were made that our CHS plays (“Our Town,” and “The Diary of Anne Frank”) had won the sectionals and would be advancing to the state finals, 1960 and 1961.

There was one job I could have been tempted to trade for teaching. It was a summer job in 1957, working for a dairy in Iowa. My role was as a supervisor of stores (like outlets.) These stores sold ice cream, such as cones, sundaes, malteds,, and bulk, etc., but only for warm months. My duty was to make sure all of the clerks (mainly high school girls) were on duty, to purchase supplies, like the cones, fruit, paper goods, etc., and to make bank deposits. My office was my car, and my duties required no more than five or six hours per day at a salary quite comparable to teaching. The job was free of almost all stress, required a “teaching-like” relationship with the girls, and a very pleasant boss to work with.

And then there were a couple of things I did that were semi-hobby, semi-work, while also teaching. I’ll save these for later posting.

TWO WEEK'S NOTICE by Grandpa Jim

I've been advised to give notice before ending my blog. It's my present plan to stop on 31st of this month. First, I want to thank those who have commented. In many cases, you gave me the incentive to continue. Second, I am grateful to those who merely "tuned in," even though I don't know who you are. Lately, I've tried and tried to come up with memories, or just plain ideas, and it has gotten harder and harder to do that. (I wish I could remmber all of the "triggers" that prompted my posts, but they vanished as suddenly as they appeared.) Right now, I'm considering what might be called a "cause." I saw an ad in a stamp-collector's magazine that said veterans in a VA hospital can use some stamps. I think I'll contact them and see how I can help. Anyway, thanks, again, and keep on smiling! Love, Jim.

"Say Goodnight, Gracie" recollects GJ

My generation remembers the great humorists/comedians of our time. They were funny for many reasons. They commented on, reacted to, and were involved in the everyday, ordinary, down-to-earth situations that we all faced. Their performances were based on vocal inflection, facial expression, and the all-important timing. Some were called “stand up,” meaning that they were soloists, communicating with an audience as if it were one-on-one. Some worked with a genuine partner, and these equally funny team-mates were called “fall guys.” (Because they “fell for” the punch lines.) Tops among them were George Burns and Gracie Allen in the latter category, and Jack Benny in the stand-up genre.

George could ask a question that gave Gracie an “opening” and then respond with a “look,” after her hilarious reply that made you laugh again, to make it doubly funny. Yes, her replies were often “dumb” in the manner of modern “blonde” jokes, but he never allowed the exchange to become demeaning to her or to her gender.

Burns was great because he played fall guy for his wife (Gracie) yet he was, off and on, a soloist, too. He was, in reality, a combination of the two. His straight-faced, superb timing (which was punctuated by puffing on his cigar) didn’t just provoke laughter, it compelled it. His exit line, that which closed his TV program, was, “Say goodnight, Gracie.”

All of this is to pave the way for me to consider dropping out of the blogging business. The meter tells me that about 400 people a month tune in, and yet, only a tiny, tiny fraction ever respond. I am convinced that I did all that I could do to provoke response and encourage comment. It didn’t seem to work, and that’s OK. It’s a quirk in me, I guess, but I can’t continue much longer to communicate with an unresponsive “audience.” Apparently I need the give and take of other human beings.

On one hand, I could guess that everybody agrees with everything I have said. (Obviously can’t happen.) On the other hand, I could figure that everybody disagrees and never returns. (Not very likely.)

So, I’m thinking I ought to give serious thought to trying something else. Maybe I’d accomplish more by pulling back from an unseen, unknown “audience” to the comfort of family and extended family. If you have any opinion at all, I’d like to hear it, if only to say “thanks” to you and some sort of “Say Goodnight, Gracie.”

Fair Winds & Following Seas, Tom Epting

Got word last night that shipmate Tom Epting passed away on Christmas Day, six days before his 84th birthday.

Tom lived in beautiful, quiet little Belton, S.C., and we had the pleasure of visiting him four or five times in the last nine years. In addition, he and I talked on the phone several times a year, just about quarterly, I believe.

Tom and I served aboard the USS LSM 435, an amphibious ship that we helped to commission in 1944. There were 50 of us in the crew plus five officers. Tom worked in the engine room, while my signalman’s duty was up on the conning tower.

We could not say that we remembered each other all that well, because our work stations, our duties, and our “watches” were so far apart. We got to know each other considerably better in our recent lives. It was pleasant, meaningful, and touching to create a new friendship out of a dim history that went back 60 years.

We shall miss Tom and his warm, generous hospitality. He was a model of true, southern manners and grace.

The expression “Fair winds and following seas” is a sort of wish, or toast, usually to a retiring sailor, that he would have a safe voyage, with wind enough for speed to his destination, and current enough for smooth travel. Nobody earned it more than Tom. Farewell, faithful shipmate.

Couldn't Happen Again by Grandpa Jim

It was the summer of 1957 and we were on our way home from Lake Okoboji, Iowa. It was a beautiful, sunny Sunday morning. Jean, myself, Donna and Nancy, just cruising along in our 1952 Packard, bought used. (For some supply-demand reason, five-year-old, big cars were more affordable than same-aged Fords and Chevys.)

We came to a traffic light on the outskirts of Washington, Iowa, and stopped to wait for the green. A man strode up to my window and informed me that something was leaking from underneath our car. He added that there was a Packard dealer close by and gave directions. I thanked him and drove just a couple of blocks to the dealership. I parked, turned off the engine, and went looking for a pay phone. (A device from covered-wagon days before advent of cell phones, e-mail, faxes, and OnStar, etc.)

Using the number posted on the dealer’s door, I called. The dealer answered from home. I described the problem and he said they were just sitting down to dinner. (Noon-time meals used to be called that, a remnant from farm days when evening meal was supper and a snack was lunch.) He told me that there was a café just around the block from where we were and they served fine dinners there. We agreed to meet at one o’clock at his garage.

The dealer showed up, right on time (also an ancient custom hard to find anymore) and, together, we backed cars out and pushed ours into the garage. He put the sedan up on a lift, looked, and told us that a flying stone must have punched a hole in the oil pan and it would have to be fixed. We went into the waiting room and settled down to do just that. It wasn’t at all long before the man re-appeared and told us it was time to exchange the cars, again.

Now, all this time, I had little else on my mind than the cost I was about to learn. Sunday morning help, repair of oil pan, and replacement oil ought to be…hmmm…? How much in my billfold? Hmmm? (A 1957 small-town teacher was not likely to have a credit card back then.)

“What’s the damage,” I asked? “Let’s see,” he answered, “that’s six quarts of oil at 40 cents, comes to $2.40.” My face surely showed my amazement but all I could do was mumble a heart-felt thanks and shake his hand in gratitude. He wished us luck and hoped we would pass through again, some day.

Was it the place? The times, or the culture? Was it the individual, or maybe a mixture of these? Packard Motor Company’s motto was “Ask the man who owns one.” I think it should have been, “Ask the man who fixes one.”

Packard merged with the Studebaker Company shortly after 1952, and, in the same year as our story, they came out with “the Hawk,” a beautiful, combination, sports car/two door sedan that was way ahead of its time in design, I think. It wasn’t long before the merged company went out of business. (I don’t guarantee these recollections.)

I have a clearer recollection that a wealthy family in my hometown of Elgin, Illinois, had a fleet of Packards and I think they were all green in color. Whenever we kids would see a big, long, green Packard pass by, we knew it was probably one of theirs. I seem to recall, also, that maybe some cars were all the same color in some years. (Like green might have been Packard’s color for 1937 or so?)

What's to Miss? By Grandpa Jim

Off and on, people will ask if I miss driving? Maybe it is because I’ve done without for eight months, or maybe there is something about starting a new year, I don’t know. I just know that I can answer, “Mostly no, but sometimes yes.”

I don’t miss the traffic, that’s for sure. Nor those millions of “antiques” on the road…you know…those cars manufactured before the invention called turn signals? Nor the road “ragers” who keep sending us the same old message, “I didn’t have my breakfast this morning and I’m taking it out on everybody who’s out here.”

Nor do I miss the stress that goes with the speeding, the recklessness, and the danger that accompanies them.

I traded in my license for an ID card on the 66th anniversary of getting it. I figure that we’ve driven over a million miles due to a stretch of about 15 years when we drove to California two, and sometimes three times a year, and to Philadelphia, also two or three times those same years. It was in the early 1970’s to mid-1980’s, when we averaged over 30,000 miles per year.

I do miss some of the freedom, of course. I can’t really complain, because son-in-law Gary and/or daughter Nancy are always willing to meet our needs. It’s just that being dependent takes some getting used-to.

I once loved to drive. (We had a Packard in the 1950’s that was a dream to drive and to ride in. Then there was a 1970’ish Chrysler Cordoba that was just as smooth.) My first car was a 1930 Marmon-Roosevelt, “straight eight,” with rumble seat. Brother Bud traded it to Dad and me for a bus ticket home when he couldn’t find a tire that would fit. I was a junior in high school and one of only a few with a car, because of rationing. (I had a brief spell of popularity because of that rumble seat.)

Finally, I sort of miss our sweet little 2006 Chevy HHR whenever I see one on the road (especially if it is silver---and has a luggage rack on it.)

Or should I start answering, “Mostly yes, but sometimes no?”

The Harrison Legend by GJ

Helping the legend…

In my last post about losing touch, I mention the “Presidential legend.” How did it grow to become a legend?

An ancestor, probably a great aunt, left a memoir that described the meeting between William Henry and Thomas Harrison. Because the former called the latter “cousin,” there arose descendants who wanted it to be true that they were really related. One such was my Dad’s sister, Aunt Vick.

In the 1930’s, 100 years later, many of the Harrisons (and those related by marriage) were in the habit of holding “family reunions,” usually on Decoration Day (now Memorial Day.) By that time, Aunt Vick had been elected as secretary of the reunion “committee.” Vicky took it upon herself, as was her custom, they say, to send out an additional invitation to President Harrison’s widow.

A memoir states that Mrs. Harrison did reply, at least for a while, in the earliest days. (This is not really likely if you do the math.) Vicky would always advocate that the relationship existed, and I can vaguely recall some debate among the men folks during my childhood.

If it is true that Mrs. Harrison was invited, it had to be by someone who came before Vicky. (Born in 1878.) Those reunions were certainly one means for families to keep in touch and were even more valuable because people wrote postcards and letters much more faithfully. That’s it! It is all the fault of people not writing any more! Eureka! I’ve solved it.” When you write, faithfully, you keep in touch! Wow. Is 2009 off to a great start, or what?

From "Cousin Kathy" to "Cousin Tommy" by GJ

The phone rang yesterday morning and a woman’s voice said, “Uncle Jim?” I answered, “Yes,” and she said, “This is Kathy!” Turns out it is our niece on Jean’s side, her late brother’s daughter. All three of Dick’s girls, two of their husbands, and their mother were in the area and wanted to say “Hi.”

I can’t go into how long it has been since we saw any of these very nice people. (It was probably at a funeral, considering our ages.) The oldest daughter, Kathy, and our youngest, Nancy, believe it has been well over 30 years for them! (Our oldest, Donna, will no doubt cry when she discovers what she has missed because of job and distance.)

There was a time, in the 1970’s and ‘80’s, when we all lived within about an hour of each other. On a few occasions, the six cousins were able to get together and all seem to remember those events quite fondly. There was a natural affinity among them, and a desire to know each other better, but it was not to be.

As is also natural; school, relocation, marriage, relocation, family, relocation, jobs, and relocation all play a part in “losing touch.” An occasional letter gives way to greeting cards which give way to losing addresses, which give way to “lost touch.” And that’s a fact of modern, transitional, life, right?

At some point in the 1830’s, probably, the former Governor of the Indiana Territory, William Henry Harrison (who would later serve a very short term as President of the United States) was visiting northwest Illinois and stopped to see my great grandfather, “Captain Thomas” Harrison. A memoir states that William Henry referred to him as “Cousin Tommy.” This small encounter led to the legend that we are somehow descended from the Presidential Harrisons. I guess there is nothing modern in it, at all! I think I’ll make a 2009 resolution to regain some “touch.”