The Valley View Ferry

In 1785, seven years before Kentucky became a state, Virginia governor Patrick Henry issued a "perpetual and irrevocable" charter to Revolutionary War veteran, John Craig, to operate a ferry across the Kentucky River at the mouth of Tates Creek between what are now Madison, Jessamine and Fayette Counties. It is the last workboat in America legally entitled to fly two state flags at the same time. For 225 years, the ferry has been in operation under the private ownership of three successive families -- the Craigs, the Lands, and the Howards. It has transported pioneers, Revolutionary War and Civil War soldiers, farmers, and business people. It has also transported Daniel Boone, Henry Clay, and U.S. Grant to the other side. It is the last ferry left on the Kentucky River.

In 1991, the ferry was purchased from the Howards by the Fayette, Jessamine, and Madison County governments and, today, jointly run it under the direction of an appointed board. It operates daily from 6 AM to 8PM on weekdays, and 8 AM to 8 PM on weekends. It is closed during times of high water and necessary maintenance or repair. It is the oldest continuously operating ferry service in the United States. The current vessel, named the "John Craig" replaced the previous vessel in 1996 after it sustained heavy damage after sinking under the weight of a heavy snowfall and then as a result of salvage efforts. In 2000, the ferry was lengthened by ten feet allowing it to increase its capacity to three cars. The Kentucky Transportation Cabinet funds the ferry as a free service; it is part of S.R. 169. On average, the ferry transports 250 cars a day.

In the late 1800's and early 1900's, the ferry served a bustling society. The thriving industrial community of Valley View included blacksmith shops, general stores, sawmills, public school, railroad depot, telegraph office, post office, and weekly newspaper. The Southern Lumber Companyoperated a steam-powered three-story band-sawmill complete with its own electric light plant. During the 1920's, after the decrease in logging, and then the Depression of the 1930's, the lumber and railroad businesses failed. The peaceful hamlet became content with a slower pace. Today, the piers of the RIN & B Railroads (Richmond, Nicholasville, Irvine, and Beattyville), fondly referred to as the "Riney - B" by those who remember it, maintain a faithful sentinel over the pleasant valley, a reminder of a chapter in Kentucky history.

City Girl / Country Boy

My wife is a city girl from Michigan and I am a country boy from Kentucky. We often remark upon the differences in our years growing up. I started thinking about the changes that a ninety-year old today would have seen in their lifetime and it led me to some startling facts! I prefer to think of myself as a 30 or 40 year old, but the fact is, that's not true. Nevertheless, here is my list of changes I have seen and vividly remember.

Grandpa having his house wired for electricity. We used the kerosene lamps prior to this for lighting.

An indoor bathroom to replace the outhouse at our home. What a marvel and modern luxury!

An indoor water faucet that you pumped to get water right at the sink instead of having to go outside to the well and carry so many buckets of water!

The older generation gathering every November to slaughter hogs (what a job!) and get the meat prepared, and covered and in the smokehouse right away. I still remember the aroma when you walked into the smokehouse.

Riding in the rumble seat of Grandpa's car.

Marveling at the amount of men and equipment it took to pave the gravel road up past our home on Quicksand Creek. This really cut down the dust.

Grandpa's root cellar filled with jars of home canned goods and the big crock filled with apples(?) with burning sulfur on the top.

Dad using a homemade wooden sled and mule to gather corn from the fields.

Making molasses in the fall and hovering around the fringe so I could suddenly and swiftly swoop in and get a sample on my cane stalk. This was a great and exciting day.

Going to a one-room schoolhouse where the teacher taught all eight grades.

Awaking EARLY on Christmas morning but having to wait until our dad got a fire built and the downstairs warmed up for us.

Gathering paw paws and persimmons in the fall.

A note to my wife

Da mi bassia mille, dien mille altera....

                        Catullus

Autumn Roads

The year was 1963.


It was the heyday of cherry cokes and muscle cars. The Beatles sang “I Want to Hold Your Hand.” Trouble loomed in a small, far off Asian land named Vietnam. But Roadrunners and “hemis” and 409’s dominated the young boys thoughts as they went off to college. Their parents had survived World War II and come back with a vengeance to build a booming economy and were determined that their children would go to school and become doctors and lawyers and nurses and teachers. It was indeed an age of innocence. This young generation known as the “baby boomers” would grow up in an idyllic age of prosperity and happiness. Many of the young girls went off to college to meet those future doctors and lawyers. Many went off to become teachers and nurses. Their parents promised their daughters they would be well educated and independent and have opportunities that their mothers never had. Their children’s youth had been a happy time of Buddy Holly and bobby socks and poodle skirts and the Everly Brothers and Elvis Presley. Beatniks, peace signs, drugs, and war protesters were far into the future. The American dream was never greater. The sons in the North would become industrial tycoons and those from the South would become generals in the armed forces.

The dusty southern roads were filled with sons drag racing their parents’ 1954 Plymouth station wagons. And summer evenings were spent at the drive-ins where the adventurous few discovered those mysteries whispered about in the high school locker rooms. Sons and daughters knew that future success would hinge only upon education and hard work. Most of their parents had not been to college, but all were determined that these children would have a head start. And they saved and sacrificed to send these children off to college. “College” was the guarantee of future success and success was within the reach of all. Universities overflowed with optimism and hope. The children of the South took special pride in what was perceived as a more “genteel” way of life and the poorest son somehow identified with the plantation owner of one hundred years ago. They would all grow up to live the pride, heartbreak, and passion of “Gone With The Wind.”

The hometowns of most of the southern state universities were alike. And Lexington was especially proud of being in the midst of the Bluegrass and the glamour of thoroughbred horse racing. Central Kentucky had always identified more with the South than the other regions of the state. For here the farms were large and more similar to “plantations.” Everyone accepted his or her lot as inevitable for this was the way of the world. The sons would grow up and assume much more important community roles than their fathers. And perhaps, might even become governor! Their youths had been spent preparing for this chance at success - a college education.

And so, at eighteen years of age, Robert Joseph Warren, one of those sons of the South went off to college to live the dream that he and his parents had had all their lives. He had spent that summer working on a towboat on the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers as a deckhand. It paid well and was exciting and he traveled from Louisville to Pittsburgh to New Orleans to Chicago to St. Louis, but it was time to start the real journey. He would become a lawyer and move back to his hometown, go into politics, and eventually run for governor. He never knew when that decision had been made - it had always been that way. Bobby Joe had been a good student in high school - “A’s” and “B’s”, and had belonged to all the proper clubs. A combination of shyness and being from the “country” kept him from being completely socially accepted in the “elite” city set, but he was popular enough and had already begun to hone his political skills. Good grades came easy for him - he simply read the books and repeated the information back on the tests. Life was good and “Governor” had a realistic ring to it. If “Happy” Chandler and Bert Combs could do it, so could he.

September days in Lexington are glory days. Days lightly kissed with warmth, redolent with autumn leaves and tobacco, and blessed with the surety that this is the center of all that is good. Complemented with the hope and optimism of youth, the fall of 1963 in Lexington was indeed the center of the universe. Life was wonderful and life was easy. In the fall, Bobby Joe went off to college and soon began his first real attempt at politics - he ran for office as treasurer of his dorm. As the election neared, politics became more intense and he was approached and offered a “deal”. If he would drop out and support another candidate, the incoming president would appoint him to another office that held more long-term promise after the election. His “campaign manager” agreed that it would be in his best interest and so the “deal” was done. Needless to say, after the election, there was no appointment and there was no campaign manager. It was a lesson learned and never forgotten.

But during the election campaign, while “glad-handing” the voters, he was urged to meet a particular young girl. As were all boys of that age, he wasn’t really averse to meeting her but she couldn’t vote in the election for the boy’s dorm so there was some reluctance. But his friend insisted and introduced him to Linda Marie Alexander. She stood on a step in front of him at eye level, offered a shy and tender smile, and looked directly into his eyes. For the first time ever in his life he saw what has motivated men since time immemorial. He saw “I like you and might be interested in getting to know you if you behave!” She was tall and very shapely and reminded him more of a sultry Ann-Margret than Marilyn Monroe. Her simple, straight, light-gray patterned dress buttoned up to the neck with a small round white collar said “I prefer the simple, conservative fashion and still have the values my parents gave me.” Her long brown straight hair that was wrapped in a coil piled on top of her head said “I may be a little old fashioned but I am also sophisticated and possess a classic sense of style!” Her voice was soft and tender and matched her smile. It seemed as if by simply shaping a little curve in her mouth one knew what she felt and was going to say. Her speech said, “I am from the North and I come from a good family and I am intelligent.” Her hands were long and slender and warm and said, “I will touch you lovingly if you really care for me.” Her eyes were green and intense and said “I am a passionate woman if you are the one I choose.” And her friendliness said, “You’re cute. Why don’t you ask me out?”
When Bobby Joe “came to,” she was gone, swallowed up by the crowd. At age eighteen, it isn’t difficult for a young man to “fall in love.” And Bobby Joe was in love. After a few days search, he found her in Boyd Hall, a girls dorm across campus. It is easy for a boy to ask a girl for a date if he isn’t particularly serious, but when that girl hangs the moon and holds all hope of any happiness for the boy, it becomes a different matter. Did he misread what her friendliness said? She’s from the North and sophisticated and not interested in a country boy from Kentucky! If she declines, it is a given that he will never draw another breath of air. If she declines, he will curse himself for daring to believe that any beautiful woman would ever want to go out with him! If she declines, she might laugh at him for even entertaining the idea that she found him attractive. But if she should say, “Yes,” the heavens will open and the stars will shine just for them! The moon she hung will light their path and she will guide him for all the rest of his days through happiness and ecstasy! Bobby Joe had to make that choice.

After several days of life=threatening, heart-rending deliberations, he knew he had to try.... When he called her on the phone, he knew she wouldn’t be able to hear him speak for the pounding of his heart. But somehow she did and somehow she accepted his invitation! Linda Marie Alexander would be seen with him in public! Linda Alexander might hold his hand and smile that tender smile at him! He wouldn’t stop at being governor! He was going to be president of the United States! Bobby Joe was in love.

And the flame was kindled....

During he ensuing weeks and months they were inseparable. They vowed to study quietly together at the library, but invariably ended up in the botanical gardens doing things that normal eighteen year olds do when they are in love. The warm autumn nights, the sweet smell of new-mown clover, her tender gentle caress, and the softness of that little spot at the base of her neck were enough to endanger all the values their parents had taught them! There were Sunday afternoon walks hand in hand through the fallen leaves. Once, at a drugstore stop for a soda, as they sat across from each other in a booth, Linda slipped off her shoe and gently touched his shin with her toes. Bobby Joe never forgot that tender, loving, provocative touch! Most nights ended sitting outside her dorm in the shadows until two minutes before curfew. Bobby Joe would trace with his finger on her forehead the word “mine” and he knew he had never known such a tender, gentle, loving person. But they never really did anything their parents would disapprove of, except not study enough! Classes, school, studies, and life in general simply served as a backdrop for their relationship. One night they went to a local restaurant and Bobby used his few years of French to convince the waitress he was from France and Linda apologized for her friend’s poor English! They were madly in love. And Bobby Joe’s thoughts progressed to marriage. And he began to struggle with his feelings. If he were to marry, he would never complete college and fulfill his and his parents’ lifelong dream. There was no way to support a wife. There was no acceptable answer. But if they continued, marriage was a certainty. As this weighed upon his mind, a distance began to come between them. Linda knew that something had changed and she reacted also. Finally, the decision was made that they should stop seeing each other. And there were tears and heartache.

And the flame flickered....


1964.

The fall school term of 1964 was not promising. Linda had decided to stay in her hometown of Flint, Michigan and go to school. Bobby Joe had not applied himself properly last year and was on probation, but knew he simply had to “read” a little more and all would be fine. His family had moved that summer from Winchester to Lexington so he would live at home while going to school. The haunting memories of the previous fall would never be matched again. Unhappiness, stress, poor study habits, and the sudden realization that maybe he didn’t want to return to Winchester after college combined to produce another dismal showing in school. So, in March of 1965, with his father’s blessing and guidance and his mother’s reluctance, the young man left for the North to find a job as so many of the sons of the South had done before him.

1965.

Assembly line work at a General Motors plant in Dayton. Summer school courses at the University of Dayton. 1964 red Chevy Super Sport “327”. Cruising with his buddies after working second shift. The dream of eventually returning triumphantly home with his law degree still alive. A little pocket change for “glass packs” for his car. The Rolling Stones and “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction.” A more serious approach to school work showed results and he decided that life in the North wasn’t as bad as envisioned. And with GM helping pay tuition, why not continue for the next year? Going to school full time and working full time was manageable. But he never forgot those autumn nights with Linda. And he was lonely. And when autumn, that special time of their love, came, he again found the courage to call Linda. She was surprised, pleasant, and invited him to come visit with her family in Flint. She was as he remembered. And now he added monthly trips to Flint to a job and school. The winter passed.

And the flame was rekindled....


1966.

Their relationship now had again become serious. There was true passionate love and daily letters and poetry. Linda’s family welcomed him freely. He played basketball with her brothers and watched dumbfounded as her mother would come into the living room after washing dishes and sit in Linda’s father’s lap and laugh and tease with him. Her parents’ relationship made a lasting impression upon Bobby Joe. They were free and easy and fun. Her mother was an impish angel and her father smiled and laughed and was interested in the young man, but still found time to intimidate in affairs of his only daughter’s heart. And love and passion and adoration and worship turned to thoughts of marriage.

nd the flame burned brightly....

During July of that summer, Linda’s father drove her down to Dayton to spend a weekend with Bobby. They lied and told her father they were going to visit his family in Lexington. Bars were plentiful and they visited all the “hot spots” and were madly in love. Linda was three weeks older than Bobby Joe and once, when they went to a bar, Linda was “carded” first and Bobby Joe knew a most embarrassing moment was about to happen because he had yet to turn twenty-one! Much to his relief, the waiter passed over him without comment and Bobby thanked his lucky stars for such a stroke of luck!

When they were apart, daily letters were exchanged. Their souls were on the pages of those letters. Bobby Joe became a poet and wrote her poems. They shared everything and knew each other as few other people could know each other.

Love continued to bloom and shortly Bobby Joe realized they were in the same situation they had been in Kentucky. He loved her desperately and thought of marriage. They were older now - twenty-one. They could marry now and he would be able to offer her a life that would include second shift factory work, full-time school during the day, studies in the evenings, and a small bare apartment away from all her family and friends. Sadly, he knew that in spite of their excitement of planning to get married he could not ask her to make that kind of sacrifice. And in that special time of their love, autumn, he told her again that they were too young and must not continue. He tried to make her see that it was his love for her that motivated his decision. But Linda Marie only knew she loved him with all her heart and what he could “offer” her was not important. They would grow up together and make a home as their parents had done - one step at a time. She didn’t need the things he said he wanted to give her. She needed him. But Bobby Joe was from the South and men were the providers and were taught that they must be “successful” when they married. He was not exactly on the road to the governorship yet. And Bobby Joe made the sacrifice and gave up the only girl he would ever love. Their hearts were broken, but Bobby knew in his heart he was doing the right thing for Linda.

And the flame flickered....

Contact was lost and there was only emptiness where there had been Linda. Bobby Joe filled his life with school, his job, family, and more expensive hot rod pursuits. Someday he would be governor and he would come back for her.


1967.

In the summer of 1966, Bobby Joe had made a life changing decision. He had been offered an opportunity to be part of a new experiment in General Motors. Business was good and supervision was scarce. There needed to be a compromise between GMI graduates and hourly job setters being promoted to management. GM was starting a new training program for supervisors and wanted to select young men who had some factory experience and were showing initiative on their own to get a college education. Bobby Joe was offered a spot in that new program. With his dream of becoming governor of a state that he didn’t even live in fading quickly, he opted to pursue the goal of becoming president of General Motors (or at least vice-president!). And so at the age of twenty-one in December, 1966, he became a member of GM management. He changed his major at the University of Dayton and knew he could become one of those industrial tycoons! Maybe at last he could entertain those thoughts he had harbored for four years! If he could just get on a little more solid ground financially, he knew he had at least something to offer Linda Marie. But it wasn’t time yet.

And in that special time of their love, autumn, Linda unexpectedly telephoned Bobby Joe. Linda Marie did not know of those secret hopes Bobby had harbored. She did not know that he had loved only her since that fall evening in 1963. After a few mundane introductory exchanges, Linda Marie tenderly told Bobby Joe she was going to get married. Shock and disbelief and silence.... When he asked her if she really loved this new person, she began crying and could not answer. He knew he was about to lose his dream. He was about to lose his Linda Marie. He had only this one chance. He told her she had two choices. One, she could cancel the wedding and they would get married immediately, or two, there would still be a wedding but with a different groom! After earnest assurances that he was serious, she agreed. Bobby was in some amount of shock after the phone call, but, as he realized what he had done, he knew it had to be. He still could not offer her what he thought he should be able to give her, but if it meant losing her now he would just have to work harder. His dream would come true.
And the flame rekindled....

As he sat in stunned silence on his bed and tried to imagine what changes would have to be made immediately, the telephone rang. It was Linda Marie’s father. He told Bobby Joe that he had just spent the last hour with his daughter in her room and that she had told him of their phone call. Mr. Alexander was not one to be trifled with when affairs of his daughter’s heart were at stake. He told Bobby Joe to not start this all over again; that Bobby had already broken his daughter’s heart twice before and to not do this again. He and Linda Marie had talked this over and agreed that she did not want to marry Bobby and that she did not want to talk to him; and that this new person would be a good husband and provide well for her. And he asked Bobby man-to-man to leave his daughter alone and that was the wish also of his daughter. Mr. Alexander loved his daughter and only wanted her happiness. Those key words had been spoken - “provide well for her”. Bobby knew he could not do that. And if Linda Marie truly had changed her mind, he would abide by her wishes. And so he promised Mr. Alexander that he would not interfere with his daughter’s happiness. And again there was only emptiness where Linda had been.

And the flame ebbed low....

And Linda Marie was married in December of 1967.


1969.

Vietnam. The horrors of war were available for all to see on their TV set after dinner. Atrocities and massacres were weekly occurrences. Protesters and “peace-niks” were demonstrating and chanting “We won’t go!” The Kent State University tragedy brought all these horrors to our backyard. Young men left for Canada in droves. Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs and Country Joe and the Fish played the anthems of this generation of young boys. Mothers cried and minorities screamed “discrimination”. The world and America were at war. Those who were not fortunate enough to wrangle deferments went to war and those middle class sons of veterans of World War II went to war and those Southern sons raised to honor the military career went to war. And Bobby Joe submitted to the draft in January, 1969.

After basic training at Fort Knox and a few months as a mail clerk there, he too received orders to report to Vietnam. But while he was home on leave first, orders came changing his destination to Korea. Emotions were mixed. He wanted to do his part, but he didn’t particularly want to die either. But the choice was not his. It had been made for him. He reported to the Second Infantry Division HQ at Camp Howze on the DMZ. He became a personnel specialist and Army life was easy compared to that in Vietnam. Division headquarters personnel worked and lived in quonset huts; each containing about six GIs. Camaraderie was high - there was a feeling that those assigned here were elite and not to be sacrificed as others. It wasn’t true but the feeling was there. Their jobs were pretty much 8 to 5 and free time was adequate. It was a time of beer, marijuana, booze, girls, stereos, and cynicism. Some did and some didn’t. Bobby Joe had been mostly “straight” all his life but there had always been some pressure to be one of the guys. He formed great friendships and did his job well. He wrote regularly to one of his female cousins and a young girl he had just become acquainted with before leaving for the Army. There were no American girls within a hundred miles - or at least any that would be seen with a regular “GI” He came home on mid-tour leave once. The events of his life had combined to temper his outlook and there was a sadness in his eyes that other women saw and remarked upon. Some called him “Grandfather Bear”. But his friends called him “Gorilla” and his best friend was a short guy named Jay Tafoya from Colorado they called “Monkey”. Monkey and Gorilla were the best of friends.

1970.

One cold night in late winter of 1969 - 1970, on his way to walk guard duty for the night, Bobby Joe stopped in the camp snack shop to get something to take with him to eat. It was like all the other low, mean little quonset huts huddled in the hills near the DMZ, but the food was hot and Bobby didn’t like to miss a chance to eat. As he stood in line for his food, a voice behind him said “Bobby Joe?” It was an American girl’s voice. He hadn’t seen an American girl in six months and there were certainly none in this God-forsaken place halfway around the world. When he turned, he was face-to-face with Linda Marie! They stood there dumbstruck for a moment and then realized it was true. She appeared to be about six months pregnant and was more beautiful and glowing than he had ever remembered! And beside her stood her husband! He and Bobby Joe worked in the same section together and spoke to each other every day! Amidst the shock and tears, the three of them sat at a table and marveled at such a coincidence. She had recognized his hands from behind before she had even seen his face. She had been staying in an apartment in Seoul, working at 8th Army HQ, and was leaving the next day for the States to return to her family to have their first child. It didn’t take her husband long to realize who was who here and he immediately began ushering his wife away. But Bobby had seen the look on Linda’s face. And she had seen his. It had been a long time since those nights on the steps at school in Kentucky. But nothing had changed. Her tenderness, her warmth, and her passion were still there on her face and in that little curve in her mouth. And they still loved each other.

And the flame flickered....

That night as Bobby Joe walked guard duty, there was only silence to remind him of his lost chance for real happiness. The sadness and tears flowed and the shock drove him crazy. The next morning, he knew Linda Marie was gone again and there was only emptiness. But this time he didn’t have the strength to overcome. He broke down and found his friend, and Monkey took him to the infirmary. The next few days were a haze; a gauze-like curtain covered reality and hysteria and tears ruled. When he returned to reality and the shock lessened, sadness and regret etched his face and heartache filled his mind. Nothing mattered now. She was lost forever. Weeks passed and thoughts of Linda Marie filled his days. He had to know if she was OK. Was she happy? Had she had her baby? He knew he must not contact her, but he had to know.... He wrote her parents and told them of the meeting and that if they would tell him how she was, he promised not to contact her. Her father replied that she was fine and very happy and to remember his promise.

Bobby Joe succumbed to “the good times” and lost his way. His friends knew what had happened, but there was nothing to be done. Only Monkey stood by the Gorilla and watched out for him. A Gorilla can be a heavy load for a Monkey.

Somehow, Bobby Joe got by and time passed and he was discharged from the Army in October of 1970. He returned home and went back to his management job at General Motors. He re-enrolled at UD and took part-time classes day and night. But he had acquired bad habits in the past six months. And the hurt was always there. As was the case with a lot of returning GIs, good times were the rule. The hurt could never be shared for there was only sadness to share. Life went on, mixed with heartache and bad habits. And he knew there was no hope.

1972.

He had graduated from the University of Dayton in May with a degree in Industrial Management and his parents attended the graduation ceremony. It was a proud day for them. But Bobby knew the truth. Two years had been lost looking for happiness in a bottle. Finally, after an especially bad time of going nowhere and being lost, he woke up and knew he must find his way, or all the dreams of youth would be forever lost. He would not be governor or a GM vice-president. He was a regular guy like everyone else and he had better get married and settle down and raise a family….

1973.

Three months later, he was married. The marriage showed promise, but on his wedding day as he dressed with his cousin and best friend he silently thought of what should have been. His secret had been his alone and his family was very happy that Bobby Joe had found someone and they would live happily ever after. His wife was beautiful and outgoing and made up for his quiet, reserved behavior. They were a good combination. She was eight years older than Bobby so any thoughts of having children had been resolved. She had a young son. And on that day of his wedding, Bobby knew it was a mistake. But life had to go on. The automobile industry had yet to realize the coming oil shortages and changing market preferences. Long hours of work got projects finished and bank accounts improved. Bobby and his wife had somehow fallen in with a very well to do crowd and life was busy. His wife didn’t work, but spent most of her days with friends and constantly compared lifestyles. And Bobby kept working the long hours.

1977.

Four years later, the market was failing and the projects were no longer required. Bobby was home in the evenings and on the weekends. And now they had nothing in common – they were leading separate lives. They were strangers with different priorities and dreams. Much as a business deal is consummated, divorce was settled and plans made.

As the January marriage dissolution loomed, it was agreed they would stay together until after Christmas to keep from upsetting family plans. His wife’s son was a teenager and a junior in high school. On Christmas Eve, as they sat in the living room floor and exchanged gifts, it became too difficult to stay, so Bobby Joe left and drove to the funeral of his uncle. It was a sad time. He was lost again.

1978.

In January, Bobby lived in a sparsely furnished apartment in one of the fashionable complexes for singles. Their divorce had been final on January 30th and within a week he had met, by accident, a young woman named Ruth who worked for a company Bobby Joe was currently buying equipment from. Neither was interested in a serious relationship, so their frequent dinner dates were relaxed and easy. But they did begin to see each other regularly and exclusively. Sometime during that spring of 1978, Bobby got a phone call and that sweet, tender, hesitant, cherished voice from his past said, “This is an old friend of yours. This is Linda Marie.” Bobby’s heart truly melted and all those emotions he had carried for fifteen years welled up into a sea of love, shock, and tenderness. She told him that she had always wondered how he was and if he were happy. And that she simply had a need to hear his voice. Their conversation touched on all things. “Yes, she was still married to the same person and they now had two daughters!” and they lived in South Carolina. Her parents and both brothers had moved there from Flint and all were very happy. Her daughters were precious and were six and eight years old. Marriage had its ups and downs, but her daughters made all worthwhile! They talked easily for a long time and caught up on all the intervening years. Bobby told her he would like to keep in touch and simply talk as old cherished friends occasionally. She hesitated, but eventually agreed. The end of their conversation left both of them in a sad, joyous, tragic, happy, bittersweet frame of mind. No words of love were exchanged, nor were there any plans made to ever see each other.

The ensuing months were filled with dinner dates with Ruth and telephone calls to Linda Marie. And the inevitable began to happen. Bobby wanted to see Linda. She had finally told him that she had thought about leaving her husband several times, but always changed her mind because there was a certain love and affection for him and she couldn’t bear to take her daughters away from their father. So she had stayed. But always in autumn, during that special time of their love so long ago, she became restless and thought of Bobby Joe and autumn in Kentucky. She reluctantly agreed to see him briefly if he could come to South Carolina. The trip was planned and Bobby knew he must tell Ruth that he was going. Perhaps it would have been better not to, but eventually he did. And anger surfaced and he was told that if he went not to call her when he came back. And he went.

Their visit was as if they had never been apart. Their conversations were free and easy and uncomplicated. Each admitted still caring for the other and although no words of love were exchanged, each knew they still loved the other. They talked of the time of her marriage in 1967 and Linda asked Bobby why he had not called her back before her marriage and followed up on their plans. Bobby replied because of the phone call from her father and her wishes. She had not known of the phone call and had had no conversation with her father and assumed that Bobby had changed his mind. When he did not call, she went through with the marriage. And neither could say if there was wrong or blame to be assigned. Motives were unquestionably good. And who was to judge whether a mistake had been made? Perhaps it may have even been the right decision at that time. Their time now was as innocent as possible under the circumstances. She showed him pictures of her daughters and he immediately loved them deeply simply because they were a part of her. And there was regret, but regret had no place between them. Neither had really changed - only life and circumstance.

Their visits continued. And Bobby met her daughters and was introduced as her old college friend from Kentucky. Their brief times together were filled with love and tenderness and caring. And on one birthday, black jelly beans even surfaced. And Shaun Cassidy was a popular concert for young girls.

As the months passed, Linda and Bobby continued to talk. There were times they wanted to be together and times they knew they wouldn’t be. Time passed.

1979.

In November, Bobby Joe’s father developed acute leukemia and died suddenly. He was sixty-seven. It was a painful time only made bearable by sharing his grief with Linda Marie. The past year had been a difficult time filled with worry and heartache. It was a time of moving on and of staying in the same place. It was a time of hope and despair. It was a time of indecision. There was love and caring and tenderness and yet each sensed that these were stolen moments and there was an inevitable sadness to their love. There were happy times in South Carolina with her family and happy times in Ohio and Kentucky, but their bond was never broken.

And the flame burned brightly....

1980.

Time passed and life stood still. They were episodes of trying to forget each other and to go on with life as it was. There were tears and sadness and heartache and loneliness. Each knew they could not change their love, but each tried to comfort and make it easier for the other. The year slipped uneventfully by....

1981.

The loss of Bobby’s father was a difficult blow to his family. He had been the beacon in the storm for the family. Bobby’s two sisters were grown and living their own lives in Lexington. His brother was a senior in high school and had lost some interest in school and becoming an Eagle Scout. Household repairs and financial matters were of concern. Bobby Joe now had worked sixteen years for GM, but was not making headway in his quest for vice-president. His relationship with Ruth, who lived in Cincinnati, had continued and Linda Marie was unsuccessfully trying to rejuvenate her life in South Carolina. In February after a dark period of despair, Bobby realized the only solution was for him to move back home to Lexington. He began a successful job search and in May moved to Lexington. Time passed and life stood still. Linda and he still kept in touch and shared everything. And it seemed they might find the resolve to change their lives. And as events hinted of possible success, Bobby’s old nemesis thought reappeared. “Provide well for....” Now he had to think of his mother, his brother, Linda Marie, and two young daughters. His new employer seemed particularly hit by the economic recession and collapse of the construction industry. Jimmy Carter was probably the most honest man to ever occupy the White House, but the economy was a quagmire. The year passed.

And still the flame burned....

1982.

The year began as the previous ended. And it ended as it began. Life stood still. And there were dark days of quiet desperation. Bobby’s employer was forced to make drastic cuts and changes. As a manager, he had to make difficult cost cutting choices. And he realized the company could not continue as it was. And now there was truly little hope. He had lost the governorship, the GM vice-presidency, and now his very job was on the line. It was not a time to make commitments. Again, Bobby knew that he could not provide for such an extended family and once again he made what he perceived to be the unselfish decision. Linda Marie was unhappy and losing weight and torn between her happiness and that of her family. Somehow the decision was made. It was not spoken for neither could say the words that would end their love and hope. As he felt she always had, she seemed to sense his anguish and did what she knew he could not do himself. Their letters stopped, their phone calls stopped, and each dealt with the loss as best they could. The dream would never be.


And the flame flickered again....

Within a few months, the inevitable happened and his job was eliminated. He was without work and, before long, found himself standing in line at Manpower Services for day work moving furniture and crating boxes at the local peanut butter factory. He washed bird droppings off truck terminal overhead doors. Lexington was not an industrial town and the demand for industrial tycoons was very selective. As the year wore on and hopes dimmed for meaningful employment in Lexington, he realized he would probably have to return North.

1983.

Early in the year, it was decided that his mother and brother would move in with his sister and her husband. And Bobby Joe again drove north on I-75 looking for work. But this time the plan was to settle in Cincinnati. GM was laying off thousands of people and that was not an alternative. The relationship with Ruth had been started anew and the search for employment began. In the summer, he obtained full time work as a warehouse manager at a food distributor back in Dayton. In that restless fall, he and Ruth decided to get married. Linda was again lost forever. Bobby and Ruth were married in October on Halloween. And again on his wedding day, as he dressed, Bobby knew he would never love anyone as he loved Linda. In December, a friend from GM called and offered a job at the plant in Rochester, N.Y. It was decided that they would make the sacrifice and he would move alone to New York and either eventually transfer back to Dayton or Ruth and her daughter would move there.

1996.

Another uneventful thirteen years had passed. Bobby Joe and Ruth now lived in Dayton and he had worked for GM for twenty-nine years. Ruth’s daughter was grown, college educated, and on her own. Bobby was fifty-one years old. Things had worked out OK. He was now a senior buyer and purchased machinery and equipment for Delphi Automotive Systems. Life was at the point where “things” should be getting better. Their marriage had not worked out as hoped, but how many did? Life was like a train ride. You sit fastened in a seat and watch the scenery go by. You realize there is no engineer and that the train is simply ambling down the tracks to the end of the line. Bobby felt as if he put a lot of love, time, energy, and effort into the marriage and the reward was an opportunity to do even more. Like so many men living in quiet desperation, he accepted his lot and made the best of it. Their marriage had deteriorated into one of convenience and one day was like the next. They were not close, but put up the ever-present smiles for the family. Retirement was not something to look forward to - it would be more of the same. Sex was a monthly obligation dutifully fulfilled. But this summer had been a particularly cold one for their relationship. Love had set and there was no impending dawn. And in that special time from so long ago, autumn, Bobby Joe grew restless. He thought of those precious days in the past and wondered. One night he dreamed that he was on one of those Swiss Alps where the Riccolo farmers in the TV commercial picked their herbs and flowers. And suddenly Linda Marie was rushing down the mountainside as in the Clairol commercial. As they ran toward each other, he noticed, in the dream, Ruth stooping a few yards away and watching them. There was no reaction, merely detached observation. As Linda and Bobby Joe fell into each other’s arms, he picked her up and they walked away up the mountainside into the mist.

In the fall of 1996, that special time of the year, Bobby Joe was discussing life’s little twists and turns with his best friend, Larry, whom he had known and worked with for over twenty years. Larry had been divorced for about that long. And he knew of Bobby and Ruth’s relationship and unhappy marriage. Bobby told him about Linda and their love over the past thirty-three years. Bobby had no idea where Linda was now, but Larry was enthusiastic about finding her on “the Internet.” Bobby was tempted but after several days turned down his friend’s offer. There had been too much heartache for a lifetime. So he filled his thoughts with a dream that he would be happy with spending a weekend a year with Linda until he died. Somewhere along the way, there had been a movie similar to this. Was it Bob and Carol and Ted and Alice? He knew it would never happen but it got him through the daily longing. It comforted him when he stood in his back yard at night and looked at the stars and knew that somewhere Linda was underneath those same stars; maybe even having the same thoughts. Even the fearless little owl sitting in the back yard one night became a messenger from Linda reminding him of her love. Bobby assumed that Linda and her family still lived in South Carolina and often drove through Dayton on their way to family in Michigan. So he constantly watched traffic while driving on the expressway to see if perhaps he might see her. Not being very computer literate, he made occasional calls to “information” for several of the towns in South Carolina but there were no listings. In November, with some guidance from his friend he began a search on the Internet. And it didn’t take long to find her.




If you are lucky enough to find a way of life you love,
You have to find the courage to live it.
- John Irving




All things on earth point home in old October:
Sailors to sea, travelers to walls and fences,
Hunters to field and hollow
The lover to the love he has forsaken.
- Thomas Wolfe












And, again, Bobby was faced with the decision as to whether or not to call her. He knew he couldn’t resist. Most probably, she would hang up on him after a short message not to contact her. When she answered the phone, her “Hello,” at least in Bobby’s mind, was a flat, joyless expression of boredom. His heart ached to hear that tone from her. When he hesitantly told her who it was, the tone changed. The conversation was a blur to both.

Linda had been married for thirty years and had two grown daughters in their twenties, one in Philadelphia and one in Atlanta.

And once again, as moths to the flame, it was as if no time had passed and they talked constantly. And sometime in the next few months, it became inevitable. There would be no heartbreaking goodbyes and no everyday longing for the one person that could bring happiness.

The following year was a tumult of lawyers and cries of betrayal and anger but it finally happened. Neither Bobby Joe nor Linda Marie would have ever thought such a thing would happen to them. But it did.

Bobby Joe had worked for GM for thirty-one years but at age fifty-two, they made the decision to retire early and move to the mountains of Western North Carolina. They would be about mid-way between their two families. In March, they were married and retired and moved to a modest little home on top of a mountain overlooking the Blue Ridge and Smokey Mountains. It was remote and family and friends were astonished, but they understood that time and each other would be closely guarded. They filled their days with each other and whatever time was left over, Linda spent with her hobbies of cross-stitching, gardening, sewing, quilt making, and cooking. Bobby Joe spent that left over time woodworking, growing a rose garden, and generally trying to keep the forest at bay around their nest. There were many trips to visit family and lots of company. Life was idyllic.

The following year began under a cloud of fear that with the coming new millennium, all the world’s computer systems would crash. The dot-com “bubble” burst and sent stock markets plummeting. Rumors of war with Iraq were rife. And then Linda and Bobby’s bubble burst. His sister’s husband, Al, became critically ill. Al and Bobby were like brothers. They had shared so many tribulations and many victories. After driving to visit him in Hospice, they spent the night with Bobby’s mother.

In the middle of the night, Bobby awoke with pain, a racing heartbeat, and sweating. A 911 call ended up with a diagnosis of congestive heart failure and a several day stay in the hospital where Al was. Al died a few days later. Al’s loss was almost inconsolable. Linda and Bobby went home to their mountaintop and further tests. After the usual tests and prescriptions, doctors pronounced him fairly healthy and prescribed the usual do’s and don’ts. The episode made them just treasure each day more. But there was no terrifying prognosis. After a few months of both of them getting comfortable with what had happened, life returned to almost normal.

Bobby’s friend of twenty years, Larry, was an ultra-light pilot and owned several. It was his passion. Bobby shared no such feeling but often went to the airport and admired the planes and marveled at the courage it took to fly such a thing. A year or so before Bobby retired, Larry agreed to be a test pilot for a company building a new streamlined fiberglass bodied ultra-light. It was a wonderful design advancement and after some minor tweaks, Larry agreed to fly it at an air show in Florida that spring shortly after Bobby and Linda moved to North Carolina. No one ever knew what happened but the plane lost power and nose-dived into the ground. Larry had always been one of those people who said, “Well, if I die at it, at least I will die doing what I love!” There was no consolation for Bobby Joe.

Two months later, after a routine visit to Linda Marie’s doctor, the dreaded “callback” resulted in a diagnosis of endometrial cancer. Neither ever having been seriously injured or ill, fear was unavoidable. In spite of all the medical reassurances, time was suddenly the most precious of all things. Each tried to be brave and not show that fear, but each knew it was there. Linda Marie made light of it to family and friends to the point that no one really understood the seriousness. On the day of the surgery, Bobby’s other sister and her husband were returning to Kentucky from a trip to Charlotte and stopped by the hospital. Linda was sedated to the point she wasn’t aware they were there. Bobby Joe spent every waking moment wondering if he had spent a lifetime loving this dear woman only to lose her after a year.

The surgery was successful. The cancer was in the early stages and the surgeon (Linda’s doctor) had caught the cancer in time. The doctor prescribed some rehab time and pronounced Linda to be completely healthy.

Bobby and Linda would be forever grateful to her doctor for the early diagnosis and care she gave them.

It took many months for the two to recover from the events of the first part of the year. But quiet times, peaceful places, and loving hearts helped to heal and to fill the voids. They spent eight more years on their mountaintop, making good friends, pursuing their hobbies, visiting friends and family, and entertaining friends and family. At one time they entertained the idea of moving to Mexico near Guadalajara but when it became serious, they knew it was too far from family. After almost ten years in the mountains, the lure of city life and its conveniences caused them to pull up stakes and move to Chattanooga.

Today, they spend their time exploring their new city and state, still pursuing their hobbies, growing a little older, and loving more….

STILL no country for old men

Damn, I don't feel like an old man! But facts are proving me otherwise. On Wednesday evening, March 24th, I carried three really heavy trash bags of yard debris to the curb for pickup the next morning. After the third one, I realized I was quite out of breath and turned toward the garage. Anne stepped into the garage from the house to check on me and as I walked up to her in the garage, it felt like I had been suddenly electrocuted! A BRIGHT white flash and a jolt that knocked me down and as I went down, I grabbed Anne and fell full length on top of her. She was in terrible pain and I asked her, "What happened?" She said, "You fell." I was trying to figure out how I got electrocuted when suddenly it zapped me again and then I realized it was the implanted defib that was jolting me. It felt as if it was knocking me up off the floor and causing my arms to fly up above my head. The pain was truly like being kicked in the chest by a mule. By my laying on top of her she felt the first two jolts also. Thirty seconds later it happened again and Anne asked if I "could do this...." and I said, "No, call 911." Twenty minutes elapsed from the initial event until the ambulance got there. In that 20 minutes, the defib went off twenty-eight times. After Anne called 911, she came back out and squatted down behind me and held me up while the damn thing went off about every 30 seconds. I didn't think I was going to make it. Anne's back was spasming and her legs cramping from squatting to hold me up and yet she held me tenderly, and strongly, and firmly and kept encouraging me. By the time the EMTs arrived the defib was quiet. They got me "plugged in" and off to Park Ridge Hospital.

By the time we arrived at Park Ridge, I was calm and back to normal. The plan was to stabilize me and transfer me to the VA/Vanderbilt hospital in Nashville. As it turned out in the next day and a half, they had no beds available. So on Friday afternoon, we and the doctors agreed I could be discharged but on Monday, I would have to go to the arrhythmia clinic in Nashville and get checked out. We went home and later that afternoon, the VA called and said the doctor would not be in on Monday, -- come on Tuesday. No problem. I was feeling OK.

Saturday evening just as we went to bed I climbed two flights of stairs -- got to the bedroom, barely, and the first of another six jolts fired within about 15 minutes. EMTs got here pretty quickly, I related the past few days and they highly recommended my going to Memorial Hospital downtown. A TOP 100 hospital in the country. SO we felt it was time to change our medical PCPs and cardiologists -- they said I needed an electrophysiologist -- in cardiology, that's an "electrician" where others are "plumbers." So we were off to Memorial on Sunday morning about 1:00 am. On Tuesday, March 30th (I believe), Dr, Gbadebo performed an ablation -- a procedure wherein they run a wire up through the groin into the heart and try to make the "troubled" nerve endings fire so they can deaden them, one at a time. That's my layman's explanation. It was to have taken about an hour and a half and I wouldn't remember anything. For whatever reason, the procedure lasted five and a half hours and I was NEVER asleep but fully awake and sensitive to the manipulation of the wire. After about ten minutes, I started to move a finger and the doctor said, "You cannot move anything." Are you serious? Not even scratch my nose? Not move a muscle? Yep. So, I laid there 5 1/2 hours unable to move a muscle, fully conscious, sweat rolling down my face and not understanding what happened to the "hour and a half procedure." I was aware when it was getting late -- some nurses left and some were replaced. But we got through it. The procedure is supposed to minimize my A-fib going haywire and causing a seriously imbalanced beating. They told me that in that first episode of 28 firings, there were six times that w/o it, my heart would have failed.

Today, April 10th, I am doing so much better -- almost back to normal except for some frequent "tics" or hiccups" or diaphramatic interruptions, that occur when bending over, or sitting. They may get better, they may go away, or I may have to live with them -- we don't know yet. They are a little tiring. I climbed the stairs to bed last night with just a little "tiredness" -- doctor scolded me Thursday for not doing that sooner. I showered and shampooed by myself this morning. We may even go  out to dinner tonight,,,, He said there was no need for any cardio rehab exercising. I admit there is still some residual fear on both our parts, but that improves with each new thing I do. Anne is doing all the driving and, for that matter, EVERYTHING ELSE. Everything.

I have nothing but praise for the VA but I had to change and have my doctors here and a hospital that will get me in when needed w/o a 2 1/2 hour drive. It will cost more -- our BCBS finds lots of reasons not to pay this or that, but then we enroll in Medicare June and July -- $514.00/mo for both of us for Medicare, Medigap and a modest dental plan!

Well, I'm not sure what the point of posting this is, but perhaps it is a little therapeutic to put it into words and face the facts and events.

Best wishes to everyone.

February update

Anne and I returned from a two week trip to Dayton last week. When we went, we were expecting to lose a dear cousin, Sue, who was in Hospice there. We left on Monday the 8th and barely beat the snow storm the next day. But on the 12th, we lost another cousin, Jamie, in Middletown who had also been very sick. Jamie's funeral was on the 15th in the midst of a veritable blizzard and early the next morning Sue died. Our family was and still is devastated. These losses came after Jamie's only nephew, Adam, died in his sleep of sleep apnea on December 23rd at age 29. He was just married in August. So we lost three cousins within about 6 weeks. For those who want to read more, go to http://mproc.blogspot.com/ and read my sister's blog or to http://www.breastcancerdiva.com/ and read cousin Robyn's blog. I cannot add anything not already said. Cousin Sandy lost her only sister, Cousin Barry lost his only son and his only sister. We are temporarily adrift. Jamie was 58 and Sue was 64.

We had planned recently that whenever we got to Kentucky we would try to catch up with high school classmates, but this just wasn't to be the trip. We spent the night with Mona and visited with our mother at the nursing home who has moderate to severe Alzheimer's. We were anxious to get back to Chattanooga. I have some minor mostly cosmetic eye surgery scheduled next week in Nashville and Anne is looking forward (?) to a knee replacement in June.

I am still trying to refine a Facebook site -- http://www.facebook.com/pages/Winchester-KY/Class-of-1963-Clark-County-High-School-Winchester-KY/279058711247?created for 1963 high school classmates but am not very successful YET!

Our best wishes to all and it's time to start looking forward to spring.

A particularly irksome happening

This is just my opinion -- doesn't have to be yours. I'm not trying to persuade people of anything. But....

The stark truth is that this country's economy will never recover until we rebuild our manufacturing base and improve our international trade imbalances. The economy will never recover by creating more service sector jobs and fast food clerks and retail sales people. We have to make something of value to sell, at home and abroad, to create long-lasting economic recovery. In another post somewhere in this blog I talked about our nation's farmers having a choice between growing food and growing corn and soybeans for overseas manufacturing needs. They can make a lot more money by growing corn and soybeans and thus providing for their families. Next summer when you are driving out and about, notice what the overwhelming majority of crops are. The result is what I discovered last week at the grocery. I bought some Birdseye frozen sugar snap peas that were grown in CHINA. I've seen peaches from Chile, and numerous foods from Mexico. About 90% of our cut flowers come from either South America or Europe. How in the world can a farmer grow roses in Peru, fly them to the U.S., and distribute them cheaper than we can from just down the highway? Beats me.

I KNOW before I wade into this next subject, over half the people reading this will take offense and be defensive and cite all sorts of prejudices and outdated opinions. A good place to start rebuilding the manufacturing base is to buy automobiles from Ford or GM or Chrysler. Yes, all auto assembly plants hire American workers and provide a decent wage, same as the Big 3. Yes, one can say they are American made. But the profits from those offshore manufacturing companies go straight back to Japan, China, Korea, or wherever. Profits from the Big 3 STAY at home and are then SPENT at home. According to a recent study published in Time magazine, Toyota imports 51% of its component parts from overseas, Honda imports 42%, and the Big 3, 22%. That amounts to MILLIONS of dollars going straight back to the OLD country.

For years, Japan has imposed import taxes on American made automobiles so that, for example, a Chevy Impala that costs $20k in the U.S. costs the equivalent of $30k dollars in Japan. Needless to say, the market for American automobiles in Japan is very limited. Plus the Japanese government for years has subsidized their auto makers with low interest loans and economic assistance and currency rate manipulation (run by many of the same executives that were admirals and generals in their armed forces when they so sneakily attacked Pearl Harbor and killed thousands of American young people. Then after four years of horrific loss of American lives, we went in and rebuilt their factories, their economy, gave them a new Constitution that has been successful ever since and have agreed to provide military protection to them from any other country so that they have NO expense to maintain any sort of armed military force. But all that's another story...)

Remember the recent "Cash for Clunkers" program here in America? It was a huge success. Just over half the new cars purchased through that program were Asian. Our government said, "Get rid of those old gas guzzlers and do your part to restore America to greatness - lower your gas bills, reduce harmful emissions, be GREEN."  It was a huge success. So much so that Japan has NOW instituted almost the identical program in Japan.  'Wanna guess the difference? You cannot use the program to buy American made cars. Only new Japanese cars.

Most people today probably still harbor resentment about those old days when all they heard about was a GM worker making $25 an hour installing two screws in every assembly. They think all American cars are made by lazy, illiterate slobs. "The American auto industry is inefficient, bloated and impaled upon its own spear. Now take the Japanese, for example, they are smart, industrious, dedicated, polite little people." What a wonderful thing it would be if we could send our foreign car aficionados to live in Japan for a time.

OK, I had my say... The even larger problem is that because my generation and the younger one has never known really hard times, we cannot believe what is at stake here. We are that proverbial flock of sheep being herded straight to the slaughterhouse. Who is going to eat all that lamb and mutton? Of course, if you think leveling the world's standard of living is a good idea, continue on your path and we will be even with Mexico, Ethiopia, China, Japan, and all the others. American's choice.... 

The Fabric of Our Lives

Thanks to my wife and the author, Phillippa Gregory (Virgin Earth), I have at last come to understand the phrase "Fabric of our Lives". I never paid much attention to that phrase until just recently. Picture using a shuttle to weave the woof and the warp, thus creating fabric . The terms and phrase are metaphors for our lives or our characters. Thus, the woof and warp (people, events, places, etc) create the fabric (our character or persona) and determine the kind of person we are. Some "threads" are more colorful than others, some more "intended" than others, some more "random" than others, some "prettier" than others, some more "dominant" than others, but that "loom" just keeps on spinning and the woof and warp continue to weave and enlarge the fabric....

Sometime during 2008, on a whim, I made a list of all the places I've lived - scattered throughout Kentucky, Ohio, New York, North Carolina, and now, Tennessee. From that list, it was an easy jump to make a few notes about my life in each of those places. One more little jump, and I was writing most anything I could remember about my life at each place. And somewhere along the way, I tried to add a little humor. And some young boy foibles. I ended up with what you read here on my blog. There are several different posts, the longest being "Still Trudging Down Memory Lane," that are the result of those woofs and warps weaving away constantly for so many years and creating the fabric of my life. I thought of all the events in my life that have molded me into what I am -- deaths, loves, divorces, promotions, perceived non-promotions, accidents, recognitions, disappointments, deceptions, etc.... But all those things are done and gone and have had their effect upon me and dropped by the wayside. And of course, there have been numerous organizations that contributed greatly to my "fabric." But far more important are the people who have influenced me. We often find out that we made an impression upon a young person of which we had no idea. Hopefully, they were good impressions. I can look back and remember as a young boy the impressions some of my older cousins and aunts and uncles made upon me. I began to think of all the people I have known over the years and how we each contribute, perhaps only in a very small way, to each other's character and development. I remember the vast majority of those people with fondness and with gratitude. Yes, there were some I was not so grateful to, but even they usually managed to contribute a few "threads" of value.

Except for those close friends and family we constantly keep in touch with, I daresay most of those people only occupied a few years in our lives. They came and they went and they deposited their threads and were gone. And we were left with a myriad of memories. We hated to see them leave, but that was simply the way of things. But to have a static group of people in one's life for four years or more with whom you matured, socialized, loved, disliked, competed, worried, and played was a once in a lifetime opportunity. For many, service in the Armed Forces wove a fabric forged in iron and taught us how to be loyal and true to our comrades and we learned we could do that we never thought we were capable of doing. But for the great majority, I suspect high school occurred at a time in our life when we were most susceptible to character influences and we saw how the choices we made influenced ourselves and our classmates over a four-year period. After so many bolts of fabric being woven over those years, we looked forward to taking our fabric out into the world and creating a grand tapestry! Some ended up being grand, some not so grand, and the great majority being somewhere in between. But we all made a tapestry! In our rush to get started, most, or at least some of us, woke up a few years later and realized that those friends and classmates were no longer around. Whoa, we were on our own! We adapted and plunged into our new lives and our plans to be governors, or business tycoons, or teachers, or doctors, or nurses, or most importantly, parents.

Five years passed from the time of leaving our friends behind and that first reunion rolled around and everyone showed up with ONE goal in mind -- impress and show our friends what a success we were. Judgemental, cliquish, condescending, strutting, etc.

At the tenth-year reunion, we had all settled down somewhat and truly were more focused upon seeing and being interested in the lives of our classmates.

From the 15th-year reunion on, it seemed to me that all the cliques, the artificiality, the need to impress were gone. Now, at the least for those who had moved away, friends were missed and remembered fondly and were wondered about. We learned of deaths of classmates and tried to accept what seemed impossible.

And now, forty-six years later, and a little more aware of our mortality, many of us look forward to reconnecting with those classmates who had such an influence in our lives. SO, we look forward to that reunion every five years and hugging our friends and trying to make sure they know how much they meant to us in our lives. But then, something comes up and you cannot make a reunion and now it will have been ten years since last seeing those friends. And ten years is a long time at this age! :-)

And now to the point of this rambling discourse. I picture a gathering, like a Kiwanis, or Lions Club meeting, every quarter or so, at a local restaurant in Winchester -- maybe the Chinese place -- where CCHS and GRC classmates can know they will gather there on that specified date and time to reconnect, to eat if desired, and to laugh and remember and retell funny stories and remember those we have lost. No big deal, no formal invitations, just an initial announcement spread by word of mouth. I'll bet the restaurant would be willing to extend a 15% discount or so to those classmates! Come if you like and stay as long as you like. It wouldn't be limited to one specific year -- those of any class would be welcome.

Obviously, someone has to step up and say I will work on this. Right away, the names of a handful of "girls" comes to mind who have always stepped up to the plate before. And if they (you know who you are! :-)) feel like doing so again, GREAT! But for those of us who typically say, "You organize it and I'll be there", we need to say, "I'll give it a try this time with some help from my friends!"

I just recently got in contact with a handful of those people through Facebook. For those interested in my e-mail, it is jamesalandrum atgmail dot com. I guess that is how one is supposed to post one's e-mail to prevent address gatherers or whomever. But then maybe not.... The phone number for Anne and I is 423-842-3782. We live in Hixson, a suburb of Chattanooga -- twenty minutes off I-75 if you are headed south! I met Anne in the fall of '63 at UK but let her get away about 5 times until I caught her in 1998. We retired and lived in the mountains of NC for 10 years and moved here two years ago. And although we are in the heart of Dixie I'm as "true blue" as ever!

My very best wishes to everyone.

The Delta Queen

On August 8, 2009, Anne and I spent the night aboard the Delta Queen here in Chattanooga as sort of a belated birthday present. The Delta Queen has long been a romantic icon of bygone days on America's rivers. The cabins were adequate -- we had a king-sized bed in the Illinois Stateroom. Air conditioning was adequate and certainly necessary in the 95 degree heat. The evening's festivities included a dinner and show. Dinner was a choice of grouper or steak tenderloin and both were very good. The show was a trio of brothers playing old-time bluegrass - not memorable.

That day downtown there had been a convention of antique Ford owners from all over the Southeast.They even had a race downtown that included quite a climb on one city street. Most of that group also spent the night aboard the Delta Queen. A friendly, raucous, happy group. Dinner seating was random and we ate with a couple who live about three miles from us! It was an enjoyable evening.I think the guest total was about 105 for that night. Dinner service was a little slow but admirable and the included Sunday breakfast buffet was outstanding. In keeping with old riverboat traditions, Anne and I played a couple of games of Gin Rummy in the Grand Salon and at last count I owe her $1200.00! :-) Pictures can be seen here: http://picasaweb.google.com/jamesalandrum/DeltaQueen?authkey=Gv1sRgCOLQks-NvsnQ9wE#

All in all, the evening was a wonderful success and we very much enjoyed it. We weren't too excited about ever taking an extended cruise on the old gal, however. We were both surprised that she was not nearly as large as we had pictured. She was built in 1926 in Stockton, California. For a little more detail, see the Delta Queen or to listen to --some cool music

She is moored here until, hopefully, such time as Congress grants another exemption to the laws prohibiting wooden superstructure boats from carrying overnight passengers. For now, she provides just another attraction in downtown Chattanooga, a city of constant music, museums, entertainment, great food, and numerous other local attractions.

Life is good in Dixie.

Observations

Dateline: Lexington, KY, 7/3/09: The KY League of Cities and The Kentucky Association of Counties (both taxpayer funded) both provide their executive directors with BMW SUV's for their personal use. Wouldn't you think they would do their part to support the American Big 3 manufacturers? At the very least, purchase/lease an automobile made in KY. And we wonder why our companies are going bankrupt -- there was a time before the little Mr. and Mrs. Do-Gooders took over that this would have been unthinkable!  These organizations are supposed to help local governments with economic issues and promote KY nationally. DUH....

7/3/09, CNN:  'Had a "fume event" lately? A fume event occurs on passenger planes when various engine seals dry out, rot, or simply age. Recirculating cabin air is then mixed with "bleed air" from the engines -- simply put, if the seals fail for a variety of reasons, this bleed air mixes with the cabin air. The bleed air typically contains chemical compounds found in pesticides and nerve agents. Typical symptoms from your fume event on your next flight include memory loss, vision impairment, tremors, headaches, and vomiting. And certainly news of this problem will not get exposure to the public. Take it to the bank, the airlines are more concerned about profits than protecting passengers and employees.
DUH....

7/3/09, The Times (London): World-wide crude oil prices have spiked to their highest level in eight months -- the reason? ONE PERSON, Steve Perkins, a rogue trader in oil futures in some London-based company, is responsible. 'Nothing to do with supply and demand -- this is more of the same thing Enron was doing. DUH....

OK. I'm getting crabby with my wife gone for what seems like eons. She is due back Sunday so I guess it is actually only a week, but....

 

June Update

Whoo boy! No, I didn't quit blogging, but we've been rather busy here. All is well. We are trying to get some good pics of us but so far the best ones I can come up with are:

1973

Give Your Customers A Little Less

In one of my original posts, I talked about always trying to give your customers "a little extra." I ran into a new twist on that on May 18th -- "take a little extra" from your customers. Lynn Imaging in Lexington, KY put the new spin on how to be a success in business. I had arranged to have them print an additional 20 copies of my book, Amanda and Her Cousins, exactly the same as two previous printings. Last week, I talked to Cindy Honks who is apparently some kind of office manager or head clerk there and she said they could print the copies in time for pick up on May 18th. When I broached the subject of pricing, I told her the last printing (about two years ago) was for 15 books at a unit price of $15.98 each which included everything, even tax. And that my original order, back in May of 2005, was for 40 books at a unit cost of $15.00 each. I said I assumed the price would be in the same neighborhood and she vaguely agreed. A couple of days later, another clerk, Kevin, called to resolve a paging problem and I again had the same short conversation about pricing and he said that sounded about right....

Imagine my surprise when I went to pick up the books and the new all-inclusive unit price was $23.68! I questioned the usual, bored "I really don't want to be here" type clerk who couldn't have cared less about my surprise. I told her that wasn't what I had been led to believe from Cindy and Kevin. She harrumphed and abruptly turned around and went into a little closed room. Two minutes later, she returned and simply said, "Well, Cindy says we have had a lot of cost increases so the price is correct. I gave her my debit card, she quickly processed it and immediately turned to another employee and began a conversation. I was dismissed.

Moral of the story: If you end up having to use Lynn Imaging for anything, ensure you have a price in writing because their word doesn't go very far.

The Book STORE

This site will surely replace the little book corners in the blog. It is my "Goodreads" site and if you haven't seen this site and have an interest in books, visit just to see what it can do. But if you are addicted to books, beware, you are about to lose a LOT of time! Visit Goodreads.

Our darling GRAND daughter

Kathryn "Katy" Rose
(17 months)

Nashville Trip

On Thursday morning, March 9th, Anne and I drove to Nashville for a follow-up appointment about my CRT-D ICD. They "unhooked" one of the wires into my heart and thus eliminated the aggravating, disquieting, and exhausting "tic", as I call it -- a pronounced beat when I would be in certain positions. What a wonderful thing now -- feel SO much better.

Anyway, that afternoon we went to see the Parthenon - a full-size replica of the one in Greece -- stunningly beautiful! It's in the midst of Centennial Park. From the glory that was Greece, we then strolled the Honky Tonk Row area downtown. Mostly junk and trashy souvenir shops and 8 or 9 dark, smoky, LOUD country and western bars with hopeful (hopeless?) bands blaring out their songs of regret and remorse and a few restaurants thrown in and LOTS of tourists. Quite a disappointment. We covered it all in an hour. We returned to the motel (and what a really disappointing place that Quality Inn was!), freshened up and readied for a great dinner of steak and/or ribs. We asked the clerk where was the best place for BBQ and she said definitely Jack's, just a couple of blocks over.... Food was good, not a steakhouse or rib place at all; it was more of a carry-out, fish and chips type place -- good food, but a disappointment.

Friday morning, we headed for Opryland. (Let me expound upon the value of the GPS here. Simply invaluable - once you have it, you will not do without it!). The hotel is huge and beautiful with lots of gardens and shops. I had thought it was a place to stroll and admire everything, but it was simply a VERY nice place to vacation with rooms starting around $250 a night, incl. tax. Pretty much a disappointment also. We poked around the General Jackson paddle wheeler , and the NEW Grand Ole Opry building - pretty sterile. Our timing was off to take a tour so we drove to Belle Meade. By this time, it was pouring rain and very windy (or owley, as we say!) We had lunch at Martha's At the Plantation, a tea room as Anne called it -- you know, those fancy little sandwiches (very good) with chips and a drink and a thirty dollar bill ? Anyway, we toured the Belle Meade Plantation -- stunning -- and we were the only ones there at the time for our tour. Very, very enjoyable. A great stop. Belle Meade is the name of the restored antebellum plantation AND the name of the town it is in. RITZY! We toured the neighborhood where Al and Tipper live and several country music stars. A beautiful area of old homes and old money. We had dinner at the Santa Fe Cattle Company -- very good food - peanuts on the floor type of place. During the afternoon we found out that tornadoes had touched down in Murfreesboro and I-24 was closed (our way home!).

Saturday morning we had planned to tour the Rhyman Auditorium -- the original Grand Ole Opry -- but with the rain and more forecasts of bad weather, we decided to head home. On the way we saw a lot of the awesome, unbelievable tornado damage in Murfreesboro.

Nashville is a big city with lots of interstates -- a fair amount of entertainment but usually very crowded and slow. We'll take Chattanooga any day!

A weekend in Dixie

We had an interesting dinner last night -- discovered the "Blue Orleans," a Creole restaurant. Gumbo, jambalaya, crawfish etoufee, crawfish pasta, seafood platters and bread pudding and homemade beignets, key lime pie, Bananas Foster! Anne and I finally tried the "crawdads" we have all heard so much about -- in Crawfish Etoufee and Crawfish Pasta - not any different than shrimp in my book -- just smaller. Good, but not great. Every Friday night, they have New Orleans style jazz groups come in -- great fun! Check out their menu for the next time you visit in Chattanooga!

Today, we discovered TVA's Raccoon Mountain Pumped-Storage Facility. Sound exciting? Well, it was! If interested, check out their site.

It's a large 528 acre lake on top of a mountain where they pump water UP from the Tennessee River and store in the lake and then release whenever they need to generate emergency electricity! There is only about 100 of this type of plant in the world. The views are KILLER views -- Grand Canyon of Tennessee, with lots of scenic vistas. We SCREWED UP and I took a one-way, one lane, little driving "path" across the very top of the dam -- 8500 feet long and 230 feet high! My new defibrillator really got a workout on that drive! It was a surprisingly interesting afternoon - just a few miles out of Chattanooga.

As it is everywhere, the trees and shrubbery and azaleas are in full bloom right now and this place is simply beautiful.

Love and God's blessings to everyone.

Still Trudging Down Memory Lane

I was born in Richmond, Kentucky, while my father was in the Army during WW II as an MP (he had a fierce German Shepherd with no tail) ferrying German POWs back from Europe and war brides from Australia (tough duty!). When I was about five years old, my father and another man built our home at what is still called the mouth of Mace Branch on Quicksand in Breathitt County, Kentucky. Up behind us in the branch, was the home of his parents which had been built after their original home a little farther up the road burned down completely on a dark, terrifying night of babies being tossed through windows, adults screaming and scrambling to save whatever they could, and running around to make sure all were safely out. Not much was saved, 'cept all the family members who were in for the weekend visiting. A faulty chimney was probably to blame.

My earliest memory is of living with Mrs. Hazel Bottoms in Jackson down the street from the old Breathitt County High School. I was a babe of two maybe and CAN remember that the two-story house had the open floor grates upstairs that let the heat downstairs rise. We lived upstairs. I remember calling Mrs. Bottoms while looking down through that grate. (Now, I didn't promise this was going to be interesting, people!)

Although I don't remember the next two stories, they are supposedly told as the truth by my mother and her sister, Aunt Edith. I guess I was about two and Mom and Edith had taken me "uptown" in Jackson and bought me an apple at the A&P I had decided I couldn't live without. We were walking down Main Street and I was blissfully gnawing away on my prize of a lifetime and as we crossed the street going down to Breathitt High School, I DROPPED my apple! It rolled and it rolled and it rolled about six blocks down the hill. I stood and cried, as the story goes, and when it became obvious no one was going to go get it and I was not going to get another one, I proceeded to lay down in the middle of the street and screamed and kicked and generally made my mother proud! I guess you might say I was sort of an acquisitive little boy, because the other story took place in Hazard and also involved a great loss or denial. Again, Mom and Aunt Edith took sister Judy and I to town and, on the way, we passed the big Red Goose Shoes building that was built in the shape of an actual goose -- a landmark to this day. I decided I must have that building to take home with me.... Reason meant nothing to me, I wanted that damn goose! Mom and Aunt Edith tried to explain we couldn't carry such a thing but I wanted no part of their excuses. My reaction was to lay down in the middle of the street and throw a temper tantrum making my mother proud again. After dragging me several blocks wailing inconsolably, Aunt Edith promised to buy me something special in the dime store. We soon spotted the goldfish and that was it. Forget the goose. I had to have a goldfish! They put it in a little bag of water and off we went with my nose stuck to that bag for blocks. Now, I'm not sure of the veracity of these tales, but based upon your own opinion of the integrity of my mother and Aunt Edith, you can draw your own conclusions. And just in case someone mentions something about my "blankie", I admit to it, but will never admit how old I was before I was too ashamed to suck on that old rag. It was easy to get confused about things at that age! Like the time we were at Grandpa Haddix's and they were butchering a hog down at the barn where they also kept his mule, Old Tom. I happened to wander down there and took one look that scared the bejeebers out of me. I ran screaming back into the house as fast as my chubby little legs would carry me, yelling, "Mommy, Mommy. they done kilt Old Tom and hung he in a tree!"

I believe from there we moved to South Jackson to a large two-story house owned by Gerald and Fleda Bach. Gerald had a dry cleaning business right there on the street and we lived upstairs in the house. Sister Judy was born there. We later lived in a large two-story duplex home next to the Greyhound bus station in town. This was where I discovered maraschino cherries. I couldn't have been older than four and certainly was given dire threats about getting in the street, let alone crossing the street to Jay Staton's grocery to buy bottles of maraschino cherries. So, every time I could get my hands on a quarter or so, I would charm the two little, but somewhat older, girls next door to cross the street and buy me some cherries. I ate oodles and oodles of cherries until my mother finally caught me doing the deed and found out where all the red stains came from on my shirts. It was also here that I discovered that one of my favorite and most beautiful and wonderful aunts "had feet." (Don't ask....) Sister and I also developed a strong dislike for having our pictures taken. (Some got over it and some didn't!) We were also introduced to those plastic balloons of yesteryear! I always loved that petroleum smell of the plastic -- remember those?

I believe it was from here that we moved to our new home on Quicksand. However, at some time about then, Daddy bought a small printing shop in Hazard and we moved there, but only stayed briefly -- I don't think business was sufficient. Of course, the Quicksand home was a grand place to us! I assume it had electricity but I know we did not have running water in the house at that time. Sometime later I remember the menfolk digging a hole in the back yard for a well and being afraid that the ground would collapse on my daddy! It never did and what a marvel it was to pump a handle on the kitchen counter and have water come out the spigot! I am guessing there were only two bedrooms because sister Judy slept with our mother and I slept with my father. And that was hard on both of us! He was always telling me to quit jerking my feet! In back of the house was the yard, then the chicken lot and coop, and THEN the outhouse. It was a long, cold, lonely walk on winter nights!

There are many memories I have of this time. Once, Dad's cousin, Gerald Bach, who was like a brother to all my father's family, came to go squirrel hunting with my dad. Daddy was a few minutes ahead of Gerald and walked out the door. A few minutes later, Gerald was loading his 12 gauge shotgun in the house and it accidentally went off. We weren't injured except for utter terror and he absolutely KILLED our new floor model radio! Everyone recovered from the fright and for the rest of his life Gerald, one of the most loving, careful, kind, and tender men ever on this planet, would be mortified whenever that story was told.

I remember my father having to go out at night with shovel and rake to join our neighbors in extinguishing forest fires just on top of the ridges above our home. Judy and I were always afraid our home would burn down and maybe our daddy wouldn't come back. But he always did, exhausted, sweaty, covered in soot and smoke, and satisfied the fire was out.

We also worried about flooding. Quicksand Creek was across the road from our house but a little tributary stream (Mace Branch) ran right along our driveway. When the floods came, the water always threatened to get in the house. I don't believe it ever did, but I know it got within a foot or so several times. When it was cold enough, the floodwater would freeze on the top, the waters would recede and leave this sheet of ice about 1/4" thick covering everything about 3 to 4 feet above the ground. I liked to sneak out and walk under the ice and hide from searching parents!

Although my father worked for the newspaper, The Jackson Times, as a Linotype operator at the time, that didn't pay all the bills or provide all the food. Mom and Dad raised a large garden that Daddy mostly grew and Mom always "put up" or preserved in some manner. She would scrape and boil the sweet corn and can it (later in life she put it in the freezer). She cooked and canned tomatoes, canned tomato juice, green beans, and they would bury or keep potatoes over the winter. It is regrettable that folks today don't experience digging up the rows of potatoes, sticking their hands down in the ground and scrabbling around and pulling out those wonderful big potatoes. Okay folks, here is a bit of Appalachian English for the day. I don't relate this to make fun of anyone (certainly me!) or my parents, but I will tell you, I was a young boy before my mother corrected my saying "Arsh potatoes"! The first person to translate that for me gets a free dinner in Chattanooga for two! She canned all manner of vegetables. If you have any country background, you will know what "shucky" beans, or leatherbritches, are and what fun they were to string and dry.

Dad raised chickens in the back and we grew up on fried chicken every Sunday and whenever special company came through the week. I ate enough fried chicken to last a lifetime and to this day eat it only once every other month or so. (I know, someone will want to have my Kentucky visa revoked because of that!) My dad and both my grandpas always managed to get a few smoked hams laid in for the winter also. A few chicken stories.... Periodically when we went to Lexington, we would stop at Southern States and buy a "box full" of baby chicks to take home and raise for frying chickens or chicken and dumplings. My sister and I would peep through the little air holes and watch them all the way back home to Jackson. We kept the little peeps in the hen house with a special incubator to keep them warm until they were big enough to let loose in the lot. The other story involves my mother that everyone in the family has heard too many times, so if you're family, just skip to the next paragraph. In my mother's family, they always killed chickens by using a hatchet and a stump (get the picture?). In my father's family, they always killed chickens by grasping their necks and proceeding to spin them around, thus "wringing" their neck. My mother was determined to show my dad and her father-in-law that she could do it their way too. So, with Judy and I watching expectantly (maybe ages three and five), we stood in the midst of the chicken lot and watched Mom grab the chicken and proceed to spin it round and round and this damned chicken just kept squawking! Mom was determined to finish it off so she kept wringing harder and harder! Finally the chicken flew out of her hand and hit the ground running for its life! What the hell? ('Course I didn't say "What the hell" at the time!) Boy howdy, you never saw a chicken run so fast and squawking to high heaven! Chicken Little would have been proud! We all looked in Mom's hand where we saw she was tightly clutching the chicken's -- wing. She had grabbed it by the wing instead of the neck because she didn't want to look the poor chicken in the eye! Mom couldn't bear to have her menfolk find out what she had done, so she swore us to secrecy and then we three proceeded to chase this maimed chicken around the chicken lot! What fun Mommy! We never told on her, but years later when she 'fessed up she said that our father had commented that night on how tough that chicken was!

I had some additional first hand knowledge of chickens. Other than our faithful dog, Ring, a black and white shepherd, my next favorite pet was a chicken named Pluto. Pluto didn't have a tail and stood out from the others and had the free run of the place. We were great buddies. she and I had dug out a hole on the side of the hill in the front yard and that was her own personal home. I promise this will be the last chicken story.... We had a rooster that also had free run of the place and whenever he saw me he would run me to the ground and flog me! Always bringing blood and leaving serious scratches. Nobody ever hated a rooster more than I did that damned demon from hell! (I was maybe 5 at the time) Remember how housewives used to drape their washed blankets over a clothes line to dry -- in an inverted V shape? Well, once, that was the nearest shelter I could get to before that demon caught me! I figured I would be safe. Nope, here he came, spurs flashing, flogging away, blood flying everywhere! The air filled with screams! 'Course no one heard me under there and gradually the damned thing tired of flogging me. After it was over and for about the 6th time I told my mom and dad, "I'm going to kill that old rooster!" And with the usual attention parents often give to kids when their mind is somewhere else and really aren't listening, my daddy said those magical words! "OK, James Alan, you do that." That moment STILL ranks up in maybe the TOP 10 best moments of my life! A few days later, on a Sunday, the preacher and his wife were eating dinner with us and afterward went out to sit on the front porch. I corralled my three-year-old sister and gave her the box of .22 caliber shells and told her to hush and follow me. I grabbed my dad's rifle on the way out the back door and the day of reckoning was at hand! We searched the back yard like Tarzan and Jane in the jungle and finally spotted him staring malevolently, sitting up on the hill, trying to decide which of us to flog first. "Judy, quick! Gimme me a bullet!" Just like Stewart Granger said to Deborah Kerr in "King Solomon's Mines" on the plains of Africa! I loaded up and made sure she was behind me so a ricochet wouldn't get her and blasted away! SQUAWK! SQUAWK! He started limping away and I swore, "No you don't, you damn rooster! (I suspect I knew "damn" by that age!) Judy, gimme another bullet! Quick!" By this time, she's crying and shaking and bullets are falling everywhere but she finally came up with another one and I loaded and blasted away. NO SQUAWK this time! KFC on the hoof! By now, my parents and the preacher and his wife were on their knees praying on the front porch when they heard the shots from around back. My mother knew instantly what had happened. She yelled, "Oh lordy, he's shot that old rooster!" And here they all came running. My daddy started in on me with a vengeance until I said those magical words, "But Daddy, you said I could!" I will never forget the look on my father's face. (I saw it only one other time in my life, but that's another story.) He just seemed to freeze and let the words soak in. "Well, son, I guess I did, didn't I? I don't approve of what you did. You could have hurt your sister. But I won't punish you for this because of what I said." He took the rifle and bullets and I breathed a big sigh of relief and watched my hero walk away with the preacher and his wife. My momma kneeled down with tears in her eyes and hugged us both for a long, long time.

My Grandma Landrum died before I was born as did my Grandma Haddix. Grandpa Albert Sidney Landrum never remarried exactly, and from stories I have heard, he was quite lost after his wife died at the age of fifty-seven. He was named for the commanding general in the Confederate Army, Albert Sidney Johnson, that his dad had served under. My memories of him are filled with warmth and happiness. He was a great harmonica player and whenever all the family was visiting with thousands of us little yard urchins running around, he would sneak off up the hill and hunker down behind some clumps of sagebrush and start playing his harmonica for us. It drove us crazy to not be able to see him! And then there was his smokehouse in the side yard where the adults all told us was the home of the "boogey man"! We never had the nerve to go in there. Until one day we had enough kids we figured we would be safe and sneaked inside. 'Never found a boogey man, but we did find a big wooden barrel brimming full of some kind of smelly, fruity liquid covered with a cloth and really tasted like blackberries! Whenever we went to his home, you always had to check the side porch 'cause you never knew what kind of wild creature you would find in a cage or under a washtub! I just knew one day I would find an elephant or a lion or a giraffe, but it never happened. They were either foxes, opossums, or raccoons from the woods nearby. I don't recall eating any of this exotic fare but that is what he had them for. And then there was the old wood stove in the kitchen that had the warming compartments on the top. I remember them because if I hung around long enough, my Aunt Cora would find an extra biscuit or roll there for me. I loved my Aunt Cora then and I love my Aunt Cora today! I liked to accompany my mother to his back yard and dig up sassafrass root to make tea with. (Goodness, I am certainly using a lot of prepositions to end sentences with!) I always went with Grandpa up the branch with a couple of buckets to pick up coal for the fireplace. As I think back I am just amazed at how much help I was at the age of 5 or 6! Although I have no memories of it, I guess my Grandpa Landrum was quite a fiddle player and in younger days played at all the local square dances. It was about this age that my daddy decided to build a garage out by the highway. 'Course he wasn't able to do it without my help and that garage still stands to this day. One evening when we got home and parked in the garage sister Judy placed her hand in the door jamb just as Daddy was closing the door. She couldn't have been over 3 or 4 years old. The pain and anguish filled the garage to overflowing. The next day the doctor said nothing was broken -- she was too tough to break a finger!

We lost our dog, Ring, one day. He was devoted to us and we loved him dearly. Daddy found him run over in the road and buried him but told my sister and I that he had given him to another family who really needed a dog and he would get us another one. Daddy said it -- we believed it! And he did. A Great Dane! Unfortunately, his appetite didn't endear him to those who made the decisions so his sojourn with us was short-lived. It was years before Judy and I learned the truth. Once, a cat showed up and sister Judy tried to adopt it or at least make it be still while she held it. They disagreed and the cat bit and scratched her badly. We took her to the doctor who treated her and gave them the dreaded news -- you will have to catch it again and keep it up for 12 to 14 days or so to ensure it didn't have rabies. Daddy built a little cage and we caught it and penned it up. But about 3 days before the time was up, it escaped and we had to chase it down again! When the time was up, my mother, without a word, got a burlap bag and two big rocks and said, "James Alan, come with me." I followed her to the cat's cage, she got it out and stuffed it into the bag, put in the rocks, tied it up and said, "Now, take this to the river and throw it in the deep part." I was aghast but could see a look in my mother's eyes that said, "Do what I say." I did what she said and to this day, my mother has had no love for cats, because she remembers what one did to her little girl.

I started first grade at Sugar Camp school while we lived here and Miss Napier was my teacher. The school, long gone now, sat at the mouth of the branch where the road now goes up to the airport. The building was one huge room with a little partition in the middle.

Sugar Camp School

She taught all eight grades here. I loved Miss Napier. (Actually I loved all the women in my life at the time and still do for that matter! :-) ) On one end of the building there was a curtain (spread?) drawn across the room that set apart a small area for the ladies to cook lunch -- I still associate the comforting aroma of soup with those days. Miss Napier would take turns dealing with each grade and ensuring that everyone had studying to do when she was with another grade. Bill Hudson and his wife, Georgia, ran a store just across the road and had a son, Mike, my age. We were big buddies and I have great memories of playing there. Everyday when my father drove to work in Jackson he would drop me off there and Mike and I would play until it was time to walk over to school. When school was over, we went back to the store and Mr. Hudson always let us go to the pop cooler and get a cold one. They were just great people in every way. My favorite was Orange Crush. The cooler was always so cold, the drinks had a little bit of slushy ice in them. I must have been in my teens before I discovered Orange Crush didn't automatically come with ice in it! Mike and I had just grand times together. On his way home, Dad would pick me up and we would often stop at the Hounshells (not Dixie's family) and buy fresh milk. It was 1951 and they began blacktopping the road for the first time. What a joy and what excitement for two little boys to watch the huge equipment. With the paving of the road, Mr. Hudson decided to expand and build a new store right beside the old one. It was built of concrete block and there were a lot left over that provided the "mountains" for us cowboys where we could ambush Indians. One day as I jumped off one of the mountains I dislodged a concrete block that fell on my ankle. Whoops!! Pain! When Daddy arrived we went on home, but I could put no weight on it. The next day it was worse and swollen and discolored. Time to go to the doctor. X-ray! Broken! Cast! Daddy carried me around for days wherever I needed to go. It was my badge of honor. After a few days we visited Grandpa Haddix and he went to the woods and fashioned two crutches out of tree limbs and "Aunt Bea" padded the top pieces in old cloth. It didn't take long for me to scoot around on those crooked little crutches like a lizard! We went to Cumberland Falls, and I surprised them all with how fast I was. After 8 weeks or so, the doctor cut off the cast and told me it was alright to walk on it. "Uh, no, I can't do that -- it hurts!" Eventually, Daddy let me keep my crutches "for a short time to get used to this." Well, I didn't want to give them up! It was several weeks later when we visited family in Dayton that it was decided a second opinion was needed. That doctor x-rayed and examined and pronounced me fit as a fiddle. I walked around the office a little and agreed to try it. In the confusion of the moment, SOMEONE pilfered my crutches and we left! Despite my pitiful pleas to the contrary, my father finally would brook no more about it and I began to use my leg as I was supposed to. I recall with smug satisfaction how tough and brave I was to manipulate those crutches so well! And no one ever had the heart to tell me what a a real wuss I was!

Anyway, back to Sugar Camp School. Every day after lunch we got to go outside and play for a while. Then we came back in and all of us went to the big grades side and doubled up and sat in those old time folding school desks, two to a seat, first come, first served.... Well, the most beautiful girl in the world was in the eighth grade and her name was Dixie Hounshell. Mike and I, in the first grade, were in love with her. There was a lot of rivalry every day to see who got to sit beside Dixie. Day after day, it was a mad scramble and pushing and shoving to get to Dixie's seat first. We would end up rolling in the floor punching, pulling, and kicking when Miss Frazier would come into the room and find us the spectacle with the whole school watching and yelling. She always wanted to know what was the cause of our fight but we never confessed that we were both in love with Dixie. But Dixie knew.... One of the fondest memories of my childhood was being snuggled up next to Dixie listening to Miss Napier reading from the Bible. (I stopped a couple of years ago, maybe 2006, and knocked on Mike's door. We hadn't seen each other since the 2nd grade. It was a little emotional but a great visit) Maybe some day I will get the nerve to stop and say "Hi" to Dixie! But not this year! (Now, today April 30, 2009, my friend Frank Arrowood, told me that Mike died last year. Another lesson to do today what you might want to do tomorrow. Posting these tales has been quite a good experience and evoked a lot of nostalgia -- makes me want to just visit with everyone I know for a month or so! But we will call you ahead of time and make reservations, OK?) (Addendum: Actually, Anne and I DID end up visiting with Dixie this May, 2009 in Jackson. We connected through a mutual classmate at Sugar Camp. But what I hate to report is that Dixie had absolutely no memory of me! She DID remember Mike fighting with someone to sit beside her, but she had no name nor face to attach to that person!) :-(

It was at Sugar Camp where my mother would occasionally substitute teach. The first time she came to teach, I immediately realized I was entitled to special privileges because my mother was the teacher. 'Like not going back inside on time right after lunch period and staying out with my buddies and telling them, "Don't worry about it! My mommy's the teacher." After my mother called us the SECOND time without results she came outside, grabbed me by the ear, paddled me and marched me inside and when we got home that evening I got another paddling. And thus James Alan became a star pupil! Miss Napier always threatened to paddle us when we sneaked across the road after lunch to swing on the grapevines out over the river. But she never did. I loved Miss Napier but she put me in a tough spot! I didn't want to disappoint her with bad behavior but I didn't want to appear to be a wuss to my playmates! But I got through it unscathed. In the fall there were several pie suppers and we would park at the Hudson's store and walk up the road with them to the school with a basket filled with a pie and maybe a cake and we knew we were going to have a treat. I remember that anticipation and the autumn smell of dry, musty leaves, and fresh tar and complete happiness. And thinking just maybe I might get a few minutes alone with Dixie.

I never took the time to say "Thank you" to Miss Napier. I always intended to. But I never did. I wonder if teachers know what an influence they can make upon young children. I suppose so, but certainly they cannot do it alone. Let me now give a feeble "Thank you" to Miss Napier, Mrs. Williams (Oh, what a beauty she was!) and Mrs. Albright at Bryan Station, Mrs. Grace Collins and Miss Frazier at Jackson City School, and Mr. Brassfield and Mrs. Easton later at Pilot View in Winchester. Later teachers will be another story.

Another night I remember, we went to someone's funeral. The only memory I have of it was after the service -- the viewing I guess, everyone walked in the dark down the creek bed (no road), some carrying the casket, and many had torches lit. I remember clutching on to my father's coat, stumbling down through the creek bed, and him reassuring me everything would be OK.

We always looked forward to family coming to visit. There was a lot of visiting in those days. I was always glad to see Uncle Ottis, Aunt Lee, and cousins Ann and Joe Curtis come. Ann was another beautiful girl that I had a crush on but again, I was too young for her to even deign to talk to. Joe Curtis and I would take to the woods or down to the little creek by the driveway. Assuming PETA has a statute of limitations, I will tell you that our favorite past time was catching turtles and lighting kitchen matches under their tails to see how fast they could go. One year Santa brought me a Daisy BB gun -- a slide action pump that was a pretty serious BB gun. I would search the woods for things to shoot and one day, although I knew better, I shot and killed a cardinal. I picked it up and held it and examined it and burst out crying. I hated myself and I hated that gun. I started to throw the gun away but knew that would really get me in trouble. So I took it home, put it up, and never shot another living thing with it again.

One beautiful summer weekend night, some of our family decided to go to the drive-in. I don't remember exactly who went. But Mom, Dad, Judy, and I were in our pickup truck. After it was over we started back up Quicksand, driving slowly due to the heavy fog. We rounded a curve and found a car parked diagonally across the road. Daddy got out and found the driver drunk, passed out in the driver's seat. He decided there was enough room to squeeze between the rear of the car and the outer bank. As he edged behind the car, bumpers clipped, and our tires slipped over the edge and we rolled over and over down the hill. I remember Judy crying, and Mom checking us for injuries. The glove box door had flown open and the corner slashed across my stomach (still holding on to that scar today), Judy had some minor scratches and Mom had hit her head pretty hard. Daddy scrambled out of the upside-down car and hurriedly climbed up the hill to warn the rest of the oncoming family. Within a couple of minutes the drunk driver awoke and got away.

Daddy would often get upset with the owner of The Jackson Times, Harold Holliday, and go to Dayton for weeks or more to work at the Dayton newspaper and come home on the weekends. Sometimes he would go and work for the Lexington paper, The Lexington Herald. Mom didn't drive very much at all, so we were limited in going anywhere and we really missed him. But there were times on a cool, early, summer morning when Mom would take us to the garden and get a big ripe watermelon. The elevation of the house was on a slope with lots of room underneath the side. We would go under there in the shade and slice the melon or maybe even two, and sit there together in the dirt eating watermelon, happy as clams.

Miscellaneous memories just to record but not of particular interest to others -- Judy and I playing on the front porch and I was her dog with a leash on and I would crawl around the porch "woofing" like a big dog and she would treat me like her pet! Grandpa Haddix and Bea and their son, Philip, would often come visit. Philip and I were practically the same age and were great buddies. He was just younger enough than me to follow me and often get into trouble, but we had wonderful times for so many years, until he was killed in a car crash in 1981 by a drunken driver who was never really punished. He left two dear, small children and a faithful, loving wife. I remember the very day Daddy came home and said, "They've killed Fallen McIntosh." Fallen was a local hero -- a Kentucky State Trooper who lived a few miles down the road and well known and respected throughout the region. Judy and I went to Vacation Bible School at the church we attended at Noctor, the same precious little church where the Rev. Sewell Landrum preached my daddy's funeral in November 1979.

In the fall, Daddy would borrow his father's mule and sled and we would go to the cornfield across the road and gather up all the ears of corn. That was great fun because I just knew he couldn't do it by himself. After he had gathered all the cornstalks and formed them into shocks, Judy and I would go over there and play cowboys and Indians and use the shocks for tepees. We quit eventually when someone found a dead man hidden in a corn shock in a field up the road.

Fall was also a time for crossing the swinging bridge to go visit Josiah and Liddy Watkins. They were fine country folk and we had outings where the six of us would walk down their field and gather paw paws. Now, I know some of you don't know what a paw paw is and even fewer have eaten one. They grow on fairly small trees and look like a black rotten banana. And they pretty much taste like one, but they taste very good if you don't have bananas! Thanks Mona for reminding me of the following story. One day in the fall, Mom heard Liddy yelling across the river and fields, "Eh, Blanche! You want some dally taters? Mom didn't know what she meant and yelled back to her. Liddy again said, "Some dally taters!" Finally, she realized Liddy was offering her some dahlia bulbs! My father's aunts, Florence and Mattie, lived about a mile up the road and we visited often. Mattie was the personal secretary to Kentucky governor, Simon Willis, and spent all her time in Frankfort while Florence stayed at home and took care of the farm. Of course I remember Aunt Florence very well, but the only memory I have of Aunt Mattie is visiting her there at their home when she was terminally ill and lying in bed. Someone raised tobacco on their farm and I remember my uncles working in it. They tried to find something I could do, but I quickly found out, no, this wasn't what I wanted to do. My uncle Ab, another one of the dearest, sweetest men in this world, called me over one day in the field and gave me some kind of fruit and told me to try it. Well, it was an unripe persimmon. Everyone ought to taste one of those in their lifetime.

Until I was in high school the only vacations we ever took were to visit family in the Dayton area. It was quite a trek then, long before the Mountain Parkway was built. There were three "hills" to navigate heading out of eastern Kentucky - Frozen, Pine Ridge, and Slade. The roads were narrow, the cars unreliable, and the weather unpredictable. One trip home from Dayton it snowed terribly. It was dark and we were trying to cross Frozen Hill. We made several attempts, but each time as we got close to the top, the car would start sliding backwards. Daddy got out and put chains on the tires but to no avail. It was cold and dark and scary. Finally, after sliding safely back down to the bottom, Daddy got out and walked to a nearby home and asked for help. I just remember how nice the people were and insisted we spend the night. And it was warm. Next day, we continued on our way.

From Quicksand, we moved to Lexington about 1953 - I was in the third grade I believe -- there was some confusion about me skipping the second grade at Sugar Camp so I can't say for sure just when we moved. Daddy got a job at The Lexington Herald and we moved to Carterbrook Lane, just off Paris Pike. To keep matters straight, we will assume I was in the third grade. But we also lived for a short while in Winchester on Belmont Avenue at this time. I doubt it makes much difference....

And thus began the third grade at Bryan Station Elementary School in Lexington with Mrs. Williams as our teacher. What a beauty she was! And a sweetheart. I was in love AGAIN! I don't have a lot of memories of the 3rd grade - but funny thing, I remember the names of some of the girls! The following year we would move back to Jackson and I would begin the fourth grade at Jackson City School there. But now, in the 3rd grade, there were still more young pretty girls - Bonnie Breault, Gay Leet, Nellie Innes, and my true love, Lynn Jennings! But I wasn't exactly her true love, much to my chagrin. Gay lived on Old Paris Pike in a large white home with a beautiful pond and swans. I did persuade Lynn to go to Gay's birthday there one time, but, alas.... But lest one believe I loved all the girls, the Mays girls lived next door. More bullies and scrappers. One day when Mom and Dad had gone somewhere briefly, name-calling and taunts ended up in a BB gun fight. I was crouched on the back porch and they were shooting from their porch and behind a tree. No one was really hurt, but it wasn't for lack of trying. It was also here that we got our first TV. What an amazing thing! Mickey Mouse Club and Home On the Range after school every day.

Joyland Park was an amusement park on Route 27 (North Broadway) coming out of Lexington. It was a combination of amusement rides, zoo, and a large public swimming pool. It was a great place for kids and adults alike. The pool was so much bigger than the ones today. We signed up for swimming lessons there. I remember the large bathhouse with the concrete floors, little pools of standing water, the wire clothes baskets, and the overpowering salty smell of chlorine. Judy did pretty well but I must have been paying too much attention to all the eight-year-old bathing beauties! For whatever reason, I didn't learn to swim. Later that summer, Aunt Eliza and Uncle Joe came down from Ohio and picked me up and we went to spend four or five days with her family, the Carnahans, in Manchester. Her brother, Leslie Philip, was several years older than me and I really looked up to him. We went night fishing, we played softball in the cow pasture every day and just had a great time. A bunch of us went for a walk one day (kids and adults) and having heard about my failure to learn to swim, decided the best way was just to throw me in this stock pond we were passing! They did and I learned to swim.

The following year, at age nine, we moved back to Jackson and lived in an apartment on College Avenue for about a year before moving to a house in South Jackson. Mrs. Grace Collins was our fourth grade teacher and no one ever motivated me as a student more than she! She was an exceptional teacher -- kind, soft-spoken, encouraging, helpful. Linda Hatton and I were buddies and made good grades and worked for several months together to complete the geography book and all its quizzes ahead of the rest of the class. We memorized all the states and their capitals. This was an outstanding school year. We lived across the street from the Christian Church and that was a gathering spot for a gang of us little neighborhood hoodlums. One day, someone brought a BB rifle and we were all examining it, someone held it pointing up and some little retard leaned over and looked down the barrel just as someone reached down and pulled the trigger. The BB landed right in the inside corner of my eye and was lodged there. A 1/4" to the left and I would have lost my sight in that eye. Another quick trip to see Dr. Sewell who performed his usual miracle.

But now folks, I was getting old enough by this time to begin to wonder now if maybe names are getting a little too personal -- after all I was nine years old by then. But then, there are several people who know this story and names but I think I will start to drop names from here on out.... :-) Well, heck, that won't work either -- not to name any of my classmates then?! So we will -- am I digging myself a sufficiently large hole or not? Anyway, some of my classmates were Jimbo Sewell (Dr. Sewell's son), Richard Gravely, Nelda Begley, Jack Hinkle, Delores Callahan, and Theda Walk. My second paddling in school occurred here. The bathrooms were downstairs with pipes running across the steps. Every one of us boys at one time or another would fly down the steps, leap for the pipes and swing out into the middle of the room -- just like swinging on a grapevine out over the river! We had been warned several times. The day it was my turn I almost leaped into the principal's arms -- Mr. Caudill. He had a large paddle with holes in it and proffered it to me six times on my outstretched, bent-back palm. I didn't know him at the time but there was a boy, Frank Arrowood, in the 8th grade then who would later in the 1960s become a most stalwart and dear friend at General Motors in Dayton. And remains so 45 years later. During the fourth grade, I took trumpet lessons -- Mom and Dad bought Stanley Napier's trumpet and expected great things but when we moved to Lexington the following year, I persuaded them I just wasn't cut out to be a horn player.

Judy and I got an allowance of fifty cents a week and without fail we spent it at The Jaxon Theatre every Saturday morning -- 25 cents admission and 25 cents for popcorn. It was usually a double feature with the Lowell Thomas newsreels in between. Several times we went with our parents there on Saturday night to see Flatt and Scruggs live on stage and other country stars who later went on to greater fame.

One day when Judy and I walked home for lunch, our parents told us we were going to have a new brother or sister in September! We just couldn't imagine. And sure enough, on the 8th of September, 1955, we were forever blessed with our sister, Mona Gail, who was born there at Dr. Lewis'. But I had my eye on the cutest girl in class. She was friendly and I was in love AGAIN! We put on a play that year about Johnny Appleseed and I got to play him with a kitchen pot over my head! I just knew I would grow up to be a movie star! For a few weeks, she let me carry her books about halfway home and life was good.... Sometime about then I became one of those safety crossing guards -- got to wear a white Sam Browne belt with a real badge on it! It also came with one of those yellow oilskin rain slickers with the hood that came down over the neck and had this little visor. But, alas, she was falling for an older guy -- a fifth grader! On dry days I would swagger out into the middle of the street like Boss Hogg with my bulging Sam Browne belt and badge (riding up in the back) and on rainy days I would waddle out in my little yellow rubber ducky outfit with that all-powerful whistle hanging jauntily from my lips. I knew it had to be that Homeland Security outfit that scared her off. But I always stopped traffic whenever they walked by just to show off my importance. By the end of the year, I was beginning to realize that for 5th grade next year, my teacher would be Miss Evelyn Frazier and, let me tell you, she had a reputation for chewing up little boys and spitting them out! You didn't get by in her class on a wink and a smile! I knew I would flunk out and end up being a hobo. But I had more pressing issues than to worry about next year's teacher! Early that fall, I persuaded Mom and Dad that Judy and I needed a pair of pet rabbits to be well-adjusted kids and teach us about animal husbandry and all. They were cute and great company, and Daddy built a pen for them in the back yard but upon our return from a trip to Dayton in December, we found them frozen stiff to the wire bottoms in the cage. It was not a sight for a fifth grader, let alone a third grader!

On that Christmas Eve during the fourth grade when we lived in South Jackson, Daddy had to mysteriously go into town on business. While he was gone, Mom suggested it was time for us to go to bed, but we weren't having any of that. An hour or so passed before I heard a car in the driveway. I looked out the window and yelled, "Mommy, it's Daddy and he's driving a brand new Chevy station wagon and there's a big red bicycle in the back!" She yelled, "Lord, you kids get in bed quick! Don't let your daddy know I let you stay up this late! Run! Now!" We scooted (you know as I look back, it seems like Judy was always scootin' or runnin' somewhere when she was little!) and Mom turned out the lights. But Dad had seen me peeking out the window. I had never seen my dad as mad at Mom as he was then. Christmas was always so special to him. Of course it was to Mom also. The plan had been for her to get us in bed and not see the car or bicycle. Daddy said for all to hear, "You kids may as well come on back out. You've seen it now! The surprise is ruined." Sheepishly, we slunk back into the living room and watched as he brought in the most beautiful bike I had ever seen. Judy and I were thrilled but we were very reserved because Daddy's surprise was ruined. I drooled over the bike until they made us go to bed, but nothing could make me sleep! I must have gotten up ten times that night to "go to the bathroom," sneaking a peek every time. And Daddy knew every time I was up. The new car was a 1956 Chevy Bel-Air black and white station wagon. During the once over, Judy and I discovered a silver dollar under each of the rear floor mats. It was a big mystery until a few years ago it dawned on me that Daddy had to have put them there in spite of his denial.

During the summer, a local bully and his gang of thieves caught me a couple of times and we had two awful fights. From then on, every time they spotted me on my bike they would chase me home! 'Don't remember the resolution of this problem. I surmised he probably got sent to reform school or "up Salt River" -- wherever that was.... I saved my money and bought a wire basket for my bike to carry my comic books in. I went everywhere to trade comic books -- in spite of specific places off-limits according to my parents. Another aroma of yesteryear -- old musty comic books. For her birthday in June, Judy got a bicycle and Daddy and I took turns for weeks pushing her up and down the street to teach her to ride! I had a playmate next door who had a wonderful place to play marbles in his yard. Although it was strictly against my mother's edict, we usually played "keepsies." One day, I won all his marbles! I went home to gleefully sort out my winnings and admire my afternoon's work with marbles stuffed in my box and pockets. I tried sneaking in to my bedroom, but one marble fell out and I will never forget the sound of that marble rolling slowly across the linoleum floor because I knew Mom would look and ask questions. She didn't disappoint! The jig was up because there was only one place I could have gotten so many marbles. "Young man, you march right back over there and give him every one of those marbles back", she directed. But "MOM, some of these were mine!" was my retort. "I don't care, you give him that whole box of marbles back! And I'll be standing right here watching you!" Needless to say, I was a pretty peeved and provoked personage. But I quickly figured out how to salvage something from the day. As I walked over, I slyly dropped a steady stream of them like a trail of cookie crumbs and by the time I got there I just had one good handful, which I figured was fair enough! I watched Mom and after she went back in the house, I walked back home and carefully gathered up the dropped marbles. Those same marbles are in the same box here at home today!

Sometime shortly after sister Mona's birth, as I routinely rummaged through Daddy's 1953 Plymouth station wagon, I found a box of cigars. My marble buddy, Jimmy the neighbor boy, and I were grown up enough to know we could smoke them. We gathered under the house and lit up. The first one was quite an experience and I didn't turn green until about half of it was gone. You really do turn green you know when you inhale a cigar at age 10! I realized I was going to die. The only thing that pulled me through was thinking of somebody else getting all my stuff! Did you ever try to throw up quietly? After a few hours I vowed never to smoke another one of those for at least two days. I couldn't resist such an illicit adventure. And the same thing happened again, but by then I had discussed it with Jimmy the neighbor boy who was knowledgeable about such things and who said if I kept trying it, it would get better. Jimmy the neighbor boy didn't have time to smoke another one though.... Well, guess what? Jimmy the neighbor boy lied! After the third time, I realized we were wrong and never again would I touch them. But by now it was too late! One happy, blissful, innocent day, my father towered over me me and said, "Son, do you know what happened to those cigars I had in the car?" Okay, now, dangerous ground here, James.... Do you lie and think he will believe you and then live with the guilt? Or does he already know what happened to them and is just waiting to see if I will tell the truth and if I lie, there will be a "switching" in store. Or has he really forgotten and just simply wondering? Quick, James Alan, SPEAK! My reply was, "Daddy, I'm sorry, yes, I took them and gave them to Jimmy the neighbor boy who said his brother would like them." And my Daddy believed me. And I lived with that guilt for months afterward. Jimmy the neighbor boy was becoming an integral part of my life.

On one exploratory trip sister Judy and I made around the side of the hill, we discovered where the hillside had washed out and left those little gullies or arroyos or washes or whatever you call them. At the foot was the highway going up Town Hill. Being the Gene Autry sidekick that I was, I decided to climb down to the highway (was their NO thought for what I would do then??). There was nothing to hold onto and about a third of the way down, I realized I was about to start tumbling head first down the hill with nothing to hold onto. And every little movement brought a downward slide of a few inches. STUCK! I told Judy, "Quick, run and get Jimmy the neighbor boy and tell him to bring a rope!" Well, Judy was never known for her quickness. This wasn't too long after I had won all of Jimmy the neighbor boy's marbles. After what seemed like 2 hours, Judy returned alone and blithely said, " Jimmy says he can't come right now, maybe after supper." After supper?! I'll be dead by then! Road kill on the highway below! Don't you understand? I won't be able to push you on your bike anymore?! You gotta get somebody NOW! "Okay, then go get Mom (oh no, another lecture!) and tell her for Christ's sake, BRING A ROPE!" Off she waddled and finally here comes my mother running lickety-split calling me. NO ROPE! Whassa matta u? Don't nobody unnerstand English?! I need a damn rope! Being a lot smarter than me, my mother grabbed a nearby limb, gave me one end and pulled me back from the brink of destruction. AND THEN, came the lecture. (The next time we drove past that spot, I looked at it and realized it probably wasn't 10 feet high and didn't come close to the road. But I never mentioned that to anyone.)

Dad worked with Uncle Ab at The Jackson Times and with Frank Trusty, Bob Smallwood, Al Brewer, and others. They were all part of a family.... One day when Judy and I came home from school, Mom was terribly upset and crying. Daddy had cut off a finger at work! They had taken him to Homeplace Hospital near Hazard. We were scared. When he got home that evening, he was in good spirits and still the same daddy he had been that morning. He lost part of his middle finger. It pretty much put an end to his guitar playing but it never interfered with his playing the jaw harp!

During the summer one day while riding my bike into town across the bridge over the North Fork of the Kentucky River, I could hear a car approaching closely behind and I waved for him to pass -- there was nowhere for me to go. He didn't pass, but hit me and knocked me sprawling along the pavement very close to the edge of the bridge -- there was room enough underneath the guardrail for a feller to slide off into the river and that would have been that. But I managed to grab hold. The car sped up and went on through town. Thankfully, people stopped, got a description of the car, and called the police and my parents. I wasn't seriously hurt; mostly scared but some cuts and bruises. By the time my parents arrived, we had pretty much gathered up most of the pieces to my bike. Someone had gotten the license plate number of the drunk and they caught him a few miles out of town and put him in jail. My mother was furious and went down to "visit" him in jail and would have lynched him for sure if the sheriff would have let him out! Later, I heard the sheriff said he had never heard a woman talk to a man that way!

Halloween of 1955 rolled around quickly. It was unseasonably cold and snowing lightly. You have to remember Halloween was a bigger event than it is today because candy wasn't as plentiful as it is today. It was serious business! Judy and I got dressed up and headed into town because there were more houses which meant a bigger haul and too, Uncle Ab and Aunt Cora wanted to see our outfits. Somewhere along the way, some thug ran up and grabbed Judy's treat bag. I gave chase but he was gone. And oh my, was Judy crying! When we got home, I divided my bag with her (perhaps I might have had a little encouragement to do so, but if I did, I choose not to remember it!) Some few months afterward, Mom and Dad dropped another bombshell on us! We were moving back to Lexington! And they would take me with them and I wouldn't have to face Miss Frazier any longer and those bullies hadn't yet thrown me off a cliff! O Happy Day!

We moved back to a different house on Carterbrook Lane and Judy and I enrolled again at Bryan Station. And there were my old girlfriends . Lynn, and Bonnie, and Nellie, and Gay! Life was good. Once, our neighbors, the McGees, gave a birthday party for their son, Mike, and as soon as they turned their back somebody suggested we play Post Office! There was a stunningly beautiful girl, Paula Choate, there and all us boys wanted to kiss her. Somehow, I figured out her number and back behind the curtain we went! To my utter devastation, she suggested we not kiss, but simply say we did.... Well, a gentleman could only answer one way. But oh how the other boys were jealous of me! I remember nothing else about the 5th grade there. For the 6th grade, my teacher was Mrs Albright, a rather short, plump, older, matronly woman with grey hair dyed red. Another jewel of a teacher. About the only thing I remember of the 6th grade was that both times we moved from the Jackson City school to Bryan Station, I was much further ahead in our studies than at B.S. On the corner of Carterbrook Lane and Paris Pike, the McGees lived with their two sons, Billy and Mike. Dr. McGee was a well-known veterinarian in the area (mostly horse farms). Billy was 3 or 4 years older than Mike and I so he didn't pay much attention to us. Mr. and Mrs. McGee were wonderfully friendly and Mike and I became great buddies. We often rode our bikes to Dr. McGee's office on New Circle Road -- about 7 miles. One evening, Mike and I were playing and Dr. McGee came out and asked us if we wanted to go with him on a "house call". After getting permission, we piled in that big Cadillac and went to Spendthrift Farm. A guy met us at one of the barns and we went in. Dr. McGee then pulled out what I realized was a LONG rubber glove and rolled it up his arm to his shoulder. By this time, I knew the expression, "What the hell?" He then stuck his entire arm up the rear end of this horse! I just about fainted -- I always did have a vivid imagination! Don't remember anything else about that episode. The McGees had about 7 or 8 acres and a couple of horses and they bought one of those smaller Farmall tractors to mow the pastures -- and Mike and I were allowed to mow the grass on that tractor. These were heady days. We would talk our mothers into fixing our lunches, put it into our knapsacks, strap on our army surplus belts and canteens and our trusty six-shooters and take off across country (neighboring horse farms) and look for Indians in the haylofts in the horse barns. Mike and I made an attempt to start our own business. In December, we would canvas the woods and shoot mistletoe out of the tops of the trees with our BB guns and sell it door to door in little sprigs. But alas, the demand for mistletoe sprigs in January fell off drastically.

I had recently rediscovered my old BB gun here and one day I went out to target practice. I tacked my paper targets up on the garage doors and began firing away. Shortly, I heard a tinkling of what sounded like glass. I looked at the house beside me and the windows but all was well. And then I looked at one of the targets tacked right over the crack between the double doors. My heart simply stopped. I went to the doors, peeked through the crack -- couldn't see anything. Upon opening the doors, I was greeted with this heart-rending, huge panorama of glass shattered into a gazillion pieces. I stood there for 5 minutes wishing it to go away, looked again, and my horror and devastation were complete. I had shot through the crack and destroyed the rear window in that Plymouth station wagon! I am dead meat. Life was over. There is no way that Daddy will not see this. And he is sitting peacefully in the house reading the newspaper blissfully unaware of the cataclysmic, life-threatening, heart-stopping event going on right outside his window. OK, James Alan, run! Run forever. Don't ever stop running. They can't catch you if you don't stop running. Don't even stop to eat. Uh, whoa, now -- not even to eat? No, there's gotta be a better way! Who can I blame it on? Maybe I just feign ignorance and Daddy will never know it was me. No, he'll know.... There's no way out. It didn't take a lot of smarts to realize there was no way out, no excuse good enough, no lie plausible enough. So the only thing to do was throw myself upon his mercy and my Daddy wasn't famous for his mercy! I mustered up my best tears and rueful sobs and slunk into the house. (Judy may have done a lot of scooting, but I seem to have done a lot of slinking!) My parents immediately picked up on my hysteria. I sobbed out the life-ending truth. My daddy blissfully said, "Now, James Alan, it can't be that bad. Let's go look." But I knew what he was going to see and I knew I was dead meat. He opened the doors and his expression was probably much like that of the ancient Trojans when all those Greeks came piling out of that big wooden horse in Troy! After he absorbed the shock, he said, "Well, son, you really did a number on it didn't you?" Only sobs escaped from my mouth. His next words probably did more to make me love him than anything up to that point in my life. I always felt like we were a team after this moment -- 'course he was the coach, but we were in it together. He said, "OK, hush crying, accidents happen, it isn't the end of the world. I understand. It's alright, we'll get it fixed. I'm not going to punish you because it was an accident and you came and told me the truth. Now hush crying!" I always felt my father was a stern taskmaster, but now I always felt he was fair too. He would prove my faith in him over and over again during the rest of his life.

Parents are often hard to figure out sometimes. Our back yard backed up to what is today Whitaker Farm. One of my playmates and a couple of his younger brothers and I were inseparable. Their dad was a manager of some kind on the farm and they lived there. I don't remember all the circumstances, but they offered to give me a young colt! He was that beautiful red color with a white blaze. They would keep it on the farm but I could come visit it any time and it would be mine to learn to ride. Can you imagine a young boy's thrill? This was the most exciting thing to ever happen to me. Daddy didn't believe it so the boys brought their dad over who assured him it wouldn't cost us any money. What a deal! But in the sometime unknown ways of fatherhood, my daddy decided it was not a good thing. I never knew why he refused. I was heartbroken and probably pretty angry. A couple of weeks after this, Daddy brought home two Cocker Spaniel puppies, Judy's was red and mine was blond.

The sixth grade at Bryan Station is a complete loss -- I remember absolutely nothing about that year. Maybe there were no girls in the class, you think? Early that summer after the 6th grade, Mom and Dad announced we were going to be moving again -- this time to Winchester. It was an old, two-story farmhouse on 5 acres of land with a little pond and in the midst of a great country neighborhood. There were stacked stone fireplaces in the living room and downstairs bedroom. THAT was the heat source for the house. But Judy, Mona, and I took it in stride and were happy to move. Sometime later, a propane stove was installed but we used a coal stove for quite some time. It was always COLD in the wintry mornings and Daddy would get up early to build a fire so it was warm for the three of us when we got up. Christmas mornings here were that much more memorable because we shivered so much when we woke up -- a combination of excitement and being really cold. We couldn't get up and go downstairs until he had built a warm fire for all of us. Christmas was always special to our parents. My dad grew up being excited if they got fruit for Christmas. He ALWAYS bought fruit and scattered it all over the wrapped presents along with opened chocolate candy and Mom's special fudge that she only made for Christmas. There were opened boxes of all kinds of candy and apples, oranges, grapes, tangerines, and bags of nuts opened and strewn all around the tree and presents. My most special memories of Christmas are all about the smells.

There was a huge front yard -- LOTS of yard! The balance of the property was cleared pasture. This was GREAT! Daddy would have to commute to Lexington every day. He worked second shift by his choice. He would get home about midnight, get up early and work on the house or in the garden and leave again for work about two o'clock. This meant Mom was in charge in the evenings and dealt with lots of kids running around. Judy and I enrolled at Pilot View Elementary, I in the seventh grade and Judy in the fifth grade. The next year, Mom would be elected President of the PTA. The next six years were probably the most blissful of my life until March, 1998. It was an innocent time. We met our neighbors, Ann and Quinton Allen, and their two children, Peggy and Bev. Bev and I became best friends and remain that way to this very day, almost 50 years later. So many memories. Some I will relate, but some will have to be left unsaid.... :-) Other neighbors were June and Charlie Stephenson and their two daughters, Barbara and Vicki. Vicki and Mona became fast friends and Mona thrived, especially when she could hide behind her daddy's legs. She was her daddy's girl for the rest of his life. She had some chronic illnesses, nothing really serious, so she always got a little special attention, especially from her daddy. Judy, Peggy, and Barbara formed the neighborhood triumvirate. Other neighbors were the Carters and their daughter, Irene and Hartwell Crowe and their son, Doug, Bill and Lucille Christopher with their son Doug, the McIntoshes with their two sons, and the Aldridges with their daughter, Patricia. Across the road from us, the Ramseys lived -- they were an older, friendly couple who were real farmers - we always went over there in the fall when they made apple sauce, apple juice. apple cider -- it was a big neighborhood event! Mae and Russell Luck were also neighbors - he was a State Trooper (great guy) and his wife, Mae, was the most gorgeous, sexiest woman in the world! Bar none. Now you have to remember I was probably 14 or 15 at the time. Nothing pleased Bev and I more than when she would come and play Rook with the rest of the neighbors! And then SOMEONE had to walk her home at night because Russell worked nights. More heady days. :-) Bev and I became inseparable and filled our time with basketball down at the REA plant, baseball in the cow pasture across the road, badminton and croquet (serious stuff now) in the front yard, and Monopoly, Clue, Sorry, and especially Rook eventually. Mr. Eugene Brassfield was our teacher and was truly more interested in sports maybe than the classroom which suited Bev and I just fine. We played on the school softball (how clearly we remember those individual days of glory on the athletic field) and basketball teams with Fairley Sheffield, Bill Ashley, Louis Holmberg, Doug Means, and David Rainey, we made projects in the 4H Club, and flirted with the GIRLS! Jean Brown, Sandra Christopher were the cute, flirty, funny duo that comes to mind. Linda Pace was a classmate - a classic beauty, but very, very quiet, reserved, and well-mannered. I think Bev staked a claim on her! My first date was with Muriel Milligan who was in our grade but about three years older because she had missed time having to work on the family farm.

During the 8th grade at Pilot View, my Uncle Joe came from Ohio with tickets for the UKIT (University of Kentucky Invitational Tournament) and we watched the UK Wildcats, led by Johnny Cox and Billy Ray Lickert, do battle with the West Virginia Mountaineers, led by Jerry West who scored 36 points. For several years, Uncle Joe took me to the UKIT to see my heroes play.

I don't remember the time frame, but sometime I began selling Christmas cards door-to-door and sold a BUNCH! My award was a Marlin .22 rifle with a 4X scope. What a thrill. It replaced the trusty old BB gun that had gotten banged up over the years. It didn't take me long to introduce REAL stress back into my life. One Saturday afternoon, I tacked up those remaining paper targets and began target practice. Don't you think I would have learned by this time? It wasn't long before I again heard that crashing and tinkling of glass. Now where the hell did THAT come from? I looked down the barrel of my rifle and saw it was pointed straight to the big REA (Rural Electric Association co-op) plant in the background! OH MY GOD! I've killed someone! Run James Alan, Never stop running. They can't catch you if you never stop running! Hey, this sounds familiar.... This wasn't a BB gun, it was a rifle truly capable of killing someone. I casually went inside and put my rifle away and said I was going down to the REA to shoot (?) some hoops. I looked around my home, my family, and the refrigerator one last time because I knew the police would be waiting on me and I would never see these most precious things in my life again. Although it was a Saturday, I held out no hope that no one would be in the building. When I got there I saw no one, no cars, nothing. Nothing except the huge German Shepherd watchdog that was going beserk inside his pen. I kept thinking of all those wonderful hopes and dreams I had had and were now going to be unattainable in prison. I figured it would be voluntary manslaughter rather than murder since it was an accident. I checked out all the windows I could see looking for that telltale shattering or the neat little round hole of death. As casually as possible I looked at ALL the windows and could find nothing amiss. Then it occurred to me that perhaps I had overshot the REA and hit one of the houses beyond and across the road. I knew I would never get away with going there and CASUALLY peeping in all the windows -- "Excuse me, Mr. Toler, I wasn't really peeping in your windows at your daughter, I was just checking to see if I had shot her!" just wouldn't fly. I gave up, sat down and waited for the sirens and the arrival of the Highway Patrol to take me away. An hour later, I began to think maybe they weren't coming. Maybe the only one to call them was laying dead inside the building. It finally occurred to me to just go home and await Monday morning when the people would go to work and find the body laying in the middle of the floor. And 'course, the trajectory pointed straight up to our house. I knew they could check that because I had seen it on TV. I stuck close to home that evening and all day Sunday. Monday I finally decided to go on to school -- they would know where I was. I waited for them all day at school, but they never came. Is it possible? Let me tell you, one of the happiest days of my life (and there have been too many to ever count) was when I got home and everything was normal - no police cars, no handcuffs, no 3rd degree.... Finally, I realized I must have been mistaken. Either that or the police weren't as smart as the ones on TV. I gave thanks for months, maybe even years, afterward.

Doug C. and Bev introduced me to baseball and the Cincinnati Reds! I remember Smokey Burgess, Ed "Strawberry Plains" Bailey, Johnny Powers, Steve Bilko, Ted Kluzewski, Johnny Temple, Roy McMillan, Don Hoak, Gene Freese, Jerry Lynch, Wally Post, Frank Robinson, Vada Pinson, Rocky Bridges, Gus Bell, Joe Nuxhall, Bob Purkey,and Johnny Klippstein. They also introduced me to collecting baseball cards (and no, Mom, I won't tell what happened to my collection when I went into the Army!) These were undoubtedly the most innocent, blissful, stressless, naive days of my life.

For two years Dad decided to raise a hog and butcher them in the late fall. On a cold December day, we had to build a fire, heat large tubs of water and get all else ready. When it came time to shoot the hog the first year, he asked me if I wanted to do it. I looked around to make sure where the REA plant was and just where the hog stood and thought, "OK, I can do this." He warned me, "Now be sure to hit him directly in the forehead or we will have to chase him all over this field and he will be squealing bloody murder! Hey, this sounds familiar too -- from somewhere long ago.... SO, I proceeded to nail him right in the stomach! Squeal! Squeal! "Shoot, James, I said the forehead!" We chased him for 1/2 an hour before Daddy got a clean shot and dispatched that porker to hog heaven. Now, if you've never slaughtered a hog, there are so many treats you've missed --hanging him up by his hind legs and gutting him, catching all the warm, bloody "stuff" so it doesn't burst and smell even worse than you think it does at THIS point. Once you get him cleaned out, if my memory serves correctly, you have to pour scalding hot water on him and begin scraping all the hair off the skin -- bad smell, bad job, (getting too close to my food source), cutting off the parts not needed (there aren't many!) and finding out that my dad is planning on making something called souse out of his head! But by day's end we had a lot of pork and sausage in the freezer and had pork tenderloin for dinner that night.

A couple of years after we moved there, Mom and Dad sold about 3 acres of our property to Wendell Toler and he subdivided and built 3 houses on it. The Kenneth DeVarys with their daughter, Linda, and Jean and Bob Loy with their son, Ernie, and daughter, Donna, (she and Mona became fast friends at an early age.) and the Tolers were now also our neighbors. Linda was as cute as she could be but a couple of years younger than Bev and I. Hormones are a dangerous thing! With me, I don't think they just developed, I was BORN with them! OK, sorry for that outburst!

Because we are all getting a little older, and because most of what I write about in high school was relatively innocent, I will include names -- for those wanting a peek into upcoming foibles and teen-aged disasters, there was Bonnie Bedford, Georgetta Depue, Linda Wireman, Wanda Moore, Cherelyn Moore, Sue Scott, Ester Boler, Linda Quisenberry -- they were neither foibles nor disasters, they were angels and such sweet young girls -- I will be forever grateful they were a part of my growing up years and certainly they had an influence on me. But, confidentially, I always had a "crush" on Mary Lou Bratton. To all the girls I've loved before.... You don't know how special you were to a young bashful country boy.

High School Memories from Clark County High School. Class of 1963.

Some of our high school teachers were Mr. Goff, Mr. Ollie James Dykes (a suitor to my Aunt Edith during their youth), Mrs. Henrietta McDavid, Mrs. Elizabeth Scott, the Cawood sisters, Nancy and Thelma, who taught algebra and English, and at some time I had Mrs. Louella Parsons for English, Mr Brown also taught geometry, Mr. Ballard, Mrs. Paynter, Mrs. Nell Cheatham for Chemistry -- the only "C" I got in high school -- Mrs. Eastin, Mr. Basham, and Mr. David Temple.

The principal and basketball coach was Letcher Norton. A tough egg. I didn't go out for the basketball team until my sophmore year and then played for two years. Larry Conley set a scoring record for Ashland High School against Charlie Osborne and I. I was a big, slow, hesitant player and eventually decided my talents would be better served in the Drama Club! Sports can help young men grow up a little quicker. After my basketball career was over, we put on a play "Act Your Age", I think, and Gary Palmer and I got the lead male roles -- what a comedy! My senior year, we put on "Brigadoon," and I played the part of Mr. Lundy, the school teacher with the kilt! This was a great time and a most memorable event -- I will never forget Dewey Pope doing the sword dance! Patty Creech and Gary Spencer had the lead roles and were great. I also belonged to the Forensic League and took part in inter-high school debates, public speaking, and something called Oratorical Declamation. Again, that was fun but could be a little stressful. As I write this, our next high school reunion should be in 2013 -- whew.... I hope sometime I get the chance to tell my classmates how much they have meant to me, how many wonderful memories they provided, and how much they determined what kind of person I grew up to be. I cannot list everyone, but it certainly doesn't mean I have loved them any less than the ones I mentioned.

During my senior year, I worked downtown at the J.J. Newberry "dime" store as a "stockboy." I stocked the shelves, did the janitorial work, assisted the clerks, flirted with the women, and often just ran a cashier. I think I started out at .85 cents an hour. It was great fun and I got to skip a 6th period study hall because of it. A couple of fellow girl classmates worked there and it was fun. The following year, they hired sister Judy and when I came home for Christmas, from UK, we worked there together. This meant every night my mother had to drop whatever she was doing and drive into town to pick me up, but she was used to it because she had done the same thing when I played basketball for two years!

During the summer between my junior and senior years, I worked as a temporary summer employee at Kentucky Dam Village State Park in the far western end of Kentucky. Cousin Linda's husband was James O. King, the commissioner of state parks at the time and so Philip and I had an "in" to get summer work. Philip chose to work at Cumberland Falls and I chose to "go west." The parks hire extra help to handle the summer business increase and we all boarded in a small "annex" together -- two to a room. It was a lot of partying. I ended up being a dishwasher at the main lodge assisting the older regular dishwasher. It was great fun, but hot, sweaty, and heavy fast-paced work. The cooks and all the kitchen workers were like family. We would often start singing while we worked and, too often the manager would have to come in and tell us to keep it down! But we did get compliments from many of the diners too. My favorite song to sing at the time was Bobby Bare's "500 miles." The governor's daughter, Lois Combs, was working here for the summer also and we dated for a month or so. In the evenings, she would stop and check in on the phone with her dad and he said, "Hello" to me once. He was a hero to all good Kentuckians! Eating watermelon at night on the lawn was our favorite activity! We lost track and I think she is a teacher now at a college in eastern Kentucky. She married a Weinberg.... It was a good summer. While there, one of the cooks told me about working on the river towboats and made connections with and recommended me for employment the next summer. There is an earlier post about my experience of life on the river the following summer....

On January 3, 1963, during my senior year, we were again forever blessed with our brother, Stuart Craig. Stuart was and remains the cutest and dearest of men -- next to his brother of course!