Judy – Page 9

Remember When: About my Mother

Mary Lou Thomas-Denney

My mother, Mary Lou Thomas, was from Davenport, Iowa. She had an older brother, Murrell, and a younger sister, Hazel. She had beautiful natural curly auburn hair, green eyes, and a ruddy complexion. She was only 4 foot 10 inches and weighed 97 pounds. She was in high school during World War II, and like others her age, she worked evenings and weekends to help out. She worked on Arsenal Island painting bombs in a factory.

The Island has been a military facility with a long history dating back to the early years of this country. Troops were stationed there before World Wars I and II while they were being trained and outfitted to be sent overseas.

It had been a prisoner of war camp as far back as the Spanish American War days. Prisoners from Europe, Japan, and Korea were held there during conflicts. Many prisoners chose to remain in the states after the wars and settled in the area. As a result, there are many different cultures represented. It is still a military facility today.

After the war, she worked in a bakery. This is where she was working when she met my dad. She went to Central High School but dropped out in March of her senior year to get married. She always wished she had finished and would tell us, to always stay in school no matter what. She stressed that education was one of the most important things in life.

Even though she didn’t finish school, she never stopped learning. She got a job as an apprentice in a barbershop, and eventually, got a license as a barber. I can remember men lined up on Saturdays at our back porch to get haircuts.

The main piece of wisdom she imparted to me was to learn a new skill every year. That way you would not fear new things and you would always have something to fall back on.

She was also a beautiful seamstress. She sewed for ladies in the community, I started helping when I was nine. My job was to sit on the floor, with a device called a hemming tree, pinning hems on dresses. It was a vertical ruler connected to a base that kept it up-right. You would determine where the hem would go then mark the ruler. Next, you went around the dress pinning the fabric where the mark was. Then you hemmed the dress at the marks. This way the hem would hang straight. I also sewed on buttons once the buttonholes were made.

We would go to different stores to look at the latest styles. She always carried a notebook in her purse and would draw pictures of something she liked. A sleeve from one, the neckline of another, different fronts and so on would go into her notebook. She would then design a style and make a pattern. I was her model for her new designs, I wore them to school and church, this generated orders for her business.

Mom made beautiful Irish lace that she attached to everything—all the towels, pillowcases, and washcloths. She was one of those people who could do several things at once and be good at all of them.

She always wanted a big house in the country, and dad promised to build her one. But he no more than got it done when the city incorporated the street we lived on. They sold the house and moved us to southern Missouri, 15 miles from the nearest town. Hoping that was far enough away to keep the city from our doorstep.

Mom still felt it was her civic duty to help out in the community. She volunteered at the county extension service and manned the voting pole during elections. She was also on the school board and PTA.

The only time I ever saw her break down was the Christmas after dad died. Mom had always been in charge of the group that put together holiday food boxes at church. This time they brought us a box and mom couldn’t even go to the door. She sent me to tell the ladies thank you and receive the box. They had good intentions and she eventually got over the hurt but she felt embarrassed at the gesture.

Mom was 33 with 4 children under 14 when dad died of cancer. She tried to hold on to the farm but had to sell off the livestock to make ends meet. She got a job in town at the sewing factory making blue jeans. It was hard work that didn’t pay a lot but we survived. About 4 years later she met a sergeant in the army and married him. They moved to Florida when he retired a few years later, which seemed to make her happy.

She enjoyed their active social life, tending her rose garden and fishing in the ocean. My 2 brothers and I had already left home when she died of a cerebral hemorrhage at the age of 42. I had recently returned from Germany, where I had been working for the Army in the civil service. We had made big plans for the summer. The kids and I were going to come to Florida. We were going to lay on the beach, catch up on the last 6 years I had been overseas, and she was eager to get to know her grandchildren.

She was a wonderful role model, being a farm wife, single mother. She was stern but always willing to help and ready with advice when asked. I wondered how I could ever fill those shoes; she always said we came from a long line of strong women. I hope I have lived up to her expectation.

Remember When: One of My Most Favorite People

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Amanda Jane Nation-O’Dell

These are some of the memories I have of my Great-Grandmother, a true pioneer woman born in 1888. She lived in Brackenridge Missouri and after the death of great-grandpa Ancil O’Dell in 1954, turned her home into a boarding house. She rented to men who worked on the railroad saying they were reliable and always paid on time. The family legend said she was related to David Nation, the husband of Carrie Nation the American activist and prohibitionist. I have never been able to verify this, but some members of the family are adamant that the stories are true. That she even went on a few missions with Carrie in Missouri and Kansas. The time period and location are of the right era, but there are no written accounts.

When I would visit as a child we would set on the back porch shelling peas or snapping beans. It was always cool and breezy from the many fruit trees that surrounded the back of the house. The wind rustling in the leaves made you feel like taking a nap on the cot she kept on the back porch. But work came first she would always say. When it was getting close to picking season the smells of the different kinds of fruit were heavenly. First were the mulberry’s, she would tell us not to eat too many as we picked, she need to sell the pies she made from them to the truck stop in town. As we sat there working and enjoying the breeze she would tell me stories of her childhood and growing up as a young married woman working for the railroad with Ancil.

One day as we sat on the porch I asked her how she and Grandpa met, I didn’t think she would tell me, she never talked much about him. I think her memories of him still hurt a lot. I was there the day he died; I can still remember it like it was yesterday, but that is another story. To my surprise, she got this dreamy look on her face and started telling me the tale.

“I was sitting on the front porch with my sister Ann; Mom and Dad had gone into town, and the little ones were down for their afternoon nap. It was a beautiful spring day and we were enjoying the peace and quiet. It hadn’t started getting real hot yet and a gentle spring breeze was blowing. I was the middle child of eleven and it was my job to watch the younger ones. Ann was a year younger than me and too big to take a nap. We were best friends as well as sisters. We daydreamed about what we wanted to do when we were out on our own. There weren’t many choices in those days; marriage to a farmer, school teacher, or married to a storekeeper. Sometimes dad would bring home a newspaper, we would read it over and over, devouring any news of the world beyond our small community of Union, Missouri.

We noticed someone coming up the road toward the house. As he got closer I could tell he was a soldier by the uniform and hat. The Spanish American War had recently ended and men were coming home. Several had gone by lately but none had stopped before. This one drove a wagon with a team of big red mules in harness and two more tied to the back. He was handsome and tall and stopped in front of the house. He said he was an acquaintance of our paw.

He wondered if our pa was home; could he water his mules and wait for pa in the shade by the barn. I told him I thought it would be ok. Pa had said we should be hospitable to those who had fought in the war. I asked if he was hungry, I could make him a sandwich. He said that would be nice, but not to go to any trouble, I made him one and brought it with a glass of cold milk out to the barn where he was waiting in the shade. When Pa got home he and the soldier talked for a long time.

I was 13 almost 14, had never had a boyfriend, and little did I know that my whole world was about to change. Ma called us in to help with supper and said to set another place as the soldier was going to stay for supper and spend the night in the barn. When I asked who this soldier was she said his name was Ancil Robert O’Dell and lived north near Raytown.

His father and pa had been friends when pa’s family lived near Brackenridge. He had been in the war and recently returned from fighting with Teddy Roosevelt in Cuba. I could hear them unhitching the mules and getting them settled. He had an easy laugh and didn’t come to the house until he had washed up at the well. As he came in I noticed his wet hair was dark blonde, shoulder-length, and glistened in the sun.

That night at supper he told us of his time in Cuba and that he was on his way to a job working for the railroad as a muleskinner. He laughed when one of the boys asked why he was going to skin his mules. He told us that a mule skinner was someone who took care of the mules that were used by the railroad to haul the rails out to the men on the line. He was very proud of his mules and had won lots of prizes, for pulling heavy loads and for racing.

He entertained everyone with stories of racing his mules and his time in the newly organized National Guard. It was formed so men could fight for the country then go home when the conflict was over but would come back if they were called on at a later time. Finally, Pa sent the boys off to bed and he and Ancil went out to the barn to get him settled.

Ancil stayed for two weeks helping pa put the spring crops in. Two pairs of mules could get a lot done. We became friends working in the fields together. He was the kind of person who laughed easily and was easy to talk to. I learned that he wanted to make enough money working for the railroad to be able to have a farm of his own and raise red mules.

At the end of his time with us, pa informed me that Ancil had asked to marry me. He seemed nice enough but I was only 13 and he was 33. I told ma I didn’t think I was ready to get married, she said I knew enough about running a house and I would learn the rest. She said that was what women were put on earth for. Besides, I could read and write and that was more than most girls were able to do. That I could be a big help to Ancil and maybe even get a job teaching. I hadn’t been to school much more than the 8th grade but it was our God-given responsibility to pass on what we had learned.

That it would help them out also, that Ancil was going to give them the wagon a pair of mules and the supplies he had in the wagon. He only needed what he could pack on the other set of mules. Ann was old enough to help with the young kids and I would be leaving sooner or later anyway, that a lot of girls got married at my age. Ma said he was a good man, able to take care of me. If he wasn’t Pa would not have said yes. I would learn to love him, just listen to what he had to say, and not give him any trouble.

That evening after supper he asked if I would take a walk with him. We walked down by the creek and set under a tree. He asked me if I would be willing to marry him and go with him on his job with the railroad. He said he would take care of me and make a home for us after his job with the railroad was over. I told him I was only 13 and wasn’t that too young to get married. He said he didn’t think so, that I was almost 14, and that he could teach me what I didn’t know. I said ok then and he gave me a gentle sweet kiss. He tasted like the honey we put on the biscuits at supper and I felt warm all over.

Great-grandma O’Dell told me lots of stories about her time with Ancil working on the railroad. I think she knew that I would become a writer and tell others about those times. I have decided to put those stories in a book about her life. I will let you know when that happens, Do you have a favorite relative, Have you kept their memory alive telling others about them. We can’t forget those who came before us, they are part of our history on this earth.

Remember When: Grandpa and Grandma Thomas

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Davenport, Iowa, Lebanon, Missouri

Mom’s parents were Murrell and Lura Thomas of Davenport, Iowa. Grandpa worked at the Oscar Mayer meatpacking plant. He worked in the fertilizer department where large vats of animal parts were cooked down to turn them into fertilizer.

One time a vat came loose and spilled the boiling hot liquid all over Grandpa’s arms and hands. A lot of the skin and flesh came off, and the doctor said he would never work again. But as soon as he could, he went back to work. Grandpa worked there for 50 years.

They lived just down the street from the main plant. Grandpa walked to work every day. Once he let us walk with him so we could see the first wiener-mobile when it was introduced. This was a vehicle that was in the shape of a hot dog on a bun. It had the company logo on the side and went around the country advertising Oscar Mayer hot dogs. It played a song that became popular in the ’50s. (Oh, I wish I was an Oscar Myer Wiener that is what I really want to be. For if I was an Oscar Mayer wiener, everyone would be in love with me.) I sure wish I had kept some of those wiener-mobile whistles that they gave out! They are worth a lot of money now.

Grandpa loved to fish and we spent many weekends down at the levee on the Mississippi River. He would catch huge carp fish that Grandma would cook. She had a long roasting pan that a whole fish would fit in then she would cover it with yellow mustard and catsup and bake it for a long time. Some people don’t eat carp saying it is a scavenger fish but grandpa said we couldn’t be picky. To eat what the Lord provided and thank Him for it. I can still hear him say, “Watch for bones now.”

He also liked to go to the city dump. He would take a carload of us kids in his Nash Rambler and go treasure hunting. He could build almost anything you wanted out of stuff he got from the dump. He had a shed out back of his house that was filled with things he found at the dump. If grandma or one of us kids wanted something that he could make he would go to the shed and pretty soon come back with it.

Grandpa was what they call a little person. He was only 4 feet 9 inches tall, and he wore little kids’ clothes and shoes. He liked engineer boots when they came out for kids because he said they made him look grown-up. (Mom was only 4’10’’ and wore a size 3 shoe. She and Grandpa would buy the salesman samples of clothes so they wouldn’t look like little kids.) He attached blocks of wood to the foot pedals of his Nash automobile so he could reach them. In those days you figured out ways to make things work for you not just buy everything. It was called making do with what you had until you could get better. This is another skill that has helped me along life’s path.

Grandma had a bad case of Type 1 diabetes which kept her from going out much. She had taken insulin since she was young. She always had to watch her diet and any cut or bruise would take a long time to heal. She did a lot of sewing by hand and taught me how to quilt. We made quilts out of clothes that we couldn’t wear anymore. The first one I made by myself was a 9 square for my doll. You cut out 2-inch squares of fabric then sewed 9 squares together to form a square, then sewed the big squares together until you had the size you wanted. When you got the top done it would be joined to a solid bottom piece of fabric with a layer of batting between and tied together so it would be like a blanket. To tie the layers together we would be put on the layers of fabric a quilt rack that held them flat and straight. Then the layers would be sewn together with pieces of yarn. It was my job to set on the floor under the quilt rack and when grandma would push the nettle through the layers I would pull it down and push it back to the top layer. She made doll dresses out of milk filters that looked like ball gowns. They were beautiful and were meant to be set in the middle of a bed.

On some Saturday mornings, grandma and I would get all dressed up and take the bus downtown to window shop, as she called it. And sometimes we went to the Times Cafeteria for lunch. She showed me how a lady dressed and acted in public.

We lived just down the block from her. When I was eight, I would stop in on my way to school and make sure she had the right amount of insulin in her syringe. After her eyes got too bad for her to fill the syringe I filled it, then when she couldn’t give herself the shot I started doing that too. One time I made her skin bruise as soon as I gave her the shot and thought I had killed her. But she told me that happened a lot. It was from all the years of shots. She spent a lot of time in a wheelchair because the least little scrape wouldn’t heal and she had big sores on her legs. She had a little Pekingese dog named Funny Face that rode on her lap all the time.

But her sickness didn’t stop her from going camping with the family. They had a cabin out on the Wapello River, and we spent many summer vacations out there. Dad would put a lawn chair in the boat so she could go out on the water. That was one of her favorite things to do besides watching us cousins play. There were 14 of us, and she would make up games for us. Those were some of the best summers I can remember.

When mom and dad moved to southern Missouri my grandparents moved also so we could help take care of grandma. I think I got my interest in healthcare from those times. I learned early that taking care of the sick was part of life; you accepted your part and did it to the best of your ability.

I regret that my children never got to know my grandparents. They all passed away by the time I had children, it is like something is missing in our family lifeline. I hope that my telling these stories will somehow connect them to the great line of people that they come from. I think everyone should write down stories from their childhood so future generations have something to remember. Do your children know about those who came before them?

Remember When: Visiting Grandpa and Grandma Denney

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Oskaloosa, Iowa circa the early 1950s

My father’s parents were Thomas and Daisy Denney. They lived in Oskaloosa, Iowa. Grandpa owned an auto shop in town. We lived in Davenport where dad worked in a box factory by the Mississippi River; we would go visit quite often. We had a lot of relatives that lived in the area and those visits seemed to always become a family event.

My grandparents lived in a big, 3-story, white, Victorian home on Main Street. After the kids left home Grandma turned the house into a home for the elderly. It had a large, covered porch that wrapped around three sides of the house, it was filled with rocking chairs, swings, plants, and small round tables to set drinks on. Grandma called it a veranda. It was a great place to play hide and seek.

I always wondered why Grandpa lived on the third floor of the house by himself, but kids didn’t ask questions back then. You were to be seen and not heard. His rooms always smelled of cars, tobacco, and whisky. He had a puffy face and a large red nose. Grandpa had a drinking problem, as did several men on dad’s side of the family. He started drinking whiskey when he was a small boy. He never said why he drank only that he liked it. After grandma died and the house had to be shut down he went to a nursing home in Davenport. The doctors said it would do more harm than good if he was forced to quit drinking. He had a standing order for a shot of whiskey each night before bed. He got sneaky though and started saving the nightly shots in a jar he kept under his bed, then on Friday nights he would drink what he had saved during the week and get what he called a buzz on. He thought it was a great trick to pull on the nursing staff until he got caught, then the nurse would stay in his room until he drank the shot.

I liked to go up to Grandpa’s part of the house because his rooms were piled high with books. He was an avid reader. I guess that is where I get my love of books. He would come home in the evening, pick up the tray of food Grandma Daisy had left on the bottom step, go upstairs to read and drink until he fell asleep. He liked westerns and had a collection of Louis L’Amour books. He would read to me about cowboys, ranching in the old west, and the plight of the Native Americans. To this day my favorite books are American historical novels.

He would call me Omelia when I would come to visit. I would say, “No, Grandpa. I’m Judy!” But he would always answer, “Oh, you are Omelia to me.” When he passed away we found in his things a picture of his Aunt Omelia. I look just like her. This answered the question of why he said I was a throwback to the original breed. I wish I had learned about her life and why she made such an impression on him. I have been told she was a teacher; maybe she is the one who got him interested in reading.

Grandma Daisy lived on the second floor and liked to sit in her rocking chair in the evenings; at the window overlooking Main Street. She could tell you about the people going by, who they were, and what they did. She was a bit of a town gossip after all and we kids didn’t know who she was talking about.

I liked to listen to her stories and watch her do needlework. She embroidered, and when I got old enough she taught me how. She did beautiful tapestry-like pictures. It is called crewel embroidery. This skill came in handy when I operated my Adult Family Home caring for dementia patients. When someone couldn’t sleep I would set up with them talking and doing crewel. It helped pass the time and watching me seemed to calm them.

She would say that a girl who had tight-ordered stitches would go far in this world. She liked to listen to the radio and watch us kids dance around her room. She would laugh and tell us we were silly.

She loved to bake and won lots of prizes for her cakes at the fair. From the time I was little, she would make me a cake for my birthday, when we were there for a visit, even if it wasn’t my birthday. When I was older and away in boarding school, she would pack my cake in popcorn and send it to me in the mail. Sometimes it was in pretty bad shape when it got to me! The meringue icing would be in pieces, but I looked forward to them anyway. The girls in the dorm didn’t mind helping me get rid of the box of crumbs! They thought it was funny, but nice, that she would send a cake through the mail.

The residents lived on the first floor where it was easier to get around. There was a huge kitchen, and Daisy was a well-known cook in the area. I liked helping in the kitchen and setting the table for all the residents. Another job that she let us kids do was to push the resident’s wheelchairs around the veranda. They liked when we came to visit because we would push them around and around.

I found out when I grew up that Grandpa and Grandma had been divorced for years, but neither one would give up the house. And Grandpa would say, “Besides, she is the best cook in town!” But Grandma just couldn’t abide by the drinking.

To this day I love to read, sew and bake. I have a theory that those learned skills get embedded in our DNA and passed down through the generations. Do you ever find yourself thinking you see a trait in one of your relatives that an ancestor is said to have had? I’m just saying it is something to think about.

Remember When: Shirley Temple Curls

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How I Got Them.

I remember the time my mom tried her best to give me those ringlet curls like Shirley Temple had in her movies. I had waist-length blonde hair. The color was almost white. Grandpa called it Toe Head blonde. I never learned why that was what the color was called, just that mine was a very light pale blonde. In the summer it would get even paler and I would get little pimple-like sores on the back of my head. Mom called it prickle heat, I just know it hurt and itched which caused me to get in trouble if I scratched it very much.

In order to have the curls by Sunday when we went to church, she would start on Friday. She would wash my hair and then tie little one-inch squares of hair in a strip of cloth. She would start at the bottom of the length of hair and roll the piece of cloth up to my scalp and then tie it in a not. The hair had to be wet so she kept putting more water on the rolls as she went along. This took what seemed like forever to me, I hated to have my hair messed with and complained a lot. This usually got me scolded; my hair jerked, or a time or two hit with the hairbrush.

It took 3 days for the hair to dry so I had to keep the rag curlers in until Sunday morning. The rags hurt to sleep on so I was always trying to find a comfortable spot to sleep in. My brothers teased me a lot; I didn’t want to go anywhere so people wouldn’t make fun of me. There were dozens of these rag curls in my hair so I looked like I had a shaggy rug on my head. The boys called me rag head which caused many a fight.

Come Sunday morning when we were all ready to go to church mom would carefully untie each rag and pull one end down so the curl would stay in a long ringlet. This went on until all the rags had been untied. If she was happy with her creation she would attach a big bow to the top of my head and we would be off to church. If not she would brush out the curls and I would get a ponytail or braids. Sometimes the curls would last until we got back home, most time they didn’t and I would have a headful of limp curls that usually hung in my face.

I was glad when that style went out of fashion. Mom had beautiful natural curly auburn red hair. She always looked like she had just gone to the beauty shop. Needless to say, my hair was a bit of a disappointment for her. I was glad when my little sister got old enough to take my place as her hairstyle Ginny pig. When I got to be a teenager I tried to fix my sister’s hair but I think she just tolerated me so I would spend time with her.

Neither one of us girls got the curly hair the boys did and were always trying to calm it down. I do remember my one year one of the boys had the top of his hair darkened and the sides left blonde, fenders they called it in the late fifties. I looked through the family picture album and didn’t find any pictures of these attempts at stylishness, thank the Lord. That is a reminder of childhood I don’t want to hang around.

And today we shake our heads at man buns and half-shaved heads. When you stop to think about it, kids nowadays got nothing on us. We had some pretty cool styles in our day. Were you a fashion plate in your day? Wait long enough and your favorite style will come back around.

Remember When: Walking to School in Winter

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3 ½ miles one way

No lie we did walk 3 ½ miles to school. Rain, snow, and sunshine we walked. We didn’t have busing in grade school. Even when I went to high school, I still had to walk a mile and a half. The bus would come to the end of the paved blacktop. The driver would sit there for about 15 minutes then turn around and go back to town. If you weren’t there, too bad you missed your ride.

During grade school, we walked to the one-room schoolhouse next to the cemetery. The property had been deeded to the school district by the Dismang family, with the understanding that if the school was ever disbanded the land would revert back to the family.

It took around 30 minutes to get to school from our farm if the boys didn’t play on the way or my little sister didn’t want to be carried. She did pretty well except when it was snowing or a lot of snow on the ground, then she wined to be carried. My brother and I would take turns carrying her so we wouldn’t be late. We would bribe her with time to play outside if we got there early.

The road was lined with trees most of the way so the road was mostly protected. The last mile was cleared off so the weather conditions were worse. The wind blew the snow across the road and was hard to walk in. As we passed neighboring farms other kids joined our little caravan so that by the time we got to school most of the 18 kids that comprised the student body got there at the same time.

If the weather was good and if we got there early the teacher would let us play baseball before school started; to calm us down so we would pay attention better. When it was cold or a lot of snow on the ground we had to go inside so we wouldn’t get all wet and then have to set in class.

We very seldom had snow days. The road had to be totally impassable for us not to have school. If we got to school and the teacher hadn’t got there by the time we did we had to walk back home. Mom was glad when we got phone service in our district. It saved us from having to get out in the weather needlessly. I was glad when I got to High School because I didn’t have to walk up to the blacktop and find that the bus couldn’t get out from town.

Kids nowadays make fun of us when we say we walked 3 1/2 miles to school, but we did even uphill part of the way. But times were safer back then. We didn’t have to worry about walking to and from school like kids do today. When the schools consolidated and we no longer went to the one-room school the kids got bus service. But still had to get to the end of the blacktop as high school students did.

Below is a winter scene painting I did. Whenever I look at it I think of those long walks to school, carrying my little sister piggyback all the way.