A Collection of Recollections

AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY

First Edition

BY WAYNE SCOTT SLAUSON

Table of Contents ...... ii Preface ...... v 1: Testing the waters ...... 1 2: Mom ...... 2 3: 2012 Ninth St. Rensselaer, NY...... 4 4: My Father ...... 7 5: Doc ...... 8 6: Pop ...... 11 7: Nana...... 13 8: Some personal comments...... 15 9: My Kentucky Story ...... 16 10: The Neighborhood ...... 23 11: Sammy Lieberman...... 25 12: Albany and the YMCA ...... 27 13: The Hollow ...... 30 14: The Monks...... 33 15: The Hudson River ...... 35 16: This Old House...... 39 17: The Odd Fellows Home...... 41 18: Washington Avenue Garage ...... 44 19: St. Paul's Evangelical English Lutheran Church ...... 46 20: Close to Leaving ...... 47 21: Joe TenEyck ...... 49 22: Sandy, The Pet I Left Behind ...... 51

ii Table of Contents

23: Transition...... 54 24: Beacon, NY ...... 55 25: My first summer in Beacon...... 58 26: Beacon (Continued) ...... 61 27: Trouble in River City ...... 65 28: The Great Escape ...... 67 29: A Day to Remember ...... 69 30: Getting Started in the Air force ...... 70 31: My First Leave - A Turning Point ...... 74 32: MacDill AFB...... 76 33: I'm Off Base (I've been told that before) ...... 79 34: Houma Sweet Home ...... 83 35: Meanwhile Back at MacDill ...... 86 36: Another Leave and More About Joe...... 90 37: The Sun Sets On My Time at MacDill ...... 91 38: One Hand Didn't Know What the Other Was Doing ...... 93 39: More Responsibility (Not much and on short time) ...... 97 40: Becoming a Kansan ...... 99 41: East Fourth St. Topeka...... 101 42: School, Work and Flood ...... 104 43: My Job as a Police Dispatcher ...... 106 44: Family Life ...... 110 45: The Good and The Bad...... 113 46: Police Fire and Railroad ...... 116 47: Becoming a Railroader...... 119 48: Living and Working in Chicago...... 121 49: Overcoming a Broken Promise ...... 124 50: Back From the Big City...... 129 51: In The Beginning ...... 131 52: Moving on, Backing up ...... 133 53: There Comes a Day ...... 135 54: Married and Living in Emporia ...... 137 55: Back On Our Own Property...... 140 56: Keith Thomas ...... 143 57: The McGregors & Kansas Voice of Emporia ...... 145 58: "I Ain't Much Baby But I'm All I've Got"...... 147 59: Alone With My Thoughts ...... 149 60: Operation Lifesaver ...... 151 61: Just Horsing Around...... 156 62: I Meet a "Biker Babe" ...... 158

iii 63: Our Applecart Gets Turned Upside Down ...... 160 64: Nothing is Certain But Change...... 162 65: The Death of a Friend ...... 164 66: Our Last Move with Santa Fe...... 167 67: Attaining the Rank of Retired Railroader...... 169 68: RV Travels and Making Friends ...... 172 69: Bud and Bonnie Chapin ...... 174 70: Many More Friends Than those Listed Here ...... 176 71: And Now, What Next? ...... 178 72: The Left and Right...... 180 73: My Bonnie Falls...... 182 ------Short Stories ------74: "Penelope" A short story for children ...... 186 75: The Girl With the Apple ...... 188 76: Natal Attraction...... 191 Index...... 199 ______

iv Preface ° Preface by Wayne Slauson. Posted Wednesday, February 23, 2011

When I was in service, and was 17, another boy and I became friends. His name was Mike Sislock and he was 16. Through the years I thought of Mike every once in awhile. A couple years ago I used the computer to see if I could find a telephone number for someone with that name and I did find one. It indicated the person was over 65, so I assumed it was the same person. It indicated the person lived in the New Orleans area which I knew was Mike's home. But, I didn't call. I thought he might wonder why in the world I would call, so I didn't do it.

Last February, which would have been in 2010, I thought of Mike again and realized that at the age we are now the time was getting shorter we would be around and if I was ever going to call him, I should do it then. So I did. Mike was glad I called and we began emailing. Mike wanted to know all about my life before we met in the service. I wrote a few emails and told him a little about my childhood. He told me I should write more about my life and share it, even suggesting I write a book. Of course, I didn't think I would or could do such a thing. In one of my many emails to my friend Frank of 40 years I told him what Mike had said. He too thought it would be a good idea and encouraged me to write about my life in the form of a little book that Mike and other friends and family could read. He even set me up with the software to do so and essentially told me to get started.

That is how writing "A collection of Recollections" began. I'm grateful to Mike for his encouragement, and to Frank for both his encouragement and expertise to facilitate doing so.

Wayne ______

v A Collection of Recollections °

Chapter 1: Testing the waters by Wayne Slauson. Posted Thursday, February 24, 2011

Right now I'm just trying to figure out how to use this "dashboard". All the controls, dials, presets, and fancy plug ins were just presented to me a few minutes ago by my best friend Frank. He told me that I am now a writer! So now it is up to me to get to work and write. First I would like to familiarize myself with the program. Like so many programs, the only way to do it is to use it. I am wondering if there is a way to increase the size of the area in which to type the content. I notice it does spell-check and I'm glad for that. Unfortunately, I won't be able to spend a lot more time at this right now due to other obligations. It will be time for lunch soon and following lunch all my pool playing "boys" will be here. Three are now in their 85th year. However, I do intend to write more as soon as my busy schedule permits. As others roll their eyes I will stop this test for now.

Day two of testing the waters. I stuck my finger in the water and it is just the right temperature. Now I have my big toe in it. Soon I will be immersed like a Baptist. The only reason I'm adding this is because surprisingly I can add it on line. As Sergeant Schultz used to say, "Very interesting." I asked for some advice from my stepson Jeff who has done some writing using this program. I didn't even know how to start. But, here goes! ______

1 Chapter 2: Mom ° Chapter 2: Mom by Wayne Slauson. Posted Saturday, February 26, 2011

If I were to write about my childhood and not first write about my mother, many would wonder where she was when I was staying with various people. Since they might be inclined to assume she was negligent or irresponsible, I am compelled to tell about her life circumstances during the time I was a child.

My mother was born July 12th, 1906. When she was about ten years old her parents divorced. Subsequently, her mother married the man I call my grandfather. He was known by everyone as "Doc" and that is the name I used for him. My mother lived with her own father in what is known as "Lower Rensselaer". The reason she didn't live with her mother is not known to me.

Her father had previously been divorced from her mother and remarried a woman who was the epitome of the typical "Mean Stepmother" When she was 12 years old, my mom was attending a youth meeting at the local Baptist church one evening and when she arrived home her stepmother had locked her out. It wasn't a case of eventually letting her in and scolding her because she had been later than the stepmother chose. She was locked out period. So, at age twelve she sought help from the parents of friends and went to work in a shirt factory. For reasons unknown to me she either didn't seek help from her own mother, or her mother, bitter over the divorce from my mom's father, didn't care to help her. At any rate she was on her own at 12. During her teen years, she worked in the shirt factory and took waitress jobs at odd hours whenever and wherever available.

In addition to whatever work she had as she approached her twenties, she played piano in a theater during the showing of silent movies. It was the Uptown theater on Third Street in Rensselaer and the same theater where I later went many Saturday afternoons to see how Dick Tracy had got himself out of a sure death situation in which he found himself the previous Saturday.

Also working in that theater, was a projectionist named Harold Scott Slauson. Well, the projectionist and the pianist sparked together, married and on May 29th, 1929 Wayne Scott entered into the picture. But, unfortunately for her, the projectionist husband couldn't face the responsibility of the addition to the family and "shipped out" virtually, going to sea under an assumed name. It should be noted this was in the Great Depression days in this country.

There is no manner in which I can tell how long she cared for me as an infant, but one thing for sure, with no means of support she had to work. So, as far back as I can remember, I stayed with other people and a great deal of the time with my grandmother known to many as "Nana" . In the last few years of my mother's life she told me a few things about her struggle during that period of time. She would pay someone to take care of me while she worked all hours as a waitress. I would be with someone for awhile and Nana would decide I wasn't being properly cared for so she would take it upon herself to get me and take me to her home. Then, after a period of time she would weary of caring for me and tell my mother she "Had to do something". She was at once caring and resentful of caring for a child.

As a result, in the early days of my life I lived with various people and the pseudo rescue cycle was repeated

2 A Collection of Recollections

several times to the frustration of both my mother and grandmother. In the meantime, my mother was working hard to provide financial remuneration for my care.

When I was six my mother remarried and took me to Kentucky, but that marriage fizzled fast and I stayed with other people there also, before going back to my grandparents when I was 8. During that period of time, I'm sure my mother had numerous problems and may very well have asked for help from her mother because I think she found herself far from her home turf and by herself again. Then again, it could have been another case where my grandmother acted on her own. I have no way of knowing, but from then until I was 14 I stayed with my grandparents.

My mother's life never was a bed of roses. She worked hard, and when she did find a decent man in the '40's she worked even harder to help him with the diner he owned. He subsequently made poor business decisions and when he died left debts. She paid every one of them off by working in a garment factory and sacrificing her own comfort. Her best years were after she had the debts paid off, lived in a Senior citizen high rise, and did volunteer work to which she was dedicated and at which she worked as hard as ever. Then she had cancer and died.

I have completely exonerated my mother from any blame for my situation as a child and in fact never felt she bore accountability for anything unpleasant that happened to me. It was just life as I knew it and I lived it without blaming anyone. My mother's greatest faults were in putting unfounded trust in others and smoking. There is a great deal of suspicion in my mind the latter played a large part in her demise at 82. She was kind, humble, dedicated to whatever endeavor she pursued, and never shirked what she perceived to be a duty.

She and I didn't have a strong emotional attachment and when she died I experienced very little grief. Actually, I was glad for her that her struggle was over. I was holding her hand as she slipped away. I literally saw it happening. She had a device attached to a finger that was showing her pulse on a digital display. Her pulse rate went up and then down several times, then it went down and continued going down until it stopped. I just sat there and in a few minutes a nurse looked in the door and said, "She's gone." I said, "Yes, I know."

And so ended the life of a good woman. ______

3 Chapter 3: 2012 Ninth St. Rensselaer, NY ° Chapter 3: 2012 Ninth St. Rensselaer, NY by Wayne Slauson. Posted Tuesday, March 8, 2011

My home for the greater part of my childhood was my grandparent's house at 2012 Ninth St in Rensselaer, NY. While I still can, I want to recall and record as much as I can about that house. It has a very special place in my heart. I recently used Google Earth and was able to see the house as it is now. It is well kept, an addition has been added, and it makes me very happy to see it in such great shape. Here are two pictures of it as it is now. The addition is out of sight, on the rear of the house.

Originally, the part in the front with several windows was an open front porch with a roof over it There were steps in the center of the front. Later, it was made into a screened in porch, then windows enclosed it and made it more a part of the house. As it progressed, the door was placed on the right end where you see a small deck like set of steps. At the bottom of those steps, Doc and I moved a large piece of concrete using a wagon I had built. The first 20 feet or so of the driveway consisted of bricks laid in the ground and they were sunk in on each side where the wheels of the cars traveled. The driveway was shared with the next door neighbors on that side. Mrs. Wanmer lived there with her daughter and son-in-law. Along the edge of the driveway was a grape arbor which struggled to produce a few grapes. The rest of the driveway was fine gravel or cinders. The garage was oversize, made of metal. The house faces west, with the left side toward the north. The Brown's were on the North and shared their house with their slobbery bulldog, Cobby.

The extension from the side is part of the kitchen which I mention in the description of the floor plan. The dining room was front right, The kitchen was beyond it toward the back. The living room was front left.

There were five trees in front and the front lawn had a slight terrace to it but has been graded into a gentle slope. A privet hedge was between the trees and a walk went from the original front steps of the porch to the sidewalk with a couple steps at the little terrace. The tree nearest to the driveway was a favorite and I used to climb it. The tree at the left end of the row had been hit by lightning more than once. I was standing in the living room window when it was hit one night while my grandparents were at my Uncle Jim's house playing cards. It scared me such that I called them on the phone, but they said since I was OK there was no need to be afraid. The one tree now in the front would not be one of the originals. They would have lived out their lifetime before now. It is wonderful to see this house in such good shape for its age. The condition is a credit to the present owners.

Up until the late 1950's I saw advertisements in Popular Science, Mechanics Illustrated and similar magazines for Aladdin Precut Homes manufactured in Bay City, Michigan.

4 A Collection of Recollections

These were homes sold in kit form, starting in 1916 or earlier. The parts and pieces were numbered and instructions on how to assemble them were included in the package. They were giant puzzles, ready for someone to put together. The man whom I considered to be my great grandfather, but who in fact was no blood relation, had bought one of these homes, probably not long after they were available and assembled it. Since he was a cabinet maker, I'm sure it was something he enjoyed doing, and no doubt he was proud of the results, as he had every right to be. It was a solidly built structure and since it was designed and built in that time period, it had all the woodwork details that a cabinet maker would relish. The dark woodwork was in the style of the era in which it was built, but not the preference in the forties at which time it was remodeled and most, if not all, the darkness was eliminated. Consequently there is some painted walnut in the house.

There were two bedrooms, one occupied by my grandparents and one occupied by my great grandfather, known as "Pop". Until it was remodeled, the bathroom was between my grandparents room and the kitchen with a door opening from the kitchen into it and a door from their bedroom opening into it. It was possible to make a circle from the kitchen through the bathroom, through their room and a short hallway into the living room, then by way of the dining room back to the kitchen. That circle is very clear in my mind because I was very ill with the streptococcus bacteria in my blood when I was about ten. During my recovery, the first major triumph was being able to make it around that circle. It was during the time of the remodeling, but the changes in the floor plan had not been completed. In fact the process was suspended during my illness. My bed was a "day-bed" in the dining room until after my great grandfather passed away.

After the remodel, the bathroom was between the two bedrooms and off the hallway which was then a little longer than the original hallway. There was an attic access hatch in the hallway.

The house had a metal roof. At night I enjoyed hearing the sound of rain on the roof especially at bed time. Since there was no insulation in the attic, rain hitting the metal roof could be clearly heard. I remember praying and asking God to make it rain so I could fall to sleep with the sound - and telling Him it was OK if it stopped after I fell asleep and please don't let it rain in the morning so I can go out and play! I have often wondered how many times adults have prayed similar prayers where they injected their own priorities and time table for an answer.

In the original floor plan, inside the front door was a fairly large area, a smaller version of an entry hall in a Victorian home. An entry hall was a place to entertain guests who either came unannounced or planned to visit just a short time. Entry halls were common when telephones did not exist and therefore people could not announce their plans to visit. There was a "Hall tree" just inside the door on the right. On the east wall was an Atwater Kent "Silver Wraith" console radio.

If you had come in to the entry hall from the front door, the dining room would be to the right, and the "parlor" to the left. Both were separated from the entry hall not by arched openings but by book cases on either side. I can't remember whether or not there were columns between the tops of the bookcases and the boxed beam at the ceiling, but there may have been. In the remodel, all of that was removed on the side toward the parlor to incorporate both the entry way and parlor into one nice sized living room.

In the dining room, to the left of the door to the kitchen, there was room enough for a beautiful mahogany chest which matched the mahogany dining table. A delicate lace table cloth, made by my grandmother (Nana) graced the table. If you proceeded through the kitchen to the back door, the sink was on the left, its ends north and south. I believe in the remodeling, it was turned 180' to be on the north wall. I'm sure it was, because a new counter and cabinets were built along the north wall and the range was also there. When the house was remodeled, the cabinets were made on site by the carpenter, and I was intrigued by his use of a Skillsaw. The man's name was Archie Knox and his work was truly skillful with a minimum of tools. In the kitchen just before entering the dining room, on the left were cabinets and a niche which may have been made with a telephone in mind. However, the telephone at that time was on one of the bookshelves separating the dining room from the living room.

Over the original sink in the kitchen was a small shelf with a clock on it. There was a fancy edge jigsawed into the outline and decorative brass trim bradded on to the wood. At the top, was a brass figure of a large buck deer. If I wakened at night and saw the shadows of the tree leaves dancing on the walls, it was a little spooky. But, when I heard the tick tock of the clock I knew everything was OK. I have the clock and there is a picture below. There was an extension of the kitchen beyond the line of the side wall on the south side. It made the kitchen just a little larger,

5 Chapter 3: 2012 Ninth St. Rensselaer, NY but it was still a small kitchen. Nevertheless some pretty good meals came from that kitchen. Although it was small there was a table and we ate in the kitchen except on special occasions. I wish I could make dumplings like Nana made.

Through the kitchen door were the stairs to the basement and at a landing, the outside door. In the basement, in the northwest corner was a coal furnace, later converted to oil. In the northeast corner was a workshop area and I spent a lot of time there. My grandfather, "Doc" bought a jig saw for me and I made several things using orange crate wood and getting my ideas out of coloring books. A few years ago I gave my step-daughter a cat that I had made when I was 11 or 12. It had been in someone else's home for several years. When they passed away it reverted back to me. In the area of the workshop was a small wood and coal burning stove. It was for heating water. Sometimes I would build a little fire in it to take the chill off the area. At other times I built a fire in it so Nana would have hot water on laundry day. She had a clothesline in the backyard, not too far from the door. It looked like a large umbrella without the fabric. It was on a metal pipe, inserted into a larger metal pipe probably in some concrete. On the north side of the back entry-way there were some Lilly of the Valley flowers that bloomed every year whether they had been trampled or run over by the reel type lawn mower. I shoveled a lot of snow off the front side-walk in the winters.

If you went straight from the bottom of the stairs you would have seen the washing machine. It had originally been gasoline engine driven but had been converted to operate with an electric motor. In the southwest corner was an enclosure for storage. It had shelves of canned goods and I remember thinking for years that if you had plenty of Campbell's soups on hand you were going to be OK.

That's the tour of the house. I will be mentioning it in other chapters but wanted to describe it if I could so you might get a flavor of what it was like.

Thinking of that house brings back a lot of memories. Something that absolutely amazes me is the neighborhood looks just like it did 70-80 years ago. It is hard to imagine. Yes, there are changes up on Washington Ave. and the addition of main traffic thoroughfares, a new school, but right there on Ninth Street going south past Ash Street and on for a couple blocks everything looks the same. It is a miracle it has been preserved that way. It is also a miracle that Google Earth allowed me to travel back in time to look once more at the house and the neighborhood.

If it is not a 100 year old house, it would be very close to it. Fantastic modern technology gave an old guy a look back at where he has been. All I can say is WOW!

The old kitchen clock. It was a wedding gift to my grandparents. I refinished it in about 1955.

______

6 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 4: My Father by Wayne Slauson. Posted Friday, March 4, 2011

For my second chapter I planned to write about the house at 2012 Ninth St in Rennsselaer, NY where my grandparents lived. When I looked over the comments regarding the chapter about my mom, it occurred to me that people might wonder what became of my father and what my feelings were and are about the fact he left my mom stranded with a child.

Consider that right now, we are in a period of economic difficulty and for some it amounts to a crisis, a depression, for others it is a recession. For the person without a job it is a depression, for others it is a recession. But neither conditions can match the Great Depression of 1929 and the next few years. There is a tremendous amount of fear these days brought about not only by actual circumstances, but in my opinion, caused by political exaggerations and misrepresentations to discredit one political party over another. If you think it was any different 80 years ago, you are mistaken. I read a book recently about the building of the transcontinental railroad during the days of Lincoln and Grant. The same behavior of politicians was being practiced then.

What I'm getting at is this. There is not much doubt a lot of people were caught up with the emotion of fear back at the time I came to earth to visit. My father may very well have been one of them. He could have been overwhelmed by fear at the prospect of trying to care for a wife and baby. He may have found it impossible to cope and unable to face what he considered to be sure failure. It's possible he saw escape as his only way out. Except for those few who, for example, lift themselves out of the ghettos and become educated and successful, most people are not very strong when they are young. Strong physically, yes. But emotionally, no. I said I wasn't going to write philosophical "stuff" but maybe thinking about this sort of thing is borderline.

At any rate, later in life my father married and had a family. I made contact and visited him and the rest of the family when I was about 22. He was a decent sort of fellow, but there was no great connection between us. I corresponded for several years with the two half brothers and sister. Bonnie and I visited them once in the eighties, but eventually I think everyone came to the conclusion there was no compelling reason to continue.

My father died about 35 years ago. He was diabetic, and didn't survive a leg amputation according to what a half brother told me. I was a little disappointed there was not a great attraction between us, but accepted it not only as just another fact of life, but a logical outcome considering the circumstances. That lack of connection is probably why his children past and present also grew apart. I'm glad for him that he had a family life, and glad for the children they had a dad. Now it is the same for me. So, life goes on.

"And, that's the way it is," said Walt. ______

7 Chapter 5: Doc ° Chapter 5: Doc by Wayne Slauson. Posted Thursday, March 17, 2011

Everyone knew my grandfather as "Doc". He was not a medical doctor, nor did he possess a doctorate of any sort. His name was Brenthal G Worden, the G from his father's name George S Worden. Doc was my grandmother's second husband so that would make him a step grandfather. But to anyone who knew the family, I always referred to him as Doc, and always called him Doc. Until writing these chapters I never really thought of him as my grandfather; he has always been Doc to me.

Doc was a business man. He either owned or was a partner in an auto supply store. The business was always referred to as a "jobber". A jobber is one who buys goods and distributes them to retailers; a wholesaler or middleman is probably a more familiar term to most of us.. He nearly always wore a suit, complete with vest and tie, a small gold chain on the vest. It may have had a pocket watch on one end at times, at other times a fob with an Odd Fellows emblem on it, three intertwined rings and one of the letters F L or T inside each ring. The letters stand for Friendship Love and Truth. If it was a watch, he probably was using his tie clasp with the same three interlocked rings and letters on a chain across his tie.

The Order of Odd Fellows is a fraternity which began in the 17th or18th century in England at a time when it was not common to find men dedicated to improving and elevating the character of mankind. In the early 1800's The Independent Order of Odd Fellows was established in North America with Lodge No. 1 in Washington D.C. Probably the word independent was used to signify its independence from England, although it received its charter from there. There are a great many similarities to the fraternities of Masons and Odd Fellows. Doc was "big" in the Odd Fellows Lodge.

Doc was a fair sized man, experiencing middle aged spread but not rotund by any means. A lot of people would say he was "stout". He had a well trimmed mustache, was bald, had a serious, almost stern, countenance, and had a self confidant, authoritative air about him. I know some were convinced he thought too well of himself. My mom for one had that impression. He was opinionated and ready to debate his side of the discussion. However, I can't say I observed him engaging in arguments. I think it was because he would so adamantly state his position with sufficient certainty it quenched any opposition. His demeanor at work, which I visited on occasion, befit his stature. He was the boss, but I never saw him get personal when dealing with any employee. His indication of displeasure was immediately conveyed not so much by words as with expression. I'm sorry to say though that was not the case when commenting on other drivers.

The place of business, Central Auto was two stories with rows of shelves on which automobile parts were stocked. In the back part of the business, mechanics rebuilt engines. The inside space was long and narrow. The first time I saw someone honing a cylinder was there.

8 A Collection of Recollections

There is a very good chance this deteriorating building, now home to Yassah's African Grocery was the building in which Doc's business operated. I obtained it through the magic of Google Earth. Doc was partial to Studebaker automobiles and the car he had for several years was a 1939 Studebaker Commander. It really was a dandy car. It was top of the line of the Studebaker models. As I touched on the subject in a previous paragraph, his behavior changed when he got behind the wheel. For awhile I couldn't understand why "Sunday Drivers" were driving every day of the week. But, I caught on when the word idiot came into play. So far as I can remember, the car didn't give much trouble. Recently someone mentioned to me that a car they had seen had a novel "hill holder" feature. If you were on a grade and stopped, you could take your foot off the brake and the car would not roll. The '39 Studebaker Commander had that feature.

Doc did have his faults. I'm sure many people were turned off by his authoritative manner, but he was good to me. He never laid a hand on me, which I can't say for my grandmother! Like most boys I was interested in cars and that was a subject in which he excelled. He was always willing to share his knowledge. He had traveled the eastern states in his early years as a salesman for auto parts manufacturers and had some interesting stories about the development of various improvements in automobiles over the years, such as starters, generators, hydraulic brakes. He taught me the basics of internal combustion engines. He bought an electric motor powered jigsaw, and didn't complain about the abuse I inflicted on tools in the basement. I remember one time dropping a file and it broke in half. I was reluctant to tell him it had happened but I did. He said the way the metal is treated causes a file to be brittle and that one could easily break if it hit just right. Some men would have given me a lecture, I'm sure. If there was some work to do outside he and I worked together as well as my limited strength would allow and he didn't criticize or complain. I have no complaints about the man except his impatience with other drivers.

There was one instance where Doc was very unhappy with me. I actually visited his work several times. A dentist a few short blocks from his business found my baby teeth to be profitable and I would go to Doc's work place after an appointment. Sometimes I would ride home with him, sometimes take the trolley and bus back to Rensselaer. One such day I went to Central Auto and went out to lunch with him. The waitress called him honey and sweetheart, which words I suspect she used for all the male customers. W hen he asked the cashier what she needed she responded with "You on toast". I took all that in and when I went home that day by public transportation I recounted the events to my grandmother, not because I wanted to cause trouble but because I just didn't know any better and thought it was unusual. She marched to the phone and dialed Albany. In a few seconds the insulation on the telephone wires between Rensselaer and Albany began to melt. Doc left work a lot earlier than usual that day and he subsequently asked me why I had told her about all that "garbage". I was still mystified about the whole event so I didn't have any explanation that made sense. That was my first exposure to forbidden subjects related to a marriage no matter how innocent.

There are times when I recognize things in myself that I saw in Doc. My tendency to explain things in detail as he did. Sometimes I wonder if it is a need to be understood. Not so much the subject matter, but to just be understood. I recognize that desire in myself.

I learned how to drive under Doc's tutelage. Looking back it was more of a case of him letting me teach myself. He may have had white knuckles, if so I never saw them. First it was putting the car in the garage, then it was backing up in the driveway, then driving forward into the garage. then it was meeting him up at the corner of Ninth and Washington when he came home from work. I looked forward to his coming home and meeting him there and driving from there home. I realize now it was quite an honor to be allowed to drive that car which he loved. One time I met him clear down on First street and Washington Avenue and he let me drive home from there. Wow, that

9 Chapter 5: Doc was great.

Those are my thoughts, about "Doc". For reasons I cannot explain I feel they are inadequate to describe the man who often times called me Gasoline Pete because it didn't take me long to fall asleep in the back seat of the car when it was in motion. No matter what others may have thought of him, he was the dominant male figure in my life as a boy.

And that's the way it was. ______

10 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 6: Pop by Wayne Slauson. Posted Thursday, March 17, 2011

Pop Worden. George S Worden. Up to the time he died when I was about ten, Pop was my buddy. "Pop, tell me a story about when you were a little boy." How many times I said those words...... He would start out, "Well, I remember the day I dropped my sister's doll into the water closet." I didn't know what a water closet was, but we would both laugh. Then, sitting in the old red chair with smoke curling from his pipe he would tell me a "real" story.

He taught me how to build kites. He played the violin for me. His fingers snapped from one position to another, a condition usually called "trigger finger", it has a medical explanation which I have heard but can't remember. It made it very difficult to play a stringed instrument. He also had a banjo and for several years I had a gourd mandolin that had been his. I don't recall what became of it.

He was patient, he was kind. He and I used to sit in front of the old Atwater Kent radio, leaning toward the radio listening to the prizefights. We heard the Joe Louis Max Baer fight. Also the Jack Sharkey, Primo Camera, Mac Schmeling fights. Louis played golf instead of training for the Schmeling fight. His interest in golf was piqued by none other than Ed Sullivan giving Louis' wife Marva a set of golf clubs. On the night of June 22, 1937 we listened as Joe Louis, age 22, defeated James Braddock for the Heavyweight title which he defended probably 25 times. Between '39 and '41 he defended it 13 times.

Pop and I listened to Fibber McGee and Molly, The Hoozier Hot Shots. Duffy's Tavern, The National Barn Dance, The Grand Ole Opry, Amos and Andy. I enjoyed sitting there with Pop huddled over by the radio. Amos and Andy were two white men, Freeman Gosden and Charles Correll speaking the dialect. It was the longest running radio program in the history of broadcasting.

When I went to YMCA camp at age 8, Pop painted my name on a foot locker for me. I had that foot locker up until a couple years ago. Working at a table in a corner of the living room he built a complicated mechanism of gears and levers made from pieces of old radios from which I had salvaged the aluminum. It even had an escapement similar to that found in clocks, He was a genius with things mechanical.

He also was a pretty good artist. This is a charcoal drawing Pop did of wild horses. It's not noticeable in this picture, but the original was folded until I decided if I didn't put it in a frame it would be further damaged.

11 Chapter 6: Pop

In his younger days, Pop was a Volunteer Firefighter. Here he is in a dress uniform.

One day Pop and I went hunting. I had my bow and arrow and he had a slingshot. We had great times together.

I was devastated when Pop died. It was my first experience with the loss of a loved one. He had shingles so bad he didn't survive. and at 85 he passed away. Before that day, on Wednesday evenings I would take a small table model radio into his room and tune into the National Barn Dance. I'm sure now he probably didn't enjoy it then, but never complained, he wanted to please me. At my age then, I thought he would live forever. Then came the hush, the quiet voices and I was sent to my great Aunt Elvie's house for 2 or 3 days. I remember seeing the body at the Funeral home and not understanding why he didn't get up. It took me awhile to accept that: He was gone from my life. ______

12 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 7: Nana by Wayne Slauson. Posted Monday, March 21, 2011

Anna Lenora Geary born 1881 in Hespeler, Ontario, Canada married Edward J DeFreest in 1901. They were the parents of my mom. They later divorced and she married Brenthal G Worden. Henceforth they were Doc and Nanna. A picture of interest is one I happen to have of Nana's mother, who married an Englishman living in Canada. The dress and hairdo are probably of more interest to woman readers than to men.

Because it is interesting, I am including this picture of my great grandmother, Catherine, born in 1850. I don't know her age when the picture was taken, but she was a beauty -and - she had a twin! The picture has been colorized.

Now, forward several years and closer to the present. Nana was a contradiction of emotions. A jolly loving grandmother, at the next moment resentful she was raising her grandchild; a Duchess in her domain but frustrated because she was living in her father-in-law's house. Oh, did I mention a disciplinarian inclined to swift and painful punishment for delinquent conduct? She was that too! She was a very good cook, that is for sure. She worked hard at keeping a meticulously clean house and seeing I was properly clothed and fed. She was no slacker. Doing laundry in an old ringer type washing machine and hanging it outside was no easy chore. That old ringer took her arm up to the elbow once and her arm was permanently discolored from the experience.

When I was on the Fire Department in Topeka, I happened to see a 12 year old boy in the same fix with a ringer washing machine and believe me he was screaming for all he was worth.

The picture on the left was taken during one of my mother's visit and I wish I could find a larger one of Nana taken around the same time.

I loved Nana and feared her at the same time. When she was frustrated with me she would sometimes call me Harold in a very sarcastic manner. I suppose that was supposed to make me feel bad, but it didn't. I really didn't absorb the full implication and the extent of her hate of my father whose name of course was Harold. But she cared for me, I knew that and I accepted her authority. I certainly wouldn't trade her for an unknown, and I have to admire and also appreciate the fact she was determined I be properly cared for to the extent she did it on her own even if some of her actions were not necessarily approved by my mother. She was a determined person, bent on doing what she thought was right.

She was a "Rebekah". The Rebekah's are a Fraternal Order and a Service Organization. Members must believe in a Supreme Being, Creator and Preserver of the Universe, be faithful to their Country. Rebekah's exhibit the principles of Odd Fellowship, Friendship, Love, and Truth. Community service is the goal of the Rebekah lodge. I think the Rebekah lodge is much like the Eastern Star in Masonry.

Nana cared for me through the childhood diseases, colds, upset stomachs and headaches which I had often. She insisted I not go out in the cold after taking a bath until my "pores were closed up". She broke a yardstick over me into four pieces after it was told I said a swear word to another person. That person was "Poggy" Worden, the daughter of Doc's brother Reese who lived about a block away. Poggy was a favorite of mine and I don't know why

13 Chapter 7: Nana

I was upset with her.

I don't remember a great deal of the switching back and forth between Nana and other people. One was the family of a policeman named Danny. They lived in Albany. I dared to jump off the roof of a garage into a sandpile at their house. That's the only thing I remember about being there. An older lady with a piano. I ran into it with my head and still have a small spot on my forehead from that. Maybe that is what makes me goofy at times. Another place the name was Bertha Hoffman. What I remember most about that place was not so much while I was there. Later when I was back at 2012 I was on my scooter over in the neighborhood where Hoffman's lived. I had to go to the bathroom really bad and went into their house announcing I needed to use the bathroom. Mr. Hoffman informed me since I no longer stayed there I couldn't come into the house and use the bathroom. Consequently, I didn't make it home before having an "accident". Sorry but I didn't think too well of Mr. Hoffman after that. It just didn't seem right.

Well, I'm getting off the track as old railroaders sometimes do. I will conclude with a couple pictures.

At left, Nana the duchess later in life.

The above picture would have been taken at YMCA camp. I recognize the buildings in the background. The hand you see holding the door of the car open is mine and the car? The 39 Studebaker.

I have searched for better pictures of Nana, but haven't been able to find one I really liked. the photos are all small and don't show up very well. If I enlarge them they are too fuzzy. So I am going leave it at that for now and get this posted.

______

14 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 8: Some personal comments by Wayne Slauson. Posted Tuesday, March 22, 2011

When I started writing about people and trying to describe the social side of them, I had no idea it would be as difficult as it has been. I spent a lot of time looking for pictures to help me introduce them to others. Several times I laid awake at night and words to describe them came to me clearly but were gone when I sat down to write.

Each individual in this world is so complex it is very difficult to find the right words with which to convey their individualism, their character, demeanor and what reactions they had to others. It would be easier to do so if the person were a character in a play, but when they are real people it is much different.

But, I felt it necessary to attempt the task to give anyone reading these chapters at least a vague idea of the character of people who were central in my early life. What took place during my years up to age six is not clear enough in my memory for me to say much about it so my next chapter will be an account of the event taking place when I was six and the following two years. I have vivid memories of that period of time which I have written about with the heading of My Kentucky Story. Some of you have read it, but I'm sure not all have, so it will serve to bring others up to the time I was 8. Following my 8th year I had several adventures while living at 2012 Ninth Street and will be posting them later.

In the mean time, "My Kentucky Story" is very close to my heart and I share it with you in the next chapter. Please know that I very much appreciate everyone who has taken the time to read my story. It is not as easy to write these postings as one might think.

Wayne Roy Clark - Yesterday When I Was Young ______

15 Chapter 9: My Kentucky Story ° Chapter 9: My Kentucky Story by Wayne Slauson. Posted Thursday, March 24, 2011

When I was six years old I was living with my grandparents. I had lived with various families and couples and individuals up to that point, but perhaps at that age it was easier for my grandmother to tolerate me. For whatever reason, I was living with my grandparents. One day my mother came to visit and announced she was remarrying. She was getting married to a man named Dixie Newman. I assume he was called Dixie because he was from the south. I never thought of it until this moment, but I never knew the man's real name, but he no doubt had one other than 'Dixie'. I do remember his last name was Newman.

It is interesting that I have absolutely no recollection of what he looked like, although I remember what his car looked like. I believe it was a 32 Chevrolet coupe with a spare tire mounted outside on the rear of the car in concert with a baggage rack that folded up in back of the tire. In other words, if you looked at the back of the car, you would see the baggage rack, painted black, and behind it the spare tire. The 'trunk' was actually where a rumble seat would be and opened the same way, but instead of a rumble seat, it was a storage compartment. The car was a shade of green that was just slightly different than what we refer to these days as 'olive green'.

I remember walking towards my grandparent's house one day and the car was sitting in the driveway. Later, I went over to the Hackel house to inform Mrs. Hackel that I was leaving town. Mr. Hackel operated a Jewelry store in 'lower' Rensselaer and they had two small children. I liked to help her with the little ones and remember holding one and singing and humming while he went to sleep. One thing about her I remember is that she would heat Campbell's vegetable soup straight out of the can undiluted with water and feed it to the kids. It was like a stew with small ingredients, fixed that way. The Hackel's lived in a house that was later occupied by Olive Broker and her family. Olive was in school with me when I returned to Rensselaer. I'm getting ahead of myself. But, before I leave this point, I want to say that Olive was a nice person.

The only outstanding thing I remember about Dixie Newman is his proficiency with the willow switch he used on me for being six years old and on the way to Kentucky with a stranger. But, I had been 'switched' before, so I didn't think too much about it. I think the thing I remember most about the trip is the theft of a 'Pith Helmet' stolen from the car as we slept in a 'tourist cabin'. They are called motels now and bear no resemblance to what was available for travelers in the 'old days'. I think of that Pith Helmet when I see our mailman wearing one.

Dixie Newman's parents lived in Ashland, Kentucky and I was there for a couple weeks. That was the first (and last) time I ever saw anyone take Vicks Vapor Rub and put it in his mouth to treat a sore throat. That is about all I remember about my stay there.

The next thing I knew I was with a middle aged lady, her elderly mother, and her daughter, in a house in Dover, Kentucky. The lady was 'Aunt Bruce', her mother was called 'Mother Red', and the girls name was Margaret. It was a brick house on the north side of the railroad tracks and so close to the tracks you didn't want to be in front of it when a train went by. It shook every timber in the house as it went by. Every evening, the George Washington train, of the Chesapeake and Ohio RR roared by in a cloud of smoke, steam, dust and soot. There was a red light and an oval framed picture of George Washington on the back of the rear car. The depot was farther down the track and the train stopped there. When the train was at the depot, you could see the red light, but it was too far away at that point to make out the picture. A cinder placed on the track will not derail a train, but a train will flatten a penny. I speak from experience.

The Ohio River was about two blocks north of the house with vacant land between the house and river. One day some mischievous lad cut loose a rowboat once and set it adrift on its own. It was a two story house and there was a 'junk' room filled with every kind of thing imaginable. I spent hours in there exercising my imagination and

16 A Collection of Recollections entertaining myself. Sometimes the girl was there too, but she was older and ' a girl. She was somewhat overweight. There was a tire swing on the west side of the house, and I remember seeing a picture of myself with her in that area.

You have no doubt heard the expression, 'Running around like a chicken with its head cut off.' I observed this phenomenon first hand. The tracks were somewhat higher than the ground on either side of them. One day I was walking along the tracks west of where I lived. The houses along that area were facing away from the tracks and the backyards were toward the tracks. The yards were fenced in, but since the tracks were higher, you could look right down into the yards. I saw a woman chop the head off a chicken and then lose her grip on it. It was flopping all over the place and she was trying to catch it. Maybe she didn't get the job done completely the first time, I don't know. But she did come down on the chicken's neck on a chopping block, and she sure was trying to catch that chicken with the hatchet in her hand.

One day I was left in the care of a black Mammy who lived down the tracks in the other direction from where I saw the woman with the chicken. The 'house' was really a shack that sat on stilts in the ditch alongside the tracks. After I had played in the ditch, and succeeded in getting thoroughly dirty, she gave me a bath in a washtub. I have always thought it was quite a distinction to have been given a bath in a washtub by a black Mammy. That Mammy had to be the one that posed for the picture on Aunt Jemima Pancake mix!

There were three other things I experienced or observed while living in Dover. One was rejuvenating flashlight batteries by heating them. Some people had their flashlight batteries near a coal stove during the winter to get a little more life out of them. It actually is possible to get a little more life out of flashlight batteries by heating the chemical inside. The second was something I didn't try, and that was chewing tar. A building, (I think it might have been the school) was being re-roofed. There were pieces of tar around the building and some of the kids were chewing it. I don't think I tried it. The third thing was that if you put very hot oatmeal in a bowl, the bowl might crack. When a hot substance is put in a glass or porcelain vessel, the surface in contact with the substance expands more rapidly than the outer surface. That is what causes a crack to occur. I believe that is why coffee carafes are made thin, so heat is transmitted rapidly to both surfaces and they can expand at nearly the same rate.

I think my mother came one day and said I was going to live with someone else on a farm. I don't really remember her being there, but surely she was. I don't know how I got to the farm. It is possible the people came and got me, or 'Aunt Bruce' took me there. I don't remember. I don't recall my mother taking me. Sorry, there is a gap in my memory at that point. Before we leave Dover, you should know that in 1979, over forty years after leaving that town, I drove there and showed Bonnie the house where I had lived. We were unsuccessful in finding the farm where I went to when leaving Dover. However, I have no problem of finding it in my memory and I will tell you about it now. It and the people there are the most important parts of this story,

It was not much of a place, by today's standards. No electricity, no running water in the house, no telephone, and no radio. But it was home to me for about a year and a half or more. When you entered the front door, straight ahead there was a stairway to the second floor. To the right was a room that would rightly be called the living room, because that is where we could be found in the evening. To the left was a door that remained closed most of the time. It was the door to the 'parlor'. The only time I was ever in it that I can recall was when someone came to visit. That someone could have been a preacher, I'm not sure. There was a large dining room and a large kitchen. The four main rooms were on each corner of the house and there was a smaller square room in the middle. In my first recollection of this room I remembered it to be situated at a forty-five degree angle to the others. However, it wasn't. I think the reason why I thought that initially was because my bed (it had a 'feather tick mattress') was in that room and it was set at an angle. From the perspective of the bed, the walls of the room appeared to be angled. The three doors in the center room led to the other three rooms. I probably had that room because it would be warmer in the winter since it was closer to the cook stove in the kitchen. To pass between the living room and the kitchen required going through that room. Between the kitchen and dining room you either went through the center room, or another door near the rear of the kitchen.

The parlor had either a pump organ or piano in it and some 'plush' chairs. That is about all I remember about it except that it had a definite 'different' smell, probably from being closed up all the time.

The living room had a fireplace, with the hearth at floor level, not raised. There were green ceramic tile around the

17 Chapter 9: My Kentucky Story fireplace opening and on the hearth. Some black tiles were mixed in with the green, perhaps on the border. If you were facing the fireplace, there was a window to the right. An Aladdin lamp sat in that window. A neighbor living a little way down the road had an Aladdin lamp in a window facing 'our' house. Aladdin lamps were kerosene lamps with a mantle, and provided considerably more light than you might imagine. They were the forerunner of today's gasoline or propane lanterns using mantles. The lamps in our house and the neighbor's house served dual purposes. They provided light, and by mutual agreement, if one were not lit in the evening, the other neighbor would investigate to determine if there was a problem. This form of communication was a far cry from e-mail or cell phones.

The dining room was very plain; table and chairs, possibly a sideboard, maybe another chest, nothing fancy. This room was seldom used because we ate in the kitchen.

When you walked from the center room into the kitchen you would be facing a large wood-burning (or coal) cook stove. The fuel was placed in the left end of it. It may have been situated so as to utilize the same chimney as the fireplace, but I think it had its own. This stove and the fireplace were the only source of heat in the house. To the left of the stove was a window and to the left of that was a 'sink'. It was a galvanized basin and an inclined ramp next to it covered with tin. I think there was a drain to the outside that went to a dry well, which was a barrel with holes in it, buried in the ground and surrounded by gravel. If you made a left, you would be headed for the back door. Just inside the back door, to the left, was the second entry to the dining room, but that door was normally closed.

Outside the back door, and to the right, was a cistern. Rainwater was diverted into the cistern, and the pump was a rotary device with little cups that traveled on a chain. When the crank was turned, the cups picked up water from the cistern and when they came over the top of a sprocket, the water would be emptied into the spout. The mechanical portion was enclosed in a galvanized metal housing. The pump made a unique sound; I believe I would recognize it if I heard it today.

Straight ahead from the back door was a smokehouse. I don't know whether or not that building was used, for its intended purpose Its original purpose was to cure and smoke meat, but I don't think any of that was done while I was there. I doubt the people could afford to consume much meat although I believe a hog was butchered occasionally. The land fell away at the back of the house and although the front of the smokehouse had just a step going into it, the rear was elevated from the ground, probably about 3 feet.

To the right of the smokehouse and farther down the slope was a little building with a seat, a 'two hole job'. Why they made them with two holes, I have never understood, because I never saw one with both holes in use at the same time.

Close to that location was a vegetable garden. Elsewhere on the property were two barns, one primarily a tobacco-drying barn and the second, a general-purpose building. The two workhorses, 'Clyde' and 'Blackie' were stabled along with the milk cow, 'Goldie' in the second barn. Clyde was my favorite and I often rode on his back. The tobacco-drying barn was not too far off the road, but the other barn was across a little creek. There was no bridge; the creek was very shallow at that point. One other building made up the total layout. It was a small garage within a few feet of the road. It had an inclined wooden ramp leading up to it and it housed an automobile. I believe it was a 1927 or earlier Dodge. It was started with a crank, but if it were coaxed out of the garage and down the little ramp backward, sometimes it was started by putting it in reverse and 'popping' the clutch. I observed this as the standard procedure. It didn't always work and the driver had to resort to cranking it.

In and amongst all this were the usual chickens, and one six year old boy from New York State who felt like he was lucky to have such a nice place to live and such good folks to take care of him. No conveniences that he might have once enjoyed were missed. No one with whom he had ever lived was missed. He was happy.

The people were Momma and Daddy Bess. I didn't know their first names until years later when I saw it on a tombstone. My mother told me years later the address was Mays Lick, Kentucky. Although Bonnie and I went there the on the same trip when we drove to the town of Dover, I could not find the farm, which would have been not too far from the town. With just the name of the town and with limited time, we didn't have any success in finding the farm.

18 A Collection of Recollections

Daddy Bess was a tall raw-boned man; big hands, work hardened but gentle; a kind person who loved children. He was as familiar with harnessing a team as we are with starting an auto. He could plow string straight furrows with a one-horse plow and guide a small boy with the same firm honest direction.

Momma Bess was everything you would want in a mother, caring and attentive. Her kitchen was warm and inviting with the aroma of good food. She had plump, loving arms capable of comforting a boy who had fallen off a horse, and strong enough to do all the hard work of a woman caring for a family in a house with no running water or other conveniences.

I don't know when the goat came into the picture. It could have been there when I arrived, but I doubt it, because he served no useful purpose other than to entertain a boy. But, he was there. Daddy Bess made a harness to hitch the goat to a little wagon, and I spent many hours, hitching and unhitching that goat, emulating the work of Daddy Bess with the horses. He was my pal; greeting me when I came outside and following me around like a dog. But, he didn't want to be ridden. He proved that to me one day when I tried it. He ran to where the smokehouse was elevated off the ground and ducked under, scraping me off against the side of the building. He came back out while I was sitting on the ground, wondering what had happened, and gently butted me as if to say, 'Don't do that again!' I got the message. His name, appropriately enough, was Billy.

Clyde was the most gentle of the two horses. Blackie was ornery. One day, Daddy Bess was taking the horses up 'the lane' which was no more than a field road that led away from the house and was across the creek. Why it was called 'the lane' I don't know but any reference to it was in those terms. I was riding on Clyde and Daddy Bess was leading him, with Blackie following behind. I don't know for what purpose the horses were taken up that way, as there was no harness on them. Clyde's back was as broad as a VW and there was nothing to hold on to. Blackie did something to aggravate Clyde and he made a move that made me slip off the side. When Momma Bess saw me coming back down the lane crying and holding my leg she rushed out and was worried about me. After some cake or cookies I was good as new. One day I was galled real bad and she soaked me in a tub of hot water and 'salts' in the kitchen.

There was another horse riding experience that Daddy Bess never knew the truth about, because I didn't tell him. He may have suspected, but never made an accusation. Although the tobacco-drying barn was primarily for that purpose, it was not limited to just that. I don't know whose it was and why it was there but for a short period of time there was a colt kept in an enclosure inside that barn. One day I was in there and decided to try and ride the colt. The colt went wild and bolted, breaking through the wall of the barn. In the picture of me and Billy, the barn is in the background and you can see that it wasn't very sturdy as the walls had many loose boards. Somehow I escaped without a scratch and I reported the colt being loose, but I didn't fess up as to what had happened as a result of my attempt to ride it.

19 Chapter 9: My Kentucky Story

It had been raining hard for several days and was still raining one night when a man came to the house and told Daddy Bess that Clyde had got out and was stuck in the mud in a deeper part of the Creek some distance from the house. Of course, Daddy Bess left immediately. I couldn't go to where they were trying to get Clyde out of the creek so I could only imagine how serious the situation was. I got the impression there were several men working to free him and it was a matter of grave concern to me and to Momma Bess. My imagination of the struggle to free Clyde from the mud, and the water about to go over his head caused me to cry softly in my bed. There was not much sleep that night for anyone, especially for those who were working to free Clyde. Sometime during the next day the report came that Clyde had been rescued. Daddy Bess stayed in the barn night and day for several days with Clyde. One time when he came to the house for something to eat, Momma Bess smelled his breath. There probably was corn 'licker' available, but that is the only evidence I ever saw of the possibility it was used. Perhaps there was a drink to celebrate Clyde's freedom from the mire.

Goldie was our milk supply. There were some other cows and probably they were milked also, but so far as I knew Goldie was the only provider. Down the road a very short distance was an abandoned rock quarry and the cows were taken down there on occasion to drink. Maybe the creek was dry, or fouled, I don't really know. Daddy Bess made a small whip for me with braided leather and a wooden handle. The object was not to whip a cow, just sort of tickle it to get it to go where you wanted it to go. Momma Bess had a churn with which to make butter. It was a wooden affair with a handle about the size of a broomstick. I believe it had a plunger that went down in the body of the churn. I don't remember Mom and Daddy Bess ever buying 'groceries' in a store! I had never thought about that until this moment. There was some kind of store in the town, and I'm sure that some supplies were purchased, but I do not remember them buying any food items.

Here I have to tell you about an interesting but disturbing phenomenon I experienced as I wrote this. I had the same emotions that I experienced when Clyde was in grave danger. My psyche underwent the same reactions I had some 75 years ago, and I had little control over the feelings. I had to walk away from the computer, and become engaged in another activity, separating myself from those feelings. That is what I did.

The chocolate pudding caper: One day as I was going through the kitchen I saw a pot of freshly made chocolate pudding. Momma Bess was not in sight. I dipped two fingers into the pudding thinking, 'I hope it isn't too hot.' Also, 'I hope it is cool enough to get some' and 'I hope it is warm enough to settle back down' (so there would be no evidence that I had been there). So far as I can remember, it was a successful mission in all aspects. If I left any 'tracks' I didn't hear about it.

One afternoon a man with a pickup truck was talking to Daddy Bess up near the road and by the tobacco-drying barn. I'm not sure what his business was, perhaps a bag of seed was being sold. It appeared they were just having a friendly conversation. Billy and I wandered up there. The man commented on Billy being a nice goat. I probably said, 'Yes sir.' I didn't know it at that moment, but I was about to commit one of the biggest mistakes in my life. The man said, 'Would you like to sell that goat?' I think I just looked at him. I had never 'sold' anything in my life. I think to be asked that made me feel 'older' maybe like I was being treated like a 'grown up'. I don't know, but I was about to be blind sided by my own lack of experience and judgment. The man said, 'I'll give you a quarter for that goat'. Wow, Money! I said, 'OK' and felt like I was taking part in a real business transaction. I was operating at a higher level than I ever had, and I was going to be rich. The goat was loaded into the back of the truck and the man drove away.

I walked hand in hand with Daddy Bess back towards the house, but had not taken very many steps when I realized what I had done. The reality and the finality of it hit me so suddenly and with such force that I burst out crying, no, wailing. I was inconsolable, and I know Daddy Bess felt terrible that he had stood by and allowed that to happen. He didn't realize how much Billy meant to me and said so that evening as we sat in front of the fireplace, with me still weeping. I had sold out my best friend, traded affection for money. My heart was heavy with the loss and the betrayal. In a moment of ignorance I did something that has colored my decisions concerning selling anything for the rest of my life.

One evening we were sitting on the front porch and a black man was walking down the road. With one hand he was swatting at the gnats that followed him in a small cloud. His other arm was holding two or three puppies. Daddy Bess stepped out to the road and asked the man, 'What you got, boy?' The man said he had puppies and asked if Daddy Bess wanted one. The puppy was accepted and given to me. I named it Ruby, but for some

20 A Collection of Recollections reason I don't remember too much about it. You would think I would have been more interested, but I can't recall paying a lot of attention to it or getting attached to it..

It is possible, I suppose, that Ruby didn't spark my interest because of an event that took place one day. A rabid dog was on the loose and it was on the property. Momma Bess and I were told to go upstairs and wait until the danger was over. Daddy Bess and another man were trying to do away with the dog. I don't know how it was disposed of, I think there was a shot, but the men took care of the matter. It was a little frightening, and it was the first time I remember being in the upstairs of the house.

I don't know where the other boy came into the picture; he must have been a neighbor's son. He was there occasionally, but not very often. He was there the day I tried to ride the colt. He was also there when, in the same barn, we climbed up on some beams and got some of the tobacco that was hanging. We smoked some in a corncob pipe, but I don't know where we would have got it. I do know that we got so dizzy and queasy, however we smoked it, that we couldn't climb down for quite a while and were worried that someone might be looking for us. I have often thought it was a miracle we didn't burn that old barn down.

Up the road a little way were some men haying a field. I assume Daddy Bess was one of them because I was there. I became thirsty and asked if I could have a drink of water. They said, 'Sure if you can keep your nose out of the jar.' They were drinking out of a large wide mouthed jar. I tilted my head back as far as I could, but, try as I might I couldn't drink without getting my nose in the jar. The men were laughing and having fun with me. I laughed too, but I really didn't know what they were laughing about, because I thought they were serious about keeping my nose out of the jar!

Momma Bess told me one day that my grandparents were coming to take me back to New York. I told her I wouldn't go and that I would hide under the bed. Of course, she told me I couldn't do that. She said I would have to go with them. The reality of it didn't sink in until one day a brown 1934 Studebaker sedan with side mounted spare tires in wheel wells on the front fenders was driven up to the house by my grandfather. By this time I was thoroughly a Kentucky boy. I went out to the car, stepped up on the running board and said, 'I aint gwine back with you all'. This probably took my grandmother aback, but she held her tongue. Momma Bess baked not one but two chickens, and put forth a meal consisting of cooked fresh picked vegetables, mashed potatoes and gravy and homemade bread to go with them. We ate in the dining room. When it came time to leave there were tears, both the Bess's and mine, but not for my stalwart grandmother.

The trip back to Rensselaer was uneventful. Later, I was often puzzled at my grandmother telling people how I was starving to death and how much I ate on the trip back. When we arrived the house was very familiar to me and I did feel like I was home.

The only keepsake I took back with me was the little whip that Daddy Bess had made for me. Unfortunately, my little whip was used on me by my grandmother on more than one occasion. One day I took it down in the hollow where I spent a great deal of my time. It was an intriguing place, with two valleys branching off from a large hollow place in the earth approximately a half mile long. Both valleys were wooded with paths. There was a creek in each branch of the hollow, and in one a very small falls which was named Tea Falls. In between the two branches was a plateau of oak trees. I buried the whip there so it could no longer be used as an instrument of punishment.

When I was in service, I somehow managed to acquire the current address of Mom and Daddy Bess. I remember the response when I wrote them. She said she couldn't believe the letter was from 'Our Wayne'. I eventually lost track of them through my own negligence. Shortly after Bonnie and I were married, we drove back through the town of Bethel, in Bath County Kentucky, where they had been when I was in the service. I didn't know, of course, whether they were still living, but just wanted to check. We went to the Post Office, which was smaller than a one car garage. The Post Mistress did not know them, but there was an older lady who was obviously listening to our inquiry. When we went outside, she introduced herself as Mary Williams and said she had known the Bess's. She told us they had both passed away some time ago and gave us directions to the cemetery about 12 miles east of the town. We drove there and found their graves in the shadow of a statue of the Good Shepherd looking over them with outstretched arms. I said to Bonnie, 'Well, they are in good hands, and they deserve it.'

Shortly after returning home Mary Williams sent us a picture of Daddy Bess leading a horse with a small boy riding

21 Chapter 9: My Kentucky Story it. She had told us he loved children and horses and they loved him. She said he often brought his horse out and gave children rides.

There is not much else I can tell you about 'My Old Kentucky Home', a little boy and two loving people.

Wayne Slauson

Endnotes

How I wished I could have actually found that place, when Bonnie and I looked for it, but I have no trouble finding it in my memory. I was with people who had virtually nothing to offer but love. It was one of the happiest times (approximately two years) of my life.

WSS

If you are interested, this address will take you to an article about the 'George Washington' the flagship train of the Chesapeake and Ohio RR. The train made its first run in 1932. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ George_Washington_(C&O)) ______

22 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 10: The Neighborhood by Wayne Slauson. Posted Friday, March 25, 2011

I was all over that neighborhood. By using Google Earth's street level view, I have been able to look over the present day neighborhood, travel down the streets, look at houses and as I have said more than once recently, it looks much the same now as it did when I was a boy. There are a lot of trees, mostly large homes, all well kept. I don't remember any "old crabs" in the neighborhood. The doctor's office was in his residence a block and a half away from where we lived. Dr. Hannah, what a nice man. I had an infected finger one time. The doctor would examine it, treat it, and tell me to come back in a few days which I did. When Doc got word I was seeing Dr. Hannah every few days he called him, no doubt thinking of bills. The good doctor laughed and said he wasn't charging anything for those visits.

Various things that went on in the neighborhood made an impression on me. There was a couple (I think their name was Heller) who came around in a truck and sold vegetables. The first truck they had was chain driven, with solid rubber tires. It may have been a White. You could hear them coming from a distance and he would be calling out, 'Vegetables' in a loud voice. The word 'Vegetables' was altered to the point someone who didn't know them would have no idea what he was saying. After several years of them coming together the husband passed away, but his wife kept coming although she had a smaller truck. It occurred to me at the time she was a strong woman in spite of the fact she was tall and thin.

Occasionally, there would be a man with a peanuts and popcorn cart come down the street. The cart was red with a glass enclosed top and it was trimmed in gold filigree painting. The cart had a source of heat and it had a little steam whistle on it which he blew when coming down the street. The man had a huge lift on one shoe. There was a time when an 'Organ Grinder' came and he had a monkey with him. He must not have had much luck getting donations, because I don't remember him coming on regular occasions. A salt water taffy truck showed up in the neighborhood once in awhile. It had a steam calliope on it and I was fascinated with the sound. They tossed candy to kids who had come out enforce to see and hear it.

At the end of the block south of us was another Worden house. Reese Worden was Doc's brother. They didn't have a lot of contact between them, but there was no animosity evident. I think they were just busy with their own lives. Reese had children, at least one of them a grown man. The two youngest were Howard ('Howie') and Margaret ('Poggy'). I liked Poggy very well and sometimes went to their house after school. We listened to 'Jack Armstrong, the all American boy', the 'Lone Ranger' and the 'Green Hornet' on the radio in the living room. Howie was older and left to attend Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute. Surprisingly, RPI was not in Rensselaer, but in Troy, New York. Another son of theirs named Juny was the oldest. Probably he was named after his father. He was a bus driver and often times when I went to Albany he would be driving the bus. The bus route ended at 10th and Washington and went down Washington which was a little less than a block from our house.

I had great latitude of time to explore. This is another way of saying that I could be gone for long periods of time without repercussions. I never thought about it at the time, but looking back on it, I am amazed that was the case. Of course it was a different era than we know today. There are greater dangers now in a child being somewhere

23 Chapter 10: The Neighborhood other than where the parents are. But, don't think that perverts and those who would harm or molest children did not exist then. They did, and in such places as a YMCA camp as my experience there was evidence. I was gone from home for hours and at times was in more physical danger than you can imagine, most of the time from my own innocence, but looking back it was really from stupidity and recklessness. But, that's the advantage of being a boy. You can be stupid and reckless as long as you survive!

Before I get into some of that, I just remembered something that happened in the neighborhood of My Uncle Jim's house. I had a friend who lived near there named Matty Ash. Matty had an older brother. I'm not sure of the brother's name, could have been Billy, but it doesn't matter. One day that boy who was older and taller than I was, stood just off the curb as a car was driven around the corner. I think it was one of those daredevil stunts that kids do. A case of trying to see how close they could come to danger and get away with it. I'm sure he was trying to make an impression on the younger kids present. Well, in that case it was too close and an impression was made by the car running over his foot. The driver of the car was oblivious of the fact and drove on. But the boy was in pain. I got him on the bar of my bike and rode to Dr. Hannah's office which from there was about two blocks away. When we got there he was moaning in pain. I was not a strong kid, but I picked him up and carried him into the doctor's office. Someone saw us coming and opened the doors. There were two of them, because of a small ante room on the side of the house where patients entered. I didn't think much about it until later, but the boy had to weigh more than I did.

More adventures to follow.

Post Script: The Doctor's wife was his receptionist, nurse and probably his accountant. There was something about the way she said the word "bottle". She didn't pronounce the letters tt. If you read the word and leave out the T sound, you will know what I mean. I always thought that was unusual, to say the word bottle, and not pronounce the t letters in the word. In the doctor's office the word "bottle" was used often.

WSS ______

24 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 11: Sammy Lieberman by Wayne Slauson. Posted Saturday, March 26, 2011

It was my intention this morning to start writing about some boyhood adventure. Then I thought of Sammy. Sam was a special friend and friends are always a part of the adventure of life. I'm sorry this story has a sad ending, but it has to be told. Lieberman's pharmacy was about six or eight blocks from where I lived on Ninth Street. It was at one of the corners of the junction where Washington Avenue, Chestnut Street, Fourth Street and still another street come together. An A & P grocery was on one corner, a hardware store on another, a gas station with the Flying Red Horse on another.

Here is where Lieberman's Drug Store used to be. The door is still on the corner of the building like it was then. It looks like at the time Google's people were filming, someone was working on the building. Sam probably owned the whole building, but I don't know that for sure. If you look closely at this picture, at mid height on the left edge, you can see the frame of the sign that at one time announced "Lieberman's Drug Store" was in business here. Many a boy or girl sat on a stool at its old fashioned soda fountain, made dusty footprints on its oiled wood floor and was treated kindly by the friendly Sammy. I don't recall there being another drugstore in the town.

If I went in the store and grabbed a broom and swept up the floor, Sam would have a glass of coke for me when I was finished. He might ask me to do some other little job, but he never asked much. I really liked Sammy. One day he had to go to Albany to get a tank of carbon dioxide for the soda fountain and asked if I wanted to go with him. "Sure" I said. So we loaded an empty tank in the trunk of his Chevy and off we went. It was fun and Sam treated me like a buddy although he was an older man. He was a friendly person and so far as I know everyone liked him.

When I was in service I would go home to Beacon to visit, but would also come up to Rensselaer to see Nana and Doc for a day. When I would go into Sam's store he would greet me with a handshake and ask me all about what I was doing. He was a good man. It is people like Sam that make me wonder about the tenet that the only people to go to Heaven are those who have been "Saved". Of course Sam was Jewish and if I were to bring that up there would be an explanation that Jews are God's people. Well, it's too deep for me to dwell on. Anyway, poor Sammy had his hell before leaving the earth.

My grandparents were still living when I made a trip back to New York from Topeka sometime after I was out of the Air Force and working. During my time in new York I visited my grandparents, Nana and doc. I noticed the Drug Store was no longer in business. I asked them about Sam and they said he had apparently retired and was living in the house that my Uncle Jim had lived in when I was younger. Of course, I knew that house well so I went there and knocked on the door. Mrs. Lieberman answered the door and I told her who I was and that I had come to see Sam. She let me in and Sam was sitting in the living room. "Hello there" he said, but didn't use my name. So I reminded him who I was. He just smiled and I could sense something was wrong. The sadness of Alzheimer's had come upon Sam. He had no idea who I was, nor did he remember anything about the store. It was all gone. The reality of the situation finally reached my heart. How much I wanted to connect and recount those old times and memories, and how futile it was to pursue the subject. I looked at his wife. She smiled sweetly and with a barely perceptible shake of her head she very quietly said, "He doesn't remember". Sam actually looked healthy at that point, but the Sammy I knew was gone.

25 Chapter 11: Sammy Lieberman

It makes me sad to tell this little story. The fear of that disease is in many of us as we grow older. There is no antidote, and as far as I know, no preventive measures that have proven successful. How could their success be even measured? We can only hope it does not occur for any of us personally, or any of our loved ones.

And that, my friends is what I needed to tell you about Sammy Lieberman.

End Note: I was in the car numerous times when Doc got gas at the station with the Flying Red Horse. They would check the oil, clean the windshield. He would point out places on the windshield where they missed something which is something I wouldn't do.

A folk singer name John Gorky wrote a song about the Flying Red Horse Here is a link to a YouTube video. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W6PSqx6oxZ4

This is a verse out of the song.

If you see something red flash across the horizon It's not that your eyes aren't right She's taking her place with the red-tailed hawks And the broad winged birds in flight

WSS ______

26 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 12: Albany and the YMCA by Wayne Slauson. Posted Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Albany is the capital of New York state. It is and was and always has been a very busy city. If you were looking for a domed building like so many capitols are, you wouldn't find it. Below left is a picture of the building at night.

The Capitol is in the heart of the city and close to the capitol was a major shopping area located on Pearl Street. By using Google Earth, I have been able to look at this street as it is now. Kresge's, Woolworth, W T Grant and other stores that were on this stretch of Pearl are gone, replaced by smaller shops, some called Boutiques. The meaning of Boutique is a $mall $hop. In the 30's and at least the early forties, this section of Pearl was wall to wall with people. Signboard men traveled up and down the sidewalks advertising various businesses. One sign in front, one sign in back, both hanging on the man's shoulders . A man on stilts in a Planter's Peanuts costume walked the two blocks of Pearl that were the busiest.

In the middle of this section of pearl there stands a five story Romanesque building built in 1886. If you look closely at the picture, you can see the three story turret on the SE corner. It has a massive arched entry below. In 1924 an extension was added on the rear of the building,

The adjacent building, built in 1880, was bought for use as an annex at the time the original building was built. These structures housed the YMCA to which I traveled many times during my 8th to 10th years.

Yesterday I called the YMCA in Albany to see if this building was still being used by the Y. The girl I talked to referred me to a Debbie Martino who would be working today. She said Debbie had worked for the Y for 30 years and could tell me more about the old building. This morning I called the Albany YMCA again and did talk to Debbie Martino. A typical New Yorker, it was hard to get a word in edgewise. She said the old building had not been used by the YMCA for many years, maybe 50, but the pool was still there and some exercise club or other organization uses it. She said when you go in the entrance there is a bar and restaurant! Interesting conversation --- or listening. Makes me smile.

When I went to the old YMCA, I was able to get off the bus on Pearl Street. When I went farther west to the

27 Chapter 12: Albany and the YMCA dentist's office, Doc's place of business, or to the "Hawaiian Conservatory of Music" to take Hawaiian guitar lessons, I transferred from the bus to a streetcar at State and Pearl, a heavy traffic area approximately two blocks south of the YMCA.

The trolley jerked, lurched, creaked clanged and groaned loudly as it ground its way up State St, to Washington past the capitol and on to Central Avenue. It went past the Harmanus Bleeker Hall where I went with my mother once to a silent movie, "Birth of a Nation". The trolley had an arm that rotated as necessary to make contact with the trolley wire while turning corners. The trolleys replaced horse cars in the 1890's and ran until 1946.

My trips to Albany must have begun when I was pretty young. The reason I say that is I remember telling someone on one of the bus trips that I had just learned to read fast because words started appearing as complete words instead of as individual letters that I had to read and then decide what the word was. Surely that had to have happened when I was really young.

There was a humorous thing I recall about swimming at the YMCA. The boys swam naked. After seeing some black kids swimming I went home and told Nana "You know those kids are that color all over." I guess before that point I hadn't considered that possibility. It was somewhat of a revelation. In the beginning, I know I didn't do too well in the water. At first I was fearful of being under water. But, when I was at YMCA camp I was the champion for holding my breath under water. I went to YMCA camp 3 weeks of each summer at ages 8, 9, and 10.

The YMCA camp was at Lake Cossayuna, but is at another location now. There are many Indian names in New York State, and Cossayuna is a corruption of Quabbauna, the Indian name of the lake. Tradition says that this name means The Lake of the Three Pines. I attended camp 3 different years, 3 weeks each time. The highlights of my experience there occurred not at the camp but trips to other locations. We rode in the back of a stake bed truck with high sides. It would be completely illegal these days. I remember touring the Canajoharie Beachnut factory and Ft. Ticonderoga. (see end note) One trip in particular stands out. There was a lead car and we became separated in Saratoga, NY. The driver of the truck pulled up a side street and stopped, just waiting for the lead car to find us. But, the place he chose to stop was right in front of Dunham's Bar and Grill. It was frustrating for me because I knew my mother worked there! Of course, I was told I couldn't get out of the truck. It was very odd, being there in that truck looking at that business and wondering if my mother was there! Eventually the lead car driver found us and we were on our way.

One more thing I will tell you about the YMCA camp. My time there was a mixture of pleasure and loneliness. The first two years I was in the section of the camp called "Indians" We were the youngest in the camp. My experience there makes me wonder how many other "Indians" were molested. My third year was in the "Pioneers" . It was not long after Pop had died and I remember crying in my bunk and saying, "Oh Pop, why did you have to die?"

Not realizing my mother had paid the bill for my camp experience, I mentioned to her in her late years that I really didn't like going to that YMCA camp. I didn't say anything else about it and was sorry I had said anything.

End notes:

Ticonderoga is a variation of an Indian word, "Cheonderoga" which means "between two waters" or "Where the waters meet". Ticonderoga is at the outlet of Lake St. George where it enters Lake Champlain. It was a strategic location for entering the Hudson River Valley from Canada. ??

I Googled Harmanus Bleeker Hall and came up with the picture taken in 1928. I also read about the movie Birth of a Nation and if it was the same movie we saw, I have no idea why we went to it. I notice the movie is still available from Amazon.

28 A Collection of Recollections

______

29 Chapter 13: The Hollow ° Chapter 13: The Hollow by Wayne Slauson. Posted Sunday, April 3, 2011

It is with a little difficult and a degree of sadness that I write about the Hollow after looking down from a Google Earth aerial view and recognizing that progress has scarred the land to the point the Hollow I knew no longer exists. I can see what is left and it bears no semblance to what was. The Hollow I knew was approximately a quarter mile wide and started at the south end of Rensselaer.

It ran for about a mile toward the northeast, then branched into two valleys. In between the two valleys was a plateau of oak trees alive with squirrels. Both valleys had a small creek. If you went to the end of either valley you came to a lush meadow with a narrow stream running through it, splitting and becoming the source of the two creeks. Near the split in one valley was a small falls named Tea Falls. If you followed the stream upstream in the meadow a short distance, you would come to a Willow tree from which a small branch could be whittled into a whistle. The Hollow was paradise. It was peaceful. It was adventure limited only by the imagination into which you could enter at any point along its length.

Two different paths led into the hollow within a block of 2012 Ninth. One path at the end of 10th St. went by a sugar maple and you could taste the sap with your finger. The nearest path always had Red Sumac growing near the beginning of the path. A short way down that path the "bigger" boys had built a sturdy tree house. It had a bench on either side and at the far end a homemade stove with a stovepipe through the roof.

Nearby was a rope swing situated such that you would swing out from a small bank. One day I tried it out. It was not a two rope swing with a seat, it was one rope with a knot near the end and it was almost too far away for me to reach. I did a little jump though and swung out on it only to lose my grip and fall flat on my back knocking the wind out of me. No one was around and I wondered for a minute if I had done myself in. I was gasping for breath. I didn't try it again.

On down that path you were soon in the woods and came to the creek. The path on which you entered intersected the main trail going up the western branch. A few times I took my bow and arrow and where the path rose to the plateau I would "hunt" squirrels. Of course I never even came close and I think they laughed at me.

One day when I was feeling the absence of a dad, I stood by the creek watching the water skaters scooting around, and the minnows twitching this way and that beneath them. I made believe a dad was standing there with me and spoke aloud as though he were actually present. "Look at those Dad. Did you see those minnows Dad?"

On a happier note, one day I went down in the hollow, not far from the spot mentioned above, and took a can of Franco-American spaghetti with me. I built a little fire and the plan was to heat the spaghetti in the can at the edge of the fire. Here is where I made a slight mistake. I set the can at the edge of the fire without opening it! I learned first hand the principal of expansion with heat that day; How I thought I was going to be able to open that can if it was hot, I don't know. It didn't matter. I sat cross legged by my little fire and in a little while I saw the can bulge an instant before an explosion took place. The explosion put out the fire, I got a little of the spaghetti on me, not much, thankfully, and I have no idea where the can went. It's hard to imagine a more surprised person than I was. I hardly knew what happened for an instant but it didn't take me long to figure it out. There was no Franco American spaghetti meal for me that day and that was the end of that safari.

The Greenalch's who lived on Washington east of 10th street had a dog named Trusty. It was a red Irish Setter and often people mistook the name as being Rusty. She and I were buddies for a period of time. I visited their house often and sometimes called Mrs. Greenalch Mom. There were several times in my life when I called different women Mom. She was one of them. trusty and I would roam the Hollow together. She was a beautiful

30 A Collection of Recollections dog with a matching personality. There was a way down into the Hollow in back of their house and we would enter the Hollow from there. She never strayed from me and it was a privilege to be allowed to pal around with her. The Greenalch's are mentioned in a little story I wrote about a dog I had for a short time.

In the picture below, 2012 Ninth would be close to the top center of the picture, and all of the light brown area and more, would have been the Hollow.

In looking at what is left of the Hollow, a sand pit, a four lane highway, and one area of just a vacant field in the lowest part of the earth's depression, It reminds me of the lines of what has been purported to be a letter Chief Seattle wrote to President Franklin Pierce.

"Every part of this earth is sacred to my people. Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every mist in the dark woods, every clearing, and every humming insect is holy in the memory and experience of my people. We know that the white man does not understand our ways. One portion of land is the same to him as the next, for he is a stranger who comes in the night and takes from the land whatever he needs. The earth is not his brother, but his enemy, and when he has conquered it, he moves on."

It has also been claimed that Chief Seattle did not write these words. That they were written in Hollywood for a movie. What is true I don't know, but I do know the Indian had to think like this when the white man built his roads and railroad tracks across the land. When I think of the magic of the Hollow, the smell of the fallen leaves, the chatter of the squirrels and the bubbly trickle of the creeks, and that it has been buried as one bury's a departed soul I feel a twinge of what the Indian must have felt.

I was not allowed to have a BB gun, but somehow I acquired one and it was kept in Scully's garage in the next block down on Ninth St. Even though I had one, I didn't use it very much for fear of being caught. But I did venture into even more dangerous territory.

There was an old man named Pop Salt who lived at the corner of 10th and Ash. Ash was just a half a lock south of

31 Chapter 13: The Hollow

2012, and 10th street was just a block east. The old man sat out in his garage nearly every day in good weather and sometimes I would stop and talk to him. I suppose it was like talking to Pop, and coincidentally, he went by Pop also. One day I was talking about BB guns and he got up, reached up to the ceiling joists and pulled down a gun. He said, "This was the BB gun in my day". That's it in the picture at left, and he gave it to me that day. Several years ago I refinished the stock on it. I don't know how it was intended to be used originally. But one thing I can tell you is that a 22 short will fit in the chamber. The other thing is that in its present worn condition, when the hammer comes down on the shell, it fires, the hammer bounces back, and the shell disappears. I did shoot it a few times and luckily never got hit by the shell. It's obviously very dangerous to fire, but leave it up to a kid to try something he shouldn't.

It is a shame the Hollow no longer exists except in the memory of my generation. Later generations sat and stared at video games and computer screens. I'm sorry they missed the closeness to the natural environment I enjoyed. ______

32 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 14: The Monks by Wayne Slauson. Posted Monday, April 4, 2011

All of the kids called it the "Monastery" and called the people there "Monks". Up to now I thought that was the correct designation , but it was a Seminary and there is a difference. Until I-90 was built, the property covered 100 acres.

The name of the Seminary was St. Anthony's on the Hudson. I was always under the impression the Catholic Church had built the main Seminary building. Now I find it was built by William Patterson Van Rensselaer a son of Stephan Van Rensselaer III, who inherited most of Rensselaer County. William built the Greek Revival "Beverwyck Manor" in 1839. The manor was purchased by Paul Forbes in 1850 as a county seat, and became known as Old Forbes Manor. It remained mostly unoccupied through 1910, and was finally sold to the Order of Franciscans for St. Anthony-on-the-Hudson Seminary. The Seminary closed in 1988, but the buildings are still there. The Beverwyck Manor building was listed as a National Historic Site in 1979. In 2009 the Franciscan order established the Franciscan Heights Corporation and constructed a 53 unit apartment building and 32 cottages nearby for middle income senior citizens.

The original buildings of the seminary serve as home for staff and retired Friars. The building in the picture is now the administrative "Provincial House

The Google people with their special camera vehicle apparently drove down to the main building because I was able to obtain a picture of it on line. I used to ride my bike over there and sometimes engage the men I met in conversation. An older man, whose name was Father Sebastion was real friendly. I have always thought that was a neat name and I always enjoyed talking to him. One day he was cutting the tops off of dandelions, harvesting the flowers to make dandelion wine. I can't remember what we talked about, other than about what he was doing that day, but the thing that impressed me is he took time to talk to a boy on a bicycle who rode the loop drive in the seminary. Isn't it interesting that a person would remember the name of someone for over 70 years just because he was friendly? Isn't there a lesson in that?

Off of the Seminary road and down in the woods there was a dam on the property and a small pond behind it. In hot weather several of us boys went skinny dipping there. A couple times I remember some of the residents, those

33 Chapter 14: The Monks we called Monks, coming down the path and watching for a few minutes. We really had a ball swimming there. Our name for it was the Monk's dam.

There were a lot of woods on the property with trails on which you could travel down almost to the Hudson river. One of them, judging from the width was probably a left over road from hauling material up to build the dam. I tried to ski down that trail, but never could master more than a few feet without falling. The trail went down to the area around Berry's pond.

I'm going to get back to Berry's pond and the river in a later chapter, but now; a couple young boys with larceny on their minds. In the picture, if you look past the main building of the seminary, you will see a cleared area. In that area they had a vegetable garden. Another boy, Jack Gray, and I teamed up and planned a mission. We came up through the woods to that garden. It was our intent for each of us to get a ripe tomato, and we were fully prepared to execute the deed. We actually had a salt shaker with us. The garden was dense. The tomato plants were high, climbing on steel enclosures . We were crouched in the garden, hearts pounding and blood racing ready to select our treasure. A screen door slammed. A look through the foliage and two nuns had exited the back door, walking a path toward the garden, chatting as they did so. Exit stage right! No, they will hear us. Luckily the nuns changed direction, and as they did the two boys abandoned their plans and got out of there for fear of being forever doomed to burn in a lake of fire. No booty was captured as a result of the mission. It was a narrow escape!

The mystery road was across from Eighth and Washington Avenue. It went diagonally down into the property owned by the seminary. It was flanked by flowering trees in the spring. The mystery was that it went nowhere. It just dead ended in the woods. I never knew why that road was there until looking at the aerial view of the seminary. Now I think at one time the road was probably an entrance, then abandoned in favor of an entrance at another location. But since the road was so enclosed with woods and all manner of overgrowth including the flowering trees it was a mystery then as to why it was there.

On the north side of Washington Avenue there was some open acreage between the street and the woods. It was all property belonging to the seminary. One day I saw a man cutting hay there. He was using a horse drawn sickle. When he finished, he hooked the team up to a hay rake. I approached him and said I knew how to operate the rake, telling him I could do it for him. He handed me the reins and made a motion towards the seat. I climbed up on the rake and raked the hay in windrows. The man watched a few minutes, got in a small truck and drove away. I thought that was odd and was relieved when he came back in a little while with a large truck and one or two other men. They began loading the hay that had been windrowed and I finished raking what was left. I was either 12 or 13 at the time, I can't remember whether the man gave me any money or not, but it didn't matter to me. I got to do something interesting.. I had never raked hay before, I just saw someone doing it. I have always had the idea if someone else could do something I could do it too. Of course that has not always been true. Here is the really odd part of that event. The next year the same man was haying in the same place. I walked up there when he had finished mowing and he handed me the reins of the team, never saying a word. I climbed up on the seat and raked the hay again that year. So far as I can recall, no words were spoken. There may have been a grunt, but no conversation. It was odd how it happened, but still interesting and that's why I remember it.

That's about it for what I remember of the place where the "Monks" lived! Just one of the places where I spent some of my time as a boy. ______

34 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 15: The Hudson River by Wayne Slauson. Posted Friday, April 8, 2011

Berry's pond was right near the river and had been an ice pond. Ice was harvested from the pond and stored in a two story ice house. It had a chute where chunks of ice could be slid down into a waiting truck which would deliver the ice to homes and businesses. When there was no longer a need for ice due to modern refrigeration, the pond became a favorite ice skating location. There was a shack with a stove in it, and benches along the walls where you could change into your skates or just come in and get warm. They had a small counter at one end where a few snack were sold.

Berry's pond was a popular place in the winter and I spent quite a lot of time there also, but wider spaces beckoned. The frozen river was tempting and I would skate on it. Skating on the river was dangerous, and I realize that now, but it was something I did and didn't give it a lot of thought. There may be some others who did it but I never saw anyone else on it. Skating when the channel was open or the ice was breaking was even more dangerous. I was not daring, I was foolish and I admit it. There were times when the ice right at the shore would be broken up and it was necessary to use a large patch or two as stepping stones to get out on the main ice. Some times the ice would groan and rumble like rolling thunder, but it was exhilarating and exciting adventure to be out there in the open skating. on the river.

Dreams of building an ice boat like the one below prompted me to carry an abandoned plank from a teeter totter from lower Rensselaer to 2012 Ninth Street. That was a chore because it was really heavy. Of course, the ice boat never got built, but I never stopped dreaming it would.

I didn't see any ice boats in the area around Rensselaer but I know they are doing that up north and I recently saw something that makes me think they are doing it on the Hudson in some locations. While visiting at FDR museum in Hyde Park, New York I saw a large ice boat over 20 ft. in length. Speeds of 50 to 70 MPH are common for ice boats. The speed record for an ice boat is 150MPH. It's hard to imagine!

There were occasions in the summer when I swam in the Hudson river which at that time was terribly polluted. I remember one time a woman was in the water with the kids. She was naked and a man walked by about the time she wanted to get out. He stopped and acted like he was not going to leave and let her get out of the water. It was funny. In a few minutes the kids all started yelling at him to leave. How could some naked kids in the water intimidate a grown man? But, he decided he had enough and left.

A lot of progress has been made since then to clean up the river. In those days the tap water in Rensselaer did not taste good. Every week or two, Doc and I would load the trunk of the Studebaker with gallon jugs and drive to Brookville, near Defreestville which is named for ancestors on my mother's side of the family. I think it was a railroad station at a location along the railroad where there once was a town of Brookville which had probably been incorporated into Defreestville. A spring at the railroad station ran all the time. It was piped up and out of the ground and flowed from a horizontal pipe 2 or 3 ft above the ground, so we could fill our jugs. We loaded them into the car and took them back home to use for drinking and cooking.

35 Chapter 15: The Hudson River

On one of the trips to Brookville during some cold weather, I slipped on ice and a full gallon jug hit the index finger of my left hand right where it joins the palm. The jug did not break, but in a few minutes I could feel my hand was wet inside my glove. When I pulled it off, I found I had split the finger at that point. The scar is still plainly visible. We managed to finish our chore before going home.

My feet have been dragging on the way to write about this next event. However, I have learned a few things since it happened, so maybe the reader won't decide I'm not a brick short of a full load.

On most years the shipping channel of the river remained open during the winter and the water flowed with a strong current. However, one winter the Hudson was frozen from one side to the other. That day I wasn't skating, but I was out on the ice and I decided to see if I could walk to the Albany side. I did walk all the way across and when I got to the other side there was a 15 or 20 foot concrete wall. Right in line with my path was an iron ladder up the wall. The ice in that last 50 feet or so looked different, but I couldn't resist going to that ladder and climbing up to the ground above. When I was on the land at the top, there was nothing in sight but vacant land.

I looked down at where I had come across the ice to the ladder and was startled by what I saw. From that angle I could see the ice was obviously thin, It had a dark look and not the frosty look of thick ice.

An inventory of the circumstances was in order. I knew there was a railroad bridge down- river with a walk along the side of it. On the Rensselaer side it ended at the lower end of Rensselaer, still a good distance from home. I had walked across it several times after going to a movie at the Palace theater in Albany and saved the money I would have spent for the bus. But I knew that bridge had to be quite a distance from me. There was no way of knowing what I would encounter between where I was and that bridge. I may have had to go through a railroad yard. There may have been an obstacle that would require me to go farther inland in order to get there. After considering the options and the possibility of a walk of several miles, I took a deep breath, climbed down the ladder and shuffled across the thin ice to the main ice at which point I breathed a sigh of relief and decided it was time to head for the safety of home. Had I gone through that ice they would never have known what happened to me. I wouldn't have been writing any chapters. I have thought of that incident many times with the feeling I was more than just lucky. Someone was watching over me.

The Hudson was a large part of life when I lived there. The Hudson River Day Liners were excursion ships that ran sometimes to New York and back, at other times one would go part way and back. One was named Peter Stuyvesant, another Alexander Hamilton. There was a third and I'm pretty sure it was the Robert Fulton. One had a walking beam engine with the exposed walking beam going up and down on an upper deck. I think it was the Peter Stuyvesant. The engine rooms were glassed in areas so you could see the steam engine and the engineer working on it as the ship traveled. Some were side wheelers, some were stern wheelers. I don't know whether any were prop driven. I took three or four excursions as part of school celebrations.

36 A Collection of Recollections

Here is a great picture of the Alexander Hamilton. Apparently it was on Life Magazine at one time. I was on excursions that included the three boats I mentioned, and this is one of them. The Peter Stuyvesant was retired in 1962, becoming a floating restaurant in Boston, but was so badly damaged in a storm it was scrapped in 1978.

The Peter Stuyvesant below.

37 Chapter 15: The Hudson River

The Robert Fulton above.

I am moved by seeing these pictures of the Day Liners and remembering the enjoyment of those days; the mini romances, the boys diving for coins thrown by passengers while docked at Hudson or Kingston, the vibration of the deck, the throbbing of the engine, the hoarse deepness of the ship's whistle, and sharing the experience with classmates. All of it causes waves of nostalgia to wash over me.

At the same time it triggers regrets. Regretting that I couldn't continue through high school at Rensselaer. Regretting that I left there instead of staying with Nana and Doc. Of course I left not of my own choosing and I anticipated my leaving would lead to a more pleasant life than it did. My expectations were not realized. Had I stayed with my grandparents, it is with some certainty of mind that if Doc would have seen that I had the opportunity to go to Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute (RPI) as did his nephew. But thinking such is akin to wishing the arrow had never left the string or the bullet had not traveled the rifled barrel and ricocheted as it missed the target. I was not in control and those who were thought they were doing the right thing. So often in life people do what they think is the right thing only to find after experiencing the outcome realize it was not the right thing after all.

However, if it had not been as it was I would have missed a great deal, and friends made would not have even been known to me. In all of it, the chaff is blown away and the fruit remains. ______

38 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 16: This Old House by Wayne Slauson. Posted Friday, April 8, 2011

My good friend Jack Gray and I are playing around some old abandoned cars in a field not far from his house. Jack's claim to fame is that he has a brother with two thumbs on one hand. His brother Phillip has two small thumbs where one of his regular thumbs would have been. Jack and I decide to do something different. What about the old house? You mean the one on Plank Road? Yeah, let's go down and look around it. It isn't very far away and we approach from the back, away from the road.

A window in the basement looks like it could be popped open fairly easily. Jack gives the bottom part of the sash a good shove with his foot and it is open. The window doesn't break, but the latch breaks and it is open. It's hinged from the top and swings inward. Oh brother, we have to go in there now. It would probably have been better if the window didn't open that easily. Crawling into the basement ad dropping to the floor is not a problem. It is a deep basement. Once in the basement we find it is empty and there is nothing to stand on to get back out that window. The door from the basement to the first floor is locked, but an old fashioned lock is no match for two boys now desperate to get out of the basement and oblivious to the possibility of being caught.

The first floor is neat and clean, but does not have a lived in look. It looks like something you might see in a museum. Various musical instruments fill one large room in the center of the house. A harpsichord, an Edison Victrola with very thick records and even an Edison cylinder type player and a piano. Of special interest is a music box that plays very nice music. We plink on the instruments and try the players. For some reason we are careful not to break anything and I'm thankful for that. Perhaps it is out of recognition of the value and respect for the antiquity of the items. At least it is greater than our respect for the rights of the property owner which we are violating for being there.

A room near the front door has a table with a flag draped over it and a very large Bible sitting on the flag.

Then, for no reason other than the realization of what we had done, we are quietly speaking in hushed tones. Slowly we ascend the stairs to the second floor. A relatively small room there has a single bed in it. There is also a sink and an electric range. I try out both the bed and the range. The range actually has power to it. Things are beginning to spook us a little. But we explore the upstairs and keep our voices down. A feeling of intruding and the impropriety of it all is gradually working on us.

We come to a door which opens to another set of stairs. We look at each other. The tension increases. Shadows dance on the ceiling and my first thought is they are shadows from the sunlight through the leaves of the trees outside. But, they have a strange flickering similar to shadows I have seen before. We hesitate. One does not want to follow the other, so with whispered consent we take each step together until finally we get to just above the level of the floor and look out into the attic.

To our amazement and to our frightening sight there is a woman kneeling in front of a small vanity on which a candle is burning.. We gasp and she turns toward us. Half of her face is covered with a purple birth mark . Jack

39 Chapter 16: This Old House screams. I yelp and in 2 seconds we are out the front door of that place ignoring the fact we are exiting on the side toward the road. We split with no further conversation, each headed for our homes.

I am bothered by writing about this. It troubles me from two aspects. One, that I participated in such a deed as breaking into what we thought was a vacant house . Two, that the house was really not vacant. The latter is arguably the worst part because at a considerably later date that house burned to the ground. My grandparents showed me the Newspaper article and I read it carefully. There was no mention of a woman in the article.

I'm glad this particular posting is done. I'm hesitant to click on the button to "publish" it. Keep in mind I was a boy and am well aware it was not what you would call one of my "finest moments". My step-daughter says I don't have to feel guilty about it at this point in my life. The statute of limitation has long run its course and I have reformed my behavior to that of a law abiding citizen. ______

40 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 17: The Odd Fellows Home by Wayne Slauson. Posted Monday, April 11, 2011

My first thought when writing this was to say the Odd Fellows Home in Stuyvesant, NY was a home for old men of the Independent order of Odd Fellows. But, in my memory of the place there were some women also. The Order of Rebekah is an auxiliary of the Odd Fellows and it's possible that is why some women were there. In the summers of my 12th and 13th years I spent some time at the Odd Fellows Home an odd place for a boy that age to be staying. I think Doc was involved somehow in the management of the place because we drove down there occasionally and he attended a meeting with other men.

The first year I was there I actually shared a room with one of the residents. I thought it was unusual but didn't mind. I was always making friends with older men anyway. There were some nights when it was hot and I slept out on the back porch. An old sofa or glider was there and when I was young I could sleep anywhere.

The Odd Fellows Home had a farm associated with it and the farm products contributed some to the income necessary to keep the place operating. I don't remember having any specific duties while I was there but I probably did have some minor chores. I have vague memories of cleaning manure out of the barn, but most of what I remember is just being present when other work was being done, giving a hand when I could. I was not a strapping farm boy by any means. I was a puny little kid.

While riding on top of a load of hay being pulled by a team, the wagon tipped over with me on it, but my memory of it is as though it were in slow motion and I didn't have any feeling of danger. The wagon was being pulled out of the field onto a road which was a little higher than the field. I probably slid more than fell, so it was not any problem, for me at least. It did require a lot of work for a couple men to get things straightened out and the load upright.

On another occasion I was riding in the back of a pickup, which I believe was a 1934 Ford. The hired man was in the process of turning the truck around in front of the barn. As he backed up and turned I tumbled out of the truck onto the ground, my head going under the truck with the left front wheel coming toward me. He had hit the brake

41 Chapter 17: The Odd Fellows Home and the wheel was sliding on the gravel. It stopped right in front of my nose and I can see the tread on that tire in my mind. The man was more shook up than I was. I scrambled back up in the bed and away we went.

They did have a field in wheat and I enjoyed riding on the threshing machine when it was used. But the process that impressed me the most was the loading of hay in the haymow. What fascinated me about that was the way the hook came down and grabbed the hay, raised it up as a team pulled away from the barn and then the magic of it hitting the trolley and rolling into the mow. The sound of the hook and the trolley latching and starting its horizontal travel is one I think I would recognize today if I heard it. It has always been a mystery to me of how it worked because I never saw it up close enough to be able to examine the mechanism.

I said in an earlier post that I would be mentioning the Hudson again. The Odd Fellows Home sat on a hill overlooking the river. Several times I went down the road through Stuyvesant to the railroad tracks along the river. I walked up-river along the tracks and found a place where the beach was sandy. A long piece of land jutted out into the river on the up-river side, forming a bay like area where there was no current. Several times I stripped down and went skinny dipping in the river. Sometimes a New York Central fast passenger train would go by and I would wave to the passengers whether I was in the water or not.

One such time I was in the water at a depth where I was sort of bouncing up and down on my toes with the river about up to my chin. Unknown to me the Hudson River Day Liner was coming down the river. It was out of my sight because of the strip of land I mentioned. But then I saw it come past the point and stood there watching. It was not close to me at all so I felt no danger at all. But I wasn't thinking of wakes! When the wake hit me it was a complete surprise and knocked me off my feet. For a few minutes I was in a panic state until I managed to get close enough to the shore so I could regain my footing. After that I was cautious about venturing very far out.

A two story farm type house was also on the grounds of the Odd Fellows Home. The second year I stayed there a couple was managing the farm and living in that house. The upstairs was vacant except for a single bed, and I slept there. The farm was on the opposite side of the road than the house. I liked the lady and started calling her mom. The man was really bossy and all business. He offered nothing even close to friendliness. I did what I was told until one hot day when he took me up near the barn. He showed me a garden that was in terrible shape. He pointed out a part of the garden where carrots were planted. The weeds were higher than the carrots, you had to look carefully to even find the carrots. Pulling a weed out would surely destroy the carrot. If someone were to show me such a garden patch today and suggest the weeds should be pulled where the carrots had been planted I would ask them if they were kidding. What I did was stand there and look at that hopeless situation. It was hot and humid and faced with an impossible task I said, "I can't do that." "What do you mean you can't do that? You sure as hell better do it." I just shook my head. He had what could be described as a genuine "Hissy" accompanied with words I can't write here. I walked away.

I don't know how I managed to call Doc. It's possible I had enough money to call him from a pay phone in town. There was an ice cream store where I went for a cone several times in the evenings. At any rate, I called Doc that night and tearfully told him I wanted to come home. It was a few days before that was accomplished and during that time I avoided that foreman or what ever he was called.

It was too bad my time there ended like it did, because I had a lot of good memories about the place. One of the products of the farm was apples. During the fall, there were many apple stands along the highways in New York, and the Odd Fellows home was just one of them. That man was like the rotten apple that spoiled the barrel. It was probably the first time I was in a situation I could do nothing about except escape and that's what I did. When Doc came and when we were home, I don't remember any conversation about it or criticism; I went home and it was over.

There is a little humorous ending I can put to this. The lady at the ice cream store was an adult but definitely an attractive young adult. I'm smiling as I write this. I flirted with her with no shame in doing so. One day I made a suggestion I would like her to go up in the hay mow with me. I'm chuckling now! Of course, I'm sure it was pretty amusing to her and she told her husband about it. A couple days later I was in the ice cream store and he came in. I think they must have set it up. He was pretty good sized man and plenty strong. He lifted me up and set me on the counter and said something like, "What's this about you and my wife?" I was startled at first but in another instant I sensed things were not seriously out of control. So I just laughed. He gave me a make believe punch in

42 A Collection of Recollections the jaw. Everybody laughed then. I'm sure I was a little relieved but I never thought I was in real trouble. ______

43 Chapter 18: Washington Avenue Garage ° Chapter 18: Washington Avenue Garage by Wayne Slauson. Posted Tuesday, April 12, 2011

The Washington Avenue Garage was a favorite place of mine. Austin Riley was the owner, Bud Riley his son. When I was around there I did about anything I was asked to do such as pump gas, fix tires, wash cars, clean the grease pit. I was given a little money now and then, but the big reward was being allowed to move cars around. I would tell Mr Riley my grandfather let me drive, and tell Doc that Mr. Riley let me drive. It was the ideal situation and it worked.

Bud was in his twenties and sometimes treated me like a kid brother. I'm not saying he was real good to me, gave me candy or anything like that. I'm just saying he treated me like a kid brother. He had to go to Albany one time to pick up a car. I think it might have been one he was buying for himself or his dad was buying. I know he was kind of proud of that particular car. It was a '32 Chevy couple. It was known beforehand that it had a bad starter. Of course they had the ability to fix something like that. Bud asked me if I wanted to go with him. Of course I did. What is odd about that trip is I can't remember whether we left a car there or I drove a vehicle back. Logic tells me we left a vehicle there, because I have no memory of driving one back and I surely would have if I had driven through any Albany traffic.

The car was parked on an incline up to a garage. It reminded me of the setup in Kentucky. It started easily when it was rolled back and the clutch was "popped" while in reverse. I remember also that it started easily on the front apron of the garage back in Rensselaer when pushed just a few feet.

Another time I went with him and his dad to pick up a vehicle that had been sitting in a garage for several years. It was a very interesting vehicle. it was a 1932 Lincoln with an aluminum body and a 447.9 cubic inch V-12 engine. This was nothing short of a beautiful vehicle. Mr. Riley lifted the hood and was showing the engine to someone in front of the garage and offered to take him for a short ride.

He told me to get in which I did without hesitation. We drove out Washington Avenue a mile or two, turned around and came back. This was a car capable of speeds we drive today. There is no doubt about it.

There was an especially fascinating thing about this car. On the floor board on the drivers side there was a hole with a slotted shaft visible in the hole. If you turned that shaft a quarter of a turn you could hear a sound like psst psst psst. Over under the passenger door on the rocker panel was a small knob. It is barely visible in the picture on the left. It looks like a shiny chromed spot. When you turned that knob, a panel opened and an air hose was visible. The car had an air compressor and it was engaged by the shaft I mentioned on the floorboard of the

44 A Collection of Recollections driver's side. With the hose you could air up tires. Mr. Riley's thought was they could use it to air up tires on trouble calls of that type. I don't know if they ever did that. But I know it was capable of being used that way if they chose to do it.

The Washington Avenue garage was just a couple blocks from 2012 Ninth Street. It was near the school, across from it and a half block east. Finklestein's, a small grocery was in a house next door and is now just a residence. The garage is gone, the land is overgrown with trees. The building was old when I was there.

There were many times when I went over to the garage on Saturday mornings and did something to earn a quarter so I could go to the Saturday matinee at the "Uptown" theater on Third street. I learned years later that was the same theater in which my real father worked as a projectionist and my mother played the piano during silent movies.

It is mind boggling to think all those people are gone now, even Bud Riley. He would have to be over 100 years old otherwise. I wonder if the old Lincoln is gone now too. If not it would be worth a fortune. ______

45 Chapter 19: St. Paul's Evangelical English Lutheran Church ° Chapter 19: St. Paul's Evangelical English Lutheran Church by Wayne Slauson. Posted Wednesday, April 13, 2011

The full name of the church was St. Paul's Evangelical English Lutheran Church of Third Street, Rensselaer, N.Y. My mother's brother, Uncle Jim, lived a few blocks from us in the same house that Sammy Lieberman later owned. His wife was Vera and her parents lived at 10th and Ash, right across the street from Pop Salt, the man who gave me the old gun.

Uncle Jim's in-laws were the Wagenheiser's. I never knew their first names. Mr. Wagenheiser had a barber shop at Division and Broadway, either a long walk or a short bus trip from 2012 Ninth. It was there I got my hair cuts. It is not known to me whether they offered to take me to church or not, but I suspect that was the case. Therefore, on most Sundays I cut through between the Wanmer's garage and ours and over to the Wagenheiser's garage and went to the Lutheran church with them in their Nash Lafayette.

I attended classes, studying the catechism, learning the Apostle's creed which I still know fairly well, and was confirmed.

My confirmation picture is at the right. The Pastor's name at that church was Ackerly. I have no recollection of what he looked like just that he was friendly and patient. I still have the confirmation certificate, but the only time I have been in a Lutheran church since then is one time going with another couple in Rock Port, Texas.

There were times I didn't stay for the church service and walked home rather than sit through the service and ride home with the Wagenheiser's. They were nice people.

______

46 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 20: Close to Leaving by Wayne Slauson. Posted Thursday, April 14, 2011

In writing these chapters I'm getting close to the time when I leave Rensselaer. There are some things I thought of I want to mention before I get to that point.

In back of Van Rensselaer Grade School there was a bluff and vacant land. I mentioned in the chapter about Pop that he taught me how to make kites. The kites we made were the basic kites with which I think everyone is familiar. Later, I learned how to make box kites which were my favorite.

I flew kites off that bluff and had some interesting experiences. One cloudy day the kite was quite a distance out, and when I reeled it in it was wet. It was raining where the kite was but not where I was. Another time the kite was flying lower than I was. It was fascinating to see that kite flying so well and I was looking down at it. The land sloped away toward the river. The kite did rise as it got closer when I reeled it in.

Next to the school was a road called Plank road. l assume it got its name because at one time the surface was made of planks. When I Googled Plank Road I could see there were a number of roads in that area by that name. Plank road went downhill from the area of the school to near the river. In the winter we would sled down that road. The sleds were the "old fashioned" kind with steel runners and the cross piece at the top provided a limited ability to steer. Many of them were "American Flyer" sleds.

At the bottom of the road was the Shoddy Mill. The Shoddy Mill was a plant where old fabrics were torn to shred to make "waste". Oil saturated waste was used in the journal bearing boxes of railroad cars to lubricate the axle bearings. Hot boxes were what they called the condition where the waste got so hot it smoked and caught fire.

Locomotives were all steam engines and the railroad was the New York Central. My Uncle Jim was Master Mechanic of the shops there in Rensselaer. I rode the trains a number of times, especially after I went to Beacon to live with my mother and step-father.

My First Grade teacher was Miss McNab. Some called her McNab the crab. When I came back from Kentucky, I had already attended the first grade there, but the "New York Board of Regents" didn't recognize the School System in Kentucky as having any validity at all. Consequently, I had to take the first grade over in Rensselaer. For that reason I didn't graduate from Grade School until I was 14 when I finished the eighth grade.

At the time I was in the first grade I was reading Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. I was "into" playing the part. One day I wrote a note to the teacher using a red pen. In the note I wrote that it had been written in blood. There was a cemetery on the corner diagonally opposite the school and I invited her to join me there to bury a dead cat. I gave a time for the event to happen. I didn't sign my real name, but signed it Huck. She apparently knew who had written it and wrote a note on it to the effect she would like to join me but she had already made other plans. She handed me the note. That note would be a treasure if I had it now!

47 Chapter 20: Close to Leaving

Later, Miss McNab as well as my 3rd grade teacher Mrs. Brown occupied two of the apartments in a four unit apartment house Doc owned up at the corner of Ninth and Washington Avenue. I visited them a time or two when I traveled back to NY as an adult. Once while I was in service, on a visit to Rensselaer, I went to the home of my second grade teacher, Mrs. Sebolt to tell her how much I appreciated her when I was attending her class.

My Uncle Jim had a son, my cousin Lynn. He may have been a year or two younger than I was. It's my understanding he became a successful doctor and married a European woman. When we were playing and he would chase me and I would be running with him after me and I would suddenly drop to the ground on all fours and he would tumble over me. I don't know how many times that happened. He never was able to stop in time. I haven't had any contact with him since we were boys. I always felt that family didn't consider me in the same "league". When ever I was in Aunt Vera's house I always was afraid I might dirty a chair if I sat in it or move something out of place if I touched it. I was never comfortable there.

Of course all the neighbors who were good to me are long gone. They were all good people. Several had Dutch names. Those days are gone forever except for their existence in my memory. The regret I'm feeling right now is one I can't erase. Until now I didn't have the full appreciation of what my grandparents had done for me in taking care of me for so much of my early life. Therefore I never did sit down with them and tell them how thankful I was for them. The extent of their contribution to my life has come to my understanding since writing these chapters, but it is too late to express my appreciation. Perhaps some day, somewhere I will be able to do so.

In everything there is a lesson. ______

48 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 21: Joe TenEyck by Wayne Slauson. Posted Thursday, April 21, 2011

I visited my mother for a weekend once while she was living in Saratoga, NY. At the time I visited her she was either working at Dunham's bar and grill or Howard Johnson's restaurant. She apparently had some time off; I don't know how I would have been able to visit if that were not the case. She lived in an apartment right next to the Elk's lodge. There was a neon sign in front of the lodge with the initials B.P.O.E for Benevolent and Protective Order of Elks. Some people have joked that BPOE stands for Best People on Earth.

Next door to the lodge was a two story house and my mom had an apartment on the second floor. The apartment had a bedroom in the front and a bedroom in the back separated by a living room and kitchen. The living room had a little offset or nook with multiple windows. It wouldn't really qualify as a sun room, but it would have been a place where plants would have thrived. There was a wicker divan in the offset and I slept there that weekend.

An interesting water heater was in the kitchen. It was a tank with a copper coil outside of it under which was a gas burner. I'm sure the arrangement was common but I hadn't seen one with gas before so I was impressed, especially since the water heater at home was heated by a small wood and coal burning stove.

While I was there I met Joe TenEyck. I remember him coming in the door and my mother introducing him. He was subletting the back bedroom from her. He was tall, in his late thirties, and my mom said he was working as a short order cook in a diner not far from the house. I don't think either one of them had a car at that time. I don't remember seeing or being in one while I was visiting her.

It didn't occur to me at the time, but the purpose of my being there might have been for me to meet Joe. I don't know that, but I can see that could have been possible. While I was there, we did go to the diner where he worked and probably had a hamburger or something else to eat while we were there, and I did understand there was something to their relationship other than his being a renter. I even told my mother it would be nice if they were married and we could live together as a family. I was hungry for a life with a mom and dad so I think I would have said something like that if he had been any man who looked like a decent human being..

Joe worked nights and I overheard someone ask him if he had ever been robbed. He said a guy, shaking like a leaf, came in with a gun and demanded money. Joe said he told the guy, "OK, but for heaven's sake put that thing away.. You don't need it. I'll help you carry anything out of here you want."

49 Chapter 21: Joe TenEyck

Mom and Joe visited Nana and Doc's a time or two or more after I had visited her in Saratoga Springs. I must have met Joe before I had been so sick with the strep in my bloodstream, because I remember being told they had been there when I was sick, but I was too sick to be aware of it. I'm pretty sure I was 11 at the time.

My guess is that Mom and Joe were married sometime around 1940. I thought I might find the date by going through things in her old Secretary but when you do something like that you become absorbed in looking at other things unrelated to the original purpose of the search, and you realize time is slipping away. So, I stopped short of finding what I was looking for.

Pearl Harbor came, and Joe was inducted in the Army. I have heard he was 38 and he couldn't keep up with the younger men. They referred to him as "the old man". He had guard duty at the Queen Mary, berthed for several months at New York City. He was discharged after about 18 months simply because he was too old to 'keep up'. I'm almost certain he had the beginnings of Emphysema even at that early age. He died of it in a Veteran's Hospital at age 62.

While Joe was in the service, my Mom stayed with his sister and husband in Beacon, NY and worked in "Aero Leather" a manufacturing plant that made flight jackets and other leather clothing used by pilots.

I stayed with my grandparents until I was 14 which would have been in 1943. By then I had finished the 8th grade. I have mentioned before that the NY school system would not recognize my first grade education in Kentucky so I was forced to take that grade over again in NY.

Soon: a big change for me. ______

50 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 22: Sandy, The Pet I Left Behind by Wayne Slauson. Posted Tuesday, April 5, 2011

This is a story about a dog more than it is about the boy who owned him at one time. But, since dogs can't type, and since the dog has long since gone to be wherever dogs go when they die, the 'boy' has to tell the story. I am the boy, and the dog was Sandy.

When I was 12 or 13 years old I was doing various odd jobs around the neighborhood where I lived with my grandparents in Rensselaer, New York. I was not hesitant to ask people if there was any job I could do for them to earn a little money. I lived on 9th Street, and had built a trailer that I towed behind my bicycle. It was connected to the bicycle at a pivot just below and behind the seat and towed beautifully. In it I carried my shovel, trashcan, mower, rake, and all the 'equipment' one would need to do odd jobs.

One day I landed the job of cleaning out the ashes from a house over on 8th Street. In those days, most of the people burned coal, and therefore there were always ashes to dispose of. In this case there was an accumulation sufficient to require several trips to the dump, about three blocks away. It took the better part of half a day to complete the job and clean up all around the ashbin. When I was finished, I told the man he owed me 50 cents. He said, 'Well, I'm not going to pay you but I will give you this puppy instead.' He thrust a little brown puppy into my arms and shut the door. There I was, holding a puppy I knew my grandmother would not let me keep, and not getting paid for my work. I knocked on the door but nobody came to open it. Feeling pretty downhearted, I cradled the puppy in one arm and rode about a half block away. I stopped, and sat down on the curb and cried.

'What am I going to do with you?' I asked the puppy. Puppies can neither type nor talk, so all it could do was snuggle up to me. Finally, I gathered enough courage to go home and face my grandmother. 'NO' was her answer when asked if I could keep him. I had learned long before that my grandmother was not one to reason with so there was no use even trying. I was further devastated, feeling this was a personal rejection and no comfort to a boy who had been cheated out of his earnings for a half days work. I think my grandfather must have interceded on my behalf. I really don't recall how it came about but I was able to keep the puppy. The basement was as close as he was allowed to cohabitate with the rest of the family, as he was not allowed in the upstairs part of the house. I named him Sandy.

Sandy and I were the best of friends for a couple years. He was a gentle dog, had a very good disposition, loved children and made no enemies. When I was fourteen, and graduated from 8th Grade, my mother and stepfather decided they were ready to have me live with them in Beacon, New York. Sandy could not be included in the move. There were some people named Frazier who lived a few blocks away, and I went to them and asked if they would like to have Sandy. They readily accepted and I reluctantly said goodbye to my friend. With regard to my personal situation, looking back on events that followed, I would have been better off if I had been left where I was in Rensselaer, but that is another story. I have already told you quite a bit about the boy and not much about the dog.

51 Chapter 22: Sandy, The Pet I Left Behind

Sandy liked the Frazier family, but then, he liked everyone. So, instead of becoming a stay at home dog at the Frazier house, he wandered the neighborhood, making the rounds like a doctor checking on his patients. I have heard stories of him accompanying school kids to school, and going there when school was out and walking back with them. If a lady were wheeling a baby in a carriage he would fall in beside her and walk along until she went home. The police would drive though the neighborhood and an officer would reach out the window and bang on the side of the car. Sandy would come to them and they would talk to him and pet him. He would defend a kitten being harassed by other dogs. I saw a picture of him sleeping under the snow with just his muzzle showing. So many people watched Sandy throughout his life. I never heard of anyone who did not like him. He definitely could be called 'The neighborhood dog'.

On September 14th, 1954 Sandy died.

Subsequent to his death, I talked to some of the people in the neighborhood, and the following are quotes that I wrote down thinking that one day I would write something like you are reading. The first quote is from Mrs. Greenalch. She was a lady I called Mom when I was around her place. They always had a dog and before Sandy came into the picture, they had a dog named 'Trusty'. She was an Irish setter, and many thought her name was Rusty. Trusty was a pal of mine, and we spent many hours hiking in the hollow.

Mrs. Greenalch said, 'We were not afraid to let our Midgie out when Sandy was around because if any other dogs would attempt to molest her he would send them scurrying. We all had a sense of security when Sandy was near.' About his death she said, 'He was walking along with some boys on bicycles when he became ill. His steps slowed until finally he could go no further. He lay down on the pavement, placed a paw over his muzzle and passed away.'

Mr. Greenalch said, 'Sandy was the only dog I have ever seen who laughed. Another thing about Sandy was that he never picked a fight with other dogs, but if one bothered him he would make mincemeat of them. He had the most perfect set of teeth I have ever seen in a dog, and I have had several.'

Mrs. Eva Boyce and her husband, Wilson, were the first of Sandy's admirers to hear of his death. When I talked to Mrs. Boyce about the day Sandy died, she told me a boy came to the door and said, 'Your dog is sick up the street a little way.' 'Although we did not own a dog, Wilson put on his hat and coat and went to see what the trouble was. He found Sandy, apparently the victim of a heart attack. Everyone loved Sandy, he was grand.'

Dr. Hannah said, 'Sandy was a great dog, a friend to all. If there was anyone who disliked him, there was something wrong with that person. Show me a man who dislikes dogs and I'll show you a man I cannot trust.' (Dr. Hannah was my doctor when I was a boy)

Mrs. Harold Hayford said, 'Sandy slept in our dining room many nights. He would lie on the floor with his back against an antique chest. We could see the oil in his fur was ruining the finish on the chest, but we did little to stop him from sleeping in his favorite spot. He was very dear to us.' Mrs. Hayford collected twenty two dollars from Sandy's friends in the neighborhood. Seventeen dollars paid for his burial. The remaining five dollars was donated to the Humane Society.

Here is what was said in an article in the Albany newspaper, the Knickerbocker News:

Neighbors Raise Money for Burial -Rensselaer pays last tribute to mutt

Sandy was part Airedale, but he was mostly just a mutt. For fourteen years he had been 'hanging around' Rensselaer's Washington Ave between 9th and 10th Streets. He was owned by no one but fed and cared for by all, especially the children. The 'old bum' who became 'king of the block' collapsed and died the other day. But, as the body was being taken away for a 'pauper' burial, Mrs. Harold G. Hayford, 2031 10th St. canvassed the neighbors. About 15 residents contributed $17 and Sandy was buried in the Menand's Animal Cemetery yesterday, beside pedigreed, but hardly less loved dogs, with a stone which reads, 'Sandy, Pal to all'.

There was also letter of acknowledgement from the Humane Society receiving the five dollars that exceeded the cost of the burial. It read:

52 A Collection of Recollections

May we take the opportunity of thanking and congratulating you on the way in which you folks displayed your appreciation for the pleasure Sandy had given the children in your neighborhood.. In the absence of an owner's name we have placed 'Sandy, Pal to all' on his stone. We believe that is a fitting tribute to a fine dog.

Over the years after I left Rensselaer, Sandy came to visit my grandparents occasionally. He just stood at the back door until they noticed him. Surprisingly, they would let him in. They said he would walk through the kitchen, make a right turn in the dining room, go through the living room, make another right and then a left down the hall to the room that had been mine. He would stand in the room a minute or so, retrace his steps and accept a treat on the way out. It was the same every time he came. Bear in mind he had never been in the upstairs of the house while he was mine. So, there you have the story of Sandy. He was mine for a while. But, for most of his life he belonged to everyone in the neighborhood where I had lived.

Wayne Slauson ______

53 Chapter 23: Transition ° Chapter 23: Transition by Wayne Slauson. Posted Thursday, April 21, 2011

There were a couple trips made to Beacon before I actually went there to live with Mom and Joe. Both times we went fishing which of course was great fun. It was like mini vacations and although I didn't realize it at the time it was probably to further acquaint me with being with them and they having me around.

They both loved to fish. At the left is the two of them after a successful fishing trip. This picture was probably taken at Rouses Point on the Canadian border with NY, where they had a fishing camp a few years after I was gone from Beacon. Unfortunately, the lure of going to that fishing camp contributed to the demise of Joe's business. It was successful to the point he began spending too much time away from it and in the restaurant business you can't do that.

The next step was to take me down there to live with them. They had saved enough to buy an older diner. An addition was built on the back to accommodate a kitchen so regular dinners could be served rather than be limited to hamburgers and other short orders. Short orders were cooked in front of the customer on a grill and full dinners were prepared in the kitchen with the food then transported to a steam table out front. A room separate from the kitchen itself contained a larger refrigerator than the one in the front part. The food was really good, Joe was an excellent short order cook and one of his sisters, Goldie, was the cook in the kitchen. Dish washing was also done in the kitchen. A rear entry way was located near one end of the diner. It also served as a passage way between the diner and the kitchen. In it was a single restroom. On the end of the diner away from the grill a small addition housed a half dozen booths. The rest of the seating was counter stools.

Their residence was a third floor apartment in a huge house on Edgewater Place, again a place overlooking the Hudson River. Of course the river was way down the hill separated by some woods. It had been someone's mansion at some time in the past. There was a separate carriage house and the original carriage doors formed part of the outside wall. The opening had probably been walled in on the inside. A large lawn was on the river side of the main building and a sheltered area was formed by the very wide front steps. It really was four stories including the lowest floor from which a person could walk out into the sheltered area.

The floor plan of the apartment was a living room into which you stepped when entering. A few steps and a turn right went into the kitchen and further to the bedroom. I had a single bed in the living room. I don't think the kitchen in that apartment was ever used by them. Joe got up at 4AM and went to the diner to get the coffee started, turn on the grill and prepare for the breakfast crowd. My mom got up early to help with serving customers who came for breakfast. It would have been up to me to get up to go to school, but it was summer when I went to be with them so that summer I did whatever I wanted to do. I had my bike and I explored the town. I ate my meals at the diner. It was a different life than I was used to and I quickly realized it wasn't a family environment as I had envisioned it but it was a new adventure. ______

54 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 24: Beacon, NY by Wayne Slauson. Posted Saturday, April 23, 2011

Beacon is named after the Beacon on Mt. Beacon that rises up steeply from the east edge of town. Whether the beacon is still there or not, I don't know, but chances are it is. If you look over the top of the car in the foreground you will see the Mountain. It starts up at the east edge of the town.

To the left of a tree in the next block, you can clearly see the slash down the side of the mountain where the incline railway used to be.

The Mountain elevation is 1610 ft high and the town is only 138 ft above sea level so on that side of the mountain the rise in elevation is fairly steep. While I was searching for the elevations I came across a video of an Amateur radio operator who hiked up the mountain with some gear to do some operating . In the video he panned what had been the fire tower. It excited me to see that because I had climbed up there several times when there was a ranger in the fire tower. There was an enclosure at the top and he was glad to see a visitor. He had a picture of the New City Skyline taken from the tower. I looked with the binoculars every time I was there and once I did see it but barely. That is understandable though since the tower was 60 miles from New York City. I paused the amateur radio video and managed to get a screen shot of the tower.

55 Chapter 24: Beacon, NY

Mt. Beacon was probably the most interesting aspect of the community. During the time I was in Beacon there was a cable type incline railway which for a price a person could ride to the top. I rode it several times and a few times hiked up alongside the tracks which the operators did not want people to do.

At the top was a building referred to as the lodge but it really was an enclosed dance floor. In years past there had been parties, weddings and other celebrations held there. There were some cabins a little distance from the lodge building and I believe some were owned by New York City people, probably Jewish, who came up from the city and used them for a retreat.

Above is a picture of the cars bypassing each other on "Brown patent" turnout. An engineer of the Otis elevator company named Thomas Brown designed the railway with a turnout midway allowing the cars to run on one track except for the midpoint where they took separate routes on turn out tracks and bypassed each other. Very clever. The railway began it's service in about 1905, was closed at various times and burned a few years after I left Beacon.

A short hike from the top leads to a reservoir supplying water for the town. At the reservoir there is a cabin and an event took place there several years after I had left Beacon. However, even though it didn't happen when I was a boy, it is worth telling about. I was working in Chicago at one of the two radio shops. At the other shop was a man named Eddie Pryzbla, (the y is pronounced as though it is an i) I met him briefly a couple times. He was my age or a couple years older.

Eddie left the Santa Fe and went to work for IBM in Poughkeepsie, NY. On a visit to my folks in Beacon, I decided to see if I could locate Eddie and visit with him. I found his number in the phone book and asked about coming up to Poughkeepsie to see him. Poughkeepsie is not very far from Beacon, less than 40 miles. Eddie said it would be better for him to come down to Beacon which he did. Since the incline railway and the mountain were the main

56 A Collection of Recollections attraction we decided to take the day and go up there.

After looking around the lodge area and the walk to the fire tower I told Eddie about the reservoir and asked him if he wanted to hike over there. He said he would so we made the short hike. When we arrived, Mr. Pennington, the caretaker was there, and we visited with him. The sky darkened and we said we better get started back to the lodge.

Mr. Penningoton said, "You better stay here for a little while". At that point a thunderstorm was imminent. He said, "Come on inside I have some cold drinks." We accepted and stepped into the cabin.

The cabin was basically a two room affair. One room had a bed frame in it on which is just an old box spring with exposed springs . Obviously the cabin is not being used at night. No electricity, but a telephone is in the room with the bed frame. There is a road from that area leading off to the north which I assume is a four wheel drive road up to the cabin. The other room is a kitchen and the only furniture is an old round pedestal type dining room table with an assortment of chairs around it. There are cobwebs in the corners where the wall meets the ceiling. With some clean up it is a livable structure but not being lived in. It begins to rain.

Mr. Pennington has a tub with some ice and "cool ones" and other drinks in it along with a gallon jug of water. He offers us a beer which we accepted and we all sit down at the table prepared to swap stories while waiting for the rain to end. Little do we know that in a short time we will all have a new story to tell.

It begins to rain hard, lightning flashes, thunder crashes. I'm looking out the window toward the reservoir. Balls of lightning are bouncing around on the surface of the water like a giant bouncing suns the size of beach balls . Eddie gets up to look, then sits back down in his chair which is leaning against the wall between the two rooms.

The kitchen floor is linoleum covered with a metal strip running down the middle where two pieces of the floor covering are joined. Suddenly an ear deafening crash and a ball of lightning bounces down the metal strip. POW POW POW POW. Three men jump to attention. Eddie says." Oh my leg, Oh my back. My legs had been crossed with one foot hanging over the metal strip. My foot is vibrating on its own. Splinters are everywhere, stuck in the cobwebs in the corners.

The baseboard under Eddie's chair looks like a shotgun had been used on the opposite side with the pellets exiting on the kitchen side. We quickly take inventory of ourselves and realize we're OK. I go around to the other side of the wall and the phone is still sitting on a small table, but the terminal on the baseboard is no more.

I ask, "Where does the phone line come in?" "Down here" and Pennington opens a door leading to a shallow basement. Smoke fills the basement and Ozone smell is strong. I go down the few steps and look around. I can see there is no fire. Bits of something white are scattered around. On the wall is where a porcelain 98B phone line protector had been. I recognize the size of the space where it had been mounted. It was vaporized into powder and little bits and pieces had been blown all over that little basement.

That was the worst and closest experience I have had with lightning. From the exclamations made by the others present it is obviously the worst occasion with lightning they ever had also.

Electricity under control is a friend. Unharnessed it can be a beast. ______

57 Chapter 25: My first summer in Beacon ° Chapter 25: My first summer in Beacon by Wayne Slauson. Posted Monday, April 25, 2011

Joe's sister Emmy and her husband John lived a block off Main Street at 416 S. Walnut. I had met them before, stayed overnight at their place when I had visited previously. John was a big burly guy, gruff as a bear, a machinist on the Beacon - Newburgh Ferry. I think his job was keeping the engines running on the Ferry. He was an imposing figure. I never got to know him well. He didn't seem too interested in conversing with me, but then I didn't really try to impose on him. If I had he probably would have had a lot of stories to tell.

Emmy was a nice lady and I called her Aunt Emmy. Her full name was Emmaline. In a previous chapter I mentioned a wooden cut out of a cat I had made back in Rensselaer. For years it sat up on aunt Emmy's refrigerator. After she died it was given back to me and it is now on a cabinet in my step-daughter's kitchen in Crossville, TN. I spent some time there with aunt Emmy during that summer, having lunch in her kitchen some days.

Next door to Emmy and John's was a fellow name Joe Kimornek. He had a filling station up Main Street three or so blocks and I worked some for him that summer and other times washing cars and pumping gas, fixing tires. It's funny how you see some people in your life. People you don't know much about, didn't have real conversations with, nor had any personal relation with, but you just see them in their element and for one reason or another you remember them or some particular thing they would do. There was a man named Poppa. He could have been a mafia character. Heavy set, always well dressed, flashy clothes and jewelry, always had a cigar in his mouth, drove a big black Oldsmobile. He would drive the Olds in under the canopy, get out and reach in as he did so, thumb down sort of back handedly pull the emergency brake. All one motion, out and yank. I can see him do that as clearly as though it were on my computer screen.

Many times a black man would be at an upstairs window of the building next door on the east, the way his car was headed. They would yell at each other. They would call each other names. The black man would call him a wop. He would tell the black man to get his ass back to work you black n----er. It was a sight to see and hear and it was always the same routine. I wonder if one didn't say something insulting to the other if it would mean they were mad at each other. They were yelling at each other loud enough to be heard a block away. It was crazy.

Within a block of the gas station was a business with the name 'Boston Candy Kitchen' but it wasn't just candy. It was candy, ice cream and that kind of food. While using Google Earth to look down Main Street I saw a business named 'Boston Sweet Shop'. I wondered if it was the same business two generations down from the original one. I don't even know if the one I saw was the first generation. I did know the son of the owners. His name was 'Babe' Pagonas. It was a Greek family.

58 A Collection of Recollections

This picture of the first "Joe's Diner" is an old one and the diner looks decrepit in it. Some employees were in the doorway. The food was really good here and a lot of people flocked to this place. Good food attracts customers. During that summer and for all practical purposes, all the time I was in beacon, Joe's Diner was headquarters'. The apartment was just a place to sleep. If I was not feeling well for one reason or another I could go there and lie down, but I rarely went back there during the day. After leaving in the morning I was pretty well gone for the day. Sometimes I did wash dishes at the diner. The dishwashing that first year at least was done by whoever had the time to do it and sometimes I would just go do it. Hamburger patties were made ahead of time and sometimes I would make some. There was a metal ring with a handle on the side used as a form so they were all the same size. An order for a hamburger, called in by a counter person to the short order cook, was simply 'One in'. If the customer wanted it well done, 'Burn it' was added. There was a lingo all of its own so far as orders were concerned. Like 'Adam and Eve on a raft' That's poached eggs on toast. I have always wondered where a sandwich made with an egg; onions and green peppers mixed together and fried like an omelet got the name 'Western'.

By the end of that first summer, I pretty well had the town 'cased". I met a few of Joe's relatives. One of them, a grandson of Goldie the cook, was a 'tough' and I didn't care to develop a friendship with him. I liked his mother who was married to Goldie's son. The father was in the Merchant Marines and the mother worked. With the father out to sea most of the time, the boy probably was left to his own devices a lot. Beacon was a tougher place than where I lived in Rensselaer. It was comprised of ethnic and racially mixed groups, Polish, Italian, Greek, Armenian and others. There were Pizzerias long before pizza ever was introduced to this part of the country.

For some people, if I sat next to them in the diner and talked to them, it was an act of making a acquaintance. I guess I felt then it was OK to seek them out away from the diner if there was something about them that was interesting. One such person was a little guy named Zeke Manning. He had a radio repair shop, an interesting place to me. Zeke's whole face was full of bumps and his speech wasn't clear but it didn't matter, he was friendly. Once in awhile I would go in his shop and ask questions. I was interested in connecting a microphone up to a radio. He told me how it could be done by tapping into the volume control and gave me an old radio. He told me how to make a microphone out of a part in a telephone receiver. I played around with that old radio until I got it so I could talk into a microphone and have it come out the speaker.

59 Chapter 25: My first summer in Beacon

About that time I met a boy named Everest Thorpe. He lived in an apartment over the local theater. I don't think his folks had much and I don't remember ever seeing them. I was up in the apartment one time and when he switched on the light roaches scattered. I demonstrated the microphone and radio to him and we fantasized as to how it could be used. We took turns being announcers. Somewhere along the line he had a picture taken in one of those booths where you enter, insert a coin, and leave with a picture of yourself. I don't remember where that was done. I first thought we had done that together but he is all dressed up so I am at a loss as to the occasion.

The Beacon - Newburgh ferry was a good sized boat. It held 30 automobiles. There were two boats in operation at the same time. One would leave the slip on one side the same time the other left the slip on the opposite side. That was the only way you could get across the river in that area. Otherwise the next bridge north was at Poughkeepsie and the one south was the Bear Mountain Bridge near West Point. The river was wide and sometimes traveling on the ferry would make me queasy if I watched the horizon going up and down. The New York Central train station was across the parking lot from the ferry slip so the connection to Newburgh from the train was via the ferry. The three boats were the Orange in the picture, the Dutchess, and the Beacon. Newburgh is in Orange County, Beacon in Dutchess County.

When my first summer was over, school was soon to start. It would be the beginning of a gradual downhill slide of my happiness during the time I was in Beacon.

End note: The ferries went out of business in 1963 after the construction of the I-84 bridge on the north side of Beacon. The bridge was two lane. In a year it was jammed with traffic. They built another bridge beside the original. Traffic continued to increase until in 2005 ferries started operating again with newer boats than the originals. The Orange in the picture was built in 1914.

______

60 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 26: Beacon (Continued) by Wayne Slauson. Posted Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Beacon High School was an entirely different environment than the school at Rensselaer. I felt it as soon as I walked in the door. I made my way to the principal's office and said I needed to enroll. I had my report card and Graduation Certificate from the 8th Grade which I handed to him. He was someone I had seen at the diner and I knew his name. He was a friendly man. He knew who I was and gave me some information about the school, gave me a list of required and optional classes. I made some choices including Manual Training. I was given a class schedule and left to find the classroom where I was to report.

Manual Training was actually a shop class where I learned how to run a lathe, use a metal shaper and other tools. It was the only class I enjoyed in that school. I don't remember any of the others, the teachers or subjects. I don't think I did very well in any of them. The only thing I enjoyed was the shop class. I made a tack hammer there, a simple thing, but I enjoyed doing it. I gave it to my mother but I don't know what became of it. I went to school because I had to but there was no satisfaction in doing so. I became acquainted with some of the other boys but never felt part of the scene. I wasn't interested in any of the school sports events if there were any. I think there were but they didn't matter to me. I just didn't make a connection with that school.

Maybe I was going through a stupid phase. I just don't know. I was interested in a girl and spent some time at her house sometime during that school year. I was still fourteen and would be until the end of the school year when I would turn 15. Something of interest happened at her house. Her mother used a wood burning stove for at least some of her cooking. I volunteered to split some wood which I did. I was in the back yard doing that when all of a sudden the back of the axe hit me in the forehead. It was then I saw a low hanging wire. It was either a phone line hanging much lower than it should or a clothes line made from telephone drop line. I have always thought it was the latter but at this point I'm not sure. I wasn't sure of much of anything when the axe bounced off my forehead. I went into the house a little dazed, almost putting my hand down on the stove which was hot and sat down in the living room. In a few minutes my head cleared and I said I would go split some more wood. I moved away from the line and split several pieces. Then a piece resisted, so I set it up and came down on it again. I did that about three times and without realizing it, each time I set it up the location was a little closer to the line. The last time I came down on it hard and midway in the swing the axe left my hands. I have no idea what kind of gyrations it took, but the back corner apparently came down on top of my head. I ended up riding my bicycle to the small Beacon Hospital and getting four stitches in my head. If it had been the blade it would have been a really bad scene.

The memory is strange. The one other thing I remember about that girl's house is they had a Victrola and my favorite record in their collection was 'Celery Stalks at Midnight'. Strange title, good beat. I just Googled it and came up with the instrumental. I felt like dancing!

Somehow I stumbled through the ninth grade and was out of there. It's hard for me to reconstruct in what year I did what at Beacon. I think part of it is because it's difficult to reconstruct when there is no structure in the first place. In looking back I think that was creating a future problem. I was too free to do what I wanted to do, to be where I wanted to be. Later, when the mistake was realized and the authority figures tried to rein me in, control my

61 Chapter 26: Beacon (Continued) activities, I rebelled. In the meantime I was getting involved in situations I shouldn't; nothing illegal, just not necessarily healthy or perhaps ethical. Smoking would be something that was not healthy, that's for sure. I will tell you about another experience which although I'm hesitant to tell, you have to consider it occurred nearly 70 years ago and I was still a boy.

The girl I said I was interested in was less interested in me. She had an older sister who was married and had a small child, but her husband, an older man, was in the service overseas. She was friendly and I liked her. She lived in a small house with her little boy, still a baby. I went to see her one day and she was friendly as always. I may have seen her place as being comfortable, like a home. At any rate, I started going there often. I would have a bowl of soup with her for lunch. It's not hard to imagine that she probably enjoyed having someone to talk to as much as I enjoyed having someone to talk to.

It became part of my routine to go to her house and spend time with her. I wasn't 'in love' nor was she but it was a mutual acceptance of each other. There was one thing I was becoming very curious about and that was the intimate relationship between a man and a woman. That is a way of saying something without using a three letter word! Well, after much pestering I convinced her to satisfy my curiosity. My curiosity satisfied, I had the opinion it was no big deal and not something I was interested in pursuing further at that time in my life. Consequently, I never revisited the subject until several years afterwards and in more appropriate circumstances. You can chuckle now!

That first winter I did some ice skating. There was some kind of a Sanitarium close by. It had a pond and I went one day with another boy. I had been there before by myself, but that time another boy went with me. The weather was warming up. While we were there and one of us was standing in one spot the other one skated in a circle and it was noticed the ice moved as the person skated over it. We took turns watching. It was like the ice was rubbery and when you skated in a circle; the ice where you were at the moment would depress and then rise behind you. I never saw ice like that before or since. The ice never broke where we would fall through, but surely if we were not skating on thin ice we were skating on very flexible ice. It was very unusual.

Mom and Joe moved from the third floor apartment to the second floor apartment below the one we previously occupied. The second floor apartment had a small windowed room extending out from the living room and it became my room. There I had a bed and a chest of drawers that had been in my room in Rensselaer. It had a drawer front that dropped down and formed a little desk. It is in the basement here. A few years after leaving Beacon I brought it out to Kansas on top of a 1951 Plymouth. I had to keep the vehicle from going over 50 MPH as it would start rocking back and forth.

62 A Collection of Recollections

Mom and Joe were busier than ever. Mom worked in the diner in the morning for the breakfast crowd and in the evenings for the dinner time. This picture is of Joe in foreground, Mom, and a man named Billy Flanagan.

At mid morning she left and prepared to open a cafeteria in a factory that she had opened with the help of another woman, Florence Gastio. She carried supplies and food from the diner to the Cafeteria in the Merrimac Hat factory on the other side of town. After the lunch time was over there she would clean up the place and then come back to the diner until after the supper meals were served. Joe's day started at 4AM. He took a two hour break for sleep after the lunch rush and then returned.

I can appreciate how hard they worked, and I don't resent it in the sense that I wasn't part of it, but it is a fact that with a life like that there wasn't any family life, and it was a dissolution of the expectations I had when I came to live with them. The Emmadine Milk Company had a small truck terminal in Beacon. Each day a semi-truck would haul full milk bottles to White Plains, NY and bring back empty bottles. The bottles whether they were full or empty were carried in wooden boxes with a wire frame inside keeping the bottles separated. I struck up a conversation with the driver of that particular route and ended up going with him down to White Plains and back. I don't know whether he invited me or I asked to go. But, I made several trips with that guy. It was fun riding in the semi.

One particular trip stands out in my memory. The tractor-trailers (semis) of those days were very under powered. They bore little

63 Chapter 26: Beacon (Continued) resemblance to today's monstrous tractors. Hence they labored up steep hills in the lowest gear possible. On this particular trip we were grinding up a long grade, one traveled every time the trip was made. The driver confided that he had to "go" real bad. He pulled out the hand throttle and had me hold the wheel while he climbed out of the door and up on to the platform between the tractor and trailer and relieved himself. I have to chuckle when I think of holding the steering wheel of a semi grinding up that grade.

I made friends with a fellow named Jacque Brunel. He had a small body shop about a block from Kimornek's service station. He had an Austin, a really small vehicle. I ran errands for him, did odd jobs around the shop. I learned a little about body work, went to lunch with him and just was friends. Why he was willing to be friends and be patient with a kid like me I don't know, but in my experience there have been several men older than I was at the time who were willing to be friends. By the same token, I was always ready and willing to accept that. There have been several I affectionately called Dad and none of them ever objected. Life is interesting.

There was a man who worked for the Newspaper who offered to take me to an Air Show. In that case he asked my parents if it would be OK. I believe the show was at Poughkeespie. In those days, sky diving was not a practice but the nearest thing to it was a parachute jump. At that show the announcer said a man was going to make a "double delayed jump". The man jumped, free fell, opened a chute, floated, took off the chute and free fell again, pulling another chute. Unfortunately, there was a problem; the second chute didn't open. It strung out behind him like some sheets. He hit the ground and bounced. As Paul Harvey used to say. "He was 30 years old." My friend from the Beacon News had been taking sequential pictures of the man starting when he bailed. He sold the pictures to the New York Times and they appeared on the front page of the Sunday addition.

A man who had a refrigeration business across the street from the diner was a pilot. He had a Ryan ST, a former Navy trainer. He would buzz the diner once in awhile I got the bug to fly so I saved up a little money, rode my bike to an airport about 20 miles away and took a lesson in a Piper Cub. That was great fun and I had visions of becoming a pilot and owning a plane. I had that vision well into my adult years but didn't pursue it although I did fly whenever I had the opportunity.

I worked for awhile at a factory that made conveyor belts. The older man running the machine where I worked was named Antone. I had a simple job of putting rolls of canvas on a rack at the end of the machine. I didn't stay there long because a man of about thirty was bullying me. His name was Bruno. The managers wanted to know why I was quitting and I told them. They called Bruno up on the carpet and tried to get me to stay. By then I was afraid of the guy and just wanted to get out of there, which I did. I told my folks I had been laid off but they found out different so then they wanted to know why I had fibbed like that. It was not a good situation. When you are a boy it's not easy to say you are afraid of someone.

Things would soon become worse for me in Beacon. ______

64 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 27: Trouble in River City by Wayne Slauson. Posted Friday, April 29, 2011

I remember nothing about my tenth year of school. During the middle of last night I was trying to remember something about that school year and I don't even remember being there. If I consider the age I was when I came to Beacon and how old I was when I left, there must have been a 10th grade in that period, but I have no recollection of it.

One time when I was going to school in the winter time, and I don't know which winter, I saw a boy hit by a local delivery truck. I think it was a milk truck, It was a younger boy and he was caught under the truck. The street was icy and the driver had put on the brakes. The vehicle had been moving very slow; the crown of the street caused the vehicle to slide slowly over to the curb. The fact there was ice saved the boy from being scraped and possibly rolled around under the vehicle. Instead he just slid with it. I called under the vehicle and asked the boy if he was hurt and he said, 'No, but get me out of here.' The driver was really shook up and I told him the boy was OK. A fire truck came and I left the scene.

One drizzly night I had an accident with my parent's car. I was to take Mom home and bring the car back. We were only a half a block from the diner. I started to cross Main Street after stopping at the stop sign. I didn't see a Model A with very dim headlights coming down the street. I hit the accelerator and would have made it if the car hadn't hesitated. In those days there was a device in the carburetor called an accelerator pump. If you hit the gas hard it would shoot an extra charge of gas into the carburetor to handle the sudden burst of speed that was being asked of the vehicle. However, they were notorious for not doing the job effectively and the car just balked at the request for speed.

Consequently, the Model A hit us and pushed us into the curb on the side of the street but through the intersection. The car went forward and bumped a parked car there. I heard my mother say, 'Oh my God, three vehicles'. I back handed her arm hard and said, 'You were driving.' And got out of the driver's side and walked away. It was an instantaneous decision on my part with no time to consider an alternative. I just did it. It was dark and drizzling so visibility was pretty poor. So far as I know no one saw me get out of the car. I did it very quickly because I figured they would be in trouble since I didn't have a license. I walked back to the diner and got on my bike. The rain had stopped by then and I rode my bike over to the accident. There I was on my bike looking at the accident as though I had nothing to do with it.

A police officer was there, a big guy, and I'm sure he had seen me driving around town in the past. He asked me, 'Did you have anything to do with this?' I said, 'Heck no, I just rode over here to see what was going on.' Of course that was a bald face lie, but it's what I thought was best. I think he had his suspicions and I think he told my folks that he didn't want to see me driving again. I don't know that for a fact but I was told shortly thereafter I couldn't drive anymore on the streets in Beacon. I didn't.

But, sometime after that night an event occurred that got me in trouble with Joe. There was a young man by the name of Francis Black working in the diner. He was a good guy and he and I became friends. He had an outbuilding at his house and I was able to put my jigsaw, that I had from Rensselaer, in that outbuilding. Francis had a '34 Chevrolet. He and I drove to New York City and back just to be doing it. We had two flat tires on that trip, one of them on the George Washington Bridge. It was the fastest tire changing job I ever did in my life. We drove into the city, right back out and headed for home. We had another flat and at that point we had no spare, so we didn't get back until sometime in the middle of the night. I was in trouble over that.

But that isn't the trouble I was referring to in the previous paragraph. Francis told me one day the car wasn't running right. I said maybe it just needs a tune-up. I bought some plugs, a condenser and set of

65 Chapter 27: Trouble in River City points. I replaced the parts and set the points (with my thumbnail as a thickness gauge!) while the car was parked in the alley behind the diner. I demonstrated to him that it was running good now by backing up in the alley, driving forward going past the back of the diner; then backing up again to park. It was running fine. However, as I went past the back of the diner Joe happened to come out of the back door and saw me. He thought I had been driving the car out on the street so he proceeded to "read the riot act" to me. As mad as he was I didn't think there was any point in trying to explain that I had not driven out of the alley. Francis wasn't about to contradict his employer, so he kept still on the matter. I didn't blame him for that. That was the beginning of major deterioration of what little relationship and communication I had with Joe.

[Wile I was in service I wrote Joe a letter, reminding him of that event and telling him what had actually transpired; that I had NOT driven out on the street]

By putting forth more effort to do things I could do around the diner I tried to get back in good favor with Joe but nothing seemed to help. The toilet stopped up and I actually took the whole thing out in back of the diner and worked and worked until I managed to get a sanitary napkin out of it. Then I reinstalled the stool. I thought that was pretty good for someone my age. I don't know whether I was 16 yet when I did that. There were other things but it got so bad I just tried to avoid being in his presence.

Mom and Joe moved from the apartment to a house across the street from the diner. It is still there. There was a business in the front end, and behind the business a bedroom with a kitchen at the back end. Mom and Joe had the bedroom downstairs. Inside the front door was a hallway leading to the first floor rooms and a stairway to the upstairs which had a bathroom, a large room and a small room. The small room was my bedroom and it had a window that led out to the roof of the business next door. That fact is significant in connection with a future chapter. One night I had a radio in my room and was tuning the circuits trying to pick up whatever I could outside of the broadcast band. Every once in a while it blared out louder than otherwise. It wasn't long before Joe yelled up stairs, 'WAYNE, TURN THAT GOD DAMNED THING OFF!' I was surprised they even heard it as isolated as I was from them.

As time went on I felt it was hopeless to be accepted. I was very unhappy. In my youthful thinking, there was only one solution. I had to get out of there. Whenever I earned money I saved it. ______

66 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 28: The Great Escape by Wayne Slauson. Posted Sunday, May 1, 2011

I am using the above picture again for this chapter so you can see that on the right side of the house, there is a one story business. The roof of the business is against that side of the house. The roof of that business is a single slope, lower in the back than in the front.

In the previous chapter I mentioned I started saving whatever money I earned. I worked mainly at Kimornek's service station. But I also mowed some lawns in the neighborhood where we had previously lived. There were some nice homes close by, very near a country club and I used their equipment. One place had a gasoline powered reel type mower which I actually enjoyed using simply because it had an engine. Boys (and men) like engines!

I worked for Jacque Brunel in the body shop hand sanding places where damage had been repaired. It was there I was introduced to water proof sandpaper and using water as a lubricant and to wash away the grit. Rubbing compound was another substance I became familiar with. There was a combination ambulance and funeral home for which I did odd jobs. Their vehicles were in a garage right next to Jacque's place. I also had money from working at the conveyor belt factory.

One day I went down to the New York Central Depot and bought a ticket to Rochester, NY. I had made my decision and was making preparations. I waited until a month later. Then I did it. I got out of Beacon. Thinking about it later I knew it had to be hard on my mother. If there had been family counseling or something like that, which would more than likely be the case today, it wouldn't have happened. I felt I was on my own; the problem was mine to solve.

The train going north went through Beacon fairly late at night, definitely after bedtime. I went to my room and watched the time, knowing the time the train was due. At the appropriate time I went out the window, down the roof of the business next door and climbed down the back. Of course I had already determined that could be done. I walked on the side streets down to a point close to being opposite the depot. There was a chain link fence protecting the railroad right of way. There was also a business virtually against the chain link fence with a stairway that went up to a second story. Just above the height of the fence was a landing where the stairway changed directions. I had determined all this beforehand so it wasn't just happenstance. Of course, the business was closed at night.

All I had to do was go up the stairs to the landing and jump over onto the right of way, which I did. I waited until I

67 Chapter 28: The Great Escape could hear the train coming in the distance, then I walked through the field to the tracks, across the tracks and up onto the platform as the train pulled in. I boarded the train and I was gone. Almost shamefully I tell you I managed to mail the key to the house in Poughkeepsie which is only 15 miles from Beacon. If anyone were looking for me they would be looking in Poughkeepsie.

I rode the train to Rochester, NY. I had never been in Rochester. But Rochester was not where I was going. I got on a bus and went to St. Louis. In St. Louis I got on another bus and went to Oklahoma City, which is where I was headed in the first place. I really did escape.

There was a small older hotel there that rented rooms by the week and I took a room. I have tried to remember the name accurately but can't verify it now. The Kirkpatrick or Kincaid, a name at least similar to that. When I was in service in Topeka I hitchhiked down to Oklahoma City on a three day pass and stayed in that same hotel. It is probably long gone.

I found out I needed a Social Security card to get a job so I got one in the name of John W. Marshall. I told people since there were a lot of John's I used my middle name, Wayne. Within three days I got a job in the Biltmore Hotel running a service elevator. That hotel was built in 1932, was demolished in 1977 to make way for the Myriad Gardens.

I made friends with a couple in the hotel where I stayed but didn't tell them my story at first. I worked and I watched my pennies and got along OK for a few months. As I was approaching 17 I got to thinking about needing a trade. I had heard that you could enter the military at 17 with a parent's signature. Now I wonder if I could have got in then because a friend with whom I was in the military tells me he was only 16. He is actually the person who got me started writing these chapters. Anyway, I thought it over and I confided in the people with whom I had made friends. They were probably in their 30's. They encouraged me to contact my mom even urging me to use their telephone.

I did call her and tell her I would come back to Beacon but I wanted to go somewhere else to a trade school or go into the service with the idea of learning a trade. The year was 1946. Of course she was relieved to know I was OK. I told her I was sorry for causing her grief, but I just couldn't live there. Soon after calling her I was back in Beacon and 30 days later I was in the Army Air Force later changed to U.S. Air Force.

I will tell you in my next chapter about my experience in the process of enlisting . ______

68 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 29: A Day to Remember by Wayne Slauson. Posted Tuesday, May 3, 2011

In memory of my son David who passed away the fifth of this month three years ago, and in light of the recent news, I'm sending this link to a 4 minute video he made about a day we will all remember. Please click anywhere on the link below and watch and listen.

It will only take a few seconds more than 4 minutes for you to watch and listen and if you do so I will really appreciate it. My son David was a very talented man, much of it learned on his own. I miss him greatly. His passing has given Cinco de Mayo new meaning to me.

A Day To Remember

______

69 Chapter 30: Getting Started in the Air force ° Chapter 30: Getting Started in the Air force by Wayne Slauson. Posted Thursday, May 5, 2011

I set off for New York City on the train to enlist. First of all, I don't know in what service I want to join. I know someone who made a living in the Merchant Marines. I find the Merchant Marine headquarters in the city and ask about joining the Merchant Marines. The Merchant Marines is not a military branch but to become a Merchant Marine you have to attend a school and receive your credentials from the Coast Guard. I didn't know any of that then. The first question they ask is, "Do you have your Seaman's papers?" Duh. Well, I find out it isn't simple to join the Merchant Marines.

I'm still thinking I would like to be a sailor so I go to the Navy recruiting center. I take a physical and they reject me because I have an under bite meaning instead of my upper teeth coming down slightly in front of my lower teeth they come down slightly behind my lower teeth. I tell the Navy doctor, "I can chew a steak as good as anyone!" Well, that didn't get me anywhere.

So I then find the Air Force recruiting center and I remember it was on Whitehall street. I also remember seeing an article a few years ago telling about that building being demolished. I take a physical there and they pass me. But, all of the process can't be completed in one day. I tell them I live 60 miles up river and have no place to stay so they give me some papers and tell me to go to Governor's Island where there is an Army Post and I would be put up for the night. That calls for a short ferry ride. I would hate to try and find my way now to the various places I went that day on foot. On Governor's Island I go to the gate of the post and show them my papers which instruct me to go to a certain numbered building. I am about to get my first military run-around. I was told something like, "Go the second street, turn left and it is on the right." Not so. I ask someone else and get similar instructions. By the time I found the building where I was supposed to go I had made a tour of the post!. I was tired from the days activities, but felt like I was making progress and I slept well that night.

The next day I went back to Whitehall street, finish up there and catch the New York Central train back to Beacon. The instructions were to report back to Whitehall street in a few days which I did and a group of us was bused to Ft. Dix, New Jersey, another Army installation. At that time the Air force was still the Army Air Force. The Ft. Dix stop was supposed to be for "indoctrination" but mainly what we did was wait. Eventually a train load of men (mostly boys actually) boarded a troop train and we're on our way to San Antonio Air Force Military Training Center, now known as Lackland Air Force Base.

It takes three days to get to San Antonio from Ft Dix, NJ. What a trip. there were probably 200 enlistees and 1000 mosquitoes made the trip with us. In those days we were still in the steam era. It was hot and if you opened a window at night you would have soot in your eyes in the morning. On the last day the only food they had left was bread and hot chocolate. Some of the people were sick. We were glad to get off that train.

70 A Collection of Recollections

The above picture is of our "Home in SanAntone. " I notice that in most of the pictures I took during basic training I'm smiling or clowning around. I remember it as a good time, a good group and feeling like we were a team. Basic Training went fast. They referred to each barracks as a "flight". Our flight leader was a young man named Bob White. I remember his name because of it being the other name for quail. I took pictures of other fellows while I was there. Barger, Dahl, Russ, "Pappy" Brooks, Glen, Walsh. I wouldn't remember the names now if they were not in my album. I'm glad I had that old Brownie box camera.

We had one fellow we called Clem and he even looked like a Clem. Clem Kadiddlehopper was one of Red Skelton's characters. The poor guy had an epilepsy seizure in the barracks. Everyone tried to hide it for his sake because he wanted to be in the service, but he ended up having to go home. That's what I mean by it seeming like we were a team. I felt more a part of that group than I ever felt part of the school at Beacon.

One thing that stands out in basic training was a flight leader across the street. The leader there put on a real tough front and said he had been in the Marines. He actually was pretty tough on those guys. He would sit in the shade and read a newspaper and drill them in the street. I can hear him counting cadence. Huwot hop er reep hop er reep hop er reep over and over. He impressed me and I took a picture of him which is at left. I had to laugh one day when I was in Radar School in Boca Raton Florida, I heard cadence being called like that and saw prisoners from the stockade marching. I waited until they got close enough and sure enough, one of them was the same guy who had been the flight leader across the street in basic. He was in prisoners garb and calling cadence for the rest of them.

I think the hardest part of Basic training was what seemed like three weeks of waiting after basic was completed before we shipped out. Otherwise we were kept busy. I had my choice of three or four schools to go to. I chose Radio, but since it was full they sent

71 Chapter 30: Getting Started in the Air force me to Radar School. I have no recollection of how I got from San Antonio to Boca Raton.

In Boca Raton I was assigned to Radar Tech Squadron TM-3. The atmosphere there was a little different than in basic training. In the barracks each made friends of a group of others rather than being a team as a whole. Each of us were not at the same place in their studies as the other. That was part of it and we were in different classes. That didn't make the experience better or worse, it was just different. I was friends with three others Benny Underwood, who was part Indian, one named Stewart and a fellow named Michael J Sislock. I was closest to him and made contact with him again at the beginning of 2011, after 65 years. I had been thinking of him off and on especially for the last few years so I got in contact with him He is responsible for all this writing I have been doing because he urged me to write about my childhood. He wanted to know just what I had done before he met me there at Boca Raton. At the lower right is the two or us.

I had fun taking time exposures with the old box camera. I'm going to insert a couple pictures taken inside the barracks at Boca. If you look closely at the two pictures you can see the grain in the floor which I think is pretty good for a time exposure with an old box camera and then scanning and digitizing. Everyone was waiting for an inspection to take place in the one picture and the guys were accommodating me by standing still.

I mentioned earlier that one of the fellows was Benny Underwood. At left is picture of us. Benny had a brother who was stationed at the base and I met the brother through Benny. His brother was stationed at the base in some capacity other than attending school. He and his wife had a small child and rented a very small house in Delray, 8 miles north of Boca. I went up there and visited them a few times going to the beach to swim and just

72 A Collection of Recollections be around them. He did some minor auto body repair and he did something I thought was remarkable. There used to be some fly sprayers called Hudson continuous pressure sprayer They must have had a check valve or something that allowed them to maintain some pressure in the canister. It was amazing to me that he used one of those sprayers to spray enamel paint on a vehicle after he had taken a dent out of the fender. There were a few times when I walked the 8 miles to Delray to see them.

At Delray the swimming area was divided into two areas, one of which was farther out in deeper water than the one closest to the beach. One day when I was swimming there the sea was rougher than normal. Not many were swimming and no one was swimming in the far section. But, I decided to see if I could make it out to the farthest cable. I made it but I was really exhausted by the time I got there. I grabbed one of the pilings and held on.

The waves were bobbing me up and down but I held on to that post until I thought I could make it back in. After I got to the beach an older lady looked at me and said, "My God sonny." I could see she was looking at my mid section, so I looked down. I was covered with little cuts from the barnacles that had been on the post and the waves were pushing me up and down while I was against it.

Radar School was 16 weeks and speaking for myself I absorbed some fundamentals, but not much past those. It took a lot of study past that school for me to know very much about the subject and I never was any kind of a whiz kid when it came to electronics. Most of what I ultimately learned was from personal study as opposed to actual schooling.

While I was there at Boca our weekends were free and at least a couple times I went down to FT Lauderdale. I stayed in the Governor's Hotel which by now is probably a luxury resort and not even the same location virtually downtown. While in Ft. Lauderdale I met a sailor whose ship was docked there. I buddied around with him and ate on board the ship a few times. He showed me their sleeping quarters and I remember being glad the Navy hadn't taken me. Although we had double bunks in our barracks while in school, our area was wide open spaces compared to what they had.

Also during the time I was at Boca I went down to Miami to see what it was like. That was the first time I saw the cruelty in the segregated south. A young black sailor was asleep on a bench in the bus station. A police officer walked up and prodded him hard with the end of his billy club which caused the guy to wake with a start. That gave the policeman an opening to crack him on the head with the club. The guy did nothing except sit up. I felt shame and helplessness at witnessing that act. I couldn't understand it.

It was probably that event and the realization of the degrading effects of segregation that prompted what I guess could be called my first act of compassion. In Boca there was a little eating place analogous to our fast food places of today. I was in there one night after dark. I saw one of the help hand a bag of food out a side door and I suspected it was to a black person. The person handing the food out called the man by name, "Jim" I heard the man's voice and it sounded like an older man. I debated a very few minutes, checked what money I had and took out a bill. I went outside and saw the man shuffling along the road off to another part of Boca where I had never been. I started walking fast toward him calling his name, "Jim..... Jim." He turned around, I walked up to him, handed him the money and said rather awkwardly, "Here, I want you to have this." He thanked me profusely. I turned and walked back from where I came.

I had a leave at the end of the 16 weeks of school. I took a train home, traveling into Penn station in New York City, a subway to Times Square, and another to Grand Central Station. Once I learned the procedure, I did that every time I had a leave while I was in Florida which was the better part of two years because when I was finished with the radar course at Boca Raton I was assigned to MacDill AFB at Tampa, so I didn't move very far. I can close this with a chuckle for you. On one of the leaves I had very little money. While traveling on the train I just had enough to order a bowl of soup in the dining car. There was a man sitting at the same table and he ordered a STEAK! I will never forget how much I wanted to reach over and grab that steak.

In my next post I will tell about being home on that first leave and making some progress toward a better relationship with Joe. ______

73 Chapter 31: My First Leave - A Turning Point ° Chapter 31: My First Leave - A Turning Point by Wayne Slauson. Posted Saturday, May 7, 2011

At the end of Radar School, between it and reporting to my assignment at MacDill Air Force Base I was given a leave and traveled back to Beacon by train. By this time Mom and Joe had moved again to a small apartment. But there was a day bed where I could sleep.

Also, by that time Joe was making plans for a newer diner than the original "Joe's Diner". I actually saw the diner in Elizabeth, NJ before it was moved. It was the Park Diner there.

The property in Beacon to which it was to be moved was a couple blocks from the old diner. There was an old building on the site and it was to be torn down. Some of the interior of that old building had beaded tongue and groove boards and the plan was to use them for the inside and outside walls of a walk in freezer which was to be built. There was a big pile of those boards and I took it upon myself to take the nails out of them. I used a hammer belonging to Joe and I actually have that hammer now.

Tom Gastio a man who had been friends with Mom and Joe was the contractor to build the kitchen and walk in freezer which had to be built first because the diner was to be on the street side and those structures would be in back of it.

Something else that got Joe's attention and gave him the impression I actually was a keeper and not one to be tossed back into the lake was this. The floor and counters and everything else in the old diner were kept clean by a man named Charlie Jackson who used ammonia liberally. So liberally that when he was cleaning the fumes were choking. The diner was open all night and his cleaning was done then. But, the arched ceiling collected grease like any ceiling would when it is in an environment where cooking is being done and it wasn't part of the cleaning process.

I got up about one o'clock in the morning, went down to the diner, got out a ladder and the necessary cleaning materials (including ammonia, I might add) and cleaned that ceiling. I managed to get through early enough to go back and go to bed so neither Mom nor Joe knew I had been out. If they did know, they would have probably thought I was "out on the town".

When Joe went in to the diner in the morning, which he did very early, the night help told him what I had done.

74 A Collection of Recollections

They told me later he was stunned and kept shaking his head and looking up at the ceiling every once in awhile. He couldn't believe it. When I came in to the diner later he hardly knew what to say. He did say, " I can't believe you did that" more than once. Later I heard him bragging to someone about what I had done. So, it served a purpose; the ceiling was clean and I started out with a clean slate with Joe. It was well worth the effort.

The leave was not very long and I boarded a train again, leaving Beacon under better circumstances than I had a year before. The process of getting from Grand Central Station to Penn Station was reversed, not seeing daylight, and I was on my way to Macdill Air Force Base. ______

75 Chapter 32: MacDill AFB ° Chapter 32: MacDill AFB by Wayne Slauson. Posted Tuesday, May 10, 2011

There is a lot to write about my time at MacDill. I believe it was at the beginning of 1947 when I arrived there. I remember that while I was at Boca Raton, the guys were sunning themselves on the roof of the barracks and I think it was around Christmas time. So the beginning of 1947 I was reporting in to Macdill.

I was a assigned to a team of 5 or 6 and we were to install a portable radar station out on the peninsula where MacDill is located, but farther out than the base extended. Actually it was swamp out there, but a black top road had been built along the shore to a dead end. Near the end of that road and over in the swamp, a place was bull dozed up into a small plateau about the size of our yard here at home. That is where we were to set up.

The name of the outfit was the Seventh Geodetic Survey Squadron. A ground radar station with a fixed antenna was set up and a plane would fly a series of overlapping figure eights using the radar as a point of reference. The plane was equipped with cameras taking pictures one after the other. The resulting images were placed on a huge table on the second floor of a building with the name "Computations". All the pictures comprised a giant mosaic which ultimately became a map. The process was advanced for the day, primitive for the present.

We had a small Quonset hut, a fairly large 60 cycle AC generator for the radio equipment and a smaller 400 cycle AC generator for the radar equipment. Both were gas driven generators. The mast for the antenna was made from plywood, molded into tubes; very unusual use for plywood. It wasn't very high, probably not but about 30' and had a very large array. The method of raising and guying the mast was such that I used the same principle to construct a 50' portable mast for radio surveys when I was working on the railroad.

The larger generator was very reliable. As long as it had a supply of gas it would start and run until it was shut down. The smaller generator had a two stroke engine on it that was cantankerous to say the least. If it stopped without running out of gas it was hopeless to try and start it again. So, we had more than one of them. I spent time trying to fix those things and getting them to run again, often times not even knowing what I had done to make them work. We would put the smaller generators inside the hut at night.

The larger generator was too heavy to move easily, so we had a packing crate which we set over it at night. The standard procedure first thing in the morning was to get a long handled shovel out of the hut, flip the packing crate off the larger generator and kill the rattlesnake that had crawled in during the night. I don't know of any morning when one wasn't found there.

One day a bull dozer was working over at the edge of the plateau. I walked over there and looked down in the swamp and saw what looked like a large bundle of snakes writhing around. It looked like a lot of snakes, but I didn't try to count.

76 A Collection of Recollections

Here is a picture of our Quonset hut. and some of our equipment. Notice it is in portables cases. One is the ancient radar transmitter. Down at the left is the radio transmitter. At the lower right is Easy Rider on his trusty steed a Cushman Motor Scooter I managed to purchase while at MacDill. My first "Wheels".

I rode a Cushman Motor Scooter all over the state of Florida while I was at MacDill. I had a lot of fun. I remember riding through "Alligator Alley" down by the Everglades and back up through the area of Lake Okeechobee which was spooky with hanging moss. Somewhere on that trip I hitched a ride with a trucker and we put the motor scooter in the truck. What great fun I had on that thing. I suppose since I have told you about the motor scooter I have to tell this. The "company street" that ran down to the road on which we went out to the radar site was at right angles to the road so it required a 90' turn when you came to the road. I was always the first one out to the site in the morning and each morning I would see just how fast I could go around that corner. The corner was isolated from the rest of the base so no one would be around there. I was searching for the "Terminal velocity". I found it! After I got up off the pavement, put the chain back on the motor scooter and flicked a few pieces of gravel off my arm, I rode to the base hospital! I met the other guys walking down the street on my way and told them I would be back in a few minutes. They poured some Peroxide on me at the hospital, put a bandage on my head and arm and I rode back to the site. I was satisfied I had reached the maximum speed a person could make that corner on a motor scooter so I didn't have to research the subject any further.

I thoroughly enjoyed the time spent at that radar site and many other things while I was at MacDill. I have a lot of other things to tell about my time there. I made friends off base; it was a good time.

77 Chapter 32: MacDill AFB

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78 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 33: I'm Off Base (I've been told that before) by Wayne Slauson. Posted Thursday, May 12, 2011

One time I rode the scooter to Lake Wales the location of the Bok tower, often called "The Singing Tower." The image above is the Bok Tower Gardens and ninety feet high Carillon.

My off base hang-0ut while at MacDill was the Gandy Barbecue at MacDill Ave. and Gandy Blvd; also, the adjacent service station where I helped out. In the Gandy Barbecue I met a fellow named Roy and he became my off base buddy. Roy had been in the war and was terribly injured by having been run over by a half track. A half track is a very large truck with tank like treads in place of rear wheels. You can imagine what that would do to a body.

It is a wonder he lived, let alone was able to navigate, albeit with the help of a cane and going slowly. He lived fairly close to the restaurant, maybe a half mile or less, and he walked to and from home to his end stool at the counter, right up against a wall at his side. He couldn't really sit on a stool, he half stood, half sat with his thin frame in a twisted position. I could count on him being there, smoking his pipe and having a beer. I really liked Roy. The guy who ran the place was always aggravating me. He would startle me by setting off a firecracker near me, or jab me from behind; whatever he could do to make me jump and then he would laugh about it. It made Roy mad and he would tell the guy, "Leave the kid alone"!

Roy had a little shop in his back yard and a jig saw like I had when I was in Rensselaer. There was a small deck on that outbuilding. I used it like a workbench and overhauled the engine of a motor scooter right there at his little shop. I actually had two different motor scooters while I was at MacDill, my second one had a two speed transmission. I could "dig out" faster with the transmission. Makes me chuckle now.

While I was there the service station changed hands three times. The man who ran the restaurant ran the service station at first, then a red headed guy, a real character. Then a couple by the name of Al and May. They were next to being parents to me during the time they had the station. They took me home with them some weekends and I

79 Chapter 33: I'm Off Base (I've been told that before) slept in the bedroom of the son they lost in the war. They were really good people and good to me. I made a couple trips back to MacDill while at Topeka by hitching a ride on planes taking married men back to visit their wives before they got them moved. Al and May would pick me up and I would be with them as though I were coming home to visit. They are pictured below.

At Boca there was a fellow named Stodgsill who lived in Orlando. When we finished school at Boca his orders were to go to Alaska. I offered to trade assignments with him, if it could be arranged, so he could go to MacDill and be near home, but he said he would like to go to Alaska and have that experience. There were a few times I rode my motor scooter the 85 miles from MacDill over to Orlando and visited his parents, staying overnight in his room. It felt a little odd, but they were glad to have me. I had been there 3 or 4 times when one morning his dad and I went downtown to eat breakfast. When we left the restaurant, his dad told me how he had been intimate with a woman who was a waitress in the restaurant. I was really disappointed at the fact he had been unfaithful like that but I didn't say anything. When I went back to MacDill, I didn't make any more trips over there.

While the red headed guy (I just knew him as "Red") had the station he introduced me to a girl who lived on Davis Island a residential area accessed by a bridge off of Bayshore Blvd. More about that later. There was a Captain Morton who came into the station on a big Harley at different times. He was a nice guy even though he was a bit of a "blowhard". Sometimes he hung around for a little while. There was another man, a little fellow, middle aged, who came in there on a black AJS motorcycle. Compared to the Harley the AJS was really small and I think it was a one cylinder bike. It looked a lot like this except it didn't have any yellow on it. .

80 A Collection of Recollections

The Captain was always trying to get the older fellow to race him. I'm sure he thought he could suffocate that fellow's bike with the Harley's exhaust. But the man declined two or three times, until one day with the Captain egging him on he agreed. They took out of the station together, but while the Captain's Harley was fishtailing just off the end of the drive, the AJS was halfway down Gandy Blvd toward Bayshore. About three of us were watching and couldn't help but laugh.

And now the REST of the story. Later on that same Captain had an older Enfield motorcycle he wanted to sell and asked Red if he would try and sell it for him. Red agreed to do that, so it was there at the service station. One night I was wanting to go over to see the girl on Davis Island and for whatever reason, I had no wheels. Red said take Morton's bike. He may have said, "I'll cover you", but at this point I don't know if he did. That night I came down to the station after it was closed (I had a key) in a clean uniform all spiffied up and rode that motorcycle to the girl's house; probably about five miles away.

When I left her house and was almost off the island I was stopped for a traffic signal and a police car pulled up alongside. One of the officers said, "Have you been riding that bike on the runway?" There was an airport at the other end of the island. I said, "No sir, I have been seeing a girl over on such and such street.." He said, "Is that your motorcycle?" I said, " No it isn't" "Whose is it?" I said, "It belongs to Captain Morton." Now I'm getting nervous because I figured the police officer was thinking, "What is an enlisted man doing riding a Captain's motorcycle". He said, "Turn this way." So I did as he asked and turned towards him.. About that time the light changed and he made a motion with his arm and they moved on. I don't know whether he thought the brass on my collar was that of an officer or what, but I can tell you I breathed a sigh of relief. I rode the bike back to the service station and put it away.

The red headed fellow wasn't there at the station for very long. It's probably a good thing where I was concerned because he wasn't a very good influence. I went with him to Sears in downtown Tampa to buy a vise. In Sears he picked out the vise he wanted. It was a four or five inch machinist's vise which is a heavy item. He was holding that vise as we stood in a wide aisle waiting for a sales person. It was an arrangement where you checked out in the same department where you purchased something. We were probably standing near the place where you check out, I don't remember that for sure.. What I do remember is the aisle led to an entrance about 30 feet away. After waiting a little while and no one showing up he said, "The hell with it" and walked down the aisle out the door. I stood there a few seconds not knowing what to do, then followed. That was another time when I was real nervous. I had no part in taking the vise, but I was with him, and I was very uncomfortable getting in his truck with him. I'm shaking my head just thinking about it.

One day while we were running the radar, for some reason the other fellows were not there. I have no idea now why not, but maybe there was some assembly or something they had to go to and someone had to stay at the station. Anyway, I was there by myself. Something went wrong with the radio transmitter in the plane and the radio operator started sending Morse code. Oh brother. I had started on my own to learn Morse but I didn't know it hardly at all. Talk about being nervous! I was shaking like a leaf. I told the other man to send very very slowly. By his sending real slow and by asking him to repeat, I was able to get enough of what he said to finish the mission for the day.

Another day, a lot of traffic started up suddenly on the radio. We had some PBY amphibious planes, two that were used in Search and Rescue and a couple for general purpose. One had made a rough landing in the bay. A

81 Chapter 33: I'm Off Base (I've been told that before)

Captain Grigsby, a well liked officer was the pilot. The PBY's we had were not unlike this one. Notice that the props are close to the top of the cockpit. There are escape hatches in the top of the plane, one of them above the pilot's seat. The hatches are there to provide a means of escaping if the plane was in danger of sinking. I don't know why he did it, but Grigsby stood up with his head above the hatch while the engines were still windmilling after they had been shut down. Death would have been immediate. The plane was towed to the beach not far from our station and it was a mess from one end to the other. It sat on the flight line that way for quite a long time before it was cleaned up and repainted.

Since I got on the subject of a PBY, I will write about a trip our team took in one in my next chapter.

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82 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 34: Houma Sweet Home by Wayne Slauson. Posted Friday, May 13, 2011

The plan was to send us on TDY (temporary duty) elsewhere and I was looking forward to it, like you might look forward to a vacation. Some diversion was welcome. We tore down our site, packed up the equipment all of which compacted into a surprisingly small number of boxes, the largest of which was a long box in which the sections of the mast were stored. All of it was hauled up to the flight line and loaded into a PBY. I brought my scooter. The pilot said, "You can't take that thing. It has gas in it." I said, "I can fix that", and took it over to the edge of the Tarmac, tipped it over and drained out what little gas there was on the grass. When I came back the same officer shrugged and reluctantly said, "Go ahead" meaning load it on the plane I could see he wasn't real happy about taking it but I thought if I could manage it, I would have some wheels where we were going. Come to think of it, I didn't know where that was to be, but I really didn't care either. It was a new adventure.

Somewhere during the flight I was told we were going to New Orleans and we would land at Lake Pontchartrain. OK, fine by me. The order came to prepare for landing. I was sitting in one of the bubbles looking down. We were at a low altitude on the final approach and I was seeing water below us. We were real close to it and I thought we were going to land on the water. Then, BUMP and we were on the ground. Apparently the runway wasn't very far from the edge of the lake. For a second I was disappointed we hadn't landed on the water, but we were safe on the ground anyway, and that was good enough. The only airport I can see viewing the lake from the Google satellite is Louis Armstrong International and unless where we landed no longer exists, it must be the same place we landed then.

We unloaded and were trucked to an Army Post which I think is now a Louisiana National Guard Command Post. We set up our station just inside the post, but we were only there a couple weeks when we moved. It was an interesting time though. I mentioned in an earlier post a friend in radar school by the name of Mike Sislock. Mike's home was New Orleans. I made contact with his parents and another fellow named Mosher rode double with me on the scooter and we visited Mike's home. Considering I knew Mike for just a short time in Boca, it surprises me that I would decide to try and visit his parents there in New Orleans. But in the those days I was still a boy, and my life was a lark.

Mosher and I rode to Mike's house to visit while he was in Germany. I thought he was probably in Alaska, but he tells me he was in Germany, so who am I to argue! He should know. Mike had an older sister and she had a friend. Mosher and I went to a movie or some place with them and probably got something to eat while we were out. I'm sure the girls were amused going out with two young guys like us because they were probably 4 or 5 years older, which is a lot of difference in ages when you are young. About all I remember of that time was riding on a bus and talking to them. It was fun for us though to be doing something like that. Mike says I took a spin on his bicycle during that visit but I don't remember it. His parents or sister probably told him about that Slauson kid coming to visit.

While I was there in the New Orleans area I took a peek at the famous Bourbon Street but I really don't remember much about it. Without having much money to spend a just took a look and went back to the post.

Our time there was short and soon we were moving south to Houma, Louisiana. The other guys left first and I followed later in the day or the next day. Black soldiers helped us load and they drove two different trucks to move us down to Houma. This was another time when the segregation matter was evident. The driver I went with was very quiet. I talked to him, but he didn't have much to say. Both drivers said to call them Joe. We wondered if they identified with Joe Lewis or if their names were really Joe.

We stopped at a place where I wanted to get a snack for us and "Joe" wouldn't go in with me, so I went in and

83 Chapter 34: Houma Sweet Home brought out something for both of us. Somewhere during the trip I asked if I could drive. I had watched the shifting so I had some idea of the pattern. It was a big truck called a 6 by 6 which means it had three axles. He willingly let me drive, but I wonder now if he would have gotten into trouble if we had an accident.

We arrived safely though at what had been a Navy blimp base and the local Coast Guard officer had told the rest of the guys they could use the old Base Commander's house as our headquarters. We got there about time to eat something for supper. The supplies we had were mainly spam and powdered eggs, cooked on a gasoline camp stove. Joe would not come inside to eat with us so two of us sat on the front steps with him and ate.

The truck was unloaded after we ate something and "Joe" headed back to the Army Post. We set up our equipment the next day and were in business by noon. We contacted MacDill by radio and told them we were ready whenever needed. We were told to standby.

The Coastguard officer loaned us an old Navy jeep so we had transportation if we wanted to go in town and get some groceries other than our rations. The house we were in was a wreck, windows all broken out; the door was gone. There were some bunks and we set up housekeeping. A packing crate was our food preparation area. We didn't need a table. We were in good shape, no complaints. We settled in for quite awhile, but I can't remember just how long, probably a couple months. .

I went over to the old blimp hanger and looked around. Just the wooden framework remained. It was huge. The airport was used by the city and there was an active fire station. I talked to the firemen and made friends with one fellow. His name was Hebert Bellenger. It was pronounced Aybare Baylawnjay. I will never forget that name. He and his wife lived in a converted barracks building on the base. The base was inactive and I think the city probably leased it from the Navy. I have no idea what the arrangement was, I do know the firemen were City of Houma firefighters. Hebert and his wife had me over to their place more than once. Once for boiled crawfish. They laughed and laughed because I couldn't quite manage the crawfish. Another time it was for boiled shrimps which was easier for me to handle. We had burgers one time also. They had two big rooms, one was a kitchen and living area and one was a bedroom with three beds.

One evening Hebert and I drove around the base with him sitting on the hood of the jeep shooting quail. Parts of the base were isolated. The Coast Guard officer got wind of that and told Hebert he didn't want him doing that again. So, the Coast Guard still had some authority over the use of the property. The officer may not have known about the use of the jeep, because it seems he would have said something to us about that. We had fried quail that day which some of the guys really liked.

There were a couple times I drove Hebert's car downtown and he did some drinking. One night with his wife's permission he went on a regular bender. I took him in his car and he got so drunk, when I got him home she had to put him to bed. She didn't seem to mind. I slept there that night and she and I talked for a long time before finally going to sleep. She said he would be out like a light until morning. It's strange to me that someone would want to do that.

I met a girl there in Houma. I don't know how I happened to do that but we did have 2 or 3 dates. We also went to

84 A Collection of Recollections the baseball games. I wasn't much of a sports fan but I got interested in seeing the Houma team play and cheering them on like I was a local boy. All of the radar team were at the ball game one night. I was driving the jeep and somebody switched the plug wires around so it wouldn't start after the game. I opened the hood and the plug wires didn't look right. The two center wires were crossed to the opposite cylinders to which they should be connected. I switched them to normal and then it ran fine. My team mates were laughing. I Googled Houma baseball and there are several teams there including a double A. They are really high on baseball. I remember there was a lot of enthusiasm for it when I was there over 50 years ago.

Too soon it seemed it was time to pack up and go back to MacDill. Once we got started we were looking forward to it and to better food than we scraped up. Our mess sergeant at MacDill was proud of his work. He even put wood on the front of the serving counter and scorched spots with a torch to give it a knotty pine look. Actually he was a little fuddyduddy kind of a guy.

We went back in the same PBY in which we came to New Orleans and soon we were back home from Houma! At take off, looking back, this is what I saw.

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85 Chapter 35: Meanwhile Back at MacDill ° Chapter 35: Meanwhile Back at MacDill by Wayne Slauson. Posted Tuesday, May 17, 2011

It's difficult to understand, but somehow the base at MacDill managed to continue functioning while we were gone. We, the Frying Aces returned, fully certified specialists in frying Spam. Everything was in order and I think we were given some time off to recuperate from our ordeal. That was probably when I made the scooter trip clear down to Miami. I'm still spooked by the Lake Okeechobee area. Jurassic Park probably wasn't filmed there but it would have been a good location.

Somewhere along my stay I exchanged my two wheels for four. I have been trying to find a picture likeness of the car but haven't quite managed to find the exact one. Here is a reasonable facsimile.

86 A Collection of Recollections

Now in your mind do away with the top, and beat what's left with a sledge hammer. Put bald tires on it, a two cylinder air cooled engine in it and some rust. Then you would be getting closer to what it actually looked like. Oh, but you have to see the inside.

It was about like shown here.

She was a beauty, would do 40MPH but not for long. She shook like a belly dancer, steered like a tractor, rode like a wagon and she was mine! My first real live automobile, paid for with cash. Well don't laugh, I was in good company. See who is driving one below.

That's Frank Lloyd Wright and Olgivanna tooling around in a Crosley. Truth of the matter is I had far more trouble with that heap than I did with a Cushman, and I wasn't out of the weather when it rained either. Rain didn't matter, it drained out through the floorboard. There were no floor mats, just metal. It was still fun.

One day there was a girl driving a Lincoln convertible ahead of me. I pushed the accelerator to the floor and with a sudden burst of power I crept slowly up beside her. She smiled at me then turned right. I let off of the gas and the rods sounded like a debt collector knocking at the door. I limped to the service station.

After taking loose some bolts, I knelt on the fenders, reached down and lifted the engine out. I took it apart and got down to the rods. That's when I found out the rods didn't have inserts. They had to be poured. I don't remember how much that cost. But I got a smile out of a cute girl!

Shortly after we got back we had our site set up again at the old home place among the snakes. About that time there was ------wait the following is adult material. If you are not over thirty, no forty, maybe fifty, probably older, it is restricted subject matter and you are not allowed to read it. As I was saying about that time there was an

87 Chapter 35: Meanwhile Back at MacDill announcement on the PA system in the barracks and maybe some pamphlets circulated to the effect there was an infestation of Crabs in the squadron. I had never heard of them, knew nothing about them and didn't think I was affected, or should I say infected. I was completely innocent of the matter. However, I did notice I was itching and I didn't know why.

Well, I was sitting outside the Quonset hut in the sunshine and was itching in my armpit. I raised my arm up and looked and Holy Mackerel Andy, the sun was glinting off the granddaddy of them all! NOW I knew what was meant by crabs. I asked if I could get off early. It was about three o'clock in the afternoon. The sergeant said OK.

I had heard that kerosene would kill them, so I made a beeline for the service station, pumped some kerosene into a small can, went around the side of the station and into the rest room. I proceeded to splash kerosene in my armpits and elsewhere - I'm not telling where that was! I killed those critters alright but I about burned myself up in the process. Wow was I burning and stinging. I came out of that restroom like the most bowlegged cowboy in the world and my arms out to the side like a gorilla. I made a beeline back to the base and the showers. That's how I became a sadder and wiser man ---boy.

One weekend I went over to Drew Field. Drew field was Tampa's Airport opened in 1928. The Third Air Force took it over during WWII and greatly expanded it. In 1952 it became Tampa International. I just went over there out of curiosity. I no sooner walked on the property than I saw a fellow in fatigues working on a radial engine plane similar to an AT-6 such as in the picture here. I was sitting in this one and wishing I could fly it.

The fellow was probably in his late 20's or early thirties and had Master Sergeant stripes on the arm of his fatigues. I picked up a rag and wiped some oil off the plane around the engine. He asked me to hand him something and I did so. Pretty soon he finished whatever it was he was doing and said, "Would you like to go up?" I said, "Sure." It was a dandy plane, a surplus Navy BT (Basic Trainer). The plane had an intercom so you wore a headset and microphone. We taxied out, got permission to take off and did so. It was really smooth.

We gained some altitude and got away from the field. Then he said, "You can take it." I didn't hesitate and took the controls. I flew a square, and then a figure eight. He said, "Have you been checked out in one of these?" I said, "No I haven't" "Well, you handle it like you're familiar with it." I just said, "It's really a nice stable plane." Then he said, "Well we better head back so I banked around and headed back toward the field." At that point I got a little nervous because I was afraid he might tell me to make the approach or even land, none of which I would do, and I realize now he wouldn't have done that. He said, "Well you can put this in your book". I said, "What was that?" stalling and trying to think what book he was talking about. "He said, "Your pilot's log." "That's when I blurted out, " I don't have a license, all I have is 30 minutes instruction in a Piper Cub"

He made an obvious move to take the controls which I of course relinquished immediately and I could see him shaking his head in disbelief that he had let someone whose qualifications he had no idea whatsoever take control of his airplane. He muttered something like, "I sure thought you had a license and was looking for some time." I didn't know what to say except to thank him for taking me up. By the time he parked the plane he had kind of recovered and had a chuckle. I shook his hand and left. That's as far as I got exploring Drew field. It was a great afternoon.

We had a hurricane hit the base once while I was there. I don't know why we stayed up on the second floor instead of going down to the first floor. That barracks really shook as the wind blew.

88 A Collection of Recollections

A wooden tower, not in use, out by our radar site blew down. The storm had no effect on our Quonset hut, antenna and equipment. I don't know what that tower had been used for.

I haven't said much about the guys in the planes that used our radar for reference. Here on the right is some of their equipment..

Below left is a closer view of part of it. Below that is one of our C-47's in which the equipment was installed. I would have liked to be on the flying end of the job, but then I wouldn't have had as much freedom. As it was, my job was not demanding. it was all interesting.

When I leave MacDill, I will leave with a lot of good

memories, one of which is of Roy, the banged up buddy at Gandy Barbecue. Among the best are those weekends spent with Al and May, and conversations with other people I met and talked with. The trip and time in New Orleans and Houma was a plus. I enjoyed Houma so much, but then was glad to be back with friends at MacDill and Tampa

People you have met and known for a short time in your life, and you think you have forgotten, have a way of coming to life again when you write about the past. You wonder if you showed your appreciation of them at the time or did you just take things for granted. Taking into account the difference in ages between you and them, you know they have gone on. Maybe I will see them again. Who knows.

______

89 Chapter 36: Another Leave and More About Joe ° Chapter 36: Another Leave and More About Joe by Wayne Slauson. Posted Sunday, May 22, 2011

It would have been around the end of May in 1948 when I took another leave. I remember being in Beacon on Memorial Day that year. I was in back of the "new" diner at a parking space for Joe's car when the parade went by. I heard the band coming down the street and walked up to the front. As the flag went by I snapped to attention, saluted, and my heart suddenly flooded with love for my country. Even though the war was long over, my pride of being in its Air Force and the privilege of living in this country suddenly and unexpectedly welled up and spilled over onto my cheeks.

The new diner, bearing the name Beacon Diner, was in business. Joe was justifiably proud of it, after making a success of the old diner, "Joe's diner", and moving up to a better facility complete with walk-in freezer in the attached kitchen.

I'm getting ahead of myself in these writings,, but it is time for telling the rest of Joe's story. Mom and Joe had some friends in Rouses Point New York, on the border between New York and Canada. That family had some property on Lake Champlain, but close to town. Mom and Joe had an old travel trailer on the property which they used occasionally for a fishing weekend. About two years after the Beacon Diner opened my mother started going through the time of life that is difficult for some women. She went up to their place on the lake to be in a stress free environment.

Joe started driving to Rouses Point on either Wednesday or Thursday nights and returning to Beacon on Sunday nights. Mom tried to talk to him about how inadvisable it was to leave the business in someone else hands. In addition, her preference at that time was to be alone. But Joe liked to fish and the leisure life so much he continued to spend time away even after Mom was ready to come back and work in the diner. As a result, the business suffered. No one takes care of a business as well as the owner and it is especially true of the restaurant business. Unfortunately, as a result of the neglect associated with that distraction, he lost everything.

Thinking of the following makes me sad. I mentioned in a previous chapter the old diner, "Joe's Diner" had been bought by someone and moved to the far end of the parking lot by the ferry slip and train station. The last time I talked to Joe across a counter was in that diner, the "Ferry Diner". He was working as the night short order cook. He had gone full circle because the first time I met him that's the job he had in Saratoga.

Not too long after than I visited him in the Castle Point VA hospital. They let him out of the oxygen tent so he could visit and have another cigarette. I never could understand why a person would want to partake of that which was killing them. His explanation to me was that he was going to die anyway, which he did at the age of 62. Debts were left behind which my mother worked for years to resolve.

My memory so far as other things while I was on that leave made little impression on me and what I have written above skips ahead of where I am, in the telling of my Air Force experience. But, sometimes things come to mind a person feels inclined to tell and that is what I have done.

Back at MacDill, plans were being made to move the 7th Geodetic Survey Squadron to a new home, Topeka, Kansas. ______

90 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 37: The Sun Sets On My Time at MacDill by Wayne Slauson. Posted Saturday, May 28, 2011

Memorial Day Services at MacDill Back at MacDill preparations were being made to move us to Topeka. There was a period of "make work" time when we were through with our regular duties but not quite ready to make the transition. During that time we were assigned to guard duty, policing the area, KP, cleaning barracks; anything they could think of to keep us busy.

It was during that period I was posted on guard duty inside the base financial office at night after being up all day. There I was, in the middle of the night sitting in a comfortable office chair at a desk in a very warm office, with the drone of a whirring fan singing me a very effective lullaby. The building was locked and no one could enter unless I opened the door for them. They told me later they had banged on the door, banged on the window and wall behind me, but could not wake me up. Finally someone called the telephone and after several rings they managed to wake me up.

So, I did KP a few days after that. But, working for the little fuddy duddy mess sergeant was not much of a punishment. In fact it was more amusement than punishment. I can't help chuckle thinking of that guy flitting around the kitchen like a butterfly supervising the preparation of food like a French Chef might do in a fancy restaurant. Everyone had their idea of that fellow's certain kind of orientation, but no one seemed to mind. It was a long time before don't ask, don't tell. It was more of a don't care time.

Another time of guard duty had its own event worthy of mentioning. I was on guard duty on the flight line at night and the fog that night was really thick. The runway was not far from me, probably about the width of a football field. I heard the faint sound of a plane and in a few seconds the fog became lit like a giant incandescent bulb. I looked toward the brightest of the light and although I could see the brightness I couldn't see the plane itself. I did hear it pass by however and in a another few seconds I heard a muffled thump not unlike distant thunder. A short time later a truck came by and picked me up. The plane had crashed and the plan was to take us to the crash sight to guard it, but it was impossible to reach it so that didn't happen.

91 Chapter 37: The Sun Sets On My Time at MacDill

There came a day when we were told to get our duffel bags and come to the flight line. Some of us were put aboard a B-17. Shortly after take off I went down in the nose of the plane where a plywood floor had been built in place of the gunner's position. It looked like a comfortable place to take a nap so I stretched out on the floor and fell asleep. I have no idea how far out we were but the word came that an engine was out and we were to prepare for an emergency landing,

I hitched up a little farther into the nose and looked out. Sure enough one of the props was feathered. I thought of all the guys in B-17's that had been shot up, with lost engines and missing other parts and pieces, but had made it back to base during the war. The engine being out didn't impress me in the least and I went back to sleep. It wasn't long though before someone hollered at me and said the pilot told me to get my butt up out of there. Of course, we landed back at MacDill without incident. I was lucky enough to get the above picture from a training film on You Tube.

We transferred our gear to a B-29 and I guess the pilot wasn't too mad at me. Both he and the co-pilot were fairly young men. I stood virtually with my arms resting on the backs of their seats as we took off. For my benefit they asked one another if they had been checked out in a '29 and acted like neither had. I wasn't impressed with that possibility either. They did take quite a bit of runway before getting off and one had said they would when we started rolling.

Early evening on approach to what was then Topeka Air Force Base, we flew over the capitol at low altitude. I was standing where I had been at take off and one of the pilots said, "There's your new home." Little did he know, nor I, that virtually the rest of my life would be spent in Kansas.

______

92 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 38: One Hand Didn't Know What the Other Was Doing by Wayne Slauson. Posted Monday, May 30, 2011

When we got to Topeka, everything was in disarray. The base had not been active for awhile and there was a lot of organizing, restocking and work to do, unrelated to what the squadron was all about which was radar mapping. Those in charge were trying to map out who would do what to get things back in operation. The equipment and materials necessary to re-establish the functions of my unit had not yet been brought to the base.

A short time after we arrived, they lined us up and asked for volunteers to help with various jobs. One of the things they asked for was someone who could drive a semi truck and trailer. I raised my hand thinking two things: One: I had at least ridden in the Emmadine milk trucks back in Beacon; even held the wheel while the driver relieved himself. Two: I hoped I wasn't volunteering to push a wheelbarrow. I probably thought of one more: I'm sticking my neck out because I haven't driven a semi but I would like to try! What could they do other than demote me to a wheelbarrow.

They took my word for knowing how to drive a semi and sent me to the motor pool where I found a tractor and 35 ft flat bed trailer waiting for me. It was gassed up ready to go. A corporal at the motor-pool said, "Can you handle that?" I said, 'Sure" with all the confidence of a skinny 18 year old. I climbed in the cab, did a little adjusting while studying the shift pattern on the dash and trying not to be obvious about it. I started it up and drove it out of there.

Driving around the base to get the feel of the truck and trailer, I found a remote area where I could back it up without observation and did so. After a short time I pronounced myself ready to handle whatever they wanted me to do. The flat bed semi was needed so the material unloaded from planes could be put on the truck, then brought into a hanger and unloaded. It was temporarily stored there, making the plane available for another trip. We had C-54's and C47's and several trips were required over the period of a few days to transport everything needed. By driving, I didn't get into the manual labor part of it. If I remember correctly I could back under the C-54's which were the largest of the two but not the C-47's so I had to be careful and not back into one which would have ended my driving career! It was actually harder to get the truck and trailer turned around in the space in front of the hanger in order to back into it than it was to just back into a plane. The whole experience was nothing but fun for me!

93 Chapter 38: One Hand Didn't Know What the Other Was Doing

After everything had been moved, my outfit was a long way from being organized when they assembled us and announced they needed firefighters. Having an interest in fire fighting, I volunteered to be a firefighter thinking they must need them bad enough it didn't matter what you had been doing, that they would automatically take care of the details. I was assigned to the Crash Fire Station and underwent some training. One of the exercises was to enter a shallow pool of water about 30 feet square which had oil and gasoline poured on top. It was set on fire and the object was to put the fire out with a fire hose and high pressure fog nozzle. High pressure fog is no more than a dense envelope of water droplets. Walking into that pit was a little intimidating but not difficult. You just have to watch that the fire doesn't re-ignite in back of you. I passed the test with ease.

The guys at the Crash Fire Station were all good men, friendly and cooperative. If you are virtually living together with other men, eating together and working together, it's not very good if they are not compatible. I don't remember any clashes between anyone during that time.

94 A Collection of Recollections

I was assigned to a huge truck which dispensed CO2, carbon dioxide. Compressed carbon dioxide turns to a liquid and carbon dioxide exposed to the atmosphere is dry ice. If it is sprayed from a nozzle it is like snow. The truck was equipped with hoses and on top was a very large nozzle on a boom which could be swung out and the CO2 sprayed from above a fire. The vehicle was called the "Cardox" truck. It is pictured above with some of the rest of the Department, both crash and structural units. I am about in the middle, near the front of the truck. At the left end is a man named John Roth. Later, when I was working at the Topeka Police Station I met his brother Tony who was a detective and John visited there once or twice. They both were good men. A B-17 came in with an engine on fire and the pilot taxied it up to within a block from the fire station. The driver and I went out with the Cardox truck. I shoved a lance type nozzle up into an opening in the engine cowling and smothered the engine until there was no more smoke. The lance was a long pipe closed on the end except for small holes allowing the CO2 to escape and turn into the "snow" familiar to that type of extinguisher.

Someone might have told me when it was enough because I couldn't see what I was doing. I was virtually standing in a snowstorm! The Chief who was not prone to compliments drove up to the station later and told me I did a good job.

One of the most interesting procedures I have ever seen in my life was the replenishing of CO2 in that truck. A property of dry ice is that it doesn't melt, but turns directly from a solid to a gas. On the back of the station there was an addition like a garage with a very large garage door. In the corner of that area was a small wood burning stove, not unlike the one in my grandparent's house used for heating water. On the wall in back of the stove were 5 or 6 thick walled steel tanks with a system of inter-connecting pipes forming a manifold. Heat was transferred to the tanks much like would be done if they were hot water tanks. Leading from the manifold was a heavy hose and valve.

We used a truck from the motor pool and went down on Kansas Avenue the main street in downtown Topeka. Two or three blocks from the river we turned off and went to the "City Ice Company". We bought several big chunks of dry ice and took them back to the base, broke them up into small pieces and put them in the tanks on the wall. The tops of the tanks were then closed with heavy screw-on caps and a fire built in the little stove. The heat vaporized the dry ice, and pressure built up in the tanks. As I remember it, the process took place overnight. The next day a hose was connected between the manifold and the Cardox truck which had been backed in and the gas was thus replenished in the truck. It was a fascinating procedure in which I participated.

For some unexplained reason I was told to report to the headquarters of my former Squadron. I had become part of the Base Engineering Squadron, living in the barracks, sharing a room with two other fellows, and the Crash Station had become a second home. It was curious to me that I was told to report to the powers that be of the 7th Geodetic Survey Squadron. I couldn't imagine what they wanted. They informed me that my MOS (Military Occupational Specialty) number was too high to be wasted on my being a firefighter. In the conversation with them I pointed out that I had volunteered to fill a job that was apparently critical or they wouldn't have been asking for volunteers without any reservation as to what their job was at the time and that I had already been there for X amount of time, gone through training etc. Of course I added I wanted to stay there. It didn't do any good. They informed me I had no choice and that I was to report for duty at a specific time to receive further orders.

Leaving that office, my head was reeling. Very few events in my life affected me like the prospect of leaving the group at the Fire Department. I was devastated. I was walking down a sidewalk toward the flight line. The next thing I was in the back of a truck and then in the hospital. At the hospital they must have given me a pill because I went to sleep for several hours. About two o'clock in the morning, I woke up and wondered what was going on. I got out of bed and walked down to the end of the ward where there was an office with an officer on duty.

The officer was a fairly young man himself and after inquiring how I was feeling he asked,' What's going on with you?" I told him I felt fine. We talked a little bit and I told him how I had volunteered for the Fire Department and about getting the word I had to go back to my old unit. By this time I had resigned myself to the fact they had the power to do that so when he said, "Well, you're going back." I must have said something like "Yeah, I know darn it." or something conveying my understanding that returning to my former outfit was inevitable. But, he said, "No, you're going back to your buddies at the Fire Station. Now, go back to bed." I couldn't believe what I was hearing, but I didn't question and went back to the bed in the ward. I have no idea what took place in connection with making it possible for me to stay with the Fire Department. All I know is that it happened and that was good

95 Chapter 38: One Hand Didn't Know What the Other Was Doing enough for me. The next morning I reported back to the Crash Station and told them what had happened. I never heard another word about the subject. Something I did hear though was that if I had gone back I probably would have gone to Greenland or Guatemala. Either would have been interesting, but I was happy where I was.

Coincidentally, it wasn't too long before we had an early morning alarm that a B-17 had crashed at Berryton, a very small town mostly east of the base. We all piled on one engine and headed out. The driver turned the wrong way at the front gate, but soon turned around and we made it to Berryton. The Grange Hall was at one end of a field the size of a football field. To the south west there was a hill and apparently the plane had hit a barn at the top of the hill then disintegrated; the largest part remaining being an engine. There were spot fires which we put out, then had to recover body parts. Subsequently, a rumor circulated that one person who had been near the tail of the plane had survived and had been found sitting by a creek in the woods beyond the far end of the field into which the plane crashed. That rumor was never confirmed to my knowledge. I certainly didn't see anything to indicate it was the case. But then I was busy, so it could have happened.

Five of the guys who had been in the plane were from my former squadron. and I knew them. There was an interesting side story about that crash. It was a very early morning flight and an airman overslept and missed the flight. He was punished under the 104th Article of War which grants commanding officers of all units' disciplinary powers which they may use to enforce proper discipline. His punishment was restriction to barracks for five days. I'm sure he was glad to "serve his time' because if he had been on that flight he would not have lived. I can imagine he did a lot of thinking during that time. I knew the man but all I can remember about him is he was heavy set.

There was a distasteful end to that event. A week or so after the crash, a truck showed up with the heavy rubber body bags we had used. Some of us thought they would have burned them and we would have been issued new ones but that wasn't the case. We ended up washing them out on the front apron of the station. We were surprised and disgusted because there were a few small bits and pieces in them that we washed over into the grass. To this day I can't understand why that would be accepted procedure. Sometimes real life is less palatable than fiction.

Due to my hesitancy to end a chapter on a note like that, I can tell you about something we did on days off. Farmers in the area as far as 30 miles away were glad to have help during harvesting, whether it was putting up ensilage or loading Milo, no matter what. Sometimes they would pick us up. we would spend a day, eat a home cooked meal at noon, make a little money and they would truck us back to the base. I remember one red faced fellow who had a farm near Overbrook, KS. He showed us a gold pocket watch and said his father gave him the watch in return for a promise that he would never smoke! He said, "I never smoked, but he (referring to his father) didn't say anything about drinking!

Near the end of my enlistment I hooked up with a farmer a short distance west of Pauline just outside of Topeka and I worked for him doing several things, from disking and harrowing, running a manure spreader, whatever he needed. He had both a team and a tractor. His wife worked and he and I would eat lunch together. I think he enjoyed having me around. It was another case of a couple who had lost a son during the war. I have driven by that place several times since them. The first letter of his last name is still on the chimney. There are a lot of good people in the world and I have met many.

Next: More responsibility ______

96 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 39: More Responsibility (Not much and on short time) by Wayne Slauson. Posted Friday, June 3, 2011

After being at the Crash Fire Station for awhile, I went to the Structural Department. I have tried to figure out the make of the structural engine above but I have not been able to do that. I am on the right corner of the tail board as you look at the picture. Cursor over photo to find me. It was not long before John Roth asked me to be Assistant Fire Marshall for the Base. It is surprising he got approval from the Chief to do that because I had angered the Chief on an occasion during the cleaning of the equipment room floor.

We were using a foaming agent in place of soap. The foaming agent is nearly as black as used oil and is extremely slippery when on smooth concrete such as the fire engine bays. At that time the Inspector General was said to be on base and I made the remark that if he was to see how dangerous it made the footing to use the foam making liquid, we might be in trouble. Well, that remark was heard by the Chief and he was angered by it. He instructed me to stay in the barracks area of the station for the rest of the day. I had a steel guitar at that time so I practiced on it. I guess he thought I was questioning his judgment. Or just as likely, he was using the opportunity to show his authority. He may have been suffering from the "small man syndrome" for all I know.

Chief Ross was balanced out by Captain Romeo H Freer. He was the Base Engineering squadron commander. Romeo was also fascinated with the Fire Department. He wanted a red light and siren on his car and he got it. It put a big smile on his face. He was as happy with that as a little boy finding a fire engine under the tree on Christmas morning. Seeing him tool around the base with his red light and siren put a smile on everyone's face. Nevertheless he was a very friendly guy, always had a smile and seemed to enjoy just being Romeo.

Being Assistant Fire Marshall was not a grand and glorious job. However, it was an 8 to 5 job and since I had a girl friend in town it was fine with me. I worked out of the same office as the Chief and my main function was checking dates on fire extinguishers in all the buildings on base.

Some things are about as interesting as you make them and that was the case with that job. It was boring going into empty barracks, but interesting to walk into offices and go about my duty while listening and observing. There was some record keeping involved and I had a drawer or two in a file cabinet in the office.

97 Chapter 39: More Responsibility (Not much and on short time)

My type of job was off on holidays just as in civilian life but one time I worked a holiday not even realizing it was such. In connection with that, an event occurred demonstrating just how little judgment the Chief had. The next day I was in the office with a file drawer open and my back to Chief Ross. We had a brief conversation concerning the fact I had worked unnecessarily. I said,, "Oh well maybe I will be taken care of for that." Of course I meant maybe I would be given some time off when I asked for it. The Chief said, "Yeah Slauson, I'll take car of you." The tone of his voice made me turn around. He had an automatic revolver pointed right at me. I said, "For crying out loud, put that thing away!" He said, "Oh, it's not loaded," and put it in a drawer. Of course it is supposedly unloaded guns that kill people and I reminded him of that.

On April 8th of 1949, I married Rose, my Topeka girlfriend and on May 26th, 3 days before my 20th birthday I was discharged with accrued leave time shortening my enlistment to 2 years 10 months and 26 days. I had no regrets, enlisting in the Air Force was probably the best thing I could do. I did get some basic electronics schooling and I pursued that field when I got out.

And so ended my time in the Air Force and the beginning of becoming a Kansan!. ______

98 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 40: Becoming a Kansan by Wayne Slauson. Posted Monday, June 27, 2011

Being in the service during peacetime means you have a bed to sleep in, maybe the privilege of sharing a room with one or two others, as opposed to living in an open barracks, and a meal waiting for you just a block or two away. It means clothes are furnished down to your underclothes. Sure, you have to make your bed, do your own laundry, perform a reasonable service in return, but if you can't handle those things, a person is in tough shape.

Now, switch the scene. As a civilian, you have to provide your own bed, the shelter in which it resides, purchase and prepare the food you eat, and continue to do the other things necessary to take care of yourself. In addition, you must have a source of income to purchase food and shelter. Add a second person with whom you have chosen to live and for whom you feel the responsibility of them having the same privileges and you have painted an entirely different picture than the scenario described in the first paragraph.

In the second situation you are at the same time both innocent and ignorant. Innocent in that for youth, there is a certain amount of numbness to life's necessities and ignorant because you were not intelligent enough to figure out all the details in advance. For the most part, the wisdom of youth is only exhibited in those words spoken by toddlers to which we attribute the phrase "Out of the mouths of babes" Unfortunately, for the majority of those still in their teen or early twenties wisdom has not yet sprouted.

But, for those who marry young and try to make it, they largely operate on some kind of auto-pilot, stumbling along as well as their inexperience is tolerated by others and their desire to "make it" provides the incentive to do so.

That's the mental environment and financial insecurity in which I found myself when I got out of service. Rose and I were married on April 8, 1949 and on May 23rd 1949 I was honorably discharged from the Air force. We probably received a small check at that time, but there was no time to waste. My first priority was to find work. Koehling Thompson was an alfalfa dehydrating plant in N. Topeka. My first job was sacking and stacking sacks of dehydrated alfalfa meal. It came down a pipe and you held a sack under the pipe until it was full, then another person did the same thing while you fastened the top of the sack and carried it either to a box car or a warehouse probably 20 ft away. You needed to get back to the spout before the other person's sack was full.

The term dusty, doesn't even begin to describe the dense green cloud in which a person worked. Work six hours, eat your lunch, work six more hours every day 6 days a week. If you ate a sandwich it was flavored with visible alfalfa meal. The other 12 hours a day you blew, coughed, and spit green. It was a terrible job. I don't remember how long it was before I applied for training in the Topeka Trade School under the GI Bill, but it wasn't very long! Maybe the dehydrating plant was a mixed blessing. If I had an easier job perhaps I would have put off going back to school, which would have been a mistake. Along with going to school we would receive a small allotment to assist with living expenses.

The first place we lived was one room with a gas range. A hydrant was outside the door. In those days Topeka still had some outhouses out on the alley that opened to the sewer. The accommodations were not plush by any means and I knew Rose didn't like it, so I tried to compensate by doing as much of the housework as I could. Her mother lived around the other side of the block and she spent most of her time there during the day which is understandable. We probably both spent more time there than we did in our own quarters.

When I started school and we started getting the allotment checks, even though they were small, they were a godsend. We managed to move up the street to a very small apartment with a hide-a-bed and a sink and a bathroom up a flight of stairs and down a hall.

99 Chapter 40: Becoming a Kansan

Another factor entered into the picture. Rose was pregnant. ______

100 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 41: East Fourth St. Topeka by Wayne Slauson. Posted Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Unless you lived in Topeka back in the 40's and 50's you might find it difficult to imagine the neighborhood in which we lived. A lot of the north south streets in Topeka are named after Presidents. Adams is the first street west of what was the Santa Fe tracks. Then Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, Quincy. Next, the downtown street, Kansas Avenue. The numbered streets are east and west.

At the NE corner of 4th and Kansas was the Owl Drug Store. Sloping slightly down to the east, 4th Street intersected at Quincy and at that location there was a completely different social atmosphere than existed just a block away on Kansas Avenue. The Dunbar Hotel sat at the SE corner of 4th and Quincy. Fourth Street continued to slope another block toward the tracks, leveling in the blocks intersected by Madison, Jefferson and Adams. The ancestry of the people in that area varied greatly.

There were a lot of good people in the area, unable to be elsewhere due to limited resources. Then there were people scarcely operating under the radar of the law. For the most part, one did not bother the other. The rule of the day was live and let live. I'm sure there were people in other parts of the city who would not understand why anyone would live there, but then, they possessed the resources to be where they were.

At any rate, we were there. Our little apartment, probably not even 200 square feet, was at the corner of 4th and Madison with the door facing Madison. I have heard mention of a Madison Avenue address being a ritzy place to live. Well, this wasn't exactly the same!

But, we were largely oblivious to the surroundings. We lived our lives without concentrating on the social environment. Roses's mother lived at 321 Jefferson, so it was only a block and a half away. I went to school and worked everywhere there was an opportunity to earn some money. We were doing the best we could and were paying the bills.

The majority of the businesses on the north side of 4th Street between Madison and Jefferson are as follows: Devlin's Grocery story was probably the largest business in that block. It was owned by the Devlin brothers and in later years after Urban renewal had changed the landscape I noticed they still had a grocery story in another part of town.

Next to the alley was what I always considered a Junk store but a more generous name would be Second Hand Store. That fellow's name is not coming to me but it seems like it might have been Everett, maybe Cecil, it's just not clear in my memory. One thing I know for certain is the coal bin at the back of that store was the home of the "Shadow".

The "Shadow" was a slight, disheveled, bearded man who stood up on Kansas avenue during the day. He harmed no one and yet many people were frightened of him. I never heard of him causing anyone any problem and l don't know that he pan handled, but he may have. He was a downtown "Character". The "Shadow" was known to a lot of

101 Chapter 41: East Fourth St. Topeka people but where he spent his nights was a mystery.

Beyond the alley was Abner's drugstore. Abner Laroque was the owner and I worked there quite a bit. "Ab" was good to me. It was there I met a man named Paul Leslie Anderson who became a very good friend for years and years and my youngest son is named Paul Leslie after him.

Working at Abner's brought me into contact with a variety of people. Some of the customers could not speak English and would communicate with gestures and pointing. Ab and I had a good laugh one night when an older man came in and told us what he wanted in Spanish. Abner could understand a little Spanish and I had picked up a few words, but that night he couldn't figure out what the man wanted. Finally the man made some motions and we knew he wanted toilet paper. All three of us laughed.

Abner had a Model A coupe and sometimes I would drive it to deliver goods to people who were too ill or too old and feeble to make the trip to the store. I have had a liking for Model A's ever since then. I liked the way that old car had a chuckling sound when it was running.

A lot of Bay Rum, an after shave lotion was sold in that store. It's doubtful though that any of the people who bought it used it for that purpose. They drank it! The small bottles were twenty five cents. A customer would come in, put a quarter down on the counter and you would reach down into a box under the counter, get a bottle and hand it to him. There was no need for any words, the quarter said it all.

Many times people would come to Abner for medical advice. He would do his best to help them out. He was a good man.

On the corner of 4th and Jefferson was the Monterrey Tavern, more often called "The Black Cat." It was a gathering place for a mixed group of people and often the site of fights many of which involved knives. Many of the people carried knives, but one man, whose name I recall was Moses, carried a huge six-gun on his hip.

This was the neighborhood in which we lived and in spite of the fact that subconsciously the kernel of desire to better our surroundings was present, we were not unhappy to be where we were. We were more focused on just paying the rent and buying the groceries. We were undeniably poor like virtually everyone else in the neighborhood.

It may come as a surprise, possibly a shock to some, but I had an old 32 caliber automatic at the time we lived there.

There were two incidents in which that weapon came into play. The second incident scared me so much I got rid of it. The first one was one night when I had been working in Abner's drugstore. Rose was at her mother's which meant after we closed I would be going over there to get her. It was a half block east of the drugstore and a half block north on Jefferson.

The weather was chilly and when I left the drugstore I was wearing a light overcoat, similar to a trench-coat. I had my hands in my pocket and my right hand was on the automatic. I was accosted by a prostitute within 50' of the store and I side stepped her. At the same time three men stepped out from between the buildings and blocked my path. For some reason, the knowledge I actually had my hand on that gun left me completely for what seemed a long time, but was probably only seconds. I slowly brought my hand out of my pocket and said, "You folks better leave me alone." It made a favorable impression on them because they immediately parted and one of them made a sweeping gesture like a servant makes to welcome royalty.

There was an amusing after effect of that incident in that in the near future when I would walk past the Black Cat, several would make a path and make that same gesture. I just smiled at them and walked through.

The other incident was at the little apartment. To get to the bathroom, we had to go through a door that led to a very small entry way and up a flight of stairs. That entry way had a door leading to the sidewalk. It was not ours but for the lady upstairs. We had a separate door to the outside.

102 A Collection of Recollections

One night a drunk was pounding on the outside door of that entryway. He was yelling and calling out the name of the lady who lived upstairs. She apparently wanted no part of that fellow and was not responding. I yelled at him a few times, asking him to leave and there would be quiet for a little while. Then the pounding and yelling would begin again. I took the gun and went through our door to that entryway. The door to the outside had a chain on it so you could open the door a few inches but it would stop it from opening completely. I opened the door just a little to try to reason with the man. He burst in, breaking the chain's anchorage and I found myself up against the wall opposite the door. The gun was in my hand and pressing into his stomach. He felt it, looked down, raised his hands and backed up and out saying, "I'm going. I'm going. I'm going."

That incident and how serious a situation could have developed caused me to get rid of that particular weapon. An automatic with a shell in the chamber is one flinch away from serious consequences if it is pointed at someone.

It is with some reluctance that I publish this chapter. My fear is that those who have not been exposed to some of the more base environments and characters in this world might find my contact with that element more than they would like to know about me. Nevertheless, this was life at the time and that is what I have been writing about all along. Also, the events occurred over 60 years ago.

Our son David was born while we lived in that little apartment. I was desperate to pay the hospital bill at the time Rose was released from the hospital and borrowed $35 in order to do so. Since the bathroom was upstairs, I carried Rose up the stairs a time or two when she came home from the hospital.

When Urban Renewal was completed the area I have described in this chapter no longer existed. I wondered at the time where all the people went. ______

103 Chapter 42: School, Work and Flood ° Chapter 42: School, Work and Flood by Wayne Slauson. Posted Saturday, July 2, 2011

The Topeka Trade School at 620 Harrison was where I went to radio school under the GI Bill. It was not a well organized tight run operation. The teacher was Oscar J. Palmer, a really nice man on the verge of retirement. I suspect the Board of Education saw an opportunity to capitalize on income available from the GI bill and I'm pretty sure many of the students were doing the same thing. Granted the housing allotment was income that helped us a lot but aside from that I wanted to increase my knowledge and get into the field of radio. We had one hour of theory and the rest of the time we were free to work on the bench on whatever we chose. Most of the students brought in old radios. I did that but I also worked on studying for an amateur radio license and working on building things. I remember building a signal tracer that impressed someone and they bought it from me. I did get a General class Amateur license and worked on amateur radio equipment, converting some surplus WWII equipment. A Second class FCC commercial license would be necessary to work on two way radio equipment, so I studied for it and passed the test. The local Amateur Radio Club was a good place to learn and perhaps hear about available work from other operators who had jobs in radio in Topeka. One of them was Earl Norton Johnston, who was in charge of the Police Communications Department. I can't remember whether he asked me if I was interested in going to work there or if he asked the school to recommend someone. At any rate, in either early 1951 or late 1950 I went to work for the Police Department. But, it wasn't fixing radios, it was as a dispatcher. Only one man worked on the radios and that was Earl Johnston.

At that point though, I was feeling pretty fortunate because I was making $210 a month and since I worked a swing shift (6 days a week) with Saturday and Sunday on first trick, Monday and Tuesday on second trick, Wednesday and Thursday on the "hoot owl" trick. Working those hours I was able to finish the school program. I hardly knew whether I was coming or going, but I was glad to have the job and did my best to please my superiors who were just about everyone! The school was very liberal when I had to work extra hours during the flood.

As I indicated above, Oscar J. Palmer was a gentle caring type person. I can visualize him sitting at his desk with his pipe, smoke curling up above him and teaching television transmission theory. Television was in its infancy then and maybe some of the students had thoughts of making a living repairing them. After I went to work for SantaFe and was working in the radio shop at Chicago, I visited Oscar at his house during a visit to Topeka. He told me then that he had thought I might be the one person in the class who would actually pursue a future as a technician.

If you are familiar with any history of Topeka in the last part of the 20th century, you will recognize the name Grant Cushinberry. Grant came from humble beginnings, started a trash hauling company and became probably the best known philanthropist of modern times in Topeka. He fed hundreds if not thousands of poor people at Thanksgiving and other holidays. You never know when you are young how the fellow next to you is going to turn out; what he is going to be known for. I remember Grant in that class as a polite, big black man with a smile. The way the benches were set up, he and I were back to back. I just came across a quote: Grant Cushinberry said, "If people put God first, others second and themselves third, the world would be a much better place." Grant was a good man.

104 A Collection of Recollections

I had not been a dispatcher very long when the flood of '51 took place. At that time, we were living in an apartment on third street between Adams and Jefferson streets, four or five blocks from the river. While I was working I received a call the water was creeping up towards where we lived. It wasn't necessary for me to ask for time off; whoever was in charge that day told me to go home and do whatever was needed to protect my family and belongings. The house was two story, we lived on the first floor and the second floor was vacant, and in the process of renovation.

When I arrived home the water was in sight but the ground was dry at the house. We moved everything we could upstairs and moved the couch to the first few steps on the stairway. David was a baby at that time and Rose had taken him to her mother's house. By the time we were through, we were sloshing around in water on the first floor. I remember the buzz I felt in my leg as I sloshed by an outlet. When we left, I carried Rose about a half block to keep her from having to wade in deeper water.

After the flood waters receded we slept upstairs, while the owner repaired the flood damage downstairs. As I mentioned before the upstairs was under construction but it was shelter. While we were without a place, Dana Hummer, one of the detectives on the Department who owned some rental property, offered to let us stay in an apartment he had vacant at the time. We gladly accepted the offer.

Following the flood there was a program allowing anyone whose home or property they rented had been affected by the flood to apply for a low interest loan to buy a house. I applied under that program, with the hopes of buying a small house in a development of modest homes to be built in SW Topeka.

______

105 Chapter 43: My Job as a Police Dispatcher ° Chapter 43: My Job as a Police Dispatcher by Wayne Slauson. Posted Sunday, July 10, 2011

In the above picture I am at the upper right, on the end.

Before getting the job at the Police Department, one of the things I tried to keep us going in addition to working other places was drive a taxi at night. It was not a very satisfying occupation, I can tell you that. I remember there was a driver who was physically large, had a bully attitude and carried a gun. The atmosphere was one of dog eat dog, get to the stand and in line as fast as you could, but give that guy the right of way if there was a question of which one reached the area first. It certainly wasn't my cup of tea.

One night I had a fare and was headed for the 200 block west 6th street. It was in the middle of the night; and hardly any cars on the street. Either my brain was on vacation or I was just tired but for whatever reason, within 100 feet of where I was to drop off the fare, I rolled through a red light at 6th and Jackson at about ten miles per hour.

At the same time I was letting the fare out of the taxi, a Police officer by the name of George Rogge was writing a ticket. That was the first and last ticket I ever got for running a traffic light. I attended court and paid the fine.

As I mentioned previously I don't remember the details of how I was asked if I wanted the job as dispatcher, but within a week or ten days after I got that ticket, I was sitting in the radio room getting checked out on procedures and operation. Officer George Rogge walked into the radio room and did a double take when he saw me. I smiled,

106 A Collection of Recollections stood up said, "Yep, it's me." and shook hands with him. George was a good guy. I did run the red light and he was doing his job. I was glad to be through with that taxi driving business and glad to meet him under different circumstances.

For my age at that time I felt like I had a lot of responsibilities as a dispatcher. It could get pretty busy at times and it was necessary to perform several different functions for each time a car was dispatched. The dispatcher was also the telephone operator for the Police Headquarters building.

It isn't shown in the picture, but there was a device for taking notes that consisted of two rolls of paper tape. One roll was clean paper, and the other roll was paper on which notes had been recorded in the dispatcher's handwriting. Those rolls were saved for reference. The reels on which the rolls of paper were wrapped had cranks so the device could be advanced or backed up to read if that was needed. In back of the chair fairly well out of site was an old manual typewriter.

When a call was taken, it was noted on the paper I described above, a car was dispatched and then the call and time was typed on the typewriter. In addition, there was a recording device which recorded the radio traffic on very thin plastic disks. I believe the machine used was originally designed for use by stenographers.

There were two microphones, one for Police and one for the Sheriff's frequency. On the left was a short wave radio receiver which was tuned to the national police frequency. Bulletins were sent out by Morse code from locations elsewhere in the country. I would practice my Morse code copying ability when everything was quiet, but it wasn't necessary for us to copy those bulletins.

Car numbers in the 40's were regular patrol cars. Car 40 was the uptown car and always had the shift Sergeant in it. Car 42 was the east side, 43 and 44 split the west side. I think 41 was North Topeka. Accident investigation cars were 101 and 102. There were other cars besides those. We used "Ten Signals" and other special signals. One of those was a signal 99 which sometimes was sent and canceled almost immediately.

The desk sergeant had a button under his desk and it was for signaling a jailbreak or whatever emergency existed. Occasionally he would accidentally hit that button with his foot and it would sound an alarm in the radio room. I never hesitated to send out a Signal 99, but about as soon as I did, the switchboard lamp for his extension would light up and he would tell me it was a false alarm. Then I would cancel the Signal 99.

Since I worked on Sundays, the cook for the inmates would always send a trusty to the radio room with a meal for me. She was a good cook so I would always have a good noon meal on Sundays. One thing I never could figure out and didn't want to ask her was what ingredient she used in the dressing she made because it always had a very slight soap taste. I asked a cook in a restaurant one time if he had any idea what it might be and he said she might have been using more sage than needed, but it remains a mystery today as to just what it was.

Sundays were usually pretty quiet, but in those years there was a noise ordinance and occasionally I would get a call complaining that someone was using a power mower. Power mowers were more the exception than the rule at that time.

Underneath the console was an electric clock that chimed every fifteen minutes. It wasn't necessarily on the 15 minute mark, like 15 after the hour or 30 minutes after the hour. But when it chimed, I would look at a clock with a digital display and give the time over the air followed by the call sign, KAA420, We said K doubleA four twenty. Now, the call signs are sent out in Morse code automatically every fifteen minutes. The radio calls were also broadcast through speakers in the building. Incidentally, I said the clock was a digital clock. It was not electronically digital but mechanical with three rotating disks, one for hours and two for minutes. If I remember right

107 Chapter 43: My Job as a Police Dispatcher it said "Telechron" on it.

One night I sent Car 40 on a call uptown to an apartment where the occupants were complaining that a man was banging on the door. The caller reported the man was wearing a blue suit. A few minutes later the officers called 10-8 (back in service) nothing found. In another minute they called 10-10 (out of the car, subject to call) and at the station.

About that time a man walked into the radio room which was on the second floor. He was wearing a blue suit! He went around back of the console and said, "Damn it buddy, ya gotta help me!" He would have had to walk past the Desk Sergeant's desk and up the stairs. How he happened to do that was not known. The Desk Sergeant may have been in the restroom or attending to something in the holding cells on the other sid of the wall from where his station was. There was a switch that when pressed the microphone switched to paging with in the building. I pressed that switch and said, "Car 40, I have an unwanted visitor in the radio room." It was only a couple seconds when the officers from car 40 were in the room and took the guy out. How or why he ever chose to come up there is beyond me. Sergeant Parker was one of the officers. He was an older man.

The officers on the East side of town had the roughest area. I remember they were Monthey and Brill.

Charley Crank was Chief of Detectives. He chewed cigars and was a big man. I called him Charley as did a lot of other people, but one day I began to think it wasn't right for me to be calling him Charley and it was disrespectful for me to call a man in his position and age Charley. So, I went to him and apologized, telling him why I was doing so. He just laughed and told me not to think anything about it, but he appreciated what I was saying. When Bonnie and I go to the cemetery to the grave of her first husband Roger, I always see Charles Crank's grave nearby.

Members of the Police communication department are at right. The big man behind my right shoulder was J Parker Nellins, a Washburn Law student who worked part time as a dispatcher. At a later date I heard he was a County attorney in some western county. Earl Johnston, our supervisor. is in the middle in front. On his right Delmar Edwin Cook ("Cookie") and in back of him Jim Zimmerman who took over when Earl retired. Earl had an Oldsmobile 88 so his car number was "88". All of us except Nellins had Amateur Radio licenses.

Some of the officers were fairly young and raising a family. Some worked extra during their off duty hours doing security work at various special events. There was one officer named Duane Anderson, 24 years old who did that every chance he got to make a few extra dollars. At one event he was having pains in his abdomen, but didn't take time off when he should have. He kept working and showed up for work at the station also without seeing a doctor. He died of Peritonitis. That made an impression on me; him being so young and losing his life like that.

I worked other jobs myself, mainly at Abner's drugstore and sometimes at Tilton's Market. I saw an interesting thing at Tilton's. There was a short heavy set middle aged man with a handlebar mustache. He worked as a cashier. I was sacking groceries one night when a customer asked him if he ever worried about being robbed. He said, "No, I have a friend." The customer frowned and asked what he meant. The fellow flicked his wrist and a Derringer was in his hand. It was like magic. He had some sort of device up his sleeve and when he flicked his wrist that gun would be in his hand. It was there faster than you can imagine.

In the summer, about mid morning, there is a phenomenon of the atmosphere that causes VHF (Very High Frequencies) to travel long distances. It doesn't last but an hour or so. At that time of the year I would occasionally hear the Police in the Borough of Kings KIA744 in New York City. One time I heard someone talking in Venezuela.

On the night shift I would hear the Sheriff's office of St. Joseph Missouri on the sheriff's frequency. It was always

108 A Collection of Recollections the same. Someone was going to call it a day and the fellow would say "10-4, Goodnight Jake." it always made me chuckle.

The Chief of Police was Chief Kaul. His secretary, a man named Diffenderfer and Mayor Warren both enjoyed taxi service to and from work by patrol car. If the Mayor called and it was during a busy time, he was not too happy if there was much of a delay.

Then there were the Kaufman twins. They were tobacco chewing characters, always joking and laughing. They were the city's paint crew. I can't remember what year Chief Kaul retired, but the powers that be at City Hall decided to import a new Police Chief and selected a man named Purdie from Silver City, New Mexico. No one could understand why a new chief wasn't chosen from the ranks, with Captain "Cap" Pardue being the choice of the majority. Purdie and the Kaufman twins had a chance meeting just a couple days before Purdie actually became chief. Purdie was driving around town and came upon the brothers on the job. He stopped to chat, asking the bothers how they were doing. One of them spouted out, "Well, we're going to have a new Chief from Silver City, New Mexico and we're painting these lines down the street so the silly SOB can find his way to work!" Oh brother! Purdie became chief a day or two later and the Kaufman brothers were off the job for about a year. At that time Purdie left and Cap Pardue became Chief. Everyone was a lot happier. When Cap Pardue became Chief he called us into the courtroom and gave a little speech. I remember something he said, and I thought it reflected the kind of person he was. He said, "I can't say like Maark Twain, 'I never met a man I didn't like.' But, I'm working on it."

I was present when he did something unusual. We had a Coke machine in the lobby of the station. I happened to be in the lobby one day when Cp started to get a coke. He put in a nickel but the machine didn't deliver. What's wrong with this machine?" said Cap. the Desk Sergeant told him the Coke man had been in that morning and changed the machine to require ten cents. without hesitation Cap called to a couple officers and told them to turn the machine around so it faced the wall. Then he used the Desk Dergeant's phone and called the Coke plant. He told them, "This Coke machine down here at the Police station is broken, it won't take a nickel." Of course they told him it had been changed. He said, "You don't understand the machine is broken it won't tke a nickel. After a couple back and forth's like that they got the message and sent a man down to change the machine back so it only took a nickel. At least the officers could get a coke for a nickle for a while longer. I thought it was just a little amusing.

My time at the Police Department was good and I could probably have stayed there and made it a career. I was a little disappointed because I wasn't getting any closer to being a radio technician. The Fire Department had radios also and I thought maybe I could get into that by becoming a dispatcher and working into the repair. I knew and liked Jim Carriger who was the technician. In the back of my mind I thought also I could capitalize on having been on the Fire Departments in the Air Force. So, I made an application for employment by the Topeka Fire Department. ______

109 Chapter 44: Family Life ° Chapter 44: Family Life by Wayne Slauson. Posted Tuesday, July 12, 2011

While writing my last chapter I made no mention of my family life during the period of time covered in that chapter. As well as I can, I want to catch up on that subject in this chapter, We moved three or maybe four times during that period. The last move was when we moved to the house that had been built in connection with relief for flood victims, but I won't start with that.

One apartment we rented stands out in my mind above the other places. It was at 420 Topeka Avenue, on the second floor of an old house owned by a very nice older man by the name of Case. We always called him Mr. Case. I can't define the reasons that place is most prominent to me of the places we rented, but it is probably a combination of factors. For one thing, we both liked Mr. Case. He was more like a grandpa than a landlord. Of course, we always paid our rent on time wherever we rented so none of our landlords could have any complaint of that sort.

Neither was we drinkers nor had parties or any of the usual things that give landlords headaches. For me personally it was a plus that he was understanding about my wanting to pursue my hobby of amateur radio and he gave me permission to string an antenna from our apartment clear across the back yard to a pole. It was up high so it didn't bother anything, but just the fact he didn't object was very much appreciated. Actually, there were times when I thought Mr. Case liked having us there.

Another thing is that our son David's personality was in the stage of development where he was becoming a little boy instead of a little baby. He was still pretty little though, somewhere about 2 years old. Rose and I were getting along and I would venture to say we were a happy couple. We had friends, we went to movies, we had very little money but we were able to enjoy life and be reasonably satisfied with where we were fitting into it.

We would make popcorn and take it with us to the "Cozy" theater on Kansas Avenue. In the last few days I have been trying to remember a restaurant on Kansas Avenue not far from the Cozy where we would eat once in awhile. I think the name was Beal's but I'm not positive.

One day Mr. Case had a short in the wiring of one of the circuits in the house and asked me for help. It had screw type fuses. I screwed a light bulb in to the fuse socket. The bulb lit. Then I went around moving wires of hanging fixtures. One sparked and caused the test bulb to flicker. There was the problem.

The apartment consisted of about half of the upstairs, a living room, a hallway with a very small room off of it, the kitchen and then the bedroom at the back. I had my "ham shack" in the little room off the hall. What I had at that time was converted Army surplus equipment with which I made contacts using Morse code. A long wire antenna went out of the room down the hall, through the kitchen, bedroom and out the window to a pole on the opposite corner of the yard. I had the window rigged somehow so there was no opening to the weather. It was a crude setup, but I was just in the beginning stage of being a "Ham". I had a fluorescent tube in the "shack" and when someone would visit I would show them the apartment by locking the Morse key down and carrying the tube like a torch with the end close but not touching the barely noticeable antenna. The tube would light and people couldn't understand what was going on. It was like magic to some people. It was fun, but not exactly proper because I could have been interfering with someone else who was communicating on the same frequency.

I don't remember that we had a car at that time, although later on I had a string of old cars, too many of them. Not all at once, but different ones at different times. One time I had an old car, a Plymouth, with a rod out of it. I disconnected the spark plug to that cylinder and drove around on five cylinders.

110 A Collection of Recollections

One of the things I haven't mentioned in connection with my first marriage is our church affiliation. When we met, Rose was attending the Salvation Army. I joined, and we were married in the Salvation Army Citadel at 5th and Quincy. I had never thought much about the word Citadel, but it means "Fortress". The Salvation Army organization is based on quasi-military rank. There are Colonels, Captains, Lieutenants; all paid officers who have had theological training, similar to that of Protestant ministers. The purpose of their training is to develop men and women with the theological understanding, street-level skills and spirituality required to advance the mission of the Army expressed in its International Statement:

"The Salvation Army, an international movement, is an evangelical part of the universal Christian church. Its message is based on the Bible. Its ministry is motivated by the love of god. Its mission is to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ and to meet human needs in His name without discrimination."

The above has been included in this chapter because it may sound unusual to some that we were married at the Salvation Army. The Salvation Army came out of the Wesleyan Methodist church in England at a time when its founder William Booth was disturbed by the fact that people of lesser means were ignored or discouraged from attending the church. Booth himself was a Methodist Minister in London and broke away from the parent church in 1865. Rose and I were active in the Salvation Army as long as we were together.

At one time I took on the job of visiting people who were elderly, or really poor people and it was interesting, but difficult for a softy! I had almost forgotten about a family who lived somewhere over in the East part of Topeka, on property that I'm sure was not theirs. Maybe it was off in a secluded area of railroad property. I just don't remember. Oh brother, suddenly I'm finding this hard to write. Sometimes my emotions startle me unexpectedly and I want to run away from a subject.

I just thought of the kids and wondered whatever happened to them. They lived in what I can only describe as a large packing crate. I can't imagine what was shipped in that thing. Maybe an automobile. There were bunks made from scrap lumber. I think there were three children, maybe four, and the oldest girl was obviously the head of the house. She may have been 16. I don't know where the father worked or if he did. What they had was neat and clean, but I don't know how they did it.

Another experience during this time is making an attempt at rehabilitation of someone which turned out to be disappointing. Rose and I both participated, and it gets away somewhat from our family life which is what I started writing about. However, we were both involved so here goes.

There was a boy named Andy in jail. He had been arrested for stealing an automobile. I don't remember where he came from or how I happened to be introduced to him. It could be that one of the detectives, Jesse Cravens, told me there was a boy in the jail who might benefit from my talking to him.. It would have been like Jesse to have done that. Anyway, I did visit him. He expressed sorrow for what he had done and expressed a desire to get his life in order. I had a guitar and sometimes went back to his cell, was locked in with him and we sang together. This went on over a period of at least a month or more.

He was awaiting a hearing which was to be held in Kansas City, Kansas. I believed he wanted to get his life straightened out and talked to the Captain at the Salvation Army about sponsoring him and helping him get started on the right track if he could get probation. I knew the probation officer and talked to him after it had been decided we were going to try and help Andy. The probation officer said he would do what he could to get Andy on probation.

On the appointed day, the Captain and I drove to Kansas City and waited in a hallway to hear the outcome of the hearing which was not public and therefore not one we could attend. When Andy came out of a door he was smiling. He rode back to Topeka with us and we had high hopes for him.

The Salvation Army gave him a job at the warehouse where paper was collected and shipped out. A room in a hotel was provided. It wasn't fancy but better than a jail cell. I gave him about half of the clothes I had, Rose and I treated him as a friend and everyone was encouraging him. Things went along well for awhile. Then one day the money from the previous Sunday's collection came up missing. It had been on a desk in the office. It was not a large amount, probably around fifty dollars. A search was made and we didn't find the money. Andy had been

111 Chapter 44: Family Life seen in the building that day and became a suspect.

The Captain and I got in the car and drove around looking for Andy. We saw him walking down on Fourth Street and told him we wanted to talk to him. He got in the car and we went back to the office. We sat in the Captain's office which was beyond an outer office. We told Andy about the missing money and asked him if he knew anything about it. At first he said he knew nothing, but with further questioning he became evasive. When we asked him what his mother would think if she knew he had stolen money from those who were trying to help him he broke down and had a few tears. He pulled a billfold out of his pocket and laid it on the desk. He said, "It is all there, except for what I spent to buy the billfold." He had actually bought a billfold to hold the money.

No one was any more disappointed than me. On the one hand we felt sorry for the guy. On the other we had no alternative but to call the Police Department. We were obligated to do so and would have violated the trust of the Probation Office if we had not done so. Two officers who I knew came and took him away. He was sent to the Federal Reformatory at El Reno, Oklahoma to serve two years.

After the above experiences I decided social work and especially rehabilitation of a felon is best left up to the professionals.

Meanwhile the development of new homes was finished and we moved to 2337 Edgewater Terrace in SW Topeka. It was a plain house, two bedrooms, living and dining combined and a small kitchen which included a washer. It was not much but except for the mortgage, it was ours. The payments were $49.75 per month. I thought then we were on our way. The unspoken goal was to better our standard of living, and I felt this was an important step. ______

112 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 45: The Good and The Bad by Wayne Slauson. Posted Friday, July 15, 2011

It's hard to remember when, within certain time periods when various experiences took place. Recapping some of the dates: I was married on April 8th 1949, my discharge from the Air Force was on May 23 1949, my 20th birthday on May 29th and my son David born on January 1st 1950. I was at the Police Department from early 1951 to the fall of 1953.

During that time we took part in the Salvation Army kettle program for a couple years. The Salvation Army had four or five little shelters that were placed up on Kansas Avenue during the Christmas season They provided some protection from the weather for the person manning the kettle. It was desired to put speakers on the shelters and play carols through them. I installed the speakers and we had AC provided by the businesses in front of which the shelters were located. I think it was the winter of '52/'53 that Rose manned a shelter which was either at 5th or 6th and Kansas, and it seemed to me she was there for extra long periods of time. It worried me because she was not far into a pregnancy.

One day she had pains and ended up in the hospital. I was in the room with her when she said, "Oh!" She had a look on her face of surprise and questioning. It was a look I had never seen before. I stepped out of the room and a nurse went into the room. When the nurse left she was carrying a pan. I went back in and Rose said "You know what that was?" I just nodded, not knowing what else to say because I had sensed what had happened. Then she said, "Well, now I can wear my new dress for Easter!" I'm smiling thinking about that moment. I think it was a testimony to her resiliency. It was a pregnancy neither wanted no unwanted, just the product of a married couple. I don't think the event made very much of an emotional impact on either of us, but then I'm speaking from my perspective.

I can't remember the date we moved into our house at 2337 Edgewater Terrace, but I know we were there in 1953. I also know that during the two years of '52 and '53 we made two trips to New York. On one occasion we went in a 1951 Plymouth and we went to Beacon. We had a good time, but I'm not remembering anything in particular about our stay there. David was a really cute little boy and everyone adored him which of course made us proud. Actually, we were both really proud of him period.

113 Chapter 45: The Good and The Bad

The return trip was one to be remembered because we carried a chest of drawers on top of the car. It was a chest of drawers that had been given to me when I was 11 or 12 years old and I still have it, but it needs refinishing. If I got up much over 50MPH the car started rocking from side to side until I got the speed back down. That part of the trip is clear to me.

The other trip was to Rouse's point on the Canadian border where we visited my mother. She was staying in their fishing camp on Lake Champlain just outside of the town. I'm handicapped here in Colorado because I have photos back home that I could scan and insert in these chapters, but I can't do that here. I will have to do it later.

We went boat riding in their outboard motor boat and David splashed around in the lake water with his grandmother. One day we left David with my mom and drove up to Quebec. I'm sure there were some tourist sites we could have visited but we just looked over the city and got a taste of being in another country. Something that impressed me while we were there is getting something to eat in a small restaurant. It was one where there was a pass-through for orders to be called in and for orders to be set to be picked up.

It was not a large restaurant and I think the man who waited on us was the manager. He was a Caucasian, and before taking our order in English, he spoke to a waitress in French, then called our order in to the kitchen in Chinese. It's one of those things that strikes a person as a wonderment. I had never heard or seen anything like that before.

Because I was interested in cars we stopped at a car dealer where I attempted to pose a question with one word sentences and pointing because I thought the salesman probably only spoke French. He responded in perfect English. He probably thought I must be some kind of illiterate! The Canadian Chrysler products were a mating of different models, part Dodge, part Plymouth. I think we had a good time on that trip into Canada. It was a new experience for us.

There was something very unusual happened while we were there. I went fishing with Joe one day and the water was calm. We were traveling down the lake when we saw something in the distance splashing. There would be some splashing then it would stop. In a few seconds it would start again. We kept watching as we traveled in that direction and when we got nearer, the splashing got weaker and the periods in between longer. Finally we could see it was a gull.

Curious, I asked Joe to pull up along side it. Before he managed to get the boat along side it, the splashing stopped all together and the gull's head was drooped under the water. I reached down and pulled the gull out of the water. It had the tail of a fish sticking out of its mouth. I pulled slowly and got the fish out. The gull was out cold.

There I was with an unconscious gull in my lap. I didn't know what else to do so I started hitting the gull on it's sides. Each time I would hit it, it gasped and finally its head came up; he shook it, blinked and looked around. I waited a little bit then lifted the gull up and gave it a toss. It flew away. Joe said, "That's the darndest thing I ever saw!" I had never had anything like that happen before or since.

So far as I can remember, the trip back to Topeka was uneventful.

I don't know how it came about, but while we were living in that house, some woman asked us to take care of her little girl who was the same age as David. We did so, and it seems like it was for several weeks. I can't remember the details but I remember having some concern as to whether or not the woman was going to return. If I remember correctly the little girls name was Karen. I have a cute picture of her and David that I will have to enter later. We missed her when her mother finally came and took her.

It was during '53 we began having disagreements. I don't like writing about it. I'm not proud of my part. I regret neither of us had the patience needed for the relationship to survive. We were both young and immature and maybe some of the reason was a natural desire for independence. I don't know. I just know it was unfortunate, unnecessary and regrettable. I'm just sorry it happened; sorry for not being any better at making a success of it, and sorry it happens to so many people.

114 A Collection of Recollections

I have lost some sleep the last few days thinking and dreading about getting to this point in this chapter. There is nothing I can say to justify our separating, nothing that can make it right, nothing that can change it. All I can do at this point is to say I'm sorry and continue with writing about life after the fact.

------

I have heard it said, "If a person never made mistakes they would never learn anything." By this time in my life I should be a really smart "dude". But of course, I'm not. ______

115 Chapter 46: Police Fire and Railroad ° Chapter 46: Police Fire and Railroad by Wayne Slauson. Posted Tuesday, July 19, 2011

For a couple or three months after Rose and I split up I kind of drifted in purpose. I worked of course, but I had sort of a lost feeling and didn't have clear idea of what tomorrow was going to bring. For two or three weeks I stayed in a house with a guy who also had just split with his wife. As I recall, they got back together and maybe it was then I started at the Fire Department. Nothing during that period of time is real clear to me. I was in a fog, not knowing what was right, what was wrong, and having tears over the whole situation.

Rose went to work for the Southwest Clipping Bureau, a company that clipped things out of newspapers for people who subscribed to the service. It was diagonally across the street from the Topeka Trade School and I was still involved there with the High School class and the school amateur radio station which was licensed to me as trustee. A few times I saw Rose coming or going from work. I did see a lot of David during that time.

There is not much doubt we could have got back together during that time, but the house had been sold for a company that just took over the payments since we had virtually no equity. Giving up the house for the sake of our disagreements was something that had more of an effect on me and was more important to me than it probably should have been. I'm sure others can look back in their life and see where pride dictated the path they chose. I think I have made it clear I'm not proud of myself for the way I handled my life at that time.

Since I didn't have a High School diploma I had to take a GED test to get on the Fire Department. I took the test at the VA hospital in Topeka. Chief Cawker of the Fire Department had an elderly lady for a secretary and it was with her I made my application and it was her who told me I had to take the GED high school equivalency test. It was somewhat amusing when I turned in the GED score to her. She told me no one ever scored that high and even called the VA to confirm it was legitimate.

Someone at the Headquarters Fire Station knew I didn't have a place to live and they suggested, and it was approved, that if I cared to, there was a room in the attic where I could sleep on my days off. In return I was to close the big doors of the station at night when there was an alarm and the trucks left. The room was a windowless room in the corner of the attic approximately 10 feet square and I was happy to accept the offer. I had a borrowed canvas army cot that was my bed. What other belongings I had were in a box. On the days I was on duty I slept in the barracks room of the station.

The attic itself was really a vacant third floor. The building was very substantial with concrete floors on all floors and just outside that room was a hole and fire pole to the second floor. Another pole went to the first floor. Of course there were also stairs between the floors. A lot of nights I slept on the floor out near the fire pole. There

116 A Collection of Recollections was a window nearby and I could get some air that moved up through the pole and through the window. I was grateful for a place to stay and I didn't have to go down very often to shut the doors.

For eight months I went through training along with other new hires who were scattered throughout the department. For those months I never worked harder in my life. I often thought of what people might think if they saw firemen sitting outside the station in the evening. Every day we pumped water, dragged hoses, hung hoses in the hose tower to dry, cleaned equipment and trained on details about which we were being constantly quizzed by Captain Gunnerson, the head of our company. Detail after detail, not only involving our truck and its functions, but the location of every item in every compartment on the ladder truck and detail after detail about pressures, the weights of hoses both dry and filled with water. There were a lot of compartments on the ladder truck and for years after I left the Fire Department I still knew where certain tools were stored on that truck as well as the operation of the hose truck.

During the time I worked in a company I drove a school bus for the Lutheran Grade school every other day. Another man drove on the opposite days. We worked 24 hours on 24 off, and every other week we had a day off which gave a person essentially three days off every other week. You haven't lived until you have driven a large bus filled with yelling and screaming grade school children. One day when I left the school they were particularly loud. I had asked them other days to tone it down. This day I drove around the block and back to the school. Everything got quiet when I pulled into the school. I walked in and got the principal who came out and talked to them. They were much quieter --- for awhile.

When the 8 months was up I went into the radio room as a dispatcher. The dispatcher handled all the stations in the city. But, the job of dispatcher there was nothing like it was on the Police Department. It was very boring! Working the night shift was horrible. The equipment hummed, the fan oscillated back and forth like a hypnotist's mesmerizing proverbial swinging of a pocket watch. I nodded off one night and opened my eyes to see an Assistant Chief standing next to me. He informed me if he ever caught me sleeping again I would be fired. I started calling other hoot owl people manning phones, one of whom was a Santa Fe telephone operator.

The picture below is the former Topeka Headquarters Fire Station. I am puzzled by the picture because it is a three story structure, but to look at it, you would not think so. It is now the Topeka Day Care Learning Center. It would be interesting to visit it and clear up my puzzlement over the appearance. There is one thing of particular interest they have done. If you look closely at where the equipment doors were, you will see they put in windows replicating the appearance of the original doors. I thought that was a nice thing to do.

117 Chapter 46: Police Fire and Railroad

Although I am proud to have been on the Topeka Fire Department, especially in a company, due to the lack of challenge on the dispatcher's job, it didn't take me long to think about other things I could do with my life. There is something I can take credit for both at the Fire Department and the Police Department. At both locations new switchboards were installed while I was there and for some reason I was given free license to make suggestions as to how the new switchboards should be set up. In both cases my ideas were different than how it had been planned and my suggestions were followed. A very small triumph!

One day I received a call from a man named Ed Barret, another amateur radio operator I knew. Ed worked as a draftsman in the communication department at the Santa Fe. He said the Santa Fe was hiring Electronic Technicians with Second Class FCC licenses. He knew I had a second class license and by then I had my First Class so I was interested. I had come to the conclusion the closest I could get into radio at the fire Department was to be Jim Carriger's assistant at the Fire Department. Jim was a good guy, another Ham, but I had seen a mechanic helping him install radios in vehicles in the garage attached to the station. So, I really didn't see much of a future there.

In late August I interviewed with Ray Grantham in the Superintendent of Communication's office, room 321 of the Santa Fe Eastern Lines General Office building and was hired. E. K. Metzdorf was the Superintendent then and an old former military officer named Wiley Gordon was the Chief Clerk. I mention those things because the names will come into play in a later chapter. On September first 1954 I went to work for the Santa Fe. ______

118 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 47: Becoming a Railroader by Wayne Slauson. Posted Thursday, July 21, 2011

I started out with Santa Fe at $1.95 per hour which was probably a little more than I was making at the Fire Dept. I can't remember the difference, I only know what the starting rate was at Santa Fe. An hourly rate with 2 pay days a month, the 1st and 15th. The railroad retirement deduction was $22.80, another deduction for hospitalization, and income tax withholding. I think the deductions came out of the 1st of the month check. I was making monthly payments to the court for David's care so I wasn't going to be rolling in cash.

When I interviewed I was told the only job opening was going to be at the Corwith freight yards in Chicago. I agreed to go to work for the Santa Fe with the provision that I could ride the train to Topeka and back on my days off, whenever I wanted to, in order to see my son. Ray Grantham, the man who interviewed me, consulted with the Superintendent and I was told that would be no problem. The train ran, there were always seats, and it just was no problem. That's what they clearly told me .

My first day with the Santa Fe was the craziest first day on a new job of any job I ever had. I reported to the office where I had been interviewed, and since they didn't actually have any job yet to which they could immediately assign me, they sent me down to the local radio shop to talk to Jerry D. Fusco. Never in my life was ever met with such a negative assessment of a place to work and people to work for! Jerry sat at his desk in the radio shop with a fly swatter and berated everything and anything about the job and the management that a person could imagine, emphasizing his points by swatting flies during his dissertation. I was scared to death and wondered what I had gotten into. But I had burned my bridges behind me. At this point I had no choice but to proceed with caution and see for myself. If it was the intention of the fellow in the office for me to learn a little about what a radio shop did, he sent me to the wrong man because by the end of the day I had not learned anything except Jerry Fusco had a very low opinion of the job and everything about the railroad! WOW!

Before I go on, let me tell you that later on in my time with the railroad I came to like Jerry in spite of the scare he put into me at the outset. Jerry became foreman of the System Shop Communication's Shop in Topeka. When I first talked to him he was working in the local Eastern Lines shop which maintained radios locally. The System Shop built equipment and or modified equipment - and it was an entirely separate operation under the direction of corporate headquarters. Jerry was a good guy, of Italian descent, and from the vineyards of western New York. He was a talker, that's for sure. But Jerry was well liked by many including me. He was a farmer at heart and had some acreage. Unfortunately, after Jerry retired he developed Alzheimer's. His son Bob came to work for the Santa Fe and has been in the Communication's Department for many years.

The management was getting equipment together to open the shop in the Corwith Freight Yard at Chicago and they really didn't have a place for me until that was accomplished. They anticipated no one outside of Chicago would bid on the job and that's why they had told me I would probably have to start out in Chicago.

The next day I reported to the Superintendent's office again and asked if they actually had some work for me to do. They told me to go over to the Argentine Yards in Kansas City, KS and told the lead man there that I was coming. So, off I went to Kansas City. I had heard there were some caves in Kansas City and wondered if there was a cave somewhere there where I could sleep! After I got to the Argentine Yards I found out you could stay in the nearby Railroad YMCA for about $3 a night, but you had to check out in ten hours then check in the next day and get another room.

I did learn a little bit during that week about what working in a radio shop was all about and felt I could handle it. I was ready to try it on my own. At the end of the week I was told I would be going to Chicago the following week. I knew I could stay the weekend at my friend Paul Anderson's house so at the end of the week I headed for Topeka.

119 Chapter 47: Becoming a Railroader

Fifteen miles out of Topeka the engine on my car siezed. A nice guy towed me into Topeka. The next trip it made was to the junkyard.

On Sunday night my friend Paul took me and a box with my belongings to the train station and I rode the train to Chicago. Two Chicago men had also been hired for the radio shop which was to be a three shift operation. I ended up assigned to the third shift, 11PM to 7AM. Monday morning I got off the train, walked out into the street and looked for an Archer Avenue bus that I had been told would go out toward the Corwith Freight Yards in the area of Archer and Kedzie. I found the yards and found the shop, but no one was around. i found someone with a key. I can't remember how long it was before the other two people showed up, but I set about making myself comfortable! Now I needed to find a place to live. ______

120 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 48: Living and Working in Chicago by Wayne Slauson. Posted Monday, July 25, 2011

Somebody told me about a quiet, well kept neighborhood not too far from the railroad yards that might be a good place to look for a room to rent. The area I chose was about four blocks square so I walked around it and spotted a house with a "Room For Rent" sign in the window. It didn't take but a minute after looking and talking to the people to decide that would be a good place for me to settle.

The couple were Lithuanian, probably in their early seventies and I liked them right away. His name was Wilhelm (they pronounced it Willum) and her name was Mary. They had a couple yappy Pomeranians who were not as receptive to the idea of my living there as they were! They couldn't pronounce the W in my first name so I suggested they just call me Sonny, which they did. They could pronounce the W in his name, but not in mine!

Wilhelm and Mary would go out and collect mushrooms. There were a few times on my day off she would fix some "Pierogies" for me. Pierogi is a Lithuanian dish made with a dough cut in circles resembling a soft taco shell and filled with sauerkraut, meat or cheese or potatoes and cheese or even fruit. A pierogi could be made with just about anything you wanted to stuff in it. She would make pierogies with hamburger and chopped mushrooms, and they were delicious. Once in awhile she would fix a light breakfast for me. I never expected anything like that to accompany a sleeping room.

Wilhelm and Mary liked Eisenhower, they disliked Roosevelt. Latvia Lithuania and Estonia had once been under Soviet rule but won their Independence sometime prior to WWII. At the end of World War II the three powers, Britain, Soviets and the U.S. divided up of territories and FDR did not object to the Soviet's desire for the Baltic countries to again come under Soviet rule. That act was considered by the people of Latvia Lithuania and Estonia to be a betrayal by Roosevelt. At the time of the Yalta Conference Roosevelt was an ill man. Eisenhower would have been a better person to represent the US. But he was a General and not the President. Roosevelt wanted to stabilize Europe, get Stalin to agree to become a member of the UN, and insure his help against the Japanese. When it was all said and done, Roosevelt got what he wanted, but Stalin got the better deal. In the process, the three small Baltic nations got shafted, and the UN was actually weakened because the Soviets were given veto power which has caused problems ever since.

Wilhelm and Mary were satisfied to see Eisenhower get elected. They had a bad taste for Democrats since that was Roosevelt's party. Wilhem asked me, "You wote?" Yes, I voted. You wote Eisenhower?" Yes I voted for Ike. "Good! Democratic SOB get elected ve go to war!" I didn't know what he was thinking and didn't ask.

The house was only two or three blocks from Archer Avenue. One day I was walking on the sidewalk of Archer and a car coming in the opposite direction, came up on the sidewalk, mowed down three parking meters, barely missing me. The driver drove back out on the street and was gone. It was a five second event that shook me up.

I was walking one day in the same area and saw a brand new semi trailer. It didn't have a speck of dirt on it or the under carriage. The light changed on the driver just as he approached the intersection. He put on the brakes and wheels of the trailer skidded to a stop. But the box itself traveled another six feet and dropped to the ground. The trailer wheels and axles must not have been fastened securely to the box. I can't help smiling thinking of those wheels sitting there and the back of the trailer sitting on the ground. That was one of the oddest things I have ever seen.

At the other end of the block from the house, and around the corner to the next corner, was a small neighborhood bar. I made friends with another young man there named Billy Walters. He was a good guy and he and I buddied around some. Billy went to the Catholic church and I remember one night he and I drove east across the time zone

121 Chapter 48: Living and Working in Chicago line so he could have a hamburger. At that time, Catholics were not eating meat on Fridays and where we were it was Friday, but it was already Saturday in the Eastern Time zone just across the Indiana line. I thought that was pretty amusing. Billy and I made a trip to New York together, stopping in Pennsylvania to visit some of his relatives there. I remember we had a good time on that trip.

Several years later when I was working out of the Superintendent's office in Topeka, and was in Chicago on business, I looked up Billy Walters. He was married and still living in the same neighborhood.

Meanwhile back at the radio shop I was learning about what the job was all about. I had picked up enough that week at Argentine that I just began doing the job. I don't remember being puzzled about much of anything, it just seemed obvious as to what needed to be done.

Some of the radios in the engines were ancient. They were made by Farnsworth. Philo Farnsworth was an early pioneer in radio and television. As old as those units were they failed often, so it was really appreciated when some newer equipment came along. On some of the switch engines, I remember they were the 2400 type, the radio equipment was in big steel boxes on the roof of the engine. Restoring communications was more important than safety then and more than once I changed out a radio on the top of an engine when it was working in the yard, pushing cars around. The radios were in three sections so it was best to change out all three, putting in a complete set you knew would work. Yardmasters never wanted to stop an engine.

The road engines were not moving around, they would be parked down at the refueling station and I would check the radios there, replacing or repairing whatever was needed. It was routine to make an on air radio check by calling the "Caller" the man who called the crews. I became acquainted with the Caller, a man named Gabriel D'Sattaroff." He would always answer my radio check calls with "Alright Wayne" and he rolled the r in the Alright. He was a Romanian, an interesting man. He would tell me what life was like in Romania.

The cabooses also had radios. In that yard, the crews stayed in the cabooses during their lay-overs. Since they had their belongings in the cabooses they locked them when they were gone. However, they all had the same key. I think I still have a caboose key.

The caboose crews were not accustomed to having the radios checked or changed when they were in Corwith. They had been maintained in the past at the other end of the run when they were not in the caboose. For the most part they reported it when there was a radio problem and then I would change the radio, but even then some of them considered it an intrusion when they were laying over. So, I had to exercise some diplomacy when dealing with some of the crews.

Some were very friendly and some were grumpy, some downright hostile. I needed a gimmick to ingratiate myself with them and I found one. They all had railroad watches which were accurate and kept that way by double checking them with "Standard clocks" in offices. Each watch had it own number, an 8 or 9 digit number. In conversation with them I would tell them I could remember numbers and tell them that "I can remember your watch number." They usually would challenge that and tell me their number. The next time that crew would make a trip and I had a reason to go in their caboose I would tell that person their watch number. That seemed to get their mind off of the "intrusion" and they accepted me.

For awhile I worked the night shift. The newer radios were still three separate units , receiver, power supply and transmitter, all the same size, very awkward and difficult to carry all three units at the same time. I devised a way to strap them together so I could carry them on my shoulder.

One night I was headed for the caboose track carrying the three units strapped together on my left shoulder. It was very dark and quiet, other box cars were on some tracks on the way to the caboose track. I stepped past a small building and across a set of tracks. As I stepped across the second track, I heard a very slight click. If you were to hook one finger nail under another and lift up, you would hear a very very slight click. That is about as loud as what I heard. I also felt a little breeze not more than a draft on my back. I turned and looked back. A boxcar was gliding silently by where I had just been. Wow, I would never believe one could be so silent if I had not experienced it. I was told later that in hot weather the grease can allow a car to move very quietly. From then on I was more careful.

122 A Collection of Recollections

After a couple weeks of work I asked for a temporary pass to Topeka. I got it in the company mail and made a trip to Topeka to see David. ______

123 Chapter 49: Overcoming a Broken Promise ° Chapter 49: Overcoming a Broken Promise by Wayne Slauson. Posted Tuesday, July 26, 2011

In the next 4 or 5 weeks I made two more requests for temporary passes. The third one was received with a letter informing me I was not entitled to any more "72 hour passes". I put that in quotes because that is a term used in the military for a three day pass. The passes for transportation on the train were not restricted to any 72 hours, they were just a one time round trip pass that expired after its use. The letter was over the Superintendent's signature, E. K. Metzdorf.

It didn't take me but a minute to call Ray Grantham, the man who had interviewed me and had promised I would be able to ride the train to Topeka any time I wanted to in order to see my son. I reminded him that I had agreed to hire out and go to Chicago on the premise that was possible. He told me the letter had been written by Wiley Gordon, the Chief Clerk. I mentioned that name in a previous chapter. Since Wiley was a retired military man, that explained the "72 hour pass" phrase. Apparently, Wiley Gordon had more political clout in the office than Ray Grantham because after doing some checking, Ray told me there was nothing he could do about it.

However, there were a couple more things came into play. It was an odd situation in that shop. I was working the night shift, and the two Chicago boys were working the first and second shifts but didn't pay any attention to incoming mail nor bothered to mail any of their reports out. I took it upon myself then to take care of those details and as a result, the Superintendent's office addressed the incoming mail to me.

Another odd thing occurred. Right after I received the letter saying I wasn't authorized to have "72 hour passes" I received a letter enclosing Business passes for the two other men in the shop, but not for myself and engine permits for all three of us. We should all have been issued business passes and locomotive permits. The business passes would be if we had to ride a train for some reason to Joliet or Streator which were on our territory or to any other place if the need should arise. The locomotive permits were necessary to show an engineer we were authorized to be on an engine.

You can imagine the above things did not set well with me, but I knew one way or another I was going to make trips to Topeka to see David and I did. I didn't always make them as Wayne Slauson. Several times I was John Whalen, and some times I was George Taguma. Those were the other two men in the shop. I probably made some trips as Chet Huffman, who was the Division lineman. One way or another I made trips to Topeka, and while there I stayed at my friend's Paul and Connie Anderson's home.

One time on the way back to Chicago, a man named Dick Dragoo sat next to me. He had just recently taken Ray

124 A Collection of Recollections

Grantham's job. I was sure he knew I didn't have a pass so it made me a little nervous. When the conductor came by I showed him my pass that really wasn't mine and Dick never said a word. He was still on that job when I was at Emporia and I asked him about that time on the train. He said he wondered about it, but he really didn't care.

While I was still on the third shift I started taking some courses at Chicago Normal College. It was a Junior college. I took English, Composition, Sociology and Psychology. My interest was to become better at communicating be able to carry on an intelligent conversation, and learn more about people. I liked all the courses, but especially psychology and sociology. Dr. Maurice Kraut was the Psychology professor and he wanted me to go further in the subject and become a Psychologist. In the midst of that particular course John Whalen left the shop and I moved up to the second shift, but the Psychology classes were during the same time of day so I told the professor I had to drop it. He told me not to do that and to come to him at the course end, and he would give me a verbal test. I did that and he gave me an A.

Some things other than just living and working happened while I was in Chicago. I was there about the same length of time I had been in the Air force. During that time I had different experiences none of which were earth shattering but they have come to mind since I first wrote this chapter and I have decided to write about them and insert the "rest of the story" into the original chapter.

Curt Rulon, one of the fellows who had been in Topeka High School during the time I was active at the Topeka Trade School Amateur Radio station, showed up at the radio shop to work. He was working the third shift when I was working the second shift. Of course he needed a place to stay and I talked to Mary Mikalunis about whether or not she knew someone who would rent him a room. Fortunately, he was able to rent a room next door to where I was living. Later he and I decided to rent an apartment together. We rented a place and that was when I bought a roll-away bed. Later, that place was converted to a condo operation and we rented another apartment in the basement of a house not far from the rail yards.

That couple were interesting. I'm pretty sure their names were Ralph and Fern, but to be honest, I can't be sure so just consider that in reading this. This is one case in which I'm going to use a pseudonym for someone. They were a typical Chicago couple. They would remind a person of Ralph and Alice in Jackie Gleason's "The Honeymooners" except for the fact Fern was meek whereas Alice had more of a voice. They had no automobile and they probably either had never had one or it was years since they had one. That is not unusual in Chicago. There is so much traffic and public transportation works well.

One day Ralph and Fern approached me about driving them to Sheboygan, Wisconsin where their son and his family lived. The distance was about 150 miles. Well, why not, it would be something to do. Sheboygan was noted for its Bratwurst. Bratwurst was brought to the United States by German immigrants and Wisconsin is where the largest ancestry group is German. Bratwurst became very popular in Sheboygan County, Wisconsin in the 1920's The fat content in the sausage is considerable and when grilling them, a pan of cold water is kept handy to the grill so one can dip their fingers in the water and fling it into the flames caused by burning the excess fat.

When I saw the view as we came into Sheboygan on a Saturday, I could hardly believe my eyes. Smoke was rising from every back yard and it looked liked everyone in the town was grilling. I asked if it was some special holiday and they said it wasn't; that the view was normal for the weekend. It was incredible! The meal we had was, of course, Bratwurst and it was very tasty. I was told the Bratwurst I was eating could not be bought anywhere else.

Allied Radio was in Chicago, a huge Electronic Distributor. At that time it was on Western Avenue. I went there two or three times while I was in Chicago because when things were not busy in the Radio Shop I would work on an Amateur Radio project. I remember one time staying up 24 hours trying to figure something out. I did finally figure it out, but that isn't what I was starting to write about.

I was on my way out to Allied one day and stopped at a traffic light on Western Avenue. I was in the right hand lane and a large truck was in the lane next to the middle. The light turned green and I charged out ahead of the truck; another one of my many mistakes. A man driving a white car turned left in front of the truck. He had apparently calculated he could make it across because the truck would not be starting out very fast. He was right on that count, but he didn't count on an Oldsmobile 88 coming faster than the truck. WHAM! I hit that car and it

125 Chapter 49: Overcoming a Broken Promise went over to the side and into a pole. Two odd things happened in connection with that incident or accident, whichever you prefer. First, when I opened the door of my car a box of 22 caliber shells fell out of the car and scattered on the ground. Thinking that the police might question why they were there I leaned down and picked them up quickly.

The other odd thing I learned later, but first; the police gave the man a ticket for turning left in the face of oncoming traffic. I learned later that because I didn't appear in court to testify, he was not fined. It didn't matter to me. Two or three days after that accident, the Bell Telephone man was working in the dial plant which was across the hall from the radio shop. The radio shop was in the basement by the way. The Bell man stopped in the radio shop and told me that he had seen the accident, had been on a pole at that intersection when it happened and had recognized me. To me that was quite a coincidence. Considering the size of Chicago and him the telephone man who serviced the Bell plant for the yard, who would think he would be on a pole at an intersection in another part of the city at the same time I had an accident at that particular location!

There was another incident that scared me a lot worse than the accident on Western. Another Technician in the shop George M Taguma and I did some things together outside of the shop as friends. We had been somewhere, I can't remember where and each had our cars. We were both driving down a street with me in the lead. A boy on a bicycle came out of a filling station on a bicycle diagonally across the street. I slammed on the brakes and at the instant I stopped he hit the front of the car and went part way up on the hood. At first glance it looked like he was impaled on the rocket like hood ornament. Oh brother, I thought, I've had it now. Actually he wasn't hurt and was examined at a hospital about a block away.

There were witnesses including George who saw it happen and the police didn't give me any kind of citation. But, it was a common thought in those days that if you hit a child with a car (and in that case he hit me as I was stopped) you could get sued. The foregone conclusion was you would end up paying dearly whether you were at fault or not. I had the boy's address so the next day I went to the address and knocked on the door. The father answered the door and I just told him I was concerned about the boy and hoped he was OK. The father essentially told me that he was hurt worse after he came home than what happened to him on the bicycle, and he didn't think he would ever do a dumb thing like that again. I just said I was glad he was OK, thanked him and went on my way relieved.

George and I decided to go camping at Starved Rock State park. We didn't have much in the way of camping gear, but we went anyway. We had a good time just getting away for a day or two. Something about that trip will give you a chuckle. There was a small town nearby and we were cruising around. There were some girls standing on a corner and I slowed or stopped and said to one of the girls, "Say, can you show me the way to your house?" She responded with "Don't get wise button eyes. I'll rub you out with Simonize!" Of course, the other girls laughed and so did we. I'm sure that girl never thought some old man would be quoting her 50 years later.

Curt Rulon got sick while we were living in that apartment. He was terribly sick and I didn't know what to do. I went to a drugstore and while there I overheard a man talking to the druggist and the druggist called him "Doc". I followed the man out of the drugstore and asked him if he was a doctor. He said he was. I told him I had a friend who was sick and described the symptoms and asked him if there was any chance at all he could prescribe something for him. He thought a minute and went back in the store and wrote out a prescription which I bought and administered to Curt until he became well. I'm shaking my head thinking about that because how many times would that happen? But, I was desperate to get something that would help Curt, and the doctor must have sensed that and did what he did. Curt went on to become an English professor. The last time I saw him was about 1965. I just Googled his name and he has a list of credentials a mile long. Curt M. Rulon, Professor of English in Austin Texas. He is 74 now. He did well with his life.

The circumstances of why I moved out of that basement apartment are gone from my memory. It could be I felt I couldn't afford it after Curt left or the people had a grandchild they wanted the space for. It just isn't clear. But, I remember needing to find a place to live and a chance meeting with a man named Larry Ulanowski. Larry was a little rough around the edges but was a good man at heart. Larry and his wife had separated. She was living in New York state and he was living by himself and glad to have someone share the rent for his apartment. The rest of the time I lived in Chicago I shared that apartment with Larry. We were the "Odd Couple". Larry couldn't cook at all so I did some cooking for us and we got along fine.

126 A Collection of Recollections

Speaking of cooking, there were many times while I was working in the radio shop in Chicago that I made something to eat in the radio shop using an electric percolator! Potatoes, tomato soup, Spanish Rice, you name it, I made it. Of course, if you have food around, it naturally follows there is a good chance mice might be around also. The switchmen had a lunchroom down the hall so I wasn't the only one who had food on the premises. One day I was typing a report on a radio unit and one of those critters went partly up my leg. The trophy for the fastest dancer would have been mine!

And now, "The Rest of the Story": I had a 22 rifle in my locker. I locked the door of the shop. There was a wooden box in the shop. I took a 22 shell and using a knife I cut virtually all the lead off a bullet, leaving a very small portion. The wooden box was placed on the floor under the work bench and a small piece of bread placed in front of it. I sat at the desk and in a couple minutes a mouse came out from hiding and to the front of that box. Pop, and that mouse was never again going to climb under anyone's jeans. Now, I can't testify it was the same mouse but he had very familiar beady little eyes. That was the end of my big game hunting adventure in Chicago.

One more thing comes to mind about working there. The radios on the locomotives, including the switch engines ran off of 110VAC. The engines had a 64VDC system, so there had to be a converter to change that 64VDC to 119VAC. There was such a device appropriately called a Converter. They were 84 pounds heavy and the radio shops maintained them as well as the radios on the engines. They failed often and that meant you had to haul the bad unit out of the engine and down to the ground and carry a good unit from the radio shop to the engine, get up into the engine and hang it in a bracket on the wall. That was easier said than done, and it was especially difficult to do on switch engines. On those, you had to stand on a pipe inside the engine cowling, lean sideways, reach down and lift the converter from the running board, pass it in front of you and lift it up about head high, hanging it in the bracket right next to other equipment all of which was live with voltage. It was no easy chore, believe me. The converters had a handle on them, but you didn't carry one very far before switching hands. I'm emphasizing that they weighed 84 pounds.

But I'm telling you all this because I'm leading up to another part of this story. There was a black janitor in the yard office and occasionally he would come into the radio shop and push a broom around. He was a big man, very friendly, and he and I were in the practice of joking with each other. One day I was writing some reports at the desk and he was sweeping in the open area of the shop. One of those converters happened to be sitting in front of the desk and he took hold of the handle and moved it about three feet. He said, "Man that's a heavy thing." I said something like, Oh it's not too heavy, I can lift it up over my head from off the floor ten times without any trouble. He picked it up again and tested its weight and said, "No you can't!"

So I suggested he try it. He picked it up and got it to his chest but that's as far as he got with it. So, I bet him a dollar I could do what I said without any problem. That was the first and last time in my life I bet on anything with someone. He took me up on the bet and I lifted the converter from the floor to over my head ten times with no trouble at all. He was flabbergasted and reached for his billfold but I told him I would take a coke instead of his money. All of us technicians were relieved when the radios on engines were changed to run off the engine's 64VDC power system and those converters were junked. Today, it would be all I could do to get half that weight over my head once. I'm not even sure I could do that.

I worked in Chicago until sometime in 1957 when the Santa Fe was going to open a shop in Emporia and I made a successful bid for the job. I couldn't turn down an opportunity to be closer to David. As it turned out, I actually installed the shop. I got there before anyone had done anything except stack the equipment in a room in the yard office where the shop was to be.

In 1957 I left Chicago with my 1950 Oldsmobile 88 loaded with my accumulation of belongings. One of the operators in the telegraph office told me some time. later that he would never forget the day I pulled away from the Yard office. I had a roll-away bed unfolded and tied upside down on the top of the Oldsmobile. I had bought a beautiful cherry wood rocker in the Salvation Army Store in South Bend. Salvation Army Officer friends who had been in Topeka were stationed in South Bend and I sometimes went there on my days off and stayed with them. The rocker was tied on top of the roll-away bed and the inside of the car was packed with other things. He was smiling and waving as I pulled away with my Grapes of Wrath look and headed for Emporia, Kansas.

127 Chapter 49: Overcoming a Broken Promise

______

128 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 50: Back From the Big City by Wayne Slauson. Posted Saturday, August 6, 2011

My time in the big city of Chicago was pretty close to neutral so far as my feelings were concerned. I didn't resent having to go there, I didn't mind going there, I didn't mind my time there, I did my time and when the opportunity came I got out. There is a line in a Tom Paxton song that says something like "There are ten million dreams in the city; none of them mine." That pretty well describes my thinking when it came to being in Chicago and in leaving there.

On the way back to Kansas I went through a part of Illinois often called Little Egypt. What I remember most about the trip is how hard it was raining in Cairo, Illinois.

Origin of "Little Egypt" name

Southern Illinois is known as "Little Egypt".

The nickname "Egypt" may have arisen in the 1830s, when poor harvests in the north of the state drove people to Southern Illinois to buy grain. Others say it was because the land of the great Mississippi and Ohio River valleys were like that of Egypt's Nile delta. According to Hubbs, the nickname may date back to 1818, when a huge tract of land was purchased at the confluence of the rivers and its developers named it Cairo (pronounced /?k??ro?/) Today, the town of Cairo still stands on the peninsula where the Ohio River joins the Mississippi.

In those days the freeways didn't exist like they do now and I came down all the way to the south end of Illinois and over to Topeka on Highway 24.

Before I left Topeka, the Kansas Turnpike was under construction, and when I returned it was open between Topeka and Emporia, and had not yet become a toll road. There was no speed limit on it yet, so I made excellent time between Topeka and Emporia. In the past, whenever I had come into Emporia, I had come in from the east on Highway 50. The exit for the turnpike was west of town so you came into Emporia on Highway 50 from the west. I was completely disoriented until a day or two later I drove out east and came in town that way to get my directions straightened out. I don't remember ever getting more turned around in directional orientation than I was when I arrived in Emporia.

When I found the depot and the telegraph office, they told me where the yard office was and where the Lineman's shop was. Someone gave me a key to the room where the shop was to be so I went there and started sorting out equipment. It was a small shop and the yard office was in between two feedlots. The odor was not something I was used to. When I had cleared enough room to accommodate my roll-away, I brought it in the shop and used it a few nights there.

One of the Switchmen by the name of Blaine Gregory asked me if I was by any chance an amateur radio operator and of course I told him I was. He invited me to dinner with his family and suggested I contact a Mrs. Evans whom he thought had a room to rent. He may have even gone there with me and introduced me, I don't remember. She had two sons older than me who were also Switchmen. One was named Bill and I had some connection with him later on. I can't think of the other son's name, although I learned to like him better than Bill. They were both older than I was.

129 Chapter 50: Back From the Big City

Mrs. Evans was a nice lady and my room was upstairs right next to a bathroom. While I was staying there I had the flu once and unless it has been repaired, that bathroom has a dent in the wall I made with my head when I passed out. Her grandson Danny lived there also, maybe in a downstairs bedroom; I never really knew where. A Colonel in the Army on some sort of educational leave, was living in the basement and attending college at the College of Emporia. His name was Leonard Nash. He and I had several conversations. He was a very friendly person and we went out together sometimes to eat. He was really a nice guy and I liked him. Something I had almost forgotten is that I took a Physical Science course at the College of Emporia myself.

I made trips to Topeka whenever I wanted to because now I had a business pass and a locomotive permit. I mention the latter because a couple times the train was crowded and I rode in the locomotive. What surprised me is that right outside Topeka along Highway 75 in the area of Pauline was the section of track where we were able to go the fastest. We were hitting 95 MPH as we went by Pauline. Since it is virtually in Topeka the speed at that location made an impression on me.

So there I was, back from the Big City, working for the Santa Fe, with benefits, with a place to live, and a good job in a radio shop where I was my own boss so far as scheduling my work. Of course, I was supervised by someone in the Topeka Office. It was 1957 and I had started my 28th year as of May 29th. The icing on the cake was a company vehicle. It was an old International panel truck but it was a vehicle and I didn't have to use my own car.

So, what was missing? Billy Evans played a part in showing me. He was visiting his mother one day and invited me to come out to his place for dinner. His wife's name was Faith and actually held church services somewhere in town. I imagine it was a very fundamental type of operation but I never attended it. Bill said there was someone he wanted me to meet. Having a meal with someone and meeting with someone new was fine with me so I accepted. Well, it turned out to be a woman and two little girls.

For a man who had screwed up his first marriage and grieved the loss of his family, being put in the presence of an attractive woman with two little girls one of whom occupied my lap almost immediately and stayed there, was like dangling a worm in front of a hungry fish and I was hooked before I knew what hit me. Hook, line and sinker, I soaked it all up! The mother was Dee, a nickname for Fidelia, and the girls were Connie and Janet, Jan for short. I think Connie was going into the second grade and Jan was going into the First Grade. The woman was cautious, the girls were as hungry for a Daddy as I was anxious to have a family.

And there you have the makings of a long chapter in the life of yours truly. ______

130 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 51: In The Beginning by Wayne Slauson. Posted Tuesday, August 9, 2011

From the beginning it was not easy. But I thought if I could prove I was the True Blue, Genuine Article, trust would be built and the other person would realize life could be good with someone eager to provide, a steady worker, ambitious and even handy at fixing things. But it wasn't easy. The girls were great and called me Daddy right from the start. I don't remember when they didn't. I fell for them as hard as anyone could.

The house she and the girls lived in was the size of a one car garage. I did some things there to make it better for them, but there was not a lot a person could do if they were not actually part of the family. But, things were moving along and I was working at trying to reassure her of my good intentions.

Then, out of the blue something weird happened. It was a note from someone in Kansas City, and it may have been about a job opening, I'm not sure. But, in her mind it was interpreted as an invitation to come to Kansas City, that another man was waiting for her. A cloud of confusion fell over the situation. To me, it was a stretch, but I was willing to cope with it by offering to take the family (we really were not a family at that time, but that word came naturally so I'm leaving it that way) to Kansas City to see what might be the substance of the matter.

Off we went to Kansas City. The man was the manager at a Katz store and I believe it was at either 10th or 12th and Baltimore. There was a very small park a block away and the girls and I went to that park for at least an hour to provide time for her to find out the intentions of the person who had written the note.

On the way back I was told he had offered her a job. Nothing else except they had "Fell into each others arms." I thought that could have meant they had hugged since they had not seen each other for awhile. She had worked at Katz previously.

We probably didn't talk about it right away when we got back to Emporia. By then it may have been nearing bed time for the girls. But, when we did sit down at the table to talk about it, I said something like, "Well, that's out of the way." " No, it isn't." "What do you mean?" "There may have been some reason he couldn't say more, I'm going to move to Kansas City!" "WHAT? (accompanied by a fist slamming down on the table!) That made her mad. I was told I had no right to be angry. I went home.

My thought on the matter was that her imagination was working overtime. She was imagining that the man who had written the letter and had offered her a job had a desire for a romantic relationship with her, but for some mysterious reason at the time of their meeting, he was unable to reveal that. But, I kept those thoughts to myself.

Her mind was made up, she was going to sell the little house and move to Kansas City. OK, so that's it, nothing I can do but accept it. I'm thinking I need a place to live, so I said I will buy the place from you, just tell me what you want for it. $1,700. OK, it's a deal. She sold it, I bought it. She moved to Kansas City.

After she was gone I moved into the little house and I signed up for a course at the local College. I met a fellow

131 Chapter 51: In The Beginning named Jack Fowler and he told me about his great great grandfather John Fowler and a little book about him, "The Story of a White Slave." Very interesting. Jack is going to the Friend's church and I go there. Some really nice people are there and I'm starting to meet different people including girls. Work is going good, I'm enjoying my job, getting compliments from Topeka, even a commendation from the General Superintendent from Chicago after a radio shop inspection.

Probably two weeks, maybe three go by and I get a letter. "I made a mistake, so and so is already married." I can't remember his name, that's why I used so and so. I wasn't asked to come up, just told she had made a mistake. Well, now I have to decide what I'm going to do. What does this really mean? Oh by the way, through all this I remain friends with her dad and mom. Another thing is that I notice during the time we are together and after we have left her folk's house she says things like, "I know my mom is giving my dad hell right now" The implication is that the reason she is giving him hell is because he had such a good time visiting with us. This same sort of thing was repeated by her under similar circumstances on many occasions. I never could understand it.

Well, I think things over and decide the matter I thought was out of the way when we came back from Kansas City that time is now actually settled. I'm remembering the Railroad YMCA near the Argentine Yards and thinking I could go up on weekends and see whether or not anything can be salvaged of our relationship and I could do some things with the girls on Sundays. I remembered the Broadway Salvation Army (I don't think it is there anymore) and we could go to church there. So for a few weeks that was the routine. The Salvation Army led some action choruses and that was good for the kids.

Then one weekend she tells me not to bother to come up. I had a good garden and things coming on that needed to be harvested so I gathered some up and went anyway. OOPS! Another guy she had met was there. The girls are calling me Daddy and she is mad as all get out. She tells me to never come back. I didn't. Not so much because the guy was there, but because of the anger and because I was told not to. I was finished ---- or at least I thought I was. ______

132 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 52: Moving on, Backing up by Wayne Slauson. Posted Saturday, August 13, 2011

Remember the old song? "Accentuate the Positive?" You've got to accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative." That's the course I needed to follow at this point. I was dispirited, and disappointed but it wasn't the end of the world. Now I had a house albeit humble plus a yard and I could at least bring David for visits and not have to entertain him out in public. It's not possible to fix a lunch for a child in a sleeping room, and visitations in public are a tough proposition for the parent of a child who lives in another house or city. I didn't waste any time having David down.

Another thing that occupied my mind was improving the little house and thinking of adding on. It was the size of a single car garage with two rooms, and a bathroom. A heater was in the middle of one room and the bathroom door swung out into the room.The first thing I did was put in a wall furnace and a sliding door for the bathroom.

Lacking money, I started gathering materials, wherever I could find them,to add on to the place. Building permits? What are they? I ignored all that sort of thing. Truth is I didn't even think of them. I didn't know anything about them.

The Santa Fe had a dump right in the middle of the yards. Not garbage, but combustibles. Occasionally, they would burn it. Before that could happen to some ties and grade crossing timbers I dragged them home. The old Radio Shop truck did double duty. Bridge and Building told me about a pile of Shiplap lumber that had been used for concrete forms that I could have for $6.75! If you put four foot sections of railroad ties in the ground on end you can make a foundation. Don't laugh, the house is still there! A lot of digging and a lot of cutting, but I was young then. Grade crossing timbers on edge on top of the ties made pretty stout rim joists. They were a full 3" X 12" creosoted timbers. Discarded full 2" X 10" native cottonwood timbers used somehow in grain cars made floor joists. My first thought was to add a small bedroom

Blaine Gregory and his wife lived in the next block. He is the fellow who suggested I look for a room at Mrs. Evans. The Gregory's invited me to dinner a couple times which I appreciated. I attended the local amateur radio club meetings, and met some new people.

I was friends with the people who lived next door, the Smiths. They had a boy named Clayton who as a young man at a later date, was working as a Wire Chief in Topeka when I was working in the office there. During the period of time I'm writing about, he was a boy, probably about 13 and I took him with me to New york to visit. I'm not able to come up with the parent's names. The daughter's name was Julie. She was in high school.

Mrs. Smith said something to me one day about Julie being out at the Fairgrounds minding a booth of some sort and she needed a ride home but no one was available at the time to bring her home. I volunteered to pick her up at a certain time and bring her home, which I did. That played a part in an experience that took place at a later date.

Things were moving along; then a phone call. It was Fidelia's dad. "I just wanted to tell you Fidelia is back in Emporia. I helped her get back here. I think she probably would be glad to see you." That gave me something to think about.

Her dad was Truman C Safford, a really kind man; one of the nicest people I have ever known. After his wife passed away I used to take my lunch out there and eat lunch with him. In his last years he lived in a hotel in Wichita and when I was down there in connection with work I would go see him. He was my substitute "Dad" for several years.

133 Chapter 52: Moving on, Backing up

I remember him showing me a letter and telling about an incident. It was actually one that gave me an idea incorporated in the "Penelope" story. He had some acreage 4 miles south of town; had a garden and loved it out there. Part of his acreage was just grassland and he let a high school boy put in some wheat.

Apparently, some land nearby was in the land bank program and inspectors, probably inspecting by plane, mistakenly identified part of his ground as being in that category and noted it had wheat on it. He got a letter from the authorities notifying him he was unauthorized to have planted wheat on that ground and advising him he was being fined for having done so. He wrote back and told them the circumstances on which the wheat was there and it was his ground, he would do what he pleased with it, and it was none of their business. "I'm not paying any fine. I'm 80 years old and you know where I live if you want to come and get me." He never heard anymore from them. We both had a chuckle over that.

Well now I had a decision to make. I knew he wanted me to contact her. I waited a few days trying to decide what to do and decided to drive out to his place. She and the girls were there. Jan ran towards me saying "Daddy, Daddy!" Things were a little awkward at first but loosened up. I think everyone was wondering where do we go from here?

She and the girls were living in a small older house on Commercial Street, the main street of Emporia, right at the edge of the business district. She didn't have a job or a car, and I think her dad must have been helping her out at that time. It was inevitable that I start thinking again that I could be in the picture and we could be a family.

I would probably have ended this chapter on that note except for the fact I had a woman in my life I haven't told you about. She was pretty, young, and ..... blonde. She was a beauty. In fact, I named her Beauty.

One day I was down at the depot and a Collie pup was walking up and down the depot platform. She was obviously abandoned, maybe not well, and hungry for love. Where she came from I will never know, but she had no hesitation getting in the radio shop truck and going home with me! Someone in the telegraph office called my attention to the fact she was out there on the platform and they probably thought I needed company!

In just a couple days it was obvious she was sick so I took her to a vet. He said she had distemper and he would give her a shot that would either kill her or cure her. She wasn't going to be OK if she didn't get the medicine so I told him to go ahead. She did get better and was a lot of enjoyment for several years. The vet had told me she had been spayed so there would be no pups, which I didn't need anyway. She was very smart, learned several tricks, could jump through a hoop and do several other things. She was a lovable good dog, very gentle with children, an ideal family dog. But for now, I was the only family she had. ______

134 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 53: There Comes a Day by Wayne Slauson. Posted Wednesday, August 17, 2011

It was inevitable, and I know you have already anticipated that I would next be telling you I started spending time at the house where she and the girls were living. So, it means you are not disappointed in your predictions. I also worked long hours on the little house where I had first visited them and my plan to add a small bedroom turned into a plan to add an even larger addition to the house.

The electric meter and entrance cable were in the way and needed to be moved. There was never a thought of hiring an electrician. I moved it hot to a pole. Before I started building I mentioned what I was going to do to the Santa Fe Division Engineer, John Wiemer. He startled me by saying I needed to have a survey made and that he would do it for me! He was licensed in Kansas and he and I worked most of a Saturday finding reference points. He surveyed the place putting down pins and telling me those are your lines! I learned then and have experienced the same thing since, that having a survey made and neighbors learning what they thought was their property was actually several feet of another person's property, is not the way you win friends and influence people. The survey showed that my property was at least 15' wider than I thought.

Big John was a good man. Years later he rescued me when I had a suburban vehicle stuck in loose ballast too close to the tracks on Raton Pass. I can hear him telling the operator at Raton, "Don't let train No. 4 by the Depot until you hear from me!" A little tug with a four wheel drive truck and I was out. Before he pulled me out, every move I made with that suburban made it inch toward a fifty foot drop down a steep bank. What made matters worse was the left front wheel was in a giant ant hill on the edge of the bank. It was on a Sunday, but John didn't mind answering my call for help.

Later, after we were living there I added a garage and another 10X10 room behind the garage. The garage has been turned into living area now as shown in the Google Earth picture below. A first class door was added to the house in the last few years. It's interesting to me that it is still standing! My goal was to get the house livable, not necessarily finished but livable, so a family could move in and not pay rent. As yet I didn't have a family, but I was hopeful. I couldn't understand the reluctance on her part to become a family, but at the time I thought it was doubting the character of the other person; being afraid of being disappointed another time. Consistent assurance and my actions were the only thing I had to offer. We were doing things as a family but were not living together.

Computer puzzles (problems) are something that often never get solved. Sometimes it's a case of giving up and deleting and starting over. Human problems can't be solved that way. I have been thinking and puzzling over why it was so difficult for her to decide that life with someone else could be better than without someone with whom to share life.

Knowing what I do now from later experiences, it makes me wonder if she knew that for reasons she didn't understand but consciously acknowledged, it was difficult for her to have a close relationship with another person without it creating an inner turmoil over which she had no control. If that were so it would explain her reluctance to enter into a relationship in the first place. Anyone reading this might question the futility of trying to figure out the

135 Chapter 53: There Comes a Day reason behind the way someone was thinking over fifty years ago. But, trying to understand each other is what we do every day. If we don't at least try, relations are sure to suffer. As I said when I started writing these chapters it was not my intent to write philosophical and psychological content, so I better park that train of thought on a siding.

In all relationship situations, things go in one direction for an indefinite period of time before something changes. It may be 67 years or it may be 6 or 7 weeks or months but eventually there is a change. I got to the point where I decided our situation had to change. I bought a ring, maybe two rings; set them on the table one night after the girls had gone to bed and and said something like, "OK we're going to get married." She was stunned. I presented all the reasons why we should do that and after some discussion we came to the agreement that is what we would do.

When I asked the minister at the Friend's church to marry us he agreed at first then changed his mind. He said it was because we were both divorced. The minister at the Methodist church had a 30 minute radio program I listened to sometimes and I liked his line of thinking. His name was David, but I can't remember the last name. I talked to him and he said he would marry us. The girls were so excitable that we didn't tell them until the day we were going to get married. We were all dressed up including them and Jan said something like, "Now if we just had a wedding to go to!" That's when we told them that is what we were going to do, go to a wedding. Ours! If I remember correctly, they stood with us as we were married and the minister said some really appropriate things about family. It was great we were a family.

It was nearly perfect. It would have been perfect if we all had the same name. I didn't wait very long to take care of that either. I adopted the girls sometime within the first year of marriage, I don't know the date. We were married in November on the 23rd just in time for Thanksgiving.

The house was just partially finished on the outside, but as soon as I could make it a livable shelter, we moved into it. I remember that first winter; the frost was up to about 18" on the inside of the walls of the largest room. Once in awhile that winter we had fried wild rabbit. I drilled holes in a piece of 2 X 2 and made a stand so it would stand upright. An old cedar on the back line furnished branches which were stuck in the holes and we had a Christmas tree. For the most part we gave each other presents of things we already had. We made it through the winter. We made it as a family.

More than 50 years later it is still there. ______

136 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 54: Married and Living in Emporia by Wayne Slauson. Posted Thursday, August 18, 2011

That winter went fairly well with only one notable hitch. We were still going to the Friends church. They had more activities for the girls than the Methodist church had to offer. One evening there was some kind of program we attended in which the girls participated. Following the program the two of us went out to the car and waited for the girls. It was dark, cold and snowing hard. It seemed like we waited quite awhile and they still hadn't come out of the church. I commented on it a few times wondering why they were still inside. Finally I said I was going to check on them and jumped out of the car and ran inside. I don't remember what they were doing but was told they would be out in just a few minutes.

I ran back to the car reported that to my wife and was met with a steamy response. She asked in a very haughty way, "Did you see so and so?" The implication was that I hadn't gone in to check on the girls, I went in to see so and so, whatever her name was. That was the first of a multitude of jealous responses with no reasonable provocation. It never ended there, it always carried over several days.

Work was increasing. The plan was to install microwave stations on my territory and across the railroad. I assisted with making surveys on my territory and some of it was interesting enough to tell about.

One of the means of confirming there was a path for the microwave beam was the use of mirrors to "flash" between the points. It was crude but effective. Each person actually had two mirrors, about the size of an 8 X 10 photograph. They were fastened back to back and a small hole was scratched in the silvering at the center of each mirror. Somewhat by accident I saw the technique in a Boy Scout handbook at a later date.

If you look at a target through the hole left by the removal of the silvering you see a dot of light somewhere behind you. If you keep looking at the target and maneuver the mirror so that dot of light moves into your eye, you will reflect the sunlight right at the target. It takes just a few minutes to catch on to the method, and the angle of the sun makes a lot of difference but it works. One of the things that happens is seeing false flashes. I remember seeing flashes from automobile windshields rounding a curve, 20 miles away. When the angle of the sun's rays striking glass at the same angle at which you are looking, the light undergoes what is called total internal reflection and it is as strong a flash a mirror would produce.

George Taguma, with whom I had worked in Chicago came to Emporia to work with me when they put a second job on at the shop. George was an interesting person. He could be a little volatile, a little loud at times, but he was interesting. It was amusing when he went to the motor vehicle office in Emporia to get his Kansas Driver's license. The man thought he would be helpful and told George to put Mex in the entry for race. Now George had some of the physical characteristics of what might be considered Hispanic, but his father was Japanese and his mother Hawaiian. So George asked the man, "Mex? What does Mex mean?" The man said, "Mex for Mexican, you're Mexican aren't you?" "Me? I'm not Mexican, I put Mong. for Mongolian."

George's wife's name was Sylvia and they had a cute little girl whose name I can't remember although it seems like

137 Chapter 54: Married and Living in Emporia

I should. She was a doll. When they first arrived, they didn't have all their belongings and asked if we had a skillet they could borrow. I had a cast iron skillet I loaned them and Sylvia apparently was not familiar with a cast iron skillet because she worked it over with scouring powder, sandpaper and whatever else she could find trying to get the black off it.

Speaking of little girls there was a little girl whose parents built a house about three doors south of us. It was a Hispanic family. Delgado was their name. Their little girl was Monica and she was a cute little thing. One day another little girl from the other direction up the street and Monica were out on the sidewalk. I heard the other girl say, "My mommy and daddy won't let me play with you because you're Mexican." I heard Monica respond, "I'm not Mexican, my name is Monica!" That was touching enough, but let me tell you the rest of it.

Another day I heard the same two little girls between the houses near the window and the one girl was saying, "I can't play with you Monica, my mommy and daddy won't let me. But, I like you. I'll tell you what, when my mommy and daddy die, I'll play with you!"

In the spring I was able to get the outside of the addition finished and then started thinking about a garage. I did hire a man to do some finish work inside so we wouldn't be living in an unfinished environment.

Somewhere along the line there was a problem either with the water line or sewer, I can't recall which, and I had to dig under the house and out to the street to repair what ever it was. I had to come up through the bathroom floor, but the details of that project are gone from my memory.

When the other part of the house was finished I started thinking about a garage and another room at the back end of the garage. Of course that called for a slab. After it was formed up and the concrete poured I was trying to screed it off by myself. Some fellow nearly a block away saw my predicament and came and helped me. Old crossarms were used for studs in that part of the construction. If it hadn't been for the material the railroad threw away I don't know how that place would have been built.

We had been in the house for a few months when the lady next door, Mrs Smith (unable to recall her name) came over and was visiting one day while I was at work. She told how one day I had picked up their daughter Julie at the fairgrounds and brought her home. Then she added this: "I think Wayne was sweet on Julie." She was referring of course to the period of time when I was there by myself after the move to Kansas City had been made. Of course Julie was much younger than I and even if I had been fond of her, the circumstances were such that I wouldn't have been betraying anyone's trust. But logic didn't apply.

The response to that piece of information was so severe she spent two or three days in the hospital being treated for "exhaustion."

Before I go any further, I need you to understand something. I have never thought Fidelia was a "bad" person. But there were areas of her psyche with which she could not cope, could not reason her way to a rational response. The intensity of that episode made that conclusion obvious. We were not far into the marriage and I thought she should be given the option before it went further, so I asked her if she would be happier if she had a divorce. That didn't help matters. I won't repeat the language used in the response.

Where do we go from here. We sold the little house, bought a large mobile home and lived in a small mobile home park for a short time. A man named Norman Walrafen had the park right at the City Limits of Emporia. He once told me "You can do anything you want when you are independently wealthy!" Connie did some baby sitting for the Walrafen's and had dinner with the family. She said when he wanted the salt instead of asking for it to be passed he put his hand on the table and said, "I want the salt." Whoever was at the table would make sure the salt shaker would appear in his hand.

While we were there Connie also baby sat for a couple named Coldsmith. Dr. Coldsmith, a medical doctor, authored over 40 Western novels. One series, Spanish Bit Saga, is fairly well known. Dr. Coldsmith passed away at age 83 in June of 2009.

Living on someone's property other than my own was not my cup of tea. Dad Safford had four lots (25' lots) in

138 A Collection of Recollections

Strong City and an old untenable house he wanted to sell which I bought from him for $1000. I spent my spare time digging a water line to where a trailer could be parked, digging a hole for a septic tank and carrying one over there on my 1951 Chevy pickup, running a sewer line, putting in a dry well for laundry water. I also managed to set a pole for electric and phone utilities and as soon as we could, we moved there. ______

139 Chapter 55: Back On Our Own Property ° Chapter 55: Back On Our Own Property by Wayne Slauson. Posted Friday, August 19, 2011

There is nothing like standing on your own piece of ground. I jumped up and down on it. It wasn't much. Four 25 foot lots in a flood plain, a crumbling old house full of honey bees between the floor joists of the second floor flooring. The two story part of the old house needed to be torn down and I did that. What a chore it was getting rid of those bees. I contacted a bee keeper, but they wanted no part of it. The only solution was to cut through the floor and spray an insecticide in between the joists until they were gone. The horde of bees were more like a single wild animal, and the noise was intimidating. I managed to save the very smallest amount of the honey but not without considerable effort and complaints from the bees.

Having been flooded several times in its lifetime, silt resided in the walls of the first floor to a level of about 15 -18 inches above the lower plate. It was dirty work, and getting the rafters down pretty dangerous, but finally I got that part of the house down and cleaned off the ground. A lot of the flooring was salvageable and someone bought it without hesitation. Before it was over I had a big bonfire. The house had two levels, the two story part and a one story part in the back. The one story section of ihe house, which had been a kitchen was left and we had an old refrigerator in it that was all rusty on the outside but still worked.

The trailer sat at an angle on the property. I took the wheels off, formed and poured cement runways for the wheels so if it was ever necessary to move the trailer out and it was flooded or the ground was saturated, it would be possible to do so. For some reason I wanted to move it a couple feet one time. I tried to move it using the 51 Chevy pickup, but was unable to do so. I borrowed a tractor from Beaver implement and moved it with no trouble. And by the way, the name of the street we were on? Santa Fe Street! On past our place just a block or two were the remains of the old roundhouse. Back in the steam days, 300 railroaders lived in Strong City. Now just one was living there.

We did have some flood water one time while we were there. I can't remember how high the water got, but we had no damage from it and I don't remember whether we stayed in the trailer or somewhere else.

Of course the floods over the years was what made the earth so rich and productive. I had the most beautiful and bountiful vegetable garden you could imagine. I dug a root cellar and we stored some things in it over the winter. In some ways living on that piece of ground in Strong City was paradise. There was wildlife, some not desirable, a productive garden and often times when I had to go repair radio stations it was west or southwest of Strong City so I was able to come home at the end of the day stopping short of driving to Emporia. The girls thrived there and David really enjoyed coming there. The mobile home was 10' X 55' , big enough it didn't feel cramped, it had a nice kitchen and everything about it was brand new. We were doing OK, and there was a baby on the way!

About the wildlife. At night, when the coyotes howled, you could count on hearing a train next. They would hear it before anyone else heard it. One night after dark we heard a lot of squawking in a tree. I went out and a snake was wrapped around a limb with its head hovering over a bird's nest. It was very high in the tree. I got my rifle and with the aid of a flashlight, shot the snake. But all of the commotion around the nest caused a young bird to fall out. So I got a long extension ladder and put the bird back in the nest. Not a very smart idea really, because that nest was really high in that tree. There was not a peep out of momma bird while that was being done. Neither did the baby bird object to my handling it in the process of getting it back home.

The next morning, I saw the baby bird out on the ground again and decided it was going to be OK. But, wouldn't it be fun if I could put a little plastic band on its leg and see if we could spot it at a later date? Maybe even in another season? I had some little plastic clamps I thought could be used, so I caught the baby and proceeded to try and put one on its leg. Well every bird in the universe started scolding me. The momma sat a few feet from me and

140 A Collection of Recollections yelled the loudest. But what was interesting is that it seemed like every bird of every kind was telling me to quit! I did! I gave in to them. It was an Alfred Hitchcock moment.

We had owls at night, Whippoorwills, redbirds,thrush,bobolink, quail families walking around, woodpeckers, loggerhead shrikes and on and on.

While we were living Strong City, Fidelia's mother had a stroke and was in Newman Memorial Hospital in Emporia. It was a very severe stroke, she was unable to communicate and was in the geriatric ward of the hospital until she passed away. Unfortunately, the geriatric ward was in the basement which had small windows and was not a pleasant place to be. I went by there often and at times helped feed her. She was there for several months as I recall. I think she was aware of some things because when Fidelia was very pregnant she reached out and patted her belly and smiled. Within 24 hours of Paul being born she passed away. It was generally thought she was waiting for the baby to be born.

Our nearest neighbor was a man named Morg Hensley. He was always bleary eyed and staggering slightly. He was well preserved, in the sense of the word referring to being "pickled". I had a couple flats of tomato plants that I had grown from seed. The plants had grown to 3 or four inches high and looking good. Morg's chicken wandered over one day and scratched in those flats, ruining virtually all of the tomato plants. I spoke to Morg about it. A day or so later he came over, was crying and saying he had shot the chicken, and that "It was really tough when you had to kill the only friend you ever had." Poor old Morg. I probably told him if he put some chicken wire around his already existing fence, he could get another chicken and keep it in the yard. I don't really know what I said to him, but I know I would have told him I was sorry he shot his chicken and he wouldn't have had to do that.

We were attending the Methodist church. I don't even know of another Protestant church in the town. I don't know how it happened, but I was asked if I would lead the Sunday school openings. I was asked to commit to a year and I did. The routine was to have a short period in the sanctuary before classes for everyone to sing a hymn and choruses. I remember well one little red haired boy named Doody Roberts. He wasn't very old, but he could sing. He could stay on pitch, remember the words and belt it out. How that boy loved to sing. I think he was a born performer. Virtually every Sunday I would ask him to come up and help me. He was a joy. After we sang some choruses I would say a few words to the kids and tell them it was time to go to their classes.

Probably about the third Sunday following the beginning of my stint in that position, and after church was over, some lady in the congregation told me she liked how I handled the kids or made a positive comment about something I had said to them. I thanked her and didn't think much about it. But when we got home I heard a lot about it and for the rest of the year, just the girls and I went to church. But, I was often asked after we came home, "Well, what did Mrs. X have to say today. I don't remember who Mrs X was. That pretty well diminished the joy of the Sunday School preliminaries and cast a shadow over our living in Strong City.

A conversation I had with the pastor of the Methodist church was interesting enough to warrant mentioning. His name was Miles Stotts, a very likable older man. My daughter Connie told me several years ago she toured a little museum at Baldwin, Kansas and the fellow managing the museum was Miles Stotts who had been our pastor in Strong City. One day I was talking to him and said it surprised me that people called me Mr. Slauson. I said, "Here I am a young man and all these people older than me are calling me Mr. Slauson. It seems odd to me." He said, "You will always be Mr. Slauson here unless you were born with the smell of cow manure on your feet." Strong City is in the heart of the Flint Hills cattle county. It is the site of the Annual Flint Hills Rodeo, the oldest consecutive rodeo in Kansas. It is still going.

One of the things that were part of my job was solving radio interference problems. We used land line carriers used to control radio stations. They are low frequency radio signals superimposed on telephone wires. We had our own poles and phone wires. One case of trouble created a comical situation. The radio station at Cassoday, KS which is right off the turnpike in the heart of the Flint Hills cattle country, was being keyed on the air occasionally and women could be heard talking on the railroad radio. It was being broadcast to everyone within range of the station.

Of course, interference of that type is intermittent and therefore hard to solve. But I happened to be in the Cassoday "depot" (still called that although no longer a depot but a cattle loading site) when it happened. It was in

141 Chapter 55: Back On Our Own Property the middle of winter and there were a number of track men warming themselves in the depot at the same time. The operator had a remote control on the station and therefore any radio conversation was heard loud and clear throughout the depot. Two women started talking and carried on a fairly lengthy conversation. During the conversation, one woman asked the other what her husband was doing. She answered, "He's out trying to help that calf get something to eat. That old cow has sensitive tits and she won' t let the calf eat." Well, a conversation like that would be common for cattle folk, but for it to be broadcast over a railroad radio system is a little unusual. The track men were haw hawing.

The good thing that came out of the fact I heard the conversation is that I had a hunch I knew the location of one of the callers. I thought it might be a woman who was north of highway 50 which is several miles north of the Cassoday station. She made a comment about a new baby and I thought she might be talking about our Paul being brought home. When I contacted the rural telephone repair man for the area, I asked him if he had a carrier that went up north of highway 50. He said he did and it happened to be on the same frequency as the carrier controlling the radio station. He was able to make some changes and that was the end of the interference.

Paul was born December 31st 1961. In the following month I made the best decision I ever made for my own benefit where the railroad was concerned. The lead man at Kansas City bid off the job and George Taguma, who was working with me at the time, bid the job. The Topeka office called me and suggested I might like to bid that job. I told them I didn't think a lead man could run that shop successfully. It was a 12 man shop and the lead man had no authority other than on his shift and even then he was limited because he himself was working under the union agreement. I told them the shop needed a foreman with 24 hour authority, someone appointed to the position and not a union member employee.

It wasn't very long before Mr. Weems, the Eastern Lines Superintendent came down to talk to me. He had some concerns about whether I could handle a foreman's job at Kansas City because he knew I cared what people thought of me. I told him he need not be concerned, that if I had that job I would make a success of it and straighten that shop out, no matter what anyone thought of me - guaranteed. I was willing to lose friends in the process of influencing people! I didn't lose any friends but some thought I was a hard boss. There was no way to get that shop straightened out but to establish yourself as a boss determined to organize the operation and see that everyone did their share. Years later I had one man tell me he thought I was pretty hard on everyone but he had learned more about the Argentine yards while I was there than ever before. It is a big yards and there was a lot to learn about it. A lot of the work had nothing to do with radio itself, but a lot to do with communications.There were dozens of cables throughout the yard and everyone of them was used for communications of some kind whether it was voice, data or signaling. Plus we were maintaining hundreds of radios on engines and cabooses coming in and out of those yards. There were several radio stations within the yards and we also maintained some remote from that location.

On February 18th, 1962 I was introduced to the technicians at Kansas City as their new foreman. ______

142 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 56: Keith Thomas by Wayne Slauson. Posted Sunday, August 21, 2011

Before I leave Emporia and Strong city behind, I want to tell you about some friends I had there. One of them was a man named Keith Thomas. Keith had a propane dealership on the west edge of Emporia; Thomas Farm Gas Supply. I wanted to buy a propane tank large enough to operate the furnace and range in the trailer without having to wrestle 100# bottles. Keith had a 125 gallon tank which was just the right size and I mounted it on trailer wheels so it could be towed and readily moved if the mobile home was moved.

Since I had no previous experience with propane I asked him for advice concerning its use and what kind of fittings I needed. As conversation progressed we began talking about other things and I realized he was pretty smart, had an inventors mind. I was intrigued by his imagination of things that would be a benefit to people if someone would invent them. So, occasionally I would stop and talk to Keith.

One day he told me about a press he had someone build for him for the purpose of molding expandable polystyrene balls. Much of the packing used today is that material. If you look closely at some of the packing and see little circles, they are the outlines of expanded polystyrene balls.

The molding process is interesting in that the raw material is not quite a powder but roughly the consistency of salt. The technique may have changed over the years but at that time the procedure was to expand the material in a device called a pre-expander to BB sized balls, feed them into a press via a large plastic tube, close the press, shoot steam into the mold through small holes in the two halves of the mold, (called platens) allow the press to crack open slightly as the material expanded further. Then a cooling cycle with water took place to solidify the material and the press was opened to remove the piece. The piece would be in the shape of the platens which were interchangeable with other platens to produce different shapes.

As luck would have it, he had the press in an otherwise vacant building in Cottonwood Falls, the County seat of Chase county, and just a mile south of Strong city on the south side of the Cottonwood River. I went there with him a couple times and learned how the system worked.

It was not practical to do all the process manually, so an engineer had drawn a diagram of a control system for the operation. Keith needed someone to assemble and wire the system and I said I would do it for him. By the time I said I would do that, I considered him a friend and was impressed with his effort to break into the field of making expandable polystyrene bead packing. I wanted to see him succeed and was eager to contribute to his efforts.

Before I had the control console built, I got the word I was appointed to the Foreman's job in the Argentine Yard at Kansas City. Our plan was for me to go up there and rent a room until school was out so the girls would not have to change in the middle of the school year. So I took the parts and pieces with me and in my spare time, working in my sleeping room, I finished the control system.

When I had the control system completed I let Keith know and he came up to get it. I had no interest in compensation for helping him. He took me out to a steak dinner and while we were eating he told me that if I were interested, he would like to pay my way to the Dale Carnegie course. He went on to explain he thought it would be beneficial to me in connection with my job working with other people. Well, I was interested. He made the arrangements and I started the course.

What I didn't expect was the reaction I got when I came home for a weekend and told Fidelia I had started the Dale Carnegie course. It was so intensely negative I didn't try to tell her it was being paid for by Keith Thomas because I thought that might make matters even worse. I did try to explain it was an effort to make me a better person, a

143 Chapter 56: Keith Thomas better man, a better husband, but there was no use. It was as though I had done something terribly wrong and no matter how l tried to make it not so, I failed. I didn't mention it again for three years at which time I told her that Keith Thomas had been the one paying for the course. The response to that was an insinuation: "I thought there was something 'strange' about that relationship".

Another weekend when I was home I worked with Keith on a Saturday with the control console connected and everything worked perfectly. There was a problem though. The platens were designed to make boxes for veterinarian bolus capsules and the person who made the platens made an error causing the halves of the boxes to be mismatched. It had cost several thousand dollars to have the platens made and they were not right. Keith was pretty discouraged. I think he ended up selling the press and all that went with it.

Something that happened in Keith's propane business bears mentioning. It happened some time prior to my going to Kansas City. I went into his office one day and he looked pale and was visibly shaking.

Eight or ten miles East of Emporia on the old highway, were the remains of a place called "The Rocks". In earlier days it had been a quasi night club and dance hall. It was my understanding that during the war a lot of people would go there and have a good time dancing. It had burned to the ground but the foundation and basement remained. There was a man named Harold I met at an amateur radio club meeting but I don't recall his last name. I really didn't get acquainted with him but heard him speak enough to recognize him as an "Everyone is entitled to my opinion" person. He had bought the property called "The Rocks", planning to rebuild the upper part and open a restaurant.

Work had been done to make the basement livable and Harold and his wife would live there while the upper part was being rebuilt. The day they moved in they called Thomas Farm Gas to come fill the propane tank. It was probably in the late fall and they would need some heat. Keith's driver went out to the place and when he saw it was an underground tank, he told Harold he couldn't fill it unless it was dug up and tested. It had been in the ground for at least 20 years and possibly several more according to his thinking and he wouldn't take a chance on filling it.

Harold was irate and accused the driver of trying to rip him off. But the driver stayed his ground and refused to fill the tank. So Harold called "S and S Propane". Their man came out and filled the tank. That night, the place was blown to smithereens and the occupants with it. It was the next morning when I walked into Keith's office and he was actually trembling, thinking how it could have been his company who filled the tank. Keith told me he would be forever grateful to that driver. S and S lost their license and of course there were lawsuits and everything that goes with such an event.

Another thing about that explosion and fire is the fireman encountered numerous copper head snakes about the place as they went about their work. Since the foundation was constructed of rocks, I suppose the environment was ideally suited to them.

There are some other people I want to tell about and also a connection I had to the radio station in Emporia before I stop writing about my time at there. ______

144 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 57: The McGregors & Kansas Voice of Emporia by Wayne Slauson. Posted Monday, August 22, 2011

Dean McGregor was the wire chief at Emporia so I had a lot of contact with him. His wife Edith was an educated lady active in Emporia in several community endeavors. They lived in Saffordville which is halfway between Emporia and Strong City. Saffordville was more prone to flooding than Strong City and there may have been one or two other people living there, but basically it was a ghost town. It was a place where people used to live, go to school and church, but long since tired of the rising waters and left.

A few years ago I was reading a book by William Trogdon. He writes under the name of William Least Heat-Moon an Indian name which I believe refers to his place in his family structure and the time of his birth. I have read three of his books with the aid of a dictionary sitting beside me. Even then, when I would look up a word, I would sometimes have difficulty understanding the meaning. Nevertheless, I like his writings: "PrairyErth" "River Horse" and "Blue Highways". PrairyErth is a wonderful account of Chase County Kansas and its inhabitants. No, he didn't have Wayne Slauson in the book. But as I read the book, I came upon a section about the McGregors.

Its fascinating to read a book by a well known author and read about people who, at one time, you knew well. I came to a sentence where he was telling how pleasant it was to sit at the table in Edith McGregor's kitchen. I jumped up from my chair with the book in hand and said, "Bonnie! He's writing about sitting at Edith McGregor's kitchen table and I have sat right there myself. Of course that is no great distinction in itself, but to remember my sitting in McGregor's kitchen and imagine him being there and writing about it in the book;those things made me excited.

On another subject: One day I received a call from the manager of the local radio station, asking me to meet him and another man at a local restaurant. I didn't have any idea what they wanted but wondered if it was something to do with an interference problem where they thought the railroad was involved.

It wasn't that at all. They wanted to talk to me about doing some work at the station, KVOE , dubbed Kansas Voice of Emporia. The station had been upgraded since the last owners had it; Kermit Trimble and Sellick Warren, when the station was KTSW. The men told me the staff included a man with the title of Chief Engineer, but he was a better disk jockey than an engineer. He knew virtually nothing of what an engineer or even an amateur should know. The offer the management made me was very attractive. The work would be after hours and I accepted it.

The "Chief Engineer" didn't know how to make what is called "Proof of performance" tests which was required by the FCC, so I made those after the station went off the air and fixed a few other things that needed attention.

One of the things they told me about was in the past two years they would have an occasional "mysterious interruption" of their signal which occurred without warning, for no apparent reason and was very frustrating. I made a thorough examination of the transmitter and couldn't see anything that might have caused the problem.

One day I was listening to the station. Suddenly it was on and off the air for a second or two. It was a nasty day, drizzling rain and the wind was gusting out of the south. I jumped into the vehicle and went down to the station. When I walked into the control room, the antenna and plate circuit meters were fluctuating rapidly. I walked out the back door and down to the antenna. Near the base of the antenna was a collar roughly the shape of an upside down funnel. It had clamps to hold it firm to the mast, but the clamps were loose and it was rocking with the wind. There were four bolts in the base, extending 2 or 3 inches up toward the edge of the collar. When the wind blew, the collar rocked, made contact with one of the bolts and sparks occurred between the two. I went back into the station, got a screwdriver and wrench, tightened up the collar and that was the end of their "mysterious interruptions". The purpose of the collar was to provide a gap to discharge lightning to ground. it should not have

145 Chapter 57: The McGregors & Kansas Voice of Emporia been loose like it was.

They asked me one time if I was interested in climbing that mast and changing a bulb at the top. I told them I wasn't. I didn't mind climbing towers, but I was not interested in climbing a mast two or three hundred feet straight up. I'm sure it would require some kind of safety harness which I didn't have.

The station management bought a surplus radio; they said it had been a tank radio and they had plans for converting it to make a remote broadcast transmitter. They wanted to be able to broadcast from the site of an accident or fire etc. They asked me to make the conversion. I spent a lot of hours at home working on it and when it was finished, it worked for them. But when I turned in my time for doing it they decided they couldn't afford me anymore and paid me off.

It was not a disappointment. The additional responsibility made me nervous, and I was actually relieved. The extra money was good for us, but it was additional stress I really didn't need. My primary obligation was to the Santa Fe and by rights I needed to concentrate my energies to their service. So ended my career in the Radio Broadcast industry. No hard feelings, no regrets. ______

146 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 58: "I Ain't Much Baby But I'm All I've Got" by Wayne Slauson. Posted Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Meanwhile, back in Kansas City I was staying in a sleeping room not too far from work and spending a lot of time at the radio shop for lack of anything else to do and to acquaint myself with the operation. The parts room was in terrible disarray and I worked on it a lot to get it organized. Hardly anyone knew the cable plant for the yards very well. I studied it, insisted that others do the same; sometimes we studied together. I quizzed them on the subject much the same way I had been quizzed about the equipment when I was on the fire department.

We had some new equipment that was going to provide telephone connection from vehicles to any number on the Santa Fe system. Of course anything new and different is a mystery and since that equipment was going to put more people in contact with our radios it was important that we understood how it worked.

In manuals, there are diagrams and separate text explaining the circuits. I recorded the text onto tape by reading it. By doing that it was possible to study the schematics and listen to the text at the same time. That was a big help in learning about new equipment.

The time passed quickly until school was out and arrangements were made to move the mobile home to a Mobile Home park in Kansas City. It was not an ideal location and it wasn't long before we bought a house in the Argentine District not far from work. It was an old house and big house. We moved in with a minimum of furnishings. Much of what we had when we had the little house in Emporia had been sold in a sale when we sold the house.

But, we got by and added to the furnishings as we could. I bought a used washer and dryer, ending up having to repair the washer; subsequently sold them and bought new ones. The furnace was an old gravity feed monster which I tore out, installing a new furnace. I measured for ducts and had them made in a sheet metal shop and installed them. Amazingly they fit.

The 40' wooden main beam in the basement was sagging, was narrow and the joists were barely resting on it. I cribbed up the joists on both sides and removed the beam, bought four scrap ten foot long I beams from a contractor tearing down a building on the Santa Fe property. A neighbor who was a welder, welded two of the beams end to end and the other two end to end. I knocked holes in the floor, dug 30 X 30 X30" footings for posts and at the proper time, some soldiers from the Knob Noster, MO base who were visiting next door, lifted the two pieces and they were welded together. I had concrete poured in through a basement window and filled the holes in the floor with the supporting posts embedded in the concrete. A young friend named Wendell who years later became a son-in-law helped me the day the concrete was delivered. The job was a lot more work than the telling! But, those things go with buying an old house.

It wasn't always smooth going, but we lived there until 1965 when I was promoted to the job of the man who hired me. This meant moving to Topeka so once again I stayed in a sleeping room temporarily. I heard of a new house under construction and managed to buy it with a VA loan and not much down. The Santa Fe moved us, but didn't buy the house in Kansas City. We had double payments for awhile, but finally managed to sell the house in KC breaking even so far as expense was concerned.

Our house was on a corner lot, a bi level with three bedrooms on the upper level, and one on the lower level with a second bathroom. June 8th, 1966 a devastating tornado struck Topeka. Our place was spared. Houses at the other end of the street were not. My daughter Connie and son David both graduated at the same time while we were there. But Fidelia was in turmoil with the thought there was something between me and a neighbor woman. The lady said something sympathetic to me one day after I had 6 teeth pulled. That was the entire connection.

147 Chapter 58: "I Ain't Much Baby But I'm All I've Got"

After high school David married and subsequently joined the Air Force. Connie married a neighbor boy and he actually joined the Air Force.

During the time we lived there, I bought a small two bedroom house in an older neighborhood. It had been a rental for 20 years and needed attention. I completely redecorated the inside including sanding and refinishing the floors. My idea was to rent it and be a source of income. But, the tension over the imagined connection with the neighbor became so bad we sold the new house and moved into the little one. Jan had one bedroom and Paul had the other. We slept in the unfinished basement.

I did quite a bit more work on that place after we lived there. Then Jan got married. We were not very happy with some neighbors. As soon as I finished planting something they would let their dog out and it would proceed to water it for me. I spoke to them and they got mad at us. Their daughter lived on the other side of us and it was not a good situation. There was an older house about 3 blocks from us that came up for sale. I walked through it one day during an open house and I thought she might like it. So, I suggested she look at it. She did like it and we bought it. We sold the little house for enough to at least break even on it. The time would have been close to 1970.

But in the 70's things kept getting worse. Some physical abuse started. I was getting hit on the arms with whatever was handy and it was being done when Paul was not present. There were hospitalizations, counseling, 6 weeks on site therapy, but nothing changed. In fact, it got worse. There were some very serious threats, violent actions, a smashed mirror on the medicine cabinet door. Nothing worked. For the last couple years I slept in the basement most of the time.

One day Paul who was 14 or 15 at the time said to me, "Dad, you can't go on like this, you have to do what you have to do. Don't worry about me." I took that to mean he thought I should get separate from the situation. I had a company car and a motorcycle. In 1976 I left, got a sleeping room and filed for divorce.

End notes:

The title I used for this chapter is the title of a book I read several years ago. It is a book written by a man named Jess Lair. He lived in Boseman Montana and the book which is more or less saying I am what I am and that's all I am, made such an impression on me I rode the motorcycle to Boseman and met the man. At home I have a picture of the two of us standing by the bike. I will have to add it to the post later.

Something of interest concerning that book is: One day I was visiting a technician in the Dodge City radio shop. His name was Gene Abrams and someone I had known for quite awhile. I was probably feeling down that day and indicated that was the case. He reached in his back pocket and pulled out a worn and tattered copy of the same book and said it was one that had helped him a lot.

The implication of the title in my case is twofold. One, I did what I could and I just didn't have anything else to offer. Two, I have to accept that for my own good. Maybe three: If others think not, I can't help it. They were not where I was.

One of the saddest things in my life is witnessing someone attaining the age of 75 and passing into the hereafter without ever learning how to be happy. Very sad. ______

148 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 59: Alone With My Thoughts by Wayne Slauson. Posted Thursday, August 25, 2011

You don't separate yourself from your home without having a lot of feelings; a lot of thoughts. You wonder if there was something else you could have done. You wish things could have been different and you worry about what others might be thinking. There is loneliness mixed with relief. As much as you want things to be different you know they are what they are and they are not going to change. It's a time of acceptance; acceptance of the situation, of yourself, time to be an adult, to take charge of your life. No one else is going to do it. It's strictly up to you.

Thinking this way reminds me of an experience I had in 1973. In the early part of 1973 I knew something was the matter with the way I was thinking. It crept up on me like the proverbial thief in the night. I didn't understand it at first, but I came to realize I was depressed. It was different than being situational unhappy, and it isn't something I can describe but I recognized it.

The Santa Fe Hospital was right there in Topeka so I went down there and asked if there was anything that could be done about it. They sent me out to either a psychologist or psychiatrist (I don't remember which) whose name I believe was Benson. He asked me several questions about my childhood, parents and so forth and gave me an appointment for a couple weeks later. In the meantime I needed to make a trip to Colorado on business.

Denver was the first place I went and then a microwave site at Elizabeth and then to Colorado Springs. I did some work in Colorado Springs and made arrangements for another man to meet me in Colorado Springs and go up on Cheyenne Mountain with me. The tail pipe on my car broke off and I put it in the garage because I knew I could go up with Carl, the other man.

October 8th, 1973, the day we started up towards Cheyenne Mountain, which is right outside of Colorado Springs and next to Pike's peak, the weather was overcast and drizzling. It had been the same way the day before at Elizabeth. I wasn't looking forward to another drizzly chilly day, but the work needed to be done so we started up. Carl was chatting away as he usually did and I was sitting over in the passenger seat in my topcoat with my own thoughts.

I don't know how long it takes to drive up onto Cheyenne but it takes awhile. The wipers were swish swishing back and forth and Carl is talking and I'm thinking. After going what seemed to be quite a distance, I notice a little bit of blue in the sky and I perk up a little.

We turned off the paved road onto a gravel road through the Aspen. Apparently the night before the temperature had been below freezing and the rain had frozen on the Aspen leaves. But with the increased daytime temperature, the ice was sliding off like silver dollars and dropping onto the windshield. The sun was filtering through the Aspen in individual distinguishable rays.

Something physical was going on with me. I could feel my heart beating and the farther we went the more noticeable it became to the point it was literally thumping. Carl knew of a spring alongside the road and asked if I wanted a drink of spring water. I said sure. There were some cups in the glove compartment so we stopped and each had a drink from the spring. It felt to me like I was drinking liquid strength!

As we continued, we passed meadows white with frost. At another point I could see what looked like a frosted meadow through the trees. But, I thought it might be something else. I thought I knew what it was and I was anxious to see if I was right. We soon got to the top. I stepped out of the car and walked over to a very large rock, stood up on it and as far as I could see in all directions were the tops of the clouds. It was like you sometimes see

149 Chapter 59: Alone With My Thoughts when flying at high altitude. We had been below the clouds but had broken through on the way up the mountain.

Suddenly and miraculously, my depression was gone; evaporated. I felt as though God meant for me to be there at that moment to show me how when you get above your problems they don't look so gloomy. Or was it just a coincidence? I read that a coincidence is often an occasion where God made the arrangements but didn't get the credit. The message I took from the experience was to rise above the wrestling in the mud of your worries and get above them, look down on them, don't bury yourself in them.

Driving back to Kansas, I stopped at a grocery store and bought an apple. It was sitting on the seat beside me in the vehicle. In my mind I was thinking it isn't just an apple I bought for a quarter, it is the product of God and man's efforts that I am privileged to eat. I was euphoric. That was the best apple I ever ate!

When I got back to Topeka, I kept my appointment with Dr. Benson, but only to tell him of my experience and that I didn't need to see him anymore. He said it was called a metamorphic experience. Whatever the technical explanation might be I was through with the depression.

All of the above really ties into the thoughts I was having after separating myself from the situation. There were a lot of doubts, fears, questioning, wondering, and intense self examination. About that time Bob Brien, a fellow I worked with had a box of books which I think he set on the corner of my desk temporarily.

In the box was a paper back Thesaurus which I picked up and thumbed through. To be honest, I don't know that I had ever seen or looked at a Thesaurus before. I opened it randomly to a page where it was describing honest and honorable. This is what I read:

"An honest man is one who does not lie, steal, cheat nor seeks to defraud. An honorable man is one who does none of these things and in addition, makes sacrifices that no one could expect of him when his own sense of right demands it."

Those words struck me deeply. I went home to my room, closed the door and bawled like a baby. I felt I was an honorable man. Some of my doubts were relieved. ______

150 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 60: Operation Lifesaver by Wayne Slauson. Posted Saturday, August 27, 2011

It was necessary to be on a tight budget for a couple years and for at least one of those years I didn't have a car. Thankfully, I had a company station wagon I could drive to work in bad weather, but most of the time I walked because I was not quite a mile from the office. On those days I had breakfast at the counter of the Red X at 10th and Topeka. I rode the bike to wherever else I needed to go. I often had breakfast in my room of cereal and powdered milk mixed with a little water from the lavatory in the bathroom. Many days, for lunch, Ramen noodles in a little hotpot at work was enough. I have never minded that sort of thing, so I wasn't suffering, What you have to do sometimes is get by so you do it.

I already had some camping gear, a cousin Marian and her husband Dave Wiley (another amateur, W7WYG) in Great Falls Montana, a motorcycle and vacation time coming so why not take a motorcycle trip up in that direction and maybe go on into Canada. Bob Brien with whom I was working at the time gave me a lot of encouragement to do just that.

Right at that time, Santa Fe initiated "Operation Lifesaver" a program to educate the public about the dangers of trying to beat a train at a crossing. I notice the program was taken up by other railroads and right now if you Googled Santa Fe Operation Lifesaver you would find references to the program as it exists now on several railroads. Santa Fe had some bumper stickers with an Indian Chief's head, and the words Operation Lifesaver. It may have had a railroad crossbuck on it; I don't remember. But the Chief's head was in color and I thought it was pretty neat. I wasn't very good with paper dollies, so one of the stenos cut the chief out of a couple bumper stickers and I put one on each side of the fairing of the bike. Bob Brien wanted to put Operation Lifesaver on the back of the boot as an indication the trip was a lifesaver for me, but I didn't go for that.

I packed up my camping gear: A back pack, a little tent just big enough for one man, a very tiny stove, a mess kit with silverware inside, a sleeping bag, some food and some changes of clothes. First stop Sedalia, Colorado just south of Denver. My son David lived there and I spent two or three days with him and his wife and the grandchildren. We hiked up to Devil's Head Fire tower and years later made the same hike with my son Paul.

Next stop Jackson Hole Wyoming. The weather there was not as good as it had been on the earlier part of the ride. I set my tent in a campground and set out for a restaurant just outside of town. I had reason to believe some fellow Santa Fe men were there. They were but they were just finishing their meal. It was still daylight when I went there, but when I left the restaurant, it was dark and the highway had just been blacktopped and had no paint markings at all on it. It was raining harder and I couldn't tell where I was on that road. Somehow I managed to stay on it but that mile or two were the scariest two miles on the trip.

I reached the campground and climbed into my tent, made myself ready to sleep and slept soundly that night in spite of hearing Waylon Jennings who was performing there that night. The next day the weather was better and I rode toward Yellowstone National park.

A few miles inside the entrance I stopped for something to eat at a restaurant. In the restaurant a middle aged couple asked me questions of where I had come from, where I was going and so forth. I answered all of their questions as they seemed very interested in manner I was traveling. They ended up telling me their family, including children and grand children, were staying there and that later in the evening they were going to have a get together with the rest of the family in their cabin and have a couple party trays of foods. They gave me their cabin number and told me if I chose to stay in that place they wanted me to come over to their cabin about 7 o'clock and join them. I had a hunch the accommodations were out of my price range, but I thanked them, told them I appreciated the invitation but I was going to move on. Again, they said if I changed my mind I would be

151 Chapter 60: Operation Lifesaver welcome. They really seemed eager to have me join them. They were very nice people.

I left and went on down the road, but only eight or ten miles farther on, I came across some low cost cabins. It was 4 o'clock in the afternoon and I had done a lot of riding in the last two days, so I decided I would stop and take advantage of a bed and shower and at a reasonable cost.

After a shower I was revived somewhat but I laid down on the bed and rested a few minutes. Then I went outside and walked around. I only saw one car and and no one around. It was very quiet. As the hour approached seven I was thinking of the invitation. I didn't relish riding back there, but it really wasn't very far and the lure of socializing was great enough and the people seemed genuine with their invitation so I thought, "What the heck" . I saddled up and rode back to their cabin. They were happy to see me and the woman said I just knew you would be back. I spent the evening with the whole family; swapping stories and just having a good time. I probably left there around 9 PM, riding back to my cabin and going to bed. I had a really good night's sleep that night.

The next day I drove the rest of the way through the park, doing some sight seeing along the way. There were warning signs, "Bears! Stay in your vehicle." I thought that was amusing since I was on a motorcycle. At one point I came to a dozen or so cars stopped and people looking up a hill. A man was part way up the hill trying to get closer to a bear to get a picture. So much for paying attention to signs. I stopped for a minute but no longer.

I saw the waterfall at the "Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone", the place where the mud is bubbling up, and I think Old Faithful near that place although I can't remember it specifically. I made my way to another entrance and took to the highways headed for Bozeman.

In Bozeman I looked up Jess Lair and told him how much his book had meant to me. He was gracious enough to pose with me for a photograph standing by my bike. I will have to add a picture or pictures later.

From there I rode along the upper part of the Missouri to Great Falls. Great Falls gets its name from a series of five falls on the Missouri. There also was a huge spring with water coming up from the ground at a tremendous rate. The falls caused Lewis and Clark to make a ten mile portage which took them a month to accomplish.

I found my cousin's house in Great Falls which is not a big city. The 2010 census put it at a little over 58,500. It was the largest city in Montana until 1970 when Billings surpassed it. I spent 2 or 3 days visiting with Dave and Marian before I took off for Canada with the plan to come back there on the way back to Kansas.

On the way from my cousin's house towards the border I met a young Canadian man on a Harley who had been traveling down in the states. We traveled together on up past the border. We stopped along the road one time and he shared some cheese and crackers with me. He said he didn't want any hassle at the border, so he wanted to have the cheese eaten. I didn't question whether he was talking about on the U.S. side or with Canadian officers. We passed through the borders without incident and somewhere above the line we separated.

Lake Louise was my destination in Canada. I had decided on that before I left on vacation and I wanted to send a card back from there so I headed toward Banff. Part way there, traveling the Trans Canada highway which I think was called Highway No. 1 at that time, I passed a fellow pushing a motorcycle in the opposite direction. It was a place in between mountains where it was dark enough people had headlights on. There was a slight drizzle also. I wondered if I could help that person. But there was no way I could turn around for another five miles or so. I finally got turned around and headed back toward the unfortunate fellow pushing the bike. It didn't take long to catch up to him of course and he was really struggling pushing up a grade. He had a flat tire. I had a can of "Fix a Flat" or similar product in my fairing, and we emptoed its contents into his tire. He was able to get on the bike and ride off, grateful for the help. Then I had to go in that direction until I could get turned around again.

I made my way to Banff campground and set up my tent. The place I chose was a level spot on one side of a little knoll. I was getting my little stove out to heat some soup when two little boys appeared over the knoll. They were looking over the bike and asking questions which I answered. They disappeared over the top of the knoll and in a few minutes a woman walked over. She was Canadian and spoke with an accent. She said the boys had told her there was a man over here with a motorcycle, "And they told me, he's a very nice guy!" I chuckled and assured her they weren't bothering me or anything. Then she said, "We're having kabobs just over on the other side, why

152 A Collection of Recollections don't you come and join us!" Of course I asked if she was sure and she said, "Oh yes, we would love to have you." Of course I'm thinking how great it would be to be with another family and I accept.

Her husband was equally as enthusiastic about having company and they shared their kabobs with me. It was great. About the time I thought I should be getting back to my campsite and give the family their privacy, the father announced they were going to the hot springs and invited me to go with them. I had a swimsuit in my pack, so I got it and went with them and had a great time. They were really a happy family. I had a couple silver dollars with me and I gave each of the boys a silver dollar which pleased both them and their parents.

The next day it turned cold and a drizzle started. In Banff it seemed like everyone was in a large restaurant drinking coffee and hot chocolate to ward off the chill. Over the mountains to the west was Radium, British Columbia and I figured the weather might be better, so I decided to go there. On the way, the drizzle stopped and the sun came out. There were some mountain goats along the highway and I stopped to take a picture of the them.

In Radium I set up my camp at a campground and proceeded to build a little fire to make some popcorn. I had bought one of those one time popcorn popper arrangements and was thinking some popcorn would taste good. While sitting by the fire a man walked by and asked if I had ridden that motorbike all the way from Kansas. I told him I had, then he asked where I was from, so I said, "Topeka" His response was, "Topeka! Where the hell is that?" The only thing I could think of to say is, "Do you have some idea of where the center of the United States is?" He said, "Yes." So I told him it was near there. He turned and hollered to a friend, "Hey Jack, Coom see the lad, all the way from the center of the United Stites on a motorbike, Hey?" I chuckle remembering that.

Whether or not I tried out the hot springs in Radium is something I don't recall. If I did, it was nothing like the time I had at Banff with that family, so it didn't leave an impression.

Leaving Canada was through an entry point different from where I entered. The Canadian officers virtually waved me through. The fellow at the US post asked several questions, looked at my driver's license and then told me to have a good day. The highway skirted Glacier National Park but I didn't take in any of the attractions there. By this time I was interested in getting back to my cousin's place in Great Falls. The ride from Radium to Great Falls was somewhere between three and four hundred miles.

Sitting at a red light in Great falls I heard the squawl of brakes. I had no idea they had anything to do with me. The next thing I knew I was flying through the air but landed on my feet. Believe it or not, its a fact. I did land on my feet probably 5 or 6 feet from the motorcycle. I had been hit from behind by a car.

The motorcycle was lying on its side and the driver of the car was just looking at me. I told him I couldn't lift the motorcycle up by myself so he got out and helped me upright it. As we did that I took notice of and remembered the license plate on the front of the car. We would be blocking traffic where we were so I told the driver I would pull over into a filling station on the opposite side of the intersection. The fender was bent into the tire and he pulled it out so it cleared. I don't remember him saying a word. I made my way to the filling station I had pointed to and he just drove on.

The police were called by the filling station operator. To my surprise the officer who came was someone who had lived in Topeka. He wanted to know if I was going to be in town and I gave him my cousin's phone number, telling him I would be there a couple days. He took the information and I went on to my cousin's house.

I only planned to stay with Dave and Marian a couple days, but the second day I was there the Great Bend Police Department called and asked if I would come to the station to identify the man who had committed the hit and run. I said I would.

When I got to the police station I was asked to wait a few minutes so some other officers could go with me when I identified the man. Three officers went with me to a back room and I told them, "Yes that is the person". The man yelled something like, "I'm going to sue you!" Of course I didn't pay any attention to that. They then asked me if I could stay in Great Falls until Thursday which was two days away and appear in court and testify. His name was Licht and they said they had problems with him in the past and had been trying to put him in jail for some time but

153 Chapter 60: Operation Lifesaver could never make any charges stick. I agreed to stay and testify in court.

On the day of the trial, my cousin went with me but she was afraid to be identified with me in case the man might cause her trouble in the future. So we sat separately. Several cases were heard before Mr. Licht's name was called. It was called twice, but he wasn't there. The judge then said, "Is Mr. Wayne Slauson in the courtroom?" I stood up and went down toward the judge saying, "Yes, your honor, I am Wayne Slauson." He said I understand you are here at the request of the Great Falls Police Department, is that true?" I said, "Yes, your honor, that is true." He then said, and I can remember it well, "Mr Licht chose not to appear before this court, so your presence here serves no useful purpose, you might as well go back to Kansas." I responded very simply, "I'm going!"

I was packed up and ready to roll and I did so that very day. Although I have read that Montana and all the states had a speed limit of 55MPH from 1974 to 1987, as mandated by the Federal Government, I was told that the Montana Troopers were still going with the reasonable and prudent concept. Hoping the people knew what they were talking about, I made pretty good time leaving Great Falls.

Somewhere in Montana, about four o'clock in the afternoon, I went over a small bridge and noticed that just before the bridge there was an area down off the road and some people were camping there. I made a U turn and went back to that spot, and set up camp near a small travel trailer. I had picked up a couple items in a grocery store in Great Falls and proceeded to fix myself some supper. My meals were fairly simple, mostly soup, but at least one morning I had a couple strips of bacon and two eggs fixed in the bacon grease. I remember it tasted great!

The man in the travel trailer next to me was sitting outside in a lawn chair and we started talking. We talked about everything under the sun until there was no sun left and I decided it was time to turn in. He asked me if I wanted a dish of ice cream before calling it a day. I was startled. "How could you have a dish of ice cream out here?" He said, "Come on in and I'll show you." Well that was my introduction to a gas refrigerator in an RV. I thought it was the most miraculous thing on the planet. Oh, and the dish of ice cream was good too.

I doubt there are many places where you can camp alongside the road these days. I read a book once, about a fellow who traveled by motorcycle and he would find spots along the road hidden in the trees and camp there. It was a great book for that sort of thing. I gave it to the fellow who bought our Gold Wing. but I can't think of the title. If I had it I think I would read it again.

The rest of the trip was uneventful, but when I got back to Topeka I felt like I had a new lease on life. That trip was the most fun I had in years.

I'm trying to recall how I met Rex Landon. Rex had a pipe and tobacco shop on Kansas Avenue around the block from the Santa Fe office building. It was a few steps down from the sidewalk to the shop but it didn't seem like a basement. It was a very nice shop, tastefully done. Rex had the first Gold Wing sold in Topeka and somehow we became acquainted. Probably because someone told me about him and I looked him up. His wife Marjean worked somewhere in the Santa Fe building but I never saw her in the building. Anyway, the three of us became friends and for awhile their house was a place I could go and be comfortable. We often went out to eat supper together and sometimes we ate at their place.

Rex and Marjean had friends with whom they took rides on Sundays and I started riding with the group. We would meet at Landon's and ride to some small town, have lunch and ride back. It was a source of camaraderie and through that I met an older man; Don Honey. Don was almost 20 years older than me and I started calling him Dad.

We became good friends. He lived in Holton and I made several trips up there to see him. If he had ham hock and beans on the stove he would claim I smelled it in Topeka. I rode up there one winter day after work and rode back after dark. When I went into the house, Marguerite, my landlady, said she had wondered about me because the temperature had just been announced on the TV as being 8 degrees. I was dressed for it though. I remember riding back to Topeka that night there was a meteor shower. I never saw so many "falling stars" at one time as I did that dark clear night. The first of the year it snowed and the motorcycle remained parked for over a month. By that time I had rented a garage a half block away for ten dollars a month and was able to have the bike sheltered during the rest of the winter.

154 A Collection of Recollections

______

155 Chapter 61: Just Horsing Around ° Chapter 61: Just Horsing Around by Wayne Slauson. Posted Saturday, September 3, 2011

I thought I had posted this but I just saw it in Drafts so I will post it now. It was written a week ago. Sometimes when I wake up early I start thinking about things that either happened in the past or that I would like to do in the future. Early this morning I was thinking of some horses that were in my past.

It was probably in 1966. My oldest daughter Connie loves horses and David's girlfriend's parents, the McCoy's had some acreage not far from where we lived. Connie was wanting a horse and the McCoy's said we could use pasture there. I don't remember how Connie knew about a horse that some people wanted to sell, and she wanted to buy it. It was a registered quarter horse named Misty Kaw; Misty for short.

The breed of Quarter horse gets its name from its ability to run fast for a quarter of a mile. There have been quarter mile races in the past, but I don't know whether they have them now. Of course the speed is valuable in connection with roping and cutting also. Watching a cutting horse at work is an amazing sight. The name Kaw comes from the Kansas River which was named Kaw by the Indians of the same name. The Kaw tribe used Kansa and Kaw interchangeably and were part of the Kaw Indian nation. Obviously, that is how Kansas got its name. The name Topeka is translated from an Indian word for "a good place to grow potatoes".

Misty was not full broken, and I was inexperienced so far as horses in that category are concerned. I'm a little fuzzy on just how she got to McCoy's property. I do remember being at the owner's house and them trying to load Misty in a trailer. She would have none of it, and I found out later they were going about it wrong, plus pulling on her neck the way they did could have injured her. I believe we came back from there empty handed. I don't remember from whom we had borrowed the trailer, but I do remember thinking on the way home that the people didn't know as much about horses as I had assumed. I had taken for granted they were knowledgeable since they had Misty in the first place.

One way or another Misty finally ended up in McCoy's pasture. But since she really wasn't fully trained, I believe the terminology is "green broke" , Connie bought another horse, a very gentle older horse named Babe. It wasn't very long before I got interested in horses and bought a one year old filly. I read books about training horses and started working with her. I named her Taffy.

Since I was going over and working with Taffy, I started working with Misty also. She was a powerful horse, very jumpy about sudden movements around her. By waving a rag or jacket back and forth around her head, she eventually calmed down with the movement. I remember the day I laid a saddle out on the ground at the front of the barn. I led her around from the back and when she rounded the corner she put the brakes on. Her front legs went stiff out in front of her and she snorted like she was facing a mountain lion. I enjoyed working with her and exercising her in a circle on a long rope. She eventually got so she could be ridden but I don't think anyone trusted her completely.

Taffy was very tame. However Paul, made a move behind her one day and she flicked her leg hitting him in the chest. It hurt him but thankfully not seriously. She apparently caught sight of movement and reacted. It was a surprise and I was relieved Paul was OK. He wasn't very old at the time.

Probably about a year or so went by when Connie decided to sell Misty and made a deal with a man. I had studied how to get a horse where you want it to go when it is reluctant, and how to load a horse in a trailer. It isn't by pulling on its neck. The man came with a horse trailer and I loaded her for him while he hid behind a tree. I thought if he is that leery of being close to the horse when she is loaded what in the world is he going to do with her when he

156 A Collection of Recollections gets her home!

I sold Taffy about the same time. She was about two years old then. A man and a boy came and looked at her and said they would buy her. I went to get something out of the barn and when I came back the boy was sitting on her. The man said, "She sure didn't want to have a bit in her mouth". He said it in kind of a complaining or critical manner. I told him that was because she had been trained with a hackamore and not a bit. She had never had a bit in her mouth before. It probably was the hackamore I had gone to get.

That night the check was on the top of my chest of drawers and I laid in bed with a big lump in my throat. A horse is a unique animal. It is an animal with which a human can build a relationship, but different than a dog in a lot of ways. For one thing, you can stand and look a horse in the eyes and it looks you in the eyes. A dog is at a much lower level. A master can abuse a dog and it will remain faithful. It doesn't fight back. I don't think a horse is like that. You have to win its trust whereas a dog will trust you with just receiving a little attention. The size of a horse is very intimidating until a person becomes familiar with being around an animal that large.

Horses are very social animals though. In general they want to be around humans and other horses. There is a horse barn and corral down in the valley across the road here in Colorado and whenever someone comes and saddles up a couple horses and rides up our road, the one left behind can be heard whinnying several times during the time its companions are gone. Horses are not so much pets as they are partners.

Well, I hadn't planned to write about horses, but when I recalled the experience this morning I decided it was worth writing about. After all, this is a collection of recollections. ______

157 Chapter 62: I Meet a "Biker Babe" ° Chapter 62: I Meet a "Biker Babe" by Wayne Slauson. Posted Sunday, September 4, 2011

Meanwhile, back in Topeka, when I got back from my trip, I found the Santa Fe Railroad had kept running while I was gone; the same way it has run for 25 years since I retired. Of course, I'm glad for that since I get a small paycheck from them every month.

In those days there was a fellow working out of the General Manager's office named Bill Barnow. He had been working in Emporia when I was there and in fact had gone to the Friend's church. He may have even been the person who introduced me to the Friend's church in Emporia. Bill told me there was a Singles Sunday School Class at the First Baptist church and that they also met during the week on Tuesdays and Thursday evenings. He suggested it might be helpful for me to attend. Having something to occupy myself a couple evenings of the week interested me, so I went to the First Baptist the following Sunday and sought out the class. Subsequently, I attended several Tuesday and Thursday sessions which were led by the Pastor's wife Sybil Eppinger.

The midweek sessions were largely in the form of a support group. Sybil was a psychologist and did a good job. I dated some of the women in the group, but nothing serious developed out of those relationships. The meetings provided a social opportunity for many people who otherwise might have been alone.

It may surprise some people, but I also took dancing lessons and found out I enjoyed dancing. The Knights of Columbus had Friday night singles dances and I went to several of them. For awhile I dated a dance instructor.

I needed a vehicle besides just the bike and one of the fellows at work had an older Chevrolet for sale and I bought it. It was in good shape and I paid a pretty good price for it, but a couple years later I got within $200 of what I paid for it.

It probably was not quite a year of renting the sleeping room when I began to think of having my own place. A real estate agent started looking for a place that met my criteria. She found a small house in the Highland Park section of Topeka that was in a fairly nice neighborhood that I thought I could afford, so I put a down payment on it, bought a used bed and moved out of the sleeping room. I had the bare minimum of furniture. My mom who at that time lived in a senior citizen high rise, had some furniture that had belonged to her deceased sister-in-law. She wanted to get rid of those items and also a little couch she had for years.

I took a week's vacation and with a borrowed small trailer, made a trip back to NY to see my mom and get those things. Even then, the place was pretty sparse, but I was living alone so I didn't really care all that much. Some appliances, including a washer and dryer completed my furnishings. The washer and dryer required some plumbing and wiring which meant I had to do some work under the house in a crawl space. I didn't relish that but got it done. There was a wall between the kitchen and the laundry room which made both spaces feel cramped so I changed it from a full wall to a half wall, opening up the area. I barely got that done when something significant happened.

At a singles class potluck hosted at one of the member's apartment complex clubhouse, I spoke to a lady who had been a neighbor at one time. I was wearing a belt with a Honda belt buckle and in fact had ridden the bike to the pot luck. At the same table was another lady who noticed the buckle and asked if I rode a Honda. I told her I did and she said she had ridden a Honda to the top of Pike's peak. She said it was a Honda 90. So I asked her if it might have been a 900 and not a 90, but she stuck with the 90 and said she and her husband had ridden it to the top of Pike's peak with their poodle in a basket on the back.

A few minutes later, we were standing aside from the others and she said her husband had worked for the Santa

158 A Collection of Recollections

Fe and had passed away. So I naturally asked his name. She said his name was Roger Templin, and my name is Bonnie. Tears came to me immediately and I put my arms around her, because I had known Roger and knew the story of his passing and also knew her house had been burglarized while she was at the funeral. I had visited with Roger at times in the hallway since his office was nearly across the hall from ours and the restroom was between us. I felt bad about his having been transferred to Chicago, his passing, and was especially touched by the fact her house had been burglarized while she was attending the funeral. There were several us in the office building who thought it was the ultimate insult.

A few days later Bonnie and I went to a concert at the Civic Auditorium. After that I didn't date anyone else and it wasn't long before we were spending a lot of time together. We had similar thoughts and opinions on most everything and therefore were compatible. It wasn't long after we met I had a birthday and I wanted to have the motorcycle "gang" at my place for a cookout. Bonnie helped me with the cookout and it turned out to be a great day. We went on rides with the others on Sundays, which now I realize that for her, going with me and missing church, was not something she would do unless it was something she really wanted to do.

Once in awhile when we go to Topeka, we take highway 40 and when we go by it, I always remember a spot where we stopped the first time Bonnie took a ride with me. We were riding over to Lawrence and I stopped at a little roadside park and asked her if she needed to rest. I don't think I will ever forget that spot. Eventually, we went to church together and I think sometimes we still managed to take a ride during the afternoon.

There are a couple incidents that happened while we were going together I remember well. One of them occurred when we were going out to eat at the Village Inn on Topeka Blvd. I parked the car, Bonnie got out and was walking up toward the door of the restaurant. What she didn't know is that when I got out I had shut the door on one of my fingers and split it open. I called to her and said, "Bonnie, I shut my finger in the car door." It was bleeding profusely and it was obvious we were not going to be able to continue to eat out. We got back in the car and as we were going north, she asked me if I wanted to go to my place or hers. I said, "Yours." I have a clear picture of me kneeling on the floor of her bathroom and holding my hand in the lavatory with water running over it. Oh brother, that hurt!

The other time we were going to go out to eat and for some reason the restaurants we went to were closed. We gave up on the idea of eating out and went to her place where she fixed a tuna salad sandwich. We sat on the double Lazy Boy recliner she had, ate our sandwiches and watched the TV.

After about 5 months of spending all our time together as work permitted, we approached the subject of marriage. Don Honey was a jeweler so I bought an engagement ring from him. Her dad gave us his blessings. She probably consulted with her two sons Rod and Jeff and daughter Karen but the only thing that came of that was a phone conversation with her daughter in which she essentially asked my intentions concerning her mother, like a father might ask of a suitor of his daughter. We actually made a trip to see Karen. That was the longest ride we ever took because we rode from Topeka to Duluth Minnesota. It was drizzling when we got there late at night and I'm sure Karen remembers seeing us walk up to the house in our rain suits.

Whatever date we thought about getting married, as Christmas drew closer and Bonnie's son was coming to visit, we wanted in the worst way to be together at Christmas. We talked to Paul Eppinger at First Baptist and on December 23rd of 1978 we were married by him in the church with close friends and family in attendance. Once again I'm sorry I don't have pictures and a scanner with me but I can add pictures later. My son-in-law Wendell took pictures of the the wedding. Don Honey stood up with us, Bonnie's grandson Grant and my granddaughter Valerie, who were both very young, took part.

Some of our good friends kid Bonnie about being a "Biker Babe" and that's how I came by the title! ______

159 Chapter 63: Our Applecart Gets Turned Upside Down ° Chapter 63: Our Applecart Gets Turned Upside Down by Wayne Slauson. Posted Tuesday, September 6, 2011

You usually hear stories about things going wrong at a wedding, but I don't remember anything going wrong with ours. But we had trouble the following day.

We had purchased some tickets for a Singles Sunday School Class dinner and it turned out to be the day we got married. We thought we might as well go anyway since we had the tickets and no one was going to object. It was held in a restaurant and the food was very good. We told those who sat close by us that we had got married that day and they were very surprised and happy for us. I don't know whether I ate too much or what, but the next day - the 24th, I was sick. Rod arrived and that night there was to be a program at the church. There wasn't any way I could go, so Bonnie and Rod and grandson Grant went and I stayed home in bed.

The next day, Christmas Day I was feeling better and we had Christmas together. There never had been a Microwave oven in either of our lives and they were the newest thing out, so that's what I bought for Christmas. It was a long lasting Christmas gift for us because it is still working fine in our house today.

Karen didn't make it to the wedding because she had to work, but it wasn't long before she met a fellow who was a pilot and delivered planes for people and businesses to new owners. He made a trip down to Topeka and brought Karen with him. Of course we were glad to see her and to meet the new man in her life. He seemed nice enough but a year later was trouble.

Shortly after their visit we rode the bike up to Minden Nebraska to visit the Harold Warp Pioneer Village museum. The museum consisted of several buildings that had been moved in and were arranged to replicate a village complete with a chapel and schoolhouse. The main building had a lot of interesting things including some of the first cars. One thing that struck me is how similar a Ford was to a Cadillac. It was a virtual carbon copy. It looked like it purposely had been built to look like the Cadillac.

I put the house in Highland Park up for sale and didn't have any trouble selling it except that I had to pay for a termite treatment. There was an old dog house that I had not removed and when the inspector lifted it up he found termites. The requirement of the agreement to sell was that if termites were found anywhere on the property, it was required to have a termite treatment. I'm not forgetting that requirement.

Things went along pretty smoothly for a few months. When we were first married I had a couple mini panic attacks if it took me longer to get home than usual because I had stopped somewhere to look at some tools or something similar. But after finding every thing normal when I got home my fears were soon dispelled and I relaxed.

Bonnie was working at the Topeka State Hospital as secretary to the Director of the Chaplaincy program and to the Director of Research. Chaplains would apply and serve an internship in the hospital. She handled all the details of the induction of chaplains into the program. The director was a man named Pres Bogia and had been the minister of a church I attended with my family while living in Kansas City before being transferred to Topeka. I have always thought that was a remarkable coincidence.

About five months into our marriage, the General Superintendent of Communications in Chicago decided to rearrange things in the Communication Department. He transferred a half a dozen men from well established positions on the Grand Divisions to new positions. My job on the Eastern Lines was essentially being the Eastern Lines Superintendent's right hand man so far as radio was concerned. The General Superintendent deemed it unnecessary and I was reassigned to Newton Kansas as an area supervisor This was a blow to our way of living as it was to other men whose lives were stable and whose wives were teachers or had some other form of

160 A Collection of Recollections employment.

My boss, Mr. D R Weems was very upset over the changes being made. He left town one day without telling anyone where he was going. It was thought he traveled around the Eastern Lines the next few days thanking everyone for their service. When he got back from his trip he called us into his office and said, "I don't like what is going on and I don't have to take it. I am retiring immediately." He didn't waste any time at all in acting upon his words. This uproar for everyone occurred in May and was known in the Communications Department as the Mayday Massacre.

I was able to take my company vehicle to Newton and was able to come home on weekends for several weekends. Mainly what I did there was essentially what I had been doing in Topeka, but trying to do it from Newton. My territory was supposed to be the Middle Division that ended at La Junta, but Las Vegas New Mexico was far beyond La Junta and I was sent there to work several days on some installations, just as I would have been if I had been working in Topeka. I did a lot of work in Oklahoma City also, but I would have been doing that if I had been at Topeka. Paperwork was being sent to me including budget matters concerning radio because there was no one left in the Topeka office to handle it.

Another thing the Chicago office did was issue orders requiring everyone working under the union schedule to fill out a daily work sheet. What a waste of time that was. Can you imagine hundreds of pieces of paper flooding the Chicago office? Who would look at them? It was worthless paper work. Everyone was unhappy about it and people like me were pressured to have the reports made, collect them, and send them to Chicago.

Santa Fe bought our house for a price equal to the middle of three professional appraisals. Bonnie quit her job and we moved to Newton. We had a real estate agent show us several houses, then wrote our first three choices separately, and compared them. They were the same and we bought our first choice.

Santa Fe paid for boxing up our belongings and moving us. On the day everything was unloaded, the men set up our bed for us. The next day we stood in the Newton house surrounded by boxes feeling overwhelmed with the sudden change in our lives. Bonnie's son Rod lived in Telluride, Colorado. Her former sister-in-law Ruth lived in Colorado Springs. The west was beckoning. We decided the boxes would all wait. We got on the bike and rode off into the sunset! ______

161 Chapter 64: Nothing is Certain But Change ° Chapter 64: Nothing is Certain But Change by Wayne Slauson. Posted Friday, September 9, 2011

We had to work on being satisfied with living in Newton. It wasn't easy; the best thing we had working for us was each other. The Santa Fe people I worked with in Newton accepted having me there so I never felt any hostility of that kind. We were thankful I still had a job, we had a nice home and we didn't have any problem making friends. Bonnie missed her job and worked a short time there but didn't like the work at all so I told her there was no point in doing it. We made trips to Topeka to see Bonnie's Dad and he made at least one trip down to Newton to see us. We went to Holton to see Don Honey also. One of the trips to Holton was made by me alone on the bike. I had a secret mission in mind.

Bonnie had seen some red glasses in an antique shop in Holton and liked them. On that particular trip I checked to see if they were still in the store, bought them, and carried them back to Newton on the bike. I don't remember whether I gave them to her for Christmas or for our first anniversary.

I should mention Fudgie. Bonnie had a small poodle when we got married and it didn't take long for the two of us to get acquainted but there was no doubt she remained Bonnie's dog. She was really a good dog. She was a smart dog and Roger had taught her some tricks. One of the tricks he had taught her was to pray. There was a period of time when I would come home and sit in the living room and eat an apple. As soon as she heard me take a bite of the apple, she would come and put her paws up on my leg, and stick her nose down between her paws as though she were praying. She would roll her eyes upward and look at me begging for a piece of apple. She would eat fruit and vegetables.

She was nearly blind though. If you went straight when you came in the back door of that house, you would go down the stairs to the basement. When we first moved there she went straight when we let her in that door and she tumbled down the stairs. Luckily, she wasn't hurt.

When we traveled, Bonnie's dad was ready and willing to take care of Fudgie. Although when Bonnie was young her dad held to the opinion that dogs should not be in the house, he was always ready to have Fudgie with him. He had two mattresses on his bed, so it was not possible for her to get up on the bed. When Fudgie was with us she slept on a piece of carpet next to the bed on Bonnie's side. When she stayed at her dad's he would lift her up so she could sleep at the foot of the bed.

There was an uncanny thing about Fudgie. When we would go to Topeka to see Bonnie's dad, Fudgie would get all excited when we got within three or four blocks of his house. Up to that point she would lie quietly in the back seat. The real surprising thing is that no matter how we approached his house, she would get excited like that when we were getting close and start scratching at the back window. I tested her out by approaching from every direction I could think of, but it was always the same reaction. We never gave her any hint, but somehow she could sense where we were going.

We were not at Newton a year when the man who had moved everyone around retired. The next day I received a call from the man who took his place asking if I would like to come back to Topeka, not with the Eastern Lines but with the System. It was a complete but pleasant surprise for me and I told him it would be fine with me. I knew I didn't have to consult with Bonnie; there was no question she would be glad to go back there. Santa Fe would buy our house, give us our equity immediately so we could buy a house in Topeka and pay for the move. We couldn't ask for any easier moves than we had with Santa Fe.

Bonnie was delighted. Her mom was in a nursing home in Topeka and of course her dad was there. How could we not be excited about the prospect of being back in Topeka? It was as close to home as any place I had been since

162 A Collection of Recollections arriving in a B-29 40 years earlier.

When the details were finalized and we had our equity in hand, we contacted a real estate agent we knew and asked her to find some houses that would fit the requirements we gave her. We went to Topeka on a weekend and the agent showed us close to 25 houses. Some we just said no when we drove up to the front. One of them was within 6 blocks of the house we ended up buying. We did the same thing as we did in newton, wrote down our first three choices without the other knowing what we wrote and then compared them. As it was in newton our first three choices were alike and we bought the first choice.

Santa Fe allowed us ten days in a motel to look for a house but what we did is take the ten days motel stay to paint and do minor repairs getting the house all ready before the actual move was made. It worked out great for us. Again, a crew packed us up, made the move and set up the furniture where we wanted it.

We were glad to be back in Topeka, in a nice neighborhood and we liked the house better than the one in Newton although that was a nice house. A doctor bought the Newton house and we heard he put a pool in the back yard.

If we had not been in Topeka during the next couple years, it would have been somewhat of a hardship. It wasn't long before Bonnie's mom passed away. During time we were there in that house, her dad had to go to a nursing home and ultimately passed away. We had to empty her dad's house and dispose of the contents. My friend Don Honey was hospitalized and I checked on him a couple times a day. Unfortunately, he passed away at age 69. Bonnie's daughter Karen had some problems and needed help. Her son Jeff had his problems also.

Some of our time there was great, but some was tough and would have been much more difficult had we not been there. We were fortunate that Santa Fe had brought us back. ______

163 Chapter 65: The Death of a Friend ° Chapter 65: The Death of a Friend by Wayne Slauson. Posted Saturday, September 10, 2011

You have heard me mention a friend named Don Honey a few times. I met him through a mutual friend. It happened that both Don and Rex Landon who I had met first were friends and also, both were Mason's. It was through them I became a Mason. I did not know at that time that a Mason was not to solicit someone to become a member, but were to only discuss becoming one if someone showed an interest. That explained Don's enthusiasm when I asked him one day how a person becomes a Mason. That requirement has been relaxed these days. I remember Don saying, "I'm so glad you asked!"

Don explained to me that three Mason's have to vouch for you, and you are interviewed by at least two members to verify you are of good character. The entire lodge votes secretly on whether or not you are to be accepted. One vote against you is sufficient to annul all other measures. After learning a lot of memory work, I joined my friends in the fraternity in 1977.

Don had an older house in Holton and in his back yard he had a small metal building on a slab which he outfitted as a shop. I spent a lot of time with him in that shop either tinkering with our bikes or just talking. We both had Honda Gold Wings.

Don and his wife Beverly divorced years before I met him, but it was obvious he still cared for her. He told me Beverly was a singer with hopes of greater things than living in a small town like Holton. He had good friends in Nebraska City, Nebraska and their children considered him an uncle. I think they were relatives of Beverly. He also had a sister in Illinois. Of course, he had friends in Holton one of whom was also named Wayne and operated a pharmacy next door to Don's Jewelry store. Don had coffee every morning with that Wayne at the drug store.

Don and I belonged to a motorcycle club with the name Retreads. Its emblem was XL+. Everyone was over 40. We rode together to a Retread rally at "Ginger Blue" a place near Noel, Missouri. I remember something of that ride. We had CB radios on the bikes. I had a shirt on with a prominent Owl sewn on the left pocket. We had on shorty helmets, of the same type police wear. Suddenly, the CB came alive with someone saying, "Watch yourself, there are two Highway Patrolman on motorcycles on the highway." Another person came on the air and said, "There aren't any motorcycle patrol officers in this state." The first person responded saying, "That's what you think, I saw the badge on one of them!" He must have seen the owl on my shirt and thought it was a badge. We laughed about that every time we talked about going to that particular rally.

Another time, Bonnie, Don and I plus a fellow who was the postman from Holton went to a rally in Russelville, Arkansas. I can't remember that fellow's name for sure, but I remember he was hurting over the fact his wife had left him. His name may have been Jim. He was really a nice guy and we tried to comfort him.

There was a little older man at the rally who had a smaller motorcycle with a training wheel on the left side. The bike was covered with oil and grease and didn't look like it would make it for many more miles. He had a cane in a scabbard and he was selling a little handmade book titled "My Story". Apparently, he had a stroke sometime in the past and even though he was handicapped he was riding that old bike. When he came up to a stop sign or traffic light he would lean it over to the left on the extra wheel. He sold the little books for a $1 to help pay his expenses and I bought one which I still have. You meet some fascinating people in life.

Since I have mentioned that fellow I should tell you the "Rest of the story" as Paul Harvey used to say. The finale of the rally was a dinner which was held in the city auditorium. When we registered for the rally we paid a modest fee and each of us had a ticket number which we were told to keep because there would be a drawing at the final dinner. Several prizes were given to the holders of numbers that had been drawn. Then they called that little fellow

164 A Collection of Recollections up to the stage and wheeled out a newer bike equipped with a training wheel all fixed up for him. They evidently had enough money left to do that. I thought it was really neat they did that.

Bonnie and I rode back home by ourselves from that rally, perhaps the necessity of our jobs having something to do with it, I don't remember. What I do remember is riding along 7 Highway in Arkansas which was on a slight ridge. We left early in the morning and as we rode along, mist floated in the valleys on either side of us, the moon was going down in the west and the sun was coming up in the east. The murmur of the four cylinders, the scenery, having a partner to share the time made the ride a beautiful one.

We stopped in Harrison, Arkansas for breakfast and while were in the restaurant a group of Harley riders came in. They had leather jackets, beards and the general trappings of a motorcycle gang. We couldn't help but notice they all bowed and one said a prayer before they ate. We were pleasantly surprised to find they were members of the Christian Motorcycle Club and their leader was the pastor of their church.

Well, more about Don. He was 17 years older than me and it wasn't long after we met before I was calling him dad. He had emphysema which was the cause of my stepfather's death. Don became ill about a year or so after we came back to Topeka and was hospitalized. He was in the hospital for a month when the doctors decided there was nothing else they could do. He was dismissed to go to a skilled nursing facility. The name of it was Hill Haven, but I called it Hell Haven because of the way they treated patients. Don had heard horror stories about VA hospitals and had not wanted to go to the one in Topeka. But nothing could have been worse than where he was. One of the employees actually told him he had been sent there to die. I saw things there that I don't want to repeat. I wanted to get him out of there. After a week's time he whispered to me that if he was going to make it he had to get out of there. I said, "Don, please let me see if I can get you in the VA Hospital." He agreed to it.

At the VA hospital I talked to a young man about getting Don into a nursing home type facility. He said there was a ward called Home Care, but there was a waiting list. I didn't know what else to do so I told him I wanted to put Don's name on the list. About that time the phone rang. While he was talking on the phone, I picked up a little paper lying near me. It was a news letter or paper distributed within the hospital. It had two or three pages as I recall. I glanced at one of the articles and it was someone writing about the mistreatment of the elderly. The article was signed: "The Green Jade Swallow".

That was an unusual name so when the man got off the phone I asked, "Who is the Green Jade Swallow." He told me the doctor's name which I can't recall but for the sake of the telling I will say it was Henson. I put Don's name on the list and then asked the man if I could look at the facility they referred to as "Home care." He told me it was in building 8 on the 2nd floor. The VA hospital in Topeka is a huge facility so he told me where to locate building 8.

When I got to building 8 I took the elevator to the second floor. When I went in the door. an orderly or nurse asked if she could help me and I said I had just put a friend's name on the waiting list for "Home Care". I asked if could I look at the facility. She told me that would be fine so I walked through the facility and saw men playing cards, or dominoes, reading or sleeping. Everything looked clean and neat and in good order. But when I came back to her desk I said, "I didn't see any wall oxygen here." (oxygen outlets on the wall like in hospitals) She said no we don't have wall oxygen, you might try the ward upstairs.

I went up another floor and when I went through the door there were a couple nurses standing nearby. I told them my purpose and they said, "Let me have you talk to our ward supervisor." At that time the man was coming down the hall and she said, "Dr. Henson, this man needs to talk to you." Dr. Henson! This was the very man whose article I had just read. He asked me to come into his office and I told him the whole story about Don. He asked about his service particulars and I told him that Don had been an airplane mechanic on B-17's for four years in England during the war.

He asked me some questions about myself and one was along the lines of how did I happen to have such a close relationship with Don that I would be doing what I was doing. I have always thought he may have suspected something other than a friendship. I told him my step father and I had problems but reconciled before he died of emphysema in a VA hospital. I said, "I took up with Don where I had left off with my step-dad." That seemed to make sense to him and I suspect it would make sense with someone whose business was to understand the psyche of other people. It turned out I was in a psychiatric ward at the hospital and he was a psychiatrist. He

165 Chapter 65: The Death of a Friend picked up the phone and I think he made about five calls.

After the last call, he said, " I have made arrangements for Mr. Honey to be admitted to our regular respiratory ward and an ambulance will pick him up at 9AM tomorrow". Wow, I couldn't believe it. It happened just as the VA doctor said it would. I was there when the VA ambulance picked up Don and when they had him settled in a bed, I went in the room. A nurse stroked his forehead and said, "It's OK Mr. Honey, we're going to take care of you now." Don whispered, "This is more like it." I sat with him that evening.

The VA called me the next morning and said Don had passed away during the night. I was thankful that in his last hours he was in a clean place and someone had said kind words to him. And so, a good friend took his final ride to that place from whence there is no return. ______

166 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 66: Our Last Move with Santa Fe by Wayne Slauson. Posted Sunday, September 11, 2011

We enjoyed the house in Topeka, and after being in it a couple years decided to do some more decorating, changing some of the wall paper, doing some more painting, rubbing down all the woodwork with steel wool and refinishing it. We also installed new drapes.

So far as work was concerned, most of the system engineers were brought into Topeka and we were housed in an old stone storehouse. I knew that had to be temporary, but what I didn't know is the ultimate plan was to move all of us l to Kansas City. Topeka didn't have commercial flights into its airport located at the former Air Base where I had been stationed. The runways were sufficient for the largest planes in the world. In fact, for awhile, American Airline's pilots practiced take offs and landings there with the 400 passenger Lockheed L-1011. But there was insufficient business for scheduled commercial flights. A few times I flew to Kansas City International in a smaller plane to catch a flight out of there. I always tried to get the co-pilot's seat but didn't always succeed.

Had I known a change would be coming in the near future I don't know whether we would have done all the work we did. Scraping off wallpaper is not an easy job. We did enjoy our time there though and they day we got the bill for the drapes I was told we needed to move to Kansas City! Unfortunately we were not prepared for that and it was about as traumatic as any move we made in spite of the fact that as usual, Santa Fe made it as easy as possible. We had managed to get the house paid for while living there and the appraised value Santa Fe used was $85,000 which they gave us immediately to buy another home in Kansas City. We also had the option to sell the house on our own and did so, getting another $1,500 for it in 24 hours. Maybe our work paid off in the end.

But the problem we had was finding a house in Kansas City. We contacted a Real Estate company there and worked with a man named Bob Gaughan. I believe he was in his early sixties, very kind, friendly and patient with us. We didn't really have a dead line of when we had to move, so we drove over to KC on weekends and did our looking. I don't remember staying overnight in motels but we may have. It is only 60 miles so it's possible we drove over and came back the same day. Which course we followed is beyond my remembering. I do remember that every time we came back, when we approached Topeka we had tears. At least I did. Bonnie probably didn't because she is unable to produce tears. I make up for it.

There was a friend of mine, Arlyn Ubben, in Kansas City who had been building houses for several years. I knew him since he was in his early twenties. He had also worked for Santa Fe and was four years younger than me. We went by a house he was building one day and the first thing that impressed me was the size of the garage. We walked through the house and really liked the floor plan. The way the house was sited it wasn't possible to have but very little outside light on the garage level and we were not interested in the house itself but became interested in building one like it. He told us he owned some lots nearby and we looked at them. His younger brother lived on the same street. Another younger brother had become my son-in-law 6 or 7 years earlier. We made a deal with him to buy two lots on that street and to build a house using the same floor plan with just minor changes. He said he would build the house for us for the cost of material and labor plus $5000.

The next thing I had to do was tell Bob Gaughan what we were doing. I'm sure he was disappointed in not making a sale, but he wasn't disgruntled or tried to discourage us. During the time we had been with him I had told him how much we liked our house in Topeka and how nice it was. He told me once he and his wife had been over to Topeka, and while they were there, they drove by the house. He agreed it was a nice place. We had his home address and had a very nice plant or flower arrangement delivered to his wife with a card saying it was for the wife of the nicest real estate sales person in Kansas City. After our house was built he even came by and looked it over and was glad for us. You meet some really nice people in this world.

167 Chapter 66: Our Last Move with Santa Fe

The house was started in March of 1983 and finished in May. I had six good sized trees moved in by a local tree nursery. On Mother's day of 1983 I drove up in front of the house and told Bonnie I had got her a mother's day plant. She started to get out of the car and saw a tree, swung back into the seat and said, "Oh, this isn't our house." I said, "Yes it is, look again," which she did. She was genuinely surprised. At that time I didn't know sweet gum trees grew to be such a nuisance as the two are now, with all the spiny balls they drop. Two of the trees were Bradford pears and they are long gone, destroyed by a double whammy of an early snow and an ice storm. A hard maple is now very large and in good health. I was thinking there were six trees but I can't think what the sixth one might have been.

My place of work was in Kansas City, KS at the Argentine yards but we were separate from that operation. At first we were in the Kansas City Division offices, but later moved to a building which had been a Trailways' truck terminal. Since I retired in '86, the offices have moved back into the office building and when the Burlington Northern and the Santa Fe merged, things changed considerably. It's hard to believe I retired 25 years ago. We live in the same house in Shawnee, KS to which we moved in 1983. I'm thankful to the Santa Fe for giving me the opportunity to work for the railroad. No complaints, no regrets. ______

168 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 67: Attaining the Rank of Retired Railroader by Wayne Slauson. Posted Thursday, September 15, 2011

Sometimes working seems like something way in the past and yet I often dream I am still working. A few years ago I dreamed I was being called back to work. I told them I was 80 years old and things had changed a lot since I left the railroad. I also said I didn't want to go to work, but in my dream I was told I had to go back to work and if I didn't my company retirement and Railroad Retirement would cease. It seems as though the country was in some kind of a crises and a lot of people were evidently being called back to work. That was one of my dreams not as pleasant as most of them.

Usually my dreams about work are centered on trying to make something work that wasn't designed to work in the way the railroad wanted to use it. We did a lot of that.

But, make no mistake about it, I loved the work. When I retired I missed the people but I refrained from going down to the office to visit. When I was working, it was a strain when a retired person came into the office. We had work to do and yet you needed to visit with the retiree and not give them the impression they were interrupting your work.

I was frustrated during the period before we moved to Kansas City when we were temporarily working in the old stone building I mentioned previously. There was no definition of what I should do and I struggled to find something to do. The system office was divided at that point. Most of the personnel were in Topeka but some were still in Chicago and it always seemed to me that if you were not in Chicago, you were considered to be less endowed with intelligence than those who were.

An example of that manner of thinking which can be easily understood occurred in connection with some instructions for using the radio telephones in business cars. The original instructions were so confusing it was difficult to interpret them, even for someone who knew how the system worked. There was a new "Director's Car" being built in the Topeka Shops. The car was for members of the Board of Director's to tour the railroad and of course it was first class. It included the installation of a radiotelephone exactly like those in the business cars.

When I looked over the instructions I thought how embarrassing it would be for the Communications Department who authored the instructions for someone to try and decipher them. So I took it upon myself to write some understandable instructions. When I finished them I called one of the people in Chicago and read them to him. "He said, "Sounds good, send them up and I'll have (he named another man) put some fifty cent words in there and we will re-issue them." What was wrong with them in the first place was too many fifty cent words. Another fellow intervened and they didn't rewrite the instructions with any extra fifty cent words.

Of course, I'm sure that when we were all in Kansas City people referred to us in the same way we did about Chicago when that office was still in existence. That's just the way it works!

Frank Chapman was in charge of our group when I worked in Kansas City. Frank worked with me in the Eastern Lines office in the 70's and I knew he was destined for greater things. He has become a close friend along with another man, Steve Stuart who started working in the same office in 1965. Steve lives across the street from us in Shawnee. Steve retired a year after I did, which was in November of 1986. Frank has retired also.

After I retired we just took life easy for a few months, but soon began thinking of what we might do to entertain ourselves. Bonnie and her first husband had an eighteen foot travel trailer at one time and she told me once that she felt very sad when they sold it and she saw it going down the street leaving their place. I had been interested at times in travel trailers, and when fifth wheels came out I was intrigued with them.

169 Chapter 67: Attaining the Rank of Retired Railroader

One of my day dreams was about touring the country in a big Cadillac coupe with a fifth wheel on the trunk lid. That was just day dreaming because I never thought of making it a reality. We counted our pennies and decided to get a truck and fifth wheel and travel south in the winters. We bought an F-250 3/4 ton truck and a 30' Hitchhiker fifth wheel made in Chanute, Kansas. Our "maiden" voyage was a long one. In April of 1987 we drove back to New York State and found a campground not too far from my mom. I didn't realize then she would be gone by the end of that year, so thinking back on it I'm glad we made that trip.

I carried a set of folding steel steps in the bed of the truck because I knew if we took her somewhere in the truck she would need something to help her get up into it. One day we took her to the trailer and I remember her saying how much nicer it was than the old travel trailer they had at their fishing camp on Lake Champlain just outside of Rouses Point, NY on the Canadian border.

Its interesting how you think you may not have much to write about, but then you remember something you saw on a trip and it triggers another memory. One day we went to a buffet style Chinese restaurant in Wappinger's Falls, a neighboring town from Beacon. It was only the second time I saw a morbidly obese person. A man came in with a woman who was apparently his wife. He sat in TWO chairs, and his wife kept making trips to the buffet, bringing back food for him. The only other time I saw anything like that was when I took a plane to Amarillo with a stop in Wichita. They did not have a telescoping loading ramp, but used a portable stairway.

After it seemed everyone had loaded, and the stairs taken away, we sat on the tarmac with the door of the plane open and two stewardesses standing in the doorway looking out. Curious, I walked up to the door and asked what was going on. They said, "See that lady in the car." There was a car parked near the plane. I saw her and said, "Yes". Then they said, "They are trying to figure out how to get her in the plane." In a few minutes a forklift came with an easy chair on a pallet and they lifted the lady up to the door! She walked with two canes and occupied two seats just behind the bulkhead separating the first class section from the rest of the plane. I heard her tell someone later she was 37 years old.

That experience made an impression on me because I had just lost 82 pounds on Weight Watchers and as the result of gall bladder surgery. I dropped from 233 pounds to 151 pounds and looked like death warmed over. Someone at work told me later they were afraid to ask me about my weight because they thought I might have a terminal illness.

After visiting with my mother, we went down the east part of the country to an RV Park which I believe was in Maryland, a short distance from Washington, DC. There was a bus service that would take you into DC and let you off at a sight seeing point of interest and tell you they would pick you up at that spot at a certain time. It worked like a charm. We did that a couple days in a row. While in that campground I contacted Bob Brien who I have mentioned working with and he came to the trailer and visited with us. It was good to see him.

From there we went to Batesburg, South Carolina. Avtec, a company with which we did business when I was working was located there. A man named Troy Branning owned Avtec and I always liked him. He had invited me there and basically I just hung around the shop for a few days and surprisingly he paid me for it. After I retired, I wrote some instruction for some of their equipment, but he had paid me for that previously. It was either a retirement gift or in appreciation for something I had done or didn't do, but I didn't make the connection until just now.

After I retired two men working for a company that manufactured control consoles called me one day and wanted to know if I were interested in working for them. I didn't know what they had in mind but I was willing to listen. They asked me to meet them at an office in downtown Kansas City which I did. They took me to lunch and afterwards we walked to the office which was sparsely furnished. These men were from a company in California that I had worked with in Clovis, New Mexico and a couple other places. I had also made a trip to their facility in Los Angeles. They manufactured consoles which were very good equipment but they were not software based systems like Avtec had started making.

We sat in the office and chit-chatted and they said they were setting up an office in Kansas Cit and said what work they had in mind for me to do. But finally they got around to the Avtec equipment and essentially said they couldn't

170 A Collection of Recollections figure out how one aspect of the operation was accomplished. Then they said, "If you worked for us we would expect you to tell us!" Without hesitation I told them I couldn't do that. Then they said, "Well then you won't be working for us." I thanked them for lunch and went on my way. The whole setup was a sham to find out what they didn't know about the Avtec equipment. I told Troy about it.

When we left Batesburg we went to Charleston, SC and visited the city, toured the aircraft carrier Yorktown, a submarine and a retired nuclear powered combination freighter with some passenger accommodations aboard.

When we drove into the campground after visiting Charleston, I thought the brakes felt funny. I opened the hood and the vacuum pump was lying down in the pan at the front of the engine. The bracket holding it had broken. The local Ford dealer welded it and the weld held from then on as long as we had the vehicle.

As near as I can remember, when we left Charleston we headed for home. I thought we did pretty good to make a trip of that length our first time out as RV'ers. ______

171 Chapter 68: RV Travels and Making Friends ° Chapter 68: RV Travels and Making Friends by Wayne Slauson. Posted Sunday, September 18, 2011

We made two more trips with the first fifth wheel. One was to Telluride where Bonnie's son Rod lived. We had made two previous trips on the bike, but this time we had our own place to stay. In back of the house where Rod lived was a road which dead ended at the cemetery a block away. We stayed there just a couple nights. Telluride had an ordinance against camping anywhere except in the campground which was usually full and even overfull. But we were not aware of that and I don't think anyone really cared except one lady who lived nearby and called the Sheriff. A Deputy who was a friend of Rod's came out and he felt bad about having to tell us we couldn't stay there, but we understood and moved to the campground.

One of the things we saw in Telluride was the International Aerobatic Hangliding competition which was nothing short of fascinating. Hang Glider pilots from all over the world were there. I never dreamed I would ever see a hang glider do a double loop, but I saw it there.

We even drove a four wheel drive vehicle to the peak where they were taking off. It was at about 12,000 ft elevation. Another thrill was being buzzed by a hang glider. If they can hit some thermals, they can gain altitude. We saw some that were just pin points in the sky. Some of them were equipped with small oxygen bottles. We saw one run down the slope and take off and a few minutes later the same guy buzzed us as we stood on the top. We also watched them land in the City Park. It was great!

On the way back to Kansas from Telluride, as we were driving alongside the Blue Mesa Reservoir, Bonnie wondered aloud what Lake City looked like at that time. She had been there in the 40's when the road from Highway 50 to Lake City had yet to be paved. Her sister-in-law and husband and his brother had a group of cabins here. The name of the business was the G & M Cabins. The husbands name was Glen and his brother's name was Max. The amazing thing about that is the G & M Cabins has the same name today even though it has changed hands a few times. Max also had a propane business and at one time was Sheriff here. I noticed one time the Bible used in the Masonic Lodge was given to the lodge by Max. So Bonnie has some historical connection with Lake City.

When Bonnie wondered aloud about Lake City I said, "Let's go see what it is like now." We turned down Highway 149 off of Highway 50 and drove the 45 miles to see for ourselves. We stayed in the River Fork campground. The next day we rented a Jeep and did some exploring. We ended up going over Cinnamon Pass, looking around the ghost town of Animas Forks and came back to Lake City over Engineer Pass.

While we were on that trip, we drove through Castle Lakes Campground which is on the Cinnamon Pass Road. A man was cleaning the windows of his trailer and we stopped to talk to him. His name was Jack Wadsworth. We told him where we were staying and he suggested we come out there. I told him we might do that for a couple days. The view there was fantastic. We moved there the next day and ended up staying about a week. That was either in 1987 or '88 and from then until 1995 we came to Castle Lakes every year. We made some good friends there.

Jack had a travel trailer instead of a fifth wheel and he had a little Coleman fiberglass boat with an electric trolling motor. He made the statement he wouldn't have a fifth wheel because he liked to bring his little boat. Back home, I was into fishing at that time, and when he said that it was like a challenge to me to figure out a way to bring a "real" boat and motor out with our fifth wheel.For five years we brought out a 14' boat and boat trailer on top of the truck and a 25 HP motor in a compartment.

The first fifth wheel we had was a 30 footer and the main objection with the floor plan was a rear bathroom next to

172 A Collection of Recollections the kitchen which is not a good arrangement. It was nice inside, but after having it a year we really didn't like that arrangement. After a year or so of owning that fifth wheel I looked at some the fifth wheels the local dealer had on the lot and one of them really struck me as being exceptionally nice and very livable. It was a 36' fifth wheel with a walk through bath, but the stool was in a separate little room. It had the kitchen in the middle and a very cozy rear living room with a small slide out. I went home and told Bonnie she needed to look at it.

We traded our first fifth wheel in on a new one with that floor plan. I wrote up a few things I wanted done special in the factory. We actually picked it up at the factory ourselves and we enjoyed it for 21 years! That's a long life for an RV trailer.

We traveled to Texas or Arizona in the winter for several years and to Colorado in the summer. On those trips we met more people and made more friends. Some of our "summer" friends also went to the same places in the winter so we always had friends nearby.

One year, instead of going straight home at the end of the winter we went to a campground on Toledo Bend lake which runs several miles between Texas and Louisiana. We met a couple there from Gardner, KS which is about 25 miles from Shawnee. Their names were Art and Nellie Tunison. They had a chassis mounted camper on an older truck with nearly 200,000 miles on it. They had refinished the inside of the camper and it was very neat. Art had replaced the engine in the truck. He was a mechanic and had a Auto Repair Shop in Gardner before retiring and turning it over to his son.

Art was a real gentleman, quiet spoken, had been a Bearcat pilot flying off aircraft carriers. We told them about Castle Lakes and the next year they came there in a nice motor home for a couple weeks. Art and I did some fishing and we were on Lake San Cristobal one evening when a freak 60 MPH hit. We managed to get to the dock just as it hit and Art managed to get out of the boat. The side of the boat slammed into the dock and when I tried to turn it toward the boat ramp, it slammed the other side into the dock. We managed to pull it part way up onto the boat ramp and got into the truck. When it was over, the waves had washed up over the boat and filled it with water.

Everything calmed down in a short time, so we bailed out the boat, loaded it and headed for the campground. As we left the lake, I remembered something the owner of the campground was heard to say at times. "Piece of cake." So I said that out loud and we both had a laugh because it was not by any means "A piece of cake."

The next winter, Art and Nellie went out to Marana, AZ in their motor home. We traveled together and they stayed a month. Art and I would walk a certain route each day and he complained sometimes of a pain in his leg. He would have to stop for a few minutes until it went away.

When they were at Castle Lakes we invited them to go to church with us but they said they hadn't gone to church in years. In Marana Nellie came to the door and said they knew we went to church and they would go with us. We attended a church there that really had good preachers, and good music. It was clear that Art was enjoying himself singing the hymns. The day before they left to go home was a Sunday and as he was leaving the church I heard him tell the preacher they hadn't been going to church but but said when they get home, "We're going to start going again." They left the next day.

The day they got home, Nellie called us in the evening and said they got home OK and that Art was sitting at the table planning on what chores he was going to do the next day. The next morning she called early and told us Art had died in his sleep. You never know about tomorrow! The poor gal even took a cup of coffee into the bedroom although she knew he was gone. It was just so unbelievable. Sad, but true. He was a good guy and I really liked him.

Because of what Art had said to the preacher in Arizona Nellie started going to church and until she passed away a few years later she found comfort in the company of other women in the church.

It's interesting how some things work out. The Lord works in mysterious ways. ______

173 Chapter 69: Bud and Bonnie Chapin ° Chapter 69: Bud and Bonnie Chapin by Wayne Slauson. Posted Sunday, September 25, 2011

We spent at least six summers at Castle Lakes Campground. In that length of time there would be bound to be friendships developed with some of the people who also spent time there in the summer. The personality of one of the people we met there falls in the category of the type of person who easily deserves the title of "An unforgettable character."

His name was Bud. I probably knew his real name at one time but Bud was the name he went by and everyone knew him by that name. Early in or relationship with Bud and Bonnie he asked us if we would like to take a four wheel drive. We had not been there too long and hadn't done much four wheeling except the one trip we had made in a rented Jeep. We told him sure, we would like to do that.

It's not clear now where we went, to the ghost city of Carson or Animas Forks, but we had a good time with Bud and Bonnie. When we got back several people asked, "Are you OK?" which puzzled us. But then they told us that Bud was such a wild driver they thought we would be pretty shook up when we got back. Well, I don't know how you go through a four wheel drive trip without being "shaken up" but I didn't see a lot wrong with Bud's driving during that drive. I thought he did pretty good for a man with one arm. I found out later that on the highway it was a different story and I made a practice of taking a thermos of coffee for Bud to drink while I did the driving.

Bud was one of the most impatient people I ever knew. I remember one time we went to Gunnison with them and I was driving his Cherokee. At the Junction of Highways 149 and US 50 there is no left turn lane. We were going to turn right and the vehicle ahead of us was going to turn left. There was admittedly room for that vehicle to be a little left of where it was which would have allowed us to turn right if there was a gap in the eastbound traffic. The driver desiring to turn left would need to wait until there was a gap in both directions of traffic before he could turn. Bud was aggravated because that driver wasn't over quite far enough which would have allowed us to get into the intersection and turn right when it was possible. Of course it was a delay of less than a minute. So I said, "Bud, you need a dose of patience." Well, that made him feel worse and he sulked going into Gunnison. His Bonnie reached up and was patting him "comforting" him.

He and I went fishing many times and it was challenging. Loading and unloading his boat was a demanding process. I told him one time he was the most hyper 75 year old man I ever knew.

You may wonder how he lost his arm. And incidentally, his occupation had been a house painter! When he was about 18 he was driving a car somewhere near his home and the lights went out. He thought he could get home, but in order to get there he had to cross a steel framed bridge. He decided to feel his way across the bridge with his arm out. Well it was a bad and costly decision. He didn't like a prosthetic, so he just made do with one arm. His left arm was missing from about halfway up between his elbow and his shoulder. It didn't seem to slow him down.

When we first met Bud and Bonnie, they had a small motor home. The furnace stopped working so I said I would see what I could do with it. I had to take it out from under the bed and take it outside. It was full of mud dauber nests. Later, he looked at a used fifth wheel in the Mesa RV park at Gunnison and decided to buy it. He asked me if I would tow it down to Castle Lakes for him. His plan was to rent a space on a yearly basis. I told him I would be glad to bring it down, so we went up to Gunnison to get it and the connector for the brakes and lights etc did not match with mine. I had a spare connector and took it apart, using some pins out of it and managed to at least get the brakes working. I wouldn't have wanted to pull it down without any brakes. There are some steep grades between Gunnison and Lake City, once you get on Highway 149.

174 A Collection of Recollections

The day I backed that trailer into his space, there were about 12 people telling me which way to go, including the man who owned the campground. I followed his instructions and when I got through I asked Bud if that was where he wanted it. "No." So I told him, "Tell me where you want it and I will put it there." He told me and I laid a board on the ground alongside of where the right side of the trailer would be and parked it accordingly. He was happy.

Each year left I winterized Bud and Bonnie's trailer after they left for the season. When we moved in to our cabin, I still went out there after they left and a good friend and I did it together. We always used the water pump to pump potable anti-freeze through the system and the water pump failed one year. I brought it home, took it apart and found the diaphragm was bad. I had some material from an inner tube and made a new diaphragm. It worked fine after that.

Bud came out in the winter with some other men and hunted Elk. I have no idea how he ever handled a rifle. We stopped by with our trailer and stayed overnight in the driveway of their place in Ponca City one time on the way to a winter destination and he gave us some frozen Elk meat. It was really good. We also visited them with our trailer once when they lived on the California side of the Colorado River 8 miles off the paved road. Their place was right on the river and he could step out the door, walk down a few steps and get into his boat. He told me one time about a fishing experience where a lure with two sets of treble hooks hit him in on the top of the head. He said he had no choice but to have it ripped out by a man who was with him. He also told me he had been given three years to live and he was on his sixth year. I believe it was true. He was tough.

Bud used to tell the wildest tales around the campfire and when he would finish he would turn to his Bonnie and say, "Ain't that right Bonnie." You could see she was a reluctant witness but she would dutifully barely nod her head. Old Bud was a wild and cantankerous guy, but if you admired something he had he would give it to you on the spot. I have a dandy flashlight he gave me. He required patience and tolerance, but I liked him.

Bud and Bonnie have both passed on now. She was a real sweet gal. And Bud? Well, he was someone I'll never forget. He truly was an "unforgettable character." ______

175 Chapter 70: Many More Friends Than those Listed Here ° Chapter 70: Many More Friends Than those Listed Here by Wayne Slauson. Posted Thursday, October 13, 2011

It has been my intention to write about other friends we made at Castle Lakes Campground. Relocating back to our home in Shawnee and all that goes with that process has interfered with my doing that until now.

One couple are from Canyon, Texas. He goes by just his initials M.E. I know his names, but since he doesn't like the ones his mother bestowed upon him, I will continue to use just his initials. Her name is Edna. They are no longer able to make the trip in the summer; sold their fifth wheel several years ago. Edna was not in very good health long before that. She had several surgeries in her life and treatment for cancer which left her with a lack of pigment in her skin, giving her a very white; pale appearance.

But, Edna mothered everyone including me and sometimes I felt especially me. Many times I called her Mom. Some called her Bumpy, but I don't know how that got started. I never did call her that. Following is an example of her actions which would emulate those of a mother.

When we first built the cabin, I built a "Murphy" type bed at home. I built it in a manner which allowed me to take it apart, haul the pieces out to Lake City and reassemble them there. I thought erroneously that the frame could be reassembled in the garage and carried by M.E. and me around to the west door and into the upstairs of the cabin. I either grossly overestimated our strength or underestimated the weight because it took four men to accomplish that task!

M.E. helped me hang cabinets in the place and to install the bed too. Of course, I'm sure he was telling Edna of the accomplishments and progress when he would go "home" to their fifth wheel at the campground. So, when the bed was finished, Edna wanted to come and see it. It is made of birch faced plywood. Edna struggled up the stairs and when she got to the top, looked across the room at the bed, she had tears. She sat down on the couch and with some difficulty said, "It's absolutely beautiful!" That is the sort of thing a Mom would do.

M.E. and I went fishing many times. We were buddies and enjoyed each others company. We didn't talk politics, we didn't talk religion, we just enjoyed being together in the quiet of the lake. I fished with two poles, he with one, and he caught as many if not more fish than I did. M.E. was so hesitant to brag, he once caught a 30" Lake Trout while with someone else and never told me about it! M.E. and I got along well. It was he and I that winterized one armed Bud's fifth wheel every fall. He was a big help to me when I was putting some things in place in the cabin where a second set of hands was needed. I really missed both of them when they stopped coming to Lake City.

M.E. is still doing well. He had macular degeneration like Bonnie, but it was treated in time, at a later date than Bonnie and with a newer treatment. Consequently he has 20-20 vision. Edna gets around their home, but is limited in her activities. M.E. still goes to Walmart every morning and has coffee with friends. I wish I could join them once in awhile.

Ed and Lois Harrington. Ed had worked for National Cash Register back when that kind of equipment was mechanical. He had a knack for anything mechanical and was the campground's fix it man. Ed passed away 2 or 3 years ago at 93. Lois is still living although I heard she was in the hospital recently. She lives in Dallas not far from her daughter who helps her. Lois's regal appearance and smile, her pleasant personality will always be remembered. She has emailed me a few times and is on my list of people who I have notified about these chapters. She has commented in emails to me.

Another fellow I went fishing with was Bill Ash. I heard a year or two ago that Bill had passed away. He was a retired thoracic surgeon. One day while we were out on the lake he said, "I wish I knew something about

176 A Collection of Recollections medicine." I said, "Bill, you were a thoracic surgeon, how can you say that?" He said, "I was just a mechanic. I wouldn't know what to prescribe for the ailments a general practitioner is called upon to diagnose." I liked Bill real well. We parked in their driveway one fall on the way to Rockport Texas.

Bill and his wife Anne were handed a raw deal. Bill took two small buildings and moved them together to make a comfortable house. He did the work himself. It was done in what I would call modern rustic, if there is such a description. It had exposed beams and the inside walls in part of it were actually painted T-111 siding. It was very nice. He not only was a surgeon he was a good carpenter. But the house was on a piece of ground owned by his son-in-law who had told them they could live there as long as they wanted to.

Unfortunately , the daughter and the son-in-law divorced and although Bill and Anne lived there for another year or more, the son-in-law who lived in another city wanted to sell the property. You can imagine the rest of the story.

Bill showed me a stone house in Salado from which he and his son had removed all the the stucco covering the stone, restored the interior and at the time Bill showed it to me it was being used as a doctor's office. It had been placed on the National list of Historic buildings.

George and Linda Allison are still Castle Lakes campground campers. George and James Landtroop, Ron Capps, and I changed the awning on our fifth wheel a couple times in its 21 year life with us.

In the emergency room in Gunnison, following my fall down icy steps in 2009, I saw George. They were about to wheel me out to the helicopter to take me to St. Mary's in Grand Junction, and I told them I wanted to shake hands with my friend before we left. I was very impressed to see George there. Linda was with him too. He apparently had heard the call on his scanner. Their driving to Gunnison was something I will never forget.

Ron and Karen Capps are like our family when we are in Colorado. I could fill up a whole page about them. Karen cuts my hair during the summer. They have a cabin in town now but still have their fifth wheel. Ron and Karen and George and Linda took a 4000 mile trip to the Northwest this past summer. We really missed them while they were gone.

Our friends the Friezes used to camp at Castle Lakes but it was before we started there. We heard a lot about them while we were there, and since we built our cabin we have become friends. Their place is across the valley from us. They are both 90.

There were other people we met while we were at Castle Lakes Campground. We had a good time there. The campground is under new ownership than it was then, but the new owner have been real friendly with us, inviting us to cook-outs and we still enjoy our time there. The setting is at 9000' and the view magnificent.

Jim and Pat Rhinehart are friends we met a year or two before they built a house in town. Jim is a railroad enthusiast of the first order. We met Pete and Sue Conlon about the same time and they built a house right near the campground so they are virtual neighbors of the present owners of the Campground, Steve and Monica Fuller. Steve and Monica greet us when we go out there like we are old friends.

Gene and Jeanie Bryson are friends we made since living in town. There are many other people with whom we have been friends at one time or another over the years we have been going to Lake City. It's like old home week when we get there!

Monte and Jean Cloninger are friends in Canon city who we met in Arizona. An abundance of friends and good times are the products of our RV travels. ______

177 Chapter 71: And Now, What Next? ° Chapter 71: And Now, What Next? by Wayne Slauson. Posted Friday, February 17, 2012

What I have written so far pretty well brings things up to date from my perspective. What is necessary now is to keep on keeping on. We have no truck so I can't say keep on truckin' but the expressions have similar connotations. Another way to express it is to determine to do the best we can with what we have where we are and with whatever circumstance we encounter. Isn't that all any of us can do? The consequences of not following that line of thought is sure to result in a less positive outcome than otherwise.

There is an expression from the past, "It takes a heap of living." Sometimes it seems like just daily living makes a person feel like things are being heaped upon them. For me the trick is to steadily move forward and exercise patience in all areas. I can work hard for a short time, but not for a long time, so it is a matter of dividing larger chores up into different phases with every other phase a rest phase. It's when I don't move forward my patience is tried. I become impatient with myself.

For many years I have felt that a person operates in one or the other state of mind: as an adult or as a child. It is very easy to slip into the child mode. Easy for me and for a lot of others. "What did you do with my pen?" is not much different than, "Where is my teddy bear?" The pen is in the questioner's pocket, the teddy bear is in the child's crib. Often the response to similar questions is "How should I know? You can't keep track of anything!" Now there are two children! The adult response would be "I don't know where your pen is but I will help you look for it." "Here it is, I should have looked in my pocket." "Good, I'm glad you found it." Now two adults are communicating. The trick is to stay in the "grown up" mode as much as possible. It's reasonable. It's more considerate, more conducive to a good relationship, less defensive and less likely to generate alienation, one from the other.

Friends are important. I have several friends and some of them have entirely different opinions than I have. I make no issue of the difference and because that is the course I follow there is no issue between us. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion including me and for the most part I keep mine to myself. I had a thought concerning the expression "Out of the mouths of babes." The implication is that words of wisdom comes from the innocent mouths of the very young. My expansion of that is to say, "Out of the mouths of babes comes wisdom. From everyone else there are opinions."

When it comes to friends, if you mistreat someone, you are not really their friend. If someone you think is a friend mistreats you, you are mistaken in thinking they are your friend. Friends simply do not mistreat each other. If it happens, and someone tries to explain it away by saying "that's just the way they are " or "that's the way that whole family is" such explanation is not a valid reason nor justification. It's an excuse. Excuses are largely only necessary when their purpose is to try and explain away a mistake. I can't say it any more simply. Friends do not mistreat each other.

Life is like a file folder. Just like there are sub files, there are sub lives. In other words we live through different lives during the time we are here on earth. It's a lot more important to make our present life count than it is to think in terms of being reincarnated after death and trying to do better in a next life.

Recently I read a couple books that made an impression on me. One was "Stroke of Insight" by Jill Bolte Taylor a neuroanatomist (brain scientist) who writes about a stroke she had that gave her some insight on how it is possible to change the way we think. Her insight was revealed to her during the conscious moments in which she realized what was happening to her during the stroke and her personal analysis of the details following the event. It is a very fascinating subject. You can see and hear her speaking in a video at this address: http://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=UyyjU8fzEYU. Either cut and paste the address or left-click on it.

178 A Collection of Recollections

The video is virtually how her story started and how the stroke gave her some insight she didn't otherwise have. It could be said it was a blessing in disguise.

The other book, "Kitchen Table Wisdom" was written by a medical doctor with a special talent for conseling cancer patients, Her name is Rachel Naomi Remen MD. "Kitchen Table Wisdom" has many short stories and some of them have really touched my heart. It occurred to me that writing about the stories might be satisfying to me. I thought it might be interesting to write about what they meant to me; how I reacted, and what they prompted me to do or change in my life.

A very simple story is one she tells about Fiji, where it is considered poor manners not to speak to complete strangers when you pass them on the street. I thought of shopping in grocery stores and so often coming face to face with someone who is looking for something in the same area I am looking. Although there have been occasions where seeing a very disabled person barely able to walk, I have told them I admired the fact they were "keeping on keeping on", those occasions have been rare exceptions. I thought about how people move about in a large store and barely look at each other. The exception is someone who smiles at you and how pleasant it is to be the recipient of their smile. Usually it is a woman who smiles. Men usually look very serious. In our largely homophobic society, it is often males, who are strangers to each other and would not want to be caught smiling at each other. Such an act might be considered suspect. Isn't that a shame? And too, if a man smiles at a woman is it likely to be considered a sign they have less than honorable intentions" I it is indicative of a social atmosphere less relaxed than it ought to be, a presence of fear and lack of trust in the goodness of other humans. A couple days ago, while all this was fresh in my mind, I went to a grocery store. It was one I had not frequented for the last year or two because there is a "Price Chopper" closer to us or I go to Walmart and combine grocery shopping with other purchases. One reason I often go to Walmart is they have Ol' Farmer's Ham which I like and they are the only place I have seen that carries it. As I was driving into "Hy-Vee" I spotted a parking space, turned down the aisle, pulled into it and immediately discovered I was in a space for "Expectant Mothers". Instinctively, I knew I didn't fit in that category and there was an empty parking space next to it so I jockeyed around and got into that space. As soon as I stopped moving, the driver of another car parked another space away from the Expectant Mother's spot. As the lady exited her car I noticed she had a nice "hair-do". When I went in the store the same lady had stopped in the middle of the front part of the store to look at the current advertising flyer. She had her back to me and as I went by I said, "Your hair looks nice." I kept on moving looking back over my shoulder and smiling. It then occurred to me she looked familiar. She lives about a block away and when her husband was living they had a fifth wheel and took winter trips. We visited with them a couple times when we were out shopping and happened to see them. Her name of all things is Bonnie! When I recognized her I said her name and she remembered mine. I couldn't help chuckle because in my first attempt to follow the spirit of what I had read, I had accidentally encountered someone who was not a complete stranger. I told her I had come to HY-Vee to get some Mrs. Grimes chili beans and it was the only place I had ever seen them. She told me they were in the flyer for 59 cents right now. She asked how my Bonnie was doing. We then went on our separate ways. But, I'm still amused over how it all happened.

I may write more about my reaction to various parts of the above books, or other books and things I have done, tried or just thinking about as a result thereof. I'm not sure whether I can do this and or of it being of any interest to others, but that if I can make any sense out of the writings myself I will post accordingly. ______

179 Chapter 72: The Left and Right ° Chapter 72: The Left and Right by Wayne Slauson. Posted Friday, February 24, 2012

In her book "Stroke of Insight" Jill Bolte Taylor writes about the left hemisphere and right hemisphere of the brain. She treats them as though they are separate entities. Of course they are connected together, but they definitely function differently. The left hemisphere is the source of many negative thoughts; anxiety, worry, concern about what others might think, questions connected with finances, all kinds of shoulda woulda coulda's, uncertainties, lack of confidence, regrets, fears, misgivings. Although not so negative in nature, I get the impression it is also the part of the brain where you would be thinking about future activities, mulling over consequences, analyzing, trying to figure out how to accomplish certain tasks, whether it is building something or solving a problem. I think it keeps very busy analyzing, judging, and planning and for that reason it's good that we are just not "Half Brained".

On the other hand, the right hemisphere operates in the "Here and Now" mode; being content where you are at the moment, dealing with the present situation, gratified and satisfied with the present. In a nutshell, to me at least, it is being real, living in the moment, dealing with the present, and unabsorbed with the possibility of non existing extenuating circumstances. It puts a different meaning to being in your "Right Mind".

So, here I am at 3:30 or 4:00AM, my mind darting through many different scenarios like someone dodging traffic and trying to cross a busy street.The thoughts are not particularly worries. Some of them may be reruns of events; conversations past or imagined in the future. I spend a lot of waking moments thinking about what I might do the next day and the imagery that goes with it. It's not uncommon for me to be planning to do something the next day and spend half the night lying awake thinking about it; doing it over and over in my mind. By the time morning comes I'm worn out from all the "work" I have already done!

Some might consider it comical, but since reading the book, at that time of the morning and under those conditions I tell my left brain to shut up and try to get control switched to my right brain. I want to listen to the locomotive in the distance, or the wind, or the rain, or just the quiet and most of all, I want to go back to sleep! If I manage to get control, it isn't very long before my left brain takes over again. It's as though there are two gnomes in my noggin fighting for dominance. During the day the right hemisphere is able to maintain control, but the left hemisphere comes out at night to cause havoc when I want to sleep. Probably amusing to some, but aggravating for me.

However, I'm thankful my mental ramblings at night are more constructive than worry. There is a futility in worry and I don't give it much of a chance to govern my thoughts. Worry is giving power to something that doesn't exist. I just can't see much value in perpetually worrying about tomorrow. Tomorrow comes and then is replaced by another tomorrow. The sun comes up and the sun goes down. As someone once said, "Worry is the interest you pay on borrowed trouble".

The best part of "Stroke of Insight" is the effect it had on her resolutions for the future and her enjoyment of life in general. Without quoting much of what she has written, it's impossible to describe all the good things in this book. It isn't a long book, not complicated, and I recommend it to acquire a better understanding of the mind and what you can do to "Access the Positive and Eliminate the Negative". My stepson Jeff gave me Jill Bolte Taylor's book for Father's Day last year and I'm thankful he did.

It's interesting to know some of the technical aspects of what goes on inside the brain. But one thing I have to remember, is that I am ultimately responsible for what goes on inside my head as the result of what goes on outside my head. Whatever I do, and wherever I am in my journey, I'm the one who got me here, I am the one who is going to be taking me farther down that road. My destiny is determined by my decisions.That isn't to say the Great Father of the universe didn't give me a shove once in awhile, or that there are likely to be obstacles in the

180 A Collection of Recollections future, but what goes on in the grey darkness of my brain and the consequences thereof are mine. Accepting that responsibility is part of "growing up". I'm still in the process.

After I wrote the above, I posted it although I felt there was more I needed to write and wasn't very happy with what I had written. I didn't send out a notice, but my "fans" down in Louisiana read it. Hence, Jackie made some comments part of which I am incorporating in this chapter.

Jackie wrote: "In reading your insight into the function of the "left" side of the brain, I think you latched on to what might be considered the negative aspects of its function as opposed to the importance of its function which "provides us the ability to reason." Without the ability to reason, the function of the "right" side of the brain would have no true data with which to function. The conclusions made by the left determines the results on the right, in which case the total outcome may either be good or bad/right or wrong. That is my basic concept of the left/right of the brain. It is far more complicated a process to understand given the fact the each person has their own contributing factors or lets say "input data" which makes us alike but different in many ways."

Jackie is right in that according to what I read, the language center is in the left hemisphere and without it no intelligence would exist. So there for one thing is an important item. Also as an individual we are neither left brained or right brained but a whole person, balancing what goes on "up there".

Something else I read in the book was very interesting to me in that I identified with it in connection with an incident that happened a few years ago. It isn't necessary to go into the details to make my point, but something was said that caused my face to feel hot, and my body felt like it was shaking inside my skin. It was less anger than it was hurt and being dumbfounded. If I had said anything it would have made matters worse so I was silent.

Taylor writes that we have hundreds of emotional experiences in memory. I can relate to what she is saying by thinking about programs on a hard drive, only in case of the mind, there are many more emotional programs than you would ever find on a hard drive. Any of these programs can be triggered by something seen, said, heard, felt or otherwise experienced. Depending on the reaction, a physiological change can occur. Here is the interesting thing: the chemicals coursing through the body as the result of a reaction, such as might be experienced with anger or some other strong emotional response, dissipates in 90 seconds. In 90 seconds it is gone from the bloodstream.

At the point where the chemical causing the physiological reaction dissipates, we have a choice to either return to the peace and tranquility of our right mind or latch on to the emotional component and keep the reaction going. When I read that I also thought of that instance I mentioned earlier where I kept quiet and allowed my feelings to subside. I certainly didn't know the mechanics of what was gong on with me and my brain, but I just knew I was doing the right thing.

The old adage of "Count to ten" when tempted to respond in such a way it would make matters worse should be changed to "Count to 90"! I think there is more to add but not now. ______

181 Chapter 73: My Bonnie Falls ° Chapter 73: My Bonnie Falls by Wayne Slauson. Posted Monday, December 26, 2016

Most of this was written not long after Bonnie's death. It became too much for me and I could not finish it. I will note when I started again.

Recently I told Karen I had been thinking of writing about the last two years. She thought it was a good idea and said writing about it could be cathartic. So this is mainly about that time period, but I will touch on a few previous years to start.

It began long before 2012, but 2012 probably could be considered the beginning of the end. Long before then Bonnie's eyesight became so poor she couldn't cook, do any paperwork, or read. It was sometime before 2008. It isn't hard to remember that because that year was when I had a knee replacement, followed by pulmonary embolism that put me out of commission for awhile. My son David died on May 5th that year while I was still in the rehab hospital. Karen came April 13th, the day before my surgery and left May 22nd. I remember just before she left she made a trip to Atchison to visit friends. she had waited until I could stand long enough to make lunch for Bonnie and myself. So, I know Bonnie's eyesight was very poor prior to then. She was declared legally blind in 2005. In 2006 she climbed up on a bookshelf trying dust the mantel; fell and broke her leg. As I recall, that was about the same time we were making trips to the retina specialist. Frank helped me get Bonnie to the doctor's office one day. Bonnie was in a wheel chair and it was after she came home from a couple weeks at "Sweet Life" from rehab at a skilled nursing facility and rehab about a mile from home. That trip to the doctor made it obvious that we needed a stair lift. Frank helped me install it.What I don't remember is just when Bonnie developed some dementia. It wasn't serious at first and it really didn't affect our lives a great deal after it started. As time went on, when we were in a group, she grew quieter. She never failed though to inquire of a friend or stranger as to the the welfare of the other person's family. She did that to the last days of her life.

Our last trip to our cabin was in 2012. I packed her things and mine and loaded the car. Her 91st Birthday was June 27th. I baked a couple cakes, we had homemade ice cream, and 22 people came to the cabin to celebrate her birthday. Bonnie was dressed up nice, looking cute as ever, and enjoyed the attention a person celebrating their 91st birthday deserves. Helen Amoroso sat next to Bonnie most of the time and visited with her. Everyone had a nice time and Bonnie was in very good spirits.

About the first of July however, her mental outlook did a 180 degree reversal. The only word I can think of to describe how she acted is Bonkers! She was saying things that didn't make any sense, and pacing the floor in circles, she was "out of it". It startled me and I didn't know what to make of it. Naturally, I was worried and at a loss as to what to do; puzzled that she had become so distraught and to say such weird things she was saying. It went on like that a couple days before we went to the Medical Center where they found she had a urinary tract infection. They gave her some antibiotic which I made sure she took. They gave us enough doses for ten days if I remember correctly. When this all started, during and afterward she became "urgency incontinent."

Bonnie had several UTI's from then on, but they didn't affect her like that one did. looking back, I don't think she ever got back to the state of her cognitive self prior to that UTI. If we were going to go somewhere she said she didn't know how to get ready. I chose her clothes for her and helped her get dressed. Her confusion increased, her memory worsened. Before that happened I had never heard that a UTI could have that kind of effect on an elderly person, but it certainly did on Bonnie and I have learned since that it is not unusual. We stayed at the cabin until September 29th.

September 29th: I winterized the cabin the day before, saving some buckets of water for final flushes. On the morning of the 29th I winterized the toilet bowls, packed the car and we left.

182 A Collection of Recollections

Our first stop on the way home was Canon City where we had lunch with Monte and Jean Cloninger. I was sure that would be the last time Bonnie would be able to go to the cabin and probably the last time the two of us together would see Monte and Jean. I had called them before we left the cabin and told them as much. Unfortunately, I was right.

We had not gone home through Colorado springs before but friends were telling us it was a good way to go. I'm not so sure of that and it certainly wasn't good for us that day. I had directions from an internet source, but in the interchange between one highway and the streets of Colorado Springs I missed a turn , got completely turned around and lost. I tried to find a familiar landmark for 30 minutes. Then, thinking that if I kept driving I might have an accident, I noted the intersection I was near, parked, and called 911 on my cell phone. The dispatcher was very understanding and gave me directions to get to 24 highway. My friend Frank has told me for the last 3 years or so I should have a GPS unit and he is probably right. It would have been especially useful when I was pulling the fifth wheel. Anyway, we got on the right "track" and headed for Limon, Colorado. By that time, Bonnie was so confused she kept insisting we were not going in the right direction.

When we arrived in Limon, it was already getting dark and we were both tired so we decided to stay in a motel there. Bonnie had a very small cosmetic case and we had two bags for traveling. There was a very cold wind blowing from the north. My thinking was that if Bonnie could carry the cosmetic case and I carried the two bags we could get into the motel where it was warm. That was a mistake I will always regret. We walked a short distance, probably 20-25 feet to a sidewalk which required a step up on a curb. Bonnie stepped up with her right foot but lost her balance and fell back into the parking lot going down sideways. It makes me groan thinking about it because I can see it happening. My inclination was to get her up, but when I did she couldn't put any weight on her left leg. In retrospect, it probably was the wrong thing to do anyway, but that wind was so cold I wanted to get her into the motel where it was warm. Just then a younger couple came by and asked if we needed help. I told them Bonnie had fallen and asked them to go into the motel and see if they had a chair with wheels that could be brought out so we could get her inside. They and the clerk came out with an office chair, I got Bonnie in the chair and we went into the motel, down the hall to the room and laid Bonnie on the bed. The other couple carried our bags.

We spent a terrible night in that motel. I had to get Bonnie to the bathroom several times during the night and every time she never made it in time. The only way I could move her was with a bear hug and walking backward. The amazing thing was that in between times we both slept. I guess we were both exhausted. As daybreak approached I knew we needed help. I didn't know whether there was 911 service or not, but I tried it and got a dispatcher. I have no idea where they were located but I told them where we were and the circumstances and that we needed help. It wasn't long before three EMT's showed up with all their equipment. They told me they would take Bonnie to the Lincoln County Community Hospital in Hugo, a little town about 15 miles from Limon. They gave me directions and I told them I would be there ASAP, but before leaving I needed to use the motel washer and dryer not far from the room and wash up several items that had been drenched during the night and I felt they would be needed. Then I went to Hugo, to the Lincoln County Community Hospital which was a combination nursing home and hospital. They wondered what had taken me so long, had already taken X-rays and determined she had fractured her pelvis in two places.

At that point I was a basket case myself. My poor Bonnie. I was asking myself questions such as: Why didn't I drive up to the door, take her in to the room then go park the car and bring in the bags? Why didn't I just bring one bag, hold on to her and get her to the door? Why didn't we just walk up the drive to the door and not go up on the sidewalk? But there were no good answers. Writing this causes me considerable anguish and I cannot hold back the tears. At the hospital I wanted to call Karen, Bonnie's daughter, but I knew I wouldn't be able to control my emotions well enough to tell her what had happened. The male nurse in the ER noticed my Masonic ring and he said, "Brother, would you like me to call her for you.? " I said "Yes", gratefully.

Incredibly the doctor, a Dr. Levinson was ready to release Bonnie. But, I was in no condition to drive and I asked him about her staying overnight so at least I could get a better grip on the situation and think how I was going to get her home. The ER nurse talked to him on my behalf also. He finally agreed to let her stay the night. They also let me stay in the room with her. That was the first leg of our trip home, and enough to write about at one time. It was a terribly hard 24 hours for both of us.

183 Chapter 73: My Bonnie Falls

The next day; October first, 2012.

Karen must have called Bonnie's son Rod, because I got the word he would drive from Denver the next morning and do what ever he could to help with the situation. By morning I had regained my composure and managed to come up with a plan to get Bonnie home. Rod called, I gave him directions, and I think he arrived shortly after 8 o'clock. Dr. Levinson gave us an order for a walker. During the morning I talked to the hospital's social worker and asked him to contact Shawnee Mission Hospital's Home Health Department, get me a name and a number to call when we got home. I had visions of being able to leave early but, surprisingly, they wouldn't release us until a physical therapist approved her release. Of course this was contradictory to the day before when the doctor was ready to release Bonnie on the spot. Here she was 91 years old, with her pelvis fractured in two places and he was ready to send her away, straight out of the emergency room.

Anyway, we had spent the night and now it appeared we were under the control of the physical therapist whose requirement was that Bonnie walk 3' with a walker before she would OK her release! Using a hospital walker she managed to move very slowly and so painful I was afraid she might pass out. Although I thought it was ridiculous they put her through something like that I kept encouraging her telling her if she could meet the therapist's requirement, they would let us go home. I don't think she quite made three feet, but it satisfied the therapist and she finally approved her release. I asked the doctor to please give me an order for a wheelchair. His reply was, "Why didn't we think of that?" He gave me the order. He gave me a prescription for Vicodin, but I told him I had Tramadol on hand and he said that was fine and told me what dosage to use. I also asked that they catheterize her for the trip and he agreed to that.

We still had to go back to Limon, and rent a wheelchair, with the idea that Rod would carry the wheelchair in his car because ours was packed, no room for a wheel chair, and he would return it the next day on his way back to work in Denver . As we turned onto the highway I looked over at Bonnie and had the impression they had not catheterized her. I was disappointed and concerned about the ramifications.

We were also hungry and needed to get something to eat, which we did. I got Bonnie out of the car and using the wheel chair we went into the restaurant where we had eaten at the time we arrived in Limon. While in the restaurant, I took Bonnie into the bathroom and discovered they had actually catheterized her and equipped her with a leg bag but had failed to give me any instructions. I wish they had. I don't know the exact time time we left Limon for the 500 mile drive to Shawnee, but it was a lot later in the day than I had hoped to leave. I'm sure it was 1 PM or later.

We made one stop and one stop only on the way home. At Hays,Kansas we stopped for fuel and I again got Bonnie out of the car into the wheel chair and into the restaurant. Rod let me handle Bonnie and I was glad of that. He may have been afraid of hurting her; I don't know, but she toughed it out. I'm sure the Tramadol was helpful. From there we drove non-stop to home where friends were waiting for us. It was a warm October 1st. Frank and Marilynn Chapman, Steve and Adele Stuart, were in the driveway waiting for us. Bonnie slept most of the way which was a blessing, but in the last mile or two before we arrived she was saying she had to "go" which I figured meant the leg bag was full and I wanted to get Bonnie into the house and into the bedroom where I could take care of it. The boys got the wheelchair up the front steps and up the stairs onto the level where the bedrooms, dining room and kitchen are. I hadn't thought of it until now, but after she healed up from the broken leg we removed the stair lifts because we had new carpet installed. In a way, that was a good thing, because the wheel chair would not have gone alongside the stair lift, and transferring her would have been painful. When I got Bonnie in the bedroom I tried to get her to stand long enough that I could drain the catheter bag, but she crumpled to her knees in a praying position next to the bed. Grabbing a sheet from the linen closet, I folded it triple or quadruple and laid it down beside the bed. Then I laid Bonnie down on it and called the fellows in to help me lift her onto the bed. It wasn't until then I was able to relieve her from the "having to go" feeling. Through all this Bonnie never complained. Bonnie was so sweet, but she was tough too.

Starting to write again, July 4th 2016.

The next morning: I called Shawnee Mission Home Health and asked someone to come out. We had a commode and I put it next to the bed and got Bonnie on it. At that time two nurses came. One was in charge. She wanted to see how hard it was for me to put Bonnie back on the bed. It was not easy but I got her back on the bed and at

184 A Collection of Recollections that time the nurse said, "Maximum Assist", she needs to need to be in the hospital. That was my opinion also. An ambulance was called and she was taken to the hospital where she spent five days and then a couple weeks in rehab at "Sweet Life" again.

After coming home from Sweet Life, we had some Home Health therapy for a couple days a week for two or three weeks. When they were not there, Bonnie and I worked diligently together ourselves until she was able to walk without the aid of a walker. We had a few months then where we were able to eat out once in awhile and life was good. During that time, whenever she was walking I had a hold of her. The dementia was present, but didn't impair us to any extent. When there was conversation in a group Bonnie was quiet. She never failed though to ask about another person's family and health.

Right at the end of her therapy, an event took place that showed Bonnie had not lost her sense of humor. My friends Frank, two different Steve's and I had reinstalled the stair lifts and that's how I was able to get Bonnie up and down the stairs for doctor's appointments, church and such. We came home one day and used the lower stair lift to get up to the living room level. I asked Bonnie if she wanted to try walking up the short set of stairs from the living room to the dining room/ kitchen level. She said, "Yes" and did it. Of course she had a hold of the hand rail and I had a hold of the other side of her. She walked up in fine shape.

That night I had Steve Stuart and his wife Adele over for dinner. I told them I had something I wanted to show them. So I took Bonnie down to the living room on the stair left and told her to show Steve and Adele what she had done earlier. She walked up the stairs. Steve and Adele clapped and said that' great Bonnie. Bonnie sat down in the kitchen, rolled her eyes and said, "Oh I'm gooood" We all laughed.

December 26th, 2016: I have just read this again, made some corrections, cried a little, and I am going to post it. ______

185 Chapter 74: "Penelope" A short story for children

---- Short stories begin here ---- ° Chapter 74: "Penelope" A short story for children

Fiction by Wayne Slauson. Posted Thursday, February 24, 2011

Mr. Macready was a retired farmer. He had farmed for many years after coming home from the war in which he served as a marine. When he got too old to do the hard work a farmer has to do he moved into town. He did have a small garden where he lived on the edge of town, and took pride in growing enough tomatoes and a few other things for himself. Before the city moved its boundary to include his house he had a small barn where he kept his horse, but after the city expanded its limits, he couldn't keep a horse on the property. But, this isn't about Mr. Macready. It is about Mr. Macready's horse. Yes, he still had a horse left from his farming days and just down the road a little way, he owned some land, more than enough for a horse,. It was there that Penelope spent her time in retirement. Penelope was a gray work horse, in some places almost white, and could be called an "Old Gray Mare" which is the title of an old song. For me, she was indeed The "Old Gray Mare."

I was a friend of Mr. Macready, and was on close terms with Penelope loving her as though she were my own. When I went to see him, as I often did, I would always stop and visit with her either coming or going, depending on which direction I was traveling that day. Sometimes I would even drive right by Mr. Macready's house and visit Penelope first. Then when I would leave, most of the times I couldn't resist saying goodbye to her too. Of course, I always had a treat for her and wherever she was on the property, she was walking toward the fence beside the road before I even arrived. Somehow, she knew I was coming, like a dog knows when its master is about to arrive home from work.

One day, Mr. Macready told me some acreage of the ground where Penelope was had been set aside for a boy to grow wheat. The young man planned to sell the wheat to help pay his way to college. It was not enough of the land that would affect Penelope. He said the land had been plowed and needed harrowing. A harrow is a heavy frame with teeth on the bottom. When dragged across plowed ground, a harrow breaks up the clods. He said the weather and the present condition of the ground would make it ideal for harrowing right then. He had a twinkle in his eye and said, "The harrow isn't too much for Penelope to pull over the ground and I would like to surprise the young man and have it done so he can plant his wheat. I don't plan to tell him how it was done." A conspiracy was in the making. He said an old harrow left behind from his farming days was already on the property, and that it would be no problem for Penelope to do the job.

Mr. Macready still had a harness and we loaded it in my pickup. I asked him if he was going to help me put it on Penelope and get hooked up to the harrow, but he said he thought I would be able to figure it out. So, off I went with the harness and when Penelope saw it she whinnied and shook as though she knew that she was going to do something useful. All the time I struggled with that harness, I was telling her the whole story of the young man and Mr. Macready's plan. She would shiver once in awhile as though she was trying to shake it in place and finally, with her help, I got it all fastened. The harrow was lying in the weeds over by a fenced corner and I got that hooked up too. She was very cooperative, backing up into the right place, the right distance away to hook up the traces. With respect to horses, traces are the lines that connect the harness with the object being pulled. Away we went, pulling the harrow. Penelope seemed to enjoy the exercise. At times I gave her opportunity to rest. She would stop a little bit and then lean forward into the harness as though she was ready to get going again. When we finished, we started back toward the road and place where the harrow had been stored. Once she stopped and looked back at the harrowed ground and I thought she realized she was the most important person in the conspiracy and proud that she had been able to make Mr. Macready's idea of surprising the young man a reality.

One day, Penelope wasn't waiting at the fence for me. I opened the gate and went into the field looking everywhere for her. It worried me that she was nowhere in sight and was afraid the harrowing of the ground had been too much for her. But, she was nowhere to be found. I drove slowly west looking at both side of the road as I

186 A Collection of Recollections did. Not far away there were a great number of people. At first, I thought it was a carnival, but then I could see people of every color, engaged in various activities, interacting with other each other. Several groups were playing games, some were setting up displays, and some were playing ball, some croquet. There were a lot of children running and playing and dogs running around. It was just one great big party, apparently not celebrating for any particular reason, just people out enjoying themselves on a nice day. But there were so many of them!

Looking down a hill, I saw Penelope with what looked like children dancing around her. I drove down to where they were and sure enough there was Penelope. But the children were not being nice! They had decorated her with pieces of clothing, put lipstick on her and were mocking and making fun of her. You could tell she was embarrassed! She hung her head dejectedly. What was worse they were throwing things at her that made her move and they were yelling Dance, Dance! They howled and whooped and having what they considered fun, but it was at Penelope's expense. It was a terrible way to treat her.

Later, I found out it had all started in the guise of fun for an old horse who loved children. They had led her out of her gate and took her to where they were, telling her she was a nice horse in a gentle and kind manner, and she was happy for the attention. But then the situation changed and they begin making fun of her which caused her to feel terribly betrayed. Indeed, they had lured her to where she was under the pretense of loving her, but their behavior changed and they began to tease and abuse her. She nuzzled me and I felt her sadness. She wanted to leave. On the way home she balked as we went by the Miller's place near her pasture. I couldn't understand why she wanted to turn into their gate. You can't force a horse to go one direction if it wants to go another direction, so I let her walk down Miller's driveway and she went straight to a corral in back of their house. There was Miller's retired farm horse named Chloe and they whinnied and shook and carried on for quite some time. I knew what was going on! When you are betrayed and others make fun of you, you want to talk to someone who you can trust and Penelope knew she could trust Chloe to understand her feelings. Of course! That makes sense; "Horse sense".

The Miller's came out the back door of their house and I told them what had happened. They suggested I leave Penelope with Chloe for awhile and tell Mr Macready where she was and that they would take her home when they thought she was ready.

Mr. Macready was told the whole story by me and his eyes misted when he heard that Penelope had been mistreated. Mr. Macready was tough as leather, and had fought in a war. But, old farmers, old marines, and old writers as well as animals have feelings too. An important thing to remember is that children too are especially sensitive to how they are treated by others.

Be good to each other and to animals. ______

187 Chapter 75: The Girl With the Apple ° Chapter 75: The Girl With the Apple

Fiction by Herman Rosenblat. Posted Monday, April 11, 2011

AUGUST, 1942. PIOTRKOW, POLAND. The sky was gloomy that morning as we waited anxiously. All the men, women and children of Piotrkow's Jewish ghetto had been herded into a square. Word had gotten around that we were being moved. My father had only recently died from typhus, which had run rampant through the crowded ghetto. My greatest fear was that our family would be separated. 'Whatever you do:' Isidore, my eldest brother, whispered to me, 'don't tell them your age. Say you're sixteen.' I was tall for a boy of 11, so I could pull it off. That way I might be deemed valuable as a worker. An SS man approached me, boots clicking against the cobblestones. He looked me up and down, then asked my age. 'Sixteen,' I said. He directed me to the left, where my three brothers and other healthy young men already stood.

My mother was motioned to the right-with the other women, children, sick and elderly people. I whispered to Isidore, 'Why?' He didn't answer. I ran to Mama's side and said I wanted to stay with her. 'No,' she said sternly. 'Get away. Don't be a nuisance. Go with your brothers.' She had never spoken so harshly before. But I understood: She was protecting me. She loved me so much that, just this once, she pretended not to. It was the last I ever saw of her.

My brothers and I were transported in a cattle car to Germany. We arrived at the Buchenwald concentration camp one night weeks later and were led into a crowded barracks. The next day, we were issued uniforms and identification numbers. 'Don't call me Herman anymore,' I said to my brothers. 'Call me 94983.' I was put to work in the camp's crematorium, loading the dead onto a hand-cranked elevator. I too, felt dead. Hardened. I had become a number.

Soon, my brothers and I were sent to Schlieben, one of Buchenwald's sub-camps near Berlin. One morning I thought I heard my mother's voice. Son, she said softly but clearly, I am sending you an angel. Then I woke up. Just a dream. A beautiful dream. But in this place there could be no angels. There was only work. And hunger. And fear.

A couple of days later, I was walking around the camp, behind the barracks, near the barbed-wire fence where the guards could not easily see. I was alone. On the other side of the fence, I spotted someone-a young girl with light, almost luminous curls. She was half-hidden behind a birch tree. I glanced around to make sure no one saw me. I called to her softly in German, 'Do you have something to eat?' She didn't understand. I inched closer to the fence and repeated the question in Polish. She stepped forward. I was thin and gaunt, with rags wrapped around my feet, but the girl looked unafraid. In her eyes, I saw life. She pulled an apple from her woolen jacket and threw it over the fence. I grabbed the fruit and, as I started to run away, I heard her say faintly, 'I'll see you tomorrow.'

I didn't believe she would come back. It was much too dangerous. But I returned anyway, the same time the next day. And there she was. The same girl. She moved tentatively from behind the tree, and once again threw something over the fence. This time, a small hunk of bread wrapped around a stone. I ate the bread, gratefully and ravenously, wishing there had been enough to share with my brothers. When I looked up the girl was gone.

I returned to the same spot by the fence at the same time every day. She was always there with something for me to eat-a hunk of bread or, better yet, an apple. We didn't dare speak or linger. To be caught would mean death for us both. I didn't know anything about her-just a kind farm girl- except that she understood Polish. What was her name? Why was she risking her life for me? Hope was in such short supply, and this girl on the other side of the fence gave me some, as nourishing in its way as the bread and apples.

188 A Collection of Recollections

Nearly seven months later, my brothers and I were crammed into a coal car and shipped to the Theresienstadt camp in Czechoslovakia. 'Don't return,' I told the girl that day. 'We're leaving.' I turned toward the barracks and didn't look back, didn't even say good-bye to the girl whose name I'd never learned, the girl with the apples.

We were at Theresienstadt for three months. The war was winding down and Allied forces were closing in, yet my fate seemed sealed. On May 10, 1945, I was scheduled to die in the gas chamber at 10:00 A.M. In the quiet of dawn, I tried to prepare myself. So many times death seemed ready to claim me, but somehow I'd survived. Now, it was over. I thought of my parents. At least, I thought, we will be reunited. At 8:00 A.M., there was a commotion. I heard shouts, and saw people running every which way through camp. I caught up with my brothers. Russian troops had liberated the camp! The gates swung open. Everyone was running, so I did too. Amazingly, all of my brothers had survived; I'm not sure how. But I knew that the girl with the apples had been the key to my survival. In a place where evil seemed triumphant, one person's goodness had saved my life, had given me hope in a place where there was none. My mother had promised to send me an angel, and the angel had come.

Eventually, I made my way to England, where I was sponsored by a Jewish charity, put up in a hostel with other boys who had survived the Holocaust and trained in electronics. Then I came to America, where my brother Sam had already moved. I served in the U.S. Army during the Korean War, and returned to New York City after two years. By August 1957 I'd opened my own electronics repair shop. I was starting to settle in. One day, my friend Sid-whom I knew from England-called me. 'I've got a date. She's got a Polish friend. Let's double date.'

A blind date? Nah, that wasn't for me. But Sid kept pestering me, and a few days later we headed up to the Bronx to pick up his date and her friend, Roma. I had to admit, for a blind date this wasn't so bad. Roma was a nurse at a Bronx hospital. She was kind and smart. Beautiful, too, with swirling brown curls and green, almond-shaped eyes that sparkled with life.

The four of us drove out to Coney Island. Roma was easy to talk to, easy to be with. Turned out she was wary of blind dates too! We were both just doing our friends a favor. We took a stroll on the boardwalk, enjoying the salty Atlantic breeze, and then had dinner by the shore. I couldn't remember having a better time.

We piled back into Sid's car, Roma and I sharing the backseat. As European Jews who had survived the war, we were aware that much had been left unsaid between us. She broached the subject. 'Where were you:' she asked softly, 'during the war?'

'The camps,' I said, the terrible memories still vivid, the irreparable loss. I had tried to forget. But you never forget.

She nodded. 'My family was hiding on a farm in Germany, not far from Berlin:' she told me. 'My father knew a priest, and he got us Aryan papers.' I imagined how she must have suffered too-fear, a constant companion. And yet, here we were, both survivors in a new world. 'There was a camp next to the farm:' Roma continued. 'I saw a boy there, and I would throw him apples every day.'

What an amazing coincidence that she had helped some other boy. 'What did he look like?' I asked.

'He was tall. Skinny. Hungry. I must have seen him every day for six months'

My heart was racing. I couldn't believe it.. .this couldn't be.... 'Did he tell you one day not to come back because he was leaving Schlieben?'

Roma looked at me in amazement. 'Yes:'

'That was me!' I was ready to burst with joy and awe, flooded with emotions. I couldn't believe it. My angel. 'I'm not letting you go,' I said to Roma. And in the back of the car on that blind date, I proposed to her. I didn't want to wait.

'You're crazy!' she said. But she invited me to meet her parents for Shabbat dinner the following week. There was so much I looked forward to learning about Roma, but the most important things I always knew: her steadfastness, her goodness. For many months, in the worst of circumstances, she had come to the fence and given me hope. Now that I'd found her again, I could never let her go. That day, she said yes. And I kept my word: After nearly 50

189 Chapter 75: The Girl With the Apple years of marriage, two children and three grandchildren, I have never let her go. ______

190 A Collection of Recollections ° Chapter 76: Natal Attraction

Fiction by Wayne Slauson. Posted Saturday, May 7, 2011

Eddie stepped off the train on to the platform made with bricks captured by concrete curbs on each side. In large letters at the gable end of the depot was the name of the town. MILFORD. It was the same as it was when he had boarded the train at the beginning of the war, but much else was different. His parents were not there to greet him as they were to see him off. Walking down the platform he thought, 'Well, I'm home, but then I'm not really home. His parents had both died during his absence and in both cases, their deaths had occurred at times when it was impossible for him to return from Europe to attend funerals. It was impossible for him to be doing anything except trying to stay alive and at the same time kill enemy soldiers who were trying to kill him.

The street where Eddie had lived as a boy and teenager was not far from the train station, and as he lugged his heavy duffel bag down the street, he wondered why he had even come here. But, he knew it was because the Army had paid his fare to the location where he had been recruited; so knowing no other place, he found himself looking at the house where he had lived, now owned by someone else. His parents had not been poor; his father had been a prideful man, worked in the mill. His mother always had sadness about her. Without savings, the funeral expenses had been paid with the proceeds from the sale of the house. Eddie thought of these things as he felt of the money the Army had paid him when he was discharged, all $200 and some change.

The reality of his situation was evident in the slightly bewildered look on his face, a face which had been that of a handsome teenager when he left. Now it bore the marks of combat, a scar on the left side of his face, running from the corner of his mouth to his ear lobe. The bayonet of an enemy soldier had sliced across his face just before someone shot the other soldier, saving Eddie's life. He didn't even know who it was that fired the shot, and there was no time to say thanks even if he had known. Below the surface there were other scars resulting from his experiences, weariness and a wariness which made him seem older that his chronological age of 24. The scar on his cheek was wider than it would have been if had been stitched. The skin had curled outward and healed that way making a much wider scar than would been the case if it had been pulled tight with sutures.

Eddie was puzzling over what he might do next, as there was no place for him to go, no house, no parents. He wasn't despairing of his circumstances, but logically trying to think what his next move should be. The leaves on the trees had long lost their color and had turned crisp and brown. A chilled north wind was advertising winter. He knew he would not be able to sleep outside; he would have to find shelter. He realized that was the next step he had to take. His thoughts were very basic, 'Well, I'm here, and whether I stay here or not, I need to find someplace to stay'. He remembered there was a house not too far from where he lived that was often referred to as a 'rooming house' when he was a boy,. 'I think I know which one it is,' he thought, and wondered whether or not they still 'took in strangers' as was often said. When he was a very young boy he really didn't know what 'Room and Board' meant, but he knew now it was the kind of place he needed at the moment.

So, that is how Eddie, still in uniform, found himself climbing the steps to a house with the idea of renting a room. A lady opened the door cautiously until seeing the soldier in uniform erased her doubts that she should even answer the door. Eddie apologetically said, 'Excuse me ma'am, but I am looking for a room to rent and I thought

191 Chapter 76: Natal Attraction you might have one. 'Oh dear', said the lady, 'I have never rented any room. There used to be a rooming house down the street but that house has been divided into apartments'. Eddie knew then that he had the wrong house, and that even if he had picked the right house it was no longer the type of place he remembered.

'Oh boy', said Eddie, 'In that case I have a problem'. He sat down his duffle bag which had just become ten times as heavy. He knew too, that the first inclination the lady at the door had was to say 'Sorry' and close the door. But to his surprise and to hers too, she said, 'It's getting colder, why don't you come in, and maybe we can think of something.' Since Eddie had been walking and carrying the duffel bag, he welcomed the chance to sit a minute where it was warmer and think about what he might do next.

'My name is Eddie Merrill' he said as she motioned him to a chair. Then she sat in what was obviously her favorite chair and said, 'My name is Lydia Thompson. Henry, my husband, worked at the mill, but he passed away a few years ago, Bless his soul.' She then offered to make a cup of tea, but Eddie discouraged her from doing so saying, 'I better go down to the Salvation Army and see if they have some means for helping transients. If they don't, the only thing I can think of is going to the Police Station and asking if I can stay in one of their cells for the night. 'I do have a little money, but if I spend it on a motel or hotel, it won't last and I need to conserve it to purchase food.' 'Oh', he said, 'I shouldn't be talking about these things. I should be getting on my way'. 'Wait', Lydia Thompson said,

'I'm thinking.'

The furthest thing from Lydia Thompson's mind that chilly November day was renting a room to someone, or the idea of taking someone into her home in any manner. She had her friends, most of them from her Sunday school class at church. She talked on the phone to at least one of them everyday. She had her automobile and lacking any unforeseen circumstances, still had some years before she might become too old to drive. She was able to take care of herself, needed no outside help and was comfortably independent. She never expected a decision would be required of her suddenly and unexpectedly, but she knew in her heart that she was being asked to make a decision today, right then. It wasn't being asked by the young man just back from the war who had come to the door; it was asked by her conscience which she interpreted as God himself. 'OK Lydia', He was saying, 'You have been sitting in church and Sunday school for many years, talking about how we should help others. Now, Lydia, here is your chance!' Somewhat distressed Lydia said, 'Oh dear me' 'Oh dear me.'

Hearing the tone of her voice and what she had said, Eddie, who had been lost in his thoughts, thinking of what he might do next, looked up and said, 'Are you OK Mrs. Thompson?' She said, 'Well, yes I think so.' Then, awkwardly and hesitantly, she said, 'My husband Henry partitioned off and finished a room in the basement that has been used as a catch-all for furniture we replaced and various other junk. His thought was to use the space for a shelter in case the country was bombed, but of course that never happened thanks to young men like yourself. It has a range and a refrigerator that are not being used, but they would probably work if plugged in. There is also a small bathroom and shower.' Her voice trailed off, and she didn't know where to go from there.

Eddie didn't know what to say; he knew Mrs. Thompson was struggling with herself, but not sure of what she was thinking. She cleared her throat and said, 'It would not be very fancy, but it would be possible for someone to live there. There is a side door from the basement to the outside.' Eddie was beginning to understand where her thoughts were going, but the next thing she said was more than he could possibly have imagined. She said, 'I don't want to rent any part of the house; that would complicate matters with paper work, taxes, a rental agreement and that sort of thing. But, if you want to stay down there until you get your feet on the ground you are welcome to do so.' She couldn't believe she had said it, but she had.

Eddie, flabbergasted beyond measure, said, 'But Mrs Thompson, you don't even know me. I just came to your door a few minutes ago. I can't imagine your making such an offer. Are you sure this is what you want to do? Thankfully for you I don't smoke or drink, but what if I did? You would be getting yourself into something you didn't bargain for. Suppose I was dishonest, or had criminal intent, you would be letting yourself in for a lot of trouble.' Lydia laughed, 'The fact that you mentioned all those things shows me you are not any of them.' The war was terrible. You did your part; I'm just now, doing mine.

Eddie, now sensitive to the struggle that had been going on in Lydia's mind, said, 'Well, if you are hoping I will turn

192 A Collection of Recollections down the offer, I'm not.' This is the best thing that has happened to me since they handed me my discharge.' From somewhere deep within Lydia, without explanation, a tear formed, made its way to her eye and slid down her cheek. It was unseen by Eddie and not understood by Lydia.

The rest of the day was spent with Eddie straightening up the downstairs room. Lydia had told him that there was nothing whatsoever in the room that she wanted to save if it was something he couldn't use. She told him to stack such things by the door and to put them out at the curb on trash day, which was two days away. At first he felt awkward about moving someone else's belongings around and arranging some for disposal. But, it became easier as he got into it. He had plugged the refrigerator in and it hummed obediently. After a little time had gone by he opened the door and could tell it was cooling down. 'Great', he thought. The small, apartment sized range also worked and he looked forward to making a bowl of soup. Later, that thought came back to him when he realized he was getting hungry, but he didn't have anything to cook. About that time Mrs. Thompson called down the steps and said. 'Eddie, I have some soup ready; come have a bowl of soup.' She had realized he didn't have any food with him and there were no restaurants nearby. Soup was easy to fix, and she usually had more than she wanted anyway. 'Oh, thank you Mrs. Thompson, I will wash my hands and be right there.'

When Eddie sat down at the table he sensed Mrs. Thompson wanted to say a blessing, so he waited patiently for her to do so. She quietly thanked God for the food and asked God to bless Eddie. Surprisingly and without warning or understanding, an ache occurred in his throat, tightness, a lump.

As they ate the soup, an awkward atmosphere surrounded them. Here they were complete strangers, one coming to the door a few hours earlier, the other living a quiet life alone and suddenly they were sharing the same roof, and now sharing a meal. It was Eddie who first spoke, 'Did you have any children Mrs. Thompson?' 'No,' she answered, Henry and I could not have children. She didn't explain and it wasn't necessary. 'But,' she said, 'I have a niece, Emily, I am very fond of. She and her family often include me in things that normally would have included her mother, my sister, who passed away several years ago. She and her family, she has two girls, live in Claremont about a hundred miles from here. Her husband Wendell is a civil engineer and is a wonderful father and husband. I used to go there often, but I don't drive out of town now.

It suddenly occurred to Lydia that she didn't know why Eddie was here in this town. Strange, she hadn't even thought of that. So she asked him how he happened to be in Milford and where did he live before going in the service. So, he gave her a synopsis of his life and service and his return to Milford even though his parents were gone and the house they lived in was owned by someone else. 'Oh,' said Lydia, 'that's sad.' 'I didn't intend for it to sound that way,' Eddie said, 'It's just the circumstances and I have to adjust my life accordingly.' 'My,' she said, 'Those are words of wisdom I might expect from someone much older, but not someone your age.' 'Maybe some experiences age a person more rapidly than normal,' said Eddie, but I don't have a conscious feeling of being older than I am. I'm 24.' The rest of their conversation centered on Eddie's plan to look for a job the next day and Lydia telling him she had seen a help wanted sign at the grocery store.

The next morning Eddie left fairly early and knowing that he needed to get a few things to eat, he walked to the grocery store a few blocks away. The help wanted sign was still there and he inquired as to what kind of help they needed, knowing at the same time that he would take just about any job to become an employed person as opposed to being out of a job and living in someone's basement for free.

Eddie talked to George Wilson, the manager, explained he had just got out of the service and had only been in town since arriving on a train the day before and that he needed a job. He was told that at the present they needed someone to stock shelves, but that due to their turnover rate, that job was sure to lead to a better one. Some paper work was needed and he said they would like to see his discharge to certify his identity since he had no driver's license or any other identity. He also told him he could have the job once the formalities were completed. 'Of course I don't have my discharge with me, but I can bring it back in an hour or so. I do need to buy a few items and take them back with me.' The manager said, 'That will be OK, and since you are going to be an employee, I will see to it that you get an employees discount for the things you need now.' 'That's great, Eddie said with enthusiasm, because I don't have a lot of money. I'm glad you still had the job open. I'm thankful to get a job ' any job! Thank you sir! I will be back with my discharge; I hope you don't hire someone else before I get back.' 'Don't worry,' the manager said, 'The job is yours.'

193 Chapter 76: Natal Attraction

Eddie bought a small sack of groceries and hurried back to Mrs. Thompson's place, going in the basement door. It was still fairly early in the day, but he could tell Mrs. Thompson was up and about by the squeaks in the floor above. He wanted to tell her he had a job, but didn't want to bother her, so he put his grocery items away, got his Honorable Discharge from his duffel bag and headed back to the grocery store. Mr. Wilson was talking to another employee when he got there so he stood back at a respectful distance with his Discharge in his hand. Mr. Wilson nodded his way and when he was finished talking to the employee he turned to Eddie and said, 'Come on into my office and we will get you fixed up with a name tag and finish the paper work so you can start.' 'By the way, Eddie, you haven't asked how much the job paid and I haven't told you. But, I understand your eagerness to go to work.' 'Yes sir I sure am. The job pays more than I'm making now and that's all that matters. I need a starting place in civilian life. When I left I was barely out of High School, and didn't have a job other than selling the Saturday Evening Post.' 'Well,' said Mr. Wilson, 'You have a good attitude Eddie and Dennison Foods welcomes people like you. The paper work done, Eddie was ready to go to work and Mr. Wilson showed him the stock room and the map on the wall showing where different things were to be placed on the shelves in the store. But, Eddie had a look on his face between a frown and a puzzled expression. 'Is something the matter Eddie?' Mr. Wilson asked. 'Oh, I just wish I had told Mrs. Thompson I was going to be gone all day because I had a job.' Mr. Wilson knew a Mrs. Lydia Thompson, and he said, 'Not Mrs' Lydia Thompson?' 'Yes, that's her name. I'm staying in her basement temporarily. Not renting, just staying there since yesterday. She has been really nice to me.' 'Well, for Heaven's sakes, I have known Lydia for years, I will call her and tell her you have a job with us and are in fact working right now!' Relieved, Eddie said, 'Thank you sir, I would appreciate that.'

Mrs. Thompson was excited for Eddie, that even though the job was not any more than stocking shelves in a grocery store, he was gainfully employed. She was happy for him and not thinking in terms of him paying for staying in her house. She had firmly decided providing Eddie a place to live was the right thing to do and she wanted to do it more than ever. When she told one of her church friends about Eddie, she was met with astonishment and the question of 'Lydia, are you out of your mind?' She had just laughed and told them she knew she was doing the right thing, putting an emphasis on the word right.

And so, during the next several days a routine developed and a normalcy established. She had no misgivings about her decision and was getting used to the idea of another person being in the house, even beginning to feel that's the way it should be. As soon as Eddie got the job, he insisted on giving her some money each payday. 'It isn't rent, it's to help pay for the utilities, which with me in the house are bound to be a little higher. ' 'Lydia accepted the money on that basis and insisted as she had before, she didn't want rent as such, and the complications associated with it.

Thanksgiving was coming up Lydia wondered just how that was going to work. She had not cooked a big dinner in several years and did not want to try now. She was thinking about that subject one day when the phone rang. It was her niece. Lydia had some reservations about what her niece's reaction might be when she told her about Eddie. But, although Emily was surprised, she supported Lydia's decision.

Her niece had said, 'Aunt Lydia, I know you don't want to drive outside of Milford, but, what if this Eddie fellow brought you up here in your car?' 'He doesn't have a car Lydia responded and I'm not even sure he has a license.' 'Well, he could get a license and he could drive your car,' Emily was quick to point out. True, said Lydia, 'And I would love to see you and the children, and Wendell too. Emily said she had to go, but not before she told her aunt to think about coming there for Thanksgiving and Eddie being the one to make it possible. Emily also thought, but didn't make it known, that such an arrangement would provide an opportunity for her to use her own judgment and see what kind of a person her Aunt had taken in.

Lydia approached the subject with Eddie by asking if he had thought of getting a driver's license. 'Oh,' he said, 'Mr Wilson wanted me to get one because it might be necessary for me to drive the company truck sometime. He even said I could use the truck to take the driving test. Just yesterday I took the test and have a temporary license until I get the permanent one from the state.'

'Wonderful,' said Lydia, and proceeded to tell Eddie about her niece Emily inviting her to Thanksgiving with her and her family and suggesting that Eddie might be able to help out by driving her there in her car. She was quick to tell him that Emily and her husband were very friendly people and he would be welcome. 'Oh gosh', said Eddie, 'It sounds like it would be fun, but are you sure they would want me around. I could take you and then maybe spend

194 A Collection of Recollections some time at the library while you were with them.' 'Oh no, Eddie, they would be hurt if you didn't accept their invitation. They make friends easily and would welcome you without question. Besides, there would be no place for you to go, libraries and businesses would all be closed for the Holiday. If you wouldn't drive me up there, I wouldn't be spending Thanksgiving with them, and I would very much like to do that.' 'When you put it that way,' Eddie said with a grin, 'How can I turn it down?' 'Splendid, Eddie, I will tell them we will be there.'

Thanksgiving was almost two weeks away and Eddie was getting comfortable in his job. He had already made some suggestions of how the process of stocking the shelves could be improved. Mr. Wilson was impressed with Eddie because of those things, his enthusiasm for the work, and that he was always at work on time or ahead of time and even looked for extra things he could do. It was obvious to Mr. Wilson that Eddie was a responsible person and had a team spirit. He felt that in the future there would probably be an occasion to give Eddie more responsibility and a corresponding increase in wages. But, Mr. Wilson was cautious and not inclined to rush things. It was his habit to observe others over a period of time before making a hard and fast judgment.

The day before Thanksgiving, Eddie worked extra hard to see that there were no vacant places on the shelves, especially of items he knew a lot of people would be purchasing. He wanted things to go as smoothly as possible, and was looking forward to making the trip with Mrs. Thompson even though he did feel a little awkward about it. But, he was also thinking it would be good to go somewhere and to meet some new people. His circle since he got back had been people who worked in the store and Mrs. Thompson. My gosh he thought, I was so lucky that I went to the wrong house and I'm really thankful Mrs. Thompson let me stay in her house. I'm thankful Mr. Wilson gave me the job too. I just have a lot of things for which to be thankful.

The sun started Thanksgiving Day with warmer temperature than it had been for awhile. It was a welcome change for both Eddie and Mrs. Thompson. Eddie carefully backed Lydia's 1941 De Soto out of the garage, pausing to look at the gauges, got out and opened the hood. Part of his training in the service was to check a vehicle out before leaving the motor pool with it. He thought this would be a good time to follow that procedure since it wasn't his car and he didn't want any surprises along the road. Pulling out the dipstick he saw that the oil was very clean and nothing seemed out of order. He glanced at the tires and noted the gleam of the sun on the paint, a dark green below the window level and a light green above. There were not a lot of miles on the car and it was in excellent condition.

He commented on that fact while he held the door for Lydia on the passenger side of the vehicle. She waited to reply until he had come around and got hack in the driver's seat. She said, 'Henry was so proud of this car,' she said. 'We got it not long before he passed away. Bought it right at the end of '40 and he was gone before Pearl Harbor. Of course, I don't drive very much, so it doesn't have very many miles on it.' 'I see that,' said Eddie. 'Ketchum Motors takes care of it for me and I just let them do it. I don't worry about it all. They have been in business for many years and we have always had them take care of our cars.'

'It sure is a nice car,' Eddie said as he eased the car backwards out of the driveway. 'I know how to get to the highway, but when we get to Claremont, you will have to direct me to your niece's house.' Lydia chuckled, 'Hopefully I can remember.' Eddie chuckled himself and said, 'Well, we'll make it OK.'

When they got out on the highway, and had driven a little distance toward Claremont, Lydia relaxed and watched the scenery as they moved along. She felt comfortable with Eddie's driving; he didn't drive fast and seemed to be at ease, but not carelessly so, behind the wheel. She remembered something her niece had told her when she had called a second time to see if aunt Lydia was going to come. She told Lydia that since Eddie was coming she was going to invite another couple who had a son Eddie's age, and their daughter who was younger. Lydia proceeded to tell Eddie about the conversation and he took it all in, thinking to himself that another man his age might make the visit even more interesting for him. He thought that perhaps Lydia's niece had thought about that and purposely invited the other family to share Thanksgiving. Lydia also thought to herself that since her niece had told her one side of the face of the young man of that family was disfigured from birth, he had something in common with Eddie, considering the scar on his.

Reaching Claremont and after making a couple wrong turns, they arrived at Lydia's niece's house. Both Wendell and Emily came out to greet them. The two girls, Elaine and Elizabeth 9 and 10, stood shyly at the front door. After hugging Lydia, Emily said, 'And you must be Eddie' reaching out a hand. Eddie said, 'Yes ma'am'. Wendell

195 Chapter 76: Natal Attraction shook hands with Eddie and said, 'We're very glad you came with Lydia, or brought her,' He chuckled. 'And we want you to feel welcome Eddie. We don't put on airs or anything like that. Just make yourself at home.' They walked together toward the house, Lydia and Emily arm and arm, and Eddie expressing his appreciation to Wendell for being invited. The two girls giggled when introduced to Eddie, gave Lydia hugs and then melted into the background of their comfortable home. Eddie said that it had been a long time since he had been in a 'home' situation like theirs and he hoped they would excuse his awkwardness.

They visited for a short time in the living room. Emily asked Eddie if he had any brother's or sister's and he told them, 'No, I was the only child. I think my family struggled more than I realized on the salary my father earned at the mill. I suppose they thought it was hard enough to raise one child, so I'm it.' Wendell told them about the other family that was expected in a few minutes. 'They have a son, Evan, and a daughter just a little younger than Evan. Her name is Angelica, but they call her Angie. I believe Evan is your age Eddie. About that time they heard a car door shut out at the curb.

'I think the Warner's are here,' Emily said as she headed for the door. Aside she said to Eddie, 'I think you will like Evan.' Since he wasn't 'family' Eddie stayed in the house while Emily and Wendell went out to greet the Warner's. Eddie could hear the voices and thought he heard his name being mentioned. In a moment, they were in the house and introductions were made. As soon as Eddie was introduced to Evan and shook his hand something in him stirred. He didn't know what it was, but he felt something within him, some kind of an emotion he didn't understand but it was there. Evan didn't waste any time starting a conversation with Eddie. Soon they were exchanging their views and opinions on about everything imaginable, from the war, weather and universe. Evan told Eddie that he had not been in the service due to a problem with his feet. He expressed his admiration for Eddie's service, but neither of them mentioned the other's facial disfigurement. The right side of Evan's face was misshapen and discolored. Eddie's scar was very wide and very noticeable. It was clear they didn't have any problem communicating, and they obviously liked each other. At one point in their conversation Evan told Eddie that when he first saw him he had some unexplained feelings. He said, 'It was something I don't understand Eddie, but something different than I ever experienced before.'

Angie, the Warner's daughter talked to the girls and it was obvious they were in awe and greatly admired her. She treated them like she was a big sister and they were enthusiastically telling her about things they had done recently, clothes their mother had bought for them and how they liked her hair. One of them said, 'You're beautiful Angie.' She told them they were both beautiful young ladies.

Wendell and Mr. Warner were talking about business and the women were busy in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on dinner. In no time at all they were called to the table and it was suggested to them where they should sit. Eddie ended up with Angie on one side of him and Evan on the other. Wendell said a blessing of thanksgiving for the food and for life and for the fact they could all gather together like they were in a free country, thanks to young men like Eddie. They held hands during the blessing and squeezed each other's hand when the Amen was said. Eddie felt Angie's but Evan's was much tighter.

After dinner, most of them scattered about, resuming their conversations as before except that Angie helped Emily and Mrs. Warner clean up the table and the kitchen. The girls sought out Eddie and Evan who were again, deep in conversation and asked them question after question. The young men teased them with their answers and asked if they had boy friends, thus entertaining them until Angie came back from the kitchen, at which time Eddie and Evan were abandoned for more 'girl talk'.

So far as Emily was concerned it was a very 'successful' Thanksgiving. The Warner's thought it was great fun to be invited to share Thanksgiving together. Angie was busy taking pictures before everyone got away. She had already taken quite a few, several of the girls, but she wanted to be sure and get everyone's picture before they left. While she was doing that, Mr. Warner, Eddie had heard Wendell call him Roger, said, 'Why don't we have a Christmas get together at our house. No one else is coming to visit; each family could have their Christmas gifts on Christmas Eve and then be together on Christmas day. That would be wonderful Wendell and Emily said. Mr. Warner said, 'Oh, and I mean all of us, Lydia, and Eddie too.' Lydia had been quiet during the afternoon, spending the time observing and listening, but responded with, 'That would be most generous of you Mr. Warner if Eddie would be willing to drive me up here I would love that.' She looked at Eddie and he said, 'I can't think of anything I would rather do!' 'Splendid!' said Mr. Warner, 'We are going to have Christmas together!' There were a few hugs,

196 A Collection of Recollections including one between Eddie and Evan that Lydia noticed was fairly long. Lydia had taken special notice of the attraction the two had for each other.

On the way back to Milford, Lydia said, 'I could tell you really liked Evan.' 'Yes, I did, I really did,' responded Eddie. Lydia was quiet the rest of the way back, an inner conflict occupying her mind. Eddie thought she was probably tired and didn't try to carry on a conversation. He was thinking though that he would be seeing Evan again Christmas Day and was glad.

For a few days, Lydia was unusually quiet. It was as though she had something on her mind. Eddie thought the trip had tired her out more than she thought it would. Then, one day she became herself again and the next few weeks went along smoothly. She asked two or three times if there were any of the girls at the grocery store he was interested in. He told her. 'Not really' that he was more interested in doing a good job in the hopes of working his way up to a better job, and that he couldn't afford a girl friend anyway, on his salary. During that period Lydia asked him to do a few odd jobs for her which he was glad to do. Christmas was fast approaching and Emily called to ask if she and Eddie were going to come to Claremont for Christmas with them and the Warner's. She was puzzled by Lydia's apparent hesitancy to say yes, that they would be there, but she didn't press the matter. She thought maybe Lydia was not comfortable with being a guest in someone's home other than her own, but the plans had been made to have Christmas with the Warner's and she couldn't change those arrangements. Everyone else in her family, especially the girls were looking forward to spending time with Angie. After two or three calls, though, Lydia said they would be there.

On Christmas morning Eddie drove them to Claremont as they had before. It was cold but there was no snow and the heater in the De Soto heated the inside of the car by the time they got to the highway. Eddie was light hearted and looking forward to seeing Evan again. He was thinking of things to mention to Evan in conversation. Evan was attending college and Eddie was anxious to tell him that Mr. Wilson said Dennison Foods was considering sending him to school for some management training. Since it wasn't a foregone conclusion he hadn't told Lydia yet.

Eddie and Lydia arrived at Emily's house and then followed the family to the Warner's house in a different part of town. It was easier to follow them than to try and find it on their own. The Warner's said they had a tradition in their family. Mr. Warner cooked the Christmas turkey. His wife said he really did a good job of it. They had plenty of time to visit though before dinner and nearly duplicated the routine of the last time they were together. The little girls spent more time with Lydia this time however and entertained her with all kinds of exciting reports of what they had received for Christmas. Roger and Wendell were visiting about world affairs, Eddie and Evan were engrossed in talking about what had happened in each other's lives since they had last seen each other. Angie and Emily and Mrs. Warner were cooking potatoes and making salads in the kitchen. Soon, they had a break and Angie brought out some pictures she had taken at Thanksgiving time. She passed them around and when they came back to her she sat studying them. Suddenly she virtually shouted, 'Oh, my God Oh, my God!' Everyone turned to see what had brought on such an excited exclamation.

'Look at this! Look at this!' she said and her voice trembled as she said it. She had two pictures, one of Eddie and one of Evan, Both pictures were frontal views. She had taken the two pictures and aligned them so the left side of Evan matched the right side of Eddie. 'Oh my God,' She exclaimed again, just look at this. She laid the pictures down on a table, carefully aligned them and everyone crowded around to look at what she was so excited about. With the pictures thus aligned, there stood Evan without the birthmark. No, there stood Eddie without the scar. No, that's Evan. No, that's Eddie. What? They were exactly alike! Angie said, 'Without the birth injury and without the scar, you two are twins!'

'But that's impossible,' said Eddie. I was an only child. 'Yes Evan said, and my parents are the Warner's. Mr. Warner cleared his throat. Mrs. Warner gave him a look and he shrugged, 'This is the time.' 'Evan, don't be angry with us for not telling you sooner, but we wanted to shield you from the fact your father refused to keep the twin who had the marked face. We adopted you three days after you were born. We were unable to have children, or at least we thought so. Shortly after you came along, the doctor told us we were going to have another. You were a blessing to us from day one. We are your parents. It says so on your birth certificate, because when a person is adopted a new birth certificate is issued. The clerk inadvertently put down the date of the adoption where the date of birth should have been. It was only three days difference, so we didn't ask for it to be changed. Also we didn't want to take any chance that the adoption would fall through while that process was going on. When I saw Eddie, I

197 Chapter 76: Natal Attraction wondered, but the scar on his face changed his appearance from what it would be otherwise. I wondered though, and now I know. The two of you are twins, separated at birth by a man too proud for his own good.

Lydia dabbed at her eyes. Angie just let the tears flow. Wendell and Emily were standing with their mouths open. The girls knew something important was happening but were understandably confused; not sure what was going on. Mrs. Warner was in tears.

Suddenly Eddie understood his mother's sadness. He also understood why when he first touched Evan there was an emotion running through each of them that neither understood but each knew a connection, not of their conscious knowledge, existed. Evan immediately forgave his parents, realizing they had meant well and was excited with the greatest Christmas present he could receive, his twin brother. 'Wow!' he shouted, 'What a Christmas present!'

Roger, struggling with his own emotions, said, 'Now, since that is over, I'm going to take the turkey out of the oven and we are going to eat!' As if it had been rehearsed every one spoke as a chorus, saying, 'What a Merry Christmas this is!

Wayne S. Slauson ______

198 A Collection of Recollections ° Index

2012 Ninth St. Rensselaer, NY, 4 Monks, 33 A Day to Remember , 69 More Responsibility (Not much and on short time) , 97 Albany and the YMCA, 27 Moving on, Backing up, 133 Alone With My Thoughts , 149 My Bonnie Falls, 182 And Now, What Next?, 178 My Father, 7 Another Leave and More About Joe, 90 My First Leave - A Turning Point, 74 Attaining the Rank of Retired Railroader, 169 My first summer in Beacon, 58 Back From the Big City, 129 My Job as a Police Dispatcher, 106 Back On Our Own Property, 140 My Kentucky Story, 16 Beacon (Continued), 61 Nana, 13 Beacon, NY, 55 Natal Attraction, 191 Becoming a Kansan , 99 Neighborhood , 23 Becoming a Railroader, 119 Nothing is Certain But Change, 162 Bud and Bonnie Chapin, 174 Odd Fellows Home, 41 Close to Leaving , 47 Operation Lifesaver, 151 Death of a Friend, 164 Our Applecart Gets Turned Upside Down, 160 Doc, 8 Our Last Move with Santa Fe, 167 East Fourth St. Topeka, 101 Overcoming a Broken Promise , 124 Family Life, 110 Penelope A short story for children , 186 Getting Started in the Air force, 70 Police Fire and Railroad, 116 Girl With the Apple, 188 Pop, 11 Good and The Bad, 113 Preface, 5 (v) Great Escape, 67 RV Travels and Making Friends, 172 Hollow, 30 Sammy Lieberman, 25 Houma Sweet Home, 83 Sandy, The Pet I Left Behind , 51 Hudson River, 35 School, Work and Flood, 104 I Meet a Biker Babe, 158 Some personal comments, 15 In The Beginning, 131 Sun Sets On My Time at MacDill, 91 Joe TenEyck, 49 Table of Contents, 2 (ii) Just Horsing Around, 156 Testing the waters, 1 Keith Thomas, 143 The Death of a Friend, 164 Left and Right, 180 The Girl With the Apple, 188 Living and Working in Chicago, 121 The Good and The Bad, 113 MacDill AFB, 76 The Great Escape, 67 Many More Friends Than those Listed Here, 176 The Hollow, 30 Married and Living in Emporia , 137 The Hudson River, 35 McGregors & Kansas Voice of Emporia , 145 The Left and Right, 180 Meanwhile Back at MacDill, 86 The McGregors & Kansas Voice of Emporia , 145 Mom, 2 The Monks, 33

199 Index

The Neighborhood , 23 This Old House, 39 The Odd Fellows Home, 41 Transition, 54 The Sun Sets On My Time at MacDill, 91 Trouble in River City, 65 There Comes a Day, 135 Washington Avenue Garage, 44 ______

200