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Kokomo Kootsie
7/24/2002
Nibbles- Bits & Pieces
Pondering
When I left Kokomo in October of 1933, to go to Nicholasville, Kentucky, to visit my father and his family, I didn't know I'd only be back to Indiana for visits, the rest of my life!
I never looked back, never regretted it. But today, I think of how much I'd like to see all those loved ones I so blithely walked away from, and they are no longer there to see, visit, I feel a sorrow, a longing, if not a regret, that so many years have gone by, that I could have spent with them. When it's forever too late.
It seems to me, as I look back over the years, I've had to always make a very definite choice, as to which road to take; never had a meandering path that perhaps led to chance encounters or situations, and therefore a life far different than I had over the years, and have, even today.
But there's no way I could ever regret today. I have a great life, I'd just like to be assured of a bit more of it. There's so much living to do yet!
How can anyone be bored? I've never been in that dead zone. I find so much to do; there is not enough hours in a day, or days in a month, nor years either to do or accomplish it all.
Now, so much energy has fled from me, I'm frustrated and some short tempered with those who can't see the needs as I can, and take care of them!
It's not just the every day living only, that occupies me, my mind; there are the things that feed my very soul. Number one of course, is Bible Study; and I write as much as I read it.
There's piano and organ lessons and practice time too. There is drawing and painting for fun; sewing, all kinds of things; aprons, pot holders, dresses, drapes, whatever I want. Last, but number one for me is my writing, an autobiography for my children's edification, and request.
A book expanded from the autobiography, letters and cards to relatives and friends, and my Blog, two or more per day, also to put on Weblog page of son's website and copies for my album of stories.
Bored? The only way I can become bored is trying to do it all, and seeing I'm not able to, bored with lack of success!
I will not sit around and wait for that 'Old Chariot' to swing low for me!
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| EPM 2002 - 2005 |
Kokomo Kootsie
7/21/2002
Nibbles- Bits & Pieces
The Telegram Boy
There was always a tiny vise of terror that gripped the insides of older folk-perhaps all grown ups when I was a child, at the sight of a telegraph boy coming down the street on his bicycle.
We children soon caught the feeling while very young, and would drop our play and stand silently until he went on by, then feel a great relief, and would show it by an extra surge of energetic play.
If we say him soon enough, far down the street, we would run and call, "Mommy, Mommy, a telegram boy is coming down the street." and Mommy would dry her hands, fresh from the wash tub or dish pan, on her apron as she rushed to the door or window, an anxious look on her face, which our own face reflected, and fear like an icicle would knife through my spine and hers; and every one held dear, not within sight, would flash through her mind, and squeeze her heart like a vice, closing off her breath, until the telegraph boy passed on by.
Then she would remove her hand from her breast where it had rested, and shake her head, and with a serious, sad face, return to her work in the kitchen-and we would return to our play-and forget it-until next time.
If the telegraph boy stopped by your gate, got off his bicycle and leaned it against the fence, you knew it was trouble, bad news, usually death, he was bringing you.
Phones were almost unheard of in those days, for the average man; usually a luxury he could ill afford. So a telegram was always sent if there was a death or important news; never did one ever get good news by wire!
Perhaps there was not much good news around in those dark days at the end of the nineteen hundreds and early twentieth century.
Grandmother had a few messages by wire over the years; delivered by the telegram boy! All bad, all deaths!
Since her family all lived over three hundred miles away, and kept in touch by mail on a regular basis, so the sight or cry; 'telegram boy coming down the street', sent shivers down her spine; dread in her heart, because only her family could be sending her a telegram.
She would take it silently from the young man, then go inside, get her glasses, and very slowly go to a chair and seat her self. Then she would take the telegram out of it's envelope, and carefully unfold it. She would read very slowly, her lips moving over the words. Tears would form in her eyes, ready to spill over, a prelude of the torrent to follow.
Years later, when I grew up, all of eighteen, I too was now living far away from my dear grandmother. On her birthday, in April, I realized I had not sent her a card, nor the gift, a box of handkerchiefs, I had gotten her. Since it was now too late for her to get it on time, and I didn't want her to think I'd forgotten her birthday, I had an idea I thought was the perfect solution! Send her a telegram! So I did! I wished her a Happy Birthday, and told her I had a gift, and would mail it to her right away.
A few days later I had a letter from my Auntie; she said grandma had received the telegram, but couldn't open it; she was so unnerved by getting a telegram! Auntie had to open it and read it to her! Grandmother had to wipe her eyes as she said, "She has scared me to death!" And she cried and cried from the scare-and relief that I was fine.
Some Birthday Gift for grandmother.
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| EPM 2002 - 2005 |
Kokomo Kootsie
7/21/2002
Nibbles- Bits & Pieces
802 South
Across the street from our house, was the Pittsburg Plate Glass Company. My Auntie worked there, and met Walter, who became her husband a few years later.
The Glass Company fronted on Vale Avenue, and was bounded on the south by Markland Avenue, East on Diamond Street, and on the west by Waugh, and fenced with very high fencing.
I slept in a bedroom, that had a large, low window at the foot of the bed, and I would lay there at night and look across to the factory, and watch the glass making.
It would be bright with the hot fire from the furnaces, and the workmen would be stripped to the waist, and their bodies gleaming with perspiration that ran down and dripped off them. Sometimes, grandma would sit by the window and we would watch the glass making together.
As I remember, big vats of molten glass would pour down from overhead, on to a huge table, and a giant roller would come down, and roll over it, flattening it down. That's what I recall from my six year old eyes and memory. What the workmen did, I never knew, but they were busy, moving about and do doubt controlling the pouring, and the roller and so on! Also I'd see them open the furnace doors, and the bright, hot blazing fire within.
Coming home from school, when I was about seven years old, we would sometimes go all the way down Harrison to where the street ended at the Plate Glass Company, and go home by Waugh Street and Markland Avenue.
Then we often went in the big gates that were always open in daytime hours, and a very friendly man worked in the glass sheds there. He would take time to show us the beautiful colored glass and stained glass for windows. Once in a while he gave us small squares of the pretty colored glass. I remember the robin's egg blue, and the green; I treasured them for years.
On Vale Avenue side, where all the offices were, was a very green well kept lawn, fenced by a brass railing, above a low cement and brick wall. When we went to school that way, we say some one polishing that brass railing and also some plates on the doors. There were kept sparkling!
The brick and cement wall, without the brass, but topped with ten feet high chain linked fencing and barbed wire, got higher and higher as the street was steeply down hill. At it's highest point, it was perhaps four feet from the side wall.
We children would start at the low en of the wall, and walk all the way to the apex, and jump down, and be on our way!
One evening after school, I was walking the high end, and my uncle Pete came along and lifted me down, and I got a spanking when we reached home for being on the wall! I might break my neck in a fall!
My grandfather on Sundays, used to sit on the front porch, and see Mr. Golightly, a 'Boss' at Plate Glass, make the rounds, all dressed up, ready for church. Grandpa had his opinion about that!
I can not recall my sweet grandfather ever making fun of anyone; he did not like Indiana, and had a lot of fancy ways of saying so, mostly it was the climate! But he spoke of Mr. Golightly with derision! I remember his voice; his words so clearly-"Look at him, that's old Mr. Golightly. He's all dressed up for church, and he comes over here to make sure the poor workmen are on the job on Sunday-while he's off to pray! Spends more on his suit of clothes than they take home for a week's hard work!" Words to that effect, at any rate.
My grandfather, however, never met a person he didn't like; yet I've heard him say, that a small church that was on the corner of Harrison, and I can't recall the other street, would hold all the people that would make it to heaven, and still only be half full! I guess he liked people, but never thought they were angels, or angel material!
One summer, my grandpa and I were sitting on the front porch, and noted a lot of activity at the Italian family's house next door.
Grandfather said, Mrs. Bruno, the younger one, had died, after she had a little baby girl. He tried to explain to my then less than six years, about birth and death. He told me my own mother had died, not because she had my little brother, but due to her doctor's carelessness! He did not tell me what it was.
I learned exactly what it was, that carelessness, why she died so young, at twenty-three years old, later, when I was home on a visit, and already had a small daughter of my own, JoEllen, age three, and was expecting my son, Mickey, in five months. Auntie told me, when I said it had never been clear to me.
The doctor had not properly cared for her, after the delivery; leaving part of the after birth, which poisoned her whole system.
I digress! At the time, grandpa was telling me what was going on next door. Someone came to the window, and tossed a pan of bloody water out into the yard! This happened several times!
Embalming at home, and tossing it out of the window, ten feet or more from where we were on our porch? Grandpa explained all about it and why; more than I needed to hear, nor wanted to know, now! Nor write of it!
Today, I wonder about that. Was it so? What was really taking place that day? Was embalming at home ever allowed, or possible? That's the way I heard it from what I witnessed, and from grandpa.
Yet-a hearse drove up to the house, and Mrs. Bruno was carried out in a casket; and her family all ran out to the street, behind the men carrying the casket! Mr. Bruno ran out, crying, with his hands and arms stretched out to the fleeing hearse! I remember he had on just his trousers and an undershirt, and his 'galluses' which were hanging down on both sides of his pants, not upon his shoulders where they belonged.
That was my lesson on death, dying, embalming, grieving-and filth!
It really was a crumby street; a very poor section neighborhood; a mean street!
On a visit home, a few years ago, I had my son drive me all over Kokomo; to once more, see the old places of my youth. Few were left to see! Some were not recognizable. But 802 South Diamond Street was just the same! Just the same.
The big house on the corner of Markland and Plate Street was gone; a service station there! Sarvor's grocery on the other, corner long gone.
Chinkie and Hazel Wright's house was two doors down from where we had lived, and looked exactly the same, except closed, deserted, dirty from years of old coal soot, and not lived in.
I couldn't find where Kokomo ended, and Greentown began! Used to be Kokomo really ended, at Seventeenth Street, where Markland Avenue ended it's pavements. And where all the carnivals were each summer.
Then it was a much traveled road on the Greentown; with an open stretch of beautiful country and farms. We kids used to hike out as far as the school at Darrough Chapel and play in the school yard. After we moved to Star Ranch, we walked into town from there a few times, going down the old Interurban tracks, when it was still in operation, and later tracks removed when it no longer ran it's route.
Worst, and saddening to me, was when I saw Star Ranch, where I spend some happy three years, in the country I loved.
It looked naked! Trees, shrubs, were gone! My beautiful lilac bush, by my bedroom window, home of the sweet red Cardinal, who awakened me so many gorgeous spring mornings with his heart brokenly beautiful song, wafted into my bedroom along with the scent of lilacs on the warm spring breezes-gone also!
The orchard was gone and now home to a trailer!
The farm was only ten acres; nevertheless it was now sub-divided, and little old streets and cracker box houses ran in every direction!
How often I'm reminded of that line from Faulkner, "You can't go home again!" You truly can't! And it hurts.
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| EPM 2002 - 2005 |
Kokomo Kootsie
7/21/2002
Nibbles- Bits & Pieces
The Bender Kids
How I detested them! The Bender Kids! Mr. Bender was a friend of my uncle Pete's. He was his only married friend among the many close friends he enjoyed.
I recall, Mr. Bender, as a good looking, extrovert, with the great gift of gab, always smiling and pleasant looking. His wife was a small red head. She was not as outgoing and friendly as her husband.
They seemed to me, to have a hundred children! Actually, they did have about five at that time! The oldest, Helen, was about a year younger than my ten years, and Winnie was about Jack's age of eight!
One day, Mr. Bender, brought Helen and Winnie, over for my grandma to keep for the week end. Jack and I were intrigued, when we heard they were coming. This was their first trip over!
When Mr. Bender dropped the girls off, they both began to cry, loud and clear, and tried to leave with their dad! Jack and I stood back and stared at them transfixed at their behavior. Floyd Bender, asked grandma to lock the screen door, so they couldn't get out to follow him; he left with them both howling!
Grandma seemed at a loss herself, as to what to do. She wasn't used to crying children. Something I never did, and Jack rarely.
They finally calmed down, and except for a sniffle now and then, were able to play with us.
When night came, it was another story. Helen and Winnie began to howl like a couple of wolves; wanting to go home; wanting mommy; daddy; and a hard time was had getting them into bed that night, and finally to sleep.
Helen had to sleep with me, and she tossed and turned, flinging her arms about, in my face, and moaned and snuffled all night.
I was a night owl, anyway, and she didn't keep me awake; but I still didn't enjoy her thrashing about, and lay there pondering what her problem was; so bad to be away from Mommy, and home for a night or two?
Visiting, to spend a night away from home, was fun for me, and I did it as often as I could; had girl friends over to spend the night, and for week ends, when I was older. No one ever cried to go home!
One Easter, Floyd Bender, brought Helen and Winnie, over to spend the week end. He returned later with a huge brown grocery bag of Easter candy for all of us!
I remember it was full of those beautiful colored candy eggs, which were much larger than those on the market today. There was also, big chocolate-coated rabbits that were rock hard under the chocolate, and not fit to eat! But it was a veritable bonanza of goodies, nevertheless!
We dumped them all out on that old trusted handy newspaper, The Kokomo Tribune, and began to divide it all among the four of us.
I wanted all the blue, purple and lavender eggs; but had to do some hard trading to get more than my share of those colors!
That was the very first, and most, Easter Candy, Jack and I ever had!
It's an ill wind-Every cloud has a silver lining-etc., etc.
The Bender kids were left at our house, week ends, a few times for as much as a week at a time, over the next several years!
I remember one time, Helen vomited over me, one hot summer night! Even grandma, was ready to say, "No more," to baby sitting the Bender kids! She had to get out of bed, in the middle of the night, and clean up two girls, change the bed linen, and listen to the angry disgust of one, while the other one bawled!
But, before it all ended, Helen and Winnie were not the only Bender kids left at our house! They had a small boy, named Malcolm, and a beautiful little girl named June, who had blond curls all over her head, and a red haired baby girl, two years old.
We were then living at Star Ranch farm. One spring day, when I came home from school, who did I see in our backyard? The whole tribe of Bender kids! I was instantly peed-off good! All five of them! Again at our house!
Worse, I found my grandma had allowed them to play in my small room, and they had taken whatever they wanted, outside to play with!
One had my big 'Mama' doll, and one had the small trunk of doll clothes that I treasured, and kept under by bed; they were having a wash day! Some were on the line, others soaking in a pan of water! They had to be thrown away!
My room was torn up; a real job done on it. I had spent one night at their house, and their house was a pig-sty! The kids did as they pleased, and toys-clothes, food, scattered about and constant wailing or fighting going on all the time! So to tear up, destroy, break and cry was second nature to them!
I was furious! I was about thirteen then, and I liked my privacy and my things left alone!
I said, "If they ever came again, I'd run away from home; and I meant it too!
That was the Benders kids' last trip to our house.
I never saw or heard of them ever again!
Nor wanted to!
LINK
| EPM 2002 - 2005 |
Kokomo Kootsie
7/21/2002
Nibbles- Bits & Pieces
The Bloomers
Esther was Mary's sister; she was eighteen and the typical Farmer's daughter, of novels.
She came up from the farm in Sheridan to visit Mary for a week at a time.
Once, I asked her if she wanted to go to the movie with me, that I was meeting my girl friend there. She agreed.
So, when I met Winni, we three went to the ticket window, and each bought our ticket; except Esther! She just stood there! We looked questionably at her, asked what was the trouble.
Her face was fiery red; she said she didn't have any money!
Any gal, knew that it was always 'Dutch Treat', when asked to go anywhere, unless it was a date with a guy! In the depression era most definitely a given. There she stood, looking like a farmer's daughter, waiting for us to pay for her movie ticket; we were lucky to be able to pay for our own! But we had a spare nickel each, so we bought Esther her ticket. We had no popcorn that day, to enjoy in the movie!
Esther became engaged to Leonard Shaffer, just out of high school. They were at our house one week end, and they went out to the park pool, with me and some of my girl friends.
As Leonard had a car, he gave us a ride, and saved us the thirty or more blocks walk. We swam and played around about a couple hours, then were looking forward to the good dinner Mary had stayed home to prepare for all of us.
While we were dressing, I noticed Esther was looking upset, and seemed to be searching around for something. I asked her what did she lose.
She wouldn't say at first; finally said, "I can't fine my pants!" I helped her look all around the dressing room. There was really no where anything could be lost-just benches along the wall, hooks on the wall, and an open shower stall.
I finally had to tell her, maybe someone stole them, and that we had to leave; all were already waiting for us in the car!
Poor Esther, her face stayed red, she wouldn't look at anyone, barely answered Leonard; had not a word to say all the way home. It didn't help that I got the giggles, and she knew what I was laughing about. She felt disgraced to be sitting there, riding with her boyfriend, with no pants on! Didn't matter whether he knew it or not. She knew it! She should be in today's world!
When we pulled up in front of the house, Leonard asked Esther again what was the matter; did the cat have her tongue? She just barely shook her head, in a hurry to climb out of the car and run into the house!
Then Leonard reached in his pocket, and pulled out a big floppy garment, and said, "Is this what you are looking for?"It was her pants! No one ever called them panties. She snatched them out of his hand, and ran into the house! I laughed and laughed; Uncle Pete looked like he was afraid to laugh, and the rest didn't know just what it was all about-yet!
Esther and Leonard just about broke up over that deal! He spent the rest of the week end trying to mollify her.
They did make up and marry. But she never found anything funny about that day, and didn't appreciate any laughing reference to it.
They had a son and a daughter. The son died when he was about age eighteen, of leukemia. I never knew anything of the daughter's life.
Esther died of cancer sometime after her children were grown, and her son's death.
Poor Esther-a country girl, the Farmer's Daughter of all fables and jokes.
LINK
| EPM 2002 - 2005 |
Kokomo Kootsie
7/21/2002
Nibbles- Bits & Pieces
Fudge
Fudge was a very popular candy, easy, and fun to make when I was growing up.
But I never got to make any!
My grandmother considered everything frivolous that was not absolutely necessary to life, everyday living.
She did believe that man did live by bread alone! Nothing else!
A place to sleep; something to eat!
A small sister, of a friend of my Aunt's, who was a year younger than me-- was allowed to make fudge anytime she wanted to! We made fudge at her house a few times, and it was fun.
Jenny would measure out the sugar, and cocoa, and milk and butter, into a big iron skillet, and stir constantly, as it began to cook.
When it boiled and bubbled up, we would take the wooden spoon, and we'd pretend it was a boat on the ocean, and as we skimmed it over the fudge, from one side of the skillet to the other side.
Then we would say the passengers who had gotten across the sea safely, gave thanks to God for their safe passage.
But when the new passengers loaded up, to cross the ocean, they didn't pray for a safe crossing, so in the middle of the ocean of fudge, their boat would sank!
And variations on that theme.
I remember one evening after school, Jenny asked me to go home with her and we would make a pan of fudge. She waited out on the sidewalk, while I went inside to ask, or tell my grandmother, I was going over to Jenny's house to make fudge.
Grandma was in the kitchen, sitting by the open window, close to the sidewalk where Jenny was waiting for me, and I knew she could hear all we said.
Grandma was peeling potatoes for dinner, and when I said I wanted to go over to Jenny's to make fudge, she said, "you're not going!" I began to wheedle in a low voice, so as not to be heard by Jenny, and gave reasons why I should be allowed to go! I said, "I'll come right back; I'll not be gone long; that Jenny could make fudge; use all the sugar she wanted; etc. etc.!"
To no avail! No reason given; just, "you're not going!"
Finally, she jerked back her hand, with knife in it, and said, "Get on out of here, you're not going, I'll cut your throat!"
I was so embarrassed; I knew Jenny heard her. So I didn't even go out to tell Jenny I couldn't go to her house. She slowly walked away, home.
As I write this today, I think, no wonder I loved my grandfather and Uncle Pete. (Or Mutt, as I called him.) In a million years, they would never have said that to me, an eleven year old child.
Grandma, and Auntie, also, were 'gifted' with sharp tongues, and the ability to say and do some thoughtless things that hurt, wounded, and always remembered.
I loved them, or thought I did; but did I? How can you really love someone who leaves such memories? Does the good offset the bad? Yes! It really does!
Yes, all of them did give me precious memories that I cherish today, so many years later.
Grandma's pride in me, as I grew older; gave me my first high- heel shoes, money, from her meager savings, when I coaxed enough!
Uncle Bryan, and the 'jelly beans Saturdays;' the five dollars each, to my little brother, Jack, and me, for our tennis shoes every spring. Money for my first permanent when I was a fifteen year old; and many mini-cedar chests of Cherry Chocolates.
But grandpa and Uncle Pete, gave us nothing; just love and consideration, and of themselves, and left our dignity intact.
There is no 'dark-side' to my memories of either them.
Auntie took the place of my mother; and as we both grew older, she was just that, my mother! She taught me so much just like grandpa had. How to have great table manners; how to have style, to dress; and a lot of public relations! I know she loved me.
But this is, or was, about 'fudge'! The children across the ally made fudge; on the corner of the next street over, those girls made fudge too. But not me! I got to share it with them, when we played 'Jacks' at their house. These two groups argued who made the best fudge. If we said we liked ones fudge-the other girl would say, 'Yes, if you like your fudge salty!" It was all great fudge!
One more fudge tale! When I was about thirteen, and living in the country, at Star Ranch, the lady who lived in a rented house down the cross road, made a pan of fudge one night I was spending the night with Maxine, her daughter.
Maxine's mom, put the fudge out on the back porch to cool and harden, while we played a card game, waiting for it to be ready to eat.
It was late fall, and a bit cold; I went out to Mrs. Jones-and when I came back in, I took a piece of fudge!
When the lady brought the fudge in, there was that vacant spot in the pan! She wondered if a tramp had passed through and sampled the fudge!
She knew, I took the fudge! That was all that was said, but I felt like a louse!
Enough fudge? No! I think I'll go make a pan of fudge
LINK
| EPM 2002 - 2005 |
Kokomo Kootsie
7/21/2002
Nibbles- Bits & Pieces
The Klansman
When I was about five years old, there was a lot of publicity about the organization, The Klu Kux Klan, or K.K.K., for short.
I listened to talk of their creed, and the deeds they did; all of which I didn't understand, nor paid any attention to.
That is, until one afternoon, my grandma, called my brother and me, from our outdoor play, and insisted we come into the house.
Mystified, and under protest, we followed her inside; she told us to go into the back bedroom and clean it, as we had left it cluttered up.
We were puzzled about that, as we never went into that room; it was Uncle Bryan's.
Jack and I, followed slowly behind grandma, and as she stepped aside, she gave us a push, into the room.
When we were inside, standing before the bed, suddenly, a figure stood up on the other side of the bed, arms out-stretched toward us!
The apparition stood there, all clothed in a white robe, from the tip of the pointed hat, to the top of the shoes. Just stood there, arms stretched out to enfold us!
Jack and I screamed in absolute terror, and tried to push past our grandmother, who seemed to want to block our way through the door, spreading her legs and holding her hands in front of her, and us!
Then the 'ghost', pulled the hat off, and we saw it was our own Uncle Bryan!!
He was a Klansman, a K.K.K.! And my grandma-seemed as pleased and proud as if he had been given wings, by the Lord himself!
I do not know if he was an active member; if he attended any or all rallies, meetings; when or where they were held. I know Auntie and Uncle Pete did not approve of Bryan's affiliation with the Klan organization. I remember a lot of angry words about it.
How grandpa felt, I'm not sure of; I feel he sort of laughed in derision at the whole idea. He was not a person bothered by prejudice. But grandma surely was.
Her father had slaves when she was growing up on their farm in Jessamine County, Kentucky.
I knew grandmother hated Lincoln for freeing the slaves. Many times I heard her say, she would not vote for her own father, if he was a Republican! She called them 'Nigger lovers', for freeing the slaves!
Her four children, and three grandchildren, are not of her persuasion. None, feel as she did, about the Negros, (African Americans today), or any other race of people.
It's a shameful blot in our country, that we ever had slaves; enslaved human beings, torn from families, home, and countries! Treated as, or worse than, animals! Because they didn't have lily-white skin!
The South, today, as a whole, still feel no guilt or shame for that stain on their escutcheon. Still try to keep alive, the Scarlet and Ashley, old south of Gone With the Wind, with costumes, parades, etc.
I learned to feel horror, and disrespect for southerners in general, when my grandfather read, Uncle Tom's Cabin to me, so many times when I was a small child.
When I was older, I became ashamed of knowing Uncle Bryan was, or had been, a member of the K.K.K.! I never mentioned it to anyone, and my son was very surprised, and shocked, when he was told, and that I was writing a piece about it!
I'm happy to say, Uncle Bryan himself was very sorry to have ever been a member, later on in his life. I don't know when he 'woke up and smelled the coffee'; he just did, and I am glad he did.
But the time I recall, the K.K.K. was very active, all over the South. A convention, or rally was held in our town too; Kokomo, Indiana, in early twenties! About the same time I discovered Uncle Bryan, by the bed in his white robes!
I remember, a parade one night, not a daytime one, as all I ever knew were held.
This parade, as I recall it, came down our street at night; a short dark street, several blocks from downtown! As young as I was, it seemed a novelty to be at night.
Perhaps it was in character; an out of the way, dark little street, away from the bright glare of the business district! In keeping with these robed bodies and covered faces; to hide behind when their dastardly deeds were performed.
I had almost forgotten that night. I don't recall going to the parade. I remember, it seems we stood in our yard, and watched behind our picket fence. And that was on South Diamond Street!
However, I do recall well, how they were dressed! I wonder how many people know or remember that all K.K.K. did not wear, all white robes? That's all ever shown on television! But that night, I saw all colors; each group marched, garbed in his contingents colors; blue, red, black, green and purple!
They provoke an uneasy feeling, while they pass again before me, as I write of that night.
I do not see bright light on them, that night; they were all marching in semi-gloom. So it surely was on our street, with it's dim lights, all though I doubt that memory even now; as it seems improbable, that a group would pick a dark, out of the way street, to parade down, unseen by the majority of people.
They were sinister looking, long before I ever knew that word to describe them!
To add a light note to this dark tale; Uncle Bryan gave me a small statute or figurine, about six inches tall, of a robed and hooded K.K.K., made of some hard material, not easily breakable, as we soon found out.
Auntie, had a Victrola, (a record player today's world) Jack and I use to turn the handle, to wind it up, and put on a record; and keeping the needle away from the record, we would put that little K.K.K. figure on the record, and send him spinning around and around, faster and faster, until it shot off into space with a loud clatter!
Or someone came to stop our noisy fun, before we broke the Victrola. That little K.K.K. never broke!
A not so funny incident happened when I was about twelve years old. Uncle Bryan, played a part, his last hurrah, in the K.K.K.
It is too long, to involved, and mostly speculation on my and Auntie's part, to use here. More research will fill the gaps and I'll dig it up, drag it out, another time!
LINK
| EPM 2002 - 2005 |
Kokomo Kootsie
7/21/2002
Nibbles- Bits & Pieces
Mary James
One day, grandmother took my little brother, Jack and me to 'town' to shop for shoes for both of us.
Everything with grandma was an occasion; not that she made it fun, or joyful. She just seemed to have to prepare for it, not just say, "Let's go," and go. We always waited impatiently for whatever her plan.
The shoe salesman brought out little slippers for me to try on; I wanted some pretty white ones, with a grosgrain ribbon bow on the toe. She wouldn't hear of it!
Then the young man brought out black patent leather ones, with a silver medallion on the toe. After some thought given to the trim staying on, she said I could have them, and I did want them!
The salesman asked grandma, if he could bring out a pair to fit my brother. He came back with a pair exactly like mine! Grandmother, reminded him, they were girl's shoes! He used his salesmanship, and persuaded her that 'little', as my brother was, it made no difference! He reminded her that 'little boys wore dresses, didn't they?'
She bought the shoes; one pair for me, one pair for little brother, Jack!
We had been going to a place called 'The Neighborhood House.' I believe it's purpose was to give the children a structured place to play, and learn useful crafts too.
I remember my class was given cut-out sun bonnets of yellow material to sew. I don't recall other crafts. I really loved being there every day, and couldn't wait to finish my bonnet and bring it home to show grandma.
But alas! It wasn't to be! We arrived at the Neighborhood House, and the doors weren't open yet; there was a large line of children, and some parents, waiting.
Jack and I went to join them, slowly, as we knew no one and were very shy children.
Then it began! Some of the children noticed our shoes! They began to point, laugh, and to comment!
They called Jack a sissy, a baby! They asked if he was a girl, he had on girl shoes. There was no let up.
I took my little brother by his hand, and we very, very slowly, made out way to the gate, passed through it; I can see those two small children, a little boy, and a little girl, holding on to the little brother's hand, walking ever so slowly down the sidewalk, away from those taunting children.
I remember, I felt I had done something shameful; and I'm sure Jack felt the same. We never said a word; walked on home in silence.
Grandma wanted to know why we were home so early! We never told her, just said we wanted to come home!
When we said we didn't want to go anymore, the next day, all grandma said was, "It's a lot of foolishness anyway-making old sun bonnets, no one wears a sun bonnet!"
Out hearts were broken; we felt we were to blame for some terrible crime! We never forgot that day. We also didn't blame grandmother; I never thought of doing that, until this moment, nearly eighty years later! She really was to blame!
Poor, hard working, deprived grandma! She did the best she knew how.
We can expect nor ask more!
And I never got my sun bonnet I made!
LINK
| EPM 2002 - 2005 |
Kokomo Kootsie
7/21/2002
Nibbles- Bits & Pieces
Orphans
Cordie Rivers, one of Auntie's best friends died of T.B. and left three young children. The boy was about ten years old, one girl six, and a baby of two years.
Her mother said they could not keep the children; they were putting them up for adoption!
When Auntie told me this I was stunned! I was only ten years old myself, but I knew what adoption meant and I also knew, my little brother, Jack and I, were left orphaned by our mother's death. Our grandparents did not put us up for adoption like a cat or dog!
They fought two court battles to keep us! Out father sued for custody, after an absence of two or three years and a new wife and step daughter! The battle was fought through two courts and he lost in both!
So, I gave a bit of serious thought, for years, as to how those grandparents could give up their only daughter's three children to strangers.
How they could have not loved them enough to keep them, fight for them, as my grandparents had fought for us. What kind of people were they?
Everyone wanted to adopt the baby girl; no one wanted the boy-too old! The middle girl, a few wanted her.
The baby was adopted, and finally the other girl. But the boy was sent to an orphan's home. Their only grandson!
That story of Cordie, her parents and those poor children, lingered with me always, haunted me. Such a direct contrast to how our lives and theirs were.
I still wonder, how could they?
LINK
| EPM 2002 - 2005 |
Kokomo Kootsie
7/21/2002
Nibbles- Bits & Pieces
The Party Cake
Uncle Pete and Aunt Mary belonged to a card club for a while when they first married. They all met at each other's houses once a week.
The first time it was Aunt Mary's turn, she baked a devil's food cake with white frosting to serve with coffee.
That night, I came home late from a dance, and I saw that big white frosted cake in the center of the kitchen table!
Sweets being my favorite of all foods, I immediately got a plate and sliced a nice generous piece of that cake!
The next
morning, while I was still in bed asleep, Aunt Mary came in, pulled the covers back, and said in a voice I'd never heard her use; "Why did you cut my cake I made for my party tonight?" I didn't know it was for a party!
I answered, "I was starved for a piece of cake and it was just there. I didn't know!"
She said, "I made you a whole layer, all your own, and put in the bottom of the cabinet, because I know how you like cake so much!"
I felt so small, so upset. I said, "I didn't know about the cake for me, you didn't say, didn't tell me."
She replied, "I didn't know you would come in at midnight and want to eat-I was going to give it to you tomorrow, when I had my card club here!"
That's the second time I was made feel like a selfish person, for eating something that wasn't for me, and not asking first!! It was rare I wanted the food the rest ate; I only wanted sweets!!
I'll just never forget Aunt Mary's voice; had steel in it. I never heard it before or never again!
LINK
| EPM 2002 - 2005 |
Kokomo Kootsie
7/21/2002
Nibbles- Bits & Pieces
Passing Bills
In the 'Great Depression' era, families had to resort to many measures to make enough to care for the family and just get by.
It was certainly no different in my own family. Everyone worked at whatever he could, and for a mere pittance.
My beloved, young Uncle Pete, at this particular time, was not yet married, and he added his bit to the family support, how ever he could.
One way he found of bringing in a dollar was bill passing jobs. In those days of the twenties, just before, and during the depression, places of business that wanted to advertise their merchandise or product or services, either advertised in the Kokomo Tribune, or had bills, pamphlets or such printed, and some one hired to take them from house to house, delivering them by hand, to the door. It was a big thing then, and some still use that service today also.
Therefore, Uncle Pete, was often the bill passer for those who needed that service. I have no idea how much he earned; it couldn't have been much; our life style never changed!
I always hated it, when Uncle came home, and announced he had a bill passing job! Uncle Pete involved by little brother and me! That was our part, our contribution to the family!
He always insisted we help him. Sometimes, the night before, help included folding some of the circulars. That of itself was fine, but each one we folded reminded us that tomorrow we would be putting that one in a mail box, or on a door knob; or horror of horrors-hand it to someone!
We were routed out early on 'that' day, and my Uncle would drive to the part of Kokomo where he wanted to start. He would assign a street to Jack and one to me. Then give each of us bills enough to service every house on that street.
He would tell us where to wait for him, where ever we finished up, and he would pick us up there.
I was very shy and highly embarrassed to walk up to a house, a strange door, and leave that bill; worse, when some one was outside, and I'd have to hand it to them! The death knew sounded, if there were any children out playing! Those places, I'd march on by, as if out for a walk, with my nose in the air, never glancing their way.
Once, my little brother Jack, left his pile of bills behind a rose bush in someone's yard! He no doubt hated bill passing as much or more than I did. I can't imagine how that could be.
Uncle Pete not only passed bills in Kokomo, often he worked surrounding towns too. Peru, Tipton, Elwood, Logansport, Greentown. But even a trip to another town didn't mollify us when we knew it was the same old job, bill passing!
I can remember my grandmother going along often, when we went out of town. She loved to take a ride, like to see other people and towns. She didn't have to pass the bill!
The day that stands out for me, we went to Peru, and she went along too. She made a lunch for all of us; sandwiches of peanut butter and some of jam-all on her biscuits, which I disliked! I liked white bread-as we called a loaf of bread.
Nevertheless, the novelty of eating away from home, and from the kitchen table, just about made up for having something to eat I didn't want! We sat in the car, and grandma doled food out to us, and Jack and I were a bit pleased at that change of pace.
After we got there, I was dropped off, on a long wide street, where a big building, perhaps a school, sat far back from the sidewalk. There I was to wait, for Uncle to pick me up when I had finished the bill passing.
I finished my job, and came back to the building to wait for my Uncle Pete. Several men were working on something or other in the yard, in front of the building. I stood at the curb waiting.
As I stood there, relieved I had finished with my job for the day, and idly watched cars pass, I noticed a model-T, as I remembered it, drive down the far side of the street, and stopped, turned, and come back up my side of the street.
I had been waiting a long time for Uncle Pete, and I realized that car had been passing back and forth several times; going down one side of the street and coming back on the other side. My side!
This time, the car pulled over to the curb, and stopped in front of me, and the driver, leaned over, opening the door, and asked, "You want in here?" I shook my head, and said, "No!"
He suddenly jumped across the seat, and said, "You're gonna get in here!" I screamed, and jumped back, turned, and ran toward the men in the yard, where they were working. They looked up, waved their arms and shouted and started towards me.
The man pulled back in the car, and took off-fast!
I was so scared; the men all came down and tried to comfort me, and stayed with me until Uncle Pete drove up; one of the men told him, he should never leave me alone like that. He said if they hadn't been there, Uncle Pete might never have known what happened to me! I'd have not been there waiting for him, Uncle Pete!
LINK
| EPM 2002 - 2005 |
Kokomo Kootsie
7/21/2002
Nibbles- Bits & Pieces
Uncle Red & Maggie
Red Miller was a distant cousin of the Miller family that touched my life for a while. Maggie was his second wife, and they had a very beautiful little girl, named Flossie, and a small boy named Nolan. Agnes was uncle Red's daughter by his first wife, who died when Aggie was a small child.
They were two of the sweetest people I knew in Kentucky; I enjoyed many, many, week ends, sleep-overs, at their old Ante-Bellum home, the first fall and winter I first came to Kentucky.
Aggie was one of the girls I met, and we were all about the same age; I was the youngest. There was, beside Aggie and me, Lilly Bea, Edna Mae, Sarah Katherine, Mary Alice, and the two married young girls, Pansy and Jenny!
We were all together at Uncle Red's house or at Pansy's or Jenny's, every week end!
We were always made to feel so welcome, at home where ever we spent the week end. Uncle Red's was our favorite, and we had such fun, and lot of privacy there. It's a rare gift Maggie and uncle Red had; to offer friends or strangers such warm hospitality as they did.
Early one morning, before day light, Maggie awakened Uncle Red and said, "Get up, Red, go for the doctor, quick!" When asked, what in the world is wrong, she answered, "Red, hurry, I'm having a baby!"
Uncle Red couldn't believe what he had just heard! He thought Maggie had slipped over the edge!
They tossed it back and forth for a while, until uncle Red was convinced she was not loony or jesting, she meant business. Then he was galvanized into action!
They had no phone, so he dressed, beating all records for speed, and asking her, "How in tarnation did that happen, Maggie?" She tartly informed him, "He should know; in the usual way it happens!"
Uncle Red, never made it to the doctors! He never made it to the door; in fact, he didn't get out of the room!
Maggie yelled it was, "Too late, the baby's coming," and in a minute, uncle Red heard the baby's first angry cry, and knew he had indeed become a father, once more!
They had an 8 ½ lb. baby boy. Neither had any idea she was pregnant! She was a lady with a lot of weight, and looked no different when pregnant. She was never ill. Until labor pains that morning, which she immediately recognized, and couldn't believe to be happening.
Uncle Red, was so pleased with that birth; took lot of teasing, said he didn't know he still had it in him; all agreed with him!
Maggie was in her early fifties, and uncle Red, perhaps sixty years old!
He was proud of that achievement, strutted about like a young stud!
It's a male thing!
LINK
| EPM 2002 - 2005 |
Kokomo Kootsie
7/21/2002
Nibbles- Bits & Pieces
The Teeth
When I was four years old, we lived in the far south end of Kokomo, until I was about eight or nine years old. It was not the best address, and my young Auntie and two uncles, said they were embarrassed to say where they lived!
When we moved there, I can't recall what kind of street it was, but soon after, the street was torn up and a new cement street was laid. I recall the piles of sand, and the noisy machinery, and the straw they scattered all over, before pouring the cement.
When the workmen were in front of our house, the men would come into our fenced yard, and sit under the huge trees' shade, to eat their lunch box meals.
Of course, being only four years old, I was always close by, watching their every move! They would offer me a bite of a sandwich, or a cookie, but I was always too shy to take anything, nor even wanted anything.
One day I was standing back, watching them, and listening to their talk. I was looking at one of the men when I saw him do a very strange , unheard of thing! He picked up some teeth from his lunch box and popped them into his mouth!
Wow! I spun around, and flew around the house to the back door, and into the kitchen, and breathlessly told my grandmother what I'd seen! I remember saying, "When he got finished eating, he picked up some teeth out of his lunch box and ate them!"
Grandmother, shook her head, and said, "You didn't see no such thing! No one eats teeth!" I insisted I saw that man eat teeth; he put them in his mouth, I saw him do it!
It never occurred to her what I really did see happen-and so, explain it to me; she sent me back out to play with orders to stay away from the men, stop bothering them while they ate!
When I didn't have my eye on that particular man, he had no doubt taken his false teeth out for whatever reason, and had laid them in his lunch box; and I had looked at him just as he picked them up and put them into his mouth!
I knew nothing of such a thing as false teeth; I knew what I saw!
Why don't older people, parents, listen, really listen to their children? That could have been explained to me, and I wouldn't have wondered about it for years, and worse, not understand why I wasn't believed, when I was telling the truth!
If I had told my grandpa, he would have known what I had seen was true, and explained about false teeth. He always listened to my brother and me. Always had time for us; we came first.
LINK
| EPM 2002 - 2005 |
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