Summer Memories

Our fondest childhood
memories
of a summer's day
back home 

Story Tellers


Merritt Plantz
Ken Osborn
Sandra (Masters) Propst
Lee Wacker
Lolita Gilchrist Purviance
Claude Reyman
Adele Penhollow
Raleigh Emry


~

Merritt Plantz

When our chores were completed on the farm we would migrate to the ball field which was about half way from our farm to town. Each Saturday was a baseball game scheduled between the town boys and us country boys. And guess who usually won? The team with the more ambitious boys, which of course were the country 'hicks'. Then after lunch when it was too hot for another ball game we all ended up in the 'ole swimming hole' which was in the creek that bisected our farm. And of course nature had provided us with the necessary swim suits for swimming in the creek. 

And if the gods were looking down on us, the city fathers had arranged for a free show on main street or in the city park, weather permitting. What would make a depression era youth any happier than a day like that?

~ 

Ken Osborn
(as told by Anne)

One time the neighborhood boys were at the Raitt's house and decided to have a watermelon spitting contest. When their Mother, Luella, came home, the house was covered with watermelon seeds. They all took off running and Mrs. Raitt took off after them. She treed Ken and one of the Raitt boys and threatened all sorts of mayhem to them if they ever came down. She started laughing though and eventually calmed down and was pretty good natured about it, and let them come down from the tree after awhile. 

In actuality, it was the boys who were the first to start laughing at the sight of Mrs. Raitt at the bottom of the tree threatening them as to what was going to happen to them if they ever left the safety of that tree. (I think they were definitely old enough to have known better than to have a watermelon spitting contest in someone's house). She eventually started laughing too at the situation and let them off the hook (well, off the tree limb anyway). I think she was known to be a pretty "cool" Mom (softhearted in 40's language).

Another misadventure they had with neighborhood boys was launching a rock into an open garage window. They thought the sound was great (breaking glass), and launched a few more pebbles, but later found, to their parent's (and their dismay that they had broken a number of storm windows that were stacked in the "unused" garage and had to pay for the damages, and endure their parents' wrath, which was worse. I guess we didn't have to wonder why Ken's Mother had prematurely gray hair.

~

Sandra (Masters) Propst

I was never a morning person, but my bedroom was on the south side of the house and my room was flooded with sunshine early in the morning and knowing that there was no school, I would be up and going fairly early. Dad always left for work early each day and since this was the time before TV, after a quick breakfast I was out and on to play with the neighbor kids.

At that time, Salzmans were building their new home at 5th and Maple across the street from us, so I'd always have to stop and supervise the construction and this one day I found a gopher. I don't remember how the gopher died, but my cousin Ron Childs volunteered to take it home and skin and tan the hide for me, which he did. I kept that crazy pelt for a long time for some reason.

I'd go to the Spearman house and Geraldine and I would play until lunch time, then it was home and a meal with Mom, Dad and my brother Dan. After eating, Mom and I would clean up and do the dishes and then I'd play with baby Randy till it was time for his nap.

Dad wasn't much for yard work and gardening so he'd bribe us kids to dig dandelions. Ten cents for a full three pound coffee can. I remember Dan and I out on our hands and knees digging up those darn weeds. I wish I had a dime for every dandelion I've dug since. Since there weren't many flower beds or a vegetable garden at our house, I would go to my grandparents, Glen and Rose Masters, and help them with their garden. That's where I learned about gardening and came to love it. Grandma was a member of the Ainsworth Garden Club for years and she and Grandpa's yard and garden were always beautiful. 

This was before the time of an Ainsworth swimming pool, so the only water available to play in, except for the sprinkler, was Bone Creek. I loved to get on my bike and ride north of town and wade in the shallow water. We never worried about pollution, we just made sure that we chose a spot that was above any cattle pastures. I wasn't into polliwogs like my brother, but just getting wet on a hot day was fun. 

In the evening after supper and the dishes were done, I'd go and collect some of the neighbor kids for a rip roaring game of hide n' go seek, or if it was Thursday evening we'd go to the park and listen to the band concerts the high school band would put on. Then it would be home and to bed and read library books until midnight.

The fifties were an idyllic time to grow up in Ainsworth. At that time it was a bustling town, when Saturday night meant no parking available on Main Street, where the most danger to a child were those drivers that thought STOP meant 'Slowing Travel On Past'. As a whole, we felt secure, we were still innocent and naive, and when we went to the movies, the good guys wore white hats and always won. I wish today's children could have that experience at least for one summer. 

~

 

 Lee Wacker

It's not easy for me to pick a favorite or special summer story, as they have all been favorites. I do remember a summer day in my life which has been with me since I was 16 years old. Thinking back I have always said, 'how dumb could I be'. The answer is , 'dumb and dumber'. 

All of you 'Midwesterners' remember the 'gravel pits' . They were usually (in my area) close to the river. Some were working pits and others were turned into recreational areas. This one was just known as the 'yellow banks gravel pit'. Yellow Banks was and still is, a high clay bank (hence, 'yellow') along the Elkhorn river north of Battle Creek, NE.

As a Sunday 'diversion', us Battle Creek Braves would meet at such places as the 'gravel pit' to talk about the 'current state of the Union' (if you fell for that one, I have an Igloo near the heart of Phoenix that I think you would be interested in). Anyway, this particular Sunday a number of us boys were at the gravel pit to talk, swim and etc. I have never learned to swim which I think was not an uncommon thing for a farm boy. Anyway I ventured into the gravel pit to cool off, assuming that it gradually tapered into the water. It did, but only to a very short span, then it dropped off to where, who knows. I recall yelling for help as I felt the sand under me give away and I started sinking into the water. I learned later, that my friends thought I could swim and thought I was trying to be 'funny'.

I can, to this day, remember frantically pumping my arms to keep afloat, but continuing to sink into the water. I reached out with my feet for some support of any kind and felt the tips of my toes touch the sand. I do, to this day, recall those toes digging into the sand, which was enough to get me back to the safety of the shore. But what a sense of helplessness ran thru my mind and it's still so vivid to this very day, some 50 + years later.

Since that day the fear of water has always been with me. It is ironic, in a way, that I eventually enlisted in the Navy during the Korean War. One of the requirements of the Navy at Boot Camp and later on, was that all Navy personnel be certified as being able to swim. Truthfully, I never learned to swim. The Navy¹s certifications were so loose that I was able to bluff myself thru all of the tests. 

I always made it a point as my family grew up that they all became proficient swimmers and was rewarded in this respect as 2 of the 3 children won many local, state and even regional honors as swimmers. 

Thanks for letting me share this story with you and I hope all of you stress the importance of warning your families of the dangers that can be associated with water.

~


Tornados and Dust Storms, and Sweltering Heat… Oh My!
by Lolita Gilchrist Purviance

As a country girl in Nebraska, I remember what fun it was to go out in the evening after a hot, windy day. The wonderful smell of clover and fresh cut hay would fill the air when the sun went down and the beautiful prairie skies were so awesome. I look forward to those summer pleasures whenever I return.

Another pleasant memory is the happy times I spent as a child playing with my sisters in the meadows on our ranch south of Ainsworth. There were grassy knolls and lowlands with ponds that my father said had been shaped by buffalo wallows in ancient times. In the spring they filled up with water and provided us with wonderful pools for wading, fascinating wild life to see and exciting places to explore. The beautiful wild flowers that bloomed all summer long were an endless source of pleasure for us. I have fond memories of the lovely, blue Spiderworts that covered the hills in June and the delicate wild roses that grew everywhere. I planted some Spiderwort in my garden that I found in a local nursery. They bloom all summer long in the shade, but cannot tolerate a hot wind. I don’t think they are the same, hardy Spiderworts that grow in Nebraska but they do bring back good memories of the beautiful, prairie wildflowers.

The meadows were a great place to search for rocks and Indian arrowheads, too. My father found a peace pipe in a field near the ponds. It makes me wonder how it got there and how long ago?

We also enjoyed playing in the large vegetable and flower garden that my dad raised each summer. It kept us busy watering and weeding. Thanks to him, I have always enjoyed gardening. What fun we had all summer long as country kids, barefoot and free! Although going barefoot was not without its hazards. Avoiding the sandburs, bumble bees, rusty nails, snakes and other unmentionable squishy things was a challenge but it was a savings on the shoe budget for my parents.

My husband Jerry, who grew up in the city, has taken an interest in my stories and wants to share some of his Nebraska experiences, as he has spent many summers trekking across the Midwest with me for vacations, weddings, reunions, anniversaries, and funerals. He has been a good sport in spite of the flat tires, overheated cars with no air-conditioning and violent storms.

He recalls with amusement, his first trip the summer of 1959 after we were married, heading for Nebraska across Wyoming on Highway 20 to meet his new in-laws. He warned me numerous times all the way, that we were sure to encounter blinding dust storms, gigantic hail, or worse….a terrifying tornado! His mother’s family moved away from Kansas during the depression years and her accounts of the harsh weather left a vivid impression on him. I had heard frightening tales also, but I reassured him that I had never seen a tornado in all the years I lived in Nebraska and dust storms were a thing of the past!

A dark cloud loomed ahead of us through both states but it did not concern me, although Jerry kept saying he didn't like the looks of it. As we approached the North gate to the ranch we could see evidence of a very recent storm. The road was blocked with downed trees so we tried the back entrance and the house was nowhere in sight! Chickens and branches were scattered everywhere. By then, things were not looking good to me either. We carefully made our way through the darkness and found the house covered with trees.

My mother was waiting up for us that evening when all of a sudden it felt like she was in a vacuum and she saw tree branches settling down like matchsticks outside the kitchen window. Just as quickly as it had started, it was over. Huge, old cottonwood trees in front of the house were tossed on the roof. What a shock! We had missed a tornado by less than thirty minutes and our car most likely would have been on top of the house, too, if we had arrived on time.

The next morning concerned neighbors who had come to assess the damage awakened us. Jerry spent the next two days helping my father remove the trees. My brother-in-law, Kenneth Osborn pitched in too.

Well, so much for my new "city dude" husband’s initiation to Nebraska. He is an old pro now, as I think he has experienced most of the extreme weather conditions of summer; torrential downpours, hailstorms, gale force winds as well as flooded country roads. He said, "At least in Washington all we have to contend with is volcanoes and rain 365 days of the year".

Jerry also remembers an interesting trip south of Wood Lake where my father had cattle pastured for the summer. My Uncle Andy, who was visiting from Oregon, came along for the ride. It was Jerry’s first time to travel through the back roads of the sand hills and it was a typical searing, hot day.

My dad grew up near Moon Lake and was familiar with the area so he was taking short cuts across the hills, stopping frequently for a drink at one of the many windmills we passed.

Mother and I were sweltering and we begged them to turn back but the men were enjoying themselves. For some reason they could not hear our complaints over the hot winds that were blasting us in the back seat of the car! They finally left us to cool off and visit at Bump and Myra Gudgel’s ranch while the men enjoyed the rest if the trip without us!

Jerry thought he was in the real Wild West!, as he had never seen so many windmills, cattle and sand hills before. He was sure they had followed every cow trail and rut in the whole county. Little did he know that those were the roads!

Jerry’s story makes me think of an interesting summer experience that Elizabeth Cameron, my Uncle Angus’s mother, told me. She and her husband, who was the country doctor for Johnstown, were on a house call and had a breakdown in the sand hills. They walked a long distance in the hot sun to find help. The rancher’s wife gave them a cool drink of well water and fixed them a simple, sliced tomato sandwich fresh from of the garden, which was all she had to spare. Elizabeth thought she had never tasted anything so delicious! Her memory of the sweet taste of those tomatoes was never equaled and lasted her a lifetime. She was in her eighties when she shared this summer story with me. I believe Elizabeth’s maiden name was Peterson.

One summer I let my little "city" boys visit my parents and sister Cindy in the country. When they got back, the boys told their father they thought Uncle Wayne and Grandpa Frazier were really lucky, because they got to ride tractors all day long and didn't have to work like he did!

~

Claude Reyman

At first this seemed a great task for me to accomplish. I gave a lot of thought, pondered, thought some more, placed a few notes on my pad, then I felt an angel present and they gave me the answer. It was not one day but 8,760 days or 210,240 hours was my fondest childhood memory. From my birth till I was 24 years old, my parents, Bruce and Edith Reyman are and will always be my fondest memory. My years of growing up are and will always be a "rewarding challenge" that was guided by my parents. They both provide love, care, concerns, offered challenges, and provided guidance through these years.

My father and I did not always agree and we both had harsh words many times through these years. I can remember that I had the "willow" placed on my behind due to my poor judgment. My poor judgment can be summed up with two actions - 1. I loved to throw chickens over the fence to see how far they flew. Once in a while, a chicken would clear the 10-foot fence then "plunk" to the ground. Of course this caught my parents attention and the end results - a willow and a couple of "swats" firmly implanted wrong from right in my mind. 2. I just loved to go to town but more so, it was thrill for me to hide from my parents. They would look for hours in all of the building on the ranch. Finally, my mother would go get the car and honk the horn - results, we're going to town and out I would come. Yes, you're right, the willow was used again and then suddenly it came to mind that I ought to change my ways.

Bruce and Edith are my fondest childhood memories. They nurtured me from my first breath of air until I was drafted into the service. They provided piano lessons for eight years of my life and still I have two left hands. Being on a ranch, with all the cattle smell, barnyard aroma, gathering the eggs from the hen house caused me to have a bad case of hay fever. I can remember they took me to Valentine on Wednesday and Saturday for my shots. This went on for about 10 years. Bruce did not need a SOP (for some military minds that is classified as Supplemental Operation Procedures); he was able to plan the days work in one split minute. At an early age, I learned to milk cows, feed some pigs, gather the eggs, empty the ashes from the stove, ride to the north range to move cattle, harness the horses and other many items to numerous to mention. But, we still had time to rest, relax and have fun together.

I believe that most thrills I had were going fishing. We would get the old "cane" poles, some minnows from the Fairfield creek, pick up a 10-gallon cream can and off we would go to the lakes. We fished Big Alkali Lake, Ell Lake, Trout Lake, Red Deer Lake, Clear Lake and some others. We normally came home with several hundred "bullheads", not the best fish to clean as you well understand. Even in the wintertime, we fished through the ice. Many times I noted vehicles on the lake, then the ice would give out and the end results was the top of the car sticking out of the water. It was cold and windy; yet, we loved to see who could catch the most fish.

So you see, my fondest memory was my parents. What they taught me, what I learned, the work that I became skilled with, and the love they provided for me. This was not one day but 24 years of fond memories. My hope is that I shared some of this with our daughter, Major Lynda Snyder as her experience and talents have exceeded mine. Each day of my life is a "rewarding challenge" and I just learn a little more of what my parents taught me in my daily experience.

~

A Summer Day's Memory ~ August 1954
Adele Penhollow

The summer of my thirteenth year was "mostly" fun. School friends lived nearby, our fruit trees produced wonderful things, and the annual canning had just finished up.

My hometown, Syracuse, N.Y., is in the center of the state. Our highway systems make it easily reached from all other New York points. I remember that some of our distant cousins came to visit, and we made our plans to attend the New York State Fair, which is always held at the end of August, through Labor Day. 

My mom, aunts and uncles, and, of course, Grandma, were busy getting lists made so that "nothing would be forgotten". Foods were prepared, someone went to get the ice for the coolers, and I gathered tons of napkins. 

The distance to the Fair Grounds from our home was about eight or nine miles, so the drive wouldn't be long, but the wait "in line" would be outrageous. The heavy traffic and finding a parking spot was always the source of impatient remarks from someone in the car who hated the heat, the humidity, or who giggled at the growling of tummies.

After Dad and Uncle Mike succeeded in the parking lot (glaring sun...no shade), we trudged to the main gate, and paid our admissions, everyone carrying something. Our food was in three large coolers, I remember. "Coleman is a good company", Dad said. It was a Saturday morning, and we luckily found a picnic area with shade. That was one benefit to being "local", since so many travelers who came later scrounged for a table. In those days, we weren't accustomed to buying meals away from home, even if it was "the Fair". 

Our foods were pretty simple, but there was plenty of everything, except lemonade. That disappeared in less than two hours, from those huge Coleman thermos jugs. We had eight kids in the group. My two sisters and me, and five cousins. The seven adults had plenty to talk about, but WE wanted to get to the Midway !! (What else ? ) 

After pleading with our parents, *promising* to be at the Dairy Building at 3:00 p.m., they let us go as a group of teens. The only things missing were radio-controlled collars! One of our uncles was always trailing us somewhere in the crowd. Freedom wasn't really the same thing back then, as it is today. Know what I mean ? Funny thing, HE knew that WE knew he was there.

The great monster roller coaster was my fear in the Midway. Yes, I was ridiculed, but I couldn't help it. I also thought it was stupid to take a crazy mechanical ride after eating lunch. I didn't think I was the one who was wrong. Still, my cousin, Rick, promised to sit with me and prevent me from falling out. Does anyone else remember the day you discovered your own blind trust ??

I don't remember too much about that coaster ride, except someone yelling for a towel. I *do* remember getting hosed down near the merry-go-round by a nice lady. Being embarrassed was the tiniest part of my experience that day. Mom had to find a place that sold T-shirts, so that I could continue to stay in the family group. It's hard enough being thirteen, but that was just one of those days that kept coming back to haunt me in later years.

Every now and then, I wondered why everyone else took that coaster ride like troopers...even repeating the experience, as if insanity was normal at the Fair. Well....fine! 

At the end of that day, I gladly helped my parents put stuff away, took my bath, and by bedtime was suitably hungry for real food again. My dad sat up with me, telling me about "the time he was a kid, and ".... 

That memory of the day at the Fair meant more to me than any of the ordeals or fun, or exhibits. There just isn't anyone else like my dad.

~
Raleigh Emry

I have mulled over our topic for the past few weeks. What is my favorite memory of a summer day back home? Several of your essays prove that I wasn’t alone in the difficulty of narrowing a favorite memory down to just one. I can’t decide on a single example. Therefore, I will write about fishing with both of my grandfathers.

When we lived on the Niobrara River, US-183 did not then go from east of Ainsworth to Springview. Although the highway has now been there for nearly fifty years and bisects the western part of our land, our canyons during my childhood were as rural as you could possibly be in America. The long approach to the bridge from the south was therefore not there. This approach reinforced with rock now forces the river channel to the northern side. When we lived on the Niobrara, the river was free to meander from bank to bank. Sometimes the channel would carve precious land from our side of the river and sometimes it would run along the north side. It had done this for thousands of years.

In some of its early meanderings, the Niobrara carved out channels along the southern side and they became surrounded by willows. Willows then held the dirt so larger trees could take root. The small channels, now cut off from the main channel, became oxbow lakes. Busy beavers further subdivided the small lakes. The result was bayous full of pan fish… primarily bullheads and sunfish with an occasional prize of a bass or bluegill. In the winter months we trapped beaver and hunted waterfowl throughout this maze of bayous. In the summer, we fished.

Grandpa and Grandma Emry lived a mile up-river on what was then the Jim Finney place. If you drive on US-183 today and look upriver on the south side, you will see the farm buildings at the far end of the meadow in the bottomland. My Hood cousins also lived there. Their mother, Freda, had died and their father was no longer around, so my grandparents willingly took on the heroic and loving duty of raising a second set of kids. My sisters, brother, cousins and I fished the bayous whenever we could escape the daily regimen of chores. Grandpa Emry also loved to fish when he had the time, so he would often join us. Most of us fished with willow fishing poles we cut from the thickets. Grandpa’s prize pole was about twelve feet long. With it, he could reach halfway across most of the bayous and drop his worm right in front of a waiting fish. The water was clear and still, so we could most often watch the fish take the bait.

Sunfish and bluegills have rather tender mouths and they usually don’t swallow the hook. Bullheads though, which look like little brownish catfish, would gulp hook, line and sinker if you would let them. If they swallowed the hook, it was about impossible to get it dislodged from their tough little guts without dressing the fish on the spot. If you could see the fish take the bait, you could often avoid a difficult problem by quickly setting the hook and hope to snag the bullhead in their tough lips instead of deep inside.

So Grandpa Emry, in his soap-weed straw hat, bib-overalls, and nary a tooth in his happy face would drop his hook and wait and watch. Occasionally, he would look up at us kids and grin, wink, and then return to his concentration. As a bullhead approached his hook, Grandpa would get more and more focused. Just at the right moment…FLING! In his excitement, instead of a quick, short jerk to set the hook, he would instead give a quick heave-ho and the fish would fly out of the water and sometimes up into a tree behind him. His long limber willow pole provided plenty of leverage and whip action. On one occasion, the bullhead, only biting worm and not hooked flew high into the air. It flopped and flailed on a high, southward trajectory far into an alfalfa field in the bottomland. We kids laughed hysterically and chased off into the alfalfa in search of the high-flying bullhead. With the help of Grandpa’s dog, Charlie, we found the fish and returned it to Grandpa’s bucket. Grandpa Emry was always as tickled about his antics as we were.

Our reward, if we would dress our catch, was a fish fry. If the fish had clusters of eggs inside, we would save them too. Mom would roll the fish and roe in flour and fry them up in lard or bacon grease and we would feast.

My Grandpa and Grandma Reynolds didn’t live near the river. Although they had ranched in Keya Paha County, when I was young they lived in Brown County, just east of Johnstown near the cemetery. Later they moved to Long Pine and lived right across the street from the Long Pine Coca Cola bottling plant. When they came to visit us on the river, Grandpa Reynolds sometimes joined us to fish. Nevertheless, my memorable times fishing with Grandpa Reynolds was when they lived in Long Pine. Grandpa Reynolds was a trout fisherman. Pine Creek was his fishing hole.

Now when I wrote "trout fisherman", I know that you envisioned a man with fly rod, waders, fishing vest and hat stuck full of trout flies. That wasn’t Grandpa Reynolds at all. Grandpa Reynolds had a cane pole and he fished for trout with worms. A foot or so above the hook he placed a big red and white bobber on his line. Between the hook and the bobber were several lead split-shot sinkers.

Trout are shy fish. You must approach a fishing hole very stealthily. When I was young I didn’t have all the paraphernalia but one of my first purchases was a fly rod and I waded barefoot in the creek. When I fished for trout, I usually worked upstream so I wouldn’t rile the water in the holes as I approached. I would take my fly rod and deftly flip my fly or Mepps spinner upstream of a hole and let it glide through. With luck, a flash of color, a ripple of water and a tug on my line let me know I’d hooked a trout!

While my brother and I fished for trout in this traditional way, Grandpa Reynolds would place himself right below the powerhouse at the milldam and fish in the swirling waters of the discharge chute. Before he began to fish, he filled his pipe with Velvet or Prince Albert and tamped it with his thumb. He then struck a farmer’s match and while it was still flaring from the burning phosphorus, would touch it to his loaded pipe and take some deep puffs. Now, with his stoked pipe and a steady stream of tobacco smoke drifting down stream, he was ready to fish.

He sat on the concrete abutment below the powerhouse and perhaps eight feet above the water. After carefully baiting his hook with a big wad of earthworms, Grandpa would swing the big bobber and baited hook out over the water. Then he would begin to swing it right and left up and down stream. At the appropriate instant and with an extra heave, he would toss the bobber up into the millrace of the powerhouse. KERSPLASH! The bobber would land in the water and would quickly swirl out of the swiftly moving channel down stream. When it had completed its drift, Grandpa would lift it again, set it into motion and KERSPLASH… toss it back up into the swirling water. He would repeat this futile process over and over again.

Now everyone knows that you can’t catch trout by splashing giant red and white bobbers into their lair. You have to be stealthy around trout! Any shadow or splash will scare a trout up or down the stream and into the next hole in a flash of rainbow color. Either that, or the trout will hide in the overhanging weeds and brush and refuse to show itself at all.
 
Grandpa Reynolds didn’t know the proper and only way to catch a cunning trout. Nonetheless, by the end of his fishing expedition, which may have been determined by his lack of tobacco, he would take his milk-pail full of trout home so Grandma Reynolds could fry them for supper.

Both of my grandpas were very special men in my life. They taught me a little bit about fishing, but they taught me so very much more about doing things my own way.

Celebrity Sightings

Celebrity Sightings 

Spies
in order of Appearance

Anne (Gilchrist) Osborn
Marilyn (Kirkpatrick) Franks
Shirley (Walton) Crone
Dick Ellis
Pat (Manifold) Cerny
Patty (Jay) Owens
Ortha (Reynolds) Emry
Jeryce (Meyers) Russell
Raleigh Emry

~

Anne (Gilchrist) Osborn 
 

 While my sister was visiting us during Spring Break, we had a "table conversation topic" of what celebrities we had encountered over the years. She remembered that she and I had encountered Vincent Price at the Chicago Art Institute over 20 years ago and I remember that he seemed a little annoyed at being spotted when my sister asked for an autograph for her sons who were big fans of his.

Our daughter related her encounters with famous persons, one was at a college friend's wedding (she is a talent agent in California). Julia Roberts attended the wedding with her then-boyfriend, Jason Patrick, who was in the wedding party. (Sadly, a few years later the bridegroom divorced her and was featured in my granddaughter's "Instyle" magazine recently as the groom in a "celebrity" wedding---nothing was mentioned of course about his having an "ex"---our daughter's friend). Our daughter also said she ate Nachos with Tom Selleck---well, almost, as he was ordering them just ahead of her at a restaurant, and he conversed with her---she said he was as nice as he was handsome.

My "famous persons' meeting" was when I worked for Ainsworth attorneys Sam and Wm. Ely when they had a lawsuit involving the Brandos and a ranch they owned in Nebraska. I had to take shorthand for a deposition while Marlon Brando was in attendance (I wasn't too nervous--just kidding!!)---and I remember having to "read it back" and got stuck on a word and one of the attorneys present, a lady lawyer from Lincoln, had taken shorthand, and read the word for me. On the way out, Marlon Brando, said, "And a Merry Christmas to you, young lady!" That definitely made MY day (well actually a lot longer than that)! In those days he was what is known as a Hunk and a lot slimmer than he is now! I later heard that he went to buy something at one of the local stores and the clerk asked for his ID, not having a clue who he was. I can still remember what Marlon wore--blue jeans with a hole in them and a blue jeans shirt and boots!

I also saw a whole entourage of movie stars and Robert Kennedy at my office building in Omaha in the late 50's or early 60's who were with him on his brother's campaign trail---Jeff Chandler, Rita Gamm (who was Grace Kelley's bridesmaid), and also Pierre Sallinger. I've forgotten the others---I also saw President Nixon and Pat Nixon when they were in Omaha at the old Blackstone Hotel. That was before all the security they have for Presidents for sure. Our bus was next to their limo and we could look right in.

More recently, when we were on our way to our daughter's in Edmond, we were on the same road as President Clinton when he was here in OKC (actually the road was blocked off and we were stopped as the Presidential limo drove by). We were in Washington, DC. one Spring Break when President Reagan's limo whizzed by and the guards at the Museum we were leaving told us there was a Missile Crisis and the reason for all the strict security in the buildings.

Ken said when he was in the service in the 50's, Palladin's Richard Boone and James Arness were having a drink in a Bar and he and his buddies went over and joined them. He also saw Fred MacMurray and his wife in a Nightclub in Las Vegas. I'm not sure what a clean-cut guy from the Middle of Nowhere was doing in the Bars across the border in Tijuana, Mexico from Fort Bliss, Texas---but probably on the look-out for celebrities, right?? Those celeb's sightings really "date" us, ha.

Over the years, living in the "big" cities, we have encountered quite a few famous entertainers by way of concerts, etc., including Willy Nelson, John Denver, the Carpenters, who were some of the best. We used to go to the old Drury Lane Dinner Theatre in Chicago (I think it was something like $12 per person for dinner and a play!!) and a special memory is taking Ken's Mom, Wilda, and my Mother to see Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. and Kathy Crosby (Bing's wife) in a show. You'd have thought our Mothers were teenagers. They were more thrilled to see Douglas Fairbanks as I was to see Marlon Brando.

Another special memory of our Chicago days was a "would be" celebrity as a singer and actress, a neighbor, Janet. She made frequent trips to downtown Chicago to try out for plays, commercials, etc., and struggled with a lot of rejection, but never gave up or let it get her down. She did make quite a few films for commercial companies and enjoyed performing at neighborhood theatres. She was very active in church and community work and well loved in our southern suburbs, and we were so sad to find out she had terminal cancer. She maintained a great sense of humor to the end, and there wasn't a dry eye when our three churches, Catholic, Jewish and Protestant put up a huge sign so Janet could see her name "Up in Lights" and they had a benefit "Godspell" play for her. At her Memorial, she requested those in attendance sing "There's a Joy, Joy, Joy, Down in my Heart." She never quite made it to the "Big Time," but she was a celebrity to those who knew her.

~

Marilyn (Kirkpatrick) Franks 

Sometime in the late 1960s, I was on an airplane flight from San Francisco to Los Angeles. After boarding and getting settled in my seat, I heard loud voices and a much commotion in the first class section. Then, Della Reese was escorted to the seat directly across the aisle from me. Her little white poodle was in a cage and occupied the seat next to her. She was beautifully dressed and looked every inch a star, complete with long, elegantly manicured fingernails. All the uproar was because she had been booted from first class by the Oakland Raiders and she was MAD! We took off and after a few minutes she settled down and dozed off. Her arm and hand were dangling in the aisle. Then the stewardess came with her cart, caught one of Della's fingernails on the cart and ripped it off. Needless to say, there was HELL TO PAY!!! The Captain, a Doctor and many others gathered around her. There was much running back and forth from the cockpit to Della. Soon we landed in LA. She was the first to deboard the plane, escorted by the Captain and the Doctor, placed in a wheelchair and pushed to the terminal by two lawyer types.

~

Shirley (Walton) Crone

I started to work for the telephone company when I was a senior in high school which was in 1953. And the most exciting thing that ever happened while at work was one day Marlon Brando and his folks came into the office to use the telephone we girls could hardly believe our eyes. They were very nice people. Several times we would see them up town in one of the stores. Wondered where they were staying and found out they had a ranch south of town down not far from where Floyd was raised. Which then was called the Black ranch. Floyd and his Dad did a lot of carpenter work for them. Floyd said that Marlon's folks spent summers there at the ranch and Marlon came and spent a few weeks every summer. His folks were real nice people. Vonnie you probably remember when he came into the telephone office.

~

Dick Ellis

In one of your assignments you asked about celebrities we have met. My meeting happened in Ainsworth, Nebraska.

During one of the years I was coaching and teaching there, the A Club decided to do something different to raise money. We had tried the "carnivals" the cake walks and bake sales and though they were always successful, it was decided to try something else. I don’t know who noticed the ad but probably Coach Story. The ad was in the Omaha World Herald and it stated that it was possible to engage a troop of "rasslers" for entertainment in your town. It also advertised that none other than THE GREAT JOE LOUIS would referee and also box six rounds of exhibition. This was shortly after they had stopped boxing in Nebraska High Schools. Babe knew that the people of the Sandhills loved boxing and felt this would be a great drawing card.

All the arrangements were made and a ring was shipped to Ainsworth High and it was set up in the old gym. Bleachers were brought from the football field and reassembled on the stage. I think every folding chair in town was placed around that ring and the place sold out immediately. When the promoters came from Omaha to check things out they told us that we would have to remove the first two rows around the ring because if anyone was thrown out of the ring the insurance would not cover, because of the proximity of the chairs in those rows.

Well, those rows were the first to sell and Babe and I talked like good fellows to save the ringside seats. A compromise was finally reached and we removed the first two rows on the north side of the ring. This is where any who might be tossed out of the ring would be thrown

The night of the fight finally arrived and as I said the place was packed. The rasseling events took place with Louis refereeing. The last bout was a heavyweight bout with one of the Pesecks rasseling a kid from Kansas City. It got in to a free for all as these things usually do. The final thing was that Peseck swung on Louis, so Louis "knocked?" him out then the kid from KC punched Louis and he was promptly "KO’ed" too. 

The finale was to be the six rounds of exhibition boxing by Louis. His opponent was the kid from KC and Peseck was to referee. It went about three rounds again with Louis knocking out both the other boxer and the referee. Louis then went to the dressing room and the crowd was about to tear the place apart. They had paid primarily for the boxing and they had been cheated. Well, Babe and I went to the dressing room and that is where I met THE JOE LOUIS. We explained to him that the crowd had paid to see him box and that was all they wanted. We finally convinced him to return and to do the six rounds without a referee but to give the people what they came for. He returned and boxed with the fellow from KC and with no referee. They timed the rounds and he really gave a demonstration of what boxing was all about. At the end of the bout the people gave him a standing ovation and the man could not believe it. Later in the dressing room, with tears in his eyes, he told us that in all this time he had never had a standing ovation. He was an amazing man.

~

Pat (Manifold) Cerny

As a registered lobbyist it is not wise to become identified with a political candidate. Years ago when Bush and Dole were lined up against one another, the South Dakota Republican legislators were split into two camps and all were attempting to secure everyone possible to join their campaign. I took a different route and told both groups I was supporting Pete DuPont - he was a legitimate candidate. This kept me from declaring between the two major 'camps'.

I had to go to Washington, DC to testify on a water bill (Dec.) and we were to head for Tempe, Arizona for #2 son's graduation from Ariz. State. On my return from DC, I was to meet Bill in Sioux City and fly to Phoenix, then Bill would drive home with Tom and I would fly back to Sioux City to retrieve vehicle. Great idea until a snow storm socked in Chicago and my flight out of DC was cancelled. No problem, United would fly me to Phoenix next day. Boarding the plane, I noticed a young lady with a DuPont for President button on her lapel. Started a conversation and asked for the button. To make a long story more readable I got the button and Bill, Tom and I were invited, as her guest, to a fund raiser for DuPont at the Biltmore Hotel that evening. I had no clue at the time of the snobbish stature of the hotel.

We arrived at the Hotel in Tom's little Chevette which had the taillight taped on and one back door bashed in from a hit and run he had endured. I wish you could have seen the face of the valet parking attendant!!!! We proceeded to the cocktail party fund raiser. I have never seen so many full length mink coats and huge diamonds amassed together in a room. When his assistant introduced us, Pete looked at Tom, asked him what he was receiving his degree in the next day and then said 'this is a pretty nice graduation party, isn't it?", with a nice smile.

Sunday AM Bill and Tom packed up and left for South Dakota in the Chevette. I sat in the motel lobby waiting for the motel van going to the airport. Was reading the paper about the rock group U-2 that would be playing at Ariz. State that night when the van drove up. As I approached, about four young men climbed in ahead of me. I sat down by one, he stuck out his hand and told me his name. I shook his hand and said I was Pat. He asked me what I did. I told him I was a farmer and a lobbyist. That brought a puzzled look on his face, then he broke into a smile and said 'this isn't the airport van if that is what you are waiting for'. I had jumped into the van taking U-2 to the campus to practice. I think they were relieved to discover that their 'groupy followers' had not turned that old.

~

Patty (Jay) Owens

Having lived in the Denver area for 30 years, we were lucky to have listened to and danced to many famous bands (Louis Armstrong, my favorite), and also to have gone to many off Broadway shows featuring many well known stars. But to actually have been able to touch or talk to a famous person, I have to go back to my childhood for one and the late 70's for the other. 

When I was about 10 and while visiting my cousin in Iowa, I attended a parade for William Boyd (Hopalong Cassidy) and later got to pet his horse Topper. It was a thrill I've never forgotten. 

About 1977, my daughter Cyndi, who had been very active for years in working for the Special Olympics, was asked to attend a benefit in Pueblo honoring those people most active in this cause. Her escort was Lyle Alzado. When he came to the house to pick her up, every neighbor was out on their front lawns waving and cheering. Being great Bronco fans, I have to admit I did "mention" he would be coming to several people. I have to tell you, that this giant of a man, couldn't have been nicer or more soft spoken. We saw him in a different light than most, and always have thought of him as "The Gentle Giant." 

Because of his involvement with Special Olympics, he and Cyndi became fast friends. We were very saddened at his death, especially because of "why" he died, but to the end, he still was trying to help kids, by telling them how steroids had destroyed him.

~

Ortha (Reynolds) Emry

[Story Meister Note: My mom telephoned me to tell me her computer was on the blink and wanted me to write a short blurb about her celebrity encounter for her. I don't often get to be a ghost writer so I thought it might be fun. I motioned to Shirley Ignert now Neked (she's the bunkhouse stenographer) and Shirley scribbled down Mom's story and I put it into first person as if I was my Mom. I may have done that before when I needed an excuse for being absent from school, but I'm out of practice. So Mom, if I don't get this quite right, maybe no one will ever know that Shirley Ignert now Neked is not a great stenographer.] 

I was visiting my Son Bob and his wife Jenny in Washington D.C. and we were touring the Capitol Building. We were in quite a large group of people moving together but not really part of a tour. Then we heard quite a commotion and loud talk. Then as if Moses was parting the Red Sea, the crowd parted at the directions of some stern looking Secret Service agents and Vice President Dan Quayle strolled by within an arm's reach from me! It was exciting to see the Vice President and to add to the excitement I found that I had become separated from Bob and Jenny! But we were soon back together and had something new to talk about.

~

Jeryce (Meyers) Russell

I moved to Las Vegas in 1957 when the population was only about 50,000 people and the strip was a two-way street. Compared to the almost 1 and 1/2 million people that live here now. When I came here, it was a really different world than Norfolk, NE. This was a fast moving place and the past years have been a wonderful time and truly never a dull moment!

I worked for two allergy specialists for 20 years full time and another 13 years part time. We were the only allergy doctors that were board-certified specialists and we had a very large practice and treated many of the stars and bosses of the hotels. Most of the stars and entertainers were just great patients and then we had a few "prima donnas" that I won't name.

I will name just few of my favorites: Harry Belafonte, Louis Basil and Toni Basil (his daughter), Kenny Rogers, George Lindsay (Goober) Wayne Newton, Patty Page, Liberace, Paul Anka & family of girls, my very favorite was Benny Goodman. Mr. Goodman was a golf buddy of one of the doctors and called the office a lot. He was the most gracious gentleman and just as good as the wonderful music he played in his band.

All of you fellows out there would have loved when the Follies Bergere' and the Lido de Paris shows arrived from Europe with all the gorgeous dancers, showgirls, nudes and singers. Most of them spoke fair English but they all were so nice that it was really fun to get to know them. Then we had the bosses and top owners of five of the hotels on the strip. They never had to "wait" to see the doctors and whenever we wanted to see a show or have dinner at any of their hotels we always had ringside seats. Those were the days when "juice " counted and it was who you "knew" to get jobs and to get things done.

Things and times are different now as everything is on a computer and the hotels are traded on the New York stock exchange.

Christmas time was always so much fun as the gifts that the doctors, nurses and office staff received from the above patients were out of this world with surprises. Nevada being the small-populated state that it was years ago, we knew most of the politicians and were on first name basis with them. When election night came around, we always were invited to the many parties held for the candidates that were given and hosted by the different hotels. The hotel usually had a name band playing and whichever entertainer was appearing would always attend and mingle with the guests. Those were the days when everyone got "dressed up" the ladies wore long dresses and the men always wore ties and jackets.

Just one more short story: If any of you watch old James Bond movies, be sure to watch "Diamonds are Forever". It was filmed in Las Vegas and really shows the town the way it looked before this explosive growth took place. My first husband and I had just opened the Palm Mortuary in Henderson and it was used as the mortuary in filming this movie. Sean Connery was on site for several days and I was in awe and he was so nice and sooo handsome!!!

When I came to Las Vegas so many years ago, the first month I was here, I thought it was the hottest dusty place in the world. I longed to be back in Nebraska, but our jobs and careers were here and it’s been a wonderful life with many, many happy memories. The dusty town has grown into this beautiful oasis in the desert and I can truly say Las Vegas has been really good to me. Jeryce Myers Russell

~

Raleigh Emry

I have had few close encounters with celebrities. Of course we've been to the concerts where famous folks have taken our money so we could see them. That list is quite extensive; but my celebrity chance encounters are few and far between. I don't mind as I'm not into celebrity-watching. I'm a proponent of Badger Clark who wrote, "I like my fellow man the best when he is scattered some." But "celebrity encounters" is the topic and I am the story-miester. So I'll tell you all I know. 

My first F-4 Wing Commander was Chuck Yeager, the first guy to break the sound barrier. He flew with my squadron a few times a week. Except for the fact that he was then a Colonel and I was then a First Lieutenant or Captain, he was a friendly ordinary guy with an extraordinary past. 

When I was stationed at Danang, South Vietnam, Richard Petty (race car driver) showed up on the flight line one day on a tour. He wandered around and shook hands. He was without his trademark hat and sunglasses but he wore a "Richard Petty" t-shirt. A few of us had just returned from a mission and were crawling out of our F-4s. Richard Petty wandered over to shake our hands. One guy didn't know who he was, but he recognized the face on his t-shirt (with hat and sunglasses) and said, "Hey man! Where'd you get the Richard Petty t-shirt?" Richard Petty in a light-hearted but sarcastic way said, "Hey Man! I AM Richard Petty!" As you can see the humor at Danang was sometimes petty. 

When we went to Canada on my officer exchange assignment through the Embassy, we first stopped in Ottawa (the capital of Canada). After doing some business at the Embassy and meeting my supervisor, we toured Ottawa. Daughter Lisa was just two. As we walked near an entrance to the Parliament building, a limo drove up and Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau walked out of the door and waved to the few of us as he walked to his limo. I picked up Lisa and moved to the opposite side of the limo from Trudeau so she could see better. Of course she didn't know Pierre Trudeau from Adam. But it struck me how ordinary it was. There were no escorts of "Secret Service types" looking stern and pushing the crowd back. Just Pierre... he walked by himself, behind maybe two or three other folks who led the way. He looked dapper in suit and hat. Terry especially remembers his rose boutonniere. It was just a moment in time when we and the Prime Minister of Canada exchanged smiles and waves. He drove off in his limo and we continued our tour.

During my assignment in Canada, my CF-101 Voodoo squadron on Vancouver Island had a big to-do and invited USAF Lt. General Daniel "Chappie" James to be guest speaker. Chappie James was one of the Tuskegee Airmen who served in an all black P-51 squadron in WW II. He was an ace in WWII, maybe also in Korea, and also had a few Mig kills in F-4s in Vietnam. At the time of my Canadian assignment he was the Commander of NORAD (North American Air Defense Command). My Canadian squadron, the 409 Nighthawks, was assigned to NORAD (we sat Air Defense Alert... the Cold War was still in progress). When General James accepted the squadron's invitation, our Canadian commander was a nervous wreck. He was sure that one of the rowdy Canadians would do something to disgrace Canada.

The Canadian Dining Ins were a blast! ("Dining Ins" were formal dinners for just military members; "Dining Outs" included spouses.) Everyone wore their formal mess-dress uniforms and the formalities of the dinner were closely adhered to... but with some additions and modifications. A bagpiper piped us into dinner and Mr. Vice (the most junior officer is always Mr. Vice) proposed the toasts. It was his responsibility to make sure that all the toasts, from Queen Elizabeth on down, were properly made and acknowledged. As Americans were present, it was customary to also propose toast to the President and the U.S. chain of command. It was also his responsibility to taste the wine the wine steward offered and order up the next glass of wine with each course of the meal. There were many courses and Mr. Vice usually gave some silly, slurred toasts by about course "five". By the time the dinner had progressed from soup to nuts and on to cigars and brandy we had imbibed several glasses of different wines and had drank to the health of many people... living and dead.

At most Canadian Dining Ins and usually after about the third toast, the dinner rolls began to fly. A dinner roll properly slathered in butter was a good blivet to take the "new" off of someone's formal mess-dress uniform. So you had to keep your eyes open and hopefully duck in time... or use your bread plate as a shield to deflect the greasy missile. The rolls were usually saved for after dinner when the guest speaker was the center of attention. He too could then be targeted. If all went well, everyone then mingled and paid the piper in drinks. By the time the piper was called on to pipe us back out of the hall and close the evening's festivities he was usually in no condition to play a kazoo let alone a set of bagpipes. So I hope that paints a picture of a typical Canadian Dining-In in 1975.

The Canadian commander was worried that a salvo of rolls would ruin the dinner that the esteemed General James was invited to and thus put a crimp in the relations between the US of A. and Canada. Therefore, he sent around instruction booklets to each officer and let each officer know, in no uncertain terms, that if the proper decorum was not followed to the letter, heads would roll. 

The night of the banquet came and things progressed "by the book" throughout the dinner. The piper had piped, the toasts had been made. It was time to introduce the guest speaker. The Canadian commander was a tall, extremely thin guy who looked a bit like Ichabod Crane... enough like Ichabod that folks called him Ichabod when he wasn't present. He stood to introduce General James. Before he spoke, he looked nervously left and right making eye contact with every one of us. You could see that he was silently pleading for us to behave. He then said "Gentlemen, I now introduce General Daniel "Chappie" James." 

Chappie slowly stood up. Chappie was a very big man and very impressive! He had more medals dangling from his chest than all of the Canadian officers combined! He reached under the table and brought something out and stood up even further. It looked as if he was eight feet tall. He WAS eight feet tall! He was standing on his chair. He held a basket of dinner rolls and fired a salvo at us. He began his speech with, "Gentlemen, I have heard of your tradition. Let the games begin." Rolls flew until the supply was exhausted and we then settled down to an hour or so of a very entertaining yarn about Chappie James' experiences in the wild blue yonder.

General James was staying the night at Comox Canadian Forces Base, so he was in no hurry to leave the festivities. The Canadians have a weird game called "Crud" that they play on a pool table. As Crud is rough on the table felt, they usually have a designated "Crud" table. You don't use pool cues but instead catch the balls in your hand and fire them back across the table. I don't recall the exact rules as the rules were never the same two nights in a row. One version was to choose up sides and use any tactics known to man to roll your teams pool balls into the pockets while attempting to keep your opponents' pool balls on the table. Crud always became enthusiastic and rough... like hockey. Players blocked shots with their arms, legs and torso, and if sufficiently wined, foolishly blocked shots with their heads. To keep the game fast-paced, there was the equivalent of a three second rule to keep a blocker from camping in front of a pocket.

As I was a USAF officer, General James beckoned to me and challenged the Canadians to a Crud game... USAF against RCAF. So it was us against them... two against the many... and they had home court advantage! If it had been anyone else but Chappie James, the Canadians would have won. I'm sure of that! I was a pathetic Crud player. But when I had the secret weapon of a huge, African-American, Three-Star General in full mess-dress uniform thrashing around and around the pool table firing pool balls and blocking shots, it evened the odds. The Canadians were a bit intimidated, and I think we fought to a draw. 

Chappie James is dead now. It's doubtful he remembered, for long, the night that he and Captain Emry teamed up against the Canadians in a game of Crud at the Comox Officers' Club. Even still, I remember the night that I teamed up against the Canadians in a game of Crud at the Comox Officers' Club with General Chappie James! 

When stationed at the USAF Interceptor Weapons School at Tyndall AFB, Florida, I needed my annual physiological training. We had no "altitude chamber" at Tyndall so I was sent all the way to George AFB, California for the one day training. 

I received my training and was at Los Angeles International Airport (LAX) boarding a DC-10 for my flight back to Chicago and eventually Florida. Ricky Nelson and his band boarded the plane the same time that I did. We walked down the tube to the airplane together but were not seated near each other. Airliners take off to the West at LAX and climb over the Pacific before turning back eastbound over the city. About half way through our climbing turn, the DC-10 cabin filled with a thick, smoky vapor and I heard the pilots retard the throttles and felt the airplane abruptly level off. Everyone looked nervously at each other. I'm sure I did too as I'm more comfortable in an airplane if I have something to do with its destiny and if I'm strapped into an ejection seat. 

I thought to myself, "Isn't this JUST GREAT! I can see the headlines now, 'RICKY NELSON KILLED WHEN DC-10 EXPLODES OVER L.A.' and there won't be one mention of MY name!" In a few minutes the Captain, in a confident voice said, "Sorry about that ladies and gentlemen. You may have observed a mist in the cabin. An air-conditioner package had a problem, so we shut it down. We have a backup and so will proceed on to Chicago." A few years later Ricky Nelson was indeed killed in an aircraft accident and there was no mention of my name in the headlines. Thank goodness! 

President Reagan came to Alaska when I was stationed there and as I helped organize his stop-over, I made sure that Terry and I had seats right up front at his scheduled speech. Our kids went with their classmates. 

First Lady Laura Bush, when she was the Texas Governor's wife, came to Terry's elementary school a few years ago. She and her driver... no entourage... showed up with no fanfare. She read a book to the students. Laura looked "just like another teacher" according to Terry and, of course, Laura had spent time in public schools as a librarian so it's no wonder.

While driving back from San Marcos on I-35 one day a dozen years ago, I cruised by James Michener who was puttering along in an old pickup truck. He was living in Austin at the time and continuing to write one of his many lonnnnnnnng books. Maybe it's his influence that causes me to write lonnnnnnnng stories.

Summer Jobs

Summer Jobs 
~

 Story Tellers
IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE 
~
Claude Reyman
Dale Masters
Irma (Snyder) Lovegrove
Merritt Plantz
Sandra (Masters) Propst
Karen (Moody) Allyn
Ortha (Reynolds) Emry
Anne (Gilchrist) Osborn
Jean (Jackson) Masters
Pat (Manifold) Cerny
Raleigh Emry 

~

Good Old Days In the Hayfield
By Claude Reyman 

What a memory this brings back to me concerning the summer haying tasks. I started to work in the hayfield when I was about seven years old. I would help with the team that was used to pull the hay up and dump onto the haystack. Once in awhile I would get on the stack by climbing up the slope and jumping into the hay – what fun this was when you could push the hay down in your jump. We used four head of horses to run the stacker. The stacker was made of wood and had large runners for skids to move from one stack to another. Dad made the stacker and did a great job but it was very durable and heavy. It was all the horses could do to pull from one area to another, especially when it was wet.

I next graduated to running the rakes. For a long time we used two 14-foot rakes. One was used to windrow and the other to pick up scattering from the sweep tractor. I remember my mother helping in the hay field. She would get the team from the barn and hook them up to the rake. She would work in the field to about 11.00 a.m. then go back to the house and prepare our dinner. She could cook the best food in the world for us and we never went hungry from what she made. The best pies, mashed potatoes, beans or corn and tomatoes from the garden. After the dinner was finished, back to the barn she would go and get the two horses from the barn and then to the meadow. It was about ¾ mile from the house.

In 1951 Bruce Sr. bought a small Case tractor. He had Hap Erwin from Wood Lake make a frame so that we could use three rakes at one time. The Case did the job but it was loaded with weight and it was a wonder that it moved. Hooking up the rakes was a job and it was heavy. The old Case sits in the small meadow in front of the ranch house – rusting away now.

In a few years I learned how to mow with the F20 Farmall. We had a trail mower and I got good on running this outfit. The tongue on the trail mower was solid 4x4 and weighed a great deal. It was all that I could do to pick it up and fasten it to the mower bar. At one time, the old F20 had lug steel wheels and were 1-foot wide. When you got stuck – you were stuck. We had about 320 acres of hay ground. The meadow was sub irrigated and produced about 60-80 five-ton haystacks. This was sufficient enough to feed about 250 cows and calves through the winter months. Being young, it seemed like haying took all summer when in fact it required about three weeks.

Around 5.00 p.m. I would go back to the ranch building and get the horse and go out to the North pasture and bring in the milk cows. It was normal to milk anywhere from 8 to 12 head both morning and night. Work never seemed to stop for us on the ranch – yet we grew up fast for our years of hard work. Saturday afternoon was our time to go to town. We would go to Valentine to get the food and supplies that we needed. By the time I was 18 years old, we had accumulated about 400 comic books, at ten cents each. Wouldn’t they have some value today? Once in awhile while using horses, a bee would sting the horse and we would have a run-a-way. We were lucky that no on got hurt. I can remember that Con Helan; a rancher about two miles East of our ranch home had a hired man get killed on the rake. It taught us to be extra careful – we did! Growing up was the only thing to do and we did! The "good old days" will always be remembered.

~

Rolling in the Dough

(Bread Dough... that is)
By Dale Masters

Some of you might remember that the building that is now occupied by the Elks Lodge was formerly the location of the Baldwin Bros. Mercantile Store. In its prime this store was quite prosperous and supported three brothers' families, Fred, Art and Joe. As time passed the business fell off and the brothers partitioned off the South thirty feet of the building and leased that portion to Art Keil, who moved his bakery operation and store into that portion. Not long after that change John Farber, from Crookston, bought out Art and moved to Ainsworth. John ran a good bakery but this was in the late 'dirty thirties' and, with the competition of another bakery, Stejskal's, he had to work hard to get a reasonable share of the somewhat limited market for bakery products. Most of the housewives did a lot of baking and to sell sweet rolls and bread required some innovative ideas.

In 1939 John purchased an old panel truck, the pedigree I cannot remember but I think that it was a Model B Ford. When you think of the multitude of adornments that are attached to and/or installed in today's vehicles it would tax your imagination to visualize this stripped down version of transportation. There was absolutely no extras! Four tires and wheels, bare body and a motor, along with one seat, the driver's. The interior consisted of nothing but bare metal, no headliner, no floor mats, no heater, the plainest of dash boards and the aforementioned, driver' seat.

John visualized this vehicle being used as a delivery truck so that he could offer this inducement of 'free delivery' of orders to attract new customers and provide an additional service for his established customers. He tried to make the deliveries himself but he was needed more in the bakery than out peddling his wares so he hired my good friend and classmate, Rex Welch, who some of you might remember as a brother of the music teacher, Merton Welch, to do the deliveries. Rex was old enough to have a driver's license and needed to do something to make some spending money so this was a good arrangement for them both. Rex got the bright idea that maybe he could make some additional cash by selling the bakery products on a commission basis by knocking on doors and soliciting sales as he was driving along his route and offering the fresh rolls and bread delivered to the door. The venture was successful and created enough trade that he asked John if he could hire an assistant, Rex driving and the other person could knock on the doors drumming up trade. John agreed to having the additional person using the same commission arrangement he had made with Rex. Being a good friend of Rex's and needing something to do during that Summer, John hired me.

I was not old enough to drive but I was willing to do the major share of the knocking on doors and Rex would fill in by jumping out of the panel truck and take care of what I couldn't handle. John built some utilitarian but crude shelves in the back of the truck and we were off to the races. (This job was the first one that I ever had requiring that Social Security Withholding Tax be held out of my pay check hence, my first and only Social Security number. I have that original card lying on my desk as I am typing this and, as they used to do when issuing new cards, the name of the employer, in my case Ainsworth Bakery, is typed in.)

The bakery route proved to have its draw-backs. First, in order to get the truck loaded to go out on the route so the deliveries could be started before breakfast time, I had to get up at four-thirty AM!! For one that was reluctant to get up in time for school, this was a big obstacle to hurdle. I found that it was very pleasant and quiet at that time in the morning but I never did get adjusted to getting to work at such an early hour. Second, there was no seat for me in the truck! I had to improvise and used an old Coke bottle case, set on edge so that I could be elevated high enough to see out, and hung on to the door window opening. When it was raining this proved to a problem because I had nothing to hang onto when the window was rolled up but I did learn to balance myself quite well as Rex careened around the alleyways. This arrangement was funny at first but as the season rolled on you can easily see that this was becoming a pain in -- you know where. The pay was not great, John couldn't afford any more than he was paying. But the drawbacks did not seem so big when consideration was given to the fringe benefits John provided. We could eat all of the day-old rolls we wanted and I wanted a lot.

It was not long after I had started to work on the route that Rex decided to show me how well he could drive the truck. He had the habit of turning South off of first street on the first crossing East of the grain elevators. He chose this route because the tracks were somewhat elevated over this street creating a ramp on both sides and he liked to use this 'ramp' to see how high he could elevate the truck off of the ground before landing on the South side of the tracks. I believe his ambition was to become airborne. When you take into consideration that this vehicle not only did not have any 'extras' its motor was not capable of developing any great speed, (probably not much more horsepower than the average ATV has today), so it took a great deal of skill to get the vehicle over the tracks, let alone become airborne. On this particular day he elected to change his route so that he could get a longer run at the crossing by turning South off of Second Street instead of off First. His thinking must have been correct because, as we crossed the tracks we did become airborne, not more than an instant and barely showing daylight between the tires and the street but, something he had failed to consider, when we did land there were packages of rolls, bread, trays, one helper and an empty Coke case flying all around the interior of the truck. I had never had the ambition to find out what it sounded like to be inside of a snare drum while it was being played but, if I had such an ambition, it was now fulfilled. I might add that the descent of the truck was right in the path of some chickens that were feeding in the middle of the street. I am sure we did not kill any chickens but they did partially disrobe. A considerable amount of time was spent in reorganizing the trucks contents, including myself, before we could get on our way but one good thing about it, Rex was now satisfied with his attempt to fly and we never made that type of crossing again.

I did enjoy this Summer job. It was fun and I made a few dollars, not much but a few. I enjoyed being with my friend every day while we were working and John was a wonderful boss for two scatter brained kids to have. We did enough business to justify his having us work for him but I do not remember whether he continued that operation after that Summer we worked for him. It did however come to a somewhat sudden end for me. The last day I worked, or was able to work, we were on our regular route going North down the alley behind Stanley Studio, Frank Law's house, Davidson's, Syfert's Funeral Home, etc. and, as was my practice, I was walking from house to house with a tray of bakery goods on one of the large metal trays that John displayed his goods on, held aloft like a fancy waiter might do, on the palm of my hand over my shoulder. I was taking care of the customers on the East side of the alleyway while Rex was driving the truck and making a couple of stops on the West side. I was walking North , ahead of Rex, getting ready to turn into the rear yard of Hans Rohwer's house when Rex, with another of his stupid pranks, quietly pulled up behind me, tapping the back of my leg with the bumper of the truck. He was closer than he thought and knocked me down to the ground, again with rolls, bread and the metal tray flying in all directions, and run over my foot. He stopped, because I had disappeared from his sight, and yelled "are you all right"? I yelled back, "no, you run over my foot", (or something more descriptive than that). He did not understand what I had said, thinking I had said, "you are on my foot", upon which he put the truck in reverse and run back over my foot again. Needless to say I was too crippled to work on the bakery route again, my foot was not broken but it was badly sprained and it was some time before I could get around very well.

This was an unimpressive way to end the first 'real' paying Summer job I had ever had and, in spite of Rex's stupid pranks, we remained close friends until his death.

~

Show Business
By Irma (Snyder) Lovegrove

I moved with my family to Ainsworth in 1940 when my dad became the John Deere dealer. I was in Jr. High then. Shortly after moving, I got a job working for the Syfert's at the Ainsworth theater delivering theater bills to half the houses in Ainsworth once a week. I got 25 cents a week plus getting in to all the shows free. They had 3 changes of movies every week, one on Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday, another on Wednesday and Thursday, and another on Friday and Saturday. The weekends were mostly westerns and usually a double feature. There was always a cartoon and a news reel. I didn't keep the job very long as I started ushering at the Royal Theater as a lot of my friends worked there. But that 25 cents sure made me feel rich at the time. We came from a farm where we got a nickel a week to spend on Saturday night when we went to town.

~

You Load Sixteen Tons
and
What'a you get?
By Merritt Plantz

This is about my first summer job, the summer after I got out of high School. That was the year that they decided to rebuild highway #2 through my home town of Litchfield, Sherman County, Nebraska. 

It was just a stroke of luck for I was looking for a job to earn money for college. I had received the Union Pacific scholarship, known as the Carl Gray scholarship, named after the president of the Union Pacific RR. 

Just west of Litchfield the highway crosses Muddy Creek. That meant building a concrete bridge across the creek, not like the wooden ones that had been built in years past. The new bridge was being built by the Empire Construction company of Omaha. 

I had applied for work at the employment office and they sent me to the bridge building company. When I reported for work they were getting ready to pour concrete for the bridge. That meant sand, gravel, and cement. 

These ingredients were in boxcars and gondola cars on the sidings in Litchfield. The boss said, "There is a truck and here are the shovels, start hauling it out to the bridge site". 

I was the youngest and the smallest on the crew and I was soon to learn that I was not the least capable one. Having been raised on a farm I was used to using a shovel, etc. I don't believe some of these fellows, even though they were older and bigger than I was, had done much heavy labor. 

I was naive enough to think I could do about anything. And before the summer was over I had done about all the jobs involved on a bridge crew, and was able to do it better than some of the larger and older fellows, but I think I had to work harder to do it. For instance we often had to move material in a wheel-barrow. Little half-pint me knew how to run a wheel-barrow for it wasn't long ago my brother and I wheeled each other in a wheel-barrow just for fun. 

But I must admit carrying 94 pound sacks of cement out of a box car and stacking them on a truck was not play, especially after 3 or 4 hours of it, and after shoveling gravel for several hours onto a truck and back off. A sack of that cement weighed just slightly less than my 120 pounds. 

One thing for sure I did not go out and run around at night after putting in 12 hour days on the construction crew. But I was earning the most money I had ever made and was saving every penny of it too! 

Yes, I earned enough money that summer to pay my college tuition plus baching expenses that year at the University. Thank goodness the depression did not last many more years. That is it for this time!

~

A Pressing Business
By Sandra (Masters) Propst

I did so want a job that summer! My friends were working at Morrow's Drive-in, but Dad and Mom had talked me into doing a job at home. At first I was a little rebellious and resentful, but the dollar signs soon got in the way. So there I was standing barefoot on the concrete in the basement laundry room. Even with the heat from the iron and the mangle (remember those), it was still the coolest room in the house. I'd press the sheets and pillowcases and other flat pieces on the mangle and press the rest at the ironing board.

I always loved having time to myself, and the hours I spent ironing I daydreamed to my heart's content. That was until brother Dan's experiment. 

For years, Mom had used an old Maytag wringer washer which required two rinse tubs, and when Mom got her new automatic wash machine, she kept the rinse tubs and that was the beginning of the end of my career in laundry.

Dan loved to go over to Bone Creek and play, but one day he came home carrying a container full of pollywogs. He decided the perfect place to keep them was the rinse tubs. Fill them with water, put in the pollywogs, place a screen over the top in case of overflow and run the garden hose from the faucet into the tubs slowly so the water would circulate and the excess could slowly run down the floor drain. For several days he would make trips to the creek and bring more pollywogs until, if they had matured our house would have really been hoppin. He finally decided that he had collected enough then lost interest and failed to check up on his project.

The next day I went down to start my job, I discovered water all over the floor and coming out from under the door leading into the laundry room. I opened the door and there was water cascading down from the tubs onto the floor and puddling over the drain. I ran screaming upstairs to Mom who immediately investigated then called Dad who came home and determined that an expert was needed and called the plumber.

We had pollywogs dead and dying on the floor and hundreds more clogging the drain. The plumber worked for hours trying to clean the drain while Mom and I cleaned up the floor. All the rest of that summer the smell of rotting pollywogs drifted up from that drain and permeated the laundry room making it impossible to spend more then a few minutes at a time in there, so my job was moved upstairs for the rest of the summer. Still to this day, I enjoy ironing.

~

 Summer Job in the '50s
By Karen (Moody) Allyn

My summer job was working for Eldon Morrow at Morrow's Drive In. The Drive In opened in the spring before school was out and closed in the fall after school had started again so every employee had to juggle school studies and work. Schedules must have been a problem for Eldon as he tried to work around each employee's activity schedule, also. Everyone had to start out as a car hop and then work up in seniority to be able to work "inside". I began the job in the summer after my eighth grade school year and continued working there each summer until after I had completed two years of college. Eldon and Leona were wonderful people to work for. Of course, we made more than our fair share of mistakes. However, the Morrow's guided a great number of young people in values and work ethics and helped make many good memories.

My worst nightmare, as a very young car hop, was to not successfully attach those arm trays to the outside of the car door. Those arms were not always stable and occasionally fell. One day I was carrying a strawberry malt, strawberry sundae and other items and the tray fell INTO the car, which was a white convertible with red interior. The persons shall remain nameless but the passenger really ranted and raved with disgust as he was trying to be "Mr. Somebody Special" and wanted to impress his guest. I was definitely not on his list of favorite people.

Fortunately for me, I was able to begin working "inside" and truly enjoyed my summer job. After closing on Sunday nights, Eldon would occasionally drive all the employees down to Hidden Paradise to check out the entertainment and see who was dancing and partying down there. We always hated to be the first one dropped off at home as we would probably miss out on something. No parent had to worry about where their children were in those days as Eldon would see that they arrived home safely every night after closing.

Today, I notice when a fountain drink machine is not working properly. I supposed the reason is that one night when cleaning up and preparing for the next day, I filled the Root Beer machine with Coke concentrate and the Coke machine with Root Beer concentrate. Interesting that the customers noticed! Of course, that was a very costly mistake as both of the dispensers had to be drained and thrown away.

Oh yes, remember those five cent ice cream cones? One of the most frustrating things for the Morrow's was to monitor the size of those cones. We were to weigh them on a scale to get the correct weight and probably most of the time the cones were much heavier than they were supposed to be. Our eyes would measure the size and out they would go to a happy customer.

There are more stories both remembered and forgotten about the Drive In and the people who worked there. Thank you to Eldon and Leona Morrow for providing jobs and guidance for so many young boys and girls in Ainsworth.

~

Easy Come - Easy Go
By Ortha (Reynolds) Emry

My first summer job, when I was in my early teens, was to help a neighbor lady with the extra cooking and laundry during the busiest part of the haying season. This was in the mid-30s. 

We prepared three huge delicious meals each day. Each day we gleaned the vegetables from the gardens and prepared them, and yes, we occasionally dressed chickens! There was no electricity, so there were no modern conveniences, except they did have a gas range. Their ice-house, where ice was put up in the Winter, provided ice for the icebox and kept food cool. The icy cold drinks were such a treat! 

Each Monday we filled the clothes-line with clean laundry. When it was dry, we took it down and dampened it in a basket to prepare it for Tuesday's ironing. There were no wash-and-wear fabrics in the '30's! 

I really enjoyed the work and in the afternoon I got to play their player-piano by pumping it with my feet. They had a nice assortment of piano-rolls to play. One I remember was "You Are My Sunshine" and I especially liked "I'm Looking Over A Four Leaf Clover". 

My first week's wages ,which consisted of six days ,was $3.00. I readily mailed an order to the Montgomery Ward catalog in Kansas City. I was able to purchase a nice pair of oxfords for school and three yards of material at 10 cents a yard for a new dress and also pay the postage. 

It was a great experience that I will always fondly remember.

~

This Job's a Piece of Cake
By Anne (Gilchrist) Osborn

If you were from the Middle of Nowhere Ainsworth, Nebraska, in our era of the 50's, you know that summer jobs were scarce and few and far between since there were no fast food places. My summer jobs were on the farm and definitely not anything I wanted to admit we did or brag about. I remember when friend Vonnie Reyman visited, we decided to learn how to milk cows. My dad thought that was great and soon had my sisters and me milking cows that summer. But when we looked at our hands and saw calluses, we had our Mother intervene and we only occasionally milked cows again. 

I felt very lucky to get a job at the Ainsworth Bakery when I was in high school, and worked on Saturdays for the grand sum of 35 cents an hour! I helped by filling in for anyone who needed help--the regular soda fountain person, the bakery clerk and even Mr. Farber, occasionally, and I did get proficient at the bread slicing machine. However, they had to really be short of help if Mr. Farber called on me to frost or do anything in the back bakery area--I just remember how hot it was in the back part of the bakery. I do think their bakery products were the best---but after smelling it all day, I could never eat it. (I must have been suffering from Anorexia---as I would love to sample any of it now!)

Ken worked a variety of jobs. He laughs about the job at the Congregational Church where he was to put coal into the furnace to keep it going during church services and one time fell asleep---much to his Mother's chagrin, not to mention the rest of the Congregation. He also worked for a plumber, worked on his Uncle Stewart's farm where he and his cousins tormented the "mean" bull with BB guns (and they wondered why he was mean!!), and during college he worked in the bluegrass fields with other Husker football players (this was the Husker football team's "conditioning" method of keeping the players in shape).

~

Working at the Movies
By Jean (Jackson) Masters

I loved my first job! About l939 or 1940 I got my first job, other than baby sitting. I applied for and was hired at the Ainsworth Theatre. I took tickets and ushered on Saturday afternoon and evenings and also on Sunday afternoon until about 6 p.m..

The usual schedule was Cowboy shows on Friday evening and the Saturday matinee and evening. Then Sunday was a family or special high quality movie for the entire day, (continuous), starting at 2 p.m. until the last show was over at about 10 p.m. The Sunday show was carried over for Monday and Tuesday evenings. Generally an unimportant or less valued movie was shown on Wednesday and Thursday evenings. Then when Friday came around it was back to a Western movie again.

I enjoyed the ticket taking and ushering part and those movies drew large crowds of kids for the Saturday matinee, often filling the theatre. Adults and lots of rural people were in attendance on Saturday evening, again, often a full house. On Sunday afternoons there were lots of families and young people and Sunday evenings never failed to have a lot of adults, couples without children, you know, couples night out. 

During the Summer months, when the weather was nice, my job started earlier and I'd go to work at about 12:30 PM and start popping popcorn. I would get a supply of popcorn prepared ahead of time and then we'd open the front doors, roll the popcorn machine out onto the front sidewalk and I'd sell popcorn fast and furious. The aroma would drift up and down the street and we had people from off of the street, as well as the movie goers, standing in line waiting for another batch to be sacked and ready to go. I can't remember what I was paid but on the days we sold on the street it was busy work for as long as I wanted to be out there and Mr. Syfert paid me extra because of the additional time and labor I spent popping, sacking, selling and keeping track of the money. 

Roy and Mrs. Syfert started me out right in working for the public, arrive on time for work, be honest, courteous and avoid chatting too long with friends who came to the theatre. Syferts daughter, Patty, often came to the theatre with her parents. I remember her especially on Sundays, being dressed so nice and she, as young as she was, was allowed to be in the inner waiting area, where the tickets were collected, and patrons were ushered down the isle. In that inner lobby area was a sitting space that was her zone. Patty sat there during busy times as people came into the theatre. She had a doll or a supply of paper dolls with her and would sing to herself for hours while playing with them. 

I did enjoy and appreciated my first job, working for Mr. Syfert at the Ainsworth Theatre.

~

Pat's Pillar of Salt
By Pat (Manifold) Cerny

When I married Bill (almost 20 years ago) I had only lived on a farm as a child and knew very little about farm machinery or how to utilize such. If Bill was not following in his father's footsteps regarding the whiting of his hair, I would venture that the cause was attempting to teach me to be a hired-hand.

Bill rigged up a right hand and a left hand rake - each being 20 feet in width. By making them into a V-shaped rake I probably had 30 feet of rake attached to the rear of my tractor. He already learned that whatever way I was looking, that is probably the direction the tractor would turn. With the set-up, I could rake two rows of hay together and thus make the baling process less time.

We head for the field - I am not very secure in this entire process. Bill assures me that all will go well, all the big wheels will go round and round and the two rows will become one row. And, I am not to look back because I must keep the front tires between the two rows!

I start out and the urge to look back is so strong. I think of Lot's wife and the word of God that whoever looked back as Lot and others fled in the Biblical story would turn into a block of salt. Finally the urge is so overwhelming I have to look. Well, the hydraulic hose had broke, the wheels were not going round and round and I was facing a stack of alfalfa that was about ready to drop on my head as the rake was piling it higher and higher. I give Bill credit for remembering not to say "why didn't you check sooner?".

I did become proficient and could look back whenever I pleased while staying between the rows. My favorite field had many sandpipers who were still nesting during the first cutting. Bill spotted my outfit sitting idly in the field and couldn't see me. He drove the baler over to find me moving a row of alfalfa over far enough so that his larger tractor wouldn't drive over a nest of three beautiful eggs. Only those who have worked in the field know what I felt like. When you combine a sweaty body with the flecks and pieces of dried alfalfa that stick to you and itch and itch, there is no real relief until you get in the shower. It was one of those 'mother to mother' times.

~

Veterinary Meddlin'
By Raleigh Emry

I suppose my first summer job was when I worked for my parents on our Niobrara River ranch. As the employment package included room and board and little else, and as the employee rarely earned even that, I'll refine my summer job search to later years. 

My most enjoyable summer job was the seven summers, during high-school and college, that I worked for Morris Skinner collecting fossils for the American Museum of Natural History. I wrote a complete, and yet unpublished, book on that topic. So, I'll refine my job search to omit those seven years. 

I have already written bits and pieces about my days as a janitor's helper in the employ of Herb Sawyer at the Ainsworth Public Schools, where I received 30 cents an hour cleaning classrooms and restrooms, clapping erasers, shoveling snow from the walkways and coal into the coal bins and then into the furnace stokers, rodding the ashes from the boilers and scooping out the ashes from the ash pit, mowing the lawns including the football field with a push mower, and other character-building tasks such as sweeping the gym floor at half-time of basketball games. I especially enjoyed sweeping the basketball court as the student-body in the bleachers always gave me a continual supply of wadded up popcorn sacks and bits of hotdog to sweep up. Unfortunately the students were not too good with their aim. They almost never hit my broom, but instead seemed to hit high and behind in the vicinity of my head. But there is no point in telling you all of that. So, I'll refine my summer job search further. 

I worked one summer, between my freshman and sophomore year, for Clarence Morrow in his hayfield. As Claude Reyman wrote about hayfield work, I won't belabor this topic. But it sets the stage for an aspect of farm and ranch life that I will write about. So I'll begin my story there. 

Clarence Morrow's old, red Ford pickup bumped down our driveway on Pine Street one morning. I was outside so I walked over and Clarence asked if I could drive a tractor. I said I could and he offered me a summer job at 5 bucks a day, lunch included ... just like that. He had a half-section or so of native hay a few miles SW of Ainsworth. 

I jumped in and as we drove to the hayfield he told me of the wonderful sweet-smelling native hay that grew there. One area of the hayfield was intermixed with wild peppermint. The peppermint gave it a wonderful aroma. Whether or not horses liked peppermint, the buyers of hay for the AKSARBEN horse racing establishment in Omaha did. For you non-Nebraskans, AKSARBEN is Nebraska spelled backward. If my memory is correct, Clarence sold much of his peppermint flavored hay, at some time before my employment, to AKSARBEN. 

Clarence told me that Simon Pancake (I believe that was his name) would also be working with us that summer. Simon and Clarence would mow. I would rake. Then Simon would drive the sweep (a contraption similar to a front-end loader for "sweeping" up the windrows and bringing the hay to the stacker), I would pull the stacker cable on the "overshot" stacker (a set of wooden teeth that lifts the hay and tosses it into the cage), and Clarence would get into the cage and form the hay into stacks. I was also expected to grease all the fittings on the equipment each day. So that's the way the summer was promised to go and that's the way it went. Clarence drove a Farmall, Simon drove a "Poppin Johnny" John Deere, and I drove an Allis Chalmers. But haying didn't start until after my initiation that first afternoon. 

When we arrived at Clarence's place, I discovered that he had a pig pen and some pig sheds. The pigs had been rooting under the fence and then rooting up the meadow. It was time to mend the fence and ring the pigs. For you city-slickers there are at least two different types of hog nose-rings. There is one type that is clamped, with special pliers into the tender flesh of the pig's nostrils. It has a vertical piece that digs in any time the pig tries to root his nose into the dirt. This causes much pain to the pig and the pain stops the pig from rooting. The other type we also used that day are copper loops with sharp ends. They are placed into the pliers and squeezed shut into the tender rim around a pig's snout. Two or three well-placed nose rings are sufficient to keep the pig's rooting in check. 

Now this was before the days when body-piercing was in vogue. I've seen a waitress here in Austin with a half-dozen or so rings in each ear, a few rings in her nose, and a few in each eyebrow and lip. When the so-adorned waitress opens her mouth to take our order she reveals a steel ball-bearing welded to a post and anchored through her tongue. Restaurants with such help are usually not on our "must return to" list. But these bizarrely-pierced folks don't seem to be in much pain. 

Pigs on the other hand aren't into body piercing. They do not like their noses to be adorned with rings. They do not like their ears to be carved into unique designs that denote the owner. Little boy pigs do not like their little boy parts to be removed. After such an operation they suffer a life of "gelt". So the pigs protest with much enthusiasm. 

I have been around noisy fighter aircraft where you must wear earplugs or lose your hearing. I've been to concerts where the decibels of the loud-speakers will make your ears hurt. But nothing in my life has been as noisy as the day we ringed and castrated Clarence Morrow's pigs. I held them down while Clarence performed the nose-ringing and other surgical procedures. I felt a wee wee wee bit sorry for the pigs so I hugged them tight and tried to console them as they kicked and squirmed but they were not in the mood for my sympathy. I learned that there is truth to the adage, "Never mud-wrestle a pig. You get dirty and the pig enjoys it." A pig can peg a decibel meter and Clarence's pigs were no exception. It is very unnerving to have a pig squeal at eardrum-shattering levels into your ear. So when we finished, I was not only mud and pig from one end to the other, my ears rang for the remainder of the afternoon. But I earned $2.50 and the rest of the summer was all peppermint smelling hay and the serenity of a Nebraska hay-meadow. So I can't complain. 

I had had some earlier experiences meddling in Veterinary Medicine during my boyhood on the Niobrara River. Each summer we branded our calves and performed the necessary operations and inoculations. Our brand was once the "K Lazy E". K. E. are my dad's initials. The E was formed from the angled side of the K... two more angled lines, parallel with the top one, pointing to the right formed the letter "E". It appeared as if the E was leaning against an upright and thus "lazy". I don't recall our using that brand although I watched Dad draw it many times. Somewhere along the way, Dad bought the patent to another brand at a farm sale. His new brand was the "Irish Harp". It was a design shaped like a harp... two outwardly-angled sides, one shorter than the other on a horizontal base with the top closed by an "s" curve. I'm not sure why Dad preferred the Irish harp over his initials but it was our brand when I was old enough to help. 

Those were the days before propane-fueled branding-iron heaters, so we built a bonfire. I was the youngest boy in the river valley so I had to relinquish all the more macho parts of branding day to my older brother, sisters and cousins. But when my Grandfather, Uncle or Dad would catch a calf with their lariat and drag it toward the branding fire, I would often grab onto the rope and pretend to be doing something whether or not I was. Have you ever noticed when several folks are performing the same task, say all lifting the same heavy object, all will be grunting with enthusiasm as if they have the bulk of the load, but only one or two are truly lifting? That's the way I remember branding. Someone else always threw the calf and hung on while the men performed the branding, vaccinations and castrations. But I often flopped myself across the calf's neck and grunted with the others as if I were the only one who was keeping the calf from jumping up and returning to the herd. When everyone else let go, the calf usually jumped up and returned to the herd in spite of my grunting and hanging on. 

Then one summer a new hi-tech device came into existence. Instead of a knife to perform the castration, Dad or my uncle had bought an "elasticator". It was a pliers type device with four little pegs that stuck out from the side of the jaws. When you opened the jaws, the pegs, through a mechanical connection, moved apart from each other. A very strong, very small rubber-band was put over the pegs of the elasticator. You could squeeze on the handles and stretch the rubber-band open, to a diameter of maybe three inches. The gizmo was used to trim the boy-calf's rudder... through its proper use it "steers" the little bull from that point forward. When released, the rubber band cuts off circulation, and in a week or two the "trimmed rudder" dries up like a prune and falls off. It was a relatively pain-free process and one with no blood loss so that's the way we castrated calves from that time on. If you discovered prunes throughout the pasture at a later date, it was best to leave them alone. So, I finally found a job that I could do. I loaded the elasticator by placing the little rubber-bands over the four pegs... often with a display of manly exertion such as macho grunting. 

My last memory of curtailing the reproductive capabilities of a male specie of farm animal was long after we had moved to town. Dad commuted to the place on the river each day. I was a year or two out of high-school and home from CSU for the summer. I had planned to have a lazy day off from working for Morris Skinner hunting fossils for the American Museum of Natural History. I had been several years away from the rancher/farmer life. I suppose my Dad figured I needed to be reacquainted with my roots. 

I recall that it was Memorial Day. The Indianapolis 500 was scheduled for that afternoon. We didn't have a TV. but I had a radio. I could see that Dad was up to something... sharpening his pocket knife, gathering his lariats and getting some Lysol. It looked like an ominous undertaking that I'd just as soon not be part of. The Indianapolis 500 seemed like a plausible excuse for a few hours of totally boring down-time. I hoped to listen to the race on the radio and thus kill about four hours... maybe five if lucky... and thus escape the chore that Dad had in mind. 

I recalled an earlier time when our local jockey sensation, Bob Mundorf, had hit the big-time and was riding in the Kentucky Derby (about 1958 or so). We all anticipated the big day and listened to the broadcast on the radio. Bob's horse didn't place, and the "run for the roses" was over in 90 seconds. I like horses, but if you are looking for an excuse for idle time, 90 seconds won't do it. A 500-mile auto race is much more practical. So I got my radio and began to listen to the race coverage. But Dad, a life long horse-trader, had other plans for me. He asked me if I had plans and I answered that I planned to listen to the Indianapolis 500. That didn't sound like plans at all to Dad. So he said, "come on". 

Dad always had more horses than we could ride. Long after my folks sold all of our other livestock, Dad kept horses and he did until he died. He had traded for two stud colts and he wanted me to help him make geldings out of them. For you city-slickers, gelding has nothing to do with gold-plating. So we drove out to the ranch. 

For all of Dad's horses, he had only one decent saddle, and at any given time only one or two of his horses were sufficiently broke to be reliable rides. So Dad rode his saddle horse and I slapped my leg and galloped across the prairie in my fossil hunting boots while we looked for the herd of horses. They were in a quarter-section of hilly pasture south of the river canyons and we soon found them and had them driven into the south east corner of the pasture. I asked Dad where the two colts were and he pointed them out. 

They weren't little colts at all, but nearly-grown, skittish two-year-olds! There was no corral or catch-pen in the upper pasture, so Dad figured he could rope them and we could wrestle them down right there on the prairie... and so we did. The young horses bucked, squealed and snorted on the end of Dad's lariat but sooner or later they would tire and I would get my rope on a foot and trip the horse into a heap and somehow we would get its feet tied. The colts then groaned in agony as I held their heads down and Dad did his handiwork on the opposite end. I guess horses aren't built for an elasticator. There are some parts of my ranching life that I'm happy to have fade into the history of the Wild West. That day was one of them. It was my last experience at practicing Veterinary Meddlin'.