I Believe – My Values | Porch Swing Stories

Moving on to High School

June 25, 2020February 10, 2020 by William Towne

That summer we moved back to Port Angeles. A lot changed for me. Even though I knew most of the kids that I was going to school with, I was an outsider. It had been too long since I had gone to school or lived near them. I was pretty much a loner and stayed by myself. I didn’t follow up on basketball or any other sports that I had played the last three years. Mom and Dad sold the big trailer we had in California and bought a little nineteen foot camping trailer. Not sure how long we lived in that trailer, I know it was well into the ninth grade. I came home from school one day, about the middle of the year, and found a new Bundy Trumpet sitting on the table that was also my bed. Because it was the middle of the year for beginning band, I had a lot of catching up to do. Friends of my folks, the Hewitt’s, played instruments. Actually, the parents played professionally in one of the local clubs; the father played banjo, mother played piano, son played clarinet and the daughter played violin. They helped me quickly learn how to read music and got me through the fundamentals of the trumpet so I could catch up with the rest of the band. Practicing in the trailer was kind of interesting. I would sit in the back on the bed and practice with socks pushed up inside the trumpet. By the time the year was coming to an end, myself and another trumpet player got to try out for the High School music department. The music teacher, Mr. Free, came to the school one day. He recommended me for band and the other student for orchestra. I really enjoyed playing in band. It was primarily a concert band, although we did some marching and played at home sports events. I eventually moved from last chair, seventh, to fourth chair after a trumpet challenge where we played Tchaikovsky’s Symphony in f minor. I would have made first chair if I had a little more time on the trumpet. During my sophomore year I tried out for football but decided it wasn’t a game I wanted to play. In fact, I stayed out of sports altogether. I often wondered what direction I would have gone if we had stayed in California. High school wasn’t very memorable. I didn’t really apply myself for those three years. It showed when I graduated with a 2.33 average and ended up 133rd of 180 students.

In 1956, when I was sixteen, I got my driving permit. Mom was not a good teacher. We were driving through down town Port Angeles and Mom really was getting on my nerves. I stopped in the middle of one of the busy main streets, got out and walked home. Shortly after I went for my drivers test, surprising everyone when I passed by one point the first time. Pop found my first car, a 1949 Hudson Commodore. It had been owned by a fern picker, had overload springs and kind of faded maroon paint. I got a lot of ribbing in the parking lot but it turned out to be a trend setter. It was the first car on our high school parking lot that had the “California Rake” that became so popular in the late fifties and sixties. Took years for me to admit to some of the drags I was in on Front street. There was one afternoon I was driving past Roosevelt Junior High and had to stop for a cross walk guard. When he cleared the intersection, I rabbited. As I did there was a car behind me that started honking its horn and flashing its lights. At first I thought it was a cop. But it was worse. The guy who walked up to my window was Pop. All he said was, “Take your car home. Give the keys to your Mom. We’ll talk about this later.” I took the car home and told Mom what had happened and gave her the keys. She sort of laughed and told me that Pop was probably mad because I beat him off the stop and couldn’t keep up. Mom always told me, “Don’t smoke those funny cigarettes. If you want to smoke, tell me and I’ll buy them for you.” I asked for a pipe and she bought one for me. Another trend setter in high school.

In my senior year, the Air Force Academy had just opened and I applied. I wrote Senator Jackson of Washington and he sponsored me. Thinking my chances might improve if I joined the Air Force, I went to see a recruiter. Being only seventeen, a month before my eighteenth birthday, Mom and Dad had to sign for me to enlist. The day I was scheduled to leave, I took the initial competitive test for the Academy and met my folks at the Greyhound bus terminal to catch the bus for Seattle. I remember, before climbing on the bus, Pop hugged me. It was the first time I could remember him doing that.

My Dad, Pop. Thinking back over the years, I thought of all the things he had done for me and some of the fun things we had done together. When I was graduating from the eighth grade, he pawned all his camera equipment so I would have a suit for graduation. I remembered the times I was too cold or tired after fishing to put my gear away and he did. Or when I talked him into trying out a little eighteen foot boat I had found while playing at the marina in Port Angeles. He bought that boat because when we tried it out we caught twelve salmon in about two hours. That afternoon we took Mom out and caught five more. If my car broke down, he was always there to fix it. Sometimes, in my teens, I couldn’t be bothered to help. With hindsight, I often wished I had paid more attention. Although I think I picked up a lot from him through osmosis. Over the years we became pretty close.

Roxanne, MIchelle, Jeff or Stacey?

January 25, 2020 by Stacey Kessler

Let’s just start at the beginning. It was kind of hard getting into this world. I was born breach. I went to a psychic one time. She told me she knew I had been born breach and the reason why is because I didn’t want to be born into this world. I came in to this world backwards and with difficulty. She told me my whole life would be plagued with “not quite fitting in” and “doing things the hard way.” Sometimes it does feel that way. 🙂

My parents couldn’t agree on my name. If I was a boy, I would have been named Jeff. My dad’s older sister “stole” the name Jeff and gave my cousin that name about 10 days before I was born. Luckily, I was a girl. However, would my name be Roxanne, Michelle, or Stacey? My dad really wanted Roxanne. My mom wasn’t having it….Anyone remember the Police song called Roxanne? Haha. Stacey won out.

I really like the name Stacey. It’s kind of a 1970s cheerleader name. And then of course there is the song called “Stacey’s Mom” by Fountains of Wayne…..Stacey’s Mom has got it going on….which will be sung at my Mom’s funeral. BTW, her name is Karen.

The Young Bill

July 14, 2020January 13, 2020 by William Towne

I’ve been thinking about writing my story for a long time. Since having started, I realized that there is so much that I could get caught up writing and it would take up a whole lot of space and time. I am going to hit some of the highlights that have been important to me. And when it comes right down to it, my mind and memory isn’t what it used to be. I plan to tell my story concentrating on my immediate family. For very short periods in my early years I had little contact with the Town side. And the Dailey side would be better told through others. There were good times, but most of what I remember are the times together that always seemed to end up in drunken arguments. Or, my Uncle Alva, Mom’s brother, twisting my arm up behind my back to get me to say, “Uncle”. I recently learned he did this to my sons, too.

I was born July 26, 1940, in Bremerton, Washington, and was supposed to have been named Forrest Evans Towne Jr., or maybe the III. It was overruled by my Grandpa, Archie Dailey, and I was named William Forrest Towne, after a sheriff in Whitman County, Washington, by the name of William Dailey. At least that is the story I was always told. I could always tell when Mom was upset with me. She usually called me Billy but when angry it was, “WILLIAM FORREST!!”.

My first memories start when I was about two or three. We lived in, what I assume was, a farm on Bainbridge Island. I remember a glassed-in kitchen that looked out at a barn. Parked alongside the barn my folks had a long, about 25 foot, black speedboat. One of the things Pop liked to do was race the Washington State Ferries, especially the Kalakala, that ran between Seattle and Bainbridge. Before leaving the dock they always had me wearing a life vest, like the cork ones you see in old movies. One day it happened to be kicked off the dock and sank. I never had to wear a life vest again.

We moved from the farm to a little cottage. There was a Marine and his family living in a house behind us. He used to bring us boxes of Snickers and other chocolate candy bars, things he was able to get at the Navy exchange that weren’t readily available in town. He had a young daughter about my age and we decided to cut each others hair, which got us in big trouble. Playing around the house one day, I found a Pepsi bottle with what I thought was pop and drank it. It turned out to be turpentine. The only thing that I could eat for a while was Jell-O. With everything being rationed it was hard to come by until Mom told the grocer the situation. We got all the Jell-O we needed. Pop and a friend of his, Roy Jimenez, bought “ME” an electric train set for Christmas. I was only allowed to sit and watch them play with it. One time they set it up in the living room and decided to take the cab off the motor. I don’t know which, but one of them thought they could sharpen their penknife on the wheel of the engine as it was going around. The blade broke and went flying, breaking the bay window in the living room. One Halloween, Mom and a friend of hers decided to go out trick-or-treating, mostly tricking. Mom had an empty thread spool that she notched around the edges and would wrap a string around it and put a pencil through the hole. They would go up to someone’s window, lay the spool against it and pull the string. It made quite a racket as it ratcheted against the window. Then they would grab me and we would run into the woods and hide. Sitting here, thinking about that time, I was not aware of a War going on. Or that there was not a lot available because of it. We always had what we needed and seemed to have fun. Pop taught me how to wolf whistle and I remember riding around, standing on the back seat of his Hudson convertible, whistling at girls on the street. Pop got some really dirty looks.

About age four or five, after the war, we moved out to Grandpa Town’s farm in Altmar, New York. He had a couple of Belgian Draft Horses. They were the biggest things I had ever seen. When we sat down for dinner, I remember, Grandpa had a big bowl at his place and he would put everything in the bowl. He said he figured it was all going to the same place. There was a pond on the property where I could go fishing, using worms that Grandpa told me to just carry in my pocket. My Mom didn’t appreciate that when she checked pockets before doing wash. Later we moved closer to Pop’s brothers. They had bought a truck and trailer that Pop drove into New York City hauling goods. I remember the kitchen in the house that Mom and Dad were renting. One time we were sitting, eating dinner during a lightening storm. All of a sudden, a bolt of lightening came slamming into the kitchen and bounced between the water and gas pipes. Mom and Dad got pretty excited. The trucking company didn’t work out. Pop was doing all the work and the brothers were taking all the money.

When I was about six we moved back to Washington. We returned to Washington on a Greyhound bus. Pop, having been a bus driver for Washington Motor Coach during the war, would sit up by the driver and share bus driver stories. Traveling by bus was a lot different back then. Buses didn’t have restrooms on them. And there weren’t rest stops like today. For men, and boys (me), the driver would pull off on the side of the road and wait while I went behind a bush. When we got back to Bremerton, Pop went out looking for work while Mom and I stayed home. I remember, we lived in a small, mother-in-law, house. The landlord and his family lived in the main house on the property. What I remember most about our house was all the inside walls and cupboards were knotty pine. At this time Uncle Gene, Dad’s brother, and his family also lived in Bremerton. Pop eventually found a job as a mechanic for Reed Priest Logging Company in Sequim and Mom and I moved there. We lived in a little one room cabin across the street from the Presbyterian church in Sequim. We didn’t have a car but the company let Pop use their WWII jeep and a Command Car for transportation.

I remember one trip, Sequim to Sumner, we took in the Command Car. It was Thanksgiving 1946 and really cold. I sat in back with Mom and Pee Wee Secor under a pile of blankets because there was no heat and just a cloth top with no side curtains. Actually it is the only trip that I can ever remember taking in the Command Car. For the jeep, Pop built a half cab over the front seat out of plywood. It was fine for the three of us but got pretty crowded when others rode with us. That Christmas Pop made me a wagon out of 2X4’s. It was pretty elaborate, with a steering wheel and mechanism. The wheels could be removed and replaced by sled runners Dad had made. One outing, Pop let Mom pull him on one of the back roads heading to one of their friends, George Easterly. She was driving the jeep and Pop was on a line about 25 feet behind. She came to a stop but Pop didn’t, he went flying by to the end of the line and whipped around. Luckily he didn’t turn over or get thrown off. It was also that Christmas that he and Tiny Secor bought “Bill” his first gas engine model airplane, a ‘Fire Ball’. I wasn’t allowed to fly it but Dad had a great time, until he got dizzy going around in circles and crashed it. It was that spring that there was a meteor shower. I remember setting on my wagon, looking up, as the meteor shot across the sky. It almost looked like rain. Sequim is where I started the first grade. We were having a play, “Little Red Riding Hood”, and I ended up being the “Big Bad Wolf”. I had a lisp and sounded like Elmer Fudd, ” I will eat you all up Wittle Wed Widing hood.” We had three performances; one for the school, one for the PTA and one for the town.

When I was seven, we moved down to Pacific Grove California. Roy Jimenez, Dad’s friend from Bainbridge Island, had called with a job. Together they did brick and stone work on a number of homes in Carmel. While Mom and Dad looked for a house, we lived with Roy and his family. One day, while Dad was working on a Model A coupe he was planning on turning into a hot rod, I was playing with some of the neighbor kids across the street. We were rough housing around playing Superman when one of the kids got down behind me on his hands and knees and another pushed me and I went over backwards, breaking my right wrist. Mom and dad rushed me to the hospital where I was put to sleep to reset my wrist. I later found out that to pay the doctor and hospital, Pop sold the Model A and got a grant from the Masons. A couple of weeks later the kid that had bought the Model A stopped by and showed us what he had done. It was the hot rod that Pop had planned to build. Around this time, we moved to a house in Pacific Grove, across the street from the ocean. Up behind the house there was a telephone pole yard that all the kids in the neighborhood used to play on; sword fights, pretend rafting, all kinds of games. It was while we lived there that Pop and Roy bought an old Stutz and made a race car out of it. I remember Pop doing brodies out in the field by our house. And Mom racing down along the ocean toward Carmel. The car never won a race and Pop blew up the engine after it’s last race – racing Mom, driving an Auburn, back from the track one day. The Stutz was a car that Pop always remembered for the rest of his life as being the one he should have kept and restored.

In late 47 or early 1948, we moved back to Washington. Pop got a job driving logging truck for Claude Bear. We lived with Tiny and Pee Wee in a little shack, a ways out of Beaver Washington, guarding the entrance to Claude’s logging property. We all lived in a small skid house, no running water or electricity. Our refrigerator was the creek across the road. The shack/cabin was pretty cramped, my bed was the kitchen chairs placed side by side every night. Later we moved to a little town, Tyee, a wide spot on the highway between Port Angeles and Forks Washington. It had a grocery store and a half dozen cabins on either side of the highway. The store had a diesel generator that provided electricity between five and eight PM. During that time, we did our reading and studying by gas lantern or candles. I rode a school bus to a little two room school and the second grade in Beaver Washington, a little town on the way to Forks. One day, on the way to school, the bus got stopped and a man told the driver that Truman had won the election for President. The people that owned the store and rented out the cabins had a son my age and a daughter a couple of years older than us. There were about a half dozen other kids that lived in the area and the daughter use to march them around. Her brother and I refused to be marched. She caught up to me out in the parking lot one day and we got into an argument that turned into a fist fight. I blindly swung with tears running down my cheek and a bloody nose, but I wouldn’t stop. Finally she stopped punching and started crying and stopped the fight. From then on she left her brother and me alone.

It was while we were living there that a big black Buick with a couple of big guys in it pulled up to our house. They were in suits and wearing Fedoras, looking for Pop. He wasn’t home from work yet and they pulled over to the side of the parking lot. When he finally drove up in his truck and got out, they arrested, handcuffed and put him in the back seat of their car and took off for Port Angeles. Somehow Mom found out he was in jail in the courthouse but was not allowed to see him. She tried breaking the windows into the basement where the jail was and almost got arrested. He was being held and questioned by the FBI, incommunicado. Reed Priest and Claude Bear tried to find out what he was in jail for and bail him out but couldn’t. Grandpa Dailey tried to find out at the sheriff’s office in Port Orchard and almost got put in jail. Pop’s friend Roy was being held and questioned in California at the same time. It turned out that Roy’s crazy mother-in-law had accused Pop and Roy of robbing banks, jewelry stores and murder while working for the bus company during the second world war. The FBI came to the conclusion the accusations had no merit and let them go.

From there, we moved to Phoenix, Arizona and I started school in Glendale. My kids would attend the same school years later. Pop soon got transferred to El Paso, Texas, by the trucking company he worked for. We lived in a motel there and I continued school. Mom and Dad decided to move back to Washington. Another couple who lived in the motel decided to move back to California and asked to travel with us. We had a big four door 32 Buick and the other couple had a 42 Buick. The other guy was afraid that we would probably be breaking down a lot since ours was so much older. It actually turned out his was the one that kept breaking down. We had everything we owned packed in the back seat of our Buick with just enough room for me to slide in and lay on top. We were going over a pass on the way to Angels Camp California and we came to one spot where a snowplow was broken down, leaving a very narrow lane to pass. For safety, everyone but the drivers had to get out of the cars. Pop went first and made it fine. He told the other guy to be sure once he started just keep going once he got around the truck. But as he got along side the plow he panicked and we had to push on the rear fender to keep him from sliding over. We left him and his family in Angels Camp and continued on to Port Angeles.

We rented a house from George Easterly and I went to school, fourth grade, at Lincoln grade school. Soon after, we moved out to the Hoh river and lived in a little cabin behind the gas station/grocery store that was a wide spot on the way to the Olympic National Forest. Pop was driving logging truck and Mom was hanging with the daughter of the “Old Man of the Hoh”. I was riding the bus every day to school in Forks. Our driver was an elder lady. When the truck drivers saw her coming they pulled off the road. She was known to have forced more than one off the road – always an exciting ride. Pop got a job as a mechanic with Carmi Hanchet’s logging company and we moved across the river to his logging camp and lived in what one time had been the dining (chow) hall. To get to the camp they fell two parallel logs, about 100-150 feet long, across the Hoh river, skimmed the tops flat and didn’t bother with guard rails. Mom would drive me over the bridge to catch the bus for school in Forks. Everyday, after school, the bus would let me off and Mom would be there to drive me back across the bridge to the camp. One day she wasn’t there. I waited for a while and finally decided to try walking across the bridge back to camp. I got a few steps out on to the bridge, looked down, saw the river rushing past, and continued across on my hands and knees. It was the only time I wasn’t picked up.

Entertainment on Friday or Saturday nights was a movie in Forks. It was important to go, because you would see the week’s episode of whatever serial was playing. My favorites were “Lassie” and “Rocket Man”. I was the only kid living at the logging camp so I spent a lot of time playing by myself. Just across the road from where we lived there was a creek and after crossing it you were in a magical, mystical wonder land. Moss covered ground under tall trees and thick ferns. I found I could catch trout in the creek using red berries off the bushes that looked like fish eggs. It was a place I could let my imagination go anywhere. During the summer I could hitch a ride on logging trucks heading for Port Angeles after they stopped at the camp to be scaled. It was always a little frightening crossing the bridge, higher above the river, and looking down from the cab. Other times Mom might take me across the river to the little store and community so I would be able to play with other kids. When the loggers would finish a landing up on the mountain above the camp, they would have a party. Next day, I would take the back seat out of our 42 Hudson and Mom would drive me up to the landing to pick up the empty cases of beer bottles that I could take back to the store for refund. I made some pretty good spending money that way.

Pop got a job with Claude Bear in Gold Beach Oregon around 1950-51. He picked Mom, me, my new puppy (a Chow I name General but Pop changed to Butch when he attacked his pant leg) and my aunt Joyce (my Mom’s sister who was only two years older than I) up in Port Angeles. We met a couple Claude’s men at “The Head of the Bay”, between Bremerton and Port Orchard. They were driving an overloaded 48 ton and a half Chevy flatbed and we were going to be their scout for weigh stations on the way down. That Chevy was one of the first vehicles I ever drove. Claude’s sons and I would take that truck out into a field near their house. In Gold Beach, Pop had rented a trailer in a trailer park/motel. It was down the hill from the main trailer park, close to the beach. Some of the kids and I built a driftwood fort down on the beach. One of the kids had brought a pack of Camels. One day, when I had left the fort going home, one of the kids ran up to me wanting to know where the pack was. Mom had overheard and it was the first time we had the conversation about not smoking “those funny cigarettes”. Mom and Dad bought a 35 foot “Roll Away” trailer and we moved up into the main part of the park. One of the things we brought to the new trailer from the old was a picture of a Black Panther, which we had for years. I started the sixth grade and became manager of the basketball team for the next two years. Later they moved the trailer to a park right across from the school. Butch would walk me to school and sometimes, if it was raining, the teacher would let me bring him in and lay next to me in class.

With both Mom and Dad working, Mom in the local plywood plant and Pop driving logging truck, I started learning to cook. I would fix dinner for us and if I had any problem, I would go next door, where Tiny and Pee Wee now lived, and get directions. I became a pretty good cook learning this way. On my 12th birthday we had a party at a swimming hole on the Pistol River, just out of town. It was where I first really swam. Mom told me that when I jumped in to come up paddling and kicking and not to stop until I reached the beach. I tried turning out for a local wrestling club but couldn’t do somersaults. But I did have a chance to wrestle a bear. A traveling show came to town and parked at the trailer park where we lived. They had a couple of small bears, about my size. For fifty cents you could wrestle one and if you pinned it for ten seconds you won a dollar. I got in the cage where the bear, declawed and toothless, was backed into a corner. When I approached, it wrapped its front paws around my neck, gumming my face, and dug its back paws into my stomach. I backed off, grabbed its back paws and drug it out into the middle of the cage and pinned it. Won the dollar.

In the summer of 1953 we moved back to California. Pop got a job with Roy Jimenez at the Hudson dealer in Fullerton. They found a trailer park in Orange County right next to a dairy farm. On hot days during the summer the smell was pretty bad. They found one closer to where I was going to start eighth grade. I had to walk through an orange grove between the park and school. A much better smell. We purchased our first television in California. It was a used, round, ten inch console. If I remember correctly the first program we saw on it was “Howdy Doody”. The school didn’t have a gym so we played basketball on a blacktop court. The eighth grade was kind of fun. We had ballroom dancing in the school auditorium as one of our classes. For my graduation prophesy the teacher said I was going to be a map maker. For geography and history I was always drawing maps. Our class was going to be the first graduating class in a new high school being built. I think it was in Glendale. We got to name the school team, Highlanders, and pick our colors, Green Plaid. We were given the opportunity to sign up for classes and sports. Initially I signed up to play baseball, but the coach told me he wanted me to play basketball. Having played with the teams in the sixth and seventh grade when I managed in Gold Beach, I had an advantage when we played on the blacktop courts. But it didn’t work out, we didn’t stay in California.

My Early Childhood

October 17, 2021January 1, 2020 by Kathy Kelly

I was born on February 25, 1950 at Daniel Freeman hospital in Inglewood. That hospital is no longer there. I went home to our house at 8036 Agnew Ave. in Westchester. I lived there till I was 18 years old. My mother sold the house then, as it was too expensive for her to take care of. With some of the proceeds from the sale of the house, my mother bought a new car. First new car I can remember her ever owning!

One of my earliest memories is standing in our driveway and my mother telling me I was going to start kindergarten. My birthday is in February and so I started in February. We had summer and winter classes back then!

One memory from kindergarten was when a friend and I both told the teacher that a ring was ours. I knew it was mine, but I don’t remember what happened; if I got the ring or she did.

Another memory was learning to ride a bike. I was about 5 years old. My brother, Kenneth, and I shared a small, red bike. Our driveway was long and I would go up and down it till I learned to ride! No one helped me! I don’t recall it taking me too long, as I was very coordinated and athletic! 🙂

Picture attached is me and my duck, Maverick. We would feed him watermelon rind and I would watch him peck at it till most of it was gone. When he got older, we took him to a lagoon by Toes beach in Playa del Rey.

As a baby, (12-18 months) I fell out of my crib with a glass milk bottle. The bottle hit the floor and broke and then I fell on top of it. I cut my eye, eyebrow, and chin. Because I had been drinking milk, the doctors had to wait to give me ether. Of course I don’t remember any of this, only what my mother told me. You will notice in pictures of me outside, I am closing my right eye as the pupil does not dilate or constrict much. I was supposed to wear glasses all the time, but really didn’t until my left eye started to need correction. That was in my early 20’s.

My parents, Bernice and Ralph Biggs, were divorced when I was very young. I really don’t recall my father ever living at home. He would come on Saturdays and take my brother and I to the park.

I had an older half brother, Jerry Mathews. He was about 17 years older than me so I don’t remember much about him as a child. By the time I got a bit older, he was in the Navy in Korea. Then he married Carol Miller and moved out.

I was always interested in playing any sport. In 6th grade I beat all the boys in my class in tetherball! I had a tetherball at home that my dad put together for us. He put cement inside an old car tire and then cemented the pole in the middle. We could move it around the yard fairly easily, and I would play for hours. I also loved to throw a tennis ball against our wood garage door and catch it with my baseball glove. I could do this for hours too!

One Christmas I asked for a football! All the kids on the block would play football in the middle of the street. We would also play hide-and-go-seek till it got dark.

Roller skating! I had skates that fit over my shoes and yes, I wore a skate key on a string around my neck. I would skate up and down our sidewalk. Later, I nailed the skate wheels to a board and had a skateboard! Nothing fancy for me!

Surfing was becoming popular and I loved to go to Playa del Rey and body surf in the ocean. Dockweiler beach had round fire pits and we would roast hotdogs and marshmallows. Even the lure of food sometimes couldn’t get me out of the water!

All during elementary school and beyond I was most happy when I was involved in playing any sport. And I loved being outside! Of course we had no “screens” other than a TV. Most of the shows were on at night, so being outside was the most fun for me.

One more thought. The Helms Bakery man. He would come by in his truck Saturday mornings and I would run out and buy a jelly doughnut. My favorite! We also had a milk man. He would deliver our milk in bottles early in the morning. Then we would put the empty bottles in the basket and leave them on the porch for him to pick up on his next delivery.

When I was about 3 years old, we went to visit my Uncle Jimmy and aunt Jessie on their farm in Nebraska. I wouldn’t drink the “cows” milk; yuck. So they bought some milk from the store and then refilled the container with the “cows” milk. I never knew the difference!

Food. I remember my mother cooking cows tongue. Yes, cows tongue! I think she boiled or baked it. I did like it; sliced on a sandwich or plain. I also remember my dad cooking wheat all day and then eating it as a warm cereal with a little bit of brown sugar and milk. Other than those foods, we ate a lot of meatloaf, macaroni and beef, and sandwiches. What was my favorite? PB&J! Or tuna sandwiches.

Even though my parents were divorced and we didn’t have much money, I still remember my childhood as a fun time. I didn’t think we lacked for anything, although we did. I’m sure it was hard on my mother, but she did her best to make growing up a memorable time for me! I believe her love of family (ours and extended) is one of the reasons I joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints; everything the church does centers on the family.

The “Sandlot Years” – Niantic, Connecticut

September 11, 2020January 1, 2020 by David Griffith

The next chapter of my life was both the most memorable and tragic part of my childhood. It’s a time that both good and bad would come together to formulate a time period that would follow me forever and help shape who I am today. As our family grew we did what most families did, move to a bigger house. In June 1964 we packed up our belongings and decided to begin a new chapter of our lives in a place called Niantic, Connecticut. Niantic was in the Village of East Lyme now famous for the dreaded place of origin of Lyme disease – sorry June Bug. It was and still is a small coastal town located on Long Island Sound. I guess my parents were drawn to it because it brought back memories of the Jersey Shore and for it’s close proximity to the Groton Navy Base/Electric Boat where my father worked. The neighborhood they choose was called Roxbury Park. It was a brand new development like many that were popping up all over the country in the 1960s. Our house was a nice 3 bedroom Colonial and was one of the first being built in this neighborhood. My parents paid $17,000 for the house which is crazy as you can’t even buy a new car for that price nowadays. So my beginning experience in my new life in Niantic was not having a lot of kids to play with but having adventures climbing in an out of newly constructed homes collecting nails and leftover wood pieces. The neighborhood quickly grew and soon the group of friends that I would have many memories with began to arrive: Billy & Mark Vanwart, Mike & Mark Johns, Brent(Don) Hadaway, Skip Salvatore, Joey Coleman, Keith Charette and a few more. The days were filled with typical adventures boys had back in the ’60s. Baseball was the sport that seemed to occupy most of our time back then (just like the movie “Sandlot”). It seems like every chance we had we were playing baseball in the streets of our neighborhood and on local Little League teams. Back then bats and baseballs I guess were a luxury. Since all bats were only wooden back then, they would often break and we would just tape them up and keep using them. Same with baseballs. Since we played on the streets most of the time the covers would quickly start to fall apart and we would wrap them in electrical tape and keep using them. There was an open field in the back of our neighborhood down by the old canal. It was filled with rocks, old automobile parts, and other debris, not really good for playing sports. One year, my friends and I decided to try to make it into a baseball field so we all took rakes and tried to level it and remove all the debris. We had big plans for that field, seed it, line it, build dugouts, heck maybe even allow the town to use it for a price. Well, we quickly tired of all the work and went back to playing on our sandlots on front lawns and neighborhood streets where often a ball would find it’s way through a window.

Little League back then was big in the ’60s. Just about every boy played Little League. The season began with a parade down the center of Niantic and seemed like everyone in the area showed up. Girls playing sports in the ’60s was rare. If they did they were called Tomboys. We had one girl in our neighborhood Patti Salvatore who fit that mold. The first team I ever played on was the “Red Sox” which explains part of why I became a big Red Sox fan. Connecticut was mostly Red Sox nation. Most kids in my neighborhood were Sox fans except Skip Salvator who was a Yankee fan. Skip was often teased since the Yankees in the ’60s were mediocre and the Sox were the team to follow. I played 3 years for the Red Sox which was a minor league team. I was a good pitcher and fielder but my hitting was weak. I made the All-Stars my 2nd year which was just one-game made up of kids selected from each team. The big year was when I was 10. That was the year you could try out for the majors. That year Mark Vanwart, Mike Johns, Skip Salvatore, Joey Coleman, and I all tried out. Skip’s dad was a coach and told me he would pick me if he had enough points. That was the system they used back then. Each coach would have points and depending on how a boy was ranked after tryouts each coach would use points to pick new kids for their teams. Mark was an automatic as his brother Billy was already on a team so he was a brother option that used minimal points. I felt like I did well at tryouts and we all waited in the neighborhood for Skip’s father to come home after the draft so we would know who made it. Well, he came home and told us Mark, Mike, Skip and Joey all made the majors but I didn’t. He said he wanted to pick me but didn’t have enough points left. I was devastated and I ran home crying. All my friends made the majors but me. Well, that year I had my best year in the minors. I pretty much dominated the league pitching and was often told I should be in the majors. I thought I was a shoe in to again make the all-star team but my coach said he wanted some other kids to experience being on the team (one was his son who was not a good player) so I was left off the team that year. I made the majors the next year as an 11 yr old and played for the “Gas House Gang” though my father would never see me as that winter he passed away (more, later on, concerning my father). For my mom, the whole Little League experience left a sour note for her. To this day she stills talks about seeing me running down the street crying after Mr. Salavatore gave me the news. I don’t think she ever forgave him – but life moves on.

BB Guns, Bike Riding and the Beach

Though baseball was a big part of growing up in Niantic we had other outdoor activities that filled our time. Back then every boy had a BB-gun. We would spend hours outside shooting things. We often went down to the canal and shot frogs and birds. I guess it was those BB-gun outings that led me to hunting when I got older. Bike riding was also a big thing. I remember getting my first banana bike which was the popular bike back then. The seat was long like a banana. The handlebars were also long and U-shaped- great for popping wheelies. We would ride all over the neighborhood, into Niantic, to the beach and often go on long bike ride adventures through the woods. Though bike riding was fun it was on a bike that one of my worst childhood moments came from. We often road down what we called “The Big Hill” which was a paved road in our neighborhood. I have no memory of this event but I was told that as I was coming down the hill I lost control of my bike, fell off, and landed on the pavement, sliding until the skin on my knuckles worn down to the bone. My bike landed in a yard and I lay on the street not moving. A friend of mine who was there rode to my house yelling to everyone outside what happened and told everyone he thought I was dead. In the meantime, someone called the ambulance, and by the time the paramedics and my parents arrived, I was laying on the ground thrashing and screaming in pain but have no memory of anything that happened. I spent almost a week in the hospital and it took months to fully recover from what I remember. As I mentioned earlier, Niantic is located on the coast on Long Island Sound. That meant we were only a few miles from the beach. We spent most of our childhood at a place called “McCooks Point”. It was a small beach with a picnic area overlooking the beach. Our summers were spent at the beach swimming in the sound, watching fireworks on the beach and playing sports up in the picnic area. The big highlight each summer was how many times we would swim out to the raft. I think I was around 8 yrs old when I made my first swim escorted by my father out to the raft. Me and Mark Vanwart would have a contest to see how many times we would go. I think he won most of the time. Years later when we had my mom’s 80th birthday party at McCook’s Beach I swam out with my son Robert and grandson Brody as part of my reminiscing and telling them the story of those summer days at McCook’s Beach.

I had many other memories from my time living in Niantic. They include playing football for the Waterford Tigers when I was in 5th grade. I played mostly defense, but I had one opportunity to play fullback on offense for one game. It was against an all colored team from New London. We were scared because we rarely saw any kids of a different color than us. Our neighborhood, schools, and town were all white so seeing a colored person was different. I remember being handed the ball and running up the middle only to be met by two colored kids screaming in my face. I don’t think I gained an inch and that was the end of my running back career. Other memories are jumping off the rocks at the local quarry in freezing cold water, jumping off the train trestle into the water down by the beach, and playing basketball in the neighborhood at the court the fathers built for us. Also, there were sleep-outs in the woods, holding onto the electric fence at the small farm in the back, allowing the electric current to flow through us and being brave enough to be at the end when the electric current would zap the last person in line. We also got into some mischief as kids. Like the time we threw rocks at a horse named Megan who was on the small farm in the back of the neighborhood. The police picked us up at the basketball court and escorted each of us home in their car. Then there was the time Joey, Mark, and I were in the woods lighting matches. I went home to get my knife only to return to the woods being on fire and the fire department coming out. We often would run around the neighborhood at night ringing doorbells and hiding and sneaking out at night if we had a sleepover and walking around the neighborhood. There were also your usual fistfights. We would occasionally get into fights with each other as most boys probably did back then. I once jumped a kid at the bus stop and beat him up after he was mocking my father who had passed away at that time. The principal called me into the office the next day but let me go without punishment when he heard the story. Oh yes, and who can forget girls. It was around 10 when girls were starting to become an interest to me and my friends. I remember my first kiss was around then. Mark and I were in the woods with 2 girls from our neighborhood and we played truth or dare. My first crush was with a girl from my school Connie Stevens. She was a girl who seemed to like a different boy every other week. We were both in the 5th grade and I think it lasted the usual 2 weeks. I often wonder if later in life she ever found a steady relationship. I hope so. I also can’t forget the men/boys’ trip to Vermont. My dad, Mr. Hadaway, Mr. Johns, and Mr. Van Wart took us boys up to Vermont camping for a week. My memory of that trip was fishing excursions on the lake and rivers. The men fished and us boys seemed to only want to play in the rivers. I remember Mr. Johns getting a fishing hook stuck in his back and the other fathers having to dig it out with a knife. There was the girl we met on the trip that both Mark and I fought over for her affections – Mark always seemed to win those battles. Niantic was also another time in my life where I experienced the loss of a dog. We owned two female Springer Spaniels (not at the same time) named Kim and Princes. It was Kim who we were closest too and unfortunately, her life ended tragically one night. Kim somehow got outside and started to run loose around the neighborhood in the dark. I don’t remember how long she was out for, but suddenly we heard a knock on the door. A man was standing there and asked if we owned a small black dog. My parents said yes and he told them, unfortunately, a dog ran in front of his car right in front of our house and he ran over her and killed her. My parents went outside and confirmed it was our beloved Kim lying dead in a pool of blood. That bloodstain remained in front of our house for a while as a sad reminder of our loss.

Niantic Comes to an End

As I mentioned at the beginning, Niantic was the most memorable and tragic times of my childhood. It was December 31, 1968, when our world would be turned upside down. Apparently from what we were told, my father was walking to the parking lot at his work to get home early because it was New Year’s Eve. As he approached his car and reached for the car door an eyewitness said he clutched his chest and fell over from a massive heart attack. The ambulance took him to the local hospital in New London but they could not revive him. I don’t remember all the events that unfolded that night but I recall my Mom being surrounded by my neighbors who she called over after she got the news. We were far from family as many of the neighborhood families were, but a few families, the Hadaways, Johns, and Vanwarts were like family. I could hear her crying in the kitchen and heard someone on the phone talking to someone (apparently it was either my Uncle Donny or my Grandfather – POP-POP) and I heard the words “Bob has died”. I was sitting alone in the family room trying to process what I heard, maybe they are talking about someone else, not my father. Then Mr. Hadaway came walking into the family room – he was my fathers’ closest friend from the neighborhood. He sat next to me and told me the news – our lives, my life was about to take a drastic turn. That night and the next month was a blur. My uncle and grandfather drove from New Jersey that night to be with us. My father was buried in New Jersey on a cold January day in 1969. I tried my best to be the man I should. I went along with my Uncle during the preparation – picking out the casket and the suit he would wear. I remember after the funeral they had a reception back at my uncles’ house in Denville. I mostly sat by myself in the den wondering why they were having a party in the other room – this was the first time I ever experienced a death that close. We ended up moving back to New Jersey once school was out that June. It must have been a difficult time for my mom to be away from family those months. Right before we moved my Mom would be celebrating her birthday, the first of course since my father’s death. I knew it would be a sad day for her and wanted to do something special, but what can an 11 yr old boy do? The answer came from a TV show. The little boy on the show got a small job and saved enough money to take his Mom out to dinner. That was it, but how and where? Who would hire an 11 yr old boy? When I was young we often raked leaves or shoveled snow for money but it was not that time of the year. I decided to ride my bike up to this Deli at the end of our neighborhood and start there. I went in, asked for the owner, and told him my story. I guess he felt sorry for me (I told him about my father dying) and decided to give me some odd jobs around the store. One was cleaning the grease caked under the vats above the grills, scrubbing them with ammonia, it was horrible but I did it. I think the job lasted a week or so. During that week, I would lie to my Mom about where I was going. I did tell Mrs. Hadaway about the job (she was my Mom’s closest friend in the neighborhood) and she helped cover for me. I finally earned enough money to take her out to a local Pizzeria where we both had a spaghetti dinner and a coke. My Mom still talks about that dinner to this day. For me, the reality of moving from Niantic was starting to hit me. I thought we would live there forever. It was the greatest place to live. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. My little league team, “The Gas House Gang”, gave me a going-away party, so did my friends in the backyard of Joey Coleman’s house. We left Niantic in June 1969. I went with the movers. Mr. Hadaway and Mr. Johns, my mom and sisters came a few days later. Life continued onto another chapter. With Niantic now behind us – it was time to start new, meet new friends, have new adventures and begin new memories, time for – THE RANDOLPH YEARS.

Returning to Niantic Through the Years

I have often thought of my years back in Niantic and look back on them fondly. I have been back several times over the years and each time a flood of memories fills my heart. Though the town has changed a bit there is still the small-town feel to it. I love walking down the streets of Niantic, seeing the same movie theater where we all went to as kids to see “Old Yeller”, or passing the store where my friends and I found a wallet full of money, giving it to the store owner, and receiving a $.25 reward. Even the Pizzeria I took my Mom for dinner for her birthday is still there but under different owners. I love taking walks along the beach at McCook’s Point, – seems much smaller these days than what I remember, but still brings back those summer memories. When my son Robert was living in Boston I would often try to swing by and visit Niantic for the day. When I would return I would often think about my boyhood friends and what became of them. I saw them a few times when I went back in the first few years but as years went on I lost track of most of them (Mike and Mark Johns were at my wedding years later). The only one I was able to keep some sort of track was my best friend Mark Vanwart. We were practically inseparable growing up. We seemed to do everything together, we even joined the Monkees fan club at 8 years old when they were becoming popular. I often heard about him through Debbie Hadaway and Johnny Cabral who we have kept in touch with. Debbie was the daughter of Don & Jean Hadaway, she babysat for us often and Mark and I had a secret crush on her as kids. Years later she ended up marrying Johnny who was Mark’s uncle. He was the cool uncle who would come around to see Debbie. He had a boat and he would take us out on the ocean. One year when we were young, Mark, Brent and I broke Johnny’s nose. We played a game where you try to squeeze the air out of someone and make them pass out. We did that to Johnny and ended up dropping him on the pavement, face first. He still recalls that story years later. Debbie and John invited us all back for a picnic at McCook’s Point and took us out on their boat. Just last year they invited us up to Niantic to take a ride on a Tiki boat down the inlet, a business they started. To my surprise, Mark was there with his wife. We did a lot of talking that night about our childhood and what happened to some of the other kids in our neighborhood. Mark confided with me on that boat ride that he remembers well the night my father died. He told me he remembers his own dad sitting in the basement crying when he heard the news of my father’s death. My father was well-liked by the men in that neighborhood and his death affected them all. His death seemed to always be with me through the years. I often wondered what he would have been like through the years, would we have stayed close in my teen years, and how would life had turned out if we stayed in Niantic. Those things I’ll never know, but I can imagine them in my mind, it always ends well. I once went on a personal journey when I went back to visit Niantic after visiting Robert in Boston. The day started in Mystic Seaport just walking around. I then went into Groton to the EB Base where my dad worked and I walked up the hill my father walked each night. My Mom told us he would often say to her, “that hill is going to kill me one day”. I wanted to experience his final journey here on earth. It was an emotional journey for me. I ended the day walking around Niantic myself, then headed to the beach to sit and think about life long ago, a time that lives fondly in my mind and heart. I’m glad each of my children has gotten to visit Niantic and of course, my Mom’s 80’s birthday celebration there at McCook’s Point was something I will never forget. Today when I see documentaries of the 60’s I learn how troubled those times were. The Vietnam War was raging, young people rioting, the drug culture beginning, the Civil Rights movement was in full swing, there were 3 assassinations in that time period, but for us living in Niantic, we were sheltered from all that. Life seemed perfect, full of baseball, doing the twist at neighborhood garage parties, riding bikes, shooting BB-guns, going to the beach, and just being kids. I will end with this, my entire life I have always had a deep emotional bond to Niantic, being the last place I ever saw my father. I once heard a comment that explains why such a deep bond exists in me to a place I lived long ago, it went like this – “when someone experiences a tragedy in their life a piece of them stops growing emotionally at that moment in time”. So I figure deep inside me, there is an 11-yr-old boy still sitting back in Niantic waiting for his Dad to come home from work so he can tell him about his day. Each time I return to Niantic that 11 yr-old boy stirs and longs for days long gone.

The Early Years – “Moving to Connecticut”

September 11, 2020January 1, 2020 by David Griffith

From New Jersey to Connecticut

Though I was born in Denville, New Jersey in 1957 my fondest childhood memories were formed during our years of living in Connecticut. The best way I can describe my childhood growing up in Connecticut was like living the real-life movie “Sandlot” which featured a group of close boyhood friends doing what boys across America were doing in the 1960s, playing pickup baseball on neighborhood streets and makeshift sandlots from morning to night (at least it seemed that way). My parents grew up in Morristown, New Jersey but moved to Connecticut in June 1960 when I was 2 1/2 years old. My father whose name was Robert C. Griffith obtained a degree in Mechanical Engineering (years later on another Robert C Griffith would do the same – that comes much later) and was offered a lucrative job with General Dynamics in Groton, Connecticut for a whopping $8,000 per year. My Mom often said that was big money back then and they couldn’t turn down the offer. As hard as it was to move away from the only place they both ever knew, Morristown, they packed up everything including two children my sister Joanne who was 3 1/2 and myself and moved away from their families and started a new life in New England.

For me, it was the best decision they made as our life in Connecticut was and still is very dear to my heart. I don’t have much memory of Groton, Connecticut but there is one incident from Groton that I have been told about over and over again and it concerns cowboy boots and poop. As I was told around Christmas time we were going to visit my best friend Johnny Giddle, actually at 2 1/2 how many friends do you have anyway. Though I was happy about going, I was not happy that I had to first take a nap before the visit. Well, I guess in protest of napping I decided to show my displeasure by “pooping my pants”. It doesn’t stop there, I then promptly took my “poop” and smeared it all over the wall, my crib, and into the grooves of my brand new cowboy boots. Needless to say, it did not go over too well with my parents and I’m lucky I survived that day and lived to see my 3rd birthday.

In June 1961, we then moved to a nearby town called Montville when I was only 3 1/2 years old. We moved into a small suburban neighborhood filled with new homes being built. Like many suburban towns in that area being not far from the Groton Navy Base and General Dynamics that also employed Navy personnel, the neighborhoods were filled with Navy families who were from different parts of the country. My best friend at that time was Bubba Hilby whose family was from Mississippi. Our birthdays were only a day apart, so our moms would give us joint birthday parties. Life for us was typical for families growing up in suburban America, having fun around the neighborhood playing with my friends, nothing exciting to write about. One fond memory I have from Montville is of a dog we owned called “Cocoa”. He was a brown boxer that patrolled our yard watching over us. I remember he once got into a fight with another dog. While the other kids all jumped up on a flatbed truck parked next to my house, I decided it was up to me to break it up. I ended up having both dogs bite my knee, ripping open my skin. Because of my heroic efforts, I earned a trip to the doctors where I had to get a tetanus shot. I ended up punching the nurse because, well shots at the age of 5 or 6, were not very fun. Unfortunately, Cocoa ended up disappearing one day. He either ran away or was stolen. We never found out what happened to him as we spent months searching for him and never found him. For years I thought of him wondering whatever became of him. If I saw a brown boxer somewhere I would call his name to see if it was him, but it never was, and Cocoa was gone forever. It was the first of many experiences I would have in my life with losing a dog, something I never got used to.

Other memories I have from Montville was getting punished for playing with matches in the woods behind my house and peeing on my neighbors’ front lawn. I also remember a boy named David Creamer, who I can best describe as the neighborhood bully. He would act like your best friend one moment and then punch you in the stomach for no reason except that he could I guess. My Mom tells me I once threatened to run away from home. I packed my bags and stormed out of the house only to turn around to see her waving goodbye to me. I made it to the top of the hill and I guess I decided the world for a 6-year-old boy was too big and scary. I then turned back around and headed back to my safe place, home. With that, my Tom Sawyer adventures were over as fast as they started. Next up, the greatest place in the world to grow up in – Niantic, Connecticut, and where tragedy ends it all.

My 50’s, 60’s and 70’s

December 5, 2019 by Arden Kleinsasser

To be continued…

My Rants and Raves

December 5, 2019November 28, 2019 by Arden Kleinsasser

LEARNING ABOUT RACISM

This story illustrates my strong feeling regarding racism. The summer after 6^th grade, my family and I went to Bowling Green University in Ohio. My Dad was attending a week-long Teacher’s Conference and we all stayed in a dormitory. While there, I met a boy about my age and we ran around together during the week playing and having fun. On Friday, the last day of our stay, the University offered open swimming in their indoor pool. That was a big deal and something we all loved to do. Well, my friend, who was from Mississippi – and who was black – said he couldn’t go. I went ahead and had a good time but could not fathom why my new friend didn’t want to go. As it turns out, blacks were not allowed to swim in the pool. Now try explaining to me why that was – in Ohio yet. It made no sense in my 11-year- old head in 1957. That was pure and evil racism – and it really pissed me off!

DISABILITIES

This RANT is about something that torques my jaw – picking on people who have a disability. Maybe because I grew up with a brother who was disabled or maybe because our current President makes fun of disabled people on national TV – THIS REALLY BUGS ME! In this case, it’s a disability caused by loss of hearing. Most (80%) people lose a good portion of their hearing as they age so it’s quite common. And I’ve been guilty of this too: picking on people who can’t hear. Like “Come on old man – turn up the hearing aid” or just laughing at them when they miss a joke. And – speaking from experience – when they ask “What did you say?” and you get a negative response. Again, we have all done this. Just remember, we don’t make fun of blind people so what’s the difference? My mother used to say that although she was a diabetic and used a cane, her biggest disability was her hearing.

A FAVORITE CHANT

Go back, go back, go back to the woods.

Your coach ain’t nothin’ and your team ain’t no good.*

WORDS OF WISDOM:

“Don’t let the bastards get you down!”

“Transcend the bullshit.”

“Nothing good ever happens after midnight.” (Seriously!)

* On Audio Recording

Only One Left

December 4, 2019November 22, 2019 by Arden Kleinsasser

IMPORTANT DATES AND PASSING’S OF MY FAMILY

My mother was born October 8, 1908; my father was born November 22, 1907. They married in 1933. My sister Ava Carol and twin, Arda Beth, were born premature on February 5, 1943. Both weighed about 2 ½ pounds. Arda Beth died after 8 short weeks.

My younger brother, Lyle, was born on March 14, 1949 and he died of hemophilia on November 9, 1966 at the age of 17 ½. He basically bled to death internally and at the time, there was nothing that could be done to save him.

My father passed away of a heart attack on July 30, 1981. He was 73 and was teaching school at Huron College the day he died. He taught school for 52 years.

Mother lived to be almost 93. She passed away July 30, 2001 – 20 years to the day that my father died. She had a difficult and often painful life losing two children, enduring several miscarriages and losing her husband in her early 70’s. However, she always maintained a wonderful spirit and lived a life of goodness and grace.

My older sister, Carol, lived to be 68. She died of ovarian cancer on May 6, 2011.

A Close Call for Lori Lyn

November 22, 2019 by Abel Almanza

When Lori Lyn was one year old, we experienced a very traumatic event with her. We were at my in-laws for the weekend and had just enjoyed a home-cooked meal of roast beef, potatoes and gravy. Palmer, my father-in-law, and I were cleaning up in the kitchen when we heard the women screaming. We ran into the living room to find little Lori laying on the floor not breathing. She had grabbed a piece of meat from a plate in the kitchen and walked into the living room and then apparently fell backward on her butt. The piece of roast beef became lodged in her throat.

I felt a cold wave of fear that is difficult to describe but I knew I had to do something to save her. The women were paralyzed with fear and Uncle Bobby who was 12 at the time just paced the living room floor yelling “Shit! Shit! Shit!” It was panic city – the scariest scene imaginable. I grabbed Lori by the foot and held her upside down striking her back. Still she was not breathing and was turning blue. The God-awful thought went through my head about a film in a First Aid Class in college that demonstrated how to do a tracheotomy on a live animal using a razor blade and a pen to allow breathing through the throat. God – could I possible do that?? My next thought was to try to get a hold of the piece with my finger. Fear was over coming me as I tried to think what to do next. (The Helmick Maneuver wasn’t known to us back then!) The thought came to me to try to push the meat down her throat. So I put my finger in her small mouth and pushed on what I thought was the piece of meat. Suddenly she cried – the sweetest, most precious sound I had ever heard! She was breathing! We all hoped the meat passed to her stomach and not her lung, but she seemed to be okay. We called a nurse who said we should take her to the hospital in Sioux Falls to check her out. We did and they determined what we had hoped – that the meat had passed to her stomach.

I had never been so afraid in my life that my little girl might die. And I had to somehow save her. Thank God – I was able to do that. I felt a tremendous sense of gratefulness and when it was all over, it was the happiest day of my life!!