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To Shirley Huffman
(September 10th, 2010)
Labor Day brought many activities to our community to enjoy. To me, it was a hard decision to make. What event would I attend during this once-in-a year celebration? I have always walked the streets of Lawrence during the Ox Roast days salivating over the classic cars displayed. I have not missed it in years.
I also take pleasure in attending an auction sale and there were a couple during the same weekend to chose from. And my eyes also fell upon the big advertisement telling of the Tractor and Old Engine Days at the Van Buren County fairgrounds in Hartford and that was also enticing to me. But I thought again and decided to just concentrate on our little hamlet of Almena.
On Sept. 4, the Almena's Farmers Market planned to hold its get-together of homemade items and garden produce as they do every Satuday. This is the first year that the little town has decided to hold this weekly event and it has done well with the tireless help of many workers.
The market not only sells its wares of garden grown or handmade items, but it has added a bonus to draw people to its grounds, located next to the Historical Town Hall on Almena Drive.
A few weeks ago it was a tractor show and this past Labor Day weekend, it planned more entertainment with a one-day-Old Fashioned Day with having exhibits and demonstrations in the Historical own Hall.
Spinning wool, quilt making, felting and other interesting displays gave credit to years gone by. Outside, a huge black kettle of garden corn was cooking over an open fire for all to enjoy eating and live mountain music could be heard throughout the fields. People were bustling around wearing garb that portrayed the early 1900s.
The wind blew all day and teased with immense gusts. The blue sky with its gray and white puffy clouds entertained me giving a sense that fall is knocking at the door.
The Farmer's Market group had asked me to show my wares of antique items and to have a table for selling. The committee thought this would add to the theme of the Old Fashioned Day.
Carrying, packing and unpacking these aged items was work for this old girl, but being a lover of cool weather and with lots of help, I did well for the six hours that I sat showing my keepsakes and enjoying the activities around me.
At the end of the day, I came to the conclusion that I had made the right choice for this holiday. I was very content taking part in this small community's adventure soon forgetting the activities I has missed. I would not have wanted to be in any other place. People worked together tirelessly and made the day a great success with crowds of curious people attending.
I thought of the old song that relates some advice to us...Your happiness lies risght under your eyes back in your own backyard. I now have no doubts that this adage is true.
The Almena Farmer's Market is getting larger each week and is an interesting place to visit. Hours are 9 to 1 on Saturday mornings. need information? call 657-3658.
(January 14th, 2010)
In February 1929 things looked bleak, cold heavy snow was coming down, people kept busy stoking their stoves for cooking and warmth and for our family it was the neighbors who had the nearest phone. At the time the little baby being only days old, was suffering from pneumonia and she was near death. Rushing to the neighbors, my father hurried across the field to phone the doctor to hurry. When reaching the steps of the gracious neighbor a call was heard from the baby’s home doorway.
"She has stopped breathing, no need to phone the doctor.” Its mother yelled. In haste the father hurried to phone anyway and reported his sad news to the doctor. “Put a few drops of whiskey in a teaspoon and give it to her immediately he commanded.” The doctor had been summoned but being the horse and buggy days he could not begin to arrive in time with the burden of harnessing up the horse and finding warm clothes for the six-mile trip. The father hurried home and did as the doctor had said. The baby gave a big wheeze-like sound, coughed and starting breathing again. The Dr. had left some bourbon for such purposes and being prohibition days he joked later that patients were using up his much-coveted good liquor.
As This was the Dr. James Maxwell who served in the Paw Paw area for over fifty years. He never became rich. After his schooling he dealt with making a living during the Great Depression and made dozens of house calls by horse and buggy in all sorts of weather. He delivered hundreds of babies in homes, including yours truly, and never worried about payment for his services, as most people, at the time were living on the edge of poverty.
He was our family doctor for years and I remember, as a small child, an office call was made with my mother. We walked up the steps to the second story of the old Paw Paw Ben Franklin store to Dr. Maxwell’s office. He visited with my mother for some time and while doing so observed my various movements. In a few minutes he stated to my mother, “she has an earache.” He made a concoction of medicines from his case, place drops in my ear and the problem was soon solved.
During the great flu epidemic of 1918-19 known also as the Spanish Flu, he performed yeoman service and lost only two people during that time. The flu was one of the worst in history. Many died and my mother being only 19 at the time suffered greatly with it losing weight and energy for months and managed to live with the help of Dr. Maxwell.
During World War II he voluntarily headed the local rationing board that dealt with distributing rationing stamps in this area for sugar, gas, coffee, tires and other commodities that were in great demand.
In 1946 my sister, the same that nearly died in 1929, was stricken with Vincent’s Angina and again Ol’ Doc Maxwell traveled out to our farm to give her penicillin shots. By this time he was very old and shaky. My sister would start crying to see his car come up the road, as it hurt terribly to receive the painful shot by his quivering hand. Needles were much bigger then.
Dr. Maxwell lived in the house on Oak St. that still stands behind the Strength and Beyond business. He never became a rich man and didn’t worry about being one. He was a true servant of the people in his time helping them through economic and emotional hardships and illnesses.
I was born at the end of the Great Depression and it took my parents ten years to pay this doctor the $45.00 they owed for my delivery. I still have the receipt of the last dollar’s payment stating PAID IN FULL Dr. Maxwell must have been an understanding and kind man. For those who were unable to pay he still gave good medical service any time of day or night no matter how busy or tired he was. Before his death and in 1951 Dr. James Maxwell was awarded the honor of “Outstanding Family Physician” by the Michigan Medical Society.
Note: Dr. Maxwell’s contemporaries were Dr. Ferguson, a town dentist who lived in the house just north of Strength and Beyond and Dr. W.F. Hoyt who seemed to be somewhat more prosperous. He was known to give physicals to country school eighth graders that were preparing for High school.
At one time he had a dapper looking black driver to chauffeur him place to place. Several of his modern ideas were incorporated into the Lake View Community Hospital. Dr. A. Steele and Dr. C. TenHouten later followed in the footsteps of these doctors serving our community.
(Sept 4, 2009)
When I was a child the Grape Festival was just that. The word wine had not yet arrived in its title. Now that I find it difficult to walk far in old age, taking in the many festivities that our area provides during the summer is often impossible for me. Thankfully I still have the ability to reminisce. Recently the memories of past Grape Festivals have been running through my mind with the hint of fall in the air. I would like to share.
As a young child I doted on my older sister. I proudly watched her and silently urged her on when she was faced with various tasks and dilemmas. During the Festival and in the early forties, she entered a pie-baking contest that became quite a challenge but yet ended more or less, as a comical event. I seriously observed her in our country kitchen one afternoon while she tried to create a great tasting, good-looking cherry pie. The town was offering a prize of $2.00 to the winner. In that day it was a lot of money for a young teen.
After sweat and tears the pie was ready and on the arrival of the contest day she took it to Maple Isle for judging. It was a hot day and she carefully balanced it as she carried it across the bridge and to the judging stand. My fear was she would drop it and I silently prayed for her along the way. If I remember right the judges were Judge Warner and John W. Free. This would be a frightening experience for anyone especially when facing two of Paw Paw’s most important dignitaries.
The pie was place carefully on the table and with no other pies my mother began to wonder if it was the right place for the contest. With time we found it was. We sat waiting for more pies to come with the judge also waiting patiently, as he gave extra time to the late comers, but no one showed. In time the judge took a good slab from my sister’s pie for a taste. Hesitating, he finally stated that she had won first prize with the help of being the only contestant. That day my sister proudly went home with the two dollars and the judge took the rest of the pie home. I think he was the real winner.
During September my mother was always busy canning fruit and vegetables but she took a break and was determined to take me, being age nine, to the local Grape Festival. She wanted to walk the town and look at the beautiful grape displays in the store windows. They were outstanding in such days. As we strolled down the sidewalk we observed farmers showing various tables full of their fancy baskets of red, green and blue Niagara grapes that were for sale. I remember, with fear, the bees buzzing around the sweet smelling fruit.
The Ferris wheel during that time sat in front of the telephone office on S. Kalamazoo St. It was huge, at least to me it was. My mom decided I needed the experience of riding so she paid a few coins and we were soon rising about the stores. I will never forget it. Because of a small crowd, the attendant let us ride and it seemed forever. Apparently he was advertising the "wheel". We went around and around. My mother started to become sick and I wasn’t doing too well myself. My mother and I never rode one again. It was during these years that I entered the children’s pet parade with my dog, Boots. I remember a lot of commotion and pets escaping down the street. It troubled me so much, being a fanatical pet lover, I found little fun in doing it.
In my last high school year, another event remains with me. My cousin, Harriet won the Miss Paw Paw contest. It was when "Soapy" Williams was governor of Michigan. He crowned her with pomp and circumstance that year. She ended up with prizes and a lot of notoriety. She had been someone I look up to earlier during our country school years. She was always nicely dressed and donned lovely hairdos. I was a tomboy and felt somewhat inferior. Now she was the Paw Paw queen of 1952 and, as she rode down the street in the festival parade I could proudly say to the people, standing next to me, "that’s my cousin."
The Grape festival was a hometown event in bygone days. Neighbors took time from farming to visit with other neighbors while they circled within the weekend events often competing against one another in contests and games.
Today the Festival is more of a tourist attraction and with the huge crowds and the addition of the wine and beer tasting tents it just doesn’t seem the same anymore. It is strange but today I never see a grape to buy at these festivals. I must remember that things never for long stay the same and with time people do have new "fish to fry."
Thank goodness for my memories!
(July 9th, 2009)
Growing up on a farm in the early 1940s, I remember the evenings when we milked the cows, slopped the pigs and collected the eggs while Mother busied herself in the kitchen fixing supper for a hungry family. The highlight of the evening was when we gathered around the dining room table discussing the happenings of the day. There we enjoyed the usual homegrown potatoes, often sauerkraut, carrots, some sort of meat such as, bologna in milk gravy, canned fruit and all the bread and butter we wanted to eat.
No one mentioned not liking anything, it all was satisfying. Next was the usual clean up with the washing of dishes. As all siblings we argued over the work but still did it, as our folks wouldn’t stand for our complaining. Later my older sister went off to study and my father headed for his easy chair in the living room. There, he would speak loudly so my mother working in the kitchen could hear what he was reporting from the newspaper. He found it relaxing to read and share the evening newspaper and it was his treat after a day of hard work.
Now in my Golden Years I also enjoy and look forward to the daily newspaper although lately I have become dismayed over its content. It has changed. It has grown smaller in size, often repeats news, has dropped the daily T.V. guide and contains jokes that make me yearn for Alley Oop, Henry and Born Thirty Years too Soon.
Today’s newspaper, now only a few pages, takes me a short fifteen minutes to read and I always read it backwards. First the obits and births and then skim the weather report. I slip through the pages heading towards the front finding full-pages of advertisements. Soon I come to exotic recipes that really aren’t my thing and the display of huge pictures throughout. Gosh! My eyesight isn’t that bad is it? Once in a while I glance at a gory story covering a murder or an animal cruelty case, neither being my “cup of tea.”
The Opinion page often troubles my mind. I quickly pass over most. A second small section covers sports, a smattering of want ads and Dear Abby. Now the hearsay is that newspapers are on the way out. “What?” I exclaim. “Newspapers have been around forever. Ben Franklin would roll over in his grave to hear such news.”
I understand most news can now be read on the Internet. But wait, us oldsters don’t look forward to setting in an office chair to read the news especially when we can set in an easy chair and hold an “old-fashioned” newspaper. Justifiably we can then drop it onto our lap for a short snooze.
Newspapers are not the only disappearing source; books could be next. We read that children may not need textbooks for school in the future. Class information will be formatted on a computer with reference material readily available. I can see it now; a cell phone in one hand, an Ipod plugged into one ear while a computer dubiously sets on the student’s lap.
Libraries will have rooms full of computers, tons of Flash Sticks and the familiar bookshelves and books of today will be missing. I spend most of my time with old folk now. It must be my age. They voice often to me that they are “out of the loop” many are without a computer and shutter to think that the daily newspaper may soon disappear with news being found elsewhere.
Understanding the future demise of the newspaper industry remains a mystery to the oldster. I just hope that it has a happy ending for us old folk and the presses keep running for a few more years. P.S. Have you noticed lately that the weekly Paw Paw Courier Leader has more pages than what our daily paper delivers on some days?
(April 4, 2009)
______ And the rains came.
Thank goodness it was rain and not that white stuff that has hammered us all winter. I told a friend a couple of weeks ago that I thought we would have an early spring.
Why’s that? He asked.
Well, I answered, remember November and December, we certainly had an early and long winter so Mother Nature owes us one. Now early March the temps today are in the fifties and the sun is shining.
People are leaving the confines of their homes like ants that scramble throughout their miraculous hills. Neighbors are raking, cleaning flowerbeds and sweeping their walks. The road is showing activity, as people meander up and down its path. Woodcutters are out and about sizing up useable trees, as their old woodpiles are in short supply after the cold and blustery season.
As I peered out my window I quickly spied movement in the nearby woods. It was my son with his chain saw and axe. Above him stood one of the highest oak trees in a grove. I remember seventy years ago, and when I was a child, the same big oak towered even then above me and towards the heavens.
The sad part of this story is, the old oak was hit by lightning three years ago. Its bark was stripped on one side and many branches are now without life. It was obvious that it was destined to die in time. I walked down the wooded path to get one more glance at the "old girl" and its huge circumference. Soon I turned to head back home with a feeling of sadness. Today another piece of family history was about to disappear.
After my son sized up the huge trunk he hopefully calculated the direction of the big fall. He began notching it carefully in all of the right places and within minutes I heard the chain saw roar. I grabbed my camera and quickly headed back to the woods for capturing the moment.
In time a crackling sound was heard and the big giant gracefully fell and pounded the earth below it. It had fallen exactly as planned and my son, with sweat on his brow smiled with his accomplishment. “This could be dangerous,” he assured me.
I noticed that with the extra cold winter and spring being yet weeks away, its top branches already had sleeping buds hanging but filled with a touch of green. A hole appeared on one side of a limb big enough for a squirrel’s home, and an old crow’s nest lay nearby on the ground.
The chain saw stopped and there was complete silence for a spell. It was apparently a time for memorializing this stately piece of wood.
A small airplane soon flew lazily across the sky and the Red Wing Blackbirds began singing in the swamp. A bicyclist shot down the country road and dogs could be heard barking in the distance. No doubt spring is near and with a few more days of irritating cold, we are now assured that we will enjoy another summer.
I only wish that the hundred-foot oak could have served again with its ample shade and yearly supply of cranny and crooks for the busy nesting birds and perpetual wild life.
As the Good Book states in Ecclesiastes there is a time for everything whether it be sad or happy.
(January 9, 2009)
I often wonder what gifts really thrill a youngster in this day and age. It takes so much to bring a smile or a thank you. In the 1940s’ a small gift received by a child was a momentous occasion to him or her. When I was nine years old I proudly walked up the steps of the Paw Paw Post Office to lay my dime down on the counter while proudly asking for a War Stamp. I had a book with nearly a page filled and I was “on a roll.”
Country school children started a race with one another. It was to see who could fill their Victory stamp booklet first. It took me a long time to succeed but some time later I redeemed my booklet worth $18.75 for a War Bond. I did have help with this endeavor, as my grandfather gave me a birthday card with the German and Japanese dictator’s picture on the front and waiting inside were four stamps being my gift. Excitement welled up inside of me. The four stamps finished filling the spaces in my book. How proud I felt when my parents placed my War bond inside the family’s metal box for safekeeping. It meant that in ten years I would be awarded $25.00 in return and this was a gain of $6.25 figuring to be 2.9% interest. "Not bad." I said to myself.
During World War II the United States issued defense bonds to help finance the war. Patriotism was at its highest peak and American citizens were caught up with helping our soldier boys win the war. A huge campaign took place for raising money when Japan bombed Pearl Harbor. The public was urged by the U.S. Government to quickly buy bonds and citizens forged ahead patriotically to do so. Advertisements were on radio, in newspapers and magazines and private companies help spread the word that to buy Victory stamps and War bonds was the noble thing to do. So the home front enthusiastically contributed to this national defense effort.
Hollywood had a greater patriotic reputation in the 1940s’. The movie stars came out in droves and toured cities for entertaining and promoting the War Bond effort. Bette Davis, Greer Garson and Rita Hayworth completed seven tours and finally a blitz of 337 stars took part eventually netting $838,540,000 worth of bonds. Kate Smith held a radio marathon raising $40 million for the cause with her singing “God Bless America.” Norman Rockwell made advertising posters to encourage people and Irving Berlin wrote a song entitled, “Any Bonds Today?” I remember singing this catchy tune many times during my youth.
Special football and baseball games were held with a war bond, as the price of admission. One game raised $56,500. At the end of the war more than 85 million Americans – half the population – had purchased bonds totaling $185.7 billion helping to finance the war effort. This was a tremendous feat realizing that the wage then was approximately $2,000 a year.
The early 1940s, seems like yesterday to me. What a wonderful feeling to have your neighbor, your friends and family all join in to help bring victory to our nation. We had little resources in such days but every penny that was saved went for Victory stamps that led to beautiful war bonds. Ten years later I cashed in my war bond and with tears in my eyes I gingerly picked up my $25.00. I had given up a momentous piece of paper that told quite a story. A story I still remember well and one that helped to win the “big” war. A bit of trivia; World War II cost 288 billion dollars. In today’s money that would be five trillion.
(December 15th, 2008)
After talking to my daughter who has just spent a year in England, I came to the conclusion that Americans have too much "stuff". She mentioned that the people of England go without in many ways and do not spend money frivolously, as many Americans do. Our conversation brought back memories of when I was a child during and after the Great Depression. We had less but yet, seemed happier. During the Christmas season my family’s home in the 1930s and early 40s had poor lighting and rooms seemed dark and gloomy during winter nights. At the time and before Christmas I begged my father to hurry and place our freshly cut Christmas tree into our homemade stand. When accomplished it was then that things began to brighten up for me. Finally Christmas would soon arrive even during hard times.
Decorating our tree was a challenge but kindled much excitement. My mother made sure we carefully handled the foil icicles by taking them from the cardboard one by one where later they were again replaced in the same fashion for another year. Next, came the biggest decorating job and that was to untangle and repair the string of lights. Each year it took ingenuity to light the strand. During the war years new lights could not be purchased so my brother took it upon himself to repair the bare wires with electrical tape. We finally plugged in the cord with great anticipation only to find it was still absent of lighting. If one bulb failed all failed. Shrewdly my brother placed a piece of tin foil in the failed socket to make better electrical contact and it never occurred to us that it might cause a fire. But it did work!
I spent a goodly amount of time pasting red and green tissue paper chains together and Dad popped corn for stringing. After placing our delicate homemade items on the tree we proceeded to gingerly place our 12 glass balls on the limbs and if one were to break it would have made for a complete disaster. The box they laid in was shabbily patched with adhesive tape and carefully handled.
Christmas Eve night, and returning from my grandparent’s party, I was given a big safety pin for securing my own cotton stocking to one end of our davenport for Santa. We had no fireplace so Santa had to enter through the back door that we left unlocked. Because of this oddity I worried all night that he would miss our house, but in some magical way my stocking was generously filled the next morning. I had always wished that Santa had not used a big apple to fill the toe of my sock. We had an apple farm and the cellar was full of them. The space would have given extra room for more trinkets and candy.
The Christmas of 1943 was the most exciting for me. My brother came home for the holiday on a short army furlough. He brought me gifts including a blue teddy bear and a toy-adding machine. I was overjoyed. Christmas of 1944 proved to be the opposite of 1943, as he was reported missing in action during the Battle of the Bulge making our holiday that year very dark and bleak.
During the Great Depression our house had few closets and dressers. We had no need for more room, as we had few clothes and no "stuff". We needed no toy box, as we had few toys all lasting year after year with careful handling. Our family games were checkers and pickup sticks. Both were made from real wood and kept in boxes on our pantry shelf for safekeeping. We had a cigar box full of broken crayons and a new coloring book was a wonderful gift to receive.
Today people have collected too much "stuff" that requires bigger houses and walk-in closets for its storage. I plan to soon rid myself of "stuff" hoping to empty such spaces. I want to give only of my time this year for making a Merrier Christmas. I will enjoy cups of coffee with others and go to Christmas pageants with relatives and friends storing only memories within my heart. And I plan to give fewer gifts keeping closets and dresser drawers in people’s homes from bubbling over with more "stuff".
Other countries, on December 26th observe Boxing Day. Maybe we should box up our "stuff" too and offer it to the less fortunate bringing a Happier New Year to all.
(Oct. 31, 2008)
Even in the late 1930s our family and others still felt the pangs of the 1929 Great Depression. As I look back it was my Dad that probably suffered from the troubled times the most. My mother too antagonized over the state we were in but often kept it to her self. During this time our family sold anything that was sellable such as eggs, butter, apples and soap bringing in a few pennies and we did without items that were not needed for survival. Mittens and socks were knitted and clothes were sewn using old garment material. Boots, shoes and clothes were passed down to the younger children. I wore my brothers Five-Buckle-Arctics that were way too big. Traveling from one place to another was either by walking or biking. For me, being the family’s youngest, it was the best of times and the worst of times.
We had a mortgage on our farm, as so many did and if it hadn’t been for the moratorium that Franklin D. Roosevelt passed, ours would have probably gone back to the bank. The moratorium stated that banks could only collect the interest on a mortgage and that the principal would not be paid until the throes of the depression eased up. Our farm’s debt was $2,500. and the interest on each quarterly payment was $26.00. We were fortunate at the time to have lived on a farm. It provided food for the family by having a couple of cows, a pig, a few dozen chickens and fields of corn and hay that fed them. Mother canned vegetables from the garden and our root cellar held potatoes, carrots, apples and cabbage for the winter months. People living in cities were less fortunate having no way of growing food and were often left without shelter losing their home or rentals.
When I was some short of age six I accompanied my Dad to the John W. Free State Bank in Paw Paw that sat on southeast corner of Michigan Ave. and Kalamazoo Street. As small as I was I could still feel the tension while we quietly sat inside waiting to see Mr. Free, the bank’s president. Apparently my father was meeting there for negotiating. He apparently couldn't pay the full interest payment of $26.00 that was due. As we waited I could read on my father’s face that this was not an easy task for him. When negotiations started I studied Mr. Free for sometime and concluded that he was a stern and stubborn old man. Listening to the conversation, I suddenly began to worry that my Dad was losing the argument. I felt sad for him. It was not easy for him to become humble in front of a man who sat so pompous wearing an expensive navy wool suit with a dark shiny tie around his neck. Especially with Dad wearing his patched overalls and flannel shirt. I do not remember how it all ended, as it was too difficult for me to understand. I do recall how hard my folks worked to make a few cents in various ways to save for the interest payments.
It wasn't until the beginnings of WWII that things started to pick up. The war created jobs and the economy did a turn around bringing more prosperity to our neighborhood in the late 1940s. In 1941 my husband’s father traveled to Seneca, Ill. from New Orleans, La. to work in the shipyards building LST's for the war effort. This helped his family survive the depression. Soon after, he sent for his wife and children who followed. The government provided housing for them and they remained there until the end of the war. After the war and moving to Hammond Ind. the economy started moving again making life less hectic for his family and others.
The war was a terrible thing and I remember nothing good about it except it did bring neighbor's closer, as they worked together for survival and later worked with each other for the war effort. I think about those days often and how my Dad in some way, came up with the $26.00 interest. F.D.R’s moratorium certainly saved my Dad's self-esteem during and after the Great Depression and it also saved our little farm.
(July, 2008)
It has been twelve years since my husband and I retired. The first few years took some adjusting and I am sure it has for others too. It is the last five years or so that I have become somewhat befuddled. The younger generation, and that includes our four kids, have left me in the "dust". Our house was filled with children and grandchildren this weekend. As I rested between bouts, I listened to their conversation, watched their actions, and all was soon beyond my comprehension.
They talked about fancy cars and foreign travel. They shared unique gifts that I would have never dream of in my days of parenting. Gorgeous smelling soaps from England, vinyl made Italian words to paste on the kitchen walls for making exotic statements (I was lucky to have a quart of paint) and jewelry, that made mine look like last year’s rummage sale, was all passed around. The one subject between them that really made me feel "out of the loop" was the conversation they started about food, pointing out to each other what is good and bad to eat. Each sibling had an idea of how to grocery shop and organic was mentioned often. I finally realized that it was nothing more then the garden vegetables and fruits that my parents had provided for me while I was growing up.
Seated around the kitchen table (why do we always gather in the kitchen?) each shared how they decipher labels while shopping at the grocery store. It got very complicated and I being the tired old mother I sort of let it go in one ear and out the other. It was when they started taking food items out of my cupboards and refrigerator that I was soon aroused with great interest. Apparently the bad words were high fructose corn syrup that are found written on various labels."It is very bad for you," my daughter stated emphatically.
The government won't let it be used in England. "Really", my younger daughter snapped back. "Why?" "It has been proven to be bad for health and it makes you fat, sugar is much better," was the answer. My son started turning my jars and boxes looking for the ingredients. "Yes, the first thing I see listed here is high fructose corn syrup." He again reached up into my cupboard and soon the table was full of items that I cook with daily.
Wow! I didn’t realize this stuff is in everything, even bread! He announced. To me "the frosting was now put on the cake" when he finally grabbed the Karo syrup from the top shelf. "This is all fructose corn syrup". "Holy cow, you have got to be kidding," my daughter quipped back. This is where I entered the conversation. I announced that all four, as babies had been given two tablespoons of white corn syrup in six bottles of formula each day when I prepared it and it was direct orders from the doctor. "No wonder we are so fat." My daughter quipped. Everyone laughed but me.
It was for making your bowel movements more comfortable. I said. There was silence. It was after eleven P.M. before all had left for home. I slowly replaced all of the jars and boxes back into my cupboards and refrigerator. It had been a trying day for this old girl. First it was the Grape Festival where I had walked until my legs said, no further, and then later found myself standing in the yard watching my small grandson kick the soccer ball from here to there, as I shouted him on. Then a walk to and through the woods and a ride on our lawn mower as he steered precariously all over the fields. And during the day I haphazardly squeezed in eats while all nibbled. It wasn’t until the saga of the bad food hour that I realized that they had ate everything I provided without a word.
Oh, and then there was a conversation about technology too. I heard my daughter say how she liked blackberries and had a red one. I thought to myself that berries are red but still too sour to eat. I later found out a Blackberry is a small item that you hold in your hand and it does everything from telephoning, internet service, text messaging and who knows what else. At that point I gave up, I was certainly left in the dust.
(July, 2008)
Setting in a Paw Paw restaurant a few days ago, Dr. Olsen, a town dentist, came over and introduced himself. He inquired as to whether I had ever written a Rambling about past dentists in our town. I quickly told him that it wasn’t one of my most favorite topics. He grinned but still pursued the question. He felt it was something that should be mentioned for those remembering visits to the dentist office in years past. I thought to myself, “yah, and possibly with fear in their eyes.” Detecting my shyness of the subject, he quickly informed me that dentistry is less painful now with the new medical technology that is being used. I am not sure, but I think I knew that! After we departed I began to think that maybe I should write something about Paw Paw dentists.
In the 1930s the first dentist I remember, as a young child, is Dr. Wilkerson. His office was above the Ben Franklin Dime store. During the depression our family had no means to pay for dentistry and it seldom visited Dr. Wilkerson. At home we did brush our teeth but usually with baking soda and water. Again we had no money for tooth powder or mouthwash. When my brother went off to WWII, the army fixed his teeth but not so gently and at the time it was a traumatic experience but later a blessing to him. It was Dr. Wilkerson that pulled my mother’s teeth and the event was not a happy one either. I remember being under the age of ten and felt so badly for her. Weeks later she entered the kitchen with a new set of false teeth made by the talented, Osroe Yeider. His workplace was in back of Dr. Wilkerson’s office.
Years before this, a Dr. Showerman practiced in the upper back of what is now Eleanor’s Hair Design. It was he that I believe, pulled my grandmother’s teeth by giving her a few shots of whiskey for comfort. Thank goodness I wasn’t born yet. I would never have lived through it! After Dr. Wilkerson, a Dr. Gilkey moved into the same office. This is the dentist that my mother thought I would encounter with ease. I had news for her. When we reached the bottom of the stairs with the thought of her taking me up to the…"chamber of horrors", I stopped suddenly, screamed and dropped to the floor like a balking donkey. She never got me up to Dr. Gilkey’s office that day. I had heard too many dentist stories from my relatives and friends.
Dr. Olsen conveyed to me that people often wait to visit the dentist when the pain becomes unbearable and that to me, is exactly one of the major reasons people finally do face the dreadful task. Dentists practicing in Paw Paw today are, Dr. Bennett, Dr. McNeil, Dr.Grunberg, adding Drs. Markovich, Stiglich, Taylor and Racette who served in earlier years. Much earlier and in and about 1915, a Dr. Ferguson practiced. Dr. Racette, was an orthodontist and straightened children’s teeth in the middle of the last century. Many neighborhood children went through this process but, at the time, it was beyond our family means. It was a privilege to meet Dr. Ivan Olsen, a polite and gentle-man. He conveyed to me that he had served in Viet Nam and began his Paw Paw practice in 1970.
Dr. Olsen has recently turned his practice over to Dr. Bradley Randall. Dr. Randall is a University of Michigan School of Dentistry graduate and practiced dentistry for some years in Ann Arbor before coming to Paw Paw. I could tell in Dr. Olsen’s voice, during our short conversation, that it was rather sad for him to close this chapter of his life after 38 years of dental service to this area. We wish him well and that he might enjoy more pleasurable events during his retirement other than viewing open mouths and complaining patients. The town welcomes Dr. Bradley Randall. His office is located at 104 Municipal Lane.
(April, 2008)
Congressman Clare Hoffman wrote a column some years ago for the local newspapers while serving in Congress. Alter reading his article from 1941, I came to the conclusion that things haven't changed much in the last 60 years. Here are a few thoughts I drew from it.
Hoffman wrote, "Has our country been sucked into sending our soldiers to other countries, countries that aren't any of our business?"
"We now have military men serving in Trinidad, British Guinea and Iceland and soon men may be sent to Africa A rumor has it that we may also join in to help Russia by sending soldiers to serve under the ruthless Stalin. And Britain now expects us to help solve her war problems, saying that it would be good for our national defense to do so."
"Men have been conscripted to serve one year in the armed forces and this is a ridiculous thing for America to do. We are not prepared for another war. WWI was not that long ago. We have affairs here at home to straighten out first.".
The Congressman went on and on.
In a 1917 newspaper issue, the entire front page, in very small print, was covered with the names of local men called up in the great conscript Army draft. This was when WWI heated up for America, and may have been to what Hoffman had acerbically referred in his August 1941 column.
One of his statements quickly caught my eye while reading further into his commentary.
We need NOT fear Hitler!, he stated.
The Congressman, at the time, certainly did not know the rest of the story.
I have found during Bible study groups, a question on that is often asked. "Why did people in Biblical times show so much disbelief?" This is not hard to understand today, because we know the rest of the story.
I find satisfaction in reading old newspapers. It is like working puzzles with all of the answers. It is too bad that we don't know the answers to many of our political questions today.
I reached for a 1918 paper, and to my surprise found a full page advertisement with pictures for the upcoming Paw Paw Chautauqua. This especially aroused my interest. I have always wondered what the town of Paw Paw was really like 100 years ago and during the war. This must have been the last annual show. It was reported that the Chautauqua ended soon after-and mostly because of-WWI.
We know now which events changed the course of history.
I wish we could learn from that. It would keep our world a happier place. Don't expect it to happen soon. We have had thousands of years to learn from our mistakes and, sadly, even with spoken wisdom and warnings of the past, history still keeps repeating itself.
(February, 2008)
So far this winter has given me a lot to think about. I have never seen a winter like this where we have snow one day and rain the next. Oh yes, and some icy times mixed in.
Years ago January was all snow and cold. It had its usual two foot plus of snow that stayed and stayed and stayed. It wasn’t long and well into the month one began to long for a January thaw and sure enough before the 30th day arrived the sun would come out and the eves would start to drip with much of the snow disappearing.
Why have we had several thaws this year? The January old fashion thaw lasted a short few days and not long after the snow began again and the wind blew it into new formed snow banks continuing its fury into much of February. Even with March winds the month had its way of displaying a touch of spring. It was like clockwork, either it came in like a lamb or a lion and ended with the opposite. It was than followed with April showers that brought the Mayflowers giving the farmer a jumpstart to prepare for the growing season. In April we found ourselves walking along the muddy creek bottom to pick the first blooms of cowslips and violets. The longing for a taste of fresh greens was fulfilled with the leaves of the buttercup plant and newly formed watercress. In May the mushrooms started to peek out satisfying the longing for fresh veggies.
Today we hear of global warming. In my childhood such a term was never heard in conversation. Even though it was cold and snowy for four straight months and warmer the rest of the year we never worried about such a phenomenon, as each year followed its usual pattern. No doubt with the strange January this year it has altered our thoughts with the question, are we in trouble with the world’s climate?
In the winter of 1978 my poor husband had a time getting to work. Cars still were back wheel drive and snowplows weren’t as plentiful. At times he parked our car on a main road a mile away from home where the roads were plowed. We lived on a back road and it wasn’t plowed for days. Before dawn he would put on his suit and dress overcoat and carrying his briefcase started walking down the road through the deep snow with little daylight to guide him. I never knew if he would make it back for the night. One day we had a bad blizzard. He had flown out of town for his job and when re-entering Kalamazoo airport he found it impossible to reach the last miles home.
He ended up parking the car near the Wolf Lake Fish Hatchery on M 43. Waiting there were neighbors with snowmobiles for bringing the poor chaps the rest of the way to their homes. He had some ride that day. Never riding on such a conveyance he found himself setting behind Mr. Gokey, flying high, while passing near the tops of electric poles at a high rate of speed his coat tails flying in the stirred up clouds of snow with visibility near zero. When he walked in the door he was nearly frozen stiff with white eyebrows and his black hair donning white fluffy snow with a shine of ice. One thing that was clear during these times, he did his best to always get to work and get home again. We never worried or heard the term, Global Warming.
Today we don’t have the high banks of snow like years ago and the weather we do have is a “piece of cake” to conquer. Front wheel cars can whip down the well-plowed roads and quickly reach their destinations. This past week our weather has given us a taste of yesteryear and we grumble over the cold and snow but actually we have had it pretty good compared to the snows of years ago. In earlier decades the snow kept us struggling daily and it still give’s me the shivers to think about it. It did make us tough and ready for anything while fighting the elements. It gave a person some sort of satisfaction that also brought on a good night’s sleep. I do wonder and shiver over a new topic that is now brought to mind, and that is the talk of Global Warming. Is this a real concern? I certainly hope not, but now that I think about it, we don’t have watercress growing in the creek anymore.
(January 14th, 2008)
The Paw Paw Shopping Center, Gone but not Forgotten. By Shirley Huffman.
Today was the day of reckoning for me. As much as I hated it I went forward with a dilemma that started to face me some days ago and I proceeded with kicking and screaming. It was time to find another grocery store so I could proceed my weekly routine of grocery buying. The One Stop Shopping Center has closed. "What?" I said to myself, "This can not be." "I have purchased everything from apples to glue at this local store for decades and I don’t want to change my ways now, not at my age. "It doesn’t really matter what I think even though my emotions are hard to contain. It was time to replenish the cupboards and refrigerator so I had to "bite the bullet".
A week ago I entered a new store, new to me that is. I found myself searching for the items I usually purchase each week at the closed local. I found prices higher and the brands or sizes not being to my liking. I cringed at paying for fancy layouts and unneeded isles of exotic foods that I care not to try. Yes, today I tried what some may call, a "mega-store". Even with the signs for directing me from isle to isle, I know I walked at least a mile to pick up the few items that my household of two needed. It reminded me of hide and seek, walk here to look and walk there to look and sometimes walk back to the first place and again scour the shelves finding my one item overcome by choices one could not begin to choose from.
I stood in line at the meat counter to get a peak into the ground beef cooler and made a dive. The cheese cooler was full of hanging conglomerates. The wall was a maze of packages. It was obvious, no more picking up items quickly, as I did at The Shopping Center. During this frustrating trip, I bumped into strangers in each isle. I looked for some familiar faces that I call neighbors, I never found one. Isn’t that the fun of shopping, I thought? At the checkout I had to ask for paper bags, I detest plastic and learned quickly not to pick these paper bags up by the top. One tore off quickly.
Since the first news of the closing of our downtown store I have visited with neighbors who were very distraught over the news. "What are we going to do and where can we shop now?" One asked. Another stated, "I always wrote my grocery list before leaving home and in doing so I could walk the isles of the Shopping Center quickly finding everything without backtracking."
I began to think about this store and its worker friends. "Will they find other jobs? What are they going to do now?" And how about the others now no longer involved such as, the snow plowing man, the deli people, the janitors, baker and the people that prepared the little sample tidbits for us snitchers. And then there are those that dropped off the daily newspapers and the people that came to stock the bread and cookies isles. What a treat it was to have the workers just stop their work to help a customer find an item or pick up a needed box from the back room.
I find my dilemma, uncomfortable and it makes me depressed, I don’t like it! I also miss the grocery bill in the local weekly advertisements and I know I can’t live without the handy paper bags with the handles. Why is it people never appreciate things until they are taken away?
It is now apparent to me that the Shopping Center took good care of its customers. I hope in the future that the long-time dedicated workers, of this familiar establishment, are treated as well in future years, as the customers have received from them throughout the years. It is a little late but I say thank you to the ones who kept this hometown store a pillar to many for so many years.
(November 16th, 2007)
This years Grape Festival set me to thinking about Paw Paw in the good ol' days and when various transient well-known performers came into town. This became a town summer event that was held during the early 1900's known, as a Chautauqua.
In years past and when just a child, I heard the word Chautauqua often mentioned. What I learned from these conversations was little but I grew to understand that it did warrant a large tent that was placed in Paw Paw and held entertainment inside for the public to enjoy.
What is a Chautauqua, and where did the word originate? Approximately one hundred miles east of Erie, Pa. and in the southern part of New York state, there is a town named Chautauqua. The town became known as a learning center in the late 1800's where lectures and classes were held. During this era many students traveled to Chautauqua to gain knowledge on various intellectual subjects of interest. It soon became popular, turning the town into a summer Educational Center. Some years later this concept expanded into other parts of our country and was advertised as a Chautauqua, using the name of this New York State town and imitating its programs. Small towns lacked large buildings for the growing crowds, so the traveling group used a large tent that was raised for a week or two for the informative but sometimes amusing programs.
Two years after Maple Lake was formed in 1907, Paw Paw held its first Chautauqua. Outdoor suppers were served to the crowds after the tent was pitched on the eastern shores under towering pine trees that stood south of the lake’s island bridge.
The town event brought notables from near and far who recited poems, famous readings and orations pertaining to interests of the day including political speeches. A few that attended here were William Jennings Bryan, Helen Keller, a Chinese diplomat, Capt. Cook and advocates for Women Suffrage. Skits and well-known musical groups were also available to add a lighter note to the daily agenda. Curiosity brought visitors from near and far and a ticket for the entire series of eighteen sold for $2.00.
The town was overrun with interested visitors and the Maple Lake waters provided transportation for audiences who traveled by boat from the downtown Michigan Avenue Bridge to the Chautauqua tent. This novelty charged a small fee of ten cents for each ride, making the trip more pleasant than walking the footpaths for the half-mile distance. The paths could be muddy or dusty for the ladies that wore long dresses, and those who wore their Sunday best.
It wasn't until 1916, and nearly ten years later, that it was decided to move the big tent to the downtown park north of the courthouse. This location proved not as welcoming. Many missed the lake's breeze and the tall hovering pines that gave shade during the hot days by the welcoming water. Within a short few years, and the labors of many for naught, the Chautauqua finally faded from Paw Paw, as it did in other areas of the country. New ideas for entertainment followed but also soon vanished with the use of the automobile and the changes that were brought on by World War I.
(August 6th, 2007)
When I was not yet a teen, the marquee on the Paw Paw Strand theatre always intrigued me. When our old 34 Ford slipped down the streets of the small town I always took a look at the building wishing I could see the pictures on the front that advertised movies that were playing inside at the time.
Many movies didn't really interest me. Humphrey Bogart was not a favorite at the time. but when a Charlie McCarthy movie came to the Strand, that certainly did get my attention. To all children of that era, the little man was a puzzle to us. When observing the duo, I found myself looking at Edgar's mouth more than at the dummy itself and when I saw Mr. Bergen's mouth move I decided I knew the secret of the talking dummy but kept the answer to myself. I didn't want the fantasy to disappear, as ventriloquism was thought to be a mystery to the many that enjoyed it in that day. It was much like believing the stories of Santa Claus.
Today, scavengers rummage through antique stores looking for advertisements of these old 1900s movies. Several looked for posters that hung in the front of the theatres portraying colorful pictures of movie stars and adventurous scenery that was to entertain us inside. These posters now bring a good sum of money. (One must remember that television was yet unknown.)
I began country school in the first grade and our teacher at the time knew the owner of the movie theatre in Decatur. She brought the discarded movie posters to us every few weeks to place on our desks during lunchtime. What a scramble it was when Charlie McCarthy showed up on one of these advertisements. Every child wanted it.
During these times I would also search the Christmas toy catalog that came to our house before the holidays and always inside there was a McCarthy doll waiting to be ordered. I longed for one but never had the money. This made the movies and conversations about Charlie even more exciting. Very seldom did I see Charlie's movies but heard many tales about them.
The radio also played a Charlie McCarthy program. When my Dad wasn't listening to the never-ending news, (WWII was in full-force) I would have the privilege of listening to the weekly show. I loved Charlie's laugh and would giggle to myself over his little quips while Edgar asked him silly questions.
Twenty years later my son was born and when he turned ten I mail-ordered the little man from the catalog for his Christmas present. I then had the money to do so and no doubt I was fulfilling my own long time dream of just having Charlie to hold. He had fun with the doll for some time and so did I, but with years passing, we both grew tired of it and today, some thirty five years later, it is still setting in our basement.
A while ago a little neighbor boy came to visit and being a curious one he stumbled across old Charlie doll. It wasn't long after I heard him running up the stairs and was quickly ready to go home. I asked him why the hurry and he said that the "thing" downstairs is scary. I smiled at his comment. Maybe to him Charlie was scary but to me Mr. McCarthy will always be special for giving the children much joy in his day.
I happened upon a short movie of Edgar and Charlie on television not too long ago. I must admit it was pretty "corny" for this day and age but I sure enjoyed reliving the days of its popularity.
Note: Mr. Bergen was from Decatur, Michigan and was born in 1903 in Chicago. Charlie McCarthy artifacts are displayed at the Hard Times restaurant in Decatur, and there also is a street named after him. Candice Bergen is his sister or… would it be half-sister?
(July 1st, 2007)
I have been looking over some paperwork of the old Almena settlement from 1835-65. It appears that to make a hamlet it took a post office, store, mill, church or two, a blacksmith and cooper shop and lastly a pickle salting business. (This warranted large wooden barrels for holding pickles that soaked in brine.) Later two mills were built, one for grinding grains into flour and also becoming a carding mill. The other was for sawing and making wood products. It is said that sash and doors were made here for the local church and our now gone country schools. For a time it tried papermaking although not lasting for long, as the process was too difficult and expensive with the equipment on hand. The upright to this mill was moved and is now a home and can be observed at 29339 42nd Ave.
Streams were averted making ox bows so the water could be used to power the waterwheels that ran the various gears for the grinding stones. Almena was fortunate to have streams in various parts of the Township for such use.
In about 1838 Mr. Barber, one of the first settlers, acquired land in this area from the United States government that the hamlet of Almena later stood on. Looking at an abstract, it appears he apparently later sold pieces of it to interested people. A goodly amount was sold to Horace Bonfoey, and in turn Bonfoey sold parcels of land to others that came into this area. According to one of the first maps drawn of Almena Township, many of these land transactions must have taken place after 1838 and before 1860. The land in Almena Center changed hands often, although at first was owned only by few people. The old Abstract shows the land that the store sets on now (Downtown) changed hands many times and was first owned by people that lived in Vermont. I can't imagine traveling this far to purchase land in an unsettled area such as Almena but at the time the land was cheap and it could be that the Vermont people never saw it but through talk heard it might to be a good investment. A few men did well by selling parcels that they had acquired a few years earlier. Some of the first settlers in this area were Barber, Bonfoey, Brewer and Barnum, Downing also purchased land from Newcomb an earlier settler. Junia Warner, who was a pastor purchased land on the southwest side of the township and lived there until his death. Barnum one year later after arriving here died in 1837, and yes he was related to the Barnum, Bailey Circus clan and at one time owned the land that the Almena school District #2 sat on. He was related to Downing who later owned it. Downing started a blacksmith shop and ran it for some twenty years. Newcomb at one time was also in the blacksmith business near Brewersville.
These pioneers started a flow of families that settled in the Almena locality. Between 1836-40 Campbell, Fosdick, Bridget, Finley Eager, Abbott, Crofoot, Burns, Plank, Benton, Turner, Rolind, Annable and others appeared in the area.
Almena Center began to progress after this. The Fisk mill was built in 1859, taking business away from Brewersville and its mill a mile west. A cemetery was laid out in 1840 and the later known Red and White grocery store on the N.E. corner was built in 1856 and still stands used now mostly as a home. A voting precinct was located in a log cabin on Whiskey Run Road until Levi Brown built the first town hall in 1893. Even a local ball field was stepped off in later years in the Center. Almena started a telegraph service coming from Paw Paw in 1876. This telegraph lasted well into the 1940s when it received WWI and WWII news of our soldiers fighting in foreign lands.
A century later Almena also sent men to the Civil War. There is little written about Almena in that era but there are some names recorded of those who served. Strangely, and with a great township population growth, Almena Center itself has digressed rather than flourished. At one time many small businesses stood within its compounds but now in 2007 we have only one grocery store and a church. In the last years, and becoming a "bedroom" community, the township now shows a great deal of parcels holding newly built homes.
(May 25th, 2007)
Last year and at this time, I wrote an article about the Paw Paw High School Alumni Banquet and thoughts of how it has changed in the last decades. I stated the most obvious change was that interest has waned with the hurried times we live in that are now filled with so many choices. This has led to apathy in many members making this once special evening just another evening of little importance. The enthusiasm of the current graduating classes has also dwindled and scholarships possibly aren't as attractive to graduates as they once were. Money comes easier today compared to fifty or more years ago. I remember my sister yearning for a college scholarship in 1946. It meant a great deal to her giving her the ability to attend college. When graduation came it was the talk of our family and we said a little prayer for her to become a recipient. At the time it was such an important resource to us.
I received my Alumni letter some weeks ago. To my surprise it stated that the Alumni Banquet was to be discontinued. Now why did the news surprise me? I guess it made me sad more then surprised. An era has come to an end like so many other events and galas of the past. Going back several decades ago, communities held dances, spelling bees, box socials and Fourth of July horse races. Youth dressed in their best and walk to the cemeteries carrying flowers in celebration of Memorial Day. Children delivered baskets of flowers to neighbors on May Day and in the summertime rallied around the local ball diamond to watch the games. Transportation was at a premium and often so was money.
We are living in different times. Activities in the small community have disappeared. We now live in a bigger world and with this the Alumni banquet is also disappearing. Difficult as it is to see such times fade into history we must accept the fact that things do change. The world has become our neighborhood. I must admit, I didn't attend the banquets often in the last years. It seemed rather useless as class members very seldom showed and the program was hurried with participants eating and disappearing quickly after a hasty program. The senior class still attended but many uninterested graduates never showed. One must remember it takes participation of each graduating class to keep the Alumni association active.
I say farewell to this wonderful and long association. I do have good memories of this banquet from when I graduated and when my children graduated. I have read graduating notes written by my mother stating how important this celebration was to her and others in the early 1900s. At the time special dresses and other attire were made at home to wear. Many traveled distances to attend the event by horse and buggy. In the last century weeks ahead the townspeople spoke of and looked forward to this yearly celebration.
For you and me this year begins the start for cataloging memories of this High School event, the evening where we sat in the old school gymnasium usually sweating and fanning ourselves. We would vie with attendees to set by opened doors and windows hoping for a breeze as we donned wool suits, white shirts and heavy dresses lined with uncomfortable undergarments and tight fitting dress shoes. No matter, we wanted to be there, it was an important night not to be missed. Now the event has come to an end and will soon fade. The interest is gone. Farewell classmates! Happy memories to you as the years come and go.
April 16th, 2007)
I have been sorting some books this week trying to make room for other things. While doing so I ran across a couple that belonged to my parents back in the early nineteen hundreds. I found amongst them an 1857 reader. I skimmed through the pages and couldn't believe how eloquent it was. The pages were also filled with quips of proverbial wisdom and poetry and stories written by long ago authors such as, George Elliot, Emerson, Hawthorne, Dickens and Shakespeare just to name a few. The well-written stories well surpassed our grammar of today. Historical teachings were also prevalent and displayed throughout the pages declaring the beauty of that era. I also noticed that barely a page pass by without a placed Biblical verse for feeding the soul. Its vocabulary was difficult even for an oldster like me to decipher. The amazing fact is, this was a fourth grade textbook.
I received a high school graduation thank you this spring that displayed grammatical errors and penmanship that would not pass sixth grade in my country school days. It lacked the daily lesson of penmanship. Remember how we made circles that resembled a roll of barbed wire fencing springing open and the stroke movements that looked like people dancing? These lessons apparently no longer exist.
We have also taken the romance out of book reading. Children no longer have the want or motivation to lay upon the summer grass and read what the writers were trying to convey to them years ago. Stories that would fill the reader with dreams, as they prodded him or her to seek the wonders and opportunities of the unknown future. Television has helped to desensitize us from the joy of reading or the need to use the imagination.
A second textbook I thumbed through was a 1919 math book that also had lovely illustrations. One drawing was of two young boys measuring the circumference of a silo. This math problem was teaching how to conclude the amount of ensilage a silo could hold. Another page pictured two boys measuring a shadow to determine the height of a building. The next chapter explained the type and how much fertilizer to use on crops by the use of graphs. It taught the amounts of grain to feed cattle, how to measure horsepower and how to walk off acreage. It had chapters on how to build "make-do" furniture and outbuildings. This country school textbook started with addition and ended with geometry and taught what boys needed to know before leaving the eighth grade.
Now, a hundred years later, none of this is taught. We have gone from teaching about farm-life to teaching computer science. This, of course is a sign of changing times. I am sad to say that a young man who came to my house the other day to work in my flowerbeds had no idea how to use posthole diggers, a shovel or a rake. I realize times do change but still it doesn't stop nostalgia from sweeping through us oldsters, as we remember those days of the past when we were taught simple things.
(March 23rd, 2007)
Looking through some things I found, with other paraphernalia, a 1918 True Northerner. I had to laugh to myself when I read the differences between The True Northerner of 1918 and today's Courier Leader. I would like to share some ads and articles displayed in these old pages. The front page of this almost one hundred-year-old paper was completely covered with local and personal news. It spoke of various family achievements that had happened the following week. It was much like the old Porter, Waverly, Gliddenburg, Almena locals that appeared a short time ago in our town paper. Clips of visitations, birthday parties, travelers and those who had been ill filled the page. Church items told of the pastors and parishioners activities one being that of a Rev. Trott of the Methodist church who had been ill.
One item scolded local citizens. It stated that people who had not yet donated should become a member quickly of the Red Cross Society. Plan to pay your dollar and become identified with the organization it quoted. Members will be collecting your donation at various stores in the village Saturday. One must remember America was well into WWI and people were expected to help with the Red Cross cause. On the same page a soldier had wrote stories about being on the front lines and a near half page was covered with army letters. One sent by a WWI soldier boy telling of his experiences at camp and how cold it was. He ended his note by saying how much he and his tent partners enjoyed receiving the Paw Paw paper.
Some names mentioned also on the front page were, Dr. Van Vleck, Ella White, teacher at Almena, Judge Anderson, James Bale, Cliff Pugsley, Tom Woodman and Charles Morrison. Two homes were reported burned to the ground in the area that week and also in Lawton the Five and Dime store burned down. The IOOF lodge presented a public turkey dinner and the Coterie Club held a literary program. I was surprised that "Michigan Day" was to be observed in town with a program on January 25, 1918. When I was barely 20 years old this day was observed at my work place in 1954. We learned to sing the song Michigan, My Michigan for the program. I have not heard of it being a special day since then. I must say our singing wasn't the best. The Klatter Klub met with Mrs. Blaine Warner Tuesday evening. I wonder what was said at those gatherings? The advertisements inside the paper were interesting too. The Avery Store was having a dressmaking contest. The seamstress had to use Borden fabrics and patterns. The materials and patterns were on display in the store and for sale of course.
Apparently Warner's had a grocery store. It advertised Jello - 2 packages for 15c, butter for 39c and bragged about having plenty of oysters on hand. Apparently another Paw Paw grocer was owned by Mr. Riedl. Kellogg and Post cereals all sold for 11c a box there, and to order from home and for grocery delivery, the phone number was 93 and quite different from today's stream of numbers that befuddles the mind. A third grocery was owned by Adamson Bros. They advertised coffee at 25c a pound and shredded wheat at 10c. The Blaine Dairy enlightened people with pasteurized milk. I found the word pastuerized spelled wrong. It was a fairly new concept to this small town. A hardware store sat in the middle of the block on the north side of Main Street and was called The Yellow Front. It bragged having sports equipment, skates, hockey sticks and sleds. An elderly friend told me the other day that he remembers, as a little child buying his first wagon at the Yellow Front with money he had saved. And yes, H.C. Waters also had a hardware store and it hasn't been too many years since they went out of business. Because of the war they stressed in their ad that grape twine would be hard to purchase and had received a shipment at 23 cents a pound urging people to hurry and buy. Waters sat next to today's Hiemstra's eye care.
Another 1918 advertisement was persuading people to buy the new Aladdin kerosene lamp. Electricity was not available in many areas. Did you know that many wooden electric poles ran down the Main Street of Paw Paw with dozens of wires and the streets were dirt that required wetting down often because of dust? Horses and buggies were still used along with very few cars. Mr. Gault managed the Bishop Feed Line and competed with Charles Billsborrow Feeds. Harrison Chevrolet Sales portrayed a large advertisement pushing sales of several models with the two-door sedan selling at $565. Harrison was still in business in 1950 and sat where the Shopping Center parking is now. For clothing O'Grady Bros. Co. setting next to the Dykman, was ready to serve you. During these winter months they pushed mufflers, overcoats, winter caps all with 10% off. Showermans had a clothing store too and supplied heavy underwear.
John W. Free advertised with a full inside page ad saying he would start a new bank in town under his name and believe it or not he offered 4% interest on saving accounts to compete with the other bank in town. Wouldn't that be great today? The bank was on the corner of Main and Kalamazoo with a big town clock hanging high above. I remember that just after the depression my father had to ask Mr. Free to give him a loan for our farm. Mr. Free was a determined, and I felt grumpy, old businessman. He had big bushy eyebrows, lots of well-clipped hair and wore a dark suit with a vest and watch chain that hung heavily across it. I never remember him smiling. Being about seven years old, I sat next to my Dad that day knowing it was one of the hardest things he had ever done. He was a proud man and hated to beg, but he did, and we saved the farm.
(March 2nd, 2007)
Almena has lost a good friend. Word was received some days ago that Gordon Brown of Lawton had passed away on February 16th at Bronson Hospital. Sadness over came me. Gordon Brown who had many ancestors in our Almena community, was a special friend to many in this community.
I first met Gordon back in the 1940s when my father traveled to his home in Lawton to discuss plans with his father for their annual deer hunt that took place each November in the Upper Peninsula near Matchwood. To them the outing was something they both looked forward to after working on their farms through the past year. Gordon was a teenager when I first met him. His mother and mine had a special connection being country schoolteachers. I can remember as a young child, setting quietly in the Brown residence listening to the men talk deer talk while my mother and Lela talked school talk. It wasn't until many years later that I really became acquainted with Gordon. Much older now, I had become interested in Almena Township history and in the middle nineties the township was to decide whether to save or to demolish the old and first town hall. A new one had been built. It was then that Mr. Brown and his dear wife Margaret appeared on the scene.
It seemed that Gordon's grandfather, Levi Brown had built the old town hall back in 1893-94, the cost being a little over $500. When Gordon got wind of this possible demolition dilemma he joined the local group that soon became the Almena Historical Society and who's main concern was to save the old and stately building. It wasn't too long after, that the group decided to band together to restore the hundred-year-old building. You know the rest of the story and if not just go past Almena Center east and look south. There you will see the refurbished building that Gordon had a big influence in saving.
Gordon and Margaret gave untiringly to this endeavor and helped with the annual Almena Community Days that raised money for the building's big move and renovation that cost over $30,000. (What a difference a hundred years make). Gordon cleaned, made quilt hangers, restored the many wooden chairs and furniture, served as Treasurer for a time and worked wherever he was needed. The Browns made endless trips from Lawton to the neighborhood's Historical Society meetings and always gave ideas and enthusiasm to the group. His little Model A farm truck was a treat to see at all community events. He was very proud of its beauty. During these times he visited with folks that stopped by. He chatted about days gone by, when his Grandpa Levi was active in the community and when his Almena ancestors held township offices and were part of Almena's local activities.
He loved his Lawton farm where he worked endlessly in the orchards and vineyards and he was always ready to give more than he received. To me, Gordon was just a good all around fellow. He was fun to be around and his interests in the Society remained even after bone joint replacement and other maladies. He will always be considered a pillar to the community and its Historical Society. Friends and family will certainly miss his presence and cheerful ways. The community of Almena extends sympathy to his wife Margaret and family.
(Feb. 2nd, 2007)
The school bus went rambling by my house this morning in, what I thought was the wee hours of the night. Being retired I was thankful that I was just moseying out of bed. It did bring back the memories of walking my children to the corner a half mile away to stand and wait for the bus back in the late 1950s-60s. The busses at the time didn't travel on side roads. To get the children bathed, dressed, hair combed while they dawdled over their breakfast started my blood to pump early. If we missed the bus it meant missing school, as I had no car at the time. As I have reported before, I attended country school from 9 a.m. until 4 p.m. Walking was my transportation and quite different than from the way it is today. The passing of the school bus this morning started me to reminisce about various schools. Stopping to do some research I found the progression of the Paw Paw schools quite interesting bringing me to when I attended the Michigan Ave. school in 1948-52 after leaving country school and finishing the eighth grade. Most of us remember the history of the Michigan Ave. school and what has developed since.
Before the first larger Paw Paw school mentioned to me was the Union school. It was a two-story wooden building and I stand corrected, but believe it sat on the corner of Niles and Main Street. It is also stated that a school sat near the Paw Paw Mills in 1835 and could have been this school or an earlier smaller one. In 1868 the Union school was abandoned by the building of the Red Brick and also referred to at the time, as the Red Brick Union school. This three-story school cost $25,000 to build. In 1879 the old Union school building became the Paw Paw Town Hall and later was moved to S. Kalamazoo St. for other purposes.
After fifty years use and in about 1922 the Old Red Brick was in disarray and a new school was to take its place. While the Michigan Ave. school was being built, the Old Red Brick met its demise and the students were parked in various town buildings while it was being constructed. Two places used for classes that I know of were the old two-story Union school building that was mentioned earlier, the other being the Methodist church. When the Michigan Ave. school was finished, students were ready to be welcomed by this new, and at the time modern building. We that remember well know the rest of the story of Paw Paw schools.
Being an Almena Gal I would like to write some trivia for my fellow neighbors. Almena Township's first school (Newcomb) was a small cabin type that was placed on the land of Elder Warner in about 1842. His sister-in-law, E. Merry taught there followed by the Misters Hurd and Annable. Annable was the arbitrator during the naming of Almena Township. In Almena Center these gentlemen started a school in 1842 called a subscription school. At the time it was for what we may call "the elite of society" that paid for their children to attend. Many earlier schools operated this way. This school sat on property owned by H. Bonfoey and was named the Bonfoey school. Church, meetings and other functions were held here. In 1856-1864 a new building east of where the church stands served as a school. This eventually led to the forming of District schools with the township having nine.
So...we have come full circle. The children that attended these country schools eventually started traveling in the early 1900s to Paw Paw and went to the Old Red Brick and later to the Michigan Ave. school. It may also be of interest that the Armstrong #3 country school in 1873 was first known as the Hymes and the Johnstown #4 was called the Barringer school both being build on the land of these two families.
(January 12th, 2007)
When reading this the green ground that we have enjoyed these past weeks will have probably turned to White,after all, it is January. This morning I gazed out of the window and to my amazement the ground was white. But it was not due to snow but to a heavy layer of frost. The sun's rays during the early morning hours brought a beautiful silvery sheen to the trees and fields. It was there that I was nudged by a New Year's resolution, I decided to take a walk in our woods. This stand of trees has been in our family for nearly three generations and I enjoyed it immensely playing and exploring there during my childhood years. Never a day went by that I didn't visit the stream that still runs through it.
Putting on my duds I slowly walked down the path finally reaching a familiar place where the oak trees towered above me. As I approached the edge of the creek I soon started reminiscing while standing on the bend that sharply and quickly carried the flowing water to Lake Michigan. My neighbor-friend and I back in the 1940s used to see if we could jump across the water at this crooked and steep place. We often ended up soaked realizing soon that our calculations were off but we still had great expectations of succeeding. It was in the fall that I also passed this area when walking home from country school. Stopping one afternoon and seeing in disbelief there laid our family dog motionless in the mud of this bend with his head half covered the water. He had met his demise. I frantically ran a good distance toward home to fetch my mother and later she announced with tears that poor Boots was dead.
At the age of twelve my father insisted I trap this waterway for muskrats. We had little chance of making extra money in such days and a couple of bucks from a hide seemed well worth the effort. It was on this same creek bend that I found my first muskrat floating underneath the water, his heavy dark-brown coat waving back and forth in the current that swiftly hit the embankment. The trap had done its work. It was not my favorite time and it also brought back sad memories of another drowning that of old Boots.
Being a child the walk back and forth to and from school was a long one especially for short legs. When reaching the stream I would set and rest for a spell and gaze at the traveling water that would someday reach various destinations unknown to me. Now it is 60 years later and I find myself wandering the fields leading me from this place and toward home carried by my stiff arthritic legs. Soon stopping I noticed the small branches on the weeds and the various flattened grasses that lay on the ground.
Each stem was covered with crystal-like frost spikes reminding me of the fake ice cycles that had once hung on our Christmas tree. These were different! They sparkled symmetrically in the sunlight and with such brilliance. No ornament could ever surpass the beauty. This was definitely a gift from nature given to me for quick observation before the sun's heat stole it away.
In the 1920s, Wilson Bentley had a passion for photographing snow crystals. He observed and photographed thousands of snowflakes proving each to have a different and perfect design. This morning I wished too that I could capture the wonder of these beautiful spikes that lay before me as Bentley had done with snowflakes so many years ago.
It is now 2007. 2006 and the years before when I watched the waters circle the creek bend and the same years that brought childhood joys and heartaches are now gone. As I stood and soaked in the sunlight something came to mind. I must make another New Year's Resolution I thought..."I must strive daily to make the most of 2007." Like the brilliant crystals on the weeds and the traveling creek water, 2007 will also quickly fade and disappear.
(Dec. 6th, 2006)
During the first half of the 1900s wrapping a gift was a job. It was either tied with a string or held by yearly T.B. Christmas seals sold during our country school's seal campaign. String was another way of securing and wrapping a package. I remember my folks saving every piece of string that came off such items as feed and cloth sugar bags and the meat market tied paper around your meat purchase with string. My folks then rolled onto a ball. This supplied us all year with string for various purposes. Remember that scotch tape was not available yet.
It was less hectic to purchase and wrap gifts years ago, few people gave gifts but when they did many were handmade. Decorated Christmas seals could be purchased from the local Dime store but few were purchased. I remember the pictures on them, Scotty dogs, popular by President Roosevelt who had one, wreaths, bells, Santa and other holiday drawings. But usually my small fingers were often summoned for holding the tissue paper while my mother tied a piece of yarn or string around a gift.
Before using tissue paper and in the 1800s and early 1900s, gifts were given unwrapped and presents were not put under the tree until Christmas Eve or morning. I have heard my parents talk about such times and usually only one gift was waiting for each child during this era. Receiving a book along with an orange or apple was a real treat and gifts given were often much-needed pieces of clothing often being overshoes, homemade mittens and scarves.
Speaking of paste our family never purchased it. That is, until I entered first grade. I remember after Labor Day when I walked to school. My lunch pail held a jar of store purchased school paste, a new pencil and a box of crayons while I toted a five-cent writing tablet under my arm. To make holiday mornings special my grandmother's family was served eggs and homemade bread for breakfast. Even though they lived on a farm, the eggs were saved for selling at market and few were eaten although many were used for daily baking.
My grandmother made scads of homemade bread as homemakers did in that day. She, at times, would have a small piece of meat for each child for a treat. She would place it on the end of a big slice of bread and told the hungry child that the bread needed to be eaten before reaching and enjoying the piece of meat. I must add that there was plenty of butter with the farm's cows. My mother, in her girlhood, followed her Mother's orders and she began to eat the bread savoring the thought of the small portion of meat. Suddenly and in teasing, grandmother grabbed the meat and popped it into her own mouth. My mother never forgot that incident and spoke of it often later.
During the 1930-40 holidays, the kitchen was a busy place for baking gifts for friends and neighbors. Coffeecakes filled our dining table. When the coffeecakes were decorated with frosting and sprinkled with walnuts, gathered and cracked, by my Dad, a family member would drive the Christmas goodies to the various homes. Usually a home baked treat was waiting to be sent back for our family to enjoy. My mother had a good friend who lived a few miles away. Often too busy to visit one another and lacking transportation, they still remembered birthdays and Christmas. We were treated with one of their white fruitcakes in exchange for our Danish rolls.
My Danish background has found me with the idea that a slice of good coffeecake and a cup of coffee were the ultimate ways to visit with friends that stopped by. It was a way to rest from the days labors for a spell and no matter from small to adult, we all had coffee. First the cup was filled with milk and then coffee according to age. That concluded the older you were the stronger the coffee.
The habit of good conversation during a coffee break has faded with the disappearance of small farms. In such days we drank good old A & P Eight O'Clock, no fancy brews like today, and sometimes water was added to make it stretch. "Shooting the breeze" at the kitchen table over a cup of the brew made the time special and it keeps neighbors and families harmonious with one another yet today, that is....if they have time.
(October 7th, 2006)
I can't believe how people get into pets these days. Don't get me wrong, I love pets and dogs and cats are very special to me but there is a limit to how far one goes. In the year of 1956 my husband and I scraped together fifty dollars for the doctor and $150 for the hospital bill for our first son's birth. It didn't seem unreasonable to pay the doctor that much and we left the hospital smiling with satisfaction while holding our healthy baby son. In 1968, our last child was born and the doctor and hospital bill combined, was a near $2,400. Still, and with insurance covering most, we again smiled as we traveled home with our little daughter and fourth child.
Looking through my parent's box of papers from years ago, I found a receipt for my delivery in 1934. The doctor came to the house to help bring this little pride and joy into the world and charged $43.00 for all services. Because of the depression I was not fully paid for until 1943. Now it is 2006. We have several couples that work daily in our nation. Many have no children and apparently like it that way. The difference between fifty years ago and now is that they now fill a void with very well kept dogs.
They groom them, walk them and furnish each with exotic expensive toys and coats. They provide them with fancy beds that Queen Sheba would have begged for. They treat them daily with doggie cookies that cost more than a Hershey's candy bar. And, don't forget the semi-annual veterinarian check ups. Last week, I became concerned when my daughter phoned. "The frosting was put on my cake." She has three teen children, yet frantically commented to me that her eight year old dog Rex had been hit by a car in the road ending up with a compound leg fracture that was nearly unfixable. "What did you do with him?" I asked with alarm.
She answered reassuring voice. "We took him to the animal hospital of course.", "What did the vet say?" I asked. "Well, she answered, it wasn't good. Rex had a break that their facility couldn't repair so they took him to another hospital on a stretcher, and there they put a cast on it." "Wow! That must have cost some "moola", I quipped back. "It sure did, she said, so far we have paid out $3,000 and he will need another cast in 3 weeks so, who knows?" I was unable to speak. I was thinking back to what we paid for her birth in 1959 of $250.
Have I missed something throughout this conversation? I asked. The telephone wires swayed with laughter. I heard voices in the background, "Mom thinks we paid too much for Rex." I will never understand our kids of today. I guess one reason is, I lived through the "Dark Ages" or what was called the Great Depression. But, I have learned that with dilemmas as this one I might as well keep quiet. By the way Rex is doing fine, he chewed his first cast off and is now muzzled protecting the new one. And there went another bunch of bucks. Leaving the musings on today's dogs, another thought came to mind. It also has to do with money.
In 1952 our wedding cost $55.00. That included the dress, my husband's suit, minister, pictures, (taken by my cousin), and the reception where we served cake,(made by my aunt), nuts and candy and plenty of coffee and punch. All was imbibed during good conversation among the neighbors attending. Luckily, then, the church was free. My granddaughter is getting married next June. The cost has already exceeded $6,000. Humbly I quote, "In 1954 that was the cost of our first home in Kalamazoo."
(Sept. 15th, 2006)
After a few days of hard rain, I found myself again mowing the grass that had grown tall in no time. I was doing well until I observed a few leaves showing their colors as they lay on the ground. It actually startled me. I had just watched a television show on the melting of the Polar Caps and what it was doing to our world. It was alarming to hear that hurricanes, volcanoes and western fires were also hindering our comfort zone. "My goodness I thought to myself, is this affecting our trees too? Isn't it too early for leaves to be falling?"
I had a talk with my neighbor a couple of weeks ago, and I had complained that my tomatoes weren't ripening. She smiled, "just give them time." Well, she was right now with the fleeting of time they are beyond ripe and leave little to be desired. This year's veggies are over, already? I pondered over the few leaves that lay in my yard. "I hope my trees aren't becoming diseased." I thought. I gathered with friends the next day and as we sat around the table, I brought up the fact about the leaves and how they were falling prematurely to the ground. I asked the question, "do you think our climate is changing?"
Everyone remain quiet for a moment. Then one person spoke up. "Gosh, my dear, fall is just around the corner you know." "No! I cried out. It was one hundred degrees three weeks ago, it can't be time for fall." Again silence filled the room and I encountered some strange facial expressions. "Don't you know you live in Michigan?" One man quipped.
Oh, I quietly answered. "Does that mean winter is just around the corner too?" With the summer months disappearing and the equinox now here I guess it is time to prepare for the raking of leaves. I better get with it and hunt up my rakes and tarps. It was only a few weeks ago I was looking for my hoe, spade, watering hose and tomato cages.
I have heard from many that when one grows older, time goes much faster. I believe it. It took me forever to get through school and to reach the age of 21. The years somehow start to pick up speed after that and now that the Golden Years have arrived the weeks disappear without ever arriving. I see the sugar maple down the road has a faint outline of red. I guess I better go ahead and just accept it, fall is just around the corner. Next, and too soon, I will be looking for the snow shovel.
(Sept. 8th, 2006)
I just returned from another enjoyable day at the Van Buren County Historical Museum. It is their Demonstration Day today and this year the place looked better then ever. The members that consist mostly of senior citizens have certainly proved to be dedicated workers and I personally thank them for that. This day, and one that is held annually, is one of the big money raising projects for this local museum. As most worthy projects it takes "bucks" to keep this building open for the community to enjoy and we should donate and do what we can to help with this endeavor.
The building was built in 1884 to become a County Poorhouse. Being abandoned in the 1950s it became dilapidated through the years and now, with much work, it has become an educational museum full of local history. The artifact collection is growing and is becoming more interesting each year thanks to many that have donated. This year the third floor is open and is serviced by a chair lift for those who are unable to ascend the long stairway. This floor is still under renovation.
As I stood and pondered over this huge building I imagined whispers of the past coming from the walls taking me back to when I first visited the place. I was then just a small child and the visit was not pleasant. My father apparently had a distant relative staying there and as we opened the door and walked into the lobby a sickening odor filled the place. On a couch nearby sat and elderly and poorly dressed old man who continually stared at the floor. The couch had stuffing protruding from its cushions. We didn't stay long and I clearly remember not wanting to.
During these days the aged and poor people of our county had no other place to go. My Grandfather, who was able to care for himself for some years in his so-called golden years, worried that he may someday end up at this god-forsaken place. The family, of course, never let that happen. Other oldsters weren't as lucky but when Social Security started in the 1930s the poorhouse was not as busy as it once was.
Today after a tour of the various rooms and stopping to observe demonstrations, I enjoyed a sandwich and piece of homemade pie while setting in the old fashioned, but cooler, dining area in the basement. Later I spent a time at the two stores that were filled with donated and worthy items finding myself walking away with a bag full of bargains including a new dog-leash for a dollar.
The log cabin that stands outside and to the west of the building has improved immensely through the last years. It actually was cozy inside and gave a nostalgic feeling to one who could imagine his or her pioneer ancestors living in such a home.
Most know that the museum sets on a hill in front of the county fair grounds on Red Arrow highway. Not many buildings of this stature have been saved in past years. Its dignified look and purpose now gives one to know that it is a special place that has been pleasantly restored because of the interest of many. The dream of the museum was that of a Mr. Hollis. He instilled enthusiasm in many as they worked to revitalize this landmark that once proved unfriendly to the needy.
Thankfully such days are now gone. If you weren't able to attend this interesting Demonstration Day, you missed a fun and informative day. Hopefully you can make it next year. I never miss it.
(June 9th, 2006)
Well, I guess I am just a small town gal. I hear all sort of reasons why one should go to One Stop Shopping stores and forget the small town stores. I now have decided after my trip to a major store in Kalamazoo that I am going to stick closer to home. Last week I drove to a "has everything store" and did, at first, give it a lot of thought before launching out. I hesitated driving the extra miles after all it would take more gasoline. But I told myself that I could save a few cents on various items so that gave me enough incentive to go and I did need an anniversary gift.
After a half-hour, I arrived at the huge parking lot. As I drove around, I finally found parking a block away from the main entrance. I convinced myself that the extra walking distance was good exercise. I entered the huge building and stopped to orient myself. It wasn't long before I realized that the store had been rearranged and I found myself "lost in the wilderness".
Traveling several aisles and dodging through the basket-pushing crowd, I finally came upon kitchenware and searching for sometime I realized I could not find the casserole section, this was my gift idea. Searching for help the clerk gave me some discouraging words. "My goodness dear, we haven't had them for sometime. They aren't very popular anymore." Note: when you look old and confused you are often called "dear". "Well, there goes my idea for a gift." I said. I turned and headed for the cat food shelves.
I am sure to find a bargain there. I thought. I soon realized that pussycat's brand was higher than the store near my house. I checked my list and headed for the grocery section. I found little tags along the isles stating that I could save a few cents on various products. "Wow, now I can save some money." I thought with enthusiasm. Later deducting the pennies I found that the products were higher than what I usually pay in my hometown store. I headed for the produce department at the other end of the store. My "dogs" were beginning to kill me. Looking for outstanding produce I found it not to be much better then anyplace else and what! no strawberries?
Without completing my list and befuddled and discouraged, I headed to the checkout, Standing in front of, no doubt, a mother with a large family observing her full cart, I later paid and headed to my car still a block away. Unloading the many plastic bags and spilling some of the items onto the car floor I plopped down in the driver's seat exhausted. I had walked far more than this old woman anticipated. Resting there I realized I didn't meet up with one person I knew during my shopping spree. Now, let me ask, doesn't one go to the grocery store to visit with their neighbors? I know I do.
Summarizing the shopping trip while resting, I decided to fill up on gasoline. I was sure it was cheaper at this super station. Observing the nearby gas sign I suddenly realized it was two cents higher per gallon then the station on our Four Corners near home. I have now come to the conclusion there is no place like shopping in my own town. It is like wearing old shoes. It fits well and seems darn comfortable to this Senior Citizen and I can also enjoy some smiles and conversation with friends and acquaintances along the way while I shop.
(May 12th, 2006)
We are edging up to the usual summer festivities that start in June. Weddings have always had dibs on this summer month but weddings now are becoming more popular in the fall months. Maybe due to the age we are now living in, as people strive now to be different. Being a Senior Citizen the first function that comes to my mind, and held in June is the Paw Paw Alumni Association Banquet. Up until a few years ago most alumni have looked forward to the evening. The youth held the interest of the attendees by providing a program during the banquet showing their achievements from past school years.
I graduated in 1952. We had an outstanding banquet program that was held in the old Michigan Avenue gymnasium. I look back and give credit for that special evening to the band and choir directors, Robert McAmber and Edith Beals. Solos and Madrigal singers were both accompanied by a piano student. The Dance Band provided dinner music and dance music for the evening. Our class enjoyed the celebration and displayed the best of manners while decked out in its best "bib and tucker". Anticipation filled the air as several awaited the presentation of the awards of the much-needed scholarships that were later followed by humbled recipient speeches.
The programs of 1941 were even greater. In that year the commencement week of Paw Paw High School students was stupendous. The event called for holding graduation activities for five straight days. The week started with Baccalaureate Services on Sunday, June 15th. On Monday a Commencement Musical was given. Woodwinds, bassoons, piano and strings filtered the evening air along with soloists and quartettes while school youth entertained parents and the community with their musical talents. On Tuesday evening a Class Day Program was given and the event was filled with awards. John Free State Bank presented Essay Contest awards and each department in the school gave recognition to top students.
The evening was also intermingled with various musical talents. Wednesday evening held the commencement exercises followed by Friday evening's Alumni Banquet. The week was certainly filled with pomp and circumstance. The days held a touch of eloquence and brought to this program reader the wish to be able to seize that moment once again. Seniors in 1941 realized the importance of their graduation by the work that went into the five celebrated evenings.
Today the Alumni Banquet is quite different. The evening can be described by using an old clich'e "eat and run". Sadly the evening's camaraderie has disappeared.
Many alumni members have lost interest and do not attend the banquet as before. Why? Perhaps because they are growing weary of supporting the occasion and are dismayed by the lack of participation. In the last decade or two it appears that the graduating classes along with many alumni have other interests to pursue on banquet evening including yours truly.
We need to thank Adele Walters, the officers and various committees for the work they have done in planning the Alumni Banquets these last years. Also a thank you to all that have donated time and money to help keep it alive.
How many more years will the Alumni Association of Paw Paw High come together for its annual banquet? I guess the answer might be found in another old cliché, "all good things must come to an end" Hopefully in this case this is not true, but then, we will certainly know in time.
(April 10th, 2006)
I was so excited over the early spring days we had in March that with great enthusiasm I decided to start ahead of schedule and prepare for my yard work that was yet to come.
I slipped into my work clothes and rushed to the pole barn. I needed to get the mower ready. I filled the gas tank and checked the oil. I then decided to give it a trial run readying it for future grass cutting.
My dream ended fast. I now tote a sprained wrist. The recoil starter backfired on me. "It is heck to grow old." I thought. I guess this old lady needs to go with a new plan so I decided to hire a boy to help me out.
First I had to find a boy that would be interested in yard work and finally in time one responded to my request. The conversation with the young man went something like this. "I may be interested in the mowing if I can use a riding mower, he responded. And I want ten dollars an hour."
Whoa! I said. I can ride a mower it is the spading and raking that I can't do and then the climbing up the ladder to clean out the eves. I can't do that anymore either. Oh yes, I also need someone to lift the bags of fertilizer and wood chips in and out of the truck and spread them in various areas. And later there will be weeds to pull." After my spiel the boy smiled and said he was not interested.
My busy son showed up last night and when observing my arm in an ace bandage, he said I needed to get a mower with a starter on it. That is well and good advice but I just put out some big bucks for my mower and now I'm apparently stuck with a pull starter.
The next day I walked around the yard and gazed up at a tree that I have been worried about. It could bring trouble in a windstorm, as one large limb leans toward the house and it definitely needs to be cut off. I quickly grabbed the phone book and looked in the yellow pages for a tree trimmer.
Hello, I need a limb taken off of a tree in my backyard. Can you come over and when? Oh yes, next Wednesday will be fine and ten a.m. works for me."
Wednesday morning came and went. It wasn't until 3:32 p.m. a truck drove into my yard. A burly man started walking around the yard surveying all of the tree trunks and branches.
Is something the matter?" I asked, yelling out the door. "You need a major trim Ms, your trees are really shaped badly and you have a ton of dead branches." "I do?" I questioned. "I will give you an estimate." He said with a firm voice. Minutes later I was handed a paper with a figure of $896.00 and I hesitated. "I really had only one limb to cut off." I quipped. "Oh, it isn't worth the trouble to bring all of my equipment in here just for that!" He grumbled. The truck soon left the drive and I still had the tree limb dilemma to solve and I also shot a day waiting for him, to boot!
Last fall I had a yard full of leaves. I studied the problem for weeks. I could find no one to rake them up and I certainly couldn't handle the mounds of leaves with my arthritic hands. So I procrastinated. Weeks later and in the late fall I awoke to a wind that was coming with a terrific force from the west. During the day it picked up the leaves in the yard, carried them to the old east hedgerow leaving not one in the yard for me to rake up. "It's a miracle," I thought.
Now, I am wondering will Mother Nature again find a way to take care of my yard problems this spring?
I guess I will just wait and see, for some reason my enthusiasm has left me.
(Feb. 31st, 2006)
I have some old letters that were sent to my grandparent's, back at the turn of the last century. The addressed envelopes showed the receiver's last name, the town and followed by the letters RFD standing for Rural Free Delivery. What I found most interesting was, a unique farm name also appeared on the envelope. Year's ago it was not uncommon for families to give their farms special names.
My grandparent's farm was called Granly Farm meaning, "In the Lea of the Pines". This name recently aroused my curiosity and I started researching other family farm names.
The Michigan Centennial Family Farm Heritage book of 1987 mentioned such names as, Chestnut Hill, Hickory Grove, Maplewood, Heritage Acres and Locust Lane, all ending with the word farm. In the past and locally, there were many farms in our area with special names, some being the Nip and Tuck Farm, south of Prospect Hill, Peaches and Cream Farm, west of Paw Paw and near the Wolf Lake Fish Hatchery, a farm named Bundoran existed. It had an Irish owner, and copied the name of a resort near Belfast. These names gave a special identity to people and places, and have disappeared with time. A few years ago, humorously, a name on a farm sign stated "Belly Acres".
I have kept three, 1900 farm invitations given to me by a friend. They confirm the use of such names during the late 1800s and early 1900s. These stately farms often hosted other farmers in the area. They sent out tasteful invitations with the farm name, and all neatly printed by a local printer. These meetings brought farmers together to share their expertise on the latest farming ideas, and served a delicious dinner, later enjoying parlor games or dances.
Years later the Farm Bureau was organized and grew quickly in popularity, eventually taking the place of these gatherings.
Also roads and corners were named after families that lived in various areas. Almena had a few. Ketchum Hill, (29th St. and M-43.), Armstrong Corners, Steven's Corner, Bale's Corner, Dougherty Corners, and Covey Hill, Fish Hatchery, Tracy, Barkovich and Labadie Roads were some. Old timers still use these names to give directions even though numbers today are used for identification.
Snake Hill is well known by most that traveled to Kalamazoo daily. It was a difficult hill to ascend during snow time years ago. Winter conversations spoke daily of the trials this hill brought.
The farm name and RFD no longer exist on envelopes, instead, we now have house and street numbers, apartment and lot numbers, along with a nine number Zip Code. If one digit is off the letter is returned to the sender. Years ago the mailman would have delivered the mail especially with a farm name on it. It hasn't been too many years ago since my uncle living in New York, addressed our letters "Out Almenie Way." It would not be accepted by the post office today.
My mail this week brought many letters of various kinds. A hundred year's ago letters from a friend or business were few and far between. It took weeks for country mail to be delivered, as there was no R.F.D. delivery, having to be picked up at the Post Office. Even in the 1940s when mail was delivered to the house, I would set by the mailbox waiting to see if the carrier had a message for any one person in our household to add a little daily excitement.
My grandmother would enter contests offered on the radio in the 1930s. I found one 1938 contest letter of hers, and it brought smiles to me. The quiz question was to be answered in one short paragraph. "Why do you use Oxydol (soap) for your wash?" Remember Oxydol? For years it sponsored the radio Soup Opera, Ma Perkins.
Did Grandma win? I don't know, but she did receive a response by mail and it displayed Granly Farm on the empty envelope. I am sure the letter added some joy to her day, back in the early 1900s when there were no telephones, and neighbors lived too far away for daily visits.
(Feb. 17th, 2006)
I remember Paw Paw's Dillon Drugstore during the 1940s. I used to feel privileged to set in a booth there with my sister and her high school friends while sipping cokes. I felt so big and grown up, but was less then ten years of age at the time. Even though a coke was five cents, it was a treat to have a glass full, set before me while I listened in on the high "schoolers" important discussions of girlhood things. I still look back to such days with nostalgia and warmth, as these proved to be the really fun days for me as a small girl.
It wasn't long and less then six years later when I sat in that same booth with my own friends after walking, during the noon hour from high school, to downtown Dillons to enjoy our, brought from home, lunches. Again, as the teens before us, we sipped cokes. Coke drinkers today don't know what a real coke is. In my day the Dillon Drugstore soda jerk would squirt cherry syrup into the glass for extra taste and the cost was still a nickel. That was a true cherry coke. The soda fountain had an array of goodies. Malts were large, thick and rich in flavor. Lime, cherry and lemon phosphates were a change of pace from the Coca Cola drink. Chocolate sodas in tall glasses were exceptional. One now needs to search for a good soda that contains real ice cream and made in the old fashion way. "(A Hint, Goble's Pharmacy still has them)".
Dillon's Drugstore stood where Paw Paw's Taylor's Florist is now. The pharmaceutical counter was on the west wall and the soda fountain was directly across and on the east wall. The booths were down and behind the fountain. The tables were black topped with chrome trim. I look back and think how amazing it was that Mr. Dillon let the teens make the store their "hangout", but then, Mr. Dillon had a large family and possibly could see, this was a good thing for the neighborhood. Dillon's Drugstore came to my mind, while receiving a notice that Schug's Drugs in Berrien Springs has now closed its doors like so many other privately owned drugstores have. The Berrien Springs Journal Era, the town's newspaper, had the closing splashed across the front page last November. The paper stated that the drugstore's closing was a big loss to the local people. They grew to love Mr. and Mrs. Schug for their integrity and their concern for others throughout the years.
David and Floris Schug were motivated by Mr. Dillon to pursue the drugstore business. David was a pharmacist at Dillons in the last of the nineteen forties and at the time Floris Masten was employed in various areas of the store and was often found behind the soda fountain. After the two married, Mr. Dillon encouraged them to purchase a store in Berrien Springs in 1950. It was in this town they remained, and raised a family, and has spent their working years operating Schug's Drugs. The store has remained in the family for 55 years and had become an icon to the town's people with son Herb, also becoming a pharmacist there. With sadness, this brings an end to an era in Berrien Springs and an era where family owned drugstores are slowly leaving many communities. Paw Paw's Dillon Drugstore came to an end in the same way. Both stores were absorbed by growing drugstore chains. With the soda fountain era fading in the past century, teens in many communities found they were in a predicament and needed to search for other places to "hang out".
No doubt Dillon's Drugstore will always be a special memory to us oldsters. We were teenagers at one time too, and Dillons was a special place for meeting with friends and classmates.
(Feb. 17th, 2006)
My husband and I sat down at the kitchen table to have a cup coffee and homemade brown bread. I filled my favorite mug and he asked me to fill a cup that he had at sometime received from the local gas station. "Wow! I said, that is some coffee cup". It resembled a well-designed teapot with gourmet coffee company markings. "How much does this one hold?" I asked. "Twenty ounces." he replied. To observe the new and larger design, I was not too surprised but thought to myself that it was a lot of coffee for one guy to consume. I'll never understand how a person can drink that much at one setting. My mug that holds 8 ounces suddenly looked old fashioned. I remember when the general use of mugs came into being. They also shocked past generations who used smaller teacups, but it wasn't long before coffee lovers were nonchalantly drinking out of mugs printed with bizarre sayings that often started table-talk.
Generations before me, drinking coffee was very important. It was a break from everyday chores giving a needed rest from barn and fieldwork. My grandparent's teacups, with matching saucers, portrayed transfers of beautiful spring-like flowers surrounding them. I still have one of the sets in my buffet and for fun I filled the little teacup to see how much liquid it would hold. To the near top it held five ounces. I remember setting at my grandparent's table with aunts and uncles imbibing from these cups. Very seldom did we have a second cup. It was a time to rest and that was limited. We needed to get back to our daily chores. This new age of large coffee cups would boggle the minds of past generations. To invite them back for a cup of the "black stuff" today would make for interesting conversation. I can hear my Dad's acerbic opinion now yet years later. In his day we had tea for supper and the family teapot was no bigger then my husband's coffee cup is today.
I really am caught up in this coffee-cup thing. Back in the late nineteenth century demitasse cups held less than three ounces. Well-dressed maidens would set on parlor chairs delicately holding one of the tiny cups, as they sipped politely. This little cup appeared to be more of a symbol and was often served by affluent and polite hostesses during the Victorian age. These ladies wore very tight corsets covered with long petite dresses. Any liquid surpassing three ounces would certainly bring on discomfort or a possible disaster. Thinking back to my grandparent's generation using the five-ounce teacup would, no doubt, seem obnoxiously huge to the Victorian age crowd. Yet, today, I still question the use of the 20-ounce cup. "We really need to do something about these coffee cups". I said to my husband, as he walked through the door returning home from the filling station. "Need to do something about what cups?" He asked. "We need to find more room in our cupboards for them." I answered. Without hesitation he sat a new coffee cup on the table that he apparently had just acquired. "How much does that one hold?" I asked. "Oh, this one is a 32 ouncer," he bounced back with pride. I remained quiet. I decided not to pursue the subject any further.
(January 27th, 2006)
I read in the Kalamazoo Gazette's Almanac on January 7th, that the Territorial Road from St. Joseph to Kalamazoo was built in 1835. This really wasn't news to me but set me to thinking, as I am a lover of history. I immediately started to picture what it must have been like before this feat took place. The movements of the American Indian who trudged along this same path that later became an important highway is an intriguing story to all.
It is well known that most local roads were once Indian trails. Potawatomi and Ottawa tribes lived in these parts for some time. They were comfortable here until the white man started to push them westward. Tribes traveled away from, but resettled back in St. Joe to live near the rivers and Lake Michigan, as it was a favorite spot long before and after 1835. They trudged this trail, now named Red Arrow highway, leaving for Wisconsin and other areas returning here at times. This same trail became Territorial Road and later U.S. 12. Commuters were grateful for this road throughout the twentieth century carrying them to and from Kalamazoo to their daily jobs. In the late 1950s when President Eisenhower started the interstate system it gave us I94 and helped to elevate the old road's traffic.
Not was this trail only known as Highway U.S.12 but also it carried the name Michigan Avenue making it the longest avenue in the world connecting Chicago and Detroit. It later was renamed Red Arrow Highway and remains that today.
I doubt many youngsters today know that the small stone pillars that still stand going east on Red Arrow from Paw Paw and past 27th St. were built during the "Great Depression" era. At this time the road was also updated for handling more traffic. People were in a poor state at the time and it urged Franklin D. Roosevelt to start the W.P.A. and C.C.C. that gave work to many and led to the building of these fancy stone-works and road improvements. The C.C.C. workers also built the Wolf Lake Fish Hatchery's stone fences and markers that remain yet today on C.R. 652 signifying an important time in our country's history.
From the footsteps of the Indian to the ox carts and horse and buggy days with stage coaches, missionaries and fur traders forging along, Red Arrow Highway's history tells us that it was much traveled throughout the last two hundred years and before. Moving back and forth from St. Joe to Detroit people traveled it by using the once-made footsteps of the bear, deer and other wildlife. I can picture in my mind this dirt path that slowly widened with time. This road brought settlers to our area in the middle 1800s as they searched for acreage to build crude log cabins and for starting crops.
Later, and during the early nineteen hundreds, the old Model T can be envisioned zigzagging down its sandy paths or becoming bogged in its muddy ruts hoping to reach their destinations while rebelling horses whinnied from the noise and competition of the horse-less carriage. I like the name Old Territorial Road. Its name speaks history reminding us when the cessions of land took place in 1834-42 and when this region was being first settled. We couldn't imagine the stories this trail could tell.
So, the names Old Territorial Road, U.S.12, Michigan Avenue and now Red Arrow Highway, a trail made by wild animals, American Indians and others, brings satisfaction knowing that at one time your and my ancestors also traveled this same route. I can envision this road in the summer's heat having dust-filled air, bringing on tired feet, over-worked oxen and horses, broken wagon axles and little food to eat; all of this challenging past generations, as they toiled to go on. Hopefully the woods that provided shade brought some comfort to those who journeyed upon this trail while they searched for a better day and life.
(January 6th, 2006)
We are now in the doldrums of snowy, icy, dark and dreary January. The weight of bills from generous gift giving now lies heavily on our shoulders. When I look back at the holidays, it isn't the weather or the bills that puzzle me. It is the changes that take place each year. I guess I am a "died in the wool" keep things, as they are, person.
I couldn't help but draw comparisons this Christmas, comparisons of how our children and grandchildren spent the holiday and how my generation used to spend ours. Observing youngsters these days, I often say to myself, "That is not the way we used to do things." It was the small things this year that aggravated me and after pondering past holidays, I have come to the conclusion that I am just growing old. My disconcerting observances are probably no different to me than they were to my parents and grandparents a generation or two ago.
As my grandchildren traipsed through the front door to attend our Christmas celebration, I noticed they were wearing no hats or mittens, only tennis shoes on their feet and a light jacket or no coat at all. "My goodness, I thought, how are they going to spend time outside with no wraps?" In my day youngsters dressed in snow pants, heavy coats with knitted scarves tossed about their necks. They had two pair of mittens for warmth and four buckle artics covered their shoes. Jovially they anticipated the yearly snowball fight behind built snow forts or for making snowmen or angels in the snow. It was such a merry time they had to be urged to come inside for the holiday lunch. When the cold, red-faced warriors did succumb to the cold weather, they entered the house with soaked woolen outerwear and while peeling it, they nonchalantly left large icy puddles on the kitchen floor. In no time, they were consuming egg salad sandwiches and the fruit filled jello with homemade whipped cream. Scalloped potatoes and baked beans with homemade cottage cheese were also available with the help of Betsy cow's daily donation of milk and cream. Kool Aid and milk were always available and disappeared quickly with the nudging thirst from outdoor play.
This Holiday the children sat with new Ipods, MP-3s' and picture cell phones while watching the Bear's football game. "Where do you go to buy such gifts?" I asked myself. I suddenly felt "out of the loop." For our Christmas smorgasbord, I had purchased two bags of chips. I found that they were barely touched by my company. Potato chips were seldom offered in my childhood being an expensive treat and were rarely available.
Several of my guests passed up the scallop potatoes, "I never did like them," one guest bluntly stated. And my potato salad went begging also, as some grandkids were not sure what it was. Most of my guests ate the turkey but the ham was nearly left whole. "It isn't good for you Mom," My daughter stated. I myself like ham. Maybe I won't live as long as these "so-called nature- minded kids," but it seemed to me, as I observed my company throughout the day that I will live a more contented life. After all when their eyesight dims they won't be able to scrutinize food labels for chemicals and calories either. I offered, along with my expensive salad greens, a choice of dressings. They were hardly touched. When I was a kid we had summer lettuce from the garden for a short two weeks and spruced it up with sugar and vinegar. My Dad always told us it was cow food and he convinced us that cole slaw was healthier and probably so, as our cellar was full of cabbage.
Years ago and on holidays we usually dealt with the problem of traveling from and to home. The men would go out into the cold evening and fuss with the cars trying to start them. The batteries would run down and frozen radiators would boil, as they rocked in the deep snow. Putting chains on for traction and shoveling new accumulated snow kept everyone busy including the children. Several, with chattering teeth, would push the zigzagging cars down the unplowed road finally heading them toward home.
This past Christmas evening and with the dishes still in the sink, I watched my children's SUV's hurry out of the drive and zoom down the road with the taillights quickly disappearing out of sight. Standing there on aching feet, I said to myself, "what is this world coming to?" The old fashion conversations and camaraderie of working together never happened. The women doing the dishes along with jovial chatter and laughter during Christmas Day, is now apparently ancient history. The use of paper plates and dishwashers have ruined that. Like grandma I still use my good china; few noticed. "Where did the day go?" I thought. I felt cheated after days of preparation. Slowly I headed for the old rocking chair and put my feet up and closed my eyes, as I thought about the "good ol' days". The dirty dishes would just have to wait until morning.
(December 23, 2005)
Bits and pieces of past Christmases run through one's mind as they ready themselves for the holidays. As each December day flies by, various happenings occur that bring back to us childhood memories of Christmas. I was listening to Christmas music on the radio yesterday and when Jingles Bells was being sung and the words he got into a drifted bank and we became asot started me to laughing. It brought to mind the story that my father had told years ago when I was small.
In the early 1900s my aunt and uncle were quickly slipping down the road in their cutter. Being a bit careless as some young ones often are when driving, hit a snow bank turning them over into the deep snow. The horse trotted down the road pulling the little sleigh that had turned over on its side. There my aunt and uncle lay marooned and deeply covered with the white stuff. They were teased for some time.
In my childhood years we always went to my grandparents for Christmas Eve. I remember it well but my sister, who is some years older, told about her Christmas Eve with grandpa and grandma before I was born. Being in the country electricity had not yet arrived. That evening the children and women were told to stay in the kitchen with the door closed leading to the living room and there they were to wait. In time stomping and rustling was heard on the roof. A Ho, Ho, Ho came from the living room. Later when the door reopened there stood a Christmas tree with real lit candles clamped to the branches. Packages that Santa had just delivered circled the tree. After the excitement was over all family members joined hands and sang in Danish, Silent Night Holy Night, as they slowly walked around the tree. That moment brought back Christmas childhood memories to my grandparents who had left Denmark when young adults in the latter 1800s.
The hymn Silent Night will always be special to me. I remember doing the same as a tot but not with such exuberance. Then, electricity lit up the decorated tree and relatives were now getting older and less energetic for entertaining the little ones. Silent Night was now sung in English. Too me it was perfect and I never knew what the evening was like before I came along.
My mother loved reading Longfellow and often mentioned his writings. It was in 1864 that he wrote the words to the music, I heard the Bells on Christmas day their ol' familiar carols play.. I found later that he wrote these heartfelt words during the Civil War and it was his way of conveying hope to the nation and the homesick soldier boy who couldn't be home for Christmas. It gave a hope that we all search for especially at this time of the year and with the fast pace of life. We too are now at war but a different type of war. We find solace in singing hymns at Christmas. They bring needed hope and comfort. I feel fortunate to be living in a country where freedom reigns, where we can join and sing together making Christmas a meaningful and joyful time. It is a privilege that many people will never realize in our world.
Do have a joyful Christmas this year and sing Christmas Carols until your heart is content. Our country may be facing turmoil in various ways but there have been worse times. It is people like Longfellow who wrote unforgettable words that help us to remember our daily blessings. The cannon thundered in the South and with the sound the carols drowned of peace on earth good will to men!
(August 11th, 2006)
During the July 4th festivities this year, I ran across an announcement in our paper stating that fireworks were to be held at Silver Beach in St. Joseph. Silver Beach is a place that I had forgotten about but reading the notice it suddenly jarred memories of high school days. Silver Beach today is just what it probably states, just a beach. I have not visited the place for nearly 50 years. In my younger years it was a haven for teens where they enjoyed carnival rides and various amusement park games. I will always remember the roller coaster. It was my first coaster-ride and must state it was also my last. Afterwards I was just content to watch my classmates ride the various swirling and bouncing contraptions. It sure wasn't for me. The Ferris wheel was different, on top I could peer over to the big lake sighting boats and swimmers while enjoying full-circle scenery. Our 1952 High School Senior Picnic was held at Silver Beach and it was a special day. My good friend had just acquired a "very used" 1947 convertible. Jumping in we sailed off into the west on old U.S. 12 without a care, leaving Paw Paw behind. It was a beautiful day and the fun we had I cannot fully describe but here are a few tidbits.
I still have the small round aluminum piece that we stamped out on the arcade's machine. It printed approximately twenty characters. Names and dates were usually chosen. It cost 25 cents but was well worth it to the teenager. We hung them around our necks on chains advertising to school classmates that we had been to the St. Joe fun park. It definitely was a "peer pressure" thing. Also the park had a unique telephone type booth. One could enter and record their voice taking home a small 78 RPM recording of their so-called speaking or singing talents. I still have mine in a drawer someplace. The Silver Beach funhouse cost extra money to enter but it was a must. Inside it had all sort of activities to test one’s agility. Moving boards to walk on while fighting to keep balance, a big barrel that turned while one tried to stay inside without falling and mirrors that made us fat and skinny. Many at a time stood in front of them while sounds of laughter echoed throughout the barn-like building. The usual arcade of amusements was made available with challenging games such as guessing weights or showing muscle power by ringing an upward traveling bell with a big mallet. Before the day was over most went home with a stuffed toy or a silly chalk memento. A group of us walked to the nearby pier and had pictures taken to mark the school's occasion. I still have a few in my old high school scrapbook. Gosh we look young.
Now it is a time that is behind us, but the memories linger on. We had little money but managed to eke out a day of fun. We took peanut butter sandwiches and a couple of apples for our lunch. We purchased bottles of soft drinks, as a special treat. We all chipped in for gasoline. (Gas was running 25 cents a gallon, with cars traveling about twelve to fourteen miles on a gallon.) One must also remember that our escorts (dates) only made four or five dollars on weekend nights setting pins at the Paw Paw Bowlmore bowling alley. Some helped farmers put up hay for a few dollars during the summer. In such days young men paid for their girlfriend's tickets and trinkets and also supplied transportation. It was before what we now call, "Woman's Lib." It brings back to me the old 1950's song, "The Best Things In Life Are Free.
Today we can only look back and remember how special these days were. Sadly, they will never be again. I hope to get to Silver Beach one of these days. I wonder if I will recognize it?
(January 14th, 2010)
By Shirley Huffman
DOCTORS AND HORSE RIGS
In February 1929 things looked bleak, cold heavy snow was coming down, people kept
busy stoking their stoves for cooking and warmth and for our family it was the
neighbors who had the nearest phone.
At the time the little baby being
only days old, was suffering from pneumonia and she was near death. Rushing to
the neighbors, my father hurried across the field to phone the doctor to hurry.
When reaching the steps of the gracious neighbor a call was heard from the
baby's home doorway.
She has stopped breathing, no need to phone the
doctor. Its mother yelled. In haste the father hurried to phone anyway and
reported his sad news to the doctor. Put a few drops of whiskey in a teaspoon
and give it to her immediately he commanded. The doctor had been summoned but
being the horse and buggy days he could not begin to arrive in time with the
burden of harnessing up the horse and finding warm clothes for the six-mile
trip. The father hurried home and did as the doctor had said. The baby gave a
big wheeze-like sound, coughed and starting breathing again. The Dr. had left
some bourbon for such purposes and being prohibition days he joked later that
patients were using up his much-coveted good liquor.
This was the Dr.
James Maxwell who served in the Paw Paw area for over fifty years. He never
became rich. After his schooling he dealt with making a living during the Great
Depression and made dozens of house calls by horse and buggy in all sorts of
weather. He delivered hundreds of babies in homes, including yours truly, and
never worried about payment for his services, as most people, at the time were
living on the edge of poverty.
He was our family doctor for years and I
remember, as a small child, an office call was made with my mother. We walked up
the steps to the second story of the old Paw Paw Ben Franklin store to Dr.
Maxwell's office. He visited with my mother for some time and while doing so
observed my various movements. In a few minutes he stated to my mother,
she has an earache. He made a concoction of medicines from his case, place drops
in my ear and the problem was soon solved.
During the great flu epidemic
of 1918-19 known also as the Spanish Flu, he performed yeoman service and lost
only two people during that time. The flu was one of the worst in history. Many
died and my mother being only 19 at the time suffered greatly with it losing
weight and energy for months and managed to live with the help of Dr. Maxwell.
During World War II he voluntarily headed the local rationing board that
dealt with distributing rationing stamps in this area for sugar, gas, coffee,
tires and other commodities that were in great demand
In 1946 my
sister, the same that nearly died in 1929, was stricken with Vincents Angina
and again, Doc Maxwell traveled out to our farm to give her penicillin shots.
By this time he was very old and shaky. My sister would start crying to see
his car come up the road, as it hurt terribly to receive the painful shot by his
quivering hand. Needles were much bigger then.
Dr. Maxwell lived in
the house on Oak St. that still stands behind the Strength and Beyond business.
He never became a rich man and didn't worry about being one. He was a true
servant of the people in his time helping them through economic and emotional
hardships and illnesses.
I was born at the end of the Great Depression and
it took my parents ten years to pay this doctor the $45.00 they owed for my
delivery. I still have the receipt of the last dollars payment stating PAID IN
FULL
Dr. Maxwell must have been an understanding and kind man. For
those who were unable to pay he still gave good medical service any time of day
or night no matter how busy or tired he was. Before his death and in 1951 Dr.
James Maxwell was awarded the honor of Outstanding Family Physician by the
Michigan Medical Society
Note: Dr. Maxwell's contemporaries were Dr.
Ferguson, a town dentist who lived in the house just north of "Strength and
Beyond" and Dr. W.F. Hoyt who seemed to be somewhat more prosperous. He was known
to give physicals to country school eighth graders that were preparing for High
school. At one time he had a dapper looking black driver to chauffeur him place
to place. Several of his modern ideas were incorporated into the Lake View
Community Hospital. Dr.A. Steele and Dr.C. TenHouten later followed in the
footsteps of these doctors serving our community.
"Nobody Knows It But Me"