Once we were visitingthe Mike Cassassa place.
Mike and his wife were very very Italian and made wine and the best cheeses,
Mike chewed a tobacco from a yellow package. He would stuff a great big 'chaw' in his mouth and seem very elated at the taste. Then he would chew and stuff the wad somewhere in his mouth--under his lips I guess finally needing to spit the juice out. He was remarkably accurate at what ever he aimed the spit. It seemed he could spit and hit a fly at 20 feet distance. Y'know, I envied that ability and when I'd have raisins to eat I'd pretend I was chewing like Mike and waste some of my sweet raisin juice on a target--usually a fly.
When we visited Mike's place for some reason or other, we were taken to the root cellar. I saw three packages of this chewing tobacco in the back of the cellar , and when no one was looking I helped myself ( God was watching and the devil too) to a package of tobacco. Wow now I could learn to chew and spit like Mike can.
It came time to get on the old truck--a flat bed 1927 Chevrolt truck--to go home. When no one was looking, I sneaked a big 'chaw' into my mouth and boarded the truck. We stood up at the back of the cab holding onto the back board for stability.
I chewed my wad hurriedly to get some juice to spit off the side of the truck trying to maybe hit a squirrel or a stump--- anything for practice. Mike was able to even swallow some of this juice. BUT, I didn't intentionally try to swallow the readily made excess juices. BUT I absorbed some of the deadly nicotine through the tissues in my mouth and it wasn't long till I was very ill and dizzy. When we drove into the yard, no one had any idea what was wrong with me. I was dying-- or felt like it and it would be better I thought if I did die. I went to the outhouse and heaved and urped and again I learned that tobacco was a poison. But why is it that others could with stand it? was I a freak? I think I dumped the rest of the package into the out house hole. I couldn't confess to any one about this particular theft for which I was immediately punished, but y'know what? it was one of the sins I confessed when I became a real Catholic over seas. Yes I was finally absolved. The punishment was life long.
There was another tobacco chewing person I can never forget. He was the owner manager of the Thorp water powered mill. It was where we most often took wheat down to have made into flour and Farina --. One winter day, we loaded the sleigh up with about 6 sacks of out own wheat. John drove the mules with Donald and me going along for the sleigh ride about 20 miles away from home. That's a day of nothing but cold misery you can bet..On Ice and snow.
When we got to the mill and John asked the miller to do the grinding, the old man took us to his tiny office. In one corner was a large pot bellied stove which was a very welcomed item. We hugged the stove to regain our body warmth while the miller ground the wheat. At one point he entered the office and asked if we'd like him to make for us , some FARINA--gee, we never heard of it so we agreed and he filled a sack which is now a cereal--it was new to us.
Looking at the office walls, the old calendar and the stove itself, it was readily known that this man was a tobacco chewer. Every inch--even the ceilings were spotted with tobacco juice--the stove too. He most likely killed flies with his spit. We could also smell an odor of burning scalding spit on the hot stove. Ugh!
We made it home at dark, and we told our mother about the miller who chewed and spat, then in our minds we conjured up the ugly thought that what and where did he spit as he was grinding the wheat? Nobody knows.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Nancy asked if I ever tried smoking
Nancy asked if I ever tried to learn to smoke.
Yes I tried. It was a 'learning process' I saw all the old men smoking--some smoked pipes --some smoked cigars and some rolled their own. It looked like something a 'man' had to learn to be a man.
Daddy smoked when he could--that is even a nickels worth of Bull Durham was expensive in those day--you got a small bag of groundup tobacco and the paper was in a little packet glued to the bag. My Dad would hold a paper tween his left fingers and made a trough into which to pour a dab of this ground tobacco. Then with a bit of acrobatic skill he could roll the paper into a cigaret form and to prevent the paper from unraveling. he'd lick the paper an that was the ingredient to stick the papers together. Then he'd twist the ends to prevent a little loss of this precisous stuff from falling out. Inserting it in between his lips he was able to strike a match on the seat of his pants--he'd lift a leg to cause the denim to be like sand paper and the match would light. He's hold the burning match in a cupped hand taking the lit match to his cigaret end --this cupping would prevent the match from being extinguished. The twisted end ot the rolled cigaret was like a fuse to a fire cracker.Then with a draft from a puff or two the tobacco was lit. Ah !! such enjoyment to puff and puff like a locomotive at the station. Sometimes --no--more often he'd take a mouth ful of smoke and bloww it out his nose like a mad bull in the funnies. It looked like a lot of fun.
So why not do the same as Daddy? We rolled up newspapers and lit the end . The taste was horrible and the smoke wasn't like tabocco smoke. With a little more experimentation we sneaked coffee and rolled someup into a cigaret to smoke. Right in front of Daddy and Ma too!! but my mother didn't think that was so bad, she had brothers and a father too who smoked. It was how a man was growing up. So the next experiment was to find dried up sunflower leaves and crush them into a powder that resembled Bull Durham. When that burned it had a sweet taste which lasted forever on your tongue.
When we visited the neighbors they also would experiment with learning to smoke. And wouldn't you guess that there was no limit on what would serve as tobacco--hear this!! dried Horse manure--yes, it's finely ground vegetable fibers now and "purified".It wasn't suitable for smoking I learned. Are you urping yet?
The neighbor boys folks had a hired man named Bill Nelson. He smoked real tobacco. He would buy a whole carton of Granger tobacco which must have been made by the Bull Durham company because the tobacco came in very similar little bags.
When we'd visit the neighbor boys, we'd often hide in the empty irrigation canals to try out the tobacco. They'd steal a bag from the upstairs room where Bill Nelson roomed. We'd smoke and I had to finally give up because of the burnt tongue taste which lasted for days. I could see why smoking is a crutch to lean on when you wanted to diet--nothing tasted like food--it always was 'burnt tongue".
Once at a Grange dance which we tried always to attend, One of the boys, somehow bought a pack of rreal cigarettes--they were called "KOOLS". They had a menthol taste and a little bit better taste with better results if your nose was plugged up.The menthol served as a nasal decongestant. It did more for me at least.To smoke in a school in those days was a crime but at the dances and Grange meeting that rule didn't apply. So the place to be trying this pack of cigaretes was down in the men's room which was under the stage. I remember Charlie Newton smoking as if a veteran at it--and Fred too and Bob Roseburg--and I don't remember Donald being there. Or Junior Roseburg--maybe they were excluded from our "smoker's club' because they were two years younger than I was. I wasn't the ring leader by any means and did not have money to contribute to this but because it was on a dare basis, I did try smoking. I don't remember my folks ever admonishing us for trying.
I made corn cob pipes and I made a pipe out of elder berry brush. I also found many used old clay pipes at the old Bednar farm after the Bednars nearly all died off and left the place. Smoking was the 'thing to do' and pipes were a fashion. I was never ever though, a great fan of smoking and I absolutely abhored women to smoke--and here's one reason which stuck in my mind--/
In the old days my Dad couldn't afford a license on the car to go to town so he'd alaways take the back streets as soon as he entered town and would park out side of nearly the limits, by the rail road track. Now in those days Cle Elum was famous for its string of Whore houses on Railroad street. There were lots of rumors about the street of houses and why and how come they were allowed. No use telling those rumors here.
Well as we drove pass some of the houses there'd be a lady (?) in the window all dolled up with heavy red lips and other make up beckoning passers by for business. I didn't know beans about them. But those women smoked and I found out later their trade. So I felt that if a woman smoked she was beckoning.Soliciting--so I hated to see women smoke and it was a requirement and my most important behavioral traits when thinking of a marriagable mate. So I shied away from women who smoked--really.
So as time went on, I left home to work in a saw mill. I thought that smoking a pipe was the cat's meow so I bought a cheap pipe and a can of tobacco. My buddy JIm Graves and his brother Chuck smoked heavily/ I couldn't hack the cigaret route and the pipe might be better. But the hot smoke coming out of the stem hit my tender tongue and burned it and also made the ugly taste of burnt flesh. It also compelled me to spit so often I was losing weight I think.
So I just quit for ever and became an obnoxious tobacco hater--so much that my brother in law told me "Why don't you get on a soap box" -- ,hearing that I then toned down my rhetoric agaist smoking and as you know now today there are laws which I am in favor of but I didn't contribute a bit toward to cause the banning of smoking in nearly all places.
BUT I must say the most --the very most--experiment was when Donald and I found a brand new unwrapped and banded cigar in the trash which Daddy hauled from the restaraunts in town. WE had a teepee made of burlap out in the yard for a play house. We had a kerosene wick burning in the middle. Then we unwrapped the cigar and with a pocket knife we spilt it ever so carefully to not cheat the other one out of a cigar. Then over the kerosene wick, we lit the cigars and began to puff puff puff-to make a big flame. It wasn't long till I had a couple brothers on the other side of the flame--I was sick beyond words. Somehow Donald wasn't as sick. I made it to the creek and laid there with my hands and face in the cool water--and urping violently feeling as green as the tree leaves. MY older brother John came by and just laughed a big horse laugh as I lay there in my death throes. I was able to make it from there to lay in the sun on a wood box. The illness lasted for three days. I was cured. I knew that tobacco was a poison. Later Donald used it to worm hogs--yes some tobacco in the feed and the pigs would poop out any worms it had in the intestinal tract. The pigs then grew faster. So yes, Tobacco is a poison.
When I went to the army, soldiers were given cigarets free, but I sold mine when I got my ration. Over seas cigarets was like having gold--for trading to civilians. I bartered for other items.
I am now happy the anti smoking laws have passed. I discourage the use of tobacco --except for worming pigs.
Yes I tried. It was a 'learning process' I saw all the old men smoking--some smoked pipes --some smoked cigars and some rolled their own. It looked like something a 'man' had to learn to be a man.
Daddy smoked when he could--that is even a nickels worth of Bull Durham was expensive in those day--you got a small bag of groundup tobacco and the paper was in a little packet glued to the bag. My Dad would hold a paper tween his left fingers and made a trough into which to pour a dab of this ground tobacco. Then with a bit of acrobatic skill he could roll the paper into a cigaret form and to prevent the paper from unraveling. he'd lick the paper an that was the ingredient to stick the papers together. Then he'd twist the ends to prevent a little loss of this precisous stuff from falling out. Inserting it in between his lips he was able to strike a match on the seat of his pants--he'd lift a leg to cause the denim to be like sand paper and the match would light. He's hold the burning match in a cupped hand taking the lit match to his cigaret end --this cupping would prevent the match from being extinguished. The twisted end ot the rolled cigaret was like a fuse to a fire cracker.Then with a draft from a puff or two the tobacco was lit. Ah !! such enjoyment to puff and puff like a locomotive at the station. Sometimes --no--more often he'd take a mouth ful of smoke and bloww it out his nose like a mad bull in the funnies. It looked like a lot of fun.
So why not do the same as Daddy? We rolled up newspapers and lit the end . The taste was horrible and the smoke wasn't like tabocco smoke. With a little more experimentation we sneaked coffee and rolled someup into a cigaret to smoke. Right in front of Daddy and Ma too!! but my mother didn't think that was so bad, she had brothers and a father too who smoked. It was how a man was growing up. So the next experiment was to find dried up sunflower leaves and crush them into a powder that resembled Bull Durham. When that burned it had a sweet taste which lasted forever on your tongue.
When we visited the neighbors they also would experiment with learning to smoke. And wouldn't you guess that there was no limit on what would serve as tobacco--hear this!! dried Horse manure--yes, it's finely ground vegetable fibers now and "purified".It wasn't suitable for smoking I learned. Are you urping yet?
The neighbor boys folks had a hired man named Bill Nelson. He smoked real tobacco. He would buy a whole carton of Granger tobacco which must have been made by the Bull Durham company because the tobacco came in very similar little bags.
When we'd visit the neighbor boys, we'd often hide in the empty irrigation canals to try out the tobacco. They'd steal a bag from the upstairs room where Bill Nelson roomed. We'd smoke and I had to finally give up because of the burnt tongue taste which lasted for days. I could see why smoking is a crutch to lean on when you wanted to diet--nothing tasted like food--it always was 'burnt tongue".
Once at a Grange dance which we tried always to attend, One of the boys, somehow bought a pack of rreal cigarettes--they were called "KOOLS". They had a menthol taste and a little bit better taste with better results if your nose was plugged up.The menthol served as a nasal decongestant. It did more for me at least.To smoke in a school in those days was a crime but at the dances and Grange meeting that rule didn't apply. So the place to be trying this pack of cigaretes was down in the men's room which was under the stage. I remember Charlie Newton smoking as if a veteran at it--and Fred too and Bob Roseburg--and I don't remember Donald being there. Or Junior Roseburg--maybe they were excluded from our "smoker's club' because they were two years younger than I was. I wasn't the ring leader by any means and did not have money to contribute to this but because it was on a dare basis, I did try smoking. I don't remember my folks ever admonishing us for trying.
I made corn cob pipes and I made a pipe out of elder berry brush. I also found many used old clay pipes at the old Bednar farm after the Bednars nearly all died off and left the place. Smoking was the 'thing to do' and pipes were a fashion. I was never ever though, a great fan of smoking and I absolutely abhored women to smoke--and here's one reason which stuck in my mind--/
In the old days my Dad couldn't afford a license on the car to go to town so he'd alaways take the back streets as soon as he entered town and would park out side of nearly the limits, by the rail road track. Now in those days Cle Elum was famous for its string of Whore houses on Railroad street. There were lots of rumors about the street of houses and why and how come they were allowed. No use telling those rumors here.
Well as we drove pass some of the houses there'd be a lady (?) in the window all dolled up with heavy red lips and other make up beckoning passers by for business. I didn't know beans about them. But those women smoked and I found out later their trade. So I felt that if a woman smoked she was beckoning.Soliciting--so I hated to see women smoke and it was a requirement and my most important behavioral traits when thinking of a marriagable mate. So I shied away from women who smoked--really.
So as time went on, I left home to work in a saw mill. I thought that smoking a pipe was the cat's meow so I bought a cheap pipe and a can of tobacco. My buddy JIm Graves and his brother Chuck smoked heavily/ I couldn't hack the cigaret route and the pipe might be better. But the hot smoke coming out of the stem hit my tender tongue and burned it and also made the ugly taste of burnt flesh. It also compelled me to spit so often I was losing weight I think.
So I just quit for ever and became an obnoxious tobacco hater--so much that my brother in law told me "Why don't you get on a soap box" -- ,hearing that I then toned down my rhetoric agaist smoking and as you know now today there are laws which I am in favor of but I didn't contribute a bit toward to cause the banning of smoking in nearly all places.
BUT I must say the most --the very most--experiment was when Donald and I found a brand new unwrapped and banded cigar in the trash which Daddy hauled from the restaraunts in town. WE had a teepee made of burlap out in the yard for a play house. We had a kerosene wick burning in the middle. Then we unwrapped the cigar and with a pocket knife we spilt it ever so carefully to not cheat the other one out of a cigar. Then over the kerosene wick, we lit the cigars and began to puff puff puff-to make a big flame. It wasn't long till I had a couple brothers on the other side of the flame--I was sick beyond words. Somehow Donald wasn't as sick. I made it to the creek and laid there with my hands and face in the cool water--and urping violently feeling as green as the tree leaves. MY older brother John came by and just laughed a big horse laugh as I lay there in my death throes. I was able to make it from there to lay in the sun on a wood box. The illness lasted for three days. I was cured. I knew that tobacco was a poison. Later Donald used it to worm hogs--yes some tobacco in the feed and the pigs would poop out any worms it had in the intestinal tract. The pigs then grew faster. So yes, Tobacco is a poison.
When I went to the army, soldiers were given cigarets free, but I sold mine when I got my ration. Over seas cigarets was like having gold--for trading to civilians. I bartered for other items.
I am now happy the anti smoking laws have passed. I discourage the use of tobacco --except for worming pigs.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Sandra will be 60 on August 4th wow
Yes it's true, Sandra will be 60 years old tomorrow!!! I can't believe it. I tell my kids I am feeling sorry for them and they ask why Dad? and my response is, "You all are getting older than me". Gee to think I am going on 87 myself. I am so very lucky to have had this life. There were so many times when I thought I had breathed my last breath. The army--I was in the Infantry you know and was in the midst of front line war--often in no man's land--that's being on duty between the lines. How did I ever ever make it?. I guess it is attributed to the many "Hail Marys" I learned from the front line Priest , Father Hanley--the catechism he taught me.
So Sandra now nearly is retirement age . I'm proud of her. We didn't have much money for higher education but we were able to afford a business school course. She lived with my brother in law George and Sue in Vancouver for maybe 6 months attending the business school. Then she came home and worked in a local bank.
She applied for work here in Yakima and found a job at Merrill Lynch. She went from there to another Stock broker and from there to be manager of Dain Rausch stock broker office. So it is with pride I commend her for lifting herself above the ordinary.
Maybe she'll read this portion of my blog--Happy Birthday Sandra.
Have I told you about her name selection? And the day she was born? Well here goes.
It was time to go!! We had to drive all the way to Yakima from Grandview and I worried about getting there in time. We went to the St Elizabeth Catholic Hospital and checked in. She was on an upper floor in a room with another 'birthing person'. I was having a visit from Chuck Graves for 'support' and we were just killing time walking around and around the hospital awaiting word of the birth. How would we know? if we didn't keep checking at the desk.
At last the attendant said it had been happening all the time I was visiting with Chuck. I couldn't send him away could I? No so he stayed as a best friend and support. Would I faint maybe? Ha!
I came into the room not yet knowing if it was a boy or girl. If it was a boy it would be named after me--that was a forgone conclusion --if it was a girl , it would be Norma Jean--but I rejected the Norma Jean name because I had a date or two with a girl name Norma Jean. It wasn't all that bad a name, but I didn't want to recall those 'old dates' each time I called my little girl.
The lady in the next bed--I think she was the wife of Henry Stotsenberg--the famed used car dealer in town. She admired Sandra's 'olive skin' ..Yes Sandra did have an "olive" skin taking after my skin and ethnicity I guess-. The lady suggested that Sandra should be named---hear this---CORDELIA--. That's as bad as Esmirelda--. WE went thru a litany of names and selected Sandra for no other reason than it was the 'right' name for her--Sandra Norma--wouldn't you guess.
When I walked into the room , I saw the bundle in her mothers arms and her mother began to cry--she said, sobbing, "It's a girl". She did all she could to have a healthy little baby. We were blessed.This was part of my hopes and prayers when I was on Anzio, praying that someday to have a family and be free. My life was shaping up to be a good one. I made the right choices.
In choosing names for our kids I always tried to fore see the probabilities of teasing in school. And we succeded in that except Toni had a tease or two--Toni--baloney--that's the usual moniker that goes with that name.
I just recalled another aspect to these days in waiting. I was warned by one of Mickey's relative who were some what anti Catholic, that I had better have the money to pay the hospital on the spot or I wouldn't be able to take the Baby homer. That sounded a bit cruel and off color but I couldn't take a chance on an arguement at the checkout desk.
So I went out with the combine and sought job after job doing harvesting peas and beans to collect enough money to have to settle at the Hospital. I didn't have good credit at those days being just out of the army and whatever we bought was with cash--except Sears and Wards gave me credit for furniture and appliances.WE kept those payments up on time--but it was a different story now regarding paying the hospital.
It was as hot a summer as it is at this time. I worked long and hard taking care of the irrigation and the combining jobs. Then it came time.
I went to check out at the desk and I was pleased and surprised when the girl asked,"How do you want to pay for this?". The bill came to about $150, Imagine that. So it wasn't at all like the anti Catholic aunt had warned me. The Hospital was the most benevolent there was and in these late days they had to fold because of the large debt because of the services to the poor and non payers.
It was always opened to the poor. The bums and hungry could always go to the back door and get a lunch, one bum told me. It was a late as in the 90s when I picked up a hitch hiker in Grandview. I asked where he wanted to be let off ( he rode in the back of the pickup) and he said, "Drop me off at the Hospital--I need a lunch".
So Sandra now nearly is retirement age . I'm proud of her. We didn't have much money for higher education but we were able to afford a business school course. She lived with my brother in law George and Sue in Vancouver for maybe 6 months attending the business school. Then she came home and worked in a local bank.
She applied for work here in Yakima and found a job at Merrill Lynch. She went from there to another Stock broker and from there to be manager of Dain Rausch stock broker office. So it is with pride I commend her for lifting herself above the ordinary.
Maybe she'll read this portion of my blog--Happy Birthday Sandra.
Have I told you about her name selection? And the day she was born? Well here goes.
It was time to go!! We had to drive all the way to Yakima from Grandview and I worried about getting there in time. We went to the St Elizabeth Catholic Hospital and checked in. She was on an upper floor in a room with another 'birthing person'. I was having a visit from Chuck Graves for 'support' and we were just killing time walking around and around the hospital awaiting word of the birth. How would we know? if we didn't keep checking at the desk.
At last the attendant said it had been happening all the time I was visiting with Chuck. I couldn't send him away could I? No so he stayed as a best friend and support. Would I faint maybe? Ha!
I came into the room not yet knowing if it was a boy or girl. If it was a boy it would be named after me--that was a forgone conclusion --if it was a girl , it would be Norma Jean--but I rejected the Norma Jean name because I had a date or two with a girl name Norma Jean. It wasn't all that bad a name, but I didn't want to recall those 'old dates' each time I called my little girl.
The lady in the next bed--I think she was the wife of Henry Stotsenberg--the famed used car dealer in town. She admired Sandra's 'olive skin' ..Yes Sandra did have an "olive" skin taking after my skin and ethnicity I guess-. The lady suggested that Sandra should be named---hear this---CORDELIA--. That's as bad as Esmirelda--. WE went thru a litany of names and selected Sandra for no other reason than it was the 'right' name for her--Sandra Norma--wouldn't you guess.
When I walked into the room , I saw the bundle in her mothers arms and her mother began to cry--she said, sobbing, "It's a girl". She did all she could to have a healthy little baby. We were blessed.This was part of my hopes and prayers when I was on Anzio, praying that someday to have a family and be free. My life was shaping up to be a good one. I made the right choices.
In choosing names for our kids I always tried to fore see the probabilities of teasing in school. And we succeded in that except Toni had a tease or two--Toni--baloney--that's the usual moniker that goes with that name.
I just recalled another aspect to these days in waiting. I was warned by one of Mickey's relative who were some what anti Catholic, that I had better have the money to pay the hospital on the spot or I wouldn't be able to take the Baby homer. That sounded a bit cruel and off color but I couldn't take a chance on an arguement at the checkout desk.
So I went out with the combine and sought job after job doing harvesting peas and beans to collect enough money to have to settle at the Hospital. I didn't have good credit at those days being just out of the army and whatever we bought was with cash--except Sears and Wards gave me credit for furniture and appliances.WE kept those payments up on time--but it was a different story now regarding paying the hospital.
It was as hot a summer as it is at this time. I worked long and hard taking care of the irrigation and the combining jobs. Then it came time.
I went to check out at the desk and I was pleased and surprised when the girl asked,"How do you want to pay for this?". The bill came to about $150, Imagine that. So it wasn't at all like the anti Catholic aunt had warned me. The Hospital was the most benevolent there was and in these late days they had to fold because of the large debt because of the services to the poor and non payers.
It was always opened to the poor. The bums and hungry could always go to the back door and get a lunch, one bum told me. It was a late as in the 90s when I picked up a hitch hiker in Grandview. I asked where he wanted to be let off ( he rode in the back of the pickup) and he said, "Drop me off at the Hospital--I need a lunch".
Nancy asked about the time she danced on the ceiling
Nancy asked about dancing on the ceiling---yes it's true she danced on the ceiling more than once. She was a little girl then--I mean a few years old --in that era maybe even in diapers.
I would pick her up and hoist her feet to the ceiling where she would dance . I can vaguely remember her patent leather shiny black shoes and white stockings. Tapping on the ceiling. These events happened often --just for entertainment and fatherly fun.
At that time I had built a big new room addition --we had 7 foot ceilings which made it practical for dancing on the ceiling.
I would pick her up and hoist her feet to the ceiling where she would dance . I can vaguely remember her patent leather shiny black shoes and white stockings. Tapping on the ceiling. These events happened often --just for entertainment and fatherly fun.
At that time I had built a big new room addition --we had 7 foot ceilings which made it practical for dancing on the ceiling.
But I had to be careful. This brings to mind a time I am not happy about. We were visiting Mickey's family. They lived in a tiny one room house in very poor surroundings. The house was cement block about 16 X 32. The family was still very young. In the middle of the room was a single light fixture. It was an inexpensive set up with a glass shade. I was in a playful mood with Sandra and I lifted her up over my head for a thrill and to my sorrow, I bumped her head on the light fixture. I guess I even busted the bulb--CRASH! I was so embarrassed and ashamed and full of remorse at the instance. So I vowed I'd be more watchful and careful any time I'd think of lifting the kids up over head for a thrill . I see many father's do this with their off spring and I worry about the child being injured in some way. Sooo--father's don' do dat'.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
some one asked about my old army truck
MY old army truck --a beginning of farming for me.
This story has to go back to nearly boyhood. My brother John was a frugal person and saved everything too. He bgan saving money in a can and lorded it over us from time to time. We didn't have a dime saved but wanted to earn. So Donald and I found an old saw, (John wouldn't let us use his saw) . We cut down a tree and made wood for our first money. We did earn a little picking potatoes for the neighbor Roseburgs. The pay was like 2and 1/2 cents a part sack.
The first cord of wood though went to John to trade for the old guitar that Uncle Matt gave him--for a cord of wood. The guitar started a competition on who would learn the most chords faster and better--that's another story however.
The first real money I remember that John made was wood cutting. He also was an avid trapper and was a ble to do the skinning in professional; manner. He sold the furs to a Seattle buyer.The other job was for the mink farm up the road a half mile. The Matt Leyde mink farm. John earned $20 a month.
This is a little aside from the subject matter but one day, we noticed smoke rising from the woods on the side of Mount Peoh. So we knew that it would spread if unattended. We heroically loaded up shovels and axes and other tools and forgetting water for our selves , we drove up the trail on the 1927 Chev truck to as near to the fire as we could go. The fire was started by an accidental toss of a match by the sheep herder who was herding a big band of sheep on the hills. He didn't admit it but we knew there was no other way a fire could have started--there were no lighting strikes at all on that hot day.
WE tried to put out the fire which was spreading faster than we could douse it. The hopes were that the Forest Service lookoput would report this fire from the lookout which was only a mile away on top of the highest hill.
The Forest service came in full force and relieved us-- They had water for our thirst and sandwiches too. They also had better tools for us to use.
As a result we were put on the payroll . That was a welcomed amount of money for my savings. I don't remember the amount. John was old enough to ask for a job with the forest service and was accepted. That left open the job at the Mink farm which was handed down to me now at a dollar a day for 10 hour days. I walked to work. I ate at home but I milked and helped do the haying etc. These were the years that Donald had to be bed ridden to recover as best as possible from his bout with Rheumatic fever. That's another story to tell later.
So saving money became more or less a competition with John having the greatest start and advantage being 3 years older than I. No one really knew how much John had stashed away but it was a growing amount. John kept it a secret. He had private ambitions.
That summer I worked 90 days and saved $90. I put it all in the bank then withdrew $10 to buy school clothes and returned to high school.
As you know, there was a war brewing and in fact going on in Europe. I had to sign up for the draft. After I graduated from High school in the spring of 1942, I sought work which would actually pay me wages. I found work at the Snoqualmie Mill at about $6.00 a day with board in their bunk house. Jim Graves and I were close buddies working together on the green chain which sorted lumber after it left the saws. It was very hard work and required a really good set of leather gloves and plenty of salt tablets and water to prevent heat stroke.
We heard a report that the Unions in Seattle were begging for welder's helpers in the Lake Washington ship Yards. One day we just quit on the job and like Johnny Paychek sang,
"Take this job and shove it". That wasn't the appropriate thing to do I later found out.
WE got jobs as welders helpers at $11.00 dollars a day. Imagine that and they also taught us to be come welders. I was really happy about that.
The draft was on our tails. so we tried to enlist in the Airforce or the Navy and or the Coast guard or merchant marines and for some reason we couldn't enlist. The reason was really that too many persons were choosing these services for the same reason we wanted . The chance of survival was better. I called it the "soft services" --I wanted to avoid the Infantry as much as possible.That's where the casualties were the highest and living that life was very miserable.
The pay was elevated to $50 per month, When John went in after the Forest service he was paid only $20 per month. John asked to be an MP and he went right to guarding and other MP duties on the Gate at Fort Lewis in near Tacoma. I visited him a few times.
So my number was getting close to being called. The only chance now to get in the Navy or the Airforce or Coast Guard was to Volunteer for the draft--that is to ask the draft board to send you in the service right away. The Department issued an incentive for volunteering--that you had the choice of services if you volunteered. So when we reported for the exams in Fort Lewis, we were standing in line naked as a jay bird awaiting a doctors physical . The Sargeant in charge counted down --one two, three, four, five--every fifth person was asked to step out of line and was given the opportunity to choose the service into which he would enlist. I was number three. So there went my last chance for the Navy etc.
Before being shipped out I arranged with my mother to have my pay sent to a joint bank account. I had my mother do it because Daddy didn't write English so well. I asked the army paymaster to send all but about $5 which I might need for myself to my mother whom I entrusted to deposit in our account. She could usre it if she'd want to.
I sent any other amounts like when I'd sell my ration or cigarettes or even when I liberated about $250 from the germans or sell some other thing, which I would ask the company clerk to send home. At the last final months I became a Sargeant which paid more and I was paid more for combat pay and medals--I think my last checks were something like $105 a month.
The accumulation amounted to a little more that $2000 --plus the $300 which was called "mustering out "pay. Along with that they pinned a pin in the lapel which someone called the "Ruptured duck".--It's an eagle really--.
I had a stash of money started. So did John who had to stay in Germany as occupation troops. He also had a similar arrangement with my mother and a bank account. This was wise because there was no guarantee we'd return home--- both had life insurance policies listing the loved ones as beneficiaries.
Why I got the truck? As it was, Donald and Daddy farmed to gether and they were doing really fine on the war economy. Donald blossomed into a full fledged farmer. He took over mostly and learned to raise chickens and pigs. He worried about our mother whose arms were getting too arthritic from milking 25 cows--Let's not leave Daddy out of this now. He was a workhorse too. He didn't milk to my mothers satisfaction though--that's another story.
One day when our mother was having a terrible time with her arms, Donald found a cattle buyer and sold the entire herd of cows. Just like that. Now Mom could rest her arms. She was very upset when the truck left the yard, but Donald handed her the biggest check she'd ever seen. But Ma was put out that she "Didn't have nuthin' to do now". Donald late 'fixed that" he gave her a bunch of sheep. And that's another story.
So farming was tough after the war. Prices for farm products went to pot. Daddy was afraid of the partner ship with Donald because his name was on all the notes as back up for Donald. The crop was hauled down to a cellar in Thorp on two old delapidated trucks--the 1927 and another I think 1935 chev truck.
Donald's farming practice needed a truck. As it is , I didn't know what I wanted to do after the army. I was having trouble adjusting and very reluctant to spend any of the money I had in the bank. I always wanted to 'go to Hollywood'--that's another story.
So after I had a promise that if I bought an army surplus truck I would be paid back from the proceeds of that years' potatoe crop. Ah Ha!--Then I'd seek my fortune in Hollywood. Imagine that.
I signed up for War surplus material and got monthly reports on the offerings at Mt Rainier Army ordinance depot near Tacoma. It listed every thing in surpus. From Caterpillars and steam shovels to jeeps and trucks.
Daddy, Donald and I took a trip there and selected a GMC artillery tractor with only 16,000 mile on it. The price was $1208. and a few cents. I had a cashier's check made our for a little more and they didn't have change--I got the change years later.
I drove the truck home. It drove so well I was pleased. The truck had too short a wheelbase for a Farm truck so Donald who was to be the owner eventually, took the truck down to Ellensburg to a machine shop and tractor dealer, Rathbuns, if I remember correctly, and for $160.00 he had the frame lengthened to be able to hold an 18 foot bed. IN that day that was the longest truck bed.
I drove the truck home and was greatly disappointed to find that the drive shaft at 82 inches, was too long to withstand speeds over 25 Miles perhour--It went into a shimmy. So I turned around and went back to complain. They immediately tried to take out the imbalances but it didn't work. You had to drive under the vibration or speed up to get over the super sonic speed which allowed doing 35 mph. That was the worst part of having that truck.
WE hurriedly made a bed and hauled a load of hay to Roslyn. Then Donald found a potatoe buyer to buy his potatoes hauled directly to the produce row in Seattle.
I have to backup and say that Donald and Daddy's crop brought them each $87. dollars clear so the promise to buy the truck was hopeless. I then had to bite the bullet and own a truck.
Donald also built a cellar that summer to hold his potatoes for winter sale. I helped both John and Donald during those years of adjustment without asking for any pay. I survived working on the farm and a few odd jobs with the truck and I also made use of the Veterans Administration's unemployment program--we called it the Fifty Two Twenty Club". A program I needed and was thankful for which gave a Vet $20 a week if he couldn't find a job. Since I owned a truck and made a few bucks I had to report it weekly. That disqualified me for the $20 for that week. So I helped John clear his land on Indian John HIll where the Free way went thru rendering the cleared land almost useless to farm. I also helped John cut logs out of his land. At this time I have to say, that John was in most need for a catrerpillar. Donald bought one $1650.00 and we agreed to share 3 ways--Donald was good that way and did this out of charity--he paid cash for it. John benefitted from the tractor and I ran the dozer for no pay. John later backed out of his share of the Cat. His job was done. We forgave him. There's a big story that has to be left untold about all this.
Now Donald need a potatoe sorter. I still had some cash left, I bought a small potatoe sorter to use that winter. All the labor was donated as it is on farms, John and Daddy and my mother and I sorted a load, Donald was the main boss seeing that each potatoe weighed a certain amount and shape. Also finally weighing each sack at a 100 pound exactly ot a hair more. Every sack was placed on the truck untill we had a ten ton load. The next morning I'd get up really early and Mom would cook a breakfast and I'd take the load about 100 miles over to Seattles produce row where I'd unload a few sacks at different docks. Some times I'd take a part load over to Tacoma. I wouldn't eat all day and my stomach would cramp. Once in Tacoma, at producec row, I saw an apple box half full of ripend bananas. I asked the attendant what they are going to do with those bananas and he said. " Take 'em --help yerself" and boy did I!! I brought bananas home and that was my day's meal.
I was able to keep the money I made hauling to Seattle. I got like $4.50 a ton. I saved it and saved it. I now was able to recover some of the money I paid for the truck. The truck however seemed to become comunity property. Anyone could use if if they pleased.
When we moved to Grandview, the truck was used to move the machinery down. It could haul the great big 35 caterpillar --dozer blade and all.
I used the truck to earn money for survival hauling potatoes out of the field for neighbors, In those days many trucks couldn't make it in the sandy ground but my front wheel drive crawled anywhere. The irony is that I wasn't paid more than the others who had to have a tractor pulling it along in the tough places. I hauled the biggest loads and there was 'shock and awe' at the potatoe warehouses when I'd come in. The shock and awe was because there were less break times in between loads for the ladies on the sorter.
Buying tires for the truck was a big expense. I could never buy as new set----it took 10 tires and they should all be even sized because of the 6x6 driven wheels.
I would never have spent the money for the truck if it hadn't been for Donald's need for the truck. Thereby I owe Donald for that start in farming. The truck and the army savings was the key to my own success and in helping Donald too.
My little girls also drove that truck to help me in the fields. Sandra steered it for me when I was picking rocks. Maybe she'll remember it too. And of course Cynthia also drove it helping me load hay in the fields . The army jeep also was used in similar fashion. Sandra might remember how to take the top off the transmission of the jeep when the shift lever wold skip the rails thereby rendering the transmission useless. It would stall often till I found another transmission and transfer case. I miss those jeeps and I must say the old 6x6 army truck which I sold finally to a restorer name Adams here locally.He offered $1500 for it which was a sum I couldn't refuse. Some day he said he's take me for a last ride in it. Did I say, "LAST RIDE?"
Remind me to tell about the time the caterpillar almost slid off the truck bed.
This story has to go back to nearly boyhood. My brother John was a frugal person and saved everything too. He bgan saving money in a can and lorded it over us from time to time. We didn't have a dime saved but wanted to earn. So Donald and I found an old saw, (John wouldn't let us use his saw) . We cut down a tree and made wood for our first money. We did earn a little picking potatoes for the neighbor Roseburgs. The pay was like 2and 1/2 cents a part sack.
The first cord of wood though went to John to trade for the old guitar that Uncle Matt gave him--for a cord of wood. The guitar started a competition on who would learn the most chords faster and better--that's another story however.
The first real money I remember that John made was wood cutting. He also was an avid trapper and was a ble to do the skinning in professional; manner. He sold the furs to a Seattle buyer.The other job was for the mink farm up the road a half mile. The Matt Leyde mink farm. John earned $20 a month.
This is a little aside from the subject matter but one day, we noticed smoke rising from the woods on the side of Mount Peoh. So we knew that it would spread if unattended. We heroically loaded up shovels and axes and other tools and forgetting water for our selves , we drove up the trail on the 1927 Chev truck to as near to the fire as we could go. The fire was started by an accidental toss of a match by the sheep herder who was herding a big band of sheep on the hills. He didn't admit it but we knew there was no other way a fire could have started--there were no lighting strikes at all on that hot day.
WE tried to put out the fire which was spreading faster than we could douse it. The hopes were that the Forest Service lookoput would report this fire from the lookout which was only a mile away on top of the highest hill.
The Forest service came in full force and relieved us-- They had water for our thirst and sandwiches too. They also had better tools for us to use.
As a result we were put on the payroll . That was a welcomed amount of money for my savings. I don't remember the amount. John was old enough to ask for a job with the forest service and was accepted. That left open the job at the Mink farm which was handed down to me now at a dollar a day for 10 hour days. I walked to work. I ate at home but I milked and helped do the haying etc. These were the years that Donald had to be bed ridden to recover as best as possible from his bout with Rheumatic fever. That's another story to tell later.
So saving money became more or less a competition with John having the greatest start and advantage being 3 years older than I. No one really knew how much John had stashed away but it was a growing amount. John kept it a secret. He had private ambitions.
That summer I worked 90 days and saved $90. I put it all in the bank then withdrew $10 to buy school clothes and returned to high school.
As you know, there was a war brewing and in fact going on in Europe. I had to sign up for the draft. After I graduated from High school in the spring of 1942, I sought work which would actually pay me wages. I found work at the Snoqualmie Mill at about $6.00 a day with board in their bunk house. Jim Graves and I were close buddies working together on the green chain which sorted lumber after it left the saws. It was very hard work and required a really good set of leather gloves and plenty of salt tablets and water to prevent heat stroke.
We heard a report that the Unions in Seattle were begging for welder's helpers in the Lake Washington ship Yards. One day we just quit on the job and like Johnny Paychek sang,
"Take this job and shove it". That wasn't the appropriate thing to do I later found out.
WE got jobs as welders helpers at $11.00 dollars a day. Imagine that and they also taught us to be come welders. I was really happy about that.
The draft was on our tails. so we tried to enlist in the Airforce or the Navy and or the Coast guard or merchant marines and for some reason we couldn't enlist. The reason was really that too many persons were choosing these services for the same reason we wanted . The chance of survival was better. I called it the "soft services" --I wanted to avoid the Infantry as much as possible.That's where the casualties were the highest and living that life was very miserable.
The pay was elevated to $50 per month, When John went in after the Forest service he was paid only $20 per month. John asked to be an MP and he went right to guarding and other MP duties on the Gate at Fort Lewis in near Tacoma. I visited him a few times.
So my number was getting close to being called. The only chance now to get in the Navy or the Airforce or Coast Guard was to Volunteer for the draft--that is to ask the draft board to send you in the service right away. The Department issued an incentive for volunteering--that you had the choice of services if you volunteered. So when we reported for the exams in Fort Lewis, we were standing in line naked as a jay bird awaiting a doctors physical . The Sargeant in charge counted down --one two, three, four, five--every fifth person was asked to step out of line and was given the opportunity to choose the service into which he would enlist. I was number three. So there went my last chance for the Navy etc.
Before being shipped out I arranged with my mother to have my pay sent to a joint bank account. I had my mother do it because Daddy didn't write English so well. I asked the army paymaster to send all but about $5 which I might need for myself to my mother whom I entrusted to deposit in our account. She could usre it if she'd want to.
I sent any other amounts like when I'd sell my ration or cigarettes or even when I liberated about $250 from the germans or sell some other thing, which I would ask the company clerk to send home. At the last final months I became a Sargeant which paid more and I was paid more for combat pay and medals--I think my last checks were something like $105 a month.
The accumulation amounted to a little more that $2000 --plus the $300 which was called "mustering out "pay. Along with that they pinned a pin in the lapel which someone called the "Ruptured duck".--It's an eagle really--.
I had a stash of money started. So did John who had to stay in Germany as occupation troops. He also had a similar arrangement with my mother and a bank account. This was wise because there was no guarantee we'd return home--- both had life insurance policies listing the loved ones as beneficiaries.
Why I got the truck? As it was, Donald and Daddy farmed to gether and they were doing really fine on the war economy. Donald blossomed into a full fledged farmer. He took over mostly and learned to raise chickens and pigs. He worried about our mother whose arms were getting too arthritic from milking 25 cows--Let's not leave Daddy out of this now. He was a workhorse too. He didn't milk to my mothers satisfaction though--that's another story.
One day when our mother was having a terrible time with her arms, Donald found a cattle buyer and sold the entire herd of cows. Just like that. Now Mom could rest her arms. She was very upset when the truck left the yard, but Donald handed her the biggest check she'd ever seen. But Ma was put out that she "Didn't have nuthin' to do now". Donald late 'fixed that" he gave her a bunch of sheep. And that's another story.
So farming was tough after the war. Prices for farm products went to pot. Daddy was afraid of the partner ship with Donald because his name was on all the notes as back up for Donald. The crop was hauled down to a cellar in Thorp on two old delapidated trucks--the 1927 and another I think 1935 chev truck.
Donald's farming practice needed a truck. As it is , I didn't know what I wanted to do after the army. I was having trouble adjusting and very reluctant to spend any of the money I had in the bank. I always wanted to 'go to Hollywood'--that's another story.
So after I had a promise that if I bought an army surplus truck I would be paid back from the proceeds of that years' potatoe crop. Ah Ha!--Then I'd seek my fortune in Hollywood. Imagine that.
I signed up for War surplus material and got monthly reports on the offerings at Mt Rainier Army ordinance depot near Tacoma. It listed every thing in surpus. From Caterpillars and steam shovels to jeeps and trucks.
Daddy, Donald and I took a trip there and selected a GMC artillery tractor with only 16,000 mile on it. The price was $1208. and a few cents. I had a cashier's check made our for a little more and they didn't have change--I got the change years later.
I drove the truck home. It drove so well I was pleased. The truck had too short a wheelbase for a Farm truck so Donald who was to be the owner eventually, took the truck down to Ellensburg to a machine shop and tractor dealer, Rathbuns, if I remember correctly, and for $160.00 he had the frame lengthened to be able to hold an 18 foot bed. IN that day that was the longest truck bed.
I drove the truck home and was greatly disappointed to find that the drive shaft at 82 inches, was too long to withstand speeds over 25 Miles perhour--It went into a shimmy. So I turned around and went back to complain. They immediately tried to take out the imbalances but it didn't work. You had to drive under the vibration or speed up to get over the super sonic speed which allowed doing 35 mph. That was the worst part of having that truck.
WE hurriedly made a bed and hauled a load of hay to Roslyn. Then Donald found a potatoe buyer to buy his potatoes hauled directly to the produce row in Seattle.
I have to backup and say that Donald and Daddy's crop brought them each $87. dollars clear so the promise to buy the truck was hopeless. I then had to bite the bullet and own a truck.
Donald also built a cellar that summer to hold his potatoes for winter sale. I helped both John and Donald during those years of adjustment without asking for any pay. I survived working on the farm and a few odd jobs with the truck and I also made use of the Veterans Administration's unemployment program--we called it the Fifty Two Twenty Club". A program I needed and was thankful for which gave a Vet $20 a week if he couldn't find a job. Since I owned a truck and made a few bucks I had to report it weekly. That disqualified me for the $20 for that week. So I helped John clear his land on Indian John HIll where the Free way went thru rendering the cleared land almost useless to farm. I also helped John cut logs out of his land. At this time I have to say, that John was in most need for a catrerpillar. Donald bought one $1650.00 and we agreed to share 3 ways--Donald was good that way and did this out of charity--he paid cash for it. John benefitted from the tractor and I ran the dozer for no pay. John later backed out of his share of the Cat. His job was done. We forgave him. There's a big story that has to be left untold about all this.
Now Donald need a potatoe sorter. I still had some cash left, I bought a small potatoe sorter to use that winter. All the labor was donated as it is on farms, John and Daddy and my mother and I sorted a load, Donald was the main boss seeing that each potatoe weighed a certain amount and shape. Also finally weighing each sack at a 100 pound exactly ot a hair more. Every sack was placed on the truck untill we had a ten ton load. The next morning I'd get up really early and Mom would cook a breakfast and I'd take the load about 100 miles over to Seattles produce row where I'd unload a few sacks at different docks. Some times I'd take a part load over to Tacoma. I wouldn't eat all day and my stomach would cramp. Once in Tacoma, at producec row, I saw an apple box half full of ripend bananas. I asked the attendant what they are going to do with those bananas and he said. " Take 'em --help yerself" and boy did I!! I brought bananas home and that was my day's meal.
I was able to keep the money I made hauling to Seattle. I got like $4.50 a ton. I saved it and saved it. I now was able to recover some of the money I paid for the truck. The truck however seemed to become comunity property. Anyone could use if if they pleased.
When we moved to Grandview, the truck was used to move the machinery down. It could haul the great big 35 caterpillar --dozer blade and all.
I used the truck to earn money for survival hauling potatoes out of the field for neighbors, In those days many trucks couldn't make it in the sandy ground but my front wheel drive crawled anywhere. The irony is that I wasn't paid more than the others who had to have a tractor pulling it along in the tough places. I hauled the biggest loads and there was 'shock and awe' at the potatoe warehouses when I'd come in. The shock and awe was because there were less break times in between loads for the ladies on the sorter.
Buying tires for the truck was a big expense. I could never buy as new set----it took 10 tires and they should all be even sized because of the 6x6 driven wheels.
I would never have spent the money for the truck if it hadn't been for Donald's need for the truck. Thereby I owe Donald for that start in farming. The truck and the army savings was the key to my own success and in helping Donald too.
My little girls also drove that truck to help me in the fields. Sandra steered it for me when I was picking rocks. Maybe she'll remember it too. And of course Cynthia also drove it helping me load hay in the fields . The army jeep also was used in similar fashion. Sandra might remember how to take the top off the transmission of the jeep when the shift lever wold skip the rails thereby rendering the transmission useless. It would stall often till I found another transmission and transfer case. I miss those jeeps and I must say the old 6x6 army truck which I sold finally to a restorer name Adams here locally.He offered $1500 for it which was a sum I couldn't refuse. Some day he said he's take me for a last ride in it. Did I say, "LAST RIDE?"
Remind me to tell about the time the caterpillar almost slid off the truck bed.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
