[Started 1-17-90]
For over a month I have been mulling over the thoughts in my mind of writing down my memories of my life. As one reaches the age of 75 1/2 he or she will soon realize that their memory is not as good as it used to be, and that at least three quarters of their life is in the past, and that if there is anything of interest or importance worth writing down for future generations to peruse, then it is best to “get on with it!” With that thought – as an excuse for the ramblings of my mind – and pen that will follow, I will now attempt to brush away the cobwebs that have gathered around my memory and go back as far as I can remember to the days of my childhood and youth as I grew up on a – what would now be considered to be – very small farm in Guilford, Vermont.
August 26, 1914 was undoubtedly a hot, sticky summer day in Guilford, and I’m sure my mother was glad when I first saw the light of day and she could hold me in her arms rather than the most uncomfortable projection of her anatomy that I had so noticeably held for at least the last three months of my gestation. My eyes at that time did not look out at the sterile, plain walls of a hospital, but, as was common in those days, at the flowery, papered walls and white-washed ceilings of a farm house bedroom. There were no nurses standing about to wrap me in towels and blankets, but no doubt there were other members of the family and also a mid-wife who was hired to perform such duties as required at childbirth. I feel quite confident in assuming that the special mid-wife lady was a Mrs. Mellon (and I am not sure of the spelling) who lived on the, then so-called “back road” from Guilford (or “Algiers” as it was more commonly called) to Brattleboro. There could have been a doctor present, but I think that the odds were more likely that there was not, as we are talking of horse and buggy days, when automobiles were few and far between, and the nearest doctor would have been in Brattleboro, a long seven miles by horse and buggy. Had there been a doctor there, I’m sure that he or she would have had the conventional black satchel in which were carried all the essentials of a house call for what ever ailed you. In this same bag we were told, as we reached the age of wondering about the facts of life, was where the doctor carried the new baby. No, we were not delivered by the stork, but came in a black case. I have no idea how old I was before I began to question this, or to wonder why the mother had to remain in bed for so many days, when the whole event was that simple!
My very first memory was when I was apparently three years old, and had speech problems of saying “fee” instead of “three.” Apparently it was a source of entertainment for some to ask me my age and hear my response, and I can remember of frequently having to “perform.” I can also remember sitting in my grandfather’s lap in back of our house, which actually was the barnyard, where our horses, cattle and chickens had access. Nearby was a long watering trough where a free-flowing spring constantly supplied water for the cattle and horses to “come and get it.” In the winter time this trough of water would freeze over several inches thick except at the area where the water entered and overflowed, and would have to be chopped away to make a hole large enough for the animals to get to the water.
My childhood activities were probably not too unusual for a country boy of that time. In the winter we spent many hours in the snow playing “Fox and Geese” or sliding on individual sleds or “sleighs” as they were sometimes called. We also had traverse sleds, or what we called “double-rips,” a long board with a sled attached at each end. This would hold seven or eight people sandwiched closely together, with each one holding up another one’s feet so that they did not drag in the snow. With this concentration of weight in one area, we could attain great speed and with a skillful driver, would skid sideways for many feet as we negotiated the curves in the course. Whenever a full moon was present, we would have a sledding party when 15 to 20 youth of the area would gather for an evening of cold fun that was followed by hot chocolate and cookies in someone’s home. With proper snow conditions of a hard crusted snow, our horizons of pleasure were practically limitless as we took to the side hills and open fields of our farm. After an evening of such calorie burning activity, one could look forward to snuggling into ones feather bed in a cold bedroom, but not without first of all putting a hot soapstone in the bed to warm it. If lucky, you had two – one at the foot of the bed and one half-way. I still have burn scars on my legs from falling asleep with too hot a soapstone that got too close to my skin! Beneath the bed was the ever-present chamber pot – which usually would be frozen over by early morning.
School days – – ah yes! Again I think back at those early days before television was ever dreamed of… Radio was just becoming within the homes of a few, but only could be heard at first with the use of earphones. So one could expect that without television to take up ones idle evening hours, that one should have had uninterrupted time for studying their homework and reading good books. As I think back, that was what our long winter evenings involved – a hot wood stove in the parlor, surrounded by boots and socks drying out, and ready for dressing the next morning around the stove. On a fairly large table was our Aladdin Lamp – a fairly new invention which gave off a bright white light – a noticeable improvement over the conventional yellow-flamed kerosene lamp. Gas fueled lanterns were also used in some homes, but we preferred the extra safety of a kerosene fueled lamp. Around this table we would gather to read, study, or play checkers, dominos, or a card game. It was not until high school that I remember of having school/home-work. In memory I can still see my dad (we always called our parents “Papa” and “Mama” never “Dad” and “Mom”) sitting in a Windsor arm chair with the radio ear phones on and listening to either WBZ Boston or KDKA Pittsburgh, two favorite stations at that time. If something of special importance was playing, Papa would unhook one of the earphones and share it with another, so that by taking turns we could all enjoy the program. If the station was strong enough, and with full volume on, Papa would put the earphones in a large glass fruit bowl which would amplify the sound – i.e. a home made speaker!
But I have been distracted – – what happened to the school work and studying? By now Papa has usually fallen asleep with ear phones still on his head – and only the occasional crackle of the wood fire, or the thump of a log as it adjusts itself to fill the chasm created by the burning beneath it. With school work out of the way, we could turn to pleasure reading of such books as those of Zane Grey, Horatio Alger, and Jack London. A few of the titles I remember: “The Call of the Wild,” “The Last of the Mohicans,” “Rin-Tin-Tin,” “The Bobsey Twins,” “Heidi” and “His Dog.” Often these books were received as Christmas presents or loaned by a friend or obtained at the nearby Guilford Center Library. I believe that both my mother and sister were librarians at one time or another. What fun it was to create your own fantasy land and become a part of the adventures you were reading. Dreams must have been much better then, as our minds were not then cluttered and exposed to the frustrations and violence of todays world. I had never heard of drugs, although in later years I learned that my Grandmother Thayer was a habitual user and that a family friend, Lowell Bullock, either knowingly or unknowingly bought it for her, destroying the empty bottles in nearby Broad Brook.
But before we wander too far astray, lets get back to the early school days again. No, we haven’t missed the school bus. I had not heard of such a vehicle at that time. Either you walked to school (one mile away), or someone had to take you by horse-drawn conveyance. I recall eagerly waiting for spring and warm weather when I could get rid of cumbersome boots and shoes and walk barefooted to school. This I did until summer vacation, and continued to go barefoot all summer, even to working in the hay fields and the prickly stubble. One learned to walk with a “sliding” step which flattened the stubble before full weight was placed on it. Many are the times of “stubbed” toes, (usually the big one!) when it would require a bandage to close a wound or a loosened toenail.
Lunch hours at school were usually lunch “minutes” – peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and an apple along with a jar of milk (not even a thermos!) were consumed as fast as possible, and still act civilized, then out to the school yard for play with the swings hung from the spreading limbs of an elm tree, the teeter-board, or games of tag, hide-and-seek, duck-on-a-rock, red light, or maybe a tug-of-war. In the winter a favorite sport of some of us boys would be to go into the nearby woods, find a fresh rabbit track and follow it – complete with the sound effects of a barking dog! Occasionally we would come within sight of our prey – a large white beautiful “snow-shoe” rabbit as they were called. Hot and steaming from perspiration we would hurry back to school – but not always in tie for the one o’clock class. However, our teacher, Miss Jean Campbell, was most understanding and I do not recall that I was ever punished in any way for being late.
My first eight years of grammar school were all at #2 School, one mile north of my home in Guilford Center, VT. As mentioned previously, we walked to and from school, rain or shine, snow or blizzard. In the winter I would take my “Flexible Flyer” sled to school and thus could ride a part of the way. It also was used at noon hour for our recreation. The teacher travelled by horse and sleigh or wagon as the season dictated, and on stormy days I remember how longingly we looked at the vacant seat in the sleigh or wagon. Usually there were four or five of us walking together, so of course our teacher could not show partiality by giving one a ride. The horse was stalled (housed) in a barn about 100 yards from the school, and various children were delegated to feed the horse and carry a pail of water to him at noon time. The water for washing or drinking was obtained from a nearby spring down quite a steep hill from the school. In modern times I’m sure the Health Department would not approve of such a water source. A common tin cup hung on a limb over the spring for all to use. Whoever heard of individual throw-away cups?!
All eight grades were taught in the one-room school so we were given access to “higher” learning every day as the various subjects were studied and discussed for all to hear, at all grade levels. From early age we were made aware of the world at large via large wall maps pulled down on the walls, and with a pointer the teacher would define the areas of discussion. Geography and History were an important part of early education – something which has been laid aside in modern education. Emphasis on spelling and proper language construction was used, as well as etiquette and manners and personal hygiene. Much has been lost in the basics of education and social concerns with the advent of centralized school. We are now separated, by age groups and/or academic skills, which tends to isolate us into cliques or peer groups. In the one room schools we learned to get along with each other at all levels of age. Would that the modern school systems of today consider readopting those aspects of yesteryear which truly embodied the “dear old Golden Rule days!”
July 22, 1926 – the day that started out as any hot summer day, with haying to be done, but would end in a tragedy which would forever affect the lives of the Thayer family. Dinner was hurriedly eaten as there was much hay to be brought into the barn before the ominous thickening black clouds would open up and wet down the dry hay that was raked and ready for Papa and brother Merrill to load. Barefooted, I was dragging a “bull rake” – which was about 4 feet wide and has a long curved double handle – to clean up the scatterings after the main bunch of hay was pitched onto the wagon. The western sky was rapidly getting ink-black and a loud rumbling noise – as that of many freight trains – was increasing in volume. As the wind began to blow, Papa told me that I had better go to the house. As I ran toward the house, I looked back just in time to see the entire load of hay roll from the wagon and after a few seconds saw brother Merrill emerge from the upside down pile of hay. The horses and empty wagon continued toward the barn. I had not been in the kitchen but minutes before Merrill came to the back door and called for help. My mother rushed out and she, Merrill, and sister Ruby were soon back again carrying Papa by his arms and legs and placing him on a bed. While unhitching the horses and leading them into the barn, Papa came by the empty silo, which was lifted from its foundation by the hurricane force of the wind and toppled upon Papa and the horse he was leading. The horse was killed and Papa died before a doctor could arrive. Due to the high winds, wires were down, cutting telephone communication, so Merill took our Jewett automobile and drove to Brattleboro for a doctor. This took several hours, as he had to frequently stop to remove limbs from the road and even bypass larger trees by driving off the road. My memory does not record if he ever contacted a doctor – I believe that he did not.
I was lacking one month of being 12 when tragedy struck our conventional family life – which would without doubt change our lives forever. I cannot help but look back and wonder what my life would have been like, had my father lived to a normal life-time age. Would I have stayed in the small dairy farm, working with Papa and brothers, cutting wood for winter fuel, cutting logs for extra income to help pay taxes? Would I have met the girl I married and have lived with happily for 49 years… the girl named after my own mother… the girl whose father and my father were the best of friends? In all probability the answer is “no.” (Since her family had moved to Glenmont, NY some years before Papa’s death.) Papa’s untimely death meant that our life as a family had to change – Mother, (or “Mama,” as I called her) soon started working for a neighbor who ran a laundry and before long was also doing washing and ironing in our home for approximately 25 customers, all living in Brattleboro. Once a week Mama and I would load the laundered clothes into a delivery wagon and drive the seven miles to Brattleboro. At this time we would deliver the clean laundry and pick up the dirty laundry to take home. This went on for many years – at least all during my high school years – and when I got my driver’s license on my 16th birthday we then delivered the laundry by car, removing the back seat and stacking the various shaped and sizes of baskets and cardboard boxes.
In the summer Mama and I would pick “sword” or Christmas ferns for a florist. We would pick and tie them in bunches of 25 each, and place them on a “back-board” we fabricated to carry them on, or would carry them in a large clothes basket. For this we received 2 1/2¢ per bunch. On good days we could make $2.00 or possibly a little more. However, one must consider that a loaf of bread at that time was less than 20¢ – a quart of milk was 14¢ – gasoline 25¢ a gallon, etc. – so $2.00 was not to be “sneezed at.”
On the farm we still had 4 or 5 cows and a few calves, and a team of horses – no tractors. By standing on a box or stool I was able to put harnesses on the horses and do the necessary farm work, plowing and preparing the fields for planting, etc. For the first year or two after my father’s death, Mama and I did all the haying. I was probably about 14 at that time. Brother Merrill graduated from high school in 1927 and soon signed on with a harvesters group and went to Alberta, Canada to work on the wheat harvest. When that was over he stayed on working in the lumber industry and then in the oil fields. Eventually he hired on as a truck driver and drove an oil drilling rig from Canada to Oklahoma where he worked in the oil fields for a year or two before joining the Air Force. He went to Hawaii with the Air Force, where he also got his college credits at the University of Hawaii. Eventually he finished college and basic training and came back to the States where he finished his Air Force training at Randolph Field in San Antonio, Texas. At some time during this period he got to come home for the first time since he had left in 1927 – many years had passed. He finished his term with the Air Force and then went to work for Eastern Air Lines as a pilot – soon to become Captain and was no doubt considered one of their best pilots, eventually flying the jets (DC-8) and continuing until his forced retirement at age 60 in 1969.
In the meantime, (back at the farm!) Mama, brother Leon (5 years younger than I), and I were struggling to keep the farm intact. I would work on the town highways during summer vacation from high school and could usually earn enough to pay the taxes. Wages were $2.00 per day, and the work was physical labor, shoveling gravel onto dump trucks (no motorized loaders at that time) and leveling off the loads of gravel after being dumped on the highway. I also worked in the construction of bridges and culverts, making wooden forms, mixing concrete, etc.
After graduation from high school in June of 1933 I continued to work on the town roads, loading the drilled holes in rock or ledge with dynamite, and wiring the detonators for blasting. I soon earned the nickname of “Dynamite Dick” as I continued on in that phase of road work. During the winter months I also worked on the highways, sometimes shoveling snow where it had drifted so heavily that even our lone town tractor plow could not go through. It was on this same Caterpillar tractor that I spent many long, cold, lonely nights standing on a metal step platform on the rear of the tractor and adjusting the chains that raised and lowered the wings on the sides of the “V” snow plow. How well I remember plowing out a country side road in Weatherhead Hollow about 3:00 a.m., and seeing lights come on in the farmhouse, the occupants being awakened by the roar of the tractor. The tractor driver, Joe Borkowski, and I were invited in to warm up, and for the first (and last!) time in my life I was given a glass of hot whiskey! At times I think I can still feel the internal heat it caused!
About this time President Roosevelt organized the C.C.C. (Civilian Conservation Corps) and the town of Guilford was awarded money to improve highways. This involved cutting back the trees and brush on either side of the road to improve vision, clearing ditches, and installing new culverts, etc. The brush cutting continued on during the winter months. We burned the brush as we accumulated it in piles, and well I remember sitting around a fire at lunch time and toasting our sandwiches over the flames with a forked stick. The older men of the group would spend the rest of the lunch hour playing cards – some sort of a penny-ante game where they gambled pennies – sometimes making or losing as much as 25¢!
In 1934 I went to work for Carl Sweet, whose father was head doctor at Sing Sing Prison. Theirs was a summer home and I worked with Carl, at first building a rail fence with beech poles around a field. They had several riding horses which I helped to care for, and two of which we harnessed and used as draft horses. We also cut firewood for the heating stoves in their house, and I well remember using a circular or “buzz” saw, as we called it, to cut the long lengths of firewood into chunks of 12 to 14 inches, and split them. This saw was powered by a Ford station wagon, the rear wheels of which sat on a pulley-shaft combination and was belted back to the saw arbor.
CARS
My first automobile was a 1927 Model T Ford touring car, for which I initially paid $17.00, but was later reimbursed about $2.50 for a coil I had to buy to get it to run. This was a vehicle in storage at the Sweet farm, and they had sort of “retired” it in favor of the newer Model A’s, of which they had three. Many are the times in later years have I wished that I had cared for and preserved that Model T, but it eventually was sold for scrap metal.
When I came to Glenmont, NY in June of 1936 I left the Model T at home and brought the 1928 Buick, an 8 cylinder, 4 door sedan – the first car we ever had that we didn’t have to put side curtains on in the cold weather to keep from freezing. It even had a heater – a relatively new idea at that time, and even as late as 1940, if one wanted a heater in his new car it had to be ordered special. The Buick eventually was traded for a 1936 Ford, and the Ford for a brand new 1940 Chevrolet – my first new car, and for which I paid $843.00 – – and no tax! My recollection is that I got more in trade for the Ford than I paid for it, at an auction in Central Bridge. I believe I paid $200.00 for the Ford, and at that time was making $14.00 per week, plus my room and board, and laundry.
To keep things in proper sequence, we have to go back to 1935 when my brother Merrill was assigned to a bombardment squadron at Langley Field, Virginia, and wrote to Mama, Leon and me to come down to Virginia and live with him. He had rented a cottage at Buckroe Beach, Virginia which is near Newport News, a shipbuilding area. Since I still did not know what I wanted to do for a vocation, we decided to close up the farm house temporarily and give it a try. I can only assume that we had no livestock at that time. Upon arrival at Buckroe Beach, I soon made acquaintances with a carpenter who was building houses in that area, and soon hired on as an apprentice carpenter. I also had a short time of trying to sell Westinghouse vacuum cleaners, but soon learned that I was not gifted in that field of occupation. It was not long before Leon became bored with Buckroe Beach, and decided to come back to Brattleboro, VT, where he made his home with sister, Ruby and family. The next spring, April or May, Merrill got a temporary assignment to an airfield on Long Island (possibly Floyd Bennett), and rather than stay on by ourselves in Virginia, we decided to pack up our few belongings in our ’28 Buick and came back to Guilford, at least for as long as Merrill’s assignment on Long Island.
Enroute home to Vermont we came by way of the Heath’s Shady Lawn Dairy in Glenmont, New York, where we found Mr. Heath planting corn. This was probably late May or early June. I recall riding on the planter behind the tractor driven by Mr. Heath – – little did I know that he would some day become my father-in-law. I remember him filling our gas tank at the farm pump before he would let us leave, and of my saying to him as we prepared to leave, that if I didn’t find work at home, I’d come back and help him plant the corn. This was said more in jest than in being serious. A day or two after arriving back home, I received a letter from Mr. Heath, asking me if I would be interested in coming back and working for him. At that time he mentioned of how much he thought of Papa, and how they had worked together when he lived on the farm in Weatherhead Hollow. So, I soon repacked the Buick with a few belongings and my Governor Winthrop desk, which was given to me for my 21st birthday, and came to Glenmont – – never dreamed that this is where I would marry the boss’s daughter, build a home, and raise a wonderful family of three boys and a girl. At this point in time, I don’t know how life could have been any better for me – and certainly it has all been a product of circumstances (and not of advanced planning)… and God’s plan!
For the first summer and winter of ’36 and spring and summer of ’37 I worked as a farm hand, milking cows, cleaning gutters, driving tractor and the usual activities of haying, silo filling, etc. At this time we still used horses on the wagons for drawing hay and well I remember trying to stop a runaway team when they spooked and took off without a driver! Luckily I only suffered a few bruises and broken glasses as I was toppled over by a wagon wheel. I expect the horses eventually ran out of energy and stopped of their own volition!
In September of 1937 I was offered the job of driving a delivery truck for a milk route – a job which I enjoyed and worked at for 33 years, before operating the milk processing plant for another 15 years. (All this before retiring in April of 1985, when we sold the farm and the business to N. Barry Dancy on April 3, 1985.)
As a boy I seemed to enjoy tinkering on my bicycle and getting my hands greasy, and since I realized that everyone should have a goal or vocation they were to pursue, I got the idea that I would be a diesel mechanic. Consequently, I enrolled in an evening course offered in Albany and pursued it for several months, but soon found that the long days on the farm and the early 3:30 a.m. alarm clock was not conducive to staying awake in the evening to study. At that time I also learned that diesel engines were being used mostly in tug boats and heavy marine vessels. At no time did I ever think I wanted to spend my life on the ocean or waterways, so eventually I dropped out of the course.
My next dream was in aviation, and Jerold Heath and I enrolled in a ground course of aviation in Albany. We both finished and passed the exams and I took the free 1/2 hour flight of instruction in a Piper Cub. There was a temptation to continue with the with instructions but the cost was more than I could pay at the time, so that was the end of the flight instructions. However, still thinking I wanted to fly, I made application with several airlines for position as steward, but never got an answer to my requests.
My next idea was to sell insurance, and I studied under the tutelage of Morgan Bloodgood, took the exam in Albany, and was one of five out of the class of about 10 to pass the exam, and received my license to sell accident and health insurance. Theoretically it seemed that this would be an easy matter to make contacts since I was out on the milk route every day. However, I was successful in selling but one policy after several attempts. My thoughts went back to my Westinghouse vacuum cleaner days in Virginia, and I once again realized that I was not cut out to be the “high pressure” salesman that apparently one had to be to sell a highly competitive product.
About this time I decided that I had best concentrate on my job of selling milk – something nearly everyone used and needed. In all modesty, I have to say that I believe I was fairly successful at building up the routes, eventually to where we needed three delivery trucks, and before long realized that our limited production could not support further expansion. As the dairy store sales increased in volume, it became necessary to discontinue serving customers in outlying areas, taking a truck out of service and laying off the driver.
When I first started working on the milk route in September of 1937 I got up at 2:00 a.m. and, after a light breakfast, would load the truck and be on the road at 3:00. I well remember the load at that time – 19 cases pasteurized milk and 9 cases raw, plus heavy and light cream, and chocolate milk in 1/2-pints, which went into schools and gas stations. Later on we had chocolate in quarts and eventually in cartons of 1/3-quarts. I usually was back to the dairy by 10:00 a.m. when I would unload the truck and check out the sales for the day. After dinner I would sometimes help in drawing hay or working at some type of tractor work – or get a few hours sleep before getting up for supper, which I enjoyed with the entire Heath family, and other hired help which worked and roomed in the large farmhouse. I felt I was treated like a son! One afternoon each week, I would take my own car and go back on the route and collect for the milk sold that week. We also had milk tickets which we sold in advance, which financially was a great idea, but a problem in the winter as the tickets would sometimes freeze in the bottle, and one could not always determine how many tickets were there. Thus, there were occasional phone calls from customers who did not get all they had tickets for.
It is now April 5, 2003, and my guess is that my last entry was about April of 1985 when we sold the farm and business to a part-time farmer/minister on April 3, 1985. Strange as it may seem, I ran out of paper and only in recent months bought a new pad with the intention of continuing my “memoirs.”
To continue in the somewhat “present” of years since 1985 – Margaret and I, as well as Jerold and Bill, donated our time for several months trying to help Barry Dancy make a success of running the dairy business. However, he was not the manager that such a varied business required, and within about 3 years sold out to Cumberland Farms. At this time we finally got paid for the sale. However, this also was a short term of activity, as the government soon closed the business because of the illegal activity of purchasing a dairy farm when he – a man named George Haseotis – had sold off cattle in Connecticut or Massachusetts and had agreed not to sell milk for a given number of years, because of a supposedly over production of milk. (The dairy had been bought in his nephew’s name!) At this time an auction was held and all livestock and farm equipment was sold, and our dream of having Shady Lawn Dairy continue on as a working farm was shattered. As of this time, April 2003, the barns have been allowed to deteriorate, and land sold for a soccer field, a water reservoir and filtration plant, and housing developments have started in the fields behind our house at 291 Wemple Road. We feel fortunate that much of the land surrounding our 1.73 acres is classified as wet land and cannot be developed as housing.
June 1929
Going back in time to when I graduated from School #2 Grade, or “Normal” school, as it was called – with the graduation ceremonies held at Broad Brook Grange hall at Guilford Center, VT. Four others graduated with me from the 8th grade – a brother and sister, Kenneth and Elizabeth Clark, Doris Boyd, and William Brunell. I believe that other grade schools in the town also had their graduation at the same time. In September of that year I entered Brattleboro High School – riding to school with a Mr. William Brunell, who took his son, William, Jr. to Brattleboro, the nearest high school. Tuition was paid by the town, but we had to furnish our own transportation. The next spring I bought a second hand bicycle and rode the 7 miles to school to save on the fare my mother was paying Mr. Brunell. In August 1930 I had my 16th birthday, and on that day got my driver’s license and started driving to school, taking Kenneth, Elizabeth, Doris and Polly Castle with me, which helped in paying for gas and auto upkeep.
We were living in depression years at that time, and had to conserve in any way possible. I remember my mother making corn bead – or “Johnny Cake” as it was called – almost daily, which was a staple food as part of a meal, often with salt pork or tripe and boiled potatoes. The same Johnny Cake was sliced in half and served with maple syrup for dessert. Tripe is a salty, chewy product which is the lining of a cow’s (or bovine) stomach, and I know it was frequently the meat part of a meal, and inexpensive. During these high school days we had a few cows and sold milk wholesale in 40-quart cans to the Windham Creamery in Brattleboro. Ralph Boyd would pick up the cans in mid-morning and return the empty clean cans. Ralph was full of fun and stories, and at one time after a flash flood which flooded a morgue, in which a body had been placed for later burial – the deceased was Burt Whittemore, a big man! My mother, being concerned about the flooded morgue, asked Ralph Boyd what they would do with Bert. He answered, “I understand they put boots on him and stood him in a corner!”
Another high school memory is of sitting on horseback and reading my homework as I watched over our 6 or 8 cows as they fed in the unfenced meadows, after the corn was harvested and the grass was lush in the late days of September and early October.
In the horse and wagon (or sleigh) days winter driving presented a challenge to keep warm. I well remember my mother and I delivering laundry in cold and blowing snow with our feet inside a wooden box which had a kerosene lantern to give off heat. We would put several layers of newspapers inside our heavy coats, then button the coat over them. This was a great wind breaker, and with a buffalo hide robe and sheepskin lined mittens we survived. I do not recall having to cancel delivery because of weather. Delivery became much easier when I turned 16 and got my driver’s license and we then took the back seat out of our 1928 Buick touring car and made deliveries with it.
— Plantain Seed Stalks — An Implement for Punishment!
I’m sure I was an average child, and probably was told to “stand in the corner” for a specified time for misbehavior, but the one punishment I well remember was when I ran away to play with friends at the center, where there were many children my age. My mother sent my sister Ruby to get me, and she picked several plantain stalks – about 6 or 7 inches long – and switched my bare lower legs with them all the way home! These stalks are covered with abrasive seeds which can really sting. This is the only time I remember of being punished with “physical pain!” I don’t think I ran away again!
World War II brought many changes in the way we lived, worked and played. Many things were rationed – sugar and gasoline were probably the most affected, and food stamps and gas coupons were given out to try to control consumption. Gas stations frequently ran out of gas – and consequently travel was limited. Gas was available for farm use and for the milk delivery trucks, but every other day delivery was started to cut consumption in half. In later years delivery was only twice a week. (And to think that I used to get up at 2:00 a.m. so that customers had their daily delivery by breakfast time!) All men (I think 18 years or more) had to sign up for the draft, but I was fortunate that by working on a farm and producing needed food. I was classified 4F (not sure about the “F”). Every month this was updated, so we lived from “month to month” not knowing for sure about our classification. All truck and car manufacturing ceased and factories all converted to building tanks and other war related materials. Women went to work in factories to replace men drafted or volunteered to service. Any vehicles in inventory were “frozen” and were difficult to purchase unless one could prove hardship.
Brother-in-law Bill and I joined a group of airplane “spotters” whose duty was to report any and all airplanes seen or heard to a headquarters monitoring the Hudson River valley. Our post was down by the river, near Winnie’s Dock, in a garage that had an observation tower on the roof. (Why it was there, I don’t know, but it served a needed purpose!) If a plane was seen, we reported as to number of motors, elevation, and any identification, then our location (or call number) as “Firestone 81.” This was a direct and private line, and I believe this was done 24 hours a day.
MUSIC –
I remember at an early age in Guilford, of playing the harmonica and of singing at Grange meetings. I also learned to play by ear “The Frolic of the Frogs” (sort of finger memory, as I did not read notes) on the piano. While in high school I took violin lessons and was in the Junior Orchestra at school. I learned “position” reading – that a certain note was in a designated place on the violin. It was many years later that I finally learned notes by name and location – and many more before I could read bass clef, probably in my late fifties or sixties! I remember playing violin for Grange programs, and in the late 30’s and early 40’s had a Grange orchestra (“Grangaires”) at Bethlehem Grange when I played violin for the round dances and “called” the square dances. We had many dances at the Grange Hall, and at one time had to put speakers in the downstairs dining hall for the over-flow crowd. We also had dances at the local YMCA at Beckers Corners, as well as at the several schools. Our original Grange orchestra was Stanley Schoenover – piano, Harold Williams, Jr. – saxophone, Gerry Kriete – drums (mine), and I played violin and called the square dances. I am not sure how long this group played, but in later years we formed another orchestra with Tony Riccardo – violin, Bob Riccardo – guitar, Gene Booth – accordion, Floyd Grosbeck – string bass, and I played drums. Again, I called the square dances, and sang an occasional solo on some of the round dance numbers. Floyd also played drums on occasion, and Eleanor Fabe played piano when Gene Booth withdrew from the group. This group played for several years in fire halls, grange buildings, and various community buildings. During this time, about 1953, I bought a record player P A___ system and had classes for square dance, and called for many church, school and college groups, such as RPI and Skidmore.
CHILDREN’S SWINGS –
About 1945 or 46 the telephone lines which ran the length of Wemple Road were taken down, and the poles were available for anyone to take. Consequently, Jerold and I, with tractors, got many of them and I used 3 to construct a swing set for our children. (2 uprights and a horizontal) Three swings were hung from the cross pole and many happy hours were spent with the boys trying to “out-do” another in height that they could attain – sometimes with a bit of dispute! These swings were located near where the present “smoke house” sits. This building was once used as a smoke house at the Heath home, and for years the smell of ham or bacon was very prominent. It was later used for storage of motor oil barrels, then brought here to 291 Wemple Road about 1947 for tool storage as we built our home, then later used as a dog house for several of our dogs – the last being “Rusty.”
[January 1, 2006]
December 29, 1999 – a day that forever changed our future, when Margaret fell and broke her left hip as she crossed over the threshold at Applebee’s Funeral Home in Delmar. As chaplain of our Grange, I was to have a part in a service for Esther Snyder. Instead I followed the Delmar ambulance carrying Margaret to St. Peters Hospital, where she had her hip repaired using a steel plate and screws. She never did get full use of her leg again, and managed to get around with a walker, and later by wheelchair. Since she was unable to climb stairs to our bedroom, we set up 2 single beds in the den, but we realized that we were in for “the long haul” – and with advice from Margaret’s niece, Hilary Hawblitz Bruce (she being an RN) – we started to consider adding a room on the ground level. Our daughter, Marcia, drew up some plans for the 20’x22′ addition off the back of the dining room – all wheelchair accessible, even to the large shower. This was a wise move as it provided easy home care for the five years that Margaret needed the TLC which we all lovingly provided. Hilary and sister, Ann, both gave of their nursing skills for several weeks, Carolyn Allen worked for 2 or 3 years until grandson, Robb & Stacey, and their family moved in for 1 1/2 years. In October of 2003, I became ill and Mickey Brooks came to help Margaret, and helped to entertain with crossword puzzles, reading, etc. She continues to come at least once a week at this time (1/1/06), to do laundry, clean, etc. – – and play Rummy!! The addition only cost about two thousand dollars more than a year in a nursing home. On July 25, 2005 my beloved wife left this world to be with her Lord.
These have been precious years together – and I thank God that she was able to be in her own bed, in her own home, and surrounded by her loving family, as well as Patty Thayer and Mickey Brooks, as we joined hands at her bedside and said goodbye to the only love of my life. I thank God for 64 years of married bliss, and for giving birth to four loving and caring children. God did not make a better woman – – and to think that I was the one privileged to marry her on June 14, 1941 – – only 12 days after she graduated from Syracuse University. (She had turned down 5 or 6 proposals from other admirers!) The Reverend Vernon O. Nagel married us in the First Reformed Church of Bethlehem, Selkirk, NY. The reception was held at Margaret’s parents’ home (Shady Lawn Dairy) with many from Vermont and New Hampshire, and some school friends. We honeymooned at Little Squam Lake in New Hampshire, returning by way of my home in Guilford, where we were honored at a reception at the Grange Hall, with food and entertainment provided by my family and friends. Sister Ruby, and her sons, Roland and Emerson, provided music for dancing.
Jim, what a wonderful compilation of great stories from Dad. I sat and read with a big smile on my face as I could just hear him tell some of the remembrances of his. One of the first things I remember as a tot,(I wasn’t quite 3) was to roll down the lawn at the Heath Farm at your parents wedding.
Thanks for posting this for so many to see and enjoy. Bless you.
Lovingly, Cousin Jeanette
Jim,
For much of this posting (so long as it was in Guilford or Brattleboro) I was right along with Uncle Dick. Thank you for sharing his stories with us.
By the way, if you ever find any reference to an address where they lived in Buckroe Beach, Virginia, I would be happy to take a picture of it for you if you are interested. I work just a mile from Buckroe Beach.
Kevin Wright, (Jeanette’s oldest)