31-May-04
Memorial day
Hi Dad,
This is a memorial day and we have been watching the concert at Washington D.C. They played some of the old songs from WWI all of the way up to the present time. Of course they have brought up many old memories. Some of my children have been encouraging me to write some of the memories of you and maybe me when I was a kid growing up. I think that Mike has heard me talk about some of the sayings and lessons that I learned from you and that I may have passed on down to my kids and students. It takes a whole community or maybe many communities to raise a dad. One way to look at a dad is to look at his antecedents. What were the base core values and where did they come from.?
Dad, I knew you before I was born. I know that sounds like a time warp but I knew you through stories your sister Mary wrote or, what memoirs my mom wrote or things you told me or events that stick in my mind. In a genealogy book that Earl Kroth shared with me Here is the village of Volzberg
HENRY JOHANN KROTH, immigrant from Germany with his sister who was older, came to a southern state. His naturalization papers were dated July 27, 1847, at Owen County, Kentucky. His wife, presumably a wealthy southern lady, the mother of William, their son, died.
In the journey north, which was influenced by the slave un- rest, which terminated later into the Civil War, Henry and his son came to Easton, Kansas.
The little village was near Fort Leavenworth, which seethed with trouble supplied by the influx of travelers who crossed the Missouri border. The, slave question was uppermost in men's minds and terrible trouble was ready to break any time.
Henry Kroth shod horses and mules for the government and served his country this very important way.
The marriage of Henry to Louisiana Loughmiller took place in Easton - where the first 14 years of their married life was spent. William was Henry's son then 4 of their 10 children were born there. The eldest, Clinton, died an infant. The others were: Charley, Ella Victoria, and Frank.
Rumors of good land for homestead farther west allured them and they moved to a place on the banks of Cross Creek, West Jackson County. Here the other children were born.
There were only a few families in this area, but in the open country to the south a little country store, called Avoca, began to flourish. For a number of years it prospered and served the countryside in various ways. Henry and Louisiana Kroth supplied the needs of their growing family by careful planning and self-forgetfulness. They gave serious thought to the rearing of their 6 sons and 3 daughters. They taught them respect and concern for religion and the ministers who came to serve the scattered group of settlers. Many times Henry donated to these needy men of God, who came long distances on horseback or by team and buggy. Neighbors were drawn together by common interests and needs.
The Kroths were good neighbors and banded with others to establish a church and a school that children could have education.
Old records show that Henry was on the building committee for Buck's Grove Church and kept account of donations and expenditures. He served on the school board when school was held in the area of the Heath home on the creek. For many years he served various offices after the new church was completed and the schoolhouse was changed, as a good citizen he used his influence for the best, but his life was dedicated to his family and to the upbringing of his children. Because he loved them, he taught them how to work and how to think and study.
It is said that he was a sharp disciplinarian and would not accept anything short of honesty and temperance. Environment was clean and wholesome. The youth saw no smoking, no drinking, and they heard no squabbling or cursing. They grew into conscientious, peace-loving, influential men and women.
On the table by the window where Henry sat to transact his business, many papers lay in scattered disorder. Among them lay an open Bible.
Henry Johann Kroth was an "uncommon man."
Arch remembers as told to him:
Fort Leavenworth had sources of information that General Price with his army was coming into Kansas to make it a Confederate or Slave State.
Feelings ran high and a militia was organized immediately. All Eastern Kansas men were conscripted. Henry Kroth was one of them. They drilled and make all preparations and waited 16 days. General Price and his army and the Ft. Leavenworth boys met at West Port, a little town near Kansas City. When General Price saw what he was up against, only a few shots were fired. He turned his army and fled back into Missouri. The militia followed and made certain that they were out of Kansas. Louisiana, Henry's wife, knitted a pair of socks and sent them by a late joiner, but his term in the army was short.
When Lincoln, -President of the United States, was calling for volunteers and the Civil Was being fought, Robert Loughmiller, Jacob and Aurelials youngest son, yearned to enlist. His sister, Orlena, said he was too young and was needed at home. However’ he did drill with the militia at Easton and did go with them to Leavenworth and Atchison. He had very close connections when Lawrence suffered Quantrill’s Raid and had many interesting memoirs of his experience to tell his family, as he grew older.
Joseph Beach, husband of Orlena Loughmiller and father of Frank, Aurelia (a nurse for many years, better known as "Rilla"), Clarence, and Cora, was a Civil War veteran. He had served the four years and had escaped death in many battles, but his hearing was much impaired. He believed that the roar of the cannons during battles had caused the injury to his ear drums. Like the majority of war veterans, he died early. His sudden death at 59 years was a great loss to his wife and the sons and daughters. Another Civil War incident:
A half-drunken gang came to Grandfather Loughmiller's place one morning in Easton. The family was having worship. Grandfather went to the door with the Bible in his hand. One of the men called, "Abolitionist, we are going to kill you." Grandfather stood with the Bible in his hand and said, "I guess I am as near ready now as I will ever be." A period of silence followed then the men left, without doing any harm. But, they were pretty drunk and a gun lay in their laps.
Years later, in Reconstruction days, following the Civil War, when the Jacob Loughmiller family lived on the farm known as the Frank Kroth place, Ruffian Gangs came from Missouri frequently. The horse and cow that the family owned were most valuable to the family for milk products and transportation.
When news came that the gang of thieves were in the country, Grandfather would take the two animals down into the timber and hide them. He is remembered to have done this a number of times.
The House made of stone that set up the slope and back of the large 30 x 60 foot basement barn; the blacksmith shop, the big corral and windmill at the Henry Kroth farm, was a show place in that early day.
There were long hitch racks to accommodate horses that men drove for shop work and to visit the family.
There were 160 acres under cultivation and small grain. The remaining 480 acres were hay land, pasture and timber. Usually there were 20 horses and mules and about 100 head of cattle and the same number of hogs on the farm.
Gardening for the large family was big business and the Kroths produced great amounts of beans, tomatoes, corn and melons. The virgin soil of Cross Creek was productive and neighbors remember the harvest of late tomatoes that was boiled to richly red tomato catsup after the season was thought to be ended.
The family butchered 6 or 8 hogs and 2 beeves to supply meat that lasted a year. A smokehouse to cure meat was an important addition to the farm. Hams, shoulders and sides of pork were dry salted for a time, then hung up to be smoked with hickory wood.
Wheat and corn were taken twice a year to mills in either Leavenworth or Louisville and made into flour to last 6 months at a time. Apples, peaches and wild plums were dried in a drying kiln for winter use. Rain water was caught to run through ashes to make lye for soap making.
Brown sugar, called New Orleans sugar, was a kind that was not considered tasty by the children. White sugar was seldom "available." Tea, coffee and sugar came to the markets later in bulk, sometimes kept in barrels and were weighed out to customers who usually paid with butter and eggs.
One can see that the grocery list wasn’t a long one in those days, made so principally because the entire family expended themselves in fields, gardens, orchards and kitchens and that required much, much hard work, patience and skill.
It was honest toil that satisfied the hunger of soul as well as that of the body and brought restful sleep at the close of each busy day.
Grandfather Kroth, blacksmith and friend to many near and distant early settlers, was beloved by many, but especially by his sons and grandsons.
His art of blacksmithing; firing of the forge by lighting a match to a few shavings, the fuel on the bellows, the trick of hoarding the red hot cinders until needed, was a never ending fascination to growing boys. Asides and tongues for wagons, tires for wheels, sled runners for bobsleds, was a constant demand of the settlers. He shod many horses and mules for travelers who came in wagon trains of 10 or 12, going west.
Small grandsons stood and watched Grandfather at work, tremendously happy to be given the chore of rolling newly set wagon and buggy tires the 50 or 100 yards to the creek west of the shop to soak overnight.
The growing family lived frugally and had few luxuries but by hard work in his shop and fields, Henry accumulated for his large family. From the time in his young manhood on a southern plantation, until his sons and daughters reached maturity, he managed his business in a profitable way.
Railroads were a great boon to the new country and towns sprung up along the L K & W in that area of West Jackson County. While Soldier and Havens Ville developed, blacksmithing slacked off for Henry. By 1900 his health failed and he became painfully afflicted with rheumatism. After his wife's death in August, 1908, he and his son Harley "batched.11 Shortly after Harley's marriage, the kindly old father fell and suffered a brain hemorrhage from which he did not recover, but was lain to rest in the family lot in Buck's Grove Cemetery, by the side of his faithful wife, Louisiana.
The Henry Kroth family worked hard, lived frugally and accumulated. The blacksmith shop built as early as 1870 on the road south of the big basement barn was the seat of constant activity. Henry repaired broken wagon and buggy wheels, lister and plowshares and all kinds of hand tools. The quarry furnished stone from which a good house was made for the growing family.
Trips back to Easton and Leavenworth were made infrequently. Foodstuffs were grown in abundance but there were some commodities that made trips necessary. Salt, thread, and seeds were a few of the necessities.
Among the first early settlers was the Beach family a few miles west. Old Mother Beach sent cheese to market with Henry and at her insistence he cut one to eat as he drove his team of oxen that long, long way across country. The appetite for cheese seems to have become an inherited quality, some of our people believe that we still have this yearning. Mike hits our refrigerator as soon as he hits the door -- much as springtime brings a yearning to go fishing. This has been attributed to the Loughmillers, parents of Louisiana Kroth. Every springtime the elderly couple were the first to think of the trip to the creek and were seen hand in hand with fishing poles and a bucket, off for a day in the woods.
The main part of the Henry Kroth dwelling was native stone but there was a small frame kitchen on the west. In 1889 the frame kitchen caught fire in the attic and burned the roof and inside wood work. Mrs. Kroth wanted a hot fire to bake bread and a faulty flue caused the blaze. The men working about half a mile away saw the smoke and came with neighbors to help in any way they could. When the porch blazed, the supply of water was cut off because the cistern and well were close to the porch. Men hauled water in barrels from the creek and saved the smokehouse and woodshed and the floor over the cellar, which was under the main part of the building. The biggest loss was the kitchen fixtures but it was fortunate that bedding, clothing and household goods were saved. There was no insurance. The stonewalls were damaged very little so repair work was begun on the roof, the windows and doors. Tom Ellis and Tom Coverdale were hired as carpenters, neighbors helped too and in a month's time they moved from the cellar and the barn into the house to have Christmas together.
A large cottonwood tree at the end of the lane that led to the Kroth home made comforting shade for the Loughmillers, the Peasleys, and the Kroths who came to meet the mail carrier.
Before the Rural Free Delivery, people went to the nearest town or to small country stores to get their mail. The Kroths and Loughmillers sometimes walked to Avoca for it and that was a long, sometimes muddy, trail. So, it was a glad day when Mr. Henry Sigg began serving route one in early 1900's.
He drove a team of mules to a little white top wagon with sliding doors at the side. His patrons became used to his loud and constant call, "Gee Up and GedUp Now."
To get mail from Soldier eight miles away early in the morning was a daily blessing that sometimes took the form of an adventure.
The Kroth family kept pea-fowls a number of years. They interested the neighbors as well as the grandchildren who visited frequently. They were the blue-brown species and wore their erectile, brightly colored feathers proudly. When they strutted, the tail feathers opened up as a turkey's does and the ocellate spots shimmered and shone.
At one time there were as many as 15 cocks, not counting the hens, roaming the timber land and roosting in trees, in winter time
as well as in summer. They loved the liberty the timber afforded but were wildly frightened when coyotes gave warning of their nearness.
Arch remembers when the flock rose into the air and flew a mile to reach the protection the buildings gave.
But they preferred the wild life and came home principally perhaps to preen their handsome plumage and to tease the little chickens the family raised.
The children considered it a great find to pick up the pretty tail feathers the cocks dropped. These were gathered to fashion into dusters often used to keep flies scattered in a room where there was food.
The Kroths hired Mrs. Nick Wenner, an Avoca neighbor, because she was an expert at braiding the long quills or stems into a handle. The fans measured 2 feet and were about 18 inches wide. The handles gave the dusters a professional look and were sometimes used as parlor ornaments.
The boys at Kroths were much interested in the entertainment that the Avoca vicinity furnished. A baseball team, a band an orchestra, a lyceum and a singing school created the fellowship young people craved. There was much musical talent among people there and leaders took responsibilities without thought of compensation but simply for the love of music and sports.
Old Mr. Salisbury, father of Elmer and Clyde, and W. T. Van Horn were music leaders for a time and gave unselfishly of their ability. The band consisted of George Kroth, Ira Van Horn, John McCreight and Dad Salisbury with cornets. Altos were Frank Kroth, Joe Ernst, Clyde Salisbury and Fred Segrist. Shy Reese, a colored man, was a member of the band a short time before it disbanded. Elmer Salisbury, Ed Ernst, Will Hager, Sam Segrist and Frank Ernst played bass and baritone. The drummers were Ed Cain and George Zeigenbein. These band boys sponsored Fourth of July picnics in the Hager Grove for a number of years.
The baseball team and substitutes were: Bill Hager, Fred Watts, Cull McKinsey, Arch and Harley Kroth, Fred Beach, George and Ray Shove, Dean Harris, Charlie and Eph Fordham, Henry and Ernst Rieschick, Guy Potter and Ira Van Horn. These fellows matched games with Havensville, Bennettville and other teams, which were not too distant for horse and buggy transportation.
In the year 1897, for winter entertainment, they had a good literary society called Lyceum every Thursday night, which was well attended. Debating teams drew considerable interest and young people as well as old participated. Arch remembers these debated questions: Should women be allowed to vote? Should the Worlds Fair in Chicago be allowed to be open to the public on Sunday? Who was the greatest general of the Civil War? Should imports from foreign nations be allowed to come into this country? Which is the most disastrous, flood water or fire?
Because there were large pastures and a big barn and corrals at the Kroth farm, they raised many horses. Early settlers used them for work and for driving. Breaking them to pull a plow or a buggy was a hazardous chore.
Sometimes the young horses were boarded out to neighbors to break, then left to use for their "keep." Henry Kroth drove a good driving team of horses the 16 miles to Holton to pay taxes and to transact other business. Frequently his young brother-in-law, Robert, would ride along. Horse traders were very common and were often welcomed by farmers.
A good-looking, well-matched team of horses was an asset to anyone but especially to young men who wanted to take their best girls to church, to box suppers, to lyceums and other entertainments in schoolhouses.
On snowy roads, a homemade wooden cutter with sharp runners was great sport and pleasure. Sleigh bells on a moonlight night in a white and peaceful world are a memory that one holds close to the heart.
As Uncle Henry (he was called Uncle by Loughmiller relatives) grew older, he drove a small, gray pony in shafts. The pony was a great favorite of Uncle Henry's. It was gentle, but strong, and took him where he wanted to go. Those late years must have been rewarding for him as he regularly drove to his native grass pastures to take salt to the cattle and horses grazing there. Then he looked for gaps in fences and tested gates. All of this he did leisurely and Toby seemed to sense his mood and waited patiently for him. She knew and used all the tricks a spoiled pony learns.
Sometimes Henry drove the few miles to his children's home to visit awhile. (Someone says he always refused to stay to eat.)
Even the grandchildren recall Grandfather's German brogue and the pronunciation of the pony's name which was more like To-ba.
During this Civil War period, gangs called Rough Riders came into Kansas from bordering states and would take anything they wanted.
It wasn't often that they molested the women but if settlers interfered or tried to stop them they were sometimes shot down. They shot to kill.
A gang came to the Kroth farm one day. A nice filly in a pasture attracted them. One said, Mr., you got a nice filly out there, I guess we will take her along." Henry answered, "Yes, she is nice, but I don't think she will do you much good, she has a bog spavin." They parleyed awhile and then to everyone's surprise, they rode away.
The family called it a white lie and agreed that it was the only one he ever told.
George Howard Kroth and Anna Katherine Venneberg, both of Avoca, Kansas, were married at the Venneberg farm on October 15, 1895. They lived in a small house in the Buck's Grove community where three children were born. The first and second, a son and daughter, died in infancy before a name had been given them. Their third child, Lorena Merle, was born on October 20, 1898. The family departed their home in Kansas in a covered wagon headed for the Cherokee Strip around 1900. It was a new country with many inconveniences but with the pioneer spirit and lots of courage, they made the trip. When they got to their destination, Uncle John Kroth and a friend Jim McLinn were living near, in a dugout, and they took George and family in for a while until their house on a nearby farm was ready. They settled on a farm about ten miles from Arapahoe. Here they raised cattle and hogs, increased their family by the addition of three children, Mary, Milton and Myrtle.
George and Anna were community minded people and assisted in conducting Sunday school and Church. These services had to be held in the school house and a preacher came from one of the surrounding towns every other Sunday or perhaps less frequently, to hold church services. Of course, the preacher had to stay overnight in the neighborhood and it fell to the Kroths, many times, to "bed him down". Mother was forced to sleep on a pallet on the floor many times to give her bed-space to him.
School and church affairs were well attended as it was the main source of social contact in the community. I recall a Christmas program with a Christmas tree trimmed with cotton for snow and candles for lighting. A fire scare was caused by one of the candles catching some trimming on the tree, but for the quick thinking and acting of someone hear the tree, the fire might have caused panic. There was one door and the house was filled.
In this new country were many Indians and Gypsies. Always when we went to Clinton or Arapahoe to trade, we saw many Indians and they dressed in their native garb of bright blankets and beads. We children, in those days of mothers wearing long skirts, depended on keeping track of mother by hanging onto her skirt. This gave a feeling of security while we looked around the store. I recall one day after enjoying looking around and securely hanging on, looking up to find that instead of mother standing there, it was an Indian and I was hanging onto her blanket. You can imagine my quick exit to find "mom".
Gypsies often camped down the road about a quarter of a mile, traveled in covered wagons and pitched their tents when and where they chose to stop, and lived on what they could beg or steal from people around their camp. They would take clothes off the line or pick up chickens in the yard and take them home. They would even enter your house unannounced if the door were not locked.
The house we first occupied was not completely tight against varmints such as scorpions, centipedes, etc. Mother had had many stores told about these poisonous enemies she would find in Oklahoma. In the night, one time, she felt something sting her hand. She slept, or laid the rest of the night with her arm up over Lorena's head so she would feel anything that might crawl on her. The next morning she found where one of the fellows had mended a slit in the pillowslip with a straight pin. She soon got rid of that slip-shod mending. Another time Mother did kill a centipede that was crawling on the ceiling in what we called the shed-kitchen. As soon as Dad was able, he built the house over, making us a comfortable and safer home.
One of the things we enjoyed on our farm in Oklahoma was our pony, Beauty. She was black and all four of us "kids" would ride her at once. One day after a rain we were having fun riding round and round and through a mud puddle. Beauty decided, "Enough is enough" and stopped suddenly at the edge of the puddle, knocking two of us off into the water. That ended the riding for that day.
Another of our beloved possessions was our Shepherd dog, Shep. He was still with us when we moved from Oklahoma in 1909 so we gave him into the safe keeping of Uncle John and Aunt Edna. I'll never forget the sad letter we received from them a year later telling us how coyotes had cornered Shep in a fenced-in area and killed him. We got out the pictures we had of Shep and there wasn't a dry eye around our place all day.
The Washita River was a crystal clear stream that ran between Uncle John and us. We each lived about a quarter of a mile on either side of it. We often fished there. Many times the men caught fish in their hands; they could be seen so clearly in this clear stream with gravel bottom. The Washita could be very mean, however, when flooded. An early horrible memory is of a flood that took homes and lives near us. Dad and Uncle John helped hunt stray stock and told of finding bodies of people and of a big white horse caught in the trees. After the big rains, the air was filled with the sound of croaking frogs. To this day, hearing frogs after a big rain brings back the memory and feeling I had then, as a child.
We kids loved to go over to Aunt Edna's. She had purple and gold paint, which she let us use to color pictures. We usually colored pages in the Montgomery Ward catalog. Later, when Lois, their first child was born, we liked to go over to play with Lois. One tragic day, which saddened us all so very much, Lois, had an accident. Aunt Edna had been washing, had set the little foot tub of hot water off the stove onto the floor and just turned her back long enough to pick up the mop off the back porch, and in that instant, Lois who had been playing with a string, backed up while watching the string and fell backward into the tub of hot water. She was scalded so severely that she died that night. She was buried in white, in a little white casket. Grace Murphy, a neighbor, made a pair of sweet little satin shoes for her feet. The joys and sorrows of childhood you never forget and this was a great sorrow for our whole family.
Another funeral I will always remember, as it was the first one I ever attended, was so somber. In those days everything was black at an adult's funeral - black horses pulling a black hearse, and inside a black coffin. This funeral was held out-of-doors under the trees as the deceased had died of a contagious disease. The long trek to the cemetery took us through the Washita River we forded it - and it was somewhat swollen by rains and we had to hold our feet up to keep from getting them wet as the water came right up in the buggy.
Mother was a flower lover and liked to make things grow. She always had a big garden and worked hard both in raising it and in harvesting it, with the accompanying canning and preserving. Mother always had a large flock of chickens, too, and the egg money went far toward buying the groceries.
At one time we had some pea fowls that were considered quite a curiosity. Once Mamma was some Indians who were riding by in a wagon, stop and gaze toward the house. She was frightened until, when they drove in, she realized they were watching the pea fowls strutting about the barnyard, displaying their beautiful tails.
At the time Teddy Roosevelt was President, one of my Christmas gifts was a set of little dishes with Teddy Roosevelt's picture on them. Another time, I was to be in a Christmas program and along with several other little girls was to rock my doll and sing a cradlesong. My doll was old and while I loved her, she was a rag doll and pretty battered up. The night of the program, just before we left for the schoolhouse, Mother brought out the most adorable little doll dressed all in red, even with a red hat, and I was the happiest child at the program.
Dad attended the Great World's Exhibition in St. Louis in 1904 and brought back some unusual things that he saw there. One was a tie made of braided spun glass. We marveled at it and couldn't understand that that was glass. Now our fiberglass drapes are quite commonplace.
Dad raised cattle and when he took them to market in Kansas City he brought gifts back to us. One time I told him I wanted an all green dress - bright green. When he brought me a plaid one with green in it I was disappointed but he explained that he thought a bright green dress was not quite appropriate for a little girl. One time he brought Mother the most beautiful watch I think I have ever seen. Over each of the numerals was a gold star. Mother used it until her death. Each of us children received from Dad and Mother, on our eighteenth birthday, a watch of our own but they had never given Hazel, our dear sister-in-law, a watch so Dad gave Mother's to her and she has it now.
I believe I have never heard Dad speak German as he did not want German spoken in the home for fear we children would talk "Dutchy". However, Mother used to sing some old German songs and when Grandma Venneberg and Aunt Jennie Senner visited us one time, the three of them would sit and talk German by the hour, having the best time - much to our disgust because we did not understand them.
A short time before Myrtle was born, in August, 1908, Papa went to Havensville to a funeral - Grandma Kroth's I think. When he came home, he brought Aunt Kate and Grace with him for a visit. One day we youngsters were all taken to Uncle John's to spend the day. When we returned home, we had a baby sister, Anna Myrtle.
Because schools were not very good in Oklahoma at that time, short school terms so the children in many families would pick cotton and help in the fields, Dad and Mother thought it best to return to Kansas were we children would receive a better education. After we had our sale In August 1909, we were preparing to move to Kansas. We went to Ada, Oklahoma, for a few days visit with Papa's nephew, Henry Kroth, son of his half-brother, Will Kroth.
Dad and Mother had made many good friends In Oklahoma and they gathered together to bid them farewell at a party where they presented the folks a friendship quilt. Each family had embroidered a quilt block with their names on it and these had been put together to form a quilt - a beautiful Friendship Quilt.
The winter of 1909 we spent in Wichita, Kansas, while Dad looked for a farm to buy. In March, 1910, we moved five miles southwest of Winfield, Kansas, and that is where Dad and Mother lived until their deaths, and where the four of us children, Lorena, Mary, Milton and Myrtle, finished high school and went on from there into more work or more schooling. There we children were baptized and joined the First Methodist Church in Winfield and we all attended regularly. It was a five mile drive with horse and buggy at first until the Model A Ford came to reside at our new house, but we didn't miss many Sundays.
During the early part of the 1900’s the war with Germany was brewing and fomenting in our country. The unrest seeped through the communities . People could see spies behind every tree. There came a time when a German family near my grandpa Kroth’s place had their barn burned down. It seemed more prudent for our family to speak the dominate language and so my aunts and dad never did learn to speak German. My grandma Kroth sang German lullabies to me when I was a small one.
I saw this compromise played out many times in my life in the United States. Indians were placed on reservations. Polish children in Dowagiac had to compromise and speak English in the schools. During WWII many people of Japanese ancestry were placed in concentration Camps. When Dave Burns and I signed on a Norwegian Tanker right after WWII it seemed to us that it was more prudent to learn some Norwegian than to try to convert the whole ship. This came in handy as we sailed around the world. Compromising behavior was reinforced by my dad over the years. The value of tolerance was instilled.
At Winfield, also, the Kroth family was active in community affairs. Dad was a member of the school board and a member of the Brotherhood Class at the First M.E. Church. Mother and Dad both held membership in the Church. All the children at one time or another taught Sunday School classes, Mary and Myrtle stand in the choir. Milton, while attending Southwestern College, was a student pastor of a number of small churches in the oil fields up near Augusta. Lorena graduated with honors from Winfield High School and spoke at graduation.
When high school days came around, first Rena and Mary, then Mary and Milton drove Queen hitched to the buggy to Winfield five miles away to school each day. However, progress caught up with us and in the year 1919, I believe it was, Dad bought a Model T Ford. We were all so elated when he brought it home. We had been on the waiting list for ages - back when everyone wanted a Ford because that was the only kind of car most of us could afford. Well, Dad brought it home all shining; smelling so new, put it in the barn (no garages in those days) and Lo! And Behold! It snowed that night, such a big drifting show that we couldn't get the car out on the road for a week. What a sorry bunch we were. The snows were bigger in those days. I remember Lorena, one winter when she was teaching country school about three miles away from home, had to ride horseback and rode right over the tops of the fences on top of the crusty drifts.
The first trip we took by car up to see our relatives around Havens Ville and Soldier took us two days from Winfield. Those were the days of the Hockaday Highways and the signs which read, 'Sound Your Claxon". Of course, we didn't drive after dark. Our lights weren't very bright and the roads were not well marked, just that big "H" standing for "Hockaday".
Dad was a wheat farmer while at Winfield. Some years it took lots of patience to wait through a rainy harvest season wondering whether you were going to be able to get the crop in. When oil was discovered around Winfield, just a few miles from our farm, Dad was hopeful that oil might be found on our farm and leased his land but the first well was dry. Many years later, just about a year before his death, he did get two producing wells which made him happy.
Lorena, after completing high school, taught two years in country school and then was married to Floyd Myer, a neighbor, and moved into the Myer farm where they have made their home since. Thomas Kay, their only son, was born there, and after completing high school in Winfield, completed his work for his B.S. Degree at Kansas University. He then went to Washington, D.C., after serving in the Army from 1943-i946, In Washington he has been a writer and editor with the Civic Education Service which his uncle, Walter B. Myer, owned and operated. This service publishes newspapers and accompanying teaching services to schools throughout the country. Lorena has been active in Sunday school, Church and Club work throughout the years. Floyd farmed or supervised the farming of his land until his death on September 27, 1963. He had been community minded, had served on the school board of Fairview District many years. One of their nieces described Floyd and Rena as "the salt of the earth." Lorena is now working as a volunteer hospital worker at Newton Memorial Hospital, one day a week.
Mary, after completing high school, worked for a number of years as Secretary to the Superintendent of Schools, Winfield, attended Southwestern College 2 1/2 years, then went to Washington, D.C., where she was employed by the Civic Education Service, Progressive Education, and WPA Headquarters. She was married to Dibert L. Yeagley, in March, 1934. They moved to Petersburg, Virginia, where Dibert was employed as Record Clerk with the Federal Correctional Institution. Here Sara Ann was born. In this prison work, they transferred to Tallahassee, Florida; Ashland, Kentucky; and to Leavenworth, Kansas, where Dibert Kent was born. Dibert, at the time of his retirement from the Federal Prison Service, was Supervisor of Parole and Classification, Leavenworth. He accepted an appointment as member of the Kansas State Parole and Probation Board, which position he now holds. In 1949, Mary went to work as Secretary at Fort Leavenworth and held secretarial positions in the offices of the Headquarters Commandant and Chief of Staff. She retired from this position in December, 1963, and is now secretary of the First Methodist Church, Leavenworth. Sara Ann completed her work at Kansas University for a Master's Degree in Mathematics in 1963. In 1960 she was married to Kent W. Simcoe who received his Master's Degree In Electrical Engineering from Kansas University in 1962. He is employed in Loveland, Colorado, with Hewlitt Packard Company. Dibert Kent, we call him Kent, is a senior in the School of Business at Kansas University.
Milton, after high school, attended Southwestern College, received his A.B. Degree, was married to Hazel Marie Bender, also a graduate of Southwestern College, on September 7, 1926. They left for residence in Boston, Massachusetts, where Milton Attended Drew Seminary for two years. Deciding to be a teacher instead of a minister, they returned to Kansas and entered the teaching profession. Milton taught and held administrative positions in schools in Pontiac and Dowagiac, Michigan. Upon the death of Hazel's father, it was their choice to return to Winfield and farm the Bender farm and raise cattle. This is where they now live. It was in Boston that their son, Roger Lee, was born. He served in the Navy and completed his Master's Degree at the University of Iowa. He was married to Jane Majors in 1951 and entered the teaching field. He holds the position of Chief of the Counselling Service in the Wichita City Schools, Wichita, Kansas. Roger and Jane have four children; Michael Steven, Marianne, David Scott and Amy Jane.
Myrtle, after high school, was employed for several years as bookkeeper at the First National Bank, Winfield, then accepted the position of Secretary to the Principal of Winfield High School, which position she held until the fall of 1935 when she went to Washington, D.C. with Mary. There she attended Corcoran Art School and worked part-time at the Civic Education Service. She later held positions at A. Sloane Furniture Company and in the Federal Government, HOLC Offices. On July 4, 1937, she was married to Robert W. Gordon, a Marine Major. His work took them to Quantico, Virginia, where Rhona Kathryn, their first daughter, was born, and to Charleston, West Virginia, where Diana was born. After retirement, Robert did free-lance writing and editing and they were residing in Chicago, Illinois, when Robert died in November, 1954. Myrtle and daughters returned to Winfield where Myrtle was employed at the First National Bank until December 1963. She was then married to Leslie Taylor Whitson, an old school friend, and moved to Santa Ana, California. Rhona was married in September, 1961, to Ray Adams, an architectural designer and they make their home in Wichita, Kansas. They have one daughter, Jennifer Ann. Diana married Charles E. Cox in July, 1963. He is a Computer Programmer. They live in Englewood, Colorado. They have one son, Kevin Charles.
If Dad were to read these "Memoirs" he might exclaim: "Gee Whillickers", or "I'll Swan", or even "Who in Sam Hill would have remembered all that".
I wrote this when I was trying to remember some of my early years and the things that dad and mom did.
Religion played a significant part in my dad’s life and therefore also in mine. Mary Yeagley told about the trek to town in a wagon for church but there was another story that is a part of our oral history.
Grandpa George would not take communion. I guess he never said anything about it but it was obvious to the family. One Sunday after he got home with the family he let them off and drove back up the road to his neighbor, Mr. Trego, and they had a long talk. They had had some differences and in our Methodist Disciple it instructs one not to take communion as long as one is at odds with one’s neighbor. Grandpa had strong principles, which spilled over on to my dad and eventually to me.
One way for a country boy to get out of the country was to go to college to study to be a preacher or a teacher. Dad told me that when he was in the eighth grade in the one room school and about ready to go on the high school his teacher asked, “Milton have I ever given you a switching? No boy in my school should ever go on to high school with out one. Go get a switch.” So he did and she did.
My grandparents wanted their kids to have an education. I guess all parents want their kids to do better than they did. So dad and his sisters went on to Winfield High School. Thus began a procession of Kroth family kids through the schools. After High School came college at Southwestern. And he had to work. So all of the kids and me and my kids ended up working our way through college. I am still sad to have kids not have that enriching experience.
I chose to be born in Boston, Massachusetts on October 10th in 1927. I wanted to be near my mother(Hazel Marie Bender-Kroth) who had moved there with her husband Milton George Kroth. They had gone there ‘cause my dad wanted to attend the Drew Seminary at Boston University. Of course, after I was born they abandoned their plans to enter the ministry. A Doctor Pollock, who we still haven’t been able to place on the Genealogy profile, delivered me.
I don’t remember 1927 very well but I do know that it was the year that Babe Ruth hit 60 home runs. It is a wonder that I wasn’t named Ruth, instead of Roger. It was also the year that Lindbergh flew solo across the Atlantic. Al Olson starred in the Jazz Singer (the first talkie).
The 1926-27 years must have been heady times in Boston. I can remember stories about a protester who chained her to one of the trees so they wouldn’t cut it down. And the Transcendalists (poets and philosophers) were in vogue. There is so much history in that area--- homes of authors, Walden Pond, famous places and famous people and college students debating on in the night. I can imagine that my folks enjoyed themselves immensely. One could buy a new car for $350, and gas was 10 cents a gallon. Bread was less than a dime and stamps were 2 cents, and it was the same in 1927 when I was born. Irving Berlin and George and Ira Gershwin--and Oscar Hammerstein had some of the top songs of that area, some of which we still remember like “Old Man River, Strike up the Band and Why do I love you?”
I came from a traveling family. My great-grandfather Johann Heinrick Groth (naturalized to Henry Johann Kroth) , left Volsberg Germany in 1840 and traveled around the country until he was naturalized in 1847 in Owen County, Kentucky. He married Louisiana Loughmiller in Easton, Kansas. There is more known stuff but I’m jumping ahead to when my grandpa George Howard Kroth was born in 1871. I remember him well and stayed with him a couple of summers later on a farm in Winfield, Kansas . I helped him plow, etc.
Grandpa had married Anna Venneberg in 1895. They took off a few years later in a wagon with all of their worldly goods and ended up in the Cherokee Strip near Arapaho and Clinton, Oklahoma, to farm prior to the Oklahoma Land Rush. So my dad and three of his sisters were born in Indian territory. Oklahoma didn’t become a state until 1907 and dad was 4 years old by that time. A couple of years later they headed back to Kansas and soon ended up on a farm west of Winfield, Kansas.
After I was born the stock market crashed in 1929 and headed us into the “Great Depression”. Since we didn’t have any money and my dad didn’t have a job that I know of it didn’t make much difference to our life style. “Poor graduate students” set the tone for our family for decades to come. My dad could preach and farm and flip hamburgers and eventually would get into teaching. Prices dropped in the next few years and many farmers and others started the caravans west to the promised land of California. But we settled into the “Dust Bowl” in Lorraine.
A little gap exists which I have no documentation of and nobody to ask, and I was too young to remember and now I’m too old to remember.
But I do have some memories of Lorraine, Kansas.
Although prices were low by 1990 standards, gas was about 10 cents a gallon, and bread was a little more than a nickel a loaf, Dad’s teaching contract was for $110 a month with a proviso that “contract automatically expires in event sufficient taxes are not paid to meet salaries”.
Is this what you had in mind Thoreau????
We moved to Lorraine with a population of about 125 on a Saturday night. My dad started teaching there and I went to school in the first consolidated school in Kansas. My first and second grade teacher was Leota Veech.
I never thought we were poor and I don’t think my folks did either. We had lots of fun as a family and everyone in town knew us and we knew everyone. Mom made the best raised glazed donuts I ever ate. In later years mom and I even talked about opening a donut store. And can you believe she made homemade potato chips. I still have the potato slicing board. It must be an antique by now. I can remember playing pinochle. I doubt if I was very good at that age but it was a card game that mom and dad could play that didn’t cost anything.
Dad was a shop teacher at the high school. I don’t know what else he taught but I remember that he and his class once made a huge Yo Yo and dropped it off the top of the high school. He also made a mahogany bed which was beautiful. Once he and some of the high school kids made a tennis court in the vacant land across from our house. They graded the land and marked it off with lime. I think this was a geometry lesson for his students. For a long time I had one of the tennis racquets that they used it had steel strings and a huge handle. Both dad and mom played golf on a course with sand greens. I can remember once when dad and some other guys went golfing and they had some 3.2 beer...Near beer here an real beer near here!!!! The people in that community were of German descent and having homemade beer around was very natural. so I had my first taste of “dirty water”, which I was reminded of for years.
And the dust blew and blew.
We had had dust days instead of snow days. We had wet cloths around the cracks in the doors and windows to try to keep the dust out. Some days it was so bad we couldn’t see well enough to get to school. The other day I was talking to another Old Codger and he remembered that sometimes they had to send the school bus home early because it would get so dark that they couldn’t see and if they didn’t the kids would have to stay over night in the gym.. Much like we see with snow now. A movie much later was made on the book “The Grapes of Wraith”. It almost seemed like a documentary.
The Superintendent . E.D. Mechem, had 4 kids, Bobby, Donny , Ruth Mary and Dorothy and they lived fairly close, so we played together a lot. Mr. Mechem attended my dad’s funeral. So many people showed up there. There were a couple of other kids in the area too. Once in a while we would go down to “Fat” Peters grocery store. I’m not sure why because we didn’t have any money to spend that I can remember. Right next-door to the grocery store was a croquet court were some of the adults used to play once in a while and we could watch.
I have often felt like my life was under control and maybe even controlled by forces outside of me. I was fortunate to have parents who were willing to let me try things and who were willing to take risks. To be born in an era of the Lindy Hop (across the Atlantic Ocean) was one of the benchmarks to be remembered. Just a part of a life of being raised in the Land of OZ
Flying has always fascinated me. I can remember that when I was living in Lorraine I saw my first airplane flying across the skies. I would imagine that it was going from Wichita to Denver. In my imagination I have flown with or without a mechanical appliance. UFO’s
Living in Kansas and NewMexico, I have often been asked if I’ve seen a UFO. Of course, there is Roswell and the Aliens and many New Age devotees and the spiritual area around Chaco Canyon. There does seem to by something mystical about the area but I have never seen a UFO.
Now Near Death Experiences are another thing and so are Out of Body experiences. I had an OBE in the recovery room after my by pass heart surgery. I didn’t say anything about it for a long time afterwards.
I still have a copy of Pike’s book , The Other Side. Dad bought his book and I know he was interested in the hereafter. Of course he was interested in many things he read about.
If I seem to stray from one time period to another it is not just a James Joyce technique but my own crazy thought process. I’m not astro projecting, but one thing seems to lead to another. Maybe more like Shirley McClain who regresses to another life right in the middle of a sentence.
Although I was born in Boston, most of my early life was growing up in small town America. I was lucky to be born into a family who fostered creativity and imagination. We did things like live in Lorraine, Kansas and go to school at Northwestern in Evanston, Illinois. While it did not seem strange to me then, as I look back, I didn’t know of other kids in my little town who went to some Cubs baseball games and rode the El or go to The World’s Fair. I could walk over to the Evanston Public Library and devour kids books like they were going out of style. I could swim in Lake Michigan, which was a lot, more water than fell in the Kansas plains during the dustbowl days.
I never thought much about it until years later but my parents treated me like a real person. Our discussions were about real things. As we moved from Lorraine to Pontiac, Illinois and then on to Dowagiac, Michigan, there were all sorts of enrichment activities in my life. Many of my summers were spent on the Grandview ranch in Winfield, Kansas or my other grandpa’s farm on the other side of town. Having teachers for family members some of my cousins were around too.
In the 1960’s and through 1990’s many theme parks rose like Phoenix from the ashes throughout the USA. People from all over the country loaded up their children in vans and headed to Disneyland, Six Flags over Texas, Dolly land and many other venues in the Southeast. But it did not equal the enthusiasm of the many people who headed into the Grandview Ranch in the 20’s, 30’s and 40’s and even in to the 50’s and 60’s.
Friends and relatives headed in to swim and fish, ride horses, learn to drive, camp out, and spook the cattle. Some hunted in season, and all enjoyed the boundless hospitality of the owners. Years later, everyone has a story to tell.. some true, some fantasy or some wishful thinking.
The Ranch was about 800 acres. Which was small for Texas or Oklahoma but large for Rhode Island or Vermont. There was not a lot of tillable soil, but there was some good pastureland and a creek ran through it. Also the Frisco rail had a spur that ran through the property. Later the train hit my dad when he was coming up from working in the fields. Wrecked his tractor and crippled him for most of the rest of his life
The creek ran from the north side of the property all the way to the south. I never did go much further south but I think it ran into the Walnut River eventually. At one time or another I traveled the whole creek and I don’t remember many places that were over my head. It seemed like kind of a friendly stream and yet there were times that it got out of its banks and raised hell with crops and structures along it route. A couple of times we found a boat which had floated down and got caught up in the ford or in the trees along the bank. They never were very sea worthy and I’m sure they didn’t lead to my desire to go to sea later on in life.
I can remember using a boat to set lines to catch fish along the bank. We would try to find places that looked deep enough to attract a good sized catfish and tie a line with a sinker and a small float. We would leave them over night and come down the next day and run our lines. The rule was in hunting and fishing that you cleaned and ate what you caught. So we didn’t like to catch turtles. They were tough to handle and their jaws were strong.
The catfish we caught could make a good dinner and so we cut off the head and used pliers to skin them. Then we gutted them and washed them down. I think mom used to fry them in a batter of corn bread and salt. If it was the right time of the year we could pick some corn and husk it and cook the ears in boiling water. If we were staying over night we might leave the husks on and pack them in mud and put them under the coals in a fire we had made and then we would have roast corn. My dad used to plant watermelons in the cornrows so when we were out working and if it was hot we could break a watermelon and eat the heart out. Usually we got so much sticky juice on us that we had to strip off our clothes and jump in the creek and get clean. You can’t do that at Disneyland.
The creek was there. And hundreds of people enjoyed her over the years. In the early days some people from town (Winfield) built cabins in the bend of the creek. For years after ward one could see the cement slabs that remained after floods had ravaged the area. The people who had built there had chosen the site well. There was usually good fishing on the east side of the cabins or slabs as I remember them. On the west side of the cabins the creek had doubled back and I can remember putting up a rope with a tire on it so we could swing out and drop into the creek. The bottom there was made of large flat stones and it felt good. On down the river and away from the usual noise and human beings some beavers had built a dam. If you didn’t walk down the creek from the swing you would never see it. And I doubt if it was there when the cabins were inhabited.
There was a ford across the creek where you could cross and go up the other side to the pasture. Just north of the ford was a big mud bank. Some of us used to splash water up on it to make it slippery and we would dig steps and handhold so we could get up and slide down. Since we almost always did it skinny-dipping we had to watch out for stray roots, which might protrude out and get our attention.
One day my dad and I were down they’re skinny-dipping and we heard some cars coming through the gate. Our options were few. Our clothes were on the bank. And we had no suits.
WE WAITED UNTIL THEY CAME INTO VIEW. Dad finally got their attention, and persuaded them to back off for a while, while he got out and slipped on his pants and went to the house to get me a suit.
It was a Sunday school group who had stopped at the house and mom had told then they could find us down at the creek and they sure did.
The creek could be a place to relax or cause trouble. One Saturday, I decided to wash the car so I could go to town that night. The folks had gone off somewhere and I drove down to the ford. I had a 1936 Ford convertible with a merc motor and a rumble seat. We had a lot of fun with that car and a gang of kids. It was fun to drive and park in front of Bird’s Drug Store and watch people go by - some dragging Main Street and some just walking.
At any rate I drove down to the creek and drove on to the ford. I had some soap and rags and washed the car and then went swimming in the creek just north of the ford. Time passed by and it was a warm lazy day. Finally I got out and went back to the car. Of course, the creek and been streaming by and under the wheels. I started up the car to back it out and the wheels just spun and the car sunk lower. I tried going forward with no luck. I began to panic. There was no one around to help and trying to drive it out wasn’t working. This was before the days of the cell phone.
I decided I was going to have to run to the house. It was quite a run. Over the railroad tracks and I was almost to tears with worry. When I got the house there was no one there. geezz!!!!. I think I had prayed all the way. Help me god..... `
Earlier that morning we had been working on the tractor and it was sitting there as if it was waiting for me. I grabbed a length of chain and started up heading for the ford in the ford. I was praying that it wouldn’t be floated away before I could get there.
There it was -- water was beginning to flow through it and I waded in and put the chain around the bumper. Hitched to the tractor, I knew I had to pull slowly so the tractor wouldn’t sink in the gravel along the creek and that I wouldn’t pull the bumper off. My body strained as if I was pulling it by hand and then it slowly came out.
I drooped over the steering wheel with sweat pouring off my body. I’m sure I sobbed. Finally I turned off the motor, got off the tractor seat and went back to see to my car. The creek had run right through it. I tried to start it . No LUCK.
Finally I decided to pull it up to the house and let it dry off. It took some time but I finally got it up. I had to open and close gates so the cows wouldn’t get out.
By the time I got home, my folks were there. I hated to face my dad. He could really get angry as my kids could attest. But he could also get over it fast. When he saw what had happened and what I had done, he laughed. He then helped me dry off the spark plugs, and parts and said I had done a good job for such a stupid trick. and then he wanted to know if was going to town that evening.
Dad taught me many lessons by the way he handled situations. and of course, I never forgot this one, When we moved to the ranch I can remember once asking dad if Norv and and maybe Kent Franzen could come out and help me with some work. Dad said,” one boy is a whole boy and two boys is a half a boy and three boys is no boys at all.” Some of my friends still remember that piece of wisdom.
When I was running around he would often tell me that he didn’t care when I got home but I could expect to be on the tractor at 5:30 in the morning and there were a number of nights that I got home in time to change clothes and go to work. And my eyes would burn when the sun came up.... COUSINS
Joy, Eleanor and Nancy were Uncle Harold’s kids and most of the time they lived in Kansas. I stayed at their house in Burns one summer for a week and enjoyed myself. Harold was the manager of the local Farmer’s Union. They didn’t have any boys so I got special attention.
Bill Bender was about my same age and his dad, Leslie, was a principal of a junior high school in West Orange New Jersey. He had sister, Edith Penelope (Penny) who was quite a bit younger but I don’t remember her being on the ranch much.
Chuck Anderson was Winnie and Lawrence Anderson’s son. He was a few years younger. He got my metal clarinet when I wouldn’t play it. He learned and now has a real one, which he plays in a German band. He ended up being a professor in North Carolina.
Since Uncle Andy was a teacher at Evansville College, they spent some of the summer’s on the ranch too. The trick was to get us all there at the same time.
SOUTHWESTERN COLLEGE was called the Mound builders for whatever reason. I tend to think that it was because of the Indian mounds around the area. We were told that classes from Southwestern came out to the Grandview Ranch to dig in one of the Indian graves in the East Pasture. I don’t remember who told us about it but I know that Bill and I went over to dig ourselves to see if we could find any artifacts. We found some colored beads but that was about all.
“Bill, let’s buy some of those colored Indian beads in town” “You mean those little kits? Why, do you want to make a bracelet or something?”
“No, I think we should take them over to the Indian grave and ‘seed’ the place for some of those college kids>“ “WOW!!!! What a good idea”
So Bill and I bought the beads and took them back. I think to this day that some people had the delight of finding some ‘real’ Indian artifacts.
As you can imagine, we had enough kids to get into mischief from time to time on the ranch.
The ranch was a fun place to be and we had many adventures and misadventures. We all learned to ride horses, drive trucks or tractors, swim in the creek, fish and shoot rifles. Even our own children had some of the same experiences on the ranch. Turkey Tree For a time my grandparents raised turkeys. They are the dumbest birds (even though they were considered as a possibility for our National Bird). I can remember one time a couple of us started teasing them and they chased us up a tree in the yard. Being pecked by a turkey is not a treat and we scurried up yelling for help. We had had visions of staying in the tree over night. We could see the girl cousins huddled together trying to decide whether to save us or not--would they go tell someone or let us stay up in the tree overnight. You could never trust a girl at our age and we remembered hearing how turkeys roosted in the trees at night. Scared--you bet!!! Eventually some of the elders paid attention to us. Some of our girl cousins accused us of crying in the tree but I can’t believe it. I remember us as being fearless.
Turkey feathers had some good uses. We could put them in a headband and play cowboys and Indians, but the best thing was to get a corncob and cut it in two pieces. Then you could take the feather and stick it in the soft center part of the cob. They made great throwing “things”. Another trick we learned was to take a shingle and shave a point on the thick end. We could fashion a tail on the thin end and then notch it about half way up. Getting a stick and putting a piece of twine on it and a knot on the end of the twine and snapping it out would make the shingle arrow for long distances.
Find a piece of limb that had a Y and then taking a knife and shaving it down made a sling shot if you could get a good piece of inner tube. It is a wonder we didn’t kill each other or some of the animals on the ranch.
We could shoot the rifles or once in a while the 12 gauge double barrel shot gun if we could con our parents into it. Shooting the shotgun had so much kick that you could have a bruised shoulder for days.
It all sounds pretty lethal but we were good church going kids.
Thomas Crapper was born in 1837 and has often been credited with the invention of the flush toilet. While he was a plumber in England the flush toilet was patented when he was only nine. “In the United States the word ‘crapper ‘ means toilet or john but not in England. Maybe the troops in England in the WWI. Brought the name back. Adam Hart-Davis points out that in the Collegiate Dictionary the phrase “to crap” means to defecate and has done so since 1846. Therefore Thomas Crapper could not be responsible for giving this function his name. I use this to illustrate that I am glad that a Kroth did not invent the flush toilet. Wouldn’t it be awful to say I had to take a Kroth?????
Needless to say most of us, of my vintage remember the outhouses on the farms where our grandparents lived and sometimes in the towns and often at the rural churches. It is a wonder we all didn’t end up with constipation problems. There was nothing like making a run out and back, and I could never figure out why there were two holers. I don’t ever remember sharing that chore with anybody.
In the early days the paper in the outhouses consisted of a Sears catalog. That was mighty stiff paper and not nearly as gentle as Charmin ;-). We did get an education from looking at the pictures. I remember when the grandparents called the catalog the wish book. Almost everything you could want and even didn’t know you wanted was found in there. It was a precursor to the mountains of catalogs, which are delivered to our houses every day.
There was a certain aroma that is associated with an outhouse that I’m sure none of us will ever forget.
Fourth of July was a great time to try to catch someone in the outhouse and drop firecrackers in, and listen to the yells. Of course, I never did that personally, but I knew some who did. It was fun if all of the kids of the families would converge on the ranch on the same 4th of July and pool our fireworks. Usually we would make ice cream and one of the smaller kids would sit on the freezer while the older and stronger ones would crank away. Our dads would usually have to finish it up.
We all knew of a story or two of some devilish kids tipping over an outhouse around Halloween. I can remember about one story of one of the guys in an older class than mine in school who supposedly tipped over an outhouse and then ran around the farmer’s house to get to his car. When the farmer came out and threw on the lights and started chasing the boy on foot he ran around the house and right into the place where the outhouse used to be.. ugh!!!!!
When my Grandpa Bender died my dad resigned his job as principal in Dowagiac and we moved to the Ranch.
I hated to move.
I had been moderately successful in my small high school in Dowagiac. I played on the basketball and tennis teams and had been elected to some offices. I hadn’t really started dating but the thought did enter my mind from time to time. I had friends who I continue to keep in touch with today Dowagiac was small enough that we all seemed to know each other and we could ride our bikes out to one of the lakes and go swimming.
When we moved to Dowagiac, we had our house heated by a coal furnace. That was different than anything we had had before. One night my folks were out and when they got home, I had let the fire burn out. That was a no-no. Dad took me down to the furnace and we had a lesson. Restarting the furnace was not for sissies. He asked me about letting it go out. And I made the mistake of telling him that “No one had told me to watch it or shovel more coal on it”.
“You shouldn’t have to be told,” he said. My dad was a man of few words and he didn’t like to waste them on a stupid mistake, “Keep your eyes open for things that need to be done.”
That lesson stayed with me until this day.
Dave Cargo who later became Governor of New Mexico and I had stories about me getting bit by a dog while riding in the country. Ivan Carl Kincheloe, in my class later was a double Ace in Korea could fly his own plane and he and I played in the orchestra. I couldn’t make it in the band and the teacher even asked me to leave the reed out of my clarinet when we were having a public performance. But Carl who played the tympanis decided I could play the bass and so we got that accomplished. We had a lot of fun together. Andy Moses-Thomas and I had a lot of fun playing tennis together and even played in the National Boys Tennis Tournament in Kalamazoo. I think they needed to fill out some brackets but it is nicer to think we were talented.
The move to being a farm boy was tough.
I was fortunate to have parents who had both graduated from High School and College in Winfield. Their contacts in the community helped me get a leg up. Being a better than average tennis player helped a lot too..
As time goes by in one’s life, special places emerge. Some are related to an emotional time, some spiritual, and some physical, but they are places that made enough of an impression that they are visited and revisited over time. Sometimes we make an active effort to go to one for a particular purpose---to problem solve, to meditate, to conjure up stories, to day dream and sometimes just to return nearer to God.
One of the experiences that I will always cherish is “riding fence” with my dad. Sometimes it was in a truck but often it was on horseback. We usually took a rifle along with the off chance of getting a jack rabbit.
Over the years I had a number of adventures with horses and other farm animals. I was sure not a “Horse Whisperer” but probably more of a Horse Shouter. I can remember one time when we were riding in the East Pasture and it had been raining the night before. It made the grass wet. A cow got loose and Dad yelled for me to head her off. The ponies were trained to get on a cows tail and steer it to a pen or some trailer.
Off we went. I think Sunny heard my Dad and not my whisper. Over the hill we went and the cow turned sharply and Sunny went right after her. Down went Sunny and I was on her back. Then she struggled to get up and she did, right under me. And off we went again. Nothing like a good cow pony.
Another time when we were just trying to break her to be ridden, Dad in his wisdom decided to ride Buck while I rode Sunny. Sunny was a pretty palomino, and liked to follow Buck but not with me on her back.
We started across a plowed field in the thought that she would not try to buck when she couldn’t get a good footing. WRONG!!! Up she went and her hind feet slipped and sunk in to the soft earth and back she came. Fortunately the saddle horn slipped between my legs and only took off some hide. I say fortunately because otherwise we might not have had David and Amy.
We rode our horses slowly down a hill into a swampy area with a slow flow of water. Watercress was all over the moist ground and grew in water in the area. The sun played through the leaves of the trees and made patterns in the clearing.
We halted our horses and Dad said, “Don’t let them go into the watery part, they’ll rile the water and we won’t be able to get a good drink.”
I had ridden by this area many times before but I had not paid any attention to it. We got off the horses and tied them to some saplings and knelt to drink the water. Cupping our hands to create little hollows to hold the water allowed us to have a perfect drink. Without a doubt it was the coolest clearest water I ever had. It would come back to me many times in the years to come.
As we sat by the spring with the sunlight coming through the leaves of the trees, one could almost see the fairies flitting around and the water nymphs trying to get one’s attention.
My dad was always teaching.. telling me the value of the savoring the moment and reminding me to return when I need a spiritual uplift or the need to create. In the following years, I came across other special places, but the spring had a special meaning to me. Maybe because my dad introduced me to it.
I used to return to it for inspiration for stories like the “Flying red Horse” , which it was needed on the fly as we drove down the road late at night on one of our many trips across country to visit grandparents.
In late 1948 or early 1949, the Norwegian tanker, Mosbay pulled into a bay area across the country from Suva, the Capital of the Fiji Islands. Looking over the railing as we chugged in, we could see down through the crystal clear water to the rocks on the floor of the bay. I don’t think I ever was so impressed unless it was in Petoski, Michigan, when we used to look for Petoski stones on the beach. I’m not sure there was a name for the dock or port that we came into but it was so serene and a place to return to in my mind many times in later years. We came in from the north and slide through the calm sea until we got to the shore. The palm trees beckoned us with their waving branches until we were ready to toss out the lines and hook up. It seemed that we were all lined up on the rail waiting for what (?) , we did not know.
From the time we left San Francisco in November to the time we landed in the Philippines at Manila Bay in the midst of many sunken ships from WWII to our trip down to the Pale bang Islands to pick up oil to go to Sydney, Australia, we kept looking for something exotic, like the Fiji Islands. When we tried to sign off the Mosbay in Sydney, we found we could not ----because we did not have enough money----and of course we were always too proud to write home for money.. This was to be on our own.
We had to go to sea again to make some more money, ( I think we had to have about $150) so that Australia would accept us and so we showed up in the Fiji Islands.
The Fiji Islands came closer to the adventurous sites we hope to find as we traveled the world.. Native wore grass skirts and women and men wore no tops...Hooterville .... We took a train type Hooterville Trolley vehicle to the gold mines which are in Northern Fiji and is one of the third most valuable exports of the country...There we saw gold ingots, but we could not touch When we got back to the ship’s dock we threw rocks at the coconuts, trying to dislodge some.
A man showed up in cutoffs and, “And what are you blokes doing?”, he asked. We told him and he shinnied up the tree like a native and threw down some coconuts.
When he came down we had a chance to visit with him. He had been in the R.A.F. in world war II and when he got out he bought a dairy in the northern part of the main Fiji Island. He sold milk and dairy products to Suva, the capital on the southern part of the island. He sent his children to New Zealand for schooling for their education since there was nothing around there he said.
In the fifty years since we were in the Fiji Islands a large tourist industry has sprung up.. When we were there in the late 1948-49, the natives themselves almost wholly owned the islands.
I have often teased my family with the idea of scattering my ashes there when I die, thus giving them a nice trip as part of their inheritance. Both my dad and mom had their ashes scattered in the East Pasture of the Ranch. Mom did Dads and I did hers
It made such an impression on me, when I was first there that I always hold it as one of those special places that one holds dear in their memories. Once in the 1960’s when a psychologist friend at the Kansas University Medical Center offered to try to hypnotize me, he suggested I pick the most tranquil, serene place I could remember and place myself there. I went to the northern coast of the Fiji Islands.
Another place that I visited just the other day was the Island of Bin tan. I had a new found friend that I met when I was volunteering in the Library who asked me to find some places in Indonesia for him.. He was going traveling. When I pulled up Indonesia with a new--(to me) search engine, I decided to try Bin tan, and sure enough there is was. When we visited there on our trips around the world to pick up or deliver oil it was a very primitive thatched roofed buildings type of a place. I can even remember when one of our sailors got too much too drink and walked right through the wall of one of the huts. It caused quite a bit of international diplomacy by our captain to get him released to the ship and for us to get the hell out of there.
Any way, the view on the web was a beautiful resort like place although still somewhat primitive but a place that could call you back. It is just a short ferry ride from Singapore.
There is a stretch of road between Eagle Nest and Cimarron which always holds a special place in my heart. A number of years ago we bought a condo at Angel Fire which is a beautiful place even though it has been a drain on us financially. (Our kids ask us not to will it to them, saying it would be child abuse) but it has been a nice place to go and enjoy the summers. Since we are not skiers, our favorite times of the year are the spring and fall and the 4th of July.
No trip there is complete without driving to Cimarron for some “cimarron rolls” in the early evening. I don’t think we ever made the trip without seeing a deer or two. The trees make a canopy over the highway and the sounds, other than the cars driving along are the sounds of peace and comfort. One can sing old family songs and enjoy the solitude and the wonderful coexistence between man and nature.
Needless to say, it is another place where I have thought about for my ashes.
A couple of years ago I got a book from Amy, with a title like “Dad , share your life with me”. Every page asks for some piece of data, some of which I could just answer but some of which I don’t think I could. As I get older my mind doesn’t remember everything any more and I didn’t keep a diary like my wife, Jane did, and I didn’t keep a journal when I was in the service or in the Norwegian Merchant Marine and I have regretted it every since.
I knew ,Dad, that you were an environmentalist. I’m sure it goes back to the days when you originally lived on the farm, As a boy I can remember you picking up a handful of dirt and putting it to your nose and mouth, gathering the essence.
I know that mom and dad talked over what to do with their remains when they died. Dad wanted to be cremated and have his ashes scattered in the East Pasture. Ashes to Ashes. It made sense to me.
When my mom died she had a section in her funeral arrangement papers that said “I want to be cremated and my son will take my ashes and scatter them in the East Pasture on the ranch”….To my self when I saw that I said “OH MOM!!!”
Dad was very active in soil conservation and served on the board for the county. Some federal funds came available to make a dam and it made a lot of sense to make a lake which would cut the erosion of the lands and save water which could be used for recreation and a water supply for Winfield. Of course it will mean that some people in the area would have a number of acres flooded and taken out of production.
Dad supported it and it made him some enemies but he went around and spent time explaining it to them and making sure that they were supportive. He was a leader in the community and they came around. Imagine making a lake…what a guy,
Dad had married into a Republican family so they didn’t talk politics in the early days. Dad was a fast learner and a politician. His father-in-law made fun of most of the things under the rubric of the NEW DEAL. My dad took me around to the Tennessee Valley Authority so I could I could see what can be done for many people along the river. It brought electricity to many who have not had it.
Dad was a fan of Harold Stassen. , who was rather socialistic and never went far in the presidential races. Dad liked ideas of taking care of people and the environment. He was always a good principal but I am sure he was happy when he resigned from the school system…even though if he had stayed he would have been made superintendent. It didn’t mean that he gave up his ideals about education… He eventually was elected to the Board of Education for the Winfield area and he was on the draft board. There is more to that story later.
Military
When he was a principal he tried to enlist in WWII as he saw so many of the brightest and strongest being drafted. He was turned down because he was in a “vital” industry. Moving to the farm found him still in a “vital” industry.
At heart dad was a pacifist and it rubbed off on me.
When I was growing up I wanted a BB gun but my dad and his dad decided that guns were for killing and I had to learn that so he let me get a .22 rifle, I still have it.
World war II saw a lot of boys going off to war. I was born at a time when it was strictly patriot to save gas and scrap iron and lard, etc. Some of my classmates went off to war and Carl Kinchloe became a double ace in the Korean war.
We all signed up for the draft. And my dad was on the draft board, naturally. When I was going to school at Oklahoma A and M I got drafted and went to take my physical and it looked like the Army but I decided I would rather be in the Navy so I came home and enlisted. I had to enlist for two years. It was a great learning experience and I learned to be an aerographer (Meteorologist).
None of my grandparents had any or much of a formal education, but you could see it coming and they wanted to have something for their children. I think they saw it as a way off the hard toil of the soil. For sure the males were encouraged to go on to college. My dad went to Southwestern College in Winfield, Kansas. It was a Methodist supported school and dad preached in the oil fields for cash to go to school on and to get some experience in the “real “ world. I guess they got paid a percentage of the collection plate. He must have pretty good because he went off to Boston University after he and mom got married. In order to be able to stay in school he did some preaching in some of the local churches.
His education must have been classical in nature. I’m not sure if this was true of undergraduate as well as graduate training in Boston. I do know that somewhere he learned to quote from poetry and Shakespeare. He was well read and encouraged me to the do same . Once when I was on a road trip with the Iowa tennis team, the coach encouraged us to stay with my folks on the farm. It was interesting couple of days. Dad in his bib overalls would exchange poetry or quotes from the literature with my teammates. I know it was an experience for them and it sure was for me. Dad was a special person and I loved to talk to him. ( I was talking to Norm Barnes the other day and brought it up again. Sure he remembered my dad and he wasn’t sure that Dr Klotz should have pushed our way in).
Dad earned his masters degree from Northwestern, went to graduate school at the University of Michigan as well as Southwestern and Boston University. And I think that was why I always knew that I would be going to college.
Once when we lived in Dowagiac he heard that Carl Sandburg was going to be in a small town near Niles so he bundled mom and me up and we made the trip. We heard Mr. Sandburg play his guitar and read some of his poetry. I still remember “the fog came on little cat feet….” Years later I read some of the books that he wrote on Lincoln and then some of his daughter’s books. That was an interesting family.
One of the daughters was mildly retarded and the mother had her disagreements with the school on how to teach her. Dad ,You were always teaching . I don’t know whether you knew I was learning or not.
Dad, Andy called the other day. When you knew him he was Andy Moses but he is now Andy Thomas. His son had died and he was having a hard time with it. His old coach at UCLA, John Wooden called him to counsel with him and among other things suggested that he write down some of his memories of Jeff. Good advice from a counseling point of view. Any way I called Andy back and we got to telling Milton stories. You used to cart us around sometimes to tennis tournaments. The first time he ever won a tournament, you had taken him up to Kalamazoo. We played on the Doc Stowe tennis courts where the National boys tournaments were played. Doc Stowe was a real gentleman and I think I considered going to school at Kalamazoo college rather than go to Winfield but that was shot down and in retrospect that was a good shot.
Andy reminded me that I had taken him to church in Dowagiac. My dad used
to be a substitute preacher. I told Andy that you had preached in the oil fields around Southwestern when you were going to college.
He then reminded me that you had been the major speaker at the commencement that year. I always enjoyed listening to you speak.
Andy told me that every time you got ready to impart a gem you would clear your voice first. I suppose Andy was right but I lived with you and he didn’t.
Wealth and poverty were never issues around our table. They may have been pillow talk with my parents but I never felt poor. We always had enough to eat and even though your first teaching contract in Lorraine but miniscule by today’s standards, (I’ll try to make a copy) a little over $100 a month if we can get it from the taxes) we were able to do a lot like go back to Northwestern for graduate school and you took me to the Cubs baseball games and to the Worlds fair in Chicago and ending up with a masters degree in education, I think some of the farmers in the rural community helped out with some larder from time to time. While money was important I don’t think we ever did things for money. It didn’t seem to be an issue when you decided to come to the ranch instead of going on in the Dowagiac administration. Even in the depression I think you always thought you could make it.
Living on the ranch you always had produce (meat and veggies) around and you did what was necessary.
Cutting pigs
I was never a great one for branding or killing a cow or castrating animals.. but there are certain choirs that had to be done. Why you decided to be a pig farmer , I’ll never know but I did find out they had to be cut and since I didn’t relish the cutting side I got the “hold” side. There were a lot of squeals associated with this job. WE were a small operation.. Three people and although sometimes we could farm out jobs and exchange work with some of the other farmers but sometimes we just had to suck it up.
I can remember another time you “loaned” me out to my grandpa Kroth. He had a heifer that needed to be serviced. I had never participated in this ritual before.. there were a lot of firsts for me and you always thought I could do it.
Grandpa and me got that heifer in the trailer and headed off to the neighbors bull. When we got there I could see there was a lot of agitation on the part of the heifer and the bull. Grandpa had a rope around the heifer and told me to hold on to it and he was going to let the tail gate down. I grabbed it with both hands and I never did see such a commotion. That rope went through my hands and my grandpa yelled at me to snug it. Eventually there was a contented bull and a happy heifer and a new man/boy with two raw hands. I’m sure that Grandpa didn’t now whether to laugh or yell at me but he showed a lot of concern. Another value we shared was patience and forgiveness.
I never was too good at sitting on the bank of the creek with a pole waiting for a nibble or sitting under a tree waiting for a squirrel to pop it’s head up so I could get a shot. The rule was pretty much you clean and cook and eat what you kill. There were some things I liked better than others. I would much rather set lines on the banks of the creek or flush a Jackrabbit while riding the fence than waiting for the game to come to me.
But there are certain activities ,though, that are so designed that they will test one’s patience. A few summers I plowed acres of land with a 2 bottom plow on a Fordson tractor. There are no shortcuts. I learned to give speeches and sing songs and fantasize. The patience that I learned in those days stood me in good stead in sports. I think I could outwait most opponents. Over and in, over and in. I think I applied it in other activities as well.
Years later, I found that steering a T2 tanker required the same behavior. I could also write stories in my head and for sure I fantasized. In retrospect I wish I had written down my feelings and observations at the end of the day.
I’m not sure I ever really wanted to be a professor as a life goal but the vagaries of life led me to it. At one time I said I never wanted to be a teacher because I had a taste of what it was like to be an education family but I had to get a teaching certificate so I could support my family. As time went on and I got into hot water by being an administrator which was stressful to me. Of course it was close to our parents and that helped but when I finally got on the track of graduate school life was fun.
After I got to professing my dad said to me once, ”Are you sure you should be gone as much as you are traveling and speaking around the country. You have an obligation to your students, and to your family.” That took me aback. Dad didn’t usually criticize my choices.
I thought it was unfair and he didn’t understand higher Ed.
I tried to explain it was in my student’s interests to have a professor who was in demand.
A little example….Bobbye Krehbiel was one of my doc students and we even wrote together. About a year ago she quit her job at the UNM hospital and her husband sold his law practice. The bought a boat and started sailing the Pacific. The standing joke was they were going to go down to the Panama canal and decide whether to turn right or left.
Six degrees of freedom. She and Phil got back and drove up to Minnesota. I got an email saying that while they were visiting a cousin. A guy name Tom Belton showed up and after the usual Psychological tale fluffing, he asked her if she knew Dave Cargo and then he said he knew a prof at UNM. And asked her if he knew me. “tis surely a small small world.” She told him I was her advisor.
Sometimes dad and I would sit and talk. He was a great guy to bounce ideas off of. One afternoon I told dad about when I was teaching High School in Wheaton. I was teaching about six sections of American History and the Superintendent came by and said that was not appropriate so he took one class away and gave me a study hall of about 200 high school kids. I thought about asking him for my class back again.
Dad said that I should have all the kids face in the same way and get my desk at the back of them. What a good idea. If one popped his/her head up I could see them and get to the problem before it got out of hand.. I used it for many years after that. The pure simplicity of it worked like a charm. Oh sure there were days….
Another time we talked about how to solve problems. Dad’s advice was you ought to do soon what you know you are going to have to do later… of course there are times that if you can see the gestalt it might be that if you left it alone it might solve its self. Knowing the difference was important.
Dad was a Centering force---of course mom was too.
They used to ask if they could have you kids down on the farm with them. And it often came at a very good time, when I was working at the tennis courts in Cedar Rapids, ro going to summer school or mom was studying for some thing. And they allowed you with the opportunity to drive the truck or the tractor or go with the men to take the grain to the elevator. It’s amazing what you all learned by having the opportunity.
Later on I had the chance to go to Central America to work and I decided to drive down to Salvador.
I’m having a need to draw this to a close. People will continue adding ideas to this but it’s time to take a rest. I’ll probably be seeing you again one of these days.
Love, rog
ON THE ROAD
Politics
EDUCATION
ODDS and ENDS
Patience
On being a professor