It’s a couple of days before Christmas, and I’m looking at the newspaper; there is an article about the Portland Grotto. The Grotto is inviting all faiths for a Christmas celebration; over half a million Christmas lights throughout the grounds can be seen. The Grotto is a beautiful Catholic Monastery with winding paths throughout the grounds in a wooded setting.

Credit: Will Glessner

   When I was a kid I enjoyed riding the elevator up to the top of the property. Its view overlooked the grounds, once on top, there were more trails and paths leading to and around old chapels. In some of these old small chapels there were old beautiful paintings. These paintings were the first real paintings that I had ever seen; paintings that were done by the masters of their time with rich, bold colors that you saw coming through each brush stroke. Sure, I had seen drawings at school or in books of great paintings but until you’re standing in front of one you can‘t really appreciate their beauty.
I wonder if the paintings are still there, and if they are, are they the same as I remember; I was only 11 or 12 at the time.
Anyway, I just wanted to say to all…Merry Christmas!!

Grandpa Tom

People we remember…….My Grandpa Bob (Robert) was a big tall man that always wore a three piece suite with a gold chain coming out of his vest pocket. I was named after him. When going out on the town, like so many men of his time, he also wore a hat, a fedora. Grandpa Bob would even dress up for a backyard barbeque, you could always pick him out in a crowd, not because of his height of 6’4 but because of his clothes; he was always the best dressed one in the bunch. He lived down town in Longview and never had need for a car. Sometimes when we came up for a visit Grandpa Bob and I would go for a walk up town.

He would always light up a big cigar and point to the stuff in the windows. I had no idea what the stuff did, but I had fun. At the end of our walks we always stopped under the local movie theater billboard; I’m not sure which theater it was, and look at photos of all the professional wrestlers; he would always tell me about each of the wrestlers.

I didn’t know then, but Grandpa Bob was already retired. I always assumed for some unknown reason that Grandpa Bob was rich. I never saw him go to work. I never really new what his profession was. I just thought he must have been in upper management or maybe a banker. It must have been his clothes. I just never new! And if he did tell me, I wasn’t listening or didn’t remember. Through the years I would overhear bits and pieces of his life and Long-Bell would come up in some of the conversations.

Next thing I new Grandpa Bob moved to California to live with one of his five daughters. I only saw him one time after that, and that was just before he died.

It wasn’t until 50 years later, by chance, that I found out what Grandpa Bob did for a living. I was going through my parents’ things after they had passed away and found a card in an envelope. Thinking that it may have been my parents’ wedding invitation I opened it and found out that it was a funeral notice of Grandpa Bobs funeral. Inside the card was an arbitrary notice, an article from the Oregonian news paper. It read: Death Claims Noted Sawyer; Longview Wash. ( Special ) Robert F Malone born in Arkansas in 1883 who rates as one of the lumber industry’s great sawyers, died in Los Angeles Saturday. Malone had been living in Las Angeles with daughter for the past two years. Malone gained five years of sawing experience in the Southern Pine Country of Texas before starting to saw logs for Long-Bell at the Woodworth, La. Mill in 1910. He remained at the mill 17 years and then was transferred to the Long-Bell mill at Ludington, La. After a few months he then transferred to the Longview mill in 1927 until 1950 . In the 41 years with Long-Bell it was estimated that he had converted enough logs into lumber to fill a train 192 miles long or approximately 760,000,000 board feet. Although many claims have been made on behalf of other sawyers in regard to the industries record, it was established that Malone’s record would rate at least close to the best.

I was shocked; I had no idea! That old saying. “You cant judge a book by its cover,” is very true.
Another person that left an impression on me was my Uncle Ed. I only saw him a couple of times but he was always fun to be with. He always had a lot of people around him too. Maybe because he was a big sports nut, and a big fan of the Pacific Coast league. He liked the San Diego Padres the most. Uncle Ed was a man of average height but for some reason stood hunched over a bit and that made him look shorter than he actually was, he wore his trousers pulled up to his chest and his ears were bigger than normal. To me, Uncle Ed hunching over like that, with his big ears, sort of looked like a monkey. Uncle Ed would always say, “Did you know that Willie Mays lives right down the street?” Also, Uncle Ed always had his pockets full of peanuts. You always knew where he had been by the trail of peanut shells he left behind. I heard that most of the time he was at the ball park.
The car Uncle Ed drove was a beat up black VW Bug.

Back then most people drove bigger cars like his wife, Aunt Audrey, she drove a big new white 4 door Cadillac.

Back then or now I would have never guessed that Uncle Ed and Aunt Audrey owned their own secretarial collage for girls.

Grandpa Bob dressed like a professional and was a sawyer and Uncle Ed dressed like an everyday Joe and ran a college.

Grandpa Tom

I was looking at my calendar the other day and saw it was almost Columbus day …. Now that brought back some memories. It was 1962 and I was sitting in my class room in Portland Oregon when I noticed it was getting windy; sometimes the wind would kick up and throw stuff at the window. Before long there was a constant tapping of debris. Soon my teacher’s phone buzzed and the next thing I knew it was early dismissal. A friend of mine and I shared a bike ride from time to time and it was his turn to pedal while I sat on the seat. We got about half way home when he said that he couldn’t pedal any more because of the strong wind so we walked the bike the rest of the way……… I should say ……. more like pushing the bike home. The wind was so strong that we had to lean forward just to keep going. After getting home from school I did my chores and went back out into the wind. By now it was getting dark and my parents would be home soon. I noticed all the lights in the house were flickering but I never thought it was because of the wind. As my dad backed the car up the drive way I could see they both had a funny look on there face. I found out what their look was when they got out of the car, the look was for me, and they had words that went with the look too. They made it known to me very fast that I shouldn’t be in the storm….. ‘Storm!” I said. “I didn’t know it was a storm I thought it was just windy.”

My dad was always in some way or form in scouting. For a number of years he even taught first aid to the explorers and it seemed to me that he was always prepared. As soon as we went into the house he explained to me that this wind has now turned into a big storm and that we should go into the basement to be safe. He also told me that the lights might go out but that we had candles and flashlights. We also had food and wood for the fireplace in the basement. We could hear the storm even in the basement. The wind howled. I kept my ear to the transistor radio until I fell asleep.

By the next morning the storm had ended and seemed very quiet. Mom said we had no electricity, Dad said it was a good thing it was Saturday! There’s no way they could have driven to work because of all the downed trees on the roads. I was told to stay in the house because of the downed wires; Dad said that some of the wires may give me a shock or even kill me. When I went upstairs and looked out the window I couldn’t believe what I saw. The streets were a big mess. There were fallen trees all over the place, some had fallen on houses, over the roads, on cars, one of two trees on our parking strip had fallen . It seemed that the only tree that was left standing was our giant weeping willow in our backyard. As I looked out the window I could see the older boys and men cleaning up the debris in their yards, soon you could hear the sounds of chain saws cutting through the fallen trees up and down the streets.

Some of the trees were cleared from the streets to allow the power trucks with their crews to start working on the power lines. Some big trucks were now driving up and down our street picking up debris……… It was pretty exciting! The next day Dad finally said it was ok for me to go out . I got dressed, and out the door I went. I went over to my friends’ to check out their streets and to hear their stories. We shared our adventure stories while we climbed all over the trees that were blown down.

The storm’s path went through parts of California, Oregon and Washington; 46 people died, the wind was a steady 66 mph with gusts of 100+; thousands of homes and businesses had no power for days, and property damage loss was in the millions.

Hold on, it’s windy!

Grandpa Tom

When I was growing up going out to dinner was really a fun time and only has good memories for me. Most of the time it was on a Friday night after Dad and Mom got home from work. Dad liked going out for hamburgers and eating in our Rambler station wagon

at a place called Jim Dandy in northeast Portland Oregon. The waitress…I mean carhop…would come out to your car and take your order;

after the food and drinks were prepared, the car hop would bring your order on a special tray that hooked to the outside of the drivers side window. From there Dad would hand the food out to each of us in the car. Dad even made a folding table for the inside of the Rambler so us kids had a place to sit our burgers and drinks on. Not only was the food good but the cars that came in were cool too. There were hotrods, customs, and from time to time a Harley, BSA, or maybe a Triumph motor cycle would roll in.

Triumph

BSA

Harley

Back then you didn’t even know what a Honda was.
I looked up Jim Dandy on the net. It’s still there. Next time I’m in Portland I’ll go back in time and get a burger at Jim Dandy.
When it was Mom’s turn she liked going out to a sit down restaurant; most of the time it was to a place called Bill’s Steak House. It was just down the road from Jim Dandy and it’s still open for business too. I always got the hot beef sandwich, Mom would get the veal cutlets, and Dad a giant steak. Rick would get a big hamburger or maybe a peanut butter sandwich with a side of fries.

Bill’s décor was neat too. It had a lot of cowboy stuff on the walls and a big set of horns from a Texas longhorn over the door going into the kitchen.

I always thought it was special to get my coke from the bar. The waitress would bring it out on a tray with Mom and Dad’s dinner drinks. My coke always had two thin red straws. The waitress would always place a napkin down under the drinks first. Printed on the napkins were jokes with cartoons, although, at the time I didn’t understand any of the jokes.

Back then there was no 205 freeway, Rocky Butte was known for the jail, and next door to Bill’s Steak House was the Wigwam surplus store with it’s big teepee out front….. am I jogging any memories yet? Well, how about Yaws, Scotty’s or A&W, and let’s not forget the Sandy drive -in.

Where did you go?

Grandpa Tom

My brother Rick passed away some years back. I still have his Gerber folding knife and his cool collection of Hot Rod magazines. It’s always fun looking at back issues. As I was going through the collection I saw a 1956 Chevy convertible.



Rick had one; the color was a two tone, matador red and white, with a white soft top that he weekly brushed with comet cleanser to keep it show room white.
When we were kids Rick made sure that I new that he was my big brother. Most big brothers pick on little brothers from time to time and he did too, but I also new he would defend me if he needed too. When I was a freshmen in high school I was outside having a cigarette, some older boys started picking on me. Another boy came from around the corner for a smoke and saw what was going on and said, “Hey you guys, better leave him alone that’s Rick’s little brother!” They all immediately stopped. I think one boy even started to stutter to say he was sorry. I never had any problems in school after that, from time to time some of the teachers would say, “Are you Rick’s little brother?“ I would always say yes with a big smile and they would always nod or shake there heads.
Rick was a true car guy and was probably one of the reasons that I got into cars. Back in the day, when I was a kid, my brother Rick and my cousin Steve, would actually finish there car projects, and that was good for me! Why, because sometimes they would take me for a ride! Before I was ever allowed into Rick’s car I always had to promise that I would sit on my knees! Yes…on my knees, because, “it makes you look taller and older in the seat,” he would say, and no big brother wants his little brother cruising with him on a Friday night!
So I sat on my knees and sat as tall as I could! After all he had a rep to keep up!
Grandpa Tom

I was looking at M-Troop’s blog at Renee’s post the other day and seeing her gnome doors brought back memories of when I was a young kid and I came across a large gnome village. I was practicing a racing game all the kids called Jump and Run. Little did I know that years later I would be playing this type of game in basic training; it was called the obstacle course.
Jump and Run started at the end of one block, at the middle, and ran through the adjoining back yards to the other end of the block. We ran around, over, and under, fences, trees, bushes, dogs, cats, or anything else that was in front of us, until we made it to the opposite end of the same block; first one to the end was the winner. Looking back now I don’t know why we always played games like this, someone always got hurt. Most of the time it was on my block or a friends, but sometimes it also combined a dare block. The dare block was a block that had never been ran or scouted out before so it was always a surprise when you jumped over the fence.
In one of my practice runs I jumped over a fence and landed face down, flat on the ground, as I laid there for a second or two to catch my breath, I heard a voice; thinking maybe it was the home owner I braced for the yelling to start…but nothing. Then I realized the noise was coming from my right, through the fence separating this yard from the other side of the block; I stared past the fence and through the bushes and I could see something with bright colors next to the ground. I decided to find out what it was. I started crawling as quietly as I could. As I crawled I could hear faint sounds, it sounded like whispers, but I couldn’t understand what was being said. I reached the fence and suddenly! birds flew up and blocked my view. I thought, “What’s this, a gnome village?” The gnome village was a giant rock garden with flowers and plants that covered the whole backyard. It even had its own waterfall with a little river winding its way through the village, there were roads, cars, houses, a lake made from mirrors, and of course, gnomes, a whole yard of gnomes, all shapes and sizes and all brightly painted. One gnome was pushing another gnome in a miniature wheelbarrow, some wore hats, some didn’t; some were standing and some were sitting. One of the gnomes was even riding a bicycle.

As I laid there looking at this village I started thinking, “Did the gnomes come alive when no one was looking and was it the gnomes I heard whispering?” “Why did the birds fly towards me and not away from me, did they intentionally keep me from seeing something, were they the lookouts?”
The next 4 days were spent trying to catch those gnomes moving! I was in that backyard at least a half a dozen times and approached them from a different way each time, but nothing. I decided their lookouts had spoiled my one and only chance to catch them.

Grandpa Tom

The city of Portland, OR was where my brother and I grew up. Our house was the third house from the county line. The county line was actually a line, that’s right, a line, right down the middle of the street, and it was a very straight road. For some of us with fast cars it couldn’t get any better than that. One side of this line was city and the other side the county.
Like the hot rod guys before us, my friends and I were always working on our cars too. When one of us finished working on a car we would want to see if it went any faster, so, with tires smoking, headers un-corked, which now could be heard for miles around, and the sound of that V8; it was just like the Fourth of July. For our neighbors however, it was like dragging your fingernails down a chalkboard. They could only stand so much of our noise. You could make two runs, and if you were a tough guy you might try three, before you became a wanted man; and you knew the cops were coming.
We did the math! If you got stopped that was it, you would be walking, or back on your bike or maybe your skateboard. We knew if you saw a city cop you turned onto the county side of the road and if you saw a county cop you turned onto the city side, then disappear fast! Neither city or county police would crossover that center line. This went on for some time and it became more of a game than just going fast. It was us vs. them.
Our neighbors never liked this game and we knew it was just a matter of time before they finished us! It was so simple too; once they thought of it. Now the neighbors had a plan. Up until now, either the city cops or the county cops would be called, now they would call both the city and county police and they would both come out together. There was literally nowhere to turn!
That was that! The end! We were history! As are other things of that time. I could fill my 57 chev for around $5.00, buy a pack of cigs from a vending machine for $.55, and take my date to a drive-in movie.

Back in the day...

Grandpa Tom

Most people think the first time I was ever on a farm was when I drove my 57 chev down to Springfield Oregon to meet Kaye’s parents. Three hundred acres on the Mackenzie river; it was very cool! But actually, I was on a farm years before I met Grandma Kaye. This farm, us kids fondly named, Terry and Larry’s Rat Farm! You see back in the day, one of the kids that I ran around with was a boy named Danny; two times a year he and his parents would travel over to Eastern Oregon to help on the family farm. This particular time Danny asked me if I would like to go. Before I could say yes, Danny told me that it was not going to be only fun and games but that we would be doing farm chores, I said let’s go!
It was very early when we arrived, Terry and Larry were home alone. You see, Terry and Larry’s parents had a fleet of combines and they made a living doing the cutting from farm to farm, so their day starts before the sun comes up, plus at that time they had 25 head of cattle.

Terry said, “This time of year, we may only see our parents at breakfast and dinner and only if we are up by 4:00am and up very late.”
When we went into the farm house Danny’s dad picked up a list of chores from off the kitchen table and Danny’s mom started on the dishes. The chore Danny’s dad gave us were both the same chore and that chore was to move sacks of feed from off the barn floor to the loft above. Danny and I raced to the barn. In the dimly lit barn the floor started moving, mice and rats started running around in every direction, two or three even tried to run up my pant leg. It was gross! Then Danny and I started yelling and running all around just like the mice! Suddenly Terry and Larry came busting through the barn door to see what all the commotion was. Larry grabbed a base ball bat that was by the door and started hitting and smashing the rats, as for Terry, he started stomping on the mice and anything else that moved. It was really something to see! After things calmed down a bit, Danny asked Terry, “Why are there so many mice and rats in the barn?” Terry said the reason was because the dog and cats, that kept them out, have been chased out of the barn by a giant rat! Then Larry said the rat is as big as a giant possum, and at night you can even hear it and sometimes see its glowing eyes in the dark! Terry’s Dad said we need to shoot it. So Larry said, “Lets get the gun.”
On and off it took Danny and I almost 8 hours to move all the sacks of feed to the loft. Terry and Larry had finished their chores sometime earlier and were shooting mice and rats on the other side of the barn. Everytime a mouse or rat poked it’s head out ……….BANG……… Then they would say, "There go’s another!" and then someone would yell out, “What’s the count?”
“9... now!”
Around 6:00pm I was getting hungry. At home we would have had dinner by now, but here, dinner wasn’t finished being cooked. Just before 9:00pm Terry and Larry’s parents came home with 5 or 6 other combine drivers; we all sat down to this huge dinner, it was like a Thanksgiving feast. After dinner we all went to bed. Around 3:30am I could hear someone in the kitchen and smelled bacon being cooked, by 4:00am we were all back up and eating breakfast, and by 4:30 every one had gone back to work. For me, I just wanted to go back to bed! But Larry said that he needed help with the cows, so off to the barn we went. We fed the cows hay and some of the feed that we moved to the loft the day earlier. After the cows we all started on mowing the lawn and weeding the flower beds. By noon we were all finished with the chores. So, back to the barn for some more mice and rats. By evening we had a nice little pile of them there varmints.
By med week I had my chore thing down to a science and was even getting accustomed to the different hours. The days were getting warmer, but Thursday, was just plain hot! Larry said that we would be sleeping out in the field if we weren’t afraid? That sounded like a challenge. I had only slept outside in my back yard before this, I hoped I wouldn’t chicken out! After all, there’s nothing to be really afraid of out in a big field……… is there? ……Only darkness, …….only weird sounds, … only giant rats that chase dogs and cats! …. and only 25 big cows…….. Have you ever heard the word stampede? I’m glad I didn’t either.
After dinner we got our flash lights so we wouldn’t step in the cow pies, laid plastic down on the ground and of course over the cow pies, then our seeping bags. It was very dark out there, but man could you see the stars. I liked seeing the shooting stars the most! By 4:00am we were back up eating and starting on our chores again.
The week went very fast, and now it was Saturday and time to go back to the big city. I made some great friends, gained 20 pounds and had a great time. At the end of the count I think we killed 47 mice and 18 rats, but that giant rat, no where to be seen. When we got back we had some great stories about Terry and Larry’s Rat Farm.
Oh ya……….. Terry called and said that they shot that giant rat! Larry’s Dad said that it must have came from the sewers of New York …….you know…… with the giant alligators.

Grandpa Tom

     The other day at the library I was looking for books on outside living spaces. Skimming through one of the books I came to a page that had kids playing with a dog on a redwood deck.  It got me thinking about the pets I had when I was growing up and whatever happened to them? When I was growing up I can’t really say that I had my very own pet. My dad had his dog, Buddy; Kaye or Grandma K.K. had her horse Domingo, dog Peeko and cat Dolly, but for me, we had the family dog. Our first family dog was Sparky. A black, long lagged dog with white spots and a tail that was always waging.  When dad brought Sparky home from work he was already 5 or 6 months old, one of the men Dad worked with brought Sparky to work, if Dad hadn’t brought him home he would have ended up in the dog pound.  Before the leash law some of the dogs in the neighborhood would run around the streets just like us kids. If you didn’t want the strays around you then you just threw rocks at them until they went away; most of the time it worked!  Sparky ran around with Corky the dog next door. For being dogs I guess they were best friends. One of the games they played was tag; Sparky or Corky would pick up a stick or a rag then take off with it, the other one took chase, they would run and run until one caught the other or they just keeled over in pure exhaustion after a short rest they would start again. Just like the dogs us kids had games too. One of the games was follow the leader on our bikes. It was always a lot of fun, in and out of drive ways, over curbs, around parked cars and so on. On this particular day five or six of us were playing follow the leader going as fast as we could on our bikes. About this time Sparky and Corky were playing tag running all over the place  back and forth across the street, under bushes and around cars………… I think I’ll stop here for just a moment and ask you this question, have you ever heard this story? There were only two cars in this one horse town and they both ran into each other. Well guess what?  Kids on bikes, dogs running across streets, SMASH, BANG, CRASH.  As I picked up my face from the curb Corky and Sparky were getting up as will. Then both of them sat down and looked at me.  Then suddenly they both took off, I don’t know if it was the blood they saw on my face or what, but they were gone.  After three stitches, and a couple of days, things got back to normal and us kids started riding and the dogs started running.  As the years went by I can remember other times as well. Sparky once got a cold and Dad rubbed Vicks vapor rub on Sparky’s chest to help him breath better, then Dad put one of his T-shirts on Sparky to keep him warm; it looked pretty funny. Another time Sparky and I were in a parade in Portland Oregon in the Hollywood district; I was made up like a Viking and Sparky was made up like a clown. Sparky had a pointed party hat on and a tutu around his neck. It was a lot of fun.  Sometimes we would wrestle I would pretend that Sparky was a big bear or a giant wolf. We had some good times for a family dog. Then one day the people next door moved to Ohio and Corky went with them. Sparky’s best friend was now gone and no more playing tag.   Not long after that Dad came home with the company pickup truck and told me to get Sparky, Dad loaded Sparky up into the truck and off they went.

When dad came back he was driving his own car, and no dog. I asked dad, “Where’s Sparky?” Dad said he took Sparky to a farm ware he could run and have fun.  It was a sad day for me!  I never saw Sparky again and dad never gave me another answer. Looking back years later I think dad new about the new leash law and he also new Sparky needed to run.

     Our second family dog was Rusty the muscle bound dog; the Arnold Schwarzenegger of Dogs. This dog had more muscles than any human on earth. This dog could do 20 pull ups, nonstop on a fence, and he could climb a tree like a cat. If only Rusty had a cape he could have flew. Rusty was another dog Dad brought home from work. Rusty was probably two or three years old when we got him, like Sparky, Rusty already had his name. I don’t know if having big muscles for a dog is bad or not but Rusty always had to prove that he, not only, had the biggest muscles but also that he was the toughest. Any time Rusty got around any dogs bigger or smaller Rusty had to beat the tar out of them, I think Rusty thought it was fun or he was just a bully! After school it was my responsibility to take Rusty for walks, but the truth be told, it was me that got the work out. Rusty liked sports too. He like playing catch and fetch the ball. One day my Dad and my brother Rick were playing catch with a hard ball. They were throwing pretty hard back and forth; Rusty was sitting there watching the ball when suddenly he jumped up in the air and tried to catch it. The ball hit Rusty in the head and knocked him out. In boxing the term is out for the count. Rusty was also a good swimmer. When we went fishing at the lake Rusty was always in the water. One day we went fishing on the Clackamas River. Rusty had never been to the river and the water was moving very fast. Rusty was sitting and enjoying the water when all of a sudden he jumped in. The river took him down stream bobbing him up and down like a cork. Dad and Rick dropped their fishing poles and off they went to save Rusty. A half mile downstream they finely caught up with him and pulled him out. Rusty shook it off like no big deal. In our back yard we had a giant weeping willow tree. The kids on my block and I used this tree as a place to hang out, we even built a platform to stand on; it was pretty cool. In order to climb up the tree we nailed wooden runners on to the tree trunk for a makeshift ladder. It worked really good, maybe a little too good; before we knew it, Rusty was up in the tree too. Rusty with all his muscles would get a run at the tree and climb and pull himself right up into the tree with us with no problem; around 15 feet. The problem was, once he was up in the tree he couldn’t get back down. We built a wooden box just big enough for him; then we attached ropes and made a makeshift pulley to lower him back down. This worked well. Then a different problem started. Rusty started going up into the tree when no one was home; he would be up in that tree for hours at a time. Eventually when we returned home, there would be Rusty looking down at us with a big smile on his face. We knew that we had to do something so we covered the bottom three runners so he couldn’t climb up any more unless someone was home. Problem salved. Then early one morning around 2:00AM we all heard this awful sound coming from the back yard. It was so loud and so terrifying it not only woke us up but the neighbors too. We were all looking out the windows trying to see what was going on, finally Dad got brave enough to go out and take a look. Peeping through the window I saw Dad with his flash light looking around the back yard, then the light shined up in to the tree. Then we heard……..  Rusty! How did you get up there? We think Rusty probably saw something in the tree and went up after it. Realizing he couldn’t get back down Rusty started making this strange scary sound. Then I saw Dad climb the tree, put Rusty in the box and lower him to the ground. After Dad was back on the ground too he took off the bottom three runners. As far as I know that was the last time Rusty was in that old willow. As usual, time keeps going, the tree got cut down, I grew older, moved away, and got married, For Rusty, he grew older too and passed away on his bed in the corner of the garage.

Grandpa Tom

     Grandpa Fred, my dad, passed away a short time ago and my brother Rick some years earlier. Looking through some of dad’s things I came across an old black and white photo. The photo was of my dad when he was a kid; he was probably around the same age that I was when I first became interested in cars. He and his whole family were standing, eating, and playing next to this old car. This old car was big with straight lines, wooden spoke wheels, a flat radiator, and two giant head lights attached to the grill.

A short time before my dad passed away he and I went out for lunch; his mind was not as sharp as it once was. As we were eating, we talked about things he did when he was a kid. For the most part it was hard for him to say anything about his life! But this time for some reason he started talking. Some of the stuff sounded far-fetched, I wasn’t sure if his stories were true or not. As we talked he started talking about his dog buddy and I could see as we talked that his eyes were starting to water! Dad said that he and buddy were best friends. A door to door whisky salesman was on their street selling when the salesman came to Dads house; he gave Buddy to Dad. Dad said that Buddy was always by his side. As I looked at that old photo I remembered that story of my dad and buddy. Why, because standing on top of that old car was a dog! It looked just like the dog my dad described!

     Now that’s a good memory. I don’t think anything could be better than a boy with his dog and a cool old car. Thanks Dad! That was a good one.

 Grandpa Tom  

My mom never really learned how to drive a car. From time to time my dad did manage to get her behind the wheel and try to teach her to drive. Since I was the youngest I went along for the ride. Mom, for some reason, was always totally freaked out about learning to drive. I don’t think Dad was a bad instructor it was more that mom just couldn’t handle the idea of driving. Maybe it was because the cars were so big; after all, we did own some big cars. One of the cars was a big 1948 Packard, four door, with a three speed stick on the column. It was so big, if you sat in the back seat, you could hear an echo.

I can remember it like yesterday; my Dad saying over and over again to mom, “Now push the clutch to the floor, move the shift lever into first gear, now let the clutch pedal out slowly.” Suddenly the car lunged foreword, started bucking up and down like in a rodeo, then came to a screeching stop with a dead engine. If my dad hadn’t been holding onto the dash I’m sure he would have hit his head on the windshield, and for Mom, she would be sobbing. For me, getting thrown around in the back seat, for 8 seconds at a time, was a lot of fun. It was something Mom and Dad just wanted to forget. After attempting to get around the block, again and again, and again, it was time to call it a day, and Mom would scoot across the seat, sobbing, and Dad would get behind the wheel and drive us home. I never thought years later it would be my turn to teach my wife to drive, but I did. Kaye was a natural; all I really did was enjoy the ride. Later on, Kaye and I both helped our kids learn to drive. It helped that they really wanted to drive.

BE ONE WITH THE CAR!

Grandpa Tom

Can you imagine this? You just bought a brand new car, and as you drive down the street you can see that your neighbors somehow, have smelled that new car smell and are ascending upon you like Zombies from Zombie Land. Arms extending in front of them, drooling drops of saliva. If only they could touch the new paint, raise the hood or possibly sit in the front seat. And for some, turn a dial or two.

When I was growing up (except for the zombie part!) my neighbors would actually come out to see that new car. Why? I’m thinking for the most part; to share in the experience. Even the invisible man next door would come out. You know that man, the one you never saw, but the one with the putting green lawn. Even the neighbor that swore he would never buy a car, who only rides the bus, would come over to take a look.

Across the street from me was the oldest and grumpiest man on the block. He was a short round man that always wore bib overalls. He had a habit of yelling at all the kids. He would always say, “Stop cutting across my yard!” in a thick accent. One day the zombies, I mean neighbors, smelled that smell. A new car coming down the street. And to the surprise of many, it pulled right into the drive way of that old guy! It was his very first new car. No longer was his old Plymouth at the curb. Now was a shiny new fast back Mustang the color of burgundy. Behind the side windows were louvers. It was really cool.

I never saw as many people surround a car as they did with that Mustang. You know what? I think that Mustang made that old guy much nicer. He never seemed to yell at the kids as much after that.

Sometimes for hours at a time, that old guy would just sit in his new car.  After watching him from time to time, it seemed to me that he and I were a lot alike. Why? Because I like sitting in my spaceship too, (I mean car!)

Thanks for the memories

Grandpa Tom

I turned 60 the 9th of January 2011. I was thinking of writing some stories about my life. My parents for the most part didn't talk much about theirs. Most of the stuff I learned was from, over hearing bits and pieces of conversations from behind their news paper, or second hand from relatives at Thanksgiving. Like missing pages from a news paper I never got the whole story.


When asking my dad about his life it was like threatening him with a vasectomy! He would cringe, cross his legs, and then say, “Let’s have ice cream!" If you did manage any type of response it would be short and to the point, or Mom would stop the conversation with claims of it being an exaggeration.


Looking back on their tight-lipped lives I decided they were in the witness protection program, or must have been secret agents, and their jobs were their covers like in Kindergarten Cop.
When my parents retired they sold their house in Portland, OR and bought an R.V., you know, a motor home, and off they went, here, there, and everywhere. Eventually they narrowed their travel between Arizona in the winter and the southern coast of Oregon in the summer. Time passed and they sold the R.V. and bought a single wide trailer next to the Rouge River, in Gold Beach, Oregon.

Here, there, everywhere.

Why did my parents have to live so far from all of us? Their children and grandchildren lived in WA and Northern OR. My parents met in WA State when my dad was stationed there in the army. I understand why Dad didn't want to move back to Illinois where he grew up. Living in OR was as far from his father as he could get. From what I was able to gather, Dad's father beat him regularly; even for things his sister did; not just because of what Dad did. Why Dad and not his sister, I'll never know.


I only met my Dad's parents 3 times; twice when we visited them in Illinois and once when they came west. On one visit to Illinois I was introduced to Great Grandpa Barns through the window of our 58 Rambler station wagon. We were introduced and then my brother and I were told to stay in the car during the visit. I don't know why it was that way either.

58 Rambler Wagon

I never knew my mom's mother, but we did see Grandpa Bob on holidays at my Aunt Vivian (Mom's sister) and Uncle Mark's house, or at his apartment, both in Longview, WA.  My Aunt Marjorie (also Mom's sister) lived with Grandpa Bob. I was named Robert after my Grandpa Bob but we seldom even talked. I remember asking him for a piece of candy from his candy dish but that's about it. When I was older Grandpa Bob came for a visit but I was more interested in myself and my friends than giving him the time of day. Grandpa Bob died shortly after that visit. He was in his eighties. Looking back, all these years later, I wish I had taken the time to get to know him.


My parents, living so far away, was like me not seeing my grandparents. Plus my kids were losing out and now my grandkids too. I don't think my parents understood the loss it created even towards the end. What a waste! If you wanted to see my parents it was very expensive. It took gas, a place to stay on the way down, once there, and driving back, plus hours and hours of driving to stay maybe two nights. Calling long distance was an added expense too so you planned your phone time to the minute. You made sure all the kids went to the bathroom first, lined them up, and made sure each stayed within their allotted time.
Then I got an idea, buy my parents a computer, get them internet service so we could e-mail, send photos back and forth, and stay closer in touch. I had the idea it was going to be fun, wouldn't you? Well, that's another story and another memory!


Grandpa Tom

  A story about cars; ok!
   I was typing at the computer when my oldest granddaughter told me I'm old, and my teeth are in need of braces. This shook me. I stopped typing; I set my glasses aside, and walked into the bathroom to look closely and deeply into the mirror to see what she saw. I turned my head left then right, up and down, and tipped my head side to side. I told myself, "I don't see any problems; I don't see anything; I don't know what she's talking about!" I walked back to my desk. I'm farsighted so I put my glasses on and I started typing again.
 I just realized something. This has nothing to do with cars!


Grandpa Tom