Friday, August 28, 2009
Thursday, August 20, 2009
BETTY HUFFSTUTTER, SITTING ON STAIRS IN 1930S...
BETTY'S GRANDPARENTS, FRANK AND ELLA HAWTHORNE, were not my grandparents, but they were very special. Grandmother Hawthorne was, as I remember her, truly one of the sweetest women on earth. She never differentiated between relatives; Grandma always treated me with the same kindness as all who were her immediate relatives.
Grandmother passed away while I was overseas. When Uncle Jim passed away in 1984, his death marked what had been a psuedo relationship between his daughter and me. The last time I saw Betty Jean was at Uncle Jim's funeral. She did, however, send my daughter, about 12 at the time, a postcard telling her how much she and her husband were enjoying their trip. Death often reveals the truth about how important money really is to some individuals.
Betty's husband delivered a trunk load of rusty tools to our home shortly after Uncle Jim's death;he told me that Betty had picked them up from one of his sheds on the property he owned at the time and that Betty thought I might want them. I thanked him and sorted through the wrenches until I found one with a Milwaukee logo.
No, despite what one might have assumed, I did not recieve so much as a brass button off of his old railroad uniforms. All of the items that I had given my aunt and uncle during our lifetime were not returned to me. There was a family heirloom, a solid cherry mantle clock that the Hawthornes had given me for my room when I was a small boy, another item that my Uncle had told me would be mine upon his passing away. I should have taken it when he had offered it to me several years prior to his death. That is only a small example of the items I assumed would be mine to pass on, but I assumed wrong.
There was, however, one important item that Uncle Jim gave me prior to his death, a very thick volume of old family photos. Betty Jean, it turned out, had no intentions of passing on anything to me. She had obviously planned out the distribution process long in advance.
My uncle had told me, time and again, that "someday, when I am gone, you are going to be treated just as though you were my son. I have it all outlined in my will, Robert," he told me. I had never really thought otherwise. I believe that perhaps he knew some things I didn't, I don't know. I recall, however, when I had been in my early teens that my Uncle and Aunt declared that it was time to adopt me legally. Betty Jean had told them it would probably complicate my life sometime; that it might have a pschological effect on me. Actually, it would have made no difference to me whatsoever. It was not going to change my feelings. Although I had never called Jim or Dorothy "dad and mom" verbally, they were the only parents Ihad known throughout my lifetime.
Though he did not go into specifics, he had told me that he had established a kind of trust for my daughter that would pay her way through whatever college she might want to attend. He had mentioned that again, a few days before his death at Trinity Luthern Hospital in 1984.
At the time, my mind was more on his health than it was on his finances. He had said we would get half of his estate and I thought no more about the matter. As I said, life is full of surprises, but as one ages, one realizes nothing really surprises one any longer.
The day after my uncle passed away, Betty Jean drove to the little small north Missouri town where his home had been for the past few years. My wife had offered to go with her to help, but Betty made it clear that she felt it would be best if she went alone. Betty Jean mentioned that she had found no will anywhere.
My uncle had made it clear to my wife and I that there was a will and that our names were on it. Uncle Jim was the type of man who would not have felt it was necessary to legally file a will with the County or wherever it is one needs to file wills.
"No, strangely enough, there was no will, but we'll work out the details after the funeral, okay," she had stated while we were at the funeral home selecting the final appointments. I hadn't mentioned any details, I had assumed that she would honor his wishes, despite there "was no will."
The last time I saw or heard from Betty Jean was when the burial services ended. Now I understand things more clearly.
Grandmother passed away while I was overseas. When Uncle Jim passed away in 1984, his death marked what had been a psuedo relationship between his daughter and me. The last time I saw Betty Jean was at Uncle Jim's funeral. She did, however, send my daughter, about 12 at the time, a postcard telling her how much she and her husband were enjoying their trip. Death often reveals the truth about how important money really is to some individuals.
Betty's husband delivered a trunk load of rusty tools to our home shortly after Uncle Jim's death;he told me that Betty had picked them up from one of his sheds on the property he owned at the time and that Betty thought I might want them. I thanked him and sorted through the wrenches until I found one with a Milwaukee logo.
No, despite what one might have assumed, I did not recieve so much as a brass button off of his old railroad uniforms. All of the items that I had given my aunt and uncle during our lifetime were not returned to me. There was a family heirloom, a solid cherry mantle clock that the Hawthornes had given me for my room when I was a small boy, another item that my Uncle had told me would be mine upon his passing away. I should have taken it when he had offered it to me several years prior to his death. That is only a small example of the items I assumed would be mine to pass on, but I assumed wrong.
There was, however, one important item that Uncle Jim gave me prior to his death, a very thick volume of old family photos. Betty Jean, it turned out, had no intentions of passing on anything to me. She had obviously planned out the distribution process long in advance.
My uncle had told me, time and again, that "someday, when I am gone, you are going to be treated just as though you were my son. I have it all outlined in my will, Robert," he told me. I had never really thought otherwise. I believe that perhaps he knew some things I didn't, I don't know. I recall, however, when I had been in my early teens that my Uncle and Aunt declared that it was time to adopt me legally. Betty Jean had told them it would probably complicate my life sometime; that it might have a pschological effect on me. Actually, it would have made no difference to me whatsoever. It was not going to change my feelings. Although I had never called Jim or Dorothy "dad and mom" verbally, they were the only parents Ihad known throughout my lifetime.
Though he did not go into specifics, he had told me that he had established a kind of trust for my daughter that would pay her way through whatever college she might want to attend. He had mentioned that again, a few days before his death at Trinity Luthern Hospital in 1984.
At the time, my mind was more on his health than it was on his finances. He had said we would get half of his estate and I thought no more about the matter. As I said, life is full of surprises, but as one ages, one realizes nothing really surprises one any longer.
The day after my uncle passed away, Betty Jean drove to the little small north Missouri town where his home had been for the past few years. My wife had offered to go with her to help, but Betty made it clear that she felt it would be best if she went alone. Betty Jean mentioned that she had found no will anywhere.
My uncle had made it clear to my wife and I that there was a will and that our names were on it. Uncle Jim was the type of man who would not have felt it was necessary to legally file a will with the County or wherever it is one needs to file wills.
"No, strangely enough, there was no will, but we'll work out the details after the funeral, okay," she had stated while we were at the funeral home selecting the final appointments. I hadn't mentioned any details, I had assumed that she would honor his wishes, despite there "was no will."
The last time I saw or heard from Betty Jean was when the burial services ended. Now I understand things more clearly.
Friday, August 14, 2009
MY UNCLE JIM HUFFSTUTTER
Sometime around 1944, I remember my younger sister and I living in a large room with many other children. Why we were tjere, why we were put in an orphanage is a question my dad or mom never told me.
Eventually, my Uncle Jim came to my rescue. My sister was returned to our mom and had the unique experience of living with a step dad and a lot of new half brothers. I was spared that gregarious part of childhood, a subject we start to discuss on occasions and then change the subject. Domestic problems are not new; they have been around since the Garden epoch.
To avoid a lot of verbs and nouns, let me simply say that uncle JIm was the father i remember best. He was a great provider of food, shelter and clothing and there are many fond memories I cherish of his unique way of raising an only son, a nephew, me.
My memories of the man who was my dad's older brother are fond and seem to become more intense as I grow older. It is, I suppose, natural for a man to compare himself to his father in greatness; it is only normal for a male to want to know if he has measured up to his dad.Looking back, I see few men who were greater than Uncle Jim. He had a unique greatness about him that I will never atttain; he had a character I admired and still respect. My uncle's greatness was born from his early independence as a youth and his desire to educate himself beyond the level of his last class in the Laredo, Missouri school he attended. Seven years older than my dad, Jim knew early in life that he would be on his own and that if he wanted to succeed in life it would depend on his ability to use his mind and hands. There were no child welfare programs in the early twentieth century; there was nodbody checking on who was going to school and filling out reports on home conditions. If there had been, my Uncle and my dad would have been seperated and parted by welfare agencies forever.
Having lost his mother shortly after she gave birth to my dad, Jim used to talk about how much he had loved his mother; he told me how he last remembered her laying in state in the home with a filmy netting covery her in canopied fashion. In 1912, embalming was not mandantory and the deceased had to be be kept cool. There was usually a speedy burial of the relative that passed away back then. He told me how the undertaker had driven up to the house with the horses and how the casket with his mother remained in his memory forever, always riding in the wagon toward Black Oak Cemetery. He said it was a rainy day when they laid his mother, Sarah Jane Rooks Huffstutter to rest. He mentioned, time and again, the rain and the color of the grey in the sky, the sound of the horses as the wagon headed toward the old cemetery where relatives who fought for the Union are still buried.
Nobody in our family ever owned slaves or dealt in the business of slavery, a fact that makes me free from paternal and personal guilt, though it is God's law that we are not punished for the sins of our fathers. There were thousands who were punished. That is an unfortunate part of history. I take comfort in the fact that I did not choose my parents based on political correctness or prejudice. Life is what it is and who gets what soul is not mine to discuss, thus I prefer to leave this to those who continue to be preoccupied with the negative history of a great nation.
Uncle Jim was proud he had uncles who fought for the preservation of this nation. He told me stories about the loss of those relatives, stories passed down by his father, a relatively elderly gentleman when he began what was his second family in 1898 with the birth of his first son, Frank, three daughters, Jim and finally my dad. Their dad, Robert Levi Huffstutter, born in 1856, had a prior family he left back in Indiana when his first wife refused to move to Texas in the 1890s. He simply hitched up his wagon, so the story goes, asked her one last time to join him, and headed west. Two of his former children got in the wagon with him for the drive to Texas in the area he wanted to settle. Eventually, he moved to Missouri. Family histories get really complex. I have never been one to spend time climbing family trees, but the fact that my grandfather, my dad's dad was born in 1856 while Lincoln was alive and President has always held a certain fascination for me. It has, in some ways I feel, given me a link to the past that makes me feel closer to that era in our nation's history.
My uncle told me many stories about Union veterans who had been wounded in the fight to preserve this nation. My uncle was a patriotic man; he knew the history of this nation because he had taken it upon himself to read. As a little child, I recall how much time he spent reading the Kansas CIty Star and newspapers he found on the train. When the train run ended, he and the other railroad crew would divide the magazines and newspapers. But I could go on and on about my admiration for my uncle and I will, at a future time. For the moment, let me say that my Uncle's greatness was, in my opinion, a sincere greatness he created as a small lad and continued adding to it as time passed.
Posted 4 hours ago. ( permalink | delete | edit )
Eventually, my Uncle Jim came to my rescue. My sister was returned to our mom and had the unique experience of living with a step dad and a lot of new half brothers. I was spared that gregarious part of childhood, a subject we start to discuss on occasions and then change the subject. Domestic problems are not new; they have been around since the Garden epoch.
To avoid a lot of verbs and nouns, let me simply say that uncle JIm was the father i remember best. He was a great provider of food, shelter and clothing and there are many fond memories I cherish of his unique way of raising an only son, a nephew, me.
My memories of the man who was my dad's older brother are fond and seem to become more intense as I grow older. It is, I suppose, natural for a man to compare himself to his father in greatness; it is only normal for a male to want to know if he has measured up to his dad.Looking back, I see few men who were greater than Uncle Jim. He had a unique greatness about him that I will never atttain; he had a character I admired and still respect. My uncle's greatness was born from his early independence as a youth and his desire to educate himself beyond the level of his last class in the Laredo, Missouri school he attended. Seven years older than my dad, Jim knew early in life that he would be on his own and that if he wanted to succeed in life it would depend on his ability to use his mind and hands. There were no child welfare programs in the early twentieth century; there was nodbody checking on who was going to school and filling out reports on home conditions. If there had been, my Uncle and my dad would have been seperated and parted by welfare agencies forever.
Having lost his mother shortly after she gave birth to my dad, Jim used to talk about how much he had loved his mother; he told me how he last remembered her laying in state in the home with a filmy netting covery her in canopied fashion. In 1912, embalming was not mandantory and the deceased had to be be kept cool. There was usually a speedy burial of the relative that passed away back then. He told me how the undertaker had driven up to the house with the horses and how the casket with his mother remained in his memory forever, always riding in the wagon toward Black Oak Cemetery. He said it was a rainy day when they laid his mother, Sarah Jane Rooks Huffstutter to rest. He mentioned, time and again, the rain and the color of the grey in the sky, the sound of the horses as the wagon headed toward the old cemetery where relatives who fought for the Union are still buried.
Nobody in our family ever owned slaves or dealt in the business of slavery, a fact that makes me free from paternal and personal guilt, though it is God's law that we are not punished for the sins of our fathers. There were thousands who were punished. That is an unfortunate part of history. I take comfort in the fact that I did not choose my parents based on political correctness or prejudice. Life is what it is and who gets what soul is not mine to discuss, thus I prefer to leave this to those who continue to be preoccupied with the negative history of a great nation.
Uncle Jim was proud he had uncles who fought for the preservation of this nation. He told me stories about the loss of those relatives, stories passed down by his father, a relatively elderly gentleman when he began what was his second family in 1898 with the birth of his first son, Frank, three daughters, Jim and finally my dad. Their dad, Robert Levi Huffstutter, born in 1856, had a prior family he left back in Indiana when his first wife refused to move to Texas in the 1890s. He simply hitched up his wagon, so the story goes, asked her one last time to join him, and headed west. Two of his former children got in the wagon with him for the drive to Texas in the area he wanted to settle. Eventually, he moved to Missouri. Family histories get really complex. I have never been one to spend time climbing family trees, but the fact that my grandfather, my dad's dad was born in 1856 while Lincoln was alive and President has always held a certain fascination for me. It has, in some ways I feel, given me a link to the past that makes me feel closer to that era in our nation's history.
My uncle told me many stories about Union veterans who had been wounded in the fight to preserve this nation. My uncle was a patriotic man; he knew the history of this nation because he had taken it upon himself to read. As a little child, I recall how much time he spent reading the Kansas CIty Star and newspapers he found on the train. When the train run ended, he and the other railroad crew would divide the magazines and newspapers. But I could go on and on about my admiration for my uncle and I will, at a future time. For the moment, let me say that my Uncle's greatness was, in my opinion, a sincere greatness he created as a small lad and continued adding to it as time passed.
Posted 4 hours ago. ( permalink | delete | edit )
Thursday, August 13, 2009
JIMMY AND MARGIE HUFFSTUTTER: OZARKS VACATION 1949
UNCLE FRANK'S OLDEST SON, JAMES F. HUFFSTUTTER
As a small boy, my cousin Jimmy and his wife were among my favorite relatives. They were always so full of laughter and life; Jimmy was always a friend I could talk with and a man who treated a boy with the kind of sincerity that boys remember. All of Uncle Frank's sons are now deceased. I was never notified of their passing. Sometimes we are the last to know that we weren't considered part of the family. Life is full of sad surprises. Jimmy was a veteran of World War Two; he was wounded by the enemy in Germany and awarded the Purple Heart. He was Uncle Frank and Aunt Rubys' oldest son. His brother, Robert Lavern Huffstutter was also a World War Two veteran of the Pacific Theater and also participated in the Occupation of Japan until he returned to the USA.
As a small boy, my cousin Jimmy and his wife were among my favorite relatives. They were always so full of laughter and life; Jimmy was always a friend I could talk with and a man who treated a boy with the kind of sincerity that boys remember. All of Uncle Frank's sons are now deceased. I was never notified of their passing. Sometimes we are the last to know that we weren't considered part of the family. Life is full of sad surprises. Jimmy was a veteran of World War Two; he was wounded by the enemy in Germany and awarded the Purple Heart. He was Uncle Frank and Aunt Rubys' oldest son. His brother, Robert Lavern Huffstutter was also a World War Two veteran of the Pacific Theater and also participated in the Occupation of Japan until he returned to the USA.
FAMILY FRIEND IN USN 1940s
BILL MOORE, A WORLD WAR TWO VET I KNEW WHEN I WAS GROWING UP. THE SON OF SOME NEIGHBORS, BILL DRIFTED INTO TOWN AND OUT OF TOWN, A MAN WITH HIS OWN PLANS FOR LIFE, ALWAYS DREAMING OF THE FUTURE. I HOPE HE IS ALIVE AND WELL TODAY WHEREVER HE MIGHT BE ENJOYING HIS FUTURE...This is one of the photos taken in Navy towns with the backdrops. They were popular and usually next to the tattoo parlor and the beer joints. One could get photographed, tattooed and drunk within a short time. That's what Bill told me. I found out later that Bill was right, but I opted out on the tattoo thing.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Friday, August 7, 2009
BEAUTY OF THE ORIENT: FEMININE ESSENCE
THE CLASSIC FEATURES OF THIS YOUNG LADY IS THE ESSENCE OF THE BEAUTY I HAVE ALWAYS FOUND SO BREATHTAKING ABOUT THE WOMEN OF THE ORIENT. I BELIEVE THIS YOUNG LADY LIVES IN HONG KONG. HER PHOTOSTREAM ON FLICKR IS FILLED WITH HER PORTRAITS. CREDIT MUST BE GIVEN TO HER PHOTOGRAPHER. WHAT A MAGNIFICENT PORTFOLIO...........ROBERT, EDITOR
Uploaded by - N a n a ♡•°°•°•°♪ on 11 Jun 09, 4.52AM PDT.
Uploaded by - N a n a ♡•°°•°•°♪ on 11 Jun 09, 4.52AM PDT.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
