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.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Read about my night in Juarez...
TOWARD THE GOLDEN STATE ON THE SOUTHERN PACIFIC'S PASSENGER TRAIN, THE GOLDEN STATE, OR IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN THE SANTA FE, I CAN'T RECALL FOR SURE, BUT I WAS HEADED WEST. WHEN IT STOPPED IN EL PASO, I KNEW I COULD MAKE MY SUMMER TRIP A BIT MORE EXCITING IF I COULD JUST DELAY MY JOURNEY FOR A DAY, VISIT OLD MEXICO, JUAREZ, BUT EVERYONE CALLED MEXICO "OLD MEXICO" BACK THEN. I GUESS IT WAS TO DISTINGUISH IT FROM "NEW MEXICO." AND BY THE WAY, I RECALL WHEN BOTH ALASKA AND HAWAII BECAME STATES. I WAS COLLECTING STAMPS THEN AND PURCHASED BLOCKS OF FOUR, BUT THAT IS NOT PRUDENT TO THIS STORY OF MY FIRST NIGHT IN MEXICO. WHAT BECAME PRUDENT, HOWEVER, WAS THE RESTRAINED AND SLIGHTLY HESITANT WELCOME I RECEIVED AT THE UNION STATION IN LOS ANGLES UPON MY ARRIVAL, EXACTLY 24 HOURS LATE, OR LATER, DEPENDING UPON HOW ONE LIKES TO RATIONALIZE ONE'S BEHAVIOR AND IRRESPONSIBILITY.
AUNT MARY AND GLORIA WERE NOT IMPRESSED BY MY EXCUSE FOR ARRIVING LATE. IT COULD HAVE BEEN WRITTEN OFF AS ONE OF THE FIRES OF SPRING THAT LINGERED INTO SUMMER, BUT NEITHER MARIETTA OR GLORIA HAD A SENSE OF HUMOR.SADLY, OUR KINSHIP ENDED SHORTLY THEREAFTER. WHEN GLORIA'S HUSBAND, JACK, ASSUMED I WANTED TO WORK TWELVE HOUR DAYS AT HIS SHRIMP BOAT DRIVE IN, WE PARTED COMPANY AND I FOUND NEW FRIENDS IN VENICE, CALLED VENICE WEST IN THE LATE 50S. THAT WAS THE LAST TIME I SAW MARIETTA, GLORIA OR JACK. IF AUNT MARIETTA IS STILL LIVING, SHE WOULD BE GETTING CLOSE TO BEING ONE HUNDRED YEARS OLD. FAMILIES JUST DRIFT APART.
MY TRIP ACROSS THE BORDER WAS FUN. IT WAS WRONG. IF I COULD DO IT OVER AGAIN, I WOULDN'T; I CAUSED SOME FAMILY MEMBERS TOO MUCH GRIEF BY DROPPING OUT OF SIGHT FOR 24 HOURS. BUT THAT WAS JUST THE BEGINNING OF MY DISAPPEARING ACTS AS TIME ACCELERATED. NOW, IN RETROSPECT, THERE IS MUCH I WOULD UNDO IF I COULD. I CAN'T, THUS IT HAUNTS ME AT CERTAIN TIMES, THOSE TIMES BEING THE TIMES WHEN I WAKE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT AND FEEL LIKE I HAVE JUST BEEN VISITING WITH AN AUNT OR AN UNCLE, ALWAYS ONE HAS BEEN LONG DECEASED. I DOUBT I AM THE ONLY ONE WHO IS VISITED BY DEAD UNCLES AND AUNTS ON A REGULAR BASIS.
THE CONDUCTOR GRINNED WHEN I ASKED HIM IF I COULD CATCH THE TRAIN THE NEXT DAY. "SONNY, YOU SURE CAN, JUST BE HERE AT THE SAME TOMORROW."
ONCE OUTSIDE THE STATION, I HAILED A TAXI TO THE BORDER. I MUST HAVE LOOKED LIKE THE FOOL I WAS WITH TWO SUITCASES, WALKING OVER THE BRIDGE. "CHICLETS, CHICLETS, MISTER, JUST ONE NICKEL," THE STREET CHILDREN, MOSTLY BOYS, HAWKED THEIR PRODUCT. ONCE AT THE END OF THE BRIDGE I FELT LIKE I HAD MADE A SERIOUS FOREIGN JOURNEY. FINALLY, ANOTHER COUNTRY. JAMES BALDWIN TURNED THAT INTO A BESTSELLER IN THE 60S. IT WAS GOOD. I UNDERSTOOD HIS SPIRIT OR THOUGHT I DID.
Posted by ROBERT L. HUFFSTUTTER at 5:20 PM 0 comments
Labels: ALASKA, CANTINAS, CONDUCTOR, EL PASO, HAWAII, HOTEL, JUAREZ, LOS ANGELES, MARTY ROBBINS, MEXICO, OLD MEXICO, PASSENGER TRAINS, UNION STATION
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
AUNT MARY AND GLORIA WERE NOT IMPRESSED BY MY EXCUSE FOR ARRIVING LATE. IT COULD HAVE BEEN WRITTEN OFF AS ONE OF THE FIRES OF SPRING THAT LINGERED INTO SUMMER, BUT NEITHER MARIETTA OR GLORIA HAD A SENSE OF HUMOR.SADLY, OUR KINSHIP ENDED SHORTLY THEREAFTER. WHEN GLORIA'S HUSBAND, JACK, ASSUMED I WANTED TO WORK TWELVE HOUR DAYS AT HIS SHRIMP BOAT DRIVE IN, WE PARTED COMPANY AND I FOUND NEW FRIENDS IN VENICE, CALLED VENICE WEST IN THE LATE 50S. THAT WAS THE LAST TIME I SAW MARIETTA, GLORIA OR JACK. IF AUNT MARIETTA IS STILL LIVING, SHE WOULD BE GETTING CLOSE TO BEING ONE HUNDRED YEARS OLD. FAMILIES JUST DRIFT APART.
MY TRIP ACROSS THE BORDER WAS FUN. IT WAS WRONG. IF I COULD DO IT OVER AGAIN, I WOULDN'T; I CAUSED SOME FAMILY MEMBERS TOO MUCH GRIEF BY DROPPING OUT OF SIGHT FOR 24 HOURS. BUT THAT WAS JUST THE BEGINNING OF MY DISAPPEARING ACTS AS TIME ACCELERATED. NOW, IN RETROSPECT, THERE IS MUCH I WOULD UNDO IF I COULD. I CAN'T, THUS IT HAUNTS ME AT CERTAIN TIMES, THOSE TIMES BEING THE TIMES WHEN I WAKE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT AND FEEL LIKE I HAVE JUST BEEN VISITING WITH AN AUNT OR AN UNCLE, ALWAYS ONE HAS BEEN LONG DECEASED. I DOUBT I AM THE ONLY ONE WHO IS VISITED BY DEAD UNCLES AND AUNTS ON A REGULAR BASIS.
THE CONDUCTOR GRINNED WHEN I ASKED HIM IF I COULD CATCH THE TRAIN THE NEXT DAY. "SONNY, YOU SURE CAN, JUST BE HERE AT THE SAME TOMORROW."
ONCE OUTSIDE THE STATION, I HAILED A TAXI TO THE BORDER. I MUST HAVE LOOKED LIKE THE FOOL I WAS WITH TWO SUITCASES, WALKING OVER THE BRIDGE. "CHICLETS, CHICLETS, MISTER, JUST ONE NICKEL," THE STREET CHILDREN, MOSTLY BOYS, HAWKED THEIR PRODUCT. ONCE AT THE END OF THE BRIDGE I FELT LIKE I HAD MADE A SERIOUS FOREIGN JOURNEY. FINALLY, ANOTHER COUNTRY. JAMES BALDWIN TURNED THAT INTO A BESTSELLER IN THE 60S. IT WAS GOOD. I UNDERSTOOD HIS SPIRIT OR THOUGHT I DID.
Posted by ROBERT L. HUFFSTUTTER at 5:20 PM 0 comments
Labels: ALASKA, CANTINAS, CONDUCTOR, EL PASO, HAWAII, HOTEL, JUAREZ, LOS ANGELES, MARTY ROBBINS, MEXICO, OLD MEXICO, PASSENGER TRAINS, UNION STATION
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
UNCLES'S DIAMOND RING WAS LOST ON END OF THIS PIER IN 1950
IT WAS THE SUMMER OF 1950 AND UNCLE JIM AND UNCLE FRANK AND OUR FAMILIES WERE VACATIONING FAR FROM TRENTON AND KANSAS CITY. WE WERE IN THE HEART OF THE MISSOURI OZARKS. MY UNCLE JIM WAS WEARING HIS STRAW HAT; UNCLE FRANK WAS SITTING IN HIS HUDSON WATCHING, NEVER HAVING LEARNED TO SWIM, HE WAS FEARFUL OF DEEP WATER. HOWEVER, FRANK'S OLDEST SON, JIMMY, A WORLD WAR TWO VET WITH A PURPLE HEART, WAS WITH UNCLE AND ME ON THE PIER. SEVERAL OF FRANK'S DAUGHTERS WERE THERE. SUDDENLY, UNCLE JIM SHOUTED, "HOT DOG, LOOK AT THIS BIG CRITTER." IT WAS A MONSTER CHANNEL CAT. TO MAKE A LONG FISH STORY SHORT, AS UNCLE JIM WAS HOLDING THE FISH AND TRYING TO RELEASE THE HOOK, THE FISH WRIGGLED ABOUT AND CLOSED ITS MOUTH ON HIS FINGER. IT JUST SO HAPPENED IT WAS HIS RING FINGER, THE FINGER THAT HE WORE THE DIAMOND RING ALMOST AS BIG AS THE RITZ ON WITH PRIDE. AS FATE WOULD HAVE IT, THE FISH GOT AWAY. UNCLE JIM KEPT HIS FINGER, THOUGH BLOODY AND WOUNDED SOMEWHAT. AS UNCLE CALMED DOWN, HE SENSED SOMETHING WAS WRONG. HIS RING WAS MISSING. THE FISH HAD MANAGED TO SLIDE HIS RING OFF DURING THE ESCAPE. IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL RING, REALLY PURE DIAMOND, A RING HE HAD PURCHASED AT HELZBERGS IN THE LATE 1920S. BUT IT WAS GONE. AFTER SOME DELIBERATION, HE FINALLY PAID TWO DIVERS A FEW DOLLARS TO FIND HIS RING. THEIR DIVE LASTED NEARLY AN HOUR, BUT NO RING, ACCORDING TO THE DIVERS, WAS FOUND. JIM EVENTUALLY BOUGHT ANOTHER RING, BUT IT NEVER HAD THE TWINKLE OR THE SPARKLE AS THE ONE THE FISH MANAGED TO SLIDE OFF OF HIS FINGER THAT FATEFULL SUMMER OF 1950.
ON THE PIER: UNCLE JIM, AUNT DOROTHY, MARGIE AND JIMMY. THE AREA WAS NEAR BAGNELL DAM AROUND CAMDENTON, MISSOURI
ON THE PIER: UNCLE JIM, AUNT DOROTHY, MARGIE AND JIMMY. THE AREA WAS NEAR BAGNELL DAM AROUND CAMDENTON, MISSOURI
USED CAR LOT IN TRENTON MISSOURI 1958, FRANK'S USED CARS, 9TH ST
USED CAR LOT IN TRENTON MISSOURI 1958, FRANK'S USED CARS, 9TH ST
Originally uploaded by roberthuffstutter
one of the best things about the location of this used car lot in trenton, missouri in 1958 was the maid-rite hamburger stand just a block east on 9th. While lingering on this lot talking with my uncle frank, i was often overcome by the greasy good smell of the steamed burgers and headed on down the street. There was a most fantastic pin ball machine inside with lots of bumpers and bouncers with illustrations of buxom blondes smiling and lighting up every time they got bounced by one of the pin balls. There was a lot of laughter, malt mixing machine noises and pin ball noise inside the maid-rite. It was the perfect place for sixteen year olds. There were some cute counry girls who lingered around and enjoyed talking to city boys like me. Yes, i told them all about the latest trends, like the pink and black fashion craze. The nearest drive inn movie was in chillicothe, missouri, out of bounds for all of us. Those were great times in the late 50s.
THANKS FOR READING MY ESSAYS. IF YOU HAVE TIME, PLEASE SIGN UP TO BECOME A FOLLOWER. IT IS DIFFICULT GETTING A FOLLOWING UNTIL THERE ARE TWO OR THREE BOLD INDIVIDUALS WHO WILL START IT OUT....THANKS, ROB
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Pershing Square, downtown Los Angeles -- what a shame
IT HAS BEEN YEARS SINCE I WAS LAST IN PERSHING SQUARE. THERE WERE TIMES IN THE LATE 60S when I had occasion to go downtown LA from Santa Monica. The entire scene was different back then. Pershing Square was one great big carnival, soap box speakers yelling out about the END OF THE WORLD, those passed out on cheap wine, a lot of humanity here and there, smoke thick and drifting, smiling people, smiling people, everywhere and hardly a problem. Shocked to see the flat-lined style it bespeaks now. Once it was a garden of Eden of shrubs and tropicals. Believe it or not, there were a few fruit trees that bloomed too. LA, downtown in the 60s was unique, for sure. And it was not unusual to see people more or less camped out beneath the bushes. Sorry to see they cut down all the bushes and trees. Editor
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TEXT BELOW BY LA Wad Photographer
Pershing Square, downtown Los Angeles -- what a shame
I recently typed up an essay on Streetsblog LA about the seeming stupidity that exists in Los Angeles and four behaviors that lead to a neologism known as "L.A.-ing up" things.
Pershing Square is a fine example of Problems 1 (rear-guard remediation) and 2 (Los Angeles-style compromise).
L.A. has a square-block park right in the heart of downtown. It also serves as a compass of sorts to what makes up downtown: civic and cultural institutions to the north, older and residential buildings to the east, smaller businesses to the south and the financial district with newer high-rises to the west.
Pershing Square itself, though, is one of the examples of how L.A. is like the dumb kid in kindergarten that just ends up eating the paste instead of creating a project.
When Pershing Square was redone, civic leaders wanted to create a space that is reflective of Los Angeles and wanted to show it off to people, but of course downtown was becoming abandoned and irrelevant and people didn't want to be there longer than they had to work. So they followed the best practices of defensible space to make Pershing Square crime- and homeless-free.
Well, in that sense Pershing Square is a success. On the other hand, nobody wants to come in here. Not even the homeless. Pershing is mostly homeless people when there's no concert or the winter ice rink, but even then, they are mostly here for short catnaps or sitting and resting. Pershing Square didn't become a shanty town.
So the defensible space comes at the expense of making a park for people.
Look at the above. Does this look like a place for a leisurely lunchtime stroll, a picnic, or any sort of spontaneous fun? No, because you couldn't love this place if you wanted to.
Most of Pershing Square has a perimeter wall, and the park is raised from street level. So there is no connection to the neighborhood around it. Structurally, there's also no metaphor. The key to any good design (graphic, architecture, etc.) is that there must be an overall theme that all of its constituent parts must serve. There's geometry, a tree section in its own corner of the park, colors mixing with concrete ... this has as much coherence as a storage locker.
This is architecture and public place by committee thinking.
This is how to L.A.-up a park.
Uploaded by LA Wad
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TEXT BELOW BY LA Wad Photographer
Pershing Square, downtown Los Angeles -- what a shame
I recently typed up an essay on Streetsblog LA about the seeming stupidity that exists in Los Angeles and four behaviors that lead to a neologism known as "L.A.-ing up" things.
Pershing Square is a fine example of Problems 1 (rear-guard remediation) and 2 (Los Angeles-style compromise).
L.A. has a square-block park right in the heart of downtown. It also serves as a compass of sorts to what makes up downtown: civic and cultural institutions to the north, older and residential buildings to the east, smaller businesses to the south and the financial district with newer high-rises to the west.
Pershing Square itself, though, is one of the examples of how L.A. is like the dumb kid in kindergarten that just ends up eating the paste instead of creating a project.
When Pershing Square was redone, civic leaders wanted to create a space that is reflective of Los Angeles and wanted to show it off to people, but of course downtown was becoming abandoned and irrelevant and people didn't want to be there longer than they had to work. So they followed the best practices of defensible space to make Pershing Square crime- and homeless-free.
Well, in that sense Pershing Square is a success. On the other hand, nobody wants to come in here. Not even the homeless. Pershing is mostly homeless people when there's no concert or the winter ice rink, but even then, they are mostly here for short catnaps or sitting and resting. Pershing Square didn't become a shanty town.
So the defensible space comes at the expense of making a park for people.
Look at the above. Does this look like a place for a leisurely lunchtime stroll, a picnic, or any sort of spontaneous fun? No, because you couldn't love this place if you wanted to.
Most of Pershing Square has a perimeter wall, and the park is raised from street level. So there is no connection to the neighborhood around it. Structurally, there's also no metaphor. The key to any good design (graphic, architecture, etc.) is that there must be an overall theme that all of its constituent parts must serve. There's geometry, a tree section in its own corner of the park, colors mixing with concrete ... this has as much coherence as a storage locker.
This is architecture and public place by committee thinking.
This is how to L.A.-up a park.
Uploaded by LA Wad
Monday, July 13, 2009
Doolittle is off the deck
GREAT SET....and of high interest to all who understand the value of how such a strike like this was used to undermine the morale of the high military officials who were the ones who were responsible for this most unfortunate war between our two nations. Interesting and valuable photos. Rob
GRANDFATHER AND GRANDSON 1945
A SHORT ESSAY ABOUT GRANDAD HAWTHORNE
Frank E. Hawthorne was born in Centerview, Missouri, near Warrensburg, in 1878. He married his sweetheart, Sadie Ella Osborne, also of Centerview. They enjoyed the turn of the century events. Grandad, I learned, was quite a good guitar player. The two were married and moved to Kansas CIty to begin their life together. Grandad purchased a home near the then new Standard Oil Refinery in the Sugar Creek, Missouri area, near the MIssouri River. He never learned or wanted to drive an auto and walked to work each day for many of the more than 40 years he was employed by Standard Oil. Grandad loved to make his own wine; he kept in the basement. He was a pipe smoker and always smoked in the basement or out in the backyard. I loved the aroma of his pipe, thus declared to smoke when old enough. At one time, back in the early 1900s, Frank and Ella kept a cow at the house for milk. By the time I arrived, the cow was gone, but I do recall their chickens and turkeys, kept in a long and pleasant pen covered by a grape arbor. In the summers, when Grandad wanted to spend time with the boys outdoors, he would take out his pocket knife and fashion twig and bark whistles for each of us young boys. We would then drive the neighbors to the point of closing their windows. On summer nights, with no television then, we sat out on the front porch and burned a smudge pot to keep the bugs and mosquitos away. I have, like many people, many great memories of Grandad and Grandmother
Friday, July 10, 2009
48 States Flag
There is much one could say here............I do recall when the last two were added. Collecting stamps and what a thrill it was then to add two new states. If we had not added them, they would have been given away, for sure, so I do celebrate all 50. Remember when Panama was U.S. Territory. Carter gave it back. Now, Chinese soldiers have made it a fairly important center for strategic operations and energy explorations throughout the area. I"ll bet AMERICA is going to be so excited when we get all the windmills spinning at once. It could create a new wind current and the low flyers might just drift from east to west, depending on the direction of the props. I know you are following me so far. Thanks for your service.
Nymans Crescent moped
SOMETIME I MUST SHARE A TALE WITH YOU ABOUT A JOURNEY MY BEST GRADE SCHOOL BUDDY AND I TOOK ON A MOPED. WE WERE ONLY 13 OR 14 AND DECIDED TO SEE THE USA. AS FATE WOULD HAVE IT, EVEN IN THE 50S, THE FACES OF TWO YOUNG BOYS PUTTERING DOWN THE OLD HIGHWAY AROUSED SOME CURIOSITY ONCE WE GOT INTO THE IOWA CORN COUNTRY. TUNE IN LATER FOR THE...REST OF THE STORY. Rob
Nymans Crescent moped
So far, this is the only Nymans Crescent that I have ever seen. I like that front fender.
Uploaded by Howard33 on 4 Jul 09,
Nymans Crescent moped
So far, this is the only Nymans Crescent that I have ever seen. I like that front fender.
Uploaded by Howard33 on 4 Jul 09,
Friday, July 3, 2009
OLD CHURCH IN DUNLAP, MISSOURI
I DO NOT KNOW IF THIS CHURCH IS STILL STANDING. IT HAS BEEN YEARS SINCE I HAVE BEEN TO DUNLAP, MISSOURI. DUNLAP WAS ONCE A RAILROAD TOWN AND HAD A DOWNTOWN AREA, A HOTEL, SALOON, BANK AND OTHER BUSINESSES. I FIRST RECALL THE DUNLAP OF THE 40S AS A SMALL CHILD. IT WAS NO LONGER A RAILROAD TOWN. THE RAILROAD DETOURED BACK IN THE 1920S, BUT THE OLD TOWN BUILDINGS STILL REMAINED. CLOSED AND IN DISREPAIR, I RECALL LOOKING THROUGH THE BOARDED WINDOWS AND SEEING OLD TELLERS CAGES, BARBER CHAIRS AND VARIOUS ITEMS. IT LOOKED LIKE THE TOWN SHUT DOWN IN ONE DAY AND EVERYONE GOT ON THE LAST TRAIN AND LEFT TOWN. IT WAS A FASCINATING SIGHT, THOSE OLD BUILDINGS. THERE WAS A BOARD WALK THAT HAD BEEN BUILT ABOVE THE STREET LEVEL TO SERVE AS A SIDEWALK. AT THAT TIME, I STILL HAD ONE ELDERLY COUSIN AND HIS SON WHO LIVED IN THE OLD HOTEL. THE TOWN BURNED IN THE EARLY 50S. IT WAS SAD. UNTIL THE EARLY 60S, THERE WAS ONLY ONE WATER SUPPLY, THE TOWN PUMP.
HOW DO I KNOW ALL OF THIS. WELL, I SPENT MANY WEEKENDS IN THE SUMMER IN DUNLAP WHEN MY UNCLE JIM AND AUNT DOROTHY DROVE FROM KC TO DUNLAP TO VIST HIS BROTHER, FRANK. THE OLD CHURCH WAS NEVER LOCKED AND MY COUSINS AND I USED TO ENTER AND PRACTICE ON THE PIANO. I LEARNED TO PLAY GOSPEL SONGS BY EAR IN THAT OLD CHURCH. I ALSO PLAYED A PRETTY GOOD RENDITION OF "THE TENNESSEE WALTZ." MANY MEMORIES OF OLD DUNLAP AND COUSINS, FARMERS, LOCAL FARMERS, FISHING STORES, PANTHER STORIES, HAULING WATER TO AUNT RUBY'S FROM THE TOWN PUMP. THERE WERE OLD JUNK CARS HERE AND THERE, A GREAT BIG TOY FOR US KIDS WHO WERE NOT YET DRIVING. BUT SPEAKING OF DRIVING, ONE OF MY COUSINS, GEORGE, HELPED ME PRACTICE MY DRIVING BY LETTING ME DRIVE HIS CAR FROM DUNLAP TO HIGHWAY 6, THE HIGHWAY THAT HAD THE 4 MILE SIGN. FOUR MILES TO TRENTON FROM DUNLAP. THESE ARE MERELY RANDOM THOUGHTS, IMAGES, RAMBLING, UNEDITED THOUGHTS, JUST A FEW MEMORIES I RECALL AS THIS FOURTH OF JULY WEEKEND BEGINS. YES, WE USED TO SPEND THE 4TH OUT IN DUNLAP. PIN WHEELS, FOUNTAINS. BINGO GAMES UNTIL 2AM. GOOD TIMES REMEMBERED. HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY TO ALL WHO READ THIS SLICE OF LIFE IN AMERICA DURING THE 40S AND 50S
HOW DO I KNOW ALL OF THIS. WELL, I SPENT MANY WEEKENDS IN THE SUMMER IN DUNLAP WHEN MY UNCLE JIM AND AUNT DOROTHY DROVE FROM KC TO DUNLAP TO VIST HIS BROTHER, FRANK. THE OLD CHURCH WAS NEVER LOCKED AND MY COUSINS AND I USED TO ENTER AND PRACTICE ON THE PIANO. I LEARNED TO PLAY GOSPEL SONGS BY EAR IN THAT OLD CHURCH. I ALSO PLAYED A PRETTY GOOD RENDITION OF "THE TENNESSEE WALTZ." MANY MEMORIES OF OLD DUNLAP AND COUSINS, FARMERS, LOCAL FARMERS, FISHING STORES, PANTHER STORIES, HAULING WATER TO AUNT RUBY'S FROM THE TOWN PUMP. THERE WERE OLD JUNK CARS HERE AND THERE, A GREAT BIG TOY FOR US KIDS WHO WERE NOT YET DRIVING. BUT SPEAKING OF DRIVING, ONE OF MY COUSINS, GEORGE, HELPED ME PRACTICE MY DRIVING BY LETTING ME DRIVE HIS CAR FROM DUNLAP TO HIGHWAY 6, THE HIGHWAY THAT HAD THE 4 MILE SIGN. FOUR MILES TO TRENTON FROM DUNLAP. THESE ARE MERELY RANDOM THOUGHTS, IMAGES, RAMBLING, UNEDITED THOUGHTS, JUST A FEW MEMORIES I RECALL AS THIS FOURTH OF JULY WEEKEND BEGINS. YES, WE USED TO SPEND THE 4TH OUT IN DUNLAP. PIN WHEELS, FOUNTAINS. BINGO GAMES UNTIL 2AM. GOOD TIMES REMEMBERED. HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY TO ALL WHO READ THIS SLICE OF LIFE IN AMERICA DURING THE 40S AND 50S
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Vilano Beach Moon Rocks
THIS PHOTO ILLUSTRATES POETRY BY THE PHOTOGRAPHER. IT IS ONE OF THE BEST PHOTOS I HAVE EVER VIEWED. EDITOR
Friday, June 26, 2009
Standard Oil
There actually was a Traveler's Aid Society that existed for travelers in the USA who ran out of money while riding trains. They were normally in the stations of larger cities like Los Angeles and Chicago. I recall getting a certificate worth .75 cents for food once while traveling to Los Angeles
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Assorted old Fords
ONE OF MY FAVORITE ALL TIME AUTOMOBILES AS A YOUNG BOY. THANKS TO NAGRAMOS for permission to exhibit photo.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Soyer, Raphael (1899-1987) - 1936 Transients
Soyer, Raphael (1899-1987) - 1936 Transients
"Raphael Soyer and his identical twin brother, Moses, were born Russia in 1899. Their father, a Hebrew scholar, writer and teacher, raised his five children in an intellectual environment in which much emphasis was placed on academic and artistic pursuits. Due to Russian oppression, the Soyer family was forced to emigrate in 1912 to the United States, where they ultimately settled in the Bronx.
"Raphael Soyer and his identical twin brother, Moses, were born Russia in 1899. Their father, a Hebrew scholar, writer and teacher, raised his five children in an intellectual environment in which much emphasis was placed on academic and artistic pursuits. Due to Russian oppression, the Soyer family was forced to emigrate in 1912 to the United States, where they ultimately settled in the Bronx.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Rosas Cantina
Rosas Cantina
The famous "Rosa's Cantina" I'm told was built after the Marty Robbins song came out, but it is in El Paso next to the bad lands of New Mexico just like the song says.
Uploaded by Satxvike on 28 Jul 05
The famous "Rosa's Cantina" I'm told was built after the Marty Robbins song came out, but it is in El Paso next to the bad lands of New Mexico just like the song says.
Uploaded by Satxvike on 28 Jul 05
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Words to Remember
THIS REMINDS ME OF THE MOVIE "THE DUEL" ABOUT THE NUTSO TRUCK DRIVER AND THE SALESMAN WHO WANTED TO GET AROUND HIM. ONE OF SPEILBERG'S FIRST MOVIES, IT IS THE ONLY MOVIE I CAN SIT AND WATCH TIME AND AGAIN.
THANKS TO WEFOUR FOR PERMISSION TO USE THIS PHOTO. EDITOR
THANKS TO WEFOUR FOR PERMISSION TO USE THIS PHOTO. EDITOR
Monday, June 15, 2009
MISS TOOTS SECOND GRADE CLASS, MT WASHINGTON, KCMO 1950
AS ESSAY ABOUT PUBLIC EDUCATION IN THE USA IN THE 1950S BY R.L. HUFFSTUTTER
MT WASHINGTON ELEMENTARY SCHOOL WAS BUILT IN 1903; IT WAS BRIGHT RED BRICK WITH GYMNASIUM, THREE INSIDE PLAYROOMS, A CAFETERIA, AN AUDITORIUM WITH A STAGE, A CLASSROOM TERM AS THE "OPEN AIR CLASSROOM" FOR ANYONE WITH PHYSICAL AILMENTS BORDERING ON TB. IT WAS A TERRIFIC SCHOOL AT THE TIME. IN EACH CLASSROOM, A PORTRAIT OF GEORGE WASHINGTON WAS ABOVE THE BLACKBOARDS. VARIOUS PORTRAITS OF LINCOLN WERE THROUGHOUT THE SCHOOL. UNUSUAL FOR THAT ERA WAS A FULLY STAFFED LIBRARY WITH A WIDE SELECTION OF BOOKS. IN ADDITION TO THESE FACILITIES, MT WASHINGTON ELEMENTARY SCHOOL HAD A MUSIC ROOM AND AN ART ROOM. PLAYGROUNDS WERE SPACIOUS AND FENCED WITH NUMEROUS TYPES OF RECREATION ITEMS AND AREAS EXCLUDING SWINGS. THE SCHOOL WAS VERY PROGRESSIVE FOR THE ERA. THERE WERE NO COMPUTERS, BUT FILMS WERE USED EXTENSIVELY. THE SHADES WERE DEEP GREEN AND CREATED A PICTURE SHOW MOOD AMONG THE STUDENTS. DISCIPLINE CONSISTED OF SITTING IN THE PRINCIPALS OFFICE FOR A LENGTHY PERIOD FOLLOWED BY STERN WARNINGS. THERE WAS NO CORPORAL PUNISHMENT IN THE SCHOOL SYSTEM. IN THE 1940S AND 1950S, STUDENTS HAD TO LIVE AT LEAST THREE MILES FROM SCHOOL IN ORDER QUALFY FOR SCHOOL BUS TRANSPORTATION
MT WASHINGTON ELEMENTARY SCHOOL WAS BUILT IN 1903; IT WAS BRIGHT RED BRICK WITH GYMNASIUM, THREE INSIDE PLAYROOMS, A CAFETERIA, AN AUDITORIUM WITH A STAGE, A CLASSROOM TERM AS THE "OPEN AIR CLASSROOM" FOR ANYONE WITH PHYSICAL AILMENTS BORDERING ON TB. IT WAS A TERRIFIC SCHOOL AT THE TIME. IN EACH CLASSROOM, A PORTRAIT OF GEORGE WASHINGTON WAS ABOVE THE BLACKBOARDS. VARIOUS PORTRAITS OF LINCOLN WERE THROUGHOUT THE SCHOOL. UNUSUAL FOR THAT ERA WAS A FULLY STAFFED LIBRARY WITH A WIDE SELECTION OF BOOKS. IN ADDITION TO THESE FACILITIES, MT WASHINGTON ELEMENTARY SCHOOL HAD A MUSIC ROOM AND AN ART ROOM. PLAYGROUNDS WERE SPACIOUS AND FENCED WITH NUMEROUS TYPES OF RECREATION ITEMS AND AREAS EXCLUDING SWINGS. THE SCHOOL WAS VERY PROGRESSIVE FOR THE ERA. THERE WERE NO COMPUTERS, BUT FILMS WERE USED EXTENSIVELY. THE SHADES WERE DEEP GREEN AND CREATED A PICTURE SHOW MOOD AMONG THE STUDENTS. DISCIPLINE CONSISTED OF SITTING IN THE PRINCIPALS OFFICE FOR A LENGTHY PERIOD FOLLOWED BY STERN WARNINGS. THERE WAS NO CORPORAL PUNISHMENT IN THE SCHOOL SYSTEM. IN THE 1940S AND 1950S, STUDENTS HAD TO LIVE AT LEAST THREE MILES FROM SCHOOL IN ORDER QUALFY FOR SCHOOL BUS TRANSPORTATION
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