GLORIA AND HER DAUGHTER, CHERYL...and her little ones. Time flys. This photo was taken in 1970. See other references to and about this photo: MARIETTA MC DANIELS, SUMMER OF 1959, BILL MC DANIEL, NIGHT IN JUAREZ, FIRST TRAINTRIP TO CALIFORNIA 1959
My California cousins. The last time I saw them was in the summer of 1959. This photo was taken in approximately 1970 and was mailed to my Aunt Dorothy and Uncle Jim.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
CALIFORNIA COUSINS AT DISNEYLAND IN 1959
REFERENCES IN MY FLICKR AND BLOGS:
CALIFORNIA COUSINS AT DISNEYLAND IN 1959
MARIETTA'S DAUGHTER AND GRANDCHILDREN.
SUMMER OF 1959, FIRST VISIT TO CALIFORNIA, GLORIA AND JACK, AUNT MARIETTA, BILL McDANIELS
Uploaded by roberthuffstutter
CALIFORNIA COUSINS AT DISNEYLAND IN 1959
MARIETTA'S DAUGHTER AND GRANDCHILDREN.
SUMMER OF 1959, FIRST VISIT TO CALIFORNIA, GLORIA AND JACK, AUNT MARIETTA, BILL McDANIELS
Uploaded by roberthuffstutter
LIL' GLORIA AND BILLY McDANIELS IN 1920S
THESE WERE IN ONE OF MY OLD TRUNKS. THE PARENTS OF THESE TWO YOUNGSTERS WERE VERN AND MARIETTA McDANIELS (McDANIEL). AUNT MARIETTA WAS MY AUNT, DAUGHTER OF ROBERT LEVI HUFFSTUTTER (BORN 1856) MARIETTA BORN APPROXIMATELY 1908. CHILDREN IN PICTURE BORN IN 1920S. THESE TWO LITTLE ONES GREW UP TO BECOME MY CALIFORNIA COUSINS WITH WHOM I VISITED IN THE SUMMER OF 1959.
____________________________________________________________________________________
THESE WERE IN ONE OF MY OLD TRUNKS. THE PARENTS OF THESE TWO YOUNGSTERS WERE VERN AND MARIETTA McDANIELS (McDANIEL). AUNT MARIETTA WAS MY AUNT, DAUGHTER OF ROBERT LEVI HUFFSTUTTER (BORN 1856) MARIETTA BORN APPROXIMATELY 1908. CHILDREN IN PICTURE BORN IN 1920S. THESE TWO LITTLE ONES GREW UP TO BECOME MY CALIFORNIA COUSINS WITH WHOM I VISITED IN THE SUMMER OF 1959.
____________________________________________________________________________________
THESE WERE IN ONE OF MY OLD TRUNKS. THE PARENTS OF THESE TWO YOUNGSTERS WERE VERN AND MARIETTA McDANIELS (McDANIEL). AUNT MARIETTA WAS MY AUNT, DAUGHTER OF ROBERT LEVI HUFFSTUTTER (BORN 1856) MARIETTA BORN APPROXIMATELY 1908. CHILDREN IN PICTURE BORN IN 1920S. THESE TWO LITTLE ONES GREW UP TO BECOME MY CALIFORNIA COUSINS WITH WHOM I VISITED IN THE SUMMER OF 1959.
LIL' GLORIA AND BILLY McDANIELS IN 1920S
AUNT MARIETTA'S TWO CHILDREN.........
When bill was only two years old, he and his sister lived at one of the finest residential apartment hotels in kansas city, near the country club plaza. Rumor is that he fell out of a third story window and was severly injured. Bill enlisted in the u.S. Navy just as world war two was closing. I vaguely recall bill taking me into one of his old haunts while he was home on leave. My mind tells me that it was a pool hall and tavern. My relationship with bill was one that would last throughout his life. While living with me and my family, bill enjoyed the last months of his life trying to win the battle he had fought with alcohol throughout his lifetime. As so frequently happens, fate was not kind to his rehabilitation efforts and bill passed away in the summer of 1983.
BILL WAS A GRACIOUS HOST WHEN I STAYED PART OF THE SUMMER OF 1959 WITH HIM AND HIS WIFE, JUNE, AND FAMILY. THEY LIVED IN PACOIMA, IN THE VALLEY. MAY HE REST IN PEACH......
When bill was only two years old, he and his sister lived at one of the finest residential apartment hotels in kansas city, near the country club plaza. Rumor is that he fell out of a third story window and was severly injured. Bill enlisted in the u.S. Navy just as world war two was closing. I vaguely recall bill taking me into one of his old haunts while he was home on leave. My mind tells me that it was a pool hall and tavern. My relationship with bill was one that would last throughout his life. While living with me and my family, bill enjoyed the last months of his life trying to win the battle he had fought with alcohol throughout his lifetime. As so frequently happens, fate was not kind to his rehabilitation efforts and bill passed away in the summer of 1983.
BILL WAS A GRACIOUS HOST WHEN I STAYED PART OF THE SUMMER OF 1959 WITH HIM AND HIS WIFE, JUNE, AND FAMILY. THEY LIVED IN PACOIMA, IN THE VALLEY. MAY HE REST IN PEACH......
MARIETTA McDANIEL, CALIFORNIA AUNT, 1959
My favorite aunt, Aunt Marietta, my uncle's sister and my dad's sister found out real quickly about me once I landed on her doorstep in the summer of 1959. She met me at the Santa Fe Station in Downtown Los Angeles, a day later than I was scheduled to arrive because of a side trip I made to Juarez, Mexico. See the story in my photostream on Flickr about NIGHT IN JUAREZ. Aunt Marietta would be over one-hundred years old if living today. After my summer in California, she ceased to favor me as a nephew and I became the wayward nephew. Such is life. She wasn't perfect either. Her son, Bill Mc Daniel and I were close cousins, so close, unfortunately, thathe passed away at my home in 1983. Bill was an alcoholic and was on the road to recovery when he died of a heart-attack. I told Marietta he was not drinking when he died, but she never forgave me for letting Bill stay with us. She never could get it through her head that he was recovering. She wrote me a nasty letter. She demanded that I send his television and BBQ grill back to her. Afterall,she had purchased it for him. Oh, it goes on and on. And it was, according to her and her daughter, Gloria, all my fault. Well, to set the record straight--it wasn't. I had bought Bill a car and helped him get a job. I had given him a room in my home. Unfortunately, he died. And once the ashes were sent to Marietta, I never heard a word from anyone in the family. Not a word. Nor did Bill's children ever contact me. Life goes on and I remember that old saying, a good deed never goes without punishment. So, to whomever might be reading this on the West Coast, Cheryl, Diane, Gloria, Rodney, June or Jack, know you know the rest of the story....
1975 BUICK SKYLARK: CARS WE HAVE LOVED
ESSAY ON THE BEAUTY OF BUICKS AND THE TASTE OF BEER: THE CONFESSIONS OF AN EX-ALCOHOLIC
Incidentally, the child sitting on top of this revered classic is our daughter. Note the shadow person in the left corner, ready to dash to her instantaneous rescue if necessary.
This was the year of the model change for GM. We had purchased our first Buick Skylark in 1970, and a second Skylark only eighteen months later. When it caught fire one cold winter evening and was totaled by the insurance company, it was replaced with this new and neatly appointed Skylark with red interior and full power. I recall how much it appeared like a new toy to me.
Because I had been in the previous Skylark when it was totaled, looking at this photo makes me realize how fortunate I was that I did not burn with the auto. The steering wheel had melted, the mileage indicator was charred beyond accountability of the mileage, thus the "new" replacement. For some months thereafter, I had some serious lung problems. I also kept my vow not to leave the engine running when I felt like I needed to sleep in my vehicle for the night after a tad bit too much partying.
This was one of a number of miracles that happened, miracles I account as Divine. By all accounts, using that television program as a line, "I should have been dead by now." If but by the grace of God. There were five other seperate incidents that were equally, if not more, eerie, where my life had been in serious danger and I was whisked out of danger if by an Angel or the hand of the Divine.
Sometime I will write about those times, but then I had most likely leave them sealed in the vat of memory. Let me simply say that in all case but one, there had been alcohol involved. I have said it many times before, " If I had my life to lead over, I would never have taken my first drink of beer one summer evening back in the 1940s while my Aunt Marietta was visiting and sat her can of beer down behind her lawn chair where I was playing cars. That's right, I will blame it on her, typical alcoholic rationale. No, not really. It was a child's curiosity to taste what the adults were drinking in those so attractive and shiny cans that seemed to make them laugh and be so merry.
By R.L. Huffstutter
Incidentally, the child sitting on top of this revered classic is our daughter. Note the shadow person in the left corner, ready to dash to her instantaneous rescue if necessary.
This was the year of the model change for GM. We had purchased our first Buick Skylark in 1970, and a second Skylark only eighteen months later. When it caught fire one cold winter evening and was totaled by the insurance company, it was replaced with this new and neatly appointed Skylark with red interior and full power. I recall how much it appeared like a new toy to me.
Because I had been in the previous Skylark when it was totaled, looking at this photo makes me realize how fortunate I was that I did not burn with the auto. The steering wheel had melted, the mileage indicator was charred beyond accountability of the mileage, thus the "new" replacement. For some months thereafter, I had some serious lung problems. I also kept my vow not to leave the engine running when I felt like I needed to sleep in my vehicle for the night after a tad bit too much partying.
This was one of a number of miracles that happened, miracles I account as Divine. By all accounts, using that television program as a line, "I should have been dead by now." If but by the grace of God. There were five other seperate incidents that were equally, if not more, eerie, where my life had been in serious danger and I was whisked out of danger if by an Angel or the hand of the Divine.
Sometime I will write about those times, but then I had most likely leave them sealed in the vat of memory. Let me simply say that in all case but one, there had been alcohol involved. I have said it many times before, " If I had my life to lead over, I would never have taken my first drink of beer one summer evening back in the 1940s while my Aunt Marietta was visiting and sat her can of beer down behind her lawn chair where I was playing cars. That's right, I will blame it on her, typical alcoholic rationale. No, not really. It was a child's curiosity to taste what the adults were drinking in those so attractive and shiny cans that seemed to make them laugh and be so merry.
By R.L. Huffstutter
Greetings From San Diego California
I COULD WRITE MANY BOOKS ABOUT THE GREAT MEMORIES CONJURED UP BY THIS POSTCARD. SEE AMHPICS FOR ONE OF THE GREATEST COLLECTIONS OF POST CARDS ANYWHERE ONLINE.............
____________________________________________________
Greetings From San Diego California
Uploaded by amhpics on 12 Sep 09, 9.32AM PST.
____________________________________________________
Greetings From San Diego California
Uploaded by amhpics on 12 Sep 09, 9.32AM PST.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
JAPANESE RICE FIELDS: ORIGINAL PHOTOS BY R.L. HUFFSTUTTER 1961
JAPANESE RICE FIELDS: ORIGINAL PHOTOS BY R.L. HUFFSTUTTER 1961
Originally uploaded by roberthuffstutter
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Greetings from Las Vegas - 1960s
At the very end, on the left, there is the GOLDEN GATE HOTEL, the oldest in LV and for years the best place to stay downtown. Rooms were $20 and the shrimp cocktails were 25 cents..........The dude once blew smoke and said "howdy pardner."
Greetings from Las Vegas - 1960s
Uploaded by nyctreeman - on 2 Nov 08, 6.28AM PST.
Compose your blog entry
Greetings from Las Vegas - 1960s
Uploaded by nyctreeman - on 2 Nov 08, 6.28AM PST.
Compose your blog entry
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
vacation decals
vacation decals
Jason sent me this cool website on decalcomania..check it out
www.creativepro.com/article/heavy-metal-madness-decalcoma...
Uploaded by Water Tower Pisan on 26 Jun
Jason sent me this cool website on decalcomania..check it out
www.creativepro.com/article/heavy-metal-madness-decalcoma...
Uploaded by Water Tower Pisan on 26 Jun
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Keep on Drumming
Keep on Drumming
Restaurant in the Hotel President, Kansas City.
www.drumroomkc.com/menu.html
Restaurant in the Hotel President, Kansas City.
www.drumroomkc.com/menu.html
Friday, October 9, 2009
MY NAVY FRIEND, CHARLES, on the beach at Venice, California
MEMORIES OF A WILD HORSE AND SOME SPANISH MODELS...By Robert L. Huffstutter
Browsing through my photostream, seeing this photo of my friend, Chuck, reminded me of the times a few of us Navy guys spent in Ensenada in 1960 and early 1961. One of our favorite activities down south of the border was riding horses on the beach. After a night of celebrating at the Plaza, we would meander down toward the shore around noon on Saturdays. There was alway an enterprising young man or an elderly gentleman with a small herd of horses ready for riding by those bold enough to try their efforts at galloping through the surf. The rental was about a dollar per horse for a few hours. The horses were not the tamest and as fate would have it, I chanced to mount a strange -eyed white and speckled horse one Saturday that gave me the ride of my life. As we prepared for our casual ride a few miles south, watching out for rocks and boulders, drinking wine from leather bags, laughing, telling jokes, trying our Spanish, my mount must have tired of Yanque b.s and picked up pace. Not an equestrian type, I was a bit concerned and called a quick whoa, then pleaded for a pronto alto, but to no avail. The man or lad in charge picked up the gait and was getting a faceful of sand as he strove to come to my rescue. Hunkered down and certain it was the end, the handler figured out a move that I am sure he had been forced to make on previous jaunts; he drove his steed to full speed and once he was about a hundred yards in advance, he reversed and met us headlong. It looked like a horse to horse head-on collision, but his knowledge saved the day. His horse must have been the '' BOSS HORSE' because the action stopped abruptly. ''Sorry, senor, '' he apologized and offered me my dollars back. I refused and added another dollar to his hand, shook his hand and sat down on a boulder for an hour contemplating the outline of the sleeply village north of where the wild ride ended. My amigos had quite a laugh and commenced to give me lessons on where and what I must have done to spook my mount. I took the lessons with a grain of sand and vowed the next time I would ride a wild horse would be sometime far in the future. It was a serene and peaceful walk back to the Plaza where I joined my buddies at the bar, engaged in Spanish lessons with some delightful looking Spanish models on a photo shoot. The weekend ended with diverse and fond memories. We never did see the photographer in charge of the model shoot.
Browsing through my photostream, seeing this photo of my friend, Chuck, reminded me of the times a few of us Navy guys spent in Ensenada in 1960 and early 1961. One of our favorite activities down south of the border was riding horses on the beach. After a night of celebrating at the Plaza, we would meander down toward the shore around noon on Saturdays. There was alway an enterprising young man or an elderly gentleman with a small herd of horses ready for riding by those bold enough to try their efforts at galloping through the surf. The rental was about a dollar per horse for a few hours. The horses were not the tamest and as fate would have it, I chanced to mount a strange -eyed white and speckled horse one Saturday that gave me the ride of my life. As we prepared for our casual ride a few miles south, watching out for rocks and boulders, drinking wine from leather bags, laughing, telling jokes, trying our Spanish, my mount must have tired of Yanque b.s and picked up pace. Not an equestrian type, I was a bit concerned and called a quick whoa, then pleaded for a pronto alto, but to no avail. The man or lad in charge picked up the gait and was getting a faceful of sand as he strove to come to my rescue. Hunkered down and certain it was the end, the handler figured out a move that I am sure he had been forced to make on previous jaunts; he drove his steed to full speed and once he was about a hundred yards in advance, he reversed and met us headlong. It looked like a horse to horse head-on collision, but his knowledge saved the day. His horse must have been the '' BOSS HORSE' because the action stopped abruptly. ''Sorry, senor, '' he apologized and offered me my dollars back. I refused and added another dollar to his hand, shook his hand and sat down on a boulder for an hour contemplating the outline of the sleeply village north of where the wild ride ended. My amigos had quite a laugh and commenced to give me lessons on where and what I must have done to spook my mount. I took the lessons with a grain of sand and vowed the next time I would ride a wild horse would be sometime far in the future. It was a serene and peaceful walk back to the Plaza where I joined my buddies at the bar, engaged in Spanish lessons with some delightful looking Spanish models on a photo shoot. The weekend ended with diverse and fond memories. We never did see the photographer in charge of the model shoot.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
1950 Plymouth DeLuxe Sedan
1950 Plymouth DeLuxe Sedan
At the All Mopar car show at the Pierce County Fair Grounds.
Uploaded by jay el on 5 Nov 08
PLYMOUTH FASTBACK 2 DR (FLATHEAD 6)...and it was one fast Plymouth. Back in the late 50s, dragstrips were places where we met on Friday nights to see if the milling of our heads had been done just right. I knew mine had been done right when I beat a 49 Ford v8 Crown Vic by 4 lengths in the quarter mile. I thank it might have been a good shifting on my part, but my Plymouth gained a mean reputation from thereon. Editor
At the All Mopar car show at the Pierce County Fair Grounds.
Uploaded by jay el on 5 Nov 08
PLYMOUTH FASTBACK 2 DR (FLATHEAD 6)...and it was one fast Plymouth. Back in the late 50s, dragstrips were places where we met on Friday nights to see if the milling of our heads had been done just right. I knew mine had been done right when I beat a 49 Ford v8 Crown Vic by 4 lengths in the quarter mile. I thank it might have been a good shifting on my part, but my Plymouth gained a mean reputation from thereon. Editor
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Old-Beechcraft-D-18S--img188
Old-Beechcraft-D-18S--img188
Landing at Hammer Field in Fresno, California, in 1962. This plane first came out in 1937 at the D-18 a few years after the famous Lockheed Electra it mimics. It was a money maker for Beech Aircraft so they wisely updated it and re-introduced it as the D-18S in October 1945.
Uploaded by Lance & Cromwell on 1 Mar
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
One of the most dangerous flight I was on was in this old faithful. Had taken off from old NAS OLATHE in summer of 61 and ran into red dust storm somewhere over N. Mexico. Zero visibility, no instrument landings capabilities, just red dust. Could feel it in our throats and respitory systems. Finally eased it down into slight visibility and landed in arid field. End of a perfect connection to San Diego. 24 hours later, arrived via Greyhound in San Diego. It was quite a fun experience for a youth, fodder for lots of hours at the club. Editor
Landing at Hammer Field in Fresno, California, in 1962. This plane first came out in 1937 at the D-18 a few years after the famous Lockheed Electra it mimics. It was a money maker for Beech Aircraft so they wisely updated it and re-introduced it as the D-18S in October 1945.
Uploaded by Lance & Cromwell on 1 Mar
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
One of the most dangerous flight I was on was in this old faithful. Had taken off from old NAS OLATHE in summer of 61 and ran into red dust storm somewhere over N. Mexico. Zero visibility, no instrument landings capabilities, just red dust. Could feel it in our throats and respitory systems. Finally eased it down into slight visibility and landed in arid field. End of a perfect connection to San Diego. 24 hours later, arrived via Greyhound in San Diego. It was quite a fun experience for a youth, fodder for lots of hours at the club. Editor
Monday, September 28, 2009
THE OLD IMPERIAL HOTEL in PRE-WW2 TOKYO -- Frank Lloyd Wright's Masterpiece in Japan
THE OLD IMPERIAL HOTEL in PRE-WW2 TOKYO -- Frank Lloyd Wright's Masterpiece in Japan
Originally uploaded by Okinawa Soba
THE OLD IMPERIAL HOTEL in PRE-WW2 TOKYO -- Frank Lloyd Wright's Masterpiece in Japan
Here we have T. ENAMI meeting up with the work of FRANK LLOYD WRIGHT. Wright's version of the Imperial Hotel, replacing those that came before it, opened on September 1st, 1923 -- the same fateful day on which the Great Kanto Plains Earthquake destroyed Enami's Photographic Studio -- along with most of Yokohama and Tokyo. Thanks to Wright's modern building techniques that employed a large amount of steel girders and reinforcements, this hotel survived with only minor damage. And Enami himself had rebuilt his studio on Benten Street and was back in business within two years.
After 45 years in service, the structure was finally razed in 1968 to make way for a new incarnation. Thankfully conservation minded individuals assured that part of the Hotel was saved. Students of Wright's architectural works may continue to see and examine this original Entryway at Meiji Mura Architectural Park outside of Nagoya.
The new Imperial Hotel in Tokyo also has incorporated some pieces of Wright's embellishments as part of the public interior spaces -- at least I remember seeing some of it before passing out in the Bar after too many "Rum and Cokes".
For more on the long history of the place, and its many incarnations, see : www.imperialhotel.co.jp/cgi-bin/imperial_hp/index_e.cgi?a...
Frank Lloyd Wright was also a photographer, and a book of 50 of his photographs taken while in Japan has been published. (Try a used book connection thru amazon.com)
From a Lantern-slide by T. ENAMI of Yokohama. Ca.1923-28. For more on the Life and Times of Enami see : www.t-enami.org/
Uploaded by Okinawa Soba on 22 Apr 08, 8.23PM PDT.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
You better let him out!
You better let him out!
Uploaded by lawrence_thefourth on 7 Sep 09, 12.04PM PDT.
Uploaded by lawrence_thefourth on 7 Sep 09, 12.04PM PDT.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Vancouver, B.C.: Royal Canadian Mounted Police postcard
Vancouver, B.C.: Royal Canadian Mounted Police postcard BY FANTOMASTER
REMINDS ME OF THE OLD RADIO PROGRAM, SGT PRESTON......
REMINDS ME OF THE OLD RADIO PROGRAM, SGT PRESTON......
1960s Advertising - Magazine Ad - Lustre Creme (USA)
I REMEMBER THIS AD...IT WAS ONE COOL AD AND STILL WOULD BE MOST EFFECTIVE IN MOVING PRODUCTS. ONE WORK OF ART, REALLY.
1960s Advertising - Magazine Ad - Lustre Creme (USA)
1969 Magazine Advertisement
"Pink is for Girls"
Lustre Creme
USA
Uploaded by Pink Ponk
1960s Advertising - Magazine Ad - Lustre Creme (USA)
1969 Magazine Advertisement
"Pink is for Girls"
Lustre Creme
USA
Uploaded by Pink Ponk
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Boneyard
Have you ever seen or heard of the area on the desert, either AZ or NM, where many of the old WWII aircraft were stowed? If my memory serves me correctly, I recall passing such an area in either 59 or 60. The rows of aircraft went on almost indefinitely. On future Santa Fe trips to Los Angeles and another railroad to San Francisco, I never saw the field of aircraft again. Either they had changed the tracks to bypass the area or they had disposed of the aircraft. If you know anything about this site, please let me know. At the time, the planes were not wrapped in any material, they simply shone a bright silver in the desert sunlight.
_________________________________________________
Boneyard
Uploaded by Military Aircraft on 21 Sep 07,
_________________________________________________
Boneyard
Uploaded by Military Aircraft on 21 Sep 07,
Friday, September 11, 2009
MARY ANN: PORTRAIT OF A YOUNG WOMAN
MARY ANN: PORTRAIT OF A YOUNG WOMAN
Mary Ann was never found of newspapers, she preferred poetry.
Uploaded by roberthuffstutter
Mary Ann was never found of newspapers, she preferred poetry.
Uploaded by roberthuffstutter
Sunday, September 6, 2009
A walk on the wild side
THE SIXTIES WERE GREAT. PART OF THAT GREATNESS WAS DUE TO THE MANY LOVELY YOUNG WOMEN WHO TRULY ENJOYED LIFE AND HAD AS MUCH FUN AS THE GUYS. LOOKING BACK, IT IS ALMOST AS IF WE KNEW WE WERE A SPECIAL GENERATION.
A walk on the wild side
There's a couple of wild chicks.....lol
Uploaded by Mother N in the big C on 4 Jan
A walk on the wild side
There's a couple of wild chicks.....lol
Uploaded by Mother N in the big C on 4 Jan
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Beautiful Downtown Conrad, Montana
Looks like a serene and simple lifestyle. There are many folks who would enjoy this simple life. Is there a bar in town where one can smoke? Does the town get larger as you get deeper into the downtown district? Don't answer, it looks good just the way it appears. This is just one of tens of thousand of towns scattered throughout the big sky country and the great midwest, the agricultural belt of America, the heart of America and through the vast plains and farm belt, then on across the Mississippi into another vast expanse of land almost equally the same but with more terrain and a larger population. America, America, it is not just Los Angeles, Hollywood, Boston and New York City; it is not just Washington D.C. and all who live and breathe within the Beltway. Those in these cities and our nations Capital are quick to forget there is another America that is really much larger. A great photograph.
Beautiful Downtown Conrad, Montana
South Main Street, Conrad, Montana
Uploaded by J. Stephen Conn on 2 Sep 09
Beautiful Downtown Conrad, Montana
South Main Street, Conrad, Montana
Uploaded by J. Stephen Conn on 2 Sep 09
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
GHOSTS OF FIFTY YEARS AGO
MY UNCLE AND AUNT ARE THE GHOSTS, but they were not yet deceased at that time. Aunt Dorothy would live another 21 years and Uncle Jim would live another 30 plus years.
Most of us boys built these carts and spent the entire summers painting them, numbering them and adding special features. I once used the visor of an old 34 Plymouth, a green plastic opaque visor, as a mini-windshield, We padded the seats; we installed old gauges from junkyard cars.
The ultimate appointment was the type of hood ornament we used.Chief Pontiac was the one that guided my cart down steep hills. One of the ultimate thrills of a cart driver was the "crash" where one could get up and walk away. It was a conversation topic that became more thrilling wth each telling.
Most of us boys built these carts and spent the entire summers painting them, numbering them and adding special features. I once used the visor of an old 34 Plymouth, a green plastic opaque visor, as a mini-windshield, We padded the seats; we installed old gauges from junkyard cars.
The ultimate appointment was the type of hood ornament we used.Chief Pontiac was the one that guided my cart down steep hills. One of the ultimate thrills of a cart driver was the "crash" where one could get up and walk away. It was a conversation topic that became more thrilling wth each telling.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
