With Love and Appreciation for my Grandmother, Mary E. Douthit
Family life certainly has changed over the years, but it wasn’t really that long ago that it was commonplace for Mother to stay home with the children while Father went away to work each day. This situation was fortunate for various reasons, but especially as children received a great deal of their education and values at home.
Mother had a tough job in those days, without many of today’s technological advances and modern conveniences. Luckily, most relatives lived near each other then. Often times extended families were either neighbors or even shared the same house.
I was blessed in having grandparents that were neighbors. To me, Grandma and Grandpa’s house wasn’t just a place to be spoiled and fed too much candy, but they were, in a sense, supplemental parents. They were, in part, also responsible for my upbringing, and I remain grateful.
I suffered the loss of my grandmother at age twelve, and feel the loss comparable to that of a mother. Being the baby of the family, I became Grandma’s shadow. I followed her through her daily chores, and she taught me to quilt in the afternoon.
Each morning after the breakfast dishes were done I’d beg to hear stories of when she was young. And the stories this woman had to tell! I still say she was before her time, so strong, independent and free thinking.
She was born in 1916, to a large family in Arkansas, and like the rest of her siblings she only had an elementary education, as they went to work young. She lost her father in her teens and later went through a divorce, unheard of in her days. In the thirties and forties she was a singer. Of all of her old record collection, the recordings of her voice are still my favorite.
Along with her record collection was one of old books, filled with four leaf clovers she had collected from the yard, and cases of old Avon perfume bottles, which she used to sell.
Grandmas influence has certainly shaped my life. This poor country girl from Arkansas remains my role model, who had grown into a confident, brilliant woman with little education, but incomparable experience. I aspire to someday master the perspective she had on things, to really grasp that money and material things do not make a life, but what makes a life are the other lives that we touch. I hope to have the ability to completely disregard judgment from others, and to live my life the way that I want to. I strive to find my own faith, to examine things closely and live a good life, without fear.
I would desperately love the opportunity to thank Grandma. Her lessons are still staples in how I live, and her voice often echoes in my head with bits of wisdom. If you are fortunate enough to still have grandparents around, spend some time with them. Beg them to tell you their stories. Care for them as they did for you while you were young. Thank them, and let them know their life was important, as was their influence on yours.
Jennifer Thompson
From the Past
I am sending you a photograph of an old milk can that might help bring back some fond memories for your readers. Also, I would like some information on Amelia Earhart and her navigator Fred J. Noonan who disappeared in 1937. Basically, I want to know about some of the theories stating she may have been killed by the Japanese, eaten by cannibals, or whatever.
James Bullington
In response to your inquiry about what happened to Amelia Earhart, there were several rumors, but no one really knows what happened on the day of her last flight. These include suspicions that she was a on a spy mission authorized by President Roosevelt and she was captured, or that she was captured by the Japanese and forced to do the broadcast of Tokyo Rose to the American GI’s. Other theories include that she either purposely dove her plane into the Pacific or lived on a remote island with a fisherman. In 1961 it was thought that the bones of Earhart and Noonan were found in Spain but it turned out that it was those of natives. Several searches have been initiated but none have turned up any evidence of the accident if there was one. The case still remains a mystery.
By: Jennifer Thompson
Ice Cream
I noticed a long line of people buying ice cream today and remembered the days when my family would get together at my grandparents house and placing rock salt, milk and lemon juice into a ice cream freezer. Then we would take turns cranking that freezer until the ice cream was ready to eat. My grandparents had a freezer in the house where they could store the ice cream but I wonder how people stored their ice cream before refrigeration and freezers were available.
Franklin T. Wike, Jr.
Response From Judy Gudger
When I was young, we lived in Kentucky and didn’t have electricity. We would make Jello and place it in the stream to get cold. That water was cold enough to make the Jello, but we never had Ice Cream.
Response From Goldie
In our family, the whole family would get together and the neighbors would even come over to help make the ice cream. We had 2 ice cream freezers, and would spend all day cooking and making ice cream.
My dad used to store cabbage and apples in the ground. He would dig a ditch and on one end, he would place the cabbage, complete with their roots, in loose dirt. On the other end, he would place apples in a basket. He covered the ditch with wooden boards then covered the boards with dirt. He left a little door for an opening where he could brush away the dirt and get whatever item he wanted out of the ditch when we were ready to eat it. But we never had a place to store the ice cream, so we had to eat all of it, whenever we made it.
The Way Life Was, When People Cared About Their Neighbors and Customers.
The following true story was actually used as an advertisement and took place in 1953 at a Scotty’s Market, possibly in Louisville, KY. She had been shopping at Scotty’s and the clerk had just helped her put the groceries in the car. When she pushed the starter button, nothing happened. The car just wouldn’t start. What made it worse was that she was already late for the children who had an after school dentist appointment. One of Scotty’s clerks heard of her trouble and loaned her his car. She accepted gratefully and by the time she returned, her car was fixed. That very night the lady’s husband called Scotty to personally thank him for helping his wife out of a jam. The moral of this story is that when you shop at Scotty’s modern stores, you not only have the advantage of famous brands and low prices, you always get a dividend of friendly, personal service, this incident being a typical example of same.
Digging Mussel Shells
By Eldena (Street) East
When I was a kid, my parents dug mussel shells out of the White River in Martin County, Indiana. There are several kinds of shells. I don’t know them all, but some paid more than others.
When we were small, us kids stayed on the bank and Mom and Dad would go out in the boat to where they thought the shells were and they’d get out of the boat and you have to lean down in the water to the bottom and find the shells. I know they were better around sand bars. Then they’d put them in the boat, then when they were done for that day, we’d take them home and Dad would cook them out. To cook them, Dad had built a wooden box about 2 feet wide and about 5 feet long and this box had to be covered on the bottom with tin for this was set over a pit. The pit was like a trench dug out about a foot deep and not as wide as the box, becsuse the box was placed on this. The pit was at an angle so you could put wood under it. We put the shells and plenty of water in the box, then you could start the fire under it. Then when the shells got hot (most of the time the water was boiling) the shells would open up and they would have meat in there. You could also find Pearls and mom had one real beautiful pearl made into a ring and after she passed away, I got that ring, then after my daughter got married, I gave it to her.
Dad used the meat for fish bait on his trot lines. When we’d get enough shells, we’d take them to Shoals, Indiana, to sell them. I was always amazed at such a high pile of shells. They were used for making buttons. I tried digging after I got older, but can’t say I liked it.
Amber Gold
On the dresser, white sheets, folded neatly, waiting to be spread.
Treasure, within their folds, hidden.
Amber gold, against bleached white.
Seldom touched, but in secret.
A taste, a nip, now and then,
to heal the bones, warm the blood.
A smack, a sigh, a lingering smell.
Known, but unknown.
Just a taste, here and there,
to warm the toes, help the heart.
Grandpas Amber gold, within white sheets, hidden.
by: Sharon Romine
U. S. Legacies August 2003
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