LIKE THE GIFT OF THE MAGI

Grandma Campbell had a fierce and determined love of all learning, and she determined fiercely that each and every one of her children would finish high school. Today, this does not seem like an unusual ambition...it is generally expected that our kids will graduate from High School and go to college. But when Grandma was 13 her father decided that the high school was too far away, the neighbors might talk, it was not seemly for a young lady to ride all that distance, her mother needed her at home to care for the littler ones, and that was that. Even with the backing of her beloved teacher she could not change the mind of Matthew Nettle, "gentleman farmer", who, by the way, served on the school board! When they married, Grandpa Arthur loved her so dearly and supported just about anything she wanted, as long as he was not too much bothered with the details. All the children attended school. When they outgrew the little one room school house on the farm they were shipped off, usually two at a time, to friends or relatives in town for the school year. When it was time for Mom and Arby to go, they stayed with distant cousins. Arby had a job and Mom helped in the house and they paid their room and board in money and in service. That first year, although she loved school, Mom missed her mother, Hazel, and probably even Girly and Art desperately. Arby could hear her crying herself to sleep every night. There was no expectation of going home for holidays as we would do today. It would have been a wagon trip of the better part of a day each way, and the bus fare was beyond dreaming of. A few days before that first Christmas away from home, Arby presented his little sister with the most amazing gift, a round trip bus ticket home. He had shoveled coal for neighbors, toted feed bags for farmers and any other odd job he could find to save enough for the ticket that would mean that while he spent Christmas alone, she did not.

INTO THE WOODS

Walking down the hill behind the barn and entering the shadowy cedar scented forest didn't seem a scary thing to me...but I was an adult, with a stout stick in my fairly strong arms. I was not a 5 year old girl with a 3 year old sister in tow, both carrying lunch to the men working in the fields below. The way was long and somewhat strenuous for me. I cannot imagine what it was for a tiny child with the sure knowlege that her older brothers had killed a wolf on the hill above the farm just months before. Even in 1919 a 5 year old knew that wolves do not travel alone. Why was Blanche with a tiny Girly doing this errand? Mom didn't recall, although she gave the adults some credit that they must have been the only ones available and able. If Girly was 3 Grandma may have been heavily pregnant with Art. Grandma Nettle had arthritis. Aunt Maude was probably pregnant...who knows? Not me and not mom...all she remembered was shivering in fear, walking arm to shoulder with a toddler, but doing her duty, as was her wont.

A FORGOTTEN BIRTHDAY

I don't know the date or even the month, but it was warm and very green and it was Marlene's birthday. How I came to be there is a mystery as I surely didn't live nearby, but there I was. Terry was there, and Pris and Charles. Marlene's best friend and some neighbor kids were there, too. I don't recall either Dwayne or Colin being there, but they were "big boys" and probably off doing "big boy" stuff. We sat on the living room floor and played "Button, button, who has the button?" and "Spin the bottle" and "Telephone". The day was pure gold with dust motes glinting and reflecting light. We had cake and lemonade then piled onto the big ol' hay wagon. Aunt Ruth hiked up her skirt and climbed onto the tractor. For some reason that surprised me. As she started the engine she turned, her face lit with pleasure as she observed us. Sweet, plain Aunt Ruth was prettier than any movie star in that moment. She put the tractor in gear and we jerked away down the hill to the creek. We paddled in the shallow waters in dappled sun and shade until we were hauled protesting and dripping back to the house. In retrospect I wonder where my mother was, where my other aunts were, and Grandma? Has memory wiped them off the slate of the day? How old was Marlene that day? 2 years older than me! But how old was I? I guess it doesn't matter. We were together, and happy in the day.

SIDEWALKS

I walked to school, rode my bike, roller skated, pulled and was pulled in my little wooden wagon. My mother and I walked to the grocery store and we pulled the thisas and thatas home in that same wagon. We visited neighbors, crossed at the corners, went to the library, ran to the drug store, strolled to the movie theater, called in at the church, relatively safe from passing trucks, cars and buses. On the sidewalks we waited for our best friend to come out to play, set up a hopscotch game, played jacks and jumped rope. We played mumbly peg and hide and seek on the grass, but kick the can was played on the sidewalk. During the war we tied cans to our shoes and stomped up and down the sidewalks until the cans were smooshed flat for metal recycling collection. When it snowed the first job of every kid over the age of 6 was to shovel the sidewalk. It was not just to get to school, or so our moms had dry feet on the way to the store, it was so our dads could catch the bus to work without catching cold. Everyone knew that to go all day with wet feet ended badly. Probably with "P-new-mon-ya"...and hafta call the doctor, a fate worse than death, which would end with a shot at the least as well as being asked who it was that DIDN'T clear the snow off the walk. Sidewalk defined our neighborhoods. This side was ours, that side was theirs. Yes, there were sidewalks on BOTH sides of the street. Little old ladies guarded their blocks jealously and vigorously. The sidewalks were safe with them on duty. They did not hesitate to dress down a bully, or dress a wounded shin for that matter. They knew where we lived, where we went to school, they knew our mothers, and often our grandmothers and would call them if need be. And if "need be" was called for, you probably would get a paddling when you got home. Sometimes the little old ladies were little old men. It really didn't matter, and as much as we fussed about the "nosey parkers" watching from behind their curtains, we knew nothing really bad could happen with them on duty. Watched sidewalks were just part of the upside of small town living.

IT WAS A DARK & STORMY NIGHT

     An ancient and huge maple tree shaded the bathroom window from the sun, but when the dark winds blew, the limbs knocked and scratched like a boogeyman looking for a way in.
      The storm was sending leaves skirling, and witches flying. I ran through the big ol' dark dining room and the cavernous dark living room, past the gaping, chunk toothed mouth of the stone fireplace and into my parents' bedroom.
      Daddy was holding Mama close, standing at the window overlooking the alley that ran between  our house and the loading dock at the rear of the Missouri Farmers' Association or MFA. Safe and dry, we watched the storm pitch it's fit.
     The loading dock, as always, was lit up waiting for late and early milk drop off, live caged poultry arrivals, and miscellaneous feed, seed and fertilizer business. The rain made waves across the windows, obscuring the truck pulled up to the dock. It wobbled in the sheeting water, blurbing up there and bluping out here.  Shades moved from dock to truck and back again, then closed the truck up and drove off into the storm, Daddy said a little prayer for their safety on such a night, and with the calming of the storm, we returned to bed.
     The next morning, Mama was still making the coffee when Daddy answered the knock at the door. At the preacher's house we expected visitors both early and late, but it wasn't usually the sheriff.  Someone had broken into the MFA, wheeled the safe out onto the dock and loaded it into a truck. The preacher's family didn't need the story to dine out on, but it didn't hurt.
     The safe was discovered 3 days later on a rural road. It was basically intact, but with signs of applied hammers and chisels and such. All that work, in all that rain, and all that frustration, just to end up as one of God's littls jokes.
     The thieves my father blessed on their way were never found. Who says prayer isn't powerful?

Back in the Day: The Fancy Lady's Shoes

Back in the Day: The Fancy Lady's Shoes Pin It

The Fancy Lady's Shoes

Grandpa Campbell was, among other things, a shoemaker. He worked in a shoe repair shop right across the street from where he and Grandma lived, just off the Court House Square in Union, MO. When I was there, Grandma and I would take him his lunch, a tin of sardines and a sleeve of soda crackers. It was never different and it must have been what he wanted as no food that Grandpa didn't like would appear in that house.
One day while they sorted out the lunch I found at the bottom of a dark dusty bin an old pair of leather high button shoes in a bright red and yellow spatter pattern. I had never seen such things in my life! I coveted those shoes even more than the mary janes my mother would not allow me to wear. (Bad for my feet, she said.)
To my astonishment those shoes came home with Grandpa one night and were packed away in my suitcase to take home.
Who was the "lady" who brought them in to be repaired and never came back? I was a child during WWII and such shoes had not been worn for 40 or more years, at least by a fancy lady! Where is the back story when you want it?