I feel I need to preface this by explaining that my father was a preacher. The preacher's residence was always next door to the church building and always about the size of a cracker box. It was not uncommon to be awakened during the night by total strangers seeking refuge for themselves or their children. Folks migrating from the "dust bowl" of Oklahoma and Texas would come to our house needing money or food, desperate enough for assistance they would sell any of their goods they treasured enough to pack for the journey. Others sought us out for Daddy to help seal the bond of marriage of an eloping couple. Mostly, these people were strangers to us...people we met only once in this life. This description of my family life has little to do with John Wayne except to introduce you to my father. Now, on with the purpose of this tale. The names have been altered to protect the forgiven guilty parties.
We were living in Tucson, and it was the middle of the night when the phone call came. It was Mrs. Jones, a single mom struggling to launch her attractive teenage daughter Rhoda into life with the fewest number of scars. There were six or eight "thick as thieves" teenage girls in our congregation. For the most part, we were a screaming, talkative '50's pack, crammed into one car, all talking at the same time. Rhoda was a couple of years older than most of the group and the only word I can think of to describe her is voluptuous
Rhoda had gone to a party that night and returned home well beyond the limitations of curfew and rip-roaring drunk. Her mother called my father first, then the police. By the time my parents arrived on the scene, the police were already there. Mainly, the police put Rhoda in one room and her mother in another while they tried to calm both. One of the responding officers moonlighted as a security guard at Old Tucson, a tourist attraction in the desert, used mainly for making cowboy movies. Once the hysteria was calmed, that officer assured Mrs. Jones that her daughter was not a bad person, and after they had time to get a good night's sleep, they would need a day of good memories to overcome this night. If they would come to Old Tucson the next day to a certain gate, he would introduce her to John Wayne and Ricky Nelson. My parents were invited to join them, and "Certainly...bring your daughter, too."
At the appointed time, we picked up Mrs. Jones and Rhoda and drove through the countryside to Old Tucson. The guard was at his station. He took a break to accompany us to the setting for the bar. There, seated around a rickety table was John Wayne, Ricky Nelson, and Dean Martin. The female lead walked through, and I remember not wanting her autograph because she was an unknown -- her name was Angie Dickenson.
We watched them film a shootout scene. It took hours to get it right. When the movie came out, the portion we watched in the making equaled about 20 seconds of the actual movie. We posed for photos and gathered autographs and "dust from Ricky Nelson's feet." What I remember about John Wayne was that he was bigger than life with enormous hands. He and Ricky talked to each other during the photo session, discussing their upcoming scene.
The photos snapped that day never made it back from the drugstore developer. We always expected them to show up in some movie magazine; but if that was the case, we missed it. "What happened to the autograph?" you might inquire. I sold it to a man at an antique show for $150. Now, this blog is all I have to show for it.
Can you guess the name of the movie?
Monday, December 24, 2007
Thursday, December 13, 2007
EVIE (1918--2007)
We were prepared by Evie, herself, that the end of her life was nearing. She prepared us for everything, including this when she said "Do not grieve." However, I hope she will forgive some moments of tears as we individually recall our acquaintance.
The year was 1967 when we arrived in Juneau. We had packed only one stick of useful furniture for the move. That was David's crib. It did not take long for the members of the Church of Christ to furnish our rental. Stan and Evie had a desk they "loaned" us - for 20 years! When we left in '87, they requested its return
When one spoke of Evie they also spoke of Stan. To this day, Ron will tell you that it was the quiet, steady, daily example of the mailman that attracted him to seek out the church where Stan attended. I remember in the bitter cold of winter, several of us driving to the lake and everyone parking with their headlights barely penetrating the darkness to spotlight those brave enough to try to stand on the ice. Most of those skaters were pretty wobbly. But, then, out of the night came the most amazing sight. Not one person but two moving as one, dancing and twirling in harmony.....gliding, skimming the ice as though it had been miraculously groomed, moving in and out of the light. That couple was Stan and Evie.
Evie was a nurse. Each time we gathered to worship, she would make her rounds, inquiring about our health and that of our family. Apple juice seemed to be the remedy for many intestinal concerns; a small amount of 7-Up for colicky baby, the list is endless. When I voiced concern that my feet would be cold giving birth in the dead of winter, she showed up at my door with some fuzzy socks.
When visiting in their home, the offered beverage often would be a root beer float. Once, an already-troubled pre-teenager asked his parents for their car keys so he could listen to the radio as he waited for them to finish visiting after worship time. However, once he was in the car, he decided to try his hand at driving. He threw the gear shift into "R" and backed right into Stan and Evie's station wagon, shattering the rear window and damaging the door. For years, you would hear this story being repeated with this conclusion, "It was a good thing for that kid that he hit Stan and Evie's car." They not only spoke forgiveness, they lived it.
The last time we visited Evie in her room at the Pioneer Home, she pointed out her window to a little gnome scene she had created. Just weeks before, she had left the confines of the Home and walked around to her special spot. It was a sunny day, and she enjoyed the pleasure of being at eye level with her project. When she realized it was time to go inside for dinner, her knee replacement surgery prevented her from rising. Eventually, she was able to scoot close enough to the building to strike it with a stick, but no one came. As the day slipped into night and the temperatures dipped to freezing, typical of Evie, she did not panic. Rather, she enjoyed the peaceful setting, finding pleasure in the night sky, singing, talking to God and visiting with Stan. It would be well into the next day before her absence was discovered. Even this experience was a beautiful memory to Evie.
Tom Brokaw has correctly labeled Evie's age group as "The Greatest Generation." Yet, I pray that some of their legacy will survive because of their example and influence. We will grieve our loss for a short while, but remember joyfully for a great deal longer the life and love of Evie.
The year was 1967 when we arrived in Juneau. We had packed only one stick of useful furniture for the move. That was David's crib. It did not take long for the members of the Church of Christ to furnish our rental. Stan and Evie had a desk they "loaned" us - for 20 years! When we left in '87, they requested its return
When one spoke of Evie they also spoke of Stan. To this day, Ron will tell you that it was the quiet, steady, daily example of the mailman that attracted him to seek out the church where Stan attended. I remember in the bitter cold of winter, several of us driving to the lake and everyone parking with their headlights barely penetrating the darkness to spotlight those brave enough to try to stand on the ice. Most of those skaters were pretty wobbly. But, then, out of the night came the most amazing sight. Not one person but two moving as one, dancing and twirling in harmony.....gliding, skimming the ice as though it had been miraculously groomed, moving in and out of the light. That couple was Stan and Evie.
Evie was a nurse. Each time we gathered to worship, she would make her rounds, inquiring about our health and that of our family. Apple juice seemed to be the remedy for many intestinal concerns; a small amount of 7-Up for colicky baby, the list is endless. When I voiced concern that my feet would be cold giving birth in the dead of winter, she showed up at my door with some fuzzy socks.
When visiting in their home, the offered beverage often would be a root beer float. Once, an already-troubled pre-teenager asked his parents for their car keys so he could listen to the radio as he waited for them to finish visiting after worship time. However, once he was in the car, he decided to try his hand at driving. He threw the gear shift into "R" and backed right into Stan and Evie's station wagon, shattering the rear window and damaging the door. For years, you would hear this story being repeated with this conclusion, "It was a good thing for that kid that he hit Stan and Evie's car." They not only spoke forgiveness, they lived it.
The last time we visited Evie in her room at the Pioneer Home, she pointed out her window to a little gnome scene she had created. Just weeks before, she had left the confines of the Home and walked around to her special spot. It was a sunny day, and she enjoyed the pleasure of being at eye level with her project. When she realized it was time to go inside for dinner, her knee replacement surgery prevented her from rising. Eventually, she was able to scoot close enough to the building to strike it with a stick, but no one came. As the day slipped into night and the temperatures dipped to freezing, typical of Evie, she did not panic. Rather, she enjoyed the peaceful setting, finding pleasure in the night sky, singing, talking to God and visiting with Stan. It would be well into the next day before her absence was discovered. Even this experience was a beautiful memory to Evie.
Tom Brokaw has correctly labeled Evie's age group as "The Greatest Generation." Yet, I pray that some of their legacy will survive because of their example and influence. We will grieve our loss for a short while, but remember joyfully for a great deal longer the life and love of Evie.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Seeking the Past
Because of the research that went into writing Jessie's Story, I find myself wondering about friends with whom I have lost touch. Sometimes, that leads me to the people search. Recently, I have located and talked to two friends from the distant past. It seems to me that everyone I know should know each other, and sometimes I take a moment to place them in their slots of time and place.
Sherry belongs in the "early Alaska" slot. Without her, the book would have been very different. She is the one who accompanied her husband to Eagle in 1975, taking with her Jessie's photo album. Her assignment was to see if she could find out if any of the pictures in the album were of the trunk's owner. On that trek, she not only identified Jessie, but many others, beginning with the Native dancers. It was the presentation of these photos that led to the potlatch on July 2nd 2007.
Jean's slot goes back to college days. We lived across the hall from each other in the dormitory and wore our green beanies with the big, orange "P" for orientation to George Pepperdine College in the early 60's. She was from Arkansas, the baby of her family...if my memory is correct, her mother was a widow, Jean had two burly, rough-and-tumble, BIG brothers and a sister who was a missionary in Korea. What I remember most about "Jeanie Belle" was that she had short, red hair and freckles, and she loved to sing.
I remember someone asking her if her mother had been bitten by a Victrola when pregnant with Jean. I remember she went home with me for Thanksgiving, and when my Mother made me a new dress, she made one for Jean, too.
Thanks to the Internet, these connections were made. What fun...to catch up on friends of old and, yes, old friends. I am wondering if you have found anyone?
Sherry belongs in the "early Alaska" slot. Without her, the book would have been very different. She is the one who accompanied her husband to Eagle in 1975, taking with her Jessie's photo album. Her assignment was to see if she could find out if any of the pictures in the album were of the trunk's owner. On that trek, she not only identified Jessie, but many others, beginning with the Native dancers. It was the presentation of these photos that led to the potlatch on July 2nd 2007.
Jean's slot goes back to college days. We lived across the hall from each other in the dormitory and wore our green beanies with the big, orange "P" for orientation to George Pepperdine College in the early 60's. She was from Arkansas, the baby of her family...if my memory is correct, her mother was a widow, Jean had two burly, rough-and-tumble, BIG brothers and a sister who was a missionary in Korea. What I remember most about "Jeanie Belle" was that she had short, red hair and freckles, and she loved to sing.
I remember someone asking her if her mother had been bitten by a Victrola when pregnant with Jean. I remember she went home with me for Thanksgiving, and when my Mother made me a new dress, she made one for Jean, too.
Thanks to the Internet, these connections were made. What fun...to catch up on friends of old and, yes, old friends. I am wondering if you have found anyone?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
