My sister contacted me about finding some pages (family history) and sent them to me knowing I was looking for “gems” for my Family History research.
Wow!
What a great find this was! My father sat down and pounded out some notes on a typewriter. He provided some factual information about his family but for the most part he had set down on paper some memory bursts that he could use to tell a longer story. Each burst would be its own story or chapter.
I also believe he wrote these notes in his early retirement from MJB. There are 16 pages of notes and on the last page he states–
I have enjoyed my work with MJB–especially the first 15 years of it. It seems the last five years have been a bit hectic, but then what hasn’t? I plan to stay with them & do as good a job as I can for as long as we can get along harmoniously.
So at the time of the writing of these notes he was with MJB for 20 years and probably considering retirement in his near future.
Marilyn and I have not yet established the date of his retirement. I will update this post when I find some firmer dates. Right now we’re thinking it was around 1980.
Based on calendar notes I know my family was in Billings during my first home leave from Colegio Roosevelt (Lima, Peru) during July, 1984. Photos from that time show that he was on supplemental oxygen from a portable tank. He had been diagnosed with emphysema, probably contracted from repeated exposure to secondary smoke while working for MJB.
Back to his notes–I think the typewriter he used was an old Remington with round keys. He kept it in our basement at the 3013 house in Great Falls and I used to go down there and fiddle with it. When I was in Boy Scouts I did a project (God and Country) that involved identifying Methodist Churches in Africa and painstakingly typed out labels that I glued onto a map of Africa. I think the typewritten notes my father created are from the same typewriter…but maybe not. But his notes sure look like my labels.
Here is a link to the original notes–
And here is a transcript of the 16 pages
Me- in depth
I was born April 17, 1921 on a small farm near Dwight, Illinois. I was the 8th of 9 children. Tragedy had dogged the Hayes family for many years, and at the time of my birth, one of my older sisters had already died. Another one passed away soon afterward. Their names were Catherine and Marian. In 1925, we moved to 302 E. Chippewa Street in Dwight, Illinois. Shortly after that my sister, Eleanor was born. She was the last of the children.
In 1929 my sister Dorothy contracted lockjaw and died, the result of a mishap with a rusty .22 blank pistol. This happened while she was visiting friends on a farm. Improper treatment, plus some complacency on the part of those concerned brought an end to her life.
In 1933, my brother John (whom I idealized) died of pneumonia–can you believe it? He passed away just the month prior to his graduation from high school. Everyone of his friends missed “Cheesy”. No one missed him more than I did. It all seemed so unjust.
That was the last death in the family until my dad passed away in 1957 at the age of 81. My mom followed 15 years later at age 86. The most recent death was that of my kid sister–Eleanor–victim of a heart failure brought on by emphysema–a result of chain smoking.
Now–on with my own life. As I look back, I can remember distinctly my fourth birthday. My mom had made a bowl of red jello for the big occasion–and I proudly showed off this treat to my brothers and sisters. I remember starting in to school–in midterm. This was quite common at that time, but certainly led to some confusion as time went on. I believe that I was a bit awed by my first grade teacher. I don’t remember her name. My only real recollection of 2nd grade was one that happened one day when I loitered on the playground playing on the swings or merry-go-round after the tardy bell had rung. I was oblivious to the fact that the other kids had gone inside. When I went in, I found out that the teacher had passed out lollipops to all of them, and I had missed out. It was too late!
In third grade, I had a teacher I really liked–Miss Chewning. She used to hold up Arithmetic cards for us, and it was quite a joy to be the first one to shout out the answer to simple sums, etc. At about that time I began to develop a slight interest in drawing.
In fourth grade I really got to liking drawing. Didn’t care so much for music, but enjoyed making pictures of Indians on their ponies, buffalo hunts, etc. As far as the other subjects,they were so-so
I don’t remember a lot about fifth grade-Guess it didn’t make much of an impression on me.
In sixth grade I had a very loving teacher named Miss Hewitt. She was a kindly soul, and even forgave me when I inadvertently stuck her in the rear end with a straight-pen. It was about this period-fifth or sixth grade, that I had a good friend named Earl Hampson, who lived out on the edge of town, next to the farmland that surrounded Dwight. I love to play with Earl, but for some reason my mom did not like to have me play with him. Most of the time we spent together was done against her wishes. We really enjoyed ourselves, though, hiking along a little creek near their house, and dreaming boyhood dreams, and planning boyhood plans. It was also at this time that I developed such a great feeling for my older brother, John, He taught me to fish, and took me trapping at times. His was an interesting life, and I wanted to be just like him. I also liked my sister Gertie very much, and she and I used to play “Tramp” together. We’d put some crackers and a few raisins into an old neckerchief-tie it on the end of a stick and “hit the road.” We seldom ever got out of the yard, but had lots of fun, wending our way through the trees, shrubs, chicken pen, etc. Imagination was an important commodity in those days. My oldest sister, Isabel, was also a favorite. She had gotten married when I was about 6. She bought me my first pair of long pants, and I was proud! My brother, Harold, was a bit older than I, but we didn’t have a very good relationship. His interests were completely different from mine.
As was typical with families of this era, we children picked up most of the prejudices of our parents. For some reason they were down on Catholics-and for a time I was the same, why I could not now say. They were staunch Republicans, and I must admit that to this day, I lean more to that party than to the Democrats. However, I usually vote a split ticket-trying to vote for the one I think is best suited to the job.
I don’t know what my Dad did for a living after we moved to town. I was too young to know or care, at first. During the Hoover administration, however, he served as a State Highway Patrolman. Part of the time he rode a motorcycle, and part of the time he drove a Model A Ford Coupe. Don’t you think I was proud whenever he’d let me ride with him and blow the siren?
When Hoover went out, so did Jack Hayes. From then on, it seems that it was touch and go on what he did. He did some Auctioneering, served as police magistrate, and was deputy sheriff. However, it was my mom who kept the family going. An excellent cook, she took in roomers and boarders while the Texas pipeline crew was in the area. To my knowledge, that was about the only cash we had during the early depression years.
I realize now that we were very poor. But at the time, we didn’t really pay any attention to such things. As long as we had food on the table and clothes on our backs and a place to sleep, we never thought too much about anything else. It was usual at Christmas time to get just one present-and I realize now how lucky we were to have that. It was usually a fight to have a real tree, as my mom had a scrawny little imitation tree that she usually wanted to put up. Most years,however, we had our way, and a real one.
Our usual holiday fare was roast goose and all the trimmings. We usually bought the goose live-from one of our country farms. We’d keep it down in the cob and coal room in the basement. And we kids were expected to keep a supply of corn shelled from what was left on the cobs. This helped to keep the goose in prime condition until time for my mom to kill, dress and pluck it. I never have learned to cook goose that tasted that good. We always had homemade stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberries, and sweet potatoes, along with homemade rolls, pumpkin pie, mince pie, and whatnot. I do not believe I tasted turkey until I was about 15 years old. In the height of the depression (or the depth?) we had one Christmas dinner when we really felt put upon because all we had was roast chicken. I’ve never been able to figure out since then what could have been so bad about that.
We didn’t have junior high school in those days-just went from 6th into 7th & 8th grade. High School was four years then. In 7th grade we had a little bitty teacher named Miss Perry, and she had everyone buffaloed. We were all scared to death. We did learn how to spell “separate” in her class. Apparently it was one of her pet peeves. She would write “sep” on one section of blackboard, then “a” in a huge letter on another section, followed by “rate” on a third section. Strange that I should remember that 40 years later. In 8th grade I encountered another of my favorite teachers: Miss Hutchinson, “Hutch” to all the kids who loved her.
In high school, we had to make a decision–whether to take our studies in 3 ½ years, or 4 ½ years–due to the fact that our class had started first grade in mid-term. I started out with high hopes–fully intending to knock out the course in 3 ½ years in order to stay with my classmates. It did not work out too well for me, however, as I began having difficulties keeping up 5 solids. So at the end of the first semester (or ½ , whichever it was) I talked with my teachers and arranged to lessen the load, and drop back to a 4 ½ year course. Looking back on it now, I don’t know if it was really all that difficult, or if I was a bit lazy, or if it was about this time I began having trouble with my eyesight. At any rate, this put me into the class of ‘39 rather than ‘38, the workload was much easier, and I had no great difficulties–after I got through my 2 years of Math. Algebra was quite easy in my freshman year, and I really enjoyed it, but geometry-in my sophomore year was something else, again. I didn’t do too well memorizing the theorems and just barely squeaked by without failing. My favorite subjects all through high school were the English courses-both grammar and literature. At the time I graduated, I believe I could almost have taught grammar, but, alas, it would not be possible today. I was an avid reader, and would often take a book home from the library after school one day, and return it, completely read, the next morning. I read just about every type of writing imaginable, leaning more to adventure-type stories or occurrences. For some reason, I did not pursue Art in high school, and I’ll never know why, because I still loved to draw and sketch. I did well in Latin, got excellent grades in English, mediocre in some of the others. In my last two years, I took typing and shorthand, and although I never used the shorthand I enjoyed typing and have used it ever since high school days.
I did not date all the way through high school because at the time I was very shy, somewhat withdrawn around other people. Guess you’d have classed me as the quiet type. One major disappointment occurred in my third year. I tried out for, and won, a part in the Junior play. One of the other kids, who had missed out, apparently got jealous. With the help of his parents he pointed out that technically I was not a junior, even though I was into my third year (the old mid-term bugaboo). He got the part and I was left holding the sack. To this day I resent injustice, which I was firmly convinced had been rendered in this instance. However, I lived and the sun continued to rise and set. The world went on about its business and when I was into my last complete year I tried out for and got a part in the Senior play. In my Senior year I finally went out for football. I had been a runt all through school (4’9” as a freshman) and had now got up to 5’6” or thereabouts. I knew I’d never get anywhere, but wanted to go out and at least get the exercise and the fun of going to some of the other towns for games with the other scrub teams.There were only two high points to my football career. The first one was brought about by another example of what I felt to be injustice. I had drawn my uniform, shoes, etc., at the beginning of the season. Somehow or other, one of the guys on the first string wound up either losing his football shoes, or something–at any rate they checked out the scrubs to see if anyone had his size. Wouldn’t you know? I wound up with a pair that did not even have the round cleats. They must have come over on the Mayflower. They had squared toes and the cleats, instead of being made from rubber (round) , were of leather and oblong shaped. They were about ½ to ¾ “ across by about 2” long and maybe ½ to ¾ “ thick. Set at about the same angle as baseball cleats they gave some traction but the shoes looked so dumb that I felt ashamed having to wear them. Found out I could place-kick fairly well with them and even beat the coach in practice one evening. Never did get a chance to try them in a game, though. This was before the days of specialists. The other high point came in a scrub game one afternoon when I caught on to the measured cadence of the opposing quarterback’s call, did a little anticipating and raced through a gap in the line to toss him for about a 7 or 8 yard loss. I believe I was as surprised as he was. That was about the extent of my contribution to sports at DTHS. I served on the yearbook staff and closed out a rather bland scholastic year when I graduated in 1939.
I got my first job when I was a junior in High School. I worked for John O’Malley in his drug store, ½ block from the Veteran’s Hospital.
Like most kids, I ate about my weight in ice cream the first two or three weeks, and then tapered back to one or two sodas, or shakes, or sundaes, or cones a day. Part of my job was decorating the show cases, and the front windows. I worked each day from about 3:30–9:30 p.m., with a one hour break for supper. In a small town like Dwight, home was only about a 10 minute walk or a 5-minute run, depending on circumstances. I always had liked running, and so if I needed to make a little time, I’d just take off. On Saturdays, I worked from 8:00 a.m. to 10:45 p.m. My pay was $3.00 per week, and I was glad to have it. It was about this time I started to seriously experiment with smoking. I preferred a pipe, and thought that it gave me a very manly look. I did hate to sneak around about it, however, so I arranged with my cousin Frank to give me a can of tobacco for Christmas. Covertly, I had a new pipe stashed in my pocket, and when I opened the present, I also brought the pipe out, loaded it up and smoked it right there in front of my mom, dad and everybody. There was some minor clucking, but not much of a complaint, probably because they already knew I was smoking.
John O’Malley had a couple of old-maid sisters who taught school in Chicago. They’d come down to Dwight every Friday night and help out (?) in the drug store. They were a matched pair–a pair of real pains. Domineering–they appeared to work contrary to anything John said. I had worked there for several months when they came ripping and snorting down from Chicago one weekend, and after I had decorated the showcases, etc., demanded that I take out the paper I had used and use another color. I told them they could go to Hell, and left. I didn’t hear anything from John for a few weeks and then one day, a friend of mine told me he wanted to see me. I stopped in after school, and he asked me to come back to work for him. I consented and he raised my wages $1.00 per week to the handsome sum of $4.00. How many people do you know who have wound up with a 25% increase in salary? I worked for John through my senior year, and went full-time that summer for $1.00 a day ($7.00/week).
I mentioned that I did not date, but that doesn’t mean that I dislike girls. I was just very unconfident and unsure of myself. I was afraid to ask a girl for a date, for fear she said yes. Then, too, what if someone saw us? Also, where would we go, and what would we do? The first gal I ever really liked was Marie Sorenson, and I fell for her in first grade. Another gal, Nyleta Olson, emerged on the scene about that time but in my mind it was always Marie until high school when she literally outgrew me. I was 4’9” and she was about 5’3”. Oh well, I had never tried to date her, anyhow. Another cutie attracted my attention when I got to be about 14 or 15. Her name was Kamma (Kay) Christopher. She was my next door neighbor and a platinum blonde knockout. Never tumbled to me, though. I was pretty colorless all through high school, and about the only thing that I did on extracurricular basis was to play trumpet in the band. I also took tap-dancing lessons, along with my kid sister when I was in my junior-senior years. Met a cute little gal from Ransom named Maxine Turner. They say that distance lends enchantment, and I can testify to that. We wrote love-letters back and forth, but whenever I saw her in person I was completely tongue-tied. We gradually lost touch, until the summer of ‘39. She wrote that she would be taking her senior year at DTHS (Ransom only offered the first 3 years. Why? I do not know.) I arranged to meet her and show her around the school, which I did. I even got gutsy enough to ask her to a dance welcoming the new seniors from other towns. What a flop! I spent most of the evening introducing her to other guys, and telling her she’d probably enjoy them more than me. Must have been right. Last I saw her.
I had always been interested in hunting and fishing, and it was about the fall of ‘39 that I got my own gun. I had hunted off and on quite a bit with my cousin Frank, from Chicago. He had a brand new Fox Sterlingworth .12 ga. Double. He also had an old .410 single-shot hammer gun, which he had let me use on occasion. My brother-in-law, Charles Baird let me know that their mailman was offering his .12 ga. Lefever for sale for $15.00, and so I blew over 2 weeks wages for the trusty old double. Over the years it served me very well, and could always shoot a lot better than I could.
After the turn of the year (In 1940) Isabelle and Charles apparently sensed the frustration of my living at home, and they purchased a little delivery route for me in Pontiac, Illinois. Located only 18 miles from Dwight, they lived there, and at the time Charles was employed as a guard at the penitentiary. They got the whole thing for about $125.00, which included a Model A Ford panel truck with a sprung frame, and side doors that were held in place while driving with a loop of bailing wire over the knobs. It was a cantankerous thing, but it started whenever you got mad enough at it, and managed to run on into the late summer. Isabelle and Charles let the route go to a new competitor, who was starting up with new equipment, and I am sure it was wise on their part. It surely wasn’t paying off, and there never could have been enough work for both outfits.
Frank’s folks heard that I was out of work and put in a word with Betty and Martin Falk, mutual friends of my parents, and I got a job working in their delicatessen. I lived two doors away, with Margaret and George (Betty’s sister and husband) and started at $10.00 per week. Chicago was alright, but I can’t say that I ever really got to where I loved it. I worked there through the winter, and the following spring, Martin decided to retire. He took me to various places to apply for work and I was eventually hired by Jewel Food Stores. I continued to live with Margaret and Al, and worked at the store on 33rd and Crawford. I trained as produce manager, and here I really started coming into my own. My manager was named George Wendell and he was a great trainer. He was optimistic, happy, and a great worker. A former salesman, he seemed a savvy person, and he certainly helped me to find myself in the grocery business. I will always be thankful to him for teaching me to think ahead as I worked. It was while I was there that I fell for a little checker named Kathryn (Katie) Mousel. We had lots of good times, and I even bought her a zircon engagement ring. (I realize now that this really bothered her folks, especially her dad.) Nothing much came of it, however, as our real interests were far apart and she liked a different kind of people than I did. I can’t remember now who got transferred first. Not that it matters, but, right after Pearl Harbor, when manpower shortage started to loom, I got transferred to various stores here and there. I was doing a good job for them and my salary had risen in the period from April ‘41–Oct. ‘42 from $17.00 to $35.00 weekly. My draft notice came along about then, and I was inducted into the Air Force.
I took my basic at Keesler Field in Biloxi, Mississippi, and went on into the Airplane mechanic school there. Afterwards, I was transferred to Chanute Field in Rantoul, Illinois (70 miles from home). I went through propeller specialist school, and then was shipped to Camp Luna in Las Vegas, New Mexico. We had qualified on the .45 automatic and the Thompson submachine gun at Chanute. At Camp Luna we went through rifleman’s training. Started out with a .22 rifle, graduated to .30 cal. Carbine, and then the .30/’06 Springfield. I qualified as a Marksman–probably could have got into Sharpshooter class, if somehow or other I could have slowed myself down a bit. Not that it mattered–my medal was later stolen from my footlocker. The only significant event was that I met a young man from Michigan named Lennie Kowalski, and we still correspond at Christmas, the only one of the many guys I knew with whom I still keep in touch.
In September, ‘43, we were transferred to Buckley Field near Denver, Colorado, to go through Arctic Training. We were given the option to ask for re-assignment, and Lennie did. He ended up in Italy. I enjoyed the Arctic Training, especially the last week of the course–survival. We hiked up into the mountains above Echo Lake and spent a week polishing our camping skills. I still remember it as being somewhat of a vacation.
A delay enroute took me home during the holidays, with orders to report back to duty at Great Falls Air Force Base, Great Falls, Montana. While home, I started to get pains in my elbows and knees. Couldn’t figure out what was causing it. I saw Katie a few times but she had changed so much. Wanted to go night-clubbing and drinking, and I didn’t care for either one.
Shortly after the first of the year (‘44) I was on the Great Northern heading for Great Falls. I arrived there, was assigned to casual detachment, and awaited shipment. The pains started getting worse. Got so I could scarcely stand after I had sat down for 10–15 minutes. Once up, it was okay, though. I was hoping to get to Alaska, before going on sick call, because all my life I had had the desire to go there. However, fate intervened in the form of a duty sergeant who informed me that I was due on KP the next morning at 3:00 a.m. I promptly informed him that I would be going on sick call and explained why. The following morning, when the doctor heard my story, he told me that they would put me in the base hospital for a few days observation. I got out 3 ½ months later! They diagnosed my problem as rheumatic fever and for the first time in my life I spent seven straight weeks in bed, 24 hours a day. If you have ever had to use bedpans, urinals, etc., you can identify with my feelings. One bright spot–another GI taught me to play chess. He was very patient, and stuck to it as long as needed to teach me the moves and to think ahead. Then he informed me that from here on it was for blood. He beat me mercilessly game after game, and then they started to get a little closer and closer. I enjoyed the game for many years after, but I don’t believe I have played now for about 10 years or so.
When I was released from the hospital, I got lined up through our CO to work out on the line as Flight Test Inspector. The routine was simple enough. All the planes coming through were on lend lease to Russia, with the exception of an occasional experimental type. At any rate, they would be flown from the factory by ferry-pilots. At our base, they would be winterized, or de-winterized, according to the season. Then they would be checked by Aero repair to ensure that they were in operating condition. Here is where we came in. At this point, a Flight Test Inspector would give the plane a visual examination to see that it was in safe flying condition. We’d check for oil leaks, fabric tears on control surfaces, nicks on propellers, etc. If we were a bit dubious about the engine, we were authorized to run-up the engine. When the plane had passed our visual inspection, it was flight-tested by one of six test pilots. The senior test pilot was Captain Miller–a fine man. Others were Lts. Hawk, Nelson, LeBourveau, King and Smith. Occasionally they would take one of us along for a free ride.
I started attending dances at the USO in town, and in the middle of June I met the most wonderful girl I have ever known. Her name was Betty Jacobson, and she was fresh and sweet and exciting as anything you can imagine. I saw her again just before the end of the month and got a date lined up with her for July 1st, and it was the beginning of a whirlwind courtship. We became engaged on August 5th, just a day before Betty went home to spend some time with her folks. Her job with the government had ended and she was anxious to relax, catch her breath, and see Mom, Dad, and sisters before starting again. We set our wedding date for the 27th of September, I got my furlough papers in order, and headed back to Mobridge, S. D. There I met her folks and a couple of her sisters. We went out to their ranch near Timber Lake, S. D. and spent a couple of days visiting with the rest of the family. Then on to Chicago, Illinois, where her oldest sister Millie lived with her husband Al. They were to stand up for us at our wedding. In Dwight, we made arrangements to be married in the 1st Congregational Church, which is where we attended when I lived at home with my family. It was a beautiful wedding, with my cousin Elizabth playing the organ. I remember one of the selections was “Ave Maria”. After a reception, Betty and I left in my dad’s car from Mukwonago, Wisconsin. We did not know that was our destination, but in those days of gas rationing, that’s how far we got when we had used up roughly ½ of our gas stamps (many of which had been provided by thoughtful sister Gertie.) We spent a lovely weekend there. The weather was beautiful as the five lovely weeks while we courted in Great Falls. Then, back to Dwight,a round of visiting, and back out to Great Falls, to start life as a married couple. Betty and I found a room where we lived for a time until an apartment became available, and stayed at that apartment until one we thought was much nicer opened up on the east side of town. It was beautiful, but the landlady was a real pain, as we soon found out. However, after we had an understanding with her, things quieted down and we stayed there until I was discharged. We chose Wright-Patterson Air Force Base as our point of separation and bought an old car and headed back to freedom. Symbolically enough, I gained that freedom on Feb. 12, 1946 (Lincoln’s birthday). I went back to work for Jewel Foods and after a short while we purchased a ½ duplex in Des Plaines, Illinois. We were there for about 1 ½ years, at which time we sold our home, quit my job, and moved back to Great Falls, Montana. We have lived in the West ever since that time and I have never regretted for one minute the decisions we made to come back to God’s Country. Both Betty and I love the West, and it is without a doubt the place to live.
Our daughter, Marilyn, was born before we left Illinois. In fact, she was a year old when we moved back to Montana. We bought a ‘41 Ford, loaded up, and headed for South Dakota. Betty and Marilyn would stay with her folks while I lined up a place to live, a job, etc. I still remember the joy I felt when I hit the Montana State line. I got out and took a picture of the sign welcoming me to the state. I journeyed on to Great Falls and contacted the Myers family–friends from service days. They were good scouts and I believe helped me to locate a room. I stayed with a family by the name of Dusak. John and Euphmia were their names, and they were fine people. Euphamia was an outstanding cook, and John worked for the Meat Company, I believe. He was portly and had to wear an apron to keep the steering wheel of his car from wearing out his trousers. After they got acquainted with me they encouraged me to bring Marilyn and Betty out there with them until we found a place of our own. They allowed us cooking privileges and also invited us to eat with them several times. It was Euphamia who taught us to make such good dressing for poultry. She helped us find an apartment through some people she knew and just before Christmas we moved over on the east side into an upstairs apartment owned by Schends. It was just right for us. Evenings I would tie flies, and we would both amuse ourselves with Marilyn. I had a job with Gamble-Robinson as a salesman and stuck with it for a year when I went to work for Pierce Packing Company as a traveling salesman. I wasn’t ready for that kind of pressure, though, and by then Betty was pregnant with John and didn’t like having me gone. So I quit the job and went to work temporarily for Upp’s Food Market as a produce manager. Tired of it by summer I went into construction work. There was no future in it, so I went back into selling–Mutual Life of New York this time. Stayed with them for 3 years but it was too much of a feast or famine to suit us. During that period I became involved in the Scout Program at our church, as a scoutmaster. I had never got beyond 2nd class myself so I went to work on the requirements along with the boys. In no time, we had guys moving right up the ladder. I eventually made Star and was working on Life requirements when I left scouting. Had some pleasant memories during these times and met some fine people. One of the finest was Jim Benson who was my Senior Patrol Leader, and Jim and I are still friends. We saw them off and on while we lived back in Great Falls in ‘75–’76. From that job I went to work for Kraft Foods as a salesman and did very well with them. A conflict developed between the new manager and I, so I left after a year of that. Sold Buicks for a bit over a year, but Betty and I both realized that the best thing for us was to have me selling to the grocery trade. So I took a temporary job at Safeway and started looking for work. Got a job with Lever Brothers, rather low pay, poor supervision, but intended to stick. However, MJB came looking for me, and I couldn’t refuse their offer. We had 2 more children to support by this time. John was born in ‘49 and Bob was born in ‘54. I have enjoyed my work with MJB–especially the first 15 years of it. It seems the last five years have been a bit hectic, but then what hasn’t? I plan to stay with them and do as good a job as I can for as long as we can get along harmoniously. One nice thing, my retirement and profit-sharing are both tied down. I could go on early retirement if I chose although there’s not enough there to live on. My profit sharing is vested–mine when I leave. Nice to know there’s something there. My ambition now is to be able to break into the writing field. I especially wanted to try the juvenile field, because I used to get such a kick out of making up stories for the kids when they were little. I also intend to do some writing for adults somewhere down the line.
One final note to this post–my father was a wonderful story teller. At bedtime, he read to Marilyn, Bob and I regularly while we lived at the 3013 house in Great Falls, Montana. Some of the books he read to us included–Treasure Island, Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn, and The Swiss Family Robinson.
Another bedtime activity included telling stories of his boyhood in Dwight. Some stories were about how he would trick his brother David. Others were how he would freak out his mother by sneaking around the outside of their house and hoot like an owl. Other times he would ask us to make up a title for a story and then he would tell that story. I remember one of the titles– The Black Nose. So he created a story about a little girl who got a black nose when she was sneaking behind a coal furnace and brushed it with her nose. He loved reading and telling stories and he certainly entertained us.
