In Memory of

Doris
Parrott

1917 -
2018

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Obituary for Doris Parrott

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Life Story for Doris Parrott

Stories of My Life
a Centennial Collection
Compiled from reflections and conversations with Doris Parrott
Edited by Rod Parrott April 2017


Nebraska
I was born on April 21, 1917, on a 320-acre farm northeast of Lexington, Nebraska. To get there you leave Lexington on 13th Street east, and go 10 miles toward Overton. My parents were Benjamin Vernaldo and Myrtle (Brown) Blair. I joined three older sisters (Muriel, Roberta, and Bethel [Betty]), and one older brother, Arlis. A younger sister (Margaret) and brother (Benjamin, Jr.) came along after me. I don’t know if five is a special number, but Dad gave Mother a player piano the year I was born. I spent my first seventeen years on the farm. I went to grade school in District 21, two miles from the home place. I think the building's still there.
I remember quite a few things about the farm. We had hogs, cattle, horses and chickens. We had a goat when Muriel was a baby because Mother’s milk and cow’s milk didn’t agree with her. That, of course, was before my time. I was an “outside” child, helping Dad with things out and around the farm. He had wanted a boy when I was born, so I tried to do what farm boys did. In return, he spoiled me in lots of ways. My being red-headed must have also had something to do with it. Mother told me some stories from my early childhood, and I remember some others. I’ll start with two that Mother told me. We had a Shetland pony for riding. We always had to herd the pigs in the summertime. They were put in the cornfield after the harvest to clean up the field of dropped corn and not supposed to be in the alfalfa field. Mother said that I was five years old. We were out in the yard and I saw the pigs going to the alfalfa field. I ran and jumped on the pony and rode out of the yard and out into the field. I got the pigs back where they belonged, bouncing along with my short legs on the pony’s back with my red hair flying. And I made it back without falling off. We had a big water tank that we stored water in. It had a faucet near the bottom that we turned on to fill another small tank for watering the stock. A windmill pumped water up from a well to fill the big tank. When we didn’t have much wind, we had to pump the pump by hand to keep the tank full. We all did it, but mostly Arlis, Margie and I (Bennie was too small). Anyway, in the summertime, between working in the fields helping Dad put up hay or cut the grain, pumping the water, and then doing the evening chores, I uisually got pretty tired. But that didn’t keep me down. Mother said I would get up in the night and walk in my sleep. I would go out to the pump and pump water into the tank. Mother said she would follow me out to the pump but never wake me. I’d get through pumping and go back up the stairs to bed. Fortulnately I eventually outgrew the sleepwalking. Among the chores we had to do was taking care of the workhorses. (We had no tractors). We had milk cows and calves we kept in a big corral around the barn. In the barn itself half was for the horses and the other half was for the cows and calves (heifers). In one corner of the corral was a fenced-in pig pen and shed, which protected them from the elements. The barn was built up against the side of a hill. So when we were putting up hay for winter use with the animals, we would hitch a team of horses to a small hayrack stacked high with alfalfa hay and go around the outside of the barn, up the hill, and in the big barn door. We would unload and stack the hay in a loft.
In the spring and summer we turned the cattle and horses out in the pasture for green grass. Every morning, usually between five or six o’clock, Dad would wake me up and send me out on ‘Old Pride’ (our riding horse) to round up the cattle and the horses and bring them back to the barn. It wasn’t a hard job, and I liked doing it. The cattle and horses would hurry back because they knew that’s where the feed was. Dad always put in their bins. Sometimes some of the cattle would even be waiting at the gate. The workhorses knew which stalls were theirs and all we had to do was tether them up with their
halters. Dad would harness them for the work he had planned for the day while Arlis,
Margie and I got the cows in their stalls and got them milked. We milked as many as
sixteen or twenty cows, depending on how many were not dry and almost ready to calve.
We then had to get the milk into the house and run it through the separator, saving out
what Mother needed for our meals. Only then it was time for breakfast, which for the
times I remember, Mother and Betty usually prepared. (Muriel and Roberta were staying
in town with Grandma Brown and going to high school.) After breakfast, we were ready
for whatever work Dad had planned for the day.
We had chickens in a chicken house and fenced-in yard up by Dad’s workshop. We
always turned them out of the yard around noon so they could have freedom until
evening. The chicken house had built-in shelves with nests for the hens to lay their eggs,
which nearly always happened before noon. We always bought chicks from the chicken
_2
hatchery in Lexington in the spring and kept them in their boxes and feeders until they
were big enough to take care of themselves. That was another chore.
We didn’t have much time for play.
We always helped with the garden. It was close to the pump so we could irrigate it.
Things changed in winter. There was no field work but we still had the chores to do
before going to school. And evening chores to get done before dark. Thank goodness
there was no daylight saving time.
Winters were really cold, with day and nighttime temperatures often below zero. We kept
the animals in the barn and corral, which meant more cleanup. The snow was usually
pretty deep. When the roads were impassable for conventional vehicles Dad would take
us to school in our sleigh, pulled by ‘Old Pride,’ then come after us in the afternoon.
When we had blizzards—and usually there were several each winter—school was closed.
To cope with white-out conditions, Dad stretched a rope from the porch of the house to
the barn so we wouldn’t get lost doing chores.
But we also had good times on the snow. It almost always had a frozen crust, so we
could walk on it without sinking. We would take scoop shovels out to the hill behind the
barn and and ride them down the hill. We often had strong winds, so the snowdrifts
would get as high as the house. We’d climb up them and slide down headfirst or on our
butts. Dad also made a bobsled we’d use on the hill. He would guide it and we would all
pile on and ride down the hill. Then we’d pull the sled back up and do it again.
Tornados were common in the spring. We kept a well-stocked storm cellar. When we
saw a tornado across the valley we kept a close watch on it. If we were stacking the first
crop of hay and we saw one coming our way, we’d unhitch the horses from the wagons
and whatever machinery we were using and gallop the horses home to the barn. Then
we’d head to the storm cellar. We never had a tornado hit our house, but one took a
whole row of fence out of our pasture, and another took the roof off Grandma’s house in
Lexington. In one I saw close-up somebody’s cow, chickens, and wagon were flying
around in the funnel. It was scary to say the least.
Our mail was delivered to our mailbox at a crossroad about a mile from our house. The
neighbors’ boxes were there too. For years our “mailman” was a woman who drove a
horse and buggy loaded with the mail. Her route began at Lexington and wound around
the farms out to our corner, where we had a big grove of trees. (That’s the grove where
after a summer rain we picked mushrooms.) It must have been at least thirteen miles of
_3
country roads. Then she would wind her way back to town. I don’t know how she kept
warm in the winter. In the summer she would stop at our grove and eat her lunch.
Of course everyone knows about the dust storms of the thirties. Needless to say, they
were awful. They totally disrupted farming patterns. In the spring farmers usually
borrowed money to pay for seed for planting and paid it back in the fall after marketing
their crops. If I remember correctly, hailstorms took the crops the first bad year. Then for
the next two or three years straight it was the dust storms. It was terrible, worse than any
kind of fog. We lost our crops and the bank finally foreclosed on us because we couldn’t
pay back the loans. I don’t think Dad ever got over losing the family farm—it had been
his Dad’s before him.
For most of my early childhood, we never had toys or much of anything that cost money.
So we made up our own entertainment. One thing we did was push around a small
spoked wheel that had come off a cultivator. We used a flat stick with another attached to
it as a crosspiece. Then we set the wheel in motion and pushed it fast enough that it
stayed vertical. That resulted in a lot of sore, stubbed toes because we watched the wheel
more than where we were going. And we were barefooted, of course.
I got a couple of whippings when I was a kid. Dad had a buggy whip, and if we kids did
something wrong, we had to walk a plank while he applied it to our legs. It left big welts
that Mother had to take care of.
One time involved the windmill. The rotor and vane
were on top of a tower and quite often Dad had to climb
a ladder to get to a platform from which he could
grease them. There were four cables that stabilized the
tower. We kids had been told never to climb up the
ladder. Well, one time when I was six or seven I
climbed up behind Dad. While he concentrated on
lubricating the rotor, I reached for one of the cables,
intending to straddle it and slide back down to the
ground. But my hand got stuck in a twist of the cable.
I started to cry and Dad realized where I was and what I
had done. He turned and picked me up and carried me
down the ladder and set me down on my feet. He went
and got his whip and made me walk the plank. I got
big welts on my bare legs. Then he picked me up and
shoved me into Mother’s lap and left for the barn.
_4
Mother scolded me but put some salve on my welts. I never forgot that. And I never
climbed the ladder again.
The other whipping involved the corn crib. It held all the corn we stored until Dad was
ready to shell it for feed. The foundation of the crib was two-by-sixes with a solid floor
above. The two-by-sixes were on cement blocks so there was space underneath the floor
that was a wonderful feeding place for chickens. They would crawl under the floor and
pick up loose corn that had fallen through the cracks. And they would make nests and lay
eggs in there. So we kids had to get the eggs out. Well, one time Arlis and I were doing
just that. I was small, so Arlis had me crawl in between the two-by-sixes.
Unfortulnately, I got stuck and couldn’t move. I must have screamed, because Arlis
pulled me out by my feet. Maybe that incident is why I get claustrophobia in elevators
and small rooms! Anyway, on the way out I smashed some eggs and they smelled
terrible. Rotten. So what did Arlis and I do? We threw the rest of the eggs against the
walls of the corn crib, unleashing a terrible smell. Dad came running and grabbed us
both by our collars and got his buggy whip. Arlis and I walked the plank while he
whipped our bare legs. Of course we we bawled loudly and Mother came running. Dad
turned us over to her. She scolded us too, and then put some salve on our legs.
Saturday was nearly always the day, winter or summer—weather permitting—, that the
whole family went to town. Because we had lots of chickens, we always had enough
eggs every week to fill big egg crates and we’d take them to Lexington to trade for
groceries. Dad would give us ten or fifteen cents to go to the matinee movie while he and
mother shopped. Sometimes, dependeding on what was showing, they would go with
us. . Mostly we saw cowboy shows. Arlis never wanted to leave after the shows were
over, so Dad sometimes had to go into the theater looking for him. He was a towhead
until he got older and you could spot his blond head even in a dark theater. Our cousins
Don and Dwight would usually be in the crowd. We always got home in time to do the
chores.
Sunday was a day of rest from field
work, but we still had the chores to do.
In the summertime, there were potlucks
with Uncle Dee’s and Uncle Will’s
families after Sunday School and
church. There were picnics along the
banks of the North Platte River, where I
learned to swim. When we went to
Uncle Dee’s place there were often
enough people for ball games. And we
_5
ate fried chicken, corn on the cob, green beans, sliced tomatoes, homemade ice cream,
cakes, and pies.
Some Sundays were different. When Arlis got old enough to drive, he, rather than Dad,
would drive the car in from the farm so Mother could take us to Sunday School and
church, and then to lunch with her sister Carrie. Then—again in the summer—we would
go swimming at the pool in Lexington.before heading home.
Mother had four brothers and two sisters who lived to adulthood: Will, Chad, Carrie
(White), Dee, Ray, and Jessie (Hatfield). Her parents’ first child, a boy, died in infancy.
Mother outlived all of her siblings except Aunt Jessie. And they all died of diabetes.
Mother's parents (Robert Lee Brown and family) lived just two miles away on another
farm. I don't remember Grandpa Brown at all. He died when I was very young. Then
Grandma Brown moved to the northwest part of Lexington.
Uncle Will, mother's oldest brother, worked the farm until his wife, Aunt Della, got sick.
Then they sold the farm and moved to Lexington where Uncle Will started a leather
shop. He fixed shoes and horses' harnesses, etc., and sold new saddles and all the
necessary leather things. They had two girls and two boys: Thelma, Georgia, Dwight
and Don. When we'd have a potluck or picnic, you could be sure Will‘s family would
show up in time to eat. With Aunt Della pretty much disabled, I guess they appreciated a
c hance to eat well. Mother and Dad helped a lot.
Mother's second brother, Uncle Chad, lived in Iowa and ran a shoe store. We didn't see
much of him until he moved to Cozad after his family was almost raised. He had three
daughters and two boys. They moved into Lexington and bought Grandma Brown's old
house after we came to Oregon. He was semi-retired and worked as a bookkeeper for a
trucking firm in Lexington. Marion Brown, his oldest, made the Air Force his career. He
died of diabetes, after having both legs amputated. Ted Brown, his second son, lived in
Iowa and then moved to Lexington after we left. He also died of diabetes and had both
legs amputated. His oldest daughter lived in Iowa. I never knew her. His two youngest
daughters still live in Lexington. Both are diabetic, too. Mary Jane was in the hospital at
Christmas time.
Uncle Dee farmed southeast of us, over by Overton, on his father-in-law's place, and also
bought another farm close by. Overton was a small town consisting of a bank, post
office, and grocery store. He raised two sons, Chester and Victor. They both live in San
Diego, last I heard.
_6
Aunt Carrie lived in Sumner, NE, on a farm. Uncle Rufus was her husband.
Uncle Ray lived in Iowa after he retired from the Army. He had no children. We only
saw him once in a while when Grandma Brown was alive. He died of diabetes, too and
had both legs cut off.
Aunt Jessie married Ira Hatfield. He was an electrician and
engineer for the railroad, so Aunt Jessie got free passes to
travel, and we saw her about every year. She had two
children. Dean lived in Lincoln, NE. Phyllis lives in
Vancouver, WA. Phyllis married Tom Lauderbaugh. They
had one son, Dean, who never married. He was active in
Campus Crusade.
I went to high school for the first three years in Lexington. In
1934, when I was seventeen, Mother and Dad transferred
Margie and me to the Nebraska School of Agriculture at
Curtis, a high school/junior college affiliate of the University
of Nebraska, Lincoln. They wanted us to be home economics
teachers. Maybe that's why I don't like to cook even today. I
graduated in 1935 and Margie graduated in 1936.
In Curtis I paid my board and room by working in the dormitory dining room. Margie
worked part-time in the superintendent’s office as a file clerk and secretary. Dad drove
from Lexington a couple of times a month and taook us home
for a weekend. The dust storms were so bad you couldn’t see
very well.
After I graduated, I didn’t become a teacher. I returned to
Lexington and went to work in a small café called “The
Minute Men.” That was Lexington High School’s team name,
too, and was no doubt based on the Revolutionary War
volunteers at Lexington and Concord. It was a drive-in, with
service to your car. So I carried a lot of trays. We served
hamburgers, root beers, milk shakes, and so on. I made 25
cents an hour, plus tips. It paid my room rent and I ate at the
café. Then I had a chance to go to work in the variety store in
town for more pay and Sundays off. I worked there until we
moved west in 1937. In Ontario I got a job at a variety store
because of the recommendation from my boss in Lexington.
_7
Oregon: The Early Years
After Margie graduated from high school, Dad and Mother decided to move west. We
were losing the farm because of the dust storms and were as poor as church mice. Betty
worked for while for Muriel in a beauty shop in Lexington, and then went to Lincoln and
got a job housekeeping so she could go to the University of Nebraska. That's where she
met Wilbur. Muriel and Wayne had married in 1935 and moved to Sandpoint, ID (and
later, Seattle, Washington) where his dad was. So Dad took a trip to Sandpoint to look
the country over. He liked it so we moved.
We had a farm auction in Lexington to get rid of as much equipment and livestock as we
could sell. Then we loaded what was left on a train boxcar at Overton, NE. That
amounted to one team of horses, the household goods and a little farm equipment. Dad
rode in the box car to take care of the horses. Mother, Arlis, Bennie, Margie and I (plus
Jack the dog, and a black cat with white spots) made the trip in the old Chevrolet, pulling
a two-wheeled trailer loaded with more stuff. Arlis drove. The cat got lost somewhere in
Wyoming. Somewhere else along the way, a rope across the top of the trailer snapped
and some stuff fell off and broke. One was the old Croaknoe board. We left it and some
other things alongside the road.
It took three long days, getting up early and driving late, to get to Ontario. We arrived in
April, 1937, the same month I turned twenty. Dad had gone through Ontario on his
Sandpoint trip, and he and Mother had decided Ontario was a good place to start over.
We arrived without a place to land, so the five of us drove up the main street and stayed
the night in a motel. I don't remember the name of it; it’s no longer there.
The next morning we went to
the railroad station and found
Dad. The boxcar was on a
siding. I don't know how it was
unloaded, because I went to
Norris' Variety Store to see if I
could get a job. I did. . My
starting wage was $10 a week.
$8/week went to support the
family; I got $2/week. I worked
six days—Monday through
Saturday. I had an afternoon-
_8
night shift, and finished at midnight on Saturday.
Dad boarded the livestock while he went real estate shopping. He found the 10 acre
place south of Ontario, and it became home. Mother and Dad purchased it on
installments.
The first Sunday we were in town, we went to church at the little wood-frame Christian
Church. The Rev. O'Conner was the pastor. He was a tall, white-haired Irishman. We all
joined the church. I think Bennie was baptized by Rev. O’Conner. We met Floyd and
Glenn and Dick Denman and Darrold Beem, and of course all the other charter members:
Mr. & Mrs. Walters, Mabel Korthals' folks, and Mr. & Mrs. Webster and family. Mildred
Webster became Mrs. Dick Scholes and quit and went to the Episcopal church. Raymond
and Maxine Webster and their daughter Judy continued to attend the Christian Church.
Dad went to church pretty regularly at first, but quit going so frequently after he heard
some things about one of the members. Then, one Sunday when he did go, Mr. Webster
made the remark, "I thought the roof was going to cave in because of the shock of your
coming." So Dad never went again that I remember.
Floyd and I started dating soon after we arrived. Maybe Margie and
I had targets on our backs. I had had two boyfriends in Curtis, and
one in Lexington, but we were new to Ontario. Floyd and Glenn
were rooming at J.S. Beem’s home at the time, an arrangement that
had allowed them to go to high school in Ontario. Both of them had
already graduated, but they continued to stay at the Beems. Rev.
Beem’s son, Darrell, ran the Safeway store, and both Glenn and
Floyd worked there after high school. Glenn took a shine to Margie
so Floyd and I paired up. Glenn and Margie were married in June,
1938 and moved to Portland so Glenn could begin his medical
studies. Floyd continued to work at Safeway until he began at the
post office in 1940. Bennie worked in the store too, while he was in
high school.
From the summer of ’37 to the spring of ’38, I lived on “the farm,” except for about a
month when I lived in town with Marjory Fleming. After Floyd and I married in late
1938, we spent all the remaining years together in Ontario except when he was in the
service. I worked all the time—except, of course, when Floyd Jr. and Rodney were born.
After my first job at the variety store, I worked at the Ontario Laundry, then Shane's
Variety, and finally the U.S. National Bank. During some of that time I also took in
ironing for folks in town.
_9
When Floyd and I were going together, and also after we were married, he was regularly
playing semi-pro baseball. He played at various times for Ontario, Weiser (ID) and
Payette (ID).
Our first car was a not-so-affectionately called “Our Terrible Terraplane,” because it used
so much gas. We bought it from J.S. Beem. I don’t remember the make of the second
car. We only had it for a short time.
In the early years, Floyd and I made a lot of our own
entertainment. Of course there were potlucks “out home” on
Saturdays and Sundays, with lots of fun and love. And there
were be outings to Birdy Island in the Payette River. It was
such a good place to play in the water, and it was free, unlike
the city swimming pool.
When Floyd Jr. arrived (b. May 26, 1939), he was Dad and
Mother’s first grandchild, and got a lot of attention. Mother
didn’t want anyone else to take care of him. I have a number
of pictures taken “out home” in early summer with the two
Floyds and me, and various ones of the Blairs. Some baby
pictures of Floyd Jr. from the summer of 1939 were given to
us. We didn’t own a camera at the time. Even after we
subsequently purchased one, the cost of film and developing was more than our budget
could usually stand. Mr. Heater, who owned a photography studio sometimes helped us
by discounting the film and not charging for developing.
I was a stay-at-home mom for a while after Floyd Jr was born. Then I went to work at a
laundry before I got pregnant with Rodney. I went back to work in Shane’s Variety Store
when Floyd Jr and Rodney were in school.
Money was pretty tight for us in those days. Floyd rode a bicycle to work to save on gas,
and I made some of Floyd Jr.’s clothes.
In 1939, we first lived on the east side of Fortner Street in northwest Ontario. Then we
moved across the street into what would become our home address for many years: 743
Fortner St. The place was at first a rental, but we eventually bought it from Bill Hickling
for $500, in installments. After we bought it, Bill was always coming over to see what
we were doing with the place, so Floyd went to a local lender and borrowed enough to
pay him off.
_10
When we bought it, the place was just a shack. There
was no grass in the front, no yard at all! One of the first
projects was to have the house jacked up so a
foundation could be put under it. In 1940, there was
still an outhouse in the back.
About this time, Floyd’s dad was taking care of
Grandpa Parrott at Brogan. Grandpa Parrott (Charles,
Sr.) lived with us for 2 years just before WWII. We
rented a house in south Ontario and Grandpa Parrott and
Floyd’s Dad lived in it with us for a short time while
Floyd and his Dad added two bedrooms and a bathroom
onto the back of the house on Fortner St. Then we
moved back to Fortner and Grandpa lived with us while
Floyd’s Dad worked elsewhere.
Floyd’s sister Lillian was living with her husband Max Miner at Jamison, out from Vale
toward Brogan on US 26. Lillian stayed with us while she was waiting for her first
daughter, Lolah, to be born. She wanted to be closer to her doctor. We took her to
Brittingham hospital when her time came (Lolah was born on July 18, 1940), and the
two of them stayed with us for a while afterwards, too.
We were pretty proud of what we did together on fixing up our place, even though it
wasn’t in the “high class” end of town. In fact it was almost like living in the country.
We had it looking pretty neat before we got through with it.
Bennie was no stranger to the house during those years. In high school at the time, he
would jog from school to the house at lunch time to eat with Floyd and me. It kept him
in good shape for sports.
Floyd began working at the post office in 1940, a job he would keep for 20 years (except
the war years) before moving to a rural route.
One of the families whose company Floyd and I kept in the early 40s were the Orville
Klavenos. Orville worked for Standard Oil, and eventually was transferred to Louisiana.
We went to dances and played cards together. When they visited in Ontario, they stayed
all night with us.
_11
As a young couple (in our twenties), our lives were full of activities. One was my first
time to see the ocean (Nebraska didn’t have one!). We left Floyd Jr. with Mother and
Dad and drove to Portland. Margie and Glenn then went with us to the beach. Glenn was
going to school at the time, and working for a Fred Meyer store. We went deep sea
fishing out of Depot Bay. We didn’t catch the fish on our lines, but the fishing boat
caught them and we got to watch. They gave us four salmon to take home. We had them
cleaned and put in dry ice and mailed them to Dad and Mother. They had fish to eat for
quite a while. That was a fun trip for us. Glenn and Floyd neither one knew how to
swim or liked the water. But Margie and I did. But we only waded in the ocean. The
water was cold.
Coming back from the coast we almost had a collision with two logging trucks that were
coming right at us, just west of Corvallis. Floyd swerved into the barrow pit, which
wasn’t too deep. Glenn got a license number and reported the incident, but we didn’t
hear anything from it. When we came through Salem, it was also the first time I had seen
the state capitol.
Other times we went to boat races at Emmett on Sunday afternoons. We usually took a
circular trip, going north through Weiser to McCall and then back down to Emmett and
on home on the Payette River road. It was during this time that we got the 1936 Ford that
Floyd took clear back to Virginia during the war. It was a sused car but it was like a new
one to us.
Back home, Floyd tried growing a garden in our back yard. But he gave up because we
couldn’t always get irrigation water. Sometimes it came two weeks apart. When it did,
you let it flood-irrigate the front yard and then course into the back yard. The whole
north end of town was on that irrigation project. We managed to get some grass started,
and Dad gave us some irises.
The War Years
Just prior to December 7, 1941, various members of the family were beginning to
disperse. Glenn and Margie were in Portland. Arlis was in the Navy, on board the USS
Pennsylvania in Hawaii. Roberta and Reynold, who also had married in 1938, were in
San Diego. Muriel and Wayne were in Seattle. That left Betty and Wilbur, Bennie and
Jeannie, “the folks” and us in Ontario,
As you can imagine, the attack on Pearl Harbor changed life a lot. Floyd enlisted in the
national guard, but because we were starting a family (I was six months pregnant), he
_12
was reluctant to sign up for active duty. Mother and Dad and Betty and Wilbur went to
Seabeck, on Puget Sound and then to Bremerton, to work on war-related projects. Glenn
was a medic in the Navy, deployed to the Pacific theater. Bennie joined the Air Corps
after he graduated from high school.
On March 26, 1942, Rod was born at Brittingham’s in Ontario. He was named Rodney
after Dr. Belknap, and Lee after Mother’s dad.
Since Glenn had deployed, Margie returned to Ontario to live with the folks. She had
worked for Dr. Mann before they moved to Portland and returned to that job. In the
spring of 1942, we went up on the Payette River for some of Dr. Mann’s famous stew.
Mother and Dad went with us. One of the places we visited was Idaho City.
Other friends at the time included Roger and Elaine Kimball. Roger was from Ontario,
but Elaine was from somewhere else. He was an Air Force pilot. When he came to
Ontario on leave in the summer of 1942, we went to McCall for a weekend. Mother and
Dad kept Floyd Jr and Rod for us. We had a good time.
Margie had a friend at Heater’s Studio, a
photography studio who needed some
practice taking pictures, so we
volunteered, and got some formal
pictures of the family. Later on, the
same friend helped Margie take care of
“the ranch” after Mother and Dad went
to Bremerton and I was in Denver.
Floyd’s active duty in the service began
in the late summer/early fall of 1943 He
was working in the post office, and was in the national guard, but received word from a
friend that he was about to be drafted. She advised him to do something about it, so he
took some vacation from the post office and went to Seattle. He stayed with Muriel and
Wayne and sought work at Boeing. He got on, but quickly learned that he didn’t like it.
Among other things, it rained in Seattle!! He stayed at it for two weeks, but then quit and
returned to Ontario, resuming his work at the post office.
Still concerned about the draft, he went to Boise and enlisted in the Army Air Corps. He
was sent to Ft. Lewis, WA, where he discovered that he was in the regular army as well as
the air corps. The paperwork was sorted out, and after a stay of two months, he was redeployed
with the air corps to Denver. He rode the train right through Ontario in the
_13
middle of the night, headed for Buckley Field. He was
supposed to be a pilot. He was at Buckley for about three
months. Then the Air Force notified Floyd and the rest of
his squadron that they didn’t need any more pilots. They
had the choice of signing up for gunnery or the infantry.
Floyd chose gunnery. So they put him over in Lowrey
Field for training in gunnery.
With Floyd gone, I rented out our place on Fortner so I
could move out to “the place” to take care of it while
Mother and Dad were in Bremerton. Dad had a cow and
some cats, but no chickens. Margie was there with me,
since Glenn had deployed. We spent the fall of 1943 in the
garden and orchard, and taking care of the cow and cats—
the latter of which which mysteriously disappeared. Floyd
Jr was four, and Rod just over a year. We missed Floyd a
lot. He called us when he could afford it. But we wrote
letters often.
In early 1944 I arranged a quick trip to Denver—my first chance to see Floyd in four
months. I got a hotel room and Floyd got a pass so we could stay together. Then I had to
get back to Ontario.
Floyd’s next move was to Las Vegas to continue with gunnery school. After about six
weeks, they shipped his crew to Lincoln, NE, for six more weeks of training. Then back
to Lowrey Field in Denver. That’s where he started flying B-17s for training. He was at
Lowrey from June and July until November, 1944.
I went to Denver for a longer stay in June and July, 1944. Dad had come back to Ontario
so I was free to go. I worked at the Railroad Restaurant, and put the kids in a day
nursery. Soon after I arrived in Denver, we had a couple of small family reunions.
Bennie, now in the Air Corps, had been transferred to La Junta, CO, for his final flight
training in the B-26. Mother came on the train for a weekend, and I met her at the train
station. The two of us continued on to La Junta. We all spent the day together before
Mother and I had to get back to work. I got off the train in Denver, and Mother went
back to Bremerton.
Not long after that, Glenn and Margie also came to Denver. Glenn was on a month’s
leave and they had driven Dad and Mother’s car. We knew that Floyd was going to be
transferred someplace soon, so it was important to get together. Too soon it was time for
_14
me to go back to Ontario, and Floyd and I cried our goodbyes. I followed Margie and
Glenn in our car back to Ontario, and then to Bremerton, where they left Mother and
Dad’s car and rode back to Ontario with me. Then Glenn and Margie and the boys and I
drove up to Emmett to see Gertie and Wayne. We took Floyd’s dad along.
The war years were the worst of my life. Sure, there were other members of my family
around, but Floyd and I were apart. And with the country on a war footing, we had to
make do with what we could. I made outfits for both boys. My neighbor helped me
make some of them.
By this time, Floyd was about through training and we knew where he was going next:
Sioux City, IA, was the his final segment of training before he was deployed overseas.
So, writing back and forth, we decided that I could join him in Iowa.
Well, while I was getting ready to go to Sioux City, Floyd found out he was being moved
from Denver to Las Vegas for six weeks of gunnery school. Then he was being moved to
Lincoln, NE, for another six weeks. Then, finally, he would go to Sioux City.
He started flying in B-17s at Las Vegas. When the formation of three planes flew, Floyd
was a “toddler” in one plane. The officer flew in the center plane and gave the orders to
the other two planes. Floyd would look for his target and when the officer gave the
command, would drop the bombs.
He got to Sioux City before Thanksgiving and found an apartment for me. I started east
the first week in December. I had purchased new tires with ration tickets, but the two
back tires blew out on the trip, one in Wyoming, and one in Nebraska. I had them fixed
and kept going. I stopped in Lexington to see Mother’s family, and stayed overnight at
Uncle Will’s. I went to see Uncle Chad and Aunt Opal, who had bought Grandma
Brown’s old home and were living there. Uncle Chad was very sick and not expected to
live long. I saw Uncle Dee the next day, and then went on to Grand Island, where I
stayed at Aunt Jessie’s. overnight. She got a telephone call while we were eating
breakfast that Uncle Chad had died. I arrived in Sioux City later that day.
The Sioux City deployment was supposed to be from December 1944 to September 1945.
A nice lady rented us a house really cheap. It was in Sargeant Bluff, a half mile from the
main gate of the air base. She had the main house and we lived where her hired hand
lived before she quit farming. Her husband had died. She had a big white cat, and a big
white bull penned up by the barn with a real high fence around the corral. She gave me a
suit and hat for Floyd Jr. that he wanted to wear all the time, even in bed. He was thrilled
and felt so grown up.
_15
We were re-introduced to heavy lightning and thunderstorms in Iowa. The kids and I hid
under the table because they were so awful. We were curious about the bull, so one day I
took Floyd Jr. and Rod over to the fence and we could peek through it and see him. Well,
he knew we were there. He turned toward us and started clawing the dirt and throwing it
up in the air. He gave a loud snort and Rod and Floyd Jr. took off running back to the
house. And they never wanted to go see him again. Fortunately, they had lots of yard to
play in and we bought them some toys from Sears & Roebuck. Floyd Jr and Rod had fun
playing on the old tractor that was in the barn yard, not far from the house. I could see
them from the porch.
One weekend Floyd had a pass, and we made a trip to visit Uncle Dee and Lexington.
We stopped in Grand Island and picked up Phyllis and Dean. It was one of the few
longer trips we made while we were in Iowa.
I started to learn to crochet and knit because I needed something to keep me occupied
after I got the meals for the three of us and did the usual things (bed-making, and washing
and ironing). Laundry was not very time-consuming, since I was mostly just doing mine
and the boys; Floyd’s uniforms were done on the base. When I wasn’t busy I got
homesick.
Our landlady would drop over often, usually giving us something—food or clothes,
mostly food. Floyd ate his meals on the base unless it was something he didn’t like, like
lamb stew. He was flying most every day and doing much of it at high altitudes. That’s
where he got his ear problem. One time he had a bad cold and they were puttiong
everyone in a pressure chamber to test how high they could comfortably go. Well, his
turn came and the altitude climbed really high before they let it down. He had sharp pain
in his ears and head. He said he could hardly stand it. After that he always had drainage
from his ears.
In addition to the problems with his ears, Floyd also had problems with his back. When
he was a little boy, he hurt his back wrestling. When they were training at high altitudes,
he would get terrible pain in his lower back, pain that would bring him to tears. He tried
to hide it from his commanding officer, but one day he couldn’t. The officer sent him to
the doctor, and after a lot of tests, including x-rays, they told him that his condition had
been caused by an injury. X-rays showed that the lower part of his spinal column had
fused together, so that there was no give or take with vertebrae. That’s when Floyd
remembered wrestling as a child. He said he had been hurt so badly he could hardly
move. He never told his Dad, who would have had a fit if he had known. But Glenn
knew about it.
_16
The result of all this was that in August, 1945, just before the atomic bomb was dropped
on Hiroshima, Floyd was grounded. He was re-classified as a “clerk-typist,” and sent to
Colorado Springs, then to Norfolk, VA. The rest of his crew was sent to Germany on a
B-17.
After being re-assigned, Floyd was given a two-week leave, and he moved us to
Bremerton in September. That’s when I started keeping house for Mother and Dad in the
Navy housing. They didn’t want me to go back to Ontario alone. So I had one bedroom
for Floyd Jr and Rod and me in their house. I cooked, washed and ironed clothes; and
changed and made beds while both Mother and Dad worked. I took care of my boys and
really looked for the mail.
Other members of the family were still in the Seattle/Bremerton area. Wilbur and Wayne
both worked at plants that helped with the war effort. The yard in Bremerton was nice
for the children to play in, but I didn’t have time to to go visiting. It was a bus ride, with
transfers to get to Stroups from where Dad and Mother were. Consequently there were
some, but not many family get-togethers in Bremerton.
The hard part about life in Bremerton—aside from managing two active little boys—was
maintaining a home with very different schedules in play. Mother always worked from
eight to five, but Dad was constantly changing shifts. Sometimes he worked the swing
shift, from 3 p.m. to midnight; sometimes the night, from midnight to 8 a.m. I had to
shift meals for him. I did the shopping, riding the bus with the boys along. Sometimes
Dad let me drive his car.
Settling Down in Ontario
After the war’s end, Floyd was mustered out of the service in Norfolk, and life focused
again in Ontario. The Stroups, Blairs, and Floyd Parrotts all moved back and resumed
life there. Glenn and Margie moved to Vancouver, WA, and then Mololla, where Glenn
opened a chiropractic practice. Roberta and Reinold were in Puerto Rico. And the
Hattings were off somewhere. Floyd returned to clerking in the post office. Arlis was
living with Mother and Dad out on “the farm,” and farming some acreage on the Oregon
Slope. Wilbur was a partner in the Arrow Company.
Muriel and Roberta occasionally came to visit. The Stroups had a big house, so many of
the gatherings took place there, with forays out to “the farm.” When the weather
_17
permitted, Dad and Mother put planks across sawhorses in the front yard, and we had a
picnic.
Much of the activity in the late 40s was an attempt to return to normalcy, which meant,
for me, helping two boys grow up. Somebody gave them some kittens, but they didn’t
last long. A yellow tom cat killed them in the back yard. Our car at the time was a Nash.
It was a good car, but Rod managed to unlatch the back door one time when we were
driving back from Boise, and the wind whipped the door wide open and sucked him out.
We were going between 55—60 mph at the time, and a sheepskin cap may have saved his
life. He still sustained a serious concussion.
A scooter and an old red wagon were the boys’ favorite (and inexpensive) toys. One
almost daily scene was of a cat riding on Rod’s back while he was prone on the wagon,
propelling it by turning the front wheels with his hands. We never had house cats after
Skippy died. Bicycle riding in the street, especially over jumping ramps, was also a
favored activity. Group activities for the boys in the late 40s and early 50s, besides
Sunday School and church, included Cub Scouts, and Boy Scouts, whose packs and
troops were sponsored by the church. Betty was a den mother for Rod’s Cub pack.
A springtime activity at home was an easter egg hunt in the front yard. In the summer,
Floyd and Rod played with a boat Dad made them. It plied the ditch behind the barn,
next to the tall cornfield “out home.”
Duke, our golden haired retriever grew up with Floyd and Rod, and was Floyd Sr.’s a
favorite. He was poisoned, however, and died on the front steps of our house.. We never
found out who did it. Maybe somebody was poisoning rodents.
Typical scenes in those years were Floyd Jr. or Rod fixing a bicycle or Floyd Sr. washing
or waxing the car.
As you probably have concluded by now, a lot of our activities involved car trips. Once
we drove to Bend to visit the Denman family, and made a side trip to Peterson’s Rock
Garden. Sometimes we took Dad and Mother along. They enjoyed the trips, but Dad had
livestock to take care of along with chickens, so he couldn’t leave home for any length of
time.
We had nice neighbors on one side of us on Fortner Street. C.S. Underkircher and Floyd
often talked over the hedge between our places. The Underkirchers’ two children were
considerably younger that Floyd and Rod, so they were not playmates but we adults
enjoyed the company.
_18
Many—perhaps most— of the activities of the late 40s and early to mid-50s centered in
the church. Many of our closest friends over the years were either fellow members in a
Sunday School class, or (later) students in a class Floyd taught. Floyd and I helped build
the original red rock building of First Christian Church in Ontario in 1947-1948.
Howard Larsen was a favorite pastor of mine, having come to the church in 1952. He
eventually served multiple stints as pastor of the church, something that is unusual in
church circles. Church friends included the Bensons, whose daughter Donna Marie
played the piano for the Junior Department I led. Other friends included Darrell and
Marjorie Beem, Mildred and Mervin Derrick, Erma and Ray Olsen, Pauline and Glen
Olsen, Carlton and Elva Reay, and Hugh and Marie Boucher.
We both took a lot of responsibility in church work. Mine was with children. Floyd’s
was as Sunday School teacher, superintendent, deacon, elder, trustee, board chairman,
sometimes preacher. We sang duets for church, weddings, and at lodges and schools.
That was an important part of my life, spreading the gospel. I don't regret any of that
involvement. It has rewards. But I always had time with Floyd, which was the highlight
of my life as wife and partner. What was important to him became important to me --
which kept us together.
On the Parrott side of the family, contact with the older generation included visits in
Ontario by Lincoln Lynde, Floyd’s grandfather on his mother’s side, and trips to Brogan
to see Grandpa Parrott, who was now in his 90s. He was still walking 3 miles to
downtown Brogan to buy his chewing tobacco.
On the Blair side, the 50s were marked by
somewhat regular family gatherings—usually
potluck lunches after church on Sunday.
When Arlis was working away from town,
Floyd and I would drive out to the farm and
pick Mother up and take her to church.
Less frequently, the larger clan would get
together, usually on a holiday. Sometimes it
was at the Stroups’ place, at other times, “out
home.” It was quite a gaggle when all the
grandchildren at that time were there.
_19
There were occasional trips away from Ontario, like short ones to Weiser, to the park
next to a good swimming pool, or longer ones, like over the McKenzie Pass or down to
Crater Lake. I remember high snow banks on both of the latter—in July! One time we
took Dad with us up to a branch of the Payette River north of Emmett. It was so hot, so
the guys all dropped their pants and shirts and went swimming (or in Floyd’s case,
wading). Dad surprised me by doing that. I just sat on the bank with my feet in the water
(and my eyes covered!!). Another time we went to McCall with Betty and Wilbur. We
rented a boat and tried to fish, but didn’t have any luck.
We also did things with post office and church friends. Dale and Agnes Foltz were
particularly close for a number of years. Dale and Floyd hunted and fished together. The
same was true of Ray and Erma Olsen. One of the advantages of church friends was that
some of them were quite well off. The Beems had a cabin at McCall, and we had at least
one outing there, including a ride on a vintage Chris Craft motorboat.
The 50s also saw the visits –and the deaths—of some of the larger Blair family. Uncle
Fred and Aunt Ruth visited from Nebraska, and then, after Ruth’s death, Uncle Fred came
alone.
One of the high points of 1950 was our first purchase of a new car: a 1950 Studebaker.
Floyd was proud. Part of breaking the car in was a summer trip to Yellowstone National
Park. We visited all the usual sights, and stayed in a cabin not far from Old Faithful. I
didn’t sleep well. There were too many bears in the area. We took the north exit out of
the park and went through Anaconda, MT, where Muriel and Wayne were running a
flower shop.
In the early 50s, Ben and Jeannie lived in Ontario, with sons Steve and Mike. Ben was
particularly fond of basketball, and could be seen shooting practice shots in his civvies.
A major project we undertook beginning in 1950 was
adding onto the front of the house. It started with
digging a basement. Floyd Jr and Dad—and other
people, too—helped Floyd Sr. with that. We hauled dirt
everywhere—to the back yard, side yard, and front yard.
Then a group of people from the church helped to pour
the concrete for the floor and walls. Betty and I made a
big pot of chili to feed everyone, plus other salads and
desserts. The whole project was a big job for us. I’ll
never forget how we lived from 1950 to 1956, getting
all the different things done. One phase at a time.
_20
When the construction was all done, I planted a trumpet vine next to the front door. That
was a mistake, because it gets a really big root base and could crack the concrete
basement wall. So I dug it up and put it in the back yard. But it didn’t survive. I
suppose I cut too much root off. Floyd was proud of the house.
Outside, we built a the fence and planted trees. The locust trees shot up fast, along with
two beautiful cottonwoods in the back yard. We had lilac bushes and flags and other
flowers and planted a hedge on the north side. The fence now went all the way around
the lot, and had to be repaired occasionally because some naughty neighbor kids. Dad
and Arlis put in concrete sidewalks and driveway lanes. In all, we made a new home out
of the old, adding a bathroom and nice kitchen. There was a half-basement with a good,
safe stove and chimney. Floyd Jr. turned it into his bedroom. In the front of the house we
had a beautiful American Beauty rosebush and wild sweet peas blooming at the same
time.
Inside the house, one particular corner of the dining room had a special resident: Piccolo
the parakeet. In the mornings, Floyd opened the cage door and sat down for breakfast.
Usually that included toast, and Piccolo would fly over and land on Floyd’s head. Floyd
would put his finger up and Piccolo would walk onto it, because Floyd gave him a piece
of toast. That was a regular routine, until one morning we came out for breakfast and
Piccolo was lying on the floor of the cage, dead. We never got another one. What a prize
he was for us.
In 1955 we got our second new car. It was a three-tone (pink, black, white) Dodge twodoor
hardtop. Floyd sure liked it. So did the boys. Floyd kept it shining, inside and out.
We kept it five years before trading it in when Floyd got the rural carrier job in 1960.
In the mid-50s, the boys were growing up. After running a paper route for the Oregon
Journal, Floyd Jr, by now a junior in high school, began working at Bud Gould’s Union
76 station on the east side. Proceeds from that work made it possible for him to buy a
car, a black 1941 Dodge. That car took him (and usually Rod) to places like Succor
Creek and Fish Lake, and air shows at Gowen Field in Boise, as well as rabbit-hunting
places closer around Ontario.
There were several larger family gatherings in the mid- to late-fifties. One was a farewell
party for Aunt Jessie and Phyllis and Uncle Will, who had come out from Nebraska after
Aunt Carrie died. Another took place at a hall on the Oregon slope. We had invited the
Onions, the McGees, the Glenn Parrotts, the Ben Blairs, Arlis, and the Stroups for a big
get-together. Erma Olsen set it all up. There were lots of laughs, and after it was all over,
_21
everyone came to our place on Fortner St and sat on the floor or wherever. It was a long
day, full of meal preparation, conversations among the adults, and games for the kids.
Everybody pitched in at one point or another.
Rural members of the Ontario church often attracted visits from the townspeople. We
were especially close to Ray and Erma Olsen and their boys, Stan and Gary. Stan was a
little older than Floyd Jr and Gary, than Rod, but we got whole milk from their dairy, and
the boys had a number of adventures together.
While things were happening in Ontario, Floyd’s Dad Parrott (Charles Jr) and Tillie were
living in Boring, OR. Visits to or from them always included horseshoes, which is where
I think Glenn and Floyd learned the “crouch” [i.e., squat]!. Floyd didn’t play much golf,
but sometimes did when company came.
Such visits were part of a spate of cross-state relations between various parts of the
family, as well as two other families: the Onions and the McGees. On a number of
occasions we got together for recreation and fun. One time we met at Suttle Lake, near
Sisters. Another time we met at Neskowin, on the Coast. One gathering was at the
Onions’ residence at Canby. That one is memorable because the men were so heavily
engaged in a horseshoe match that dinner had to wait for them to finish.
On one occasion, Floyd’s Dad and Tillie were there, along with Dad’s uncle George and
aunt Ada from California. He was Floyd’s Dad’s brother, who was pretty well off. He
had a motel and bar, and sold it to retire. They came in a travel trailer pulled by a big
pink Cadillac. He had a swagger about him that was entertaining to say the least. He
spent money whereas Floyd’s Dad held onto it. The day’s activities, besides the men’s
horseshoes, included visiting for the adults and swimming at Woodburn for the kids.
The mid- and late-fifties were also a time for our own family activities, particularly water
skiing on the Snake River and going to the hardtop races at the fairgrounds in Ontario and
the track in Meridian.
Empty Nest
In 1957, the nest began to empty. Floyd Jr. graduated from high school and enrolled at
Portland State College. Three years later, it emptied completely—except for vacations—
when Rod graduated and headed off to the University of Oregon.
Other changes occurred in the next two decades. In 1960, Floyd moved from clerking in
the post office in town to carrying a rural route. He kept that route until his retirement in
_22
1973. In 1964, Rod married Mary Anne Helseth,
granddaughter of Emil and Gladys Helseth, who had
pastored the church in Ontario from 1946 to 1952. In
1966, after serving the Brownsville Christian Church
as a student pastor for two years, they moved to
Oklahoma, where Rod attended seminary and later
worked as a campus minister. In 1973 with newborn
son Josh they moved to Claremont, CA, where Rod
did additional graduate studies and worked at the
Disciples Seminary Foundation. In 1965, Floyd Jr.
married Sheryl Bidney, from Molalla, and after living
there briefly, moved to Mulino, where he operated a
small engine sales and repair business and set about
raising son Troy and daughter Kris. They would go
on to live in a number of other places: La Grande,
Union, Amboy, Depoe Bay, Turner, Lone Rock, Ione,
and Fossil. Also in the 60s, Betty and Wilbur, their nest also empty, moved to Tigard and
Bennie and Jeannie moved to Portland, and then Eugene. Around Ontario it was Floyd
and me, the folks, and Arlis. In 1968 we sold our home on Fortner Street and moved to a
place on the Oregon Slope.
After Rod left in 1960, Floyd and I took up bowling in a serious way, joining several
leagues at the local alleys. (It helped that one of the church members operated one.) For
health reasons, I resigned my job at the bank. And, of course the place on the Slope took
more upkeep. Floyd also found new things to do with folk from his route. Like driving a
beet or onion truck. Or (in winter) snowmobiling.
During this time, my parents’ generation was passing
on. Floyd’s dad lived out his last years in the
Presbyterian Nursing Home in Ontario, and died in
1967. Dad died in 1971; and with Arlis often away
from Ontario on business, I began looking after
Mother “out home.”. She died in 1980.
That began my stint at rigorous caregiving. Two years
later, in 1982, Floyd was diagnosed with prostate
cancer. We spent a lot of time traveling to Boise for
treatments. We sold the place on the Oregon Slope
and moved back to town. The first night in our new
home, Floyd had a stroke. He lost the use of one side of his body, and couldn’t talk. It
_23
took him about two weeks to gain back some strength and recover his voice. Then, about
a month later, he had another stroke from which he never fully recovered. He was in a
wheel chair most of the time, and the doctor put him on oxygen for emphysema. We
regularly visited doctors in Ontario and Boise for treatments for the next twelve years.
Moving West—and Moving On
After Floyd died in 1994, I had to get out of the house—and out of Ontario. A church
member helped me sell the house, and I had a yard sale to get rid of a bunch of stuff, and
moved to an apartment in Keizer. (Yes, I like the rain!) I only stayed there a short time
before moving to a duplex in Turner, down the highway from where Floyd and Sheryl
had Perky’s market and cafe. I regularly drove to Stayton, where Margie lived in senior
housing. While I was there, Arlis came to the Valley in early 1995 for Wilbur’s funeral,
and took ill. He had sold “the old home place” in 1991 and bought a small house in
Ontario. He was staying with me in the duplex when he became so violently ill that he
was admitted to the hospital. His condition was stabilized, but remained serious enough
that he was transferred to a convalescent facility in Sublimity, where he died a year later.
In 1996, I moved from the duplex into a Turner Homes apartment. Then, 2003, I moved
to Mt. Angel. Floyd and Sheryl had sold their place in Turner and moved to Lone Rock.
They eventually moved to Ione, and then to Fossil. In the fall of 2007, Rod and Mary
Anne bought a home just outside of Hood River—Rod had retired in 2005— and invited
Mary Anne’s mother and me to come live with them. So in March of 2008, Floyd and
Rod, Sheryl and Mary Anne, and Ben and Juanita packed up my stuff and moved me
again. Rod and Mary Anne had chosen Hood River because it was central to the network
of family. Their son Josh and his family had moved to Richland, WA, in 2007.
In this past decade or so, others of my siblings passed on. Roberta and Muriel died in
California in 2006 and 2010, respectively. Betty died in Longview in 2013. That means
three of us are left: Margie, Ben, and me. Isn’t aging fun?
Two or three years after I moved to Hood River, I quit driving and sold my car. That
didn’t make a whole lot of difference, because Rod and Mary Anne took me on errands
and to visit family. I visited several times a year with Betty and Margie and Ben, and on
occasion got to see various nieces and nephews. Floyd and Sheryl came a number of
times in their “hightopper” and spent several days in a row so Rod and Mary Anne could
get a short vacation and I had good visits with them. Mary Anne’s brother and sister-inlaw
did the same.
_24
I continue to be as active as I can. I help Mary Anne prepare the noon (main) meal,
particularly on Sundays, when she and Rod are at church. I watch for the mail carrier,
and if the weather is good, make the trek up to the mailbox and back. And most days I
take a 20-minute spin on a stationary bike in the sunroom.
Besides that, I continue my correspondence with friends and family. Besides siblings,
grandchildren and nieces and nephews, I keep in touch with some folk from the church in
Ontario, as well as with one friend with whom I worked at the bank. And I journal,
making sure to note things that strike me as important in my day.
Most days I sit in my rocker and watch a lot of TV. In baseball season, I watch (and pull
for) the Mariners. In football, it’s the Seahawks. In college football, it’s Nebraska first,
and then the two Oregon teams. I watch other sports, but not with as much enthusiasm
as baseball. And besides the reruns of old shows I missed when I was working, I also
watch a lot of C-Span. So I’m pretty current on politics. And I know who in this family
belongs to which party, but we don’t want to go there right now.
I didn’t expect to outlive my sons, so when Floyd Jr. suddenly died last fall, it was a
shock. He had been in some ill health but his spirits had been good when we last visited.
I’m slowing down a little. I didn’t get out into the garden this past year, and I recently
decided I’m not going to do any trips anymore. Like to Molalla or Stayton or Fossil. I’ll
still get to RiteAid or Walmart when I need to, and Rod and I still get out to the DQ for
their $5 special every once in a while. My feet feel asleep a lot of the time, and my
hearing aids don’t seem to work as well as they once did. But what should I expect? The
rest of me is awake, and besides, there’s some stuff I don’t want to hear anyway. And
hey, when you’re 100, you gotta work at this a little anyway. Right?
Finis
_25
_26
Appendix
Editor’s note: what follows are several reflections Doris wrote in reponse to requests for
reflections from a niece or nephew.
My Dad—Benjamin Vernaldo Blair
Born November 27, 1884 — Died January 28, 1971
[2002]
I remember many things about my Dad, but most of all I remember his hands.
Dad’s strong hands could always be counted on to protect and provide for his family,
whatever the need might be. They held tight the rope tied to the cellar door, shutting out
the fury of summer storms, as our family huddled safely below. His were the hands that
gripped the reins, guiding the horses that pulled the plow through fields from sunup to
sundown. For days at a time Dad’s hands were not separated from the handles of hoes or
shovels, except when he ate or slept. Blisters came and went unnoticed on hands that
never quit a job until it was finished. His hands milked cows and put milk and butter on
our table throughout. Rolled snow drifts in giant balls and dropped them in the tanks for
livestock to drink. He fixed tools that were broken and made cars run and fixed farm
equipment and children’s toys that were thought beyond repair.
Those strong capable hands could also be unbelievably gentle. They wiped the teary
eyes, runny noses and hoisted a weary one to his shoulder for a ride home from the fields.
His hands made swings and wagons and wagons and soaring kites from whatever
material he could find. By flickering light of kerosene lamps, he untiringly whittled tops
and crawl toys from empty spools and doll furniture from discarded apple crates. He
unsnapped his worn wallet to dole out nickels occasionally for soda pop, popcorn, ice
cream cones, or Saturday afternoon at the movies.
I think I can safely say that no hands worked harder than my Dad’s. Made a good living
for us through the Great Depression, kept us kids in a straight line and were always there
to pick us up when we fell. Approving pat on the back by one of those hands said it all.
All that was needed. – What is love.
Before he died he had ultrasound on his arthritic hands so he could bend his fingers to
grip a pen. What a good example he was for us..
_27
My Mother—Myrtle Brown Blair
Born March 3, 1884; Died Oct 29, 1980
[2007]
I really can’t put into words that would give my mother credit enough. She was one of
God’s ‘angels’ in the flesh –a saint. Her thoughts were always about how she could help
someone. Raising seven children all in good health until later years. She would sing
while she cooked and I will say she knew how to cook. Remembering all the good things
she made, from home-made bread to home-made noodles, cinnamon rolls and cookies.
She was small of stature and petite and a real pretty lady. I think the faith she had carried
her through the rough spots. And I am glad she gave us the teachings of the Bible.
In the late years of her life she was the bravest person I’ve known. That’s when I really
knew my mother. Practically blind from cataracts that doctors would not touch because
she was a diabetic, she got around good. She could see some but no TV or reading or
sewing. When I would get her out of the bathtub and have her hair washed and fixed, she
would always ask if I had time to play the favorite hymns on the piano. She’d sit in her
rocker and either hum the tune or say words from memory. She also had a mouth harp
and she knew how to play. And that’s my greatest memory of her, sitting there playing
“Sweet Hour of Prayer” or “Just as I Am.” And I know she’s with Jesus, and I see her
again.
She showed her love in so many ways. Never having much money for nice clothes, she
always looked neat and clean in what she had. Always wore a little hat and white gloves
to church. Very timid and reserved.
Her family was her joy in life. The ways she showed her love was always giving and not
receiving.
Mother taught Sunday School class for years. It was with children 5 yrs and younger,
and she would make treats to take to the kids. This is one thing she taught me. Faith
makes it wholly possible to quietly endure the violent world around us, for in God we are
secure. And I thank him over and over for giving me my “Mom” who I miss very much.
_28
How I remember my sister Betty
[2013]
In so many ways:
• a loving, compassionate sister
• always helping someone, especially family
• she loved her grandchildren so much and wa