He was the only local boy to fight in Italy during World War One. Leo Paul Werne was a younger brother of Gary’s grandpa George. Born on January 25, 1891, he was 25 when the call came to sign up for the draft. Leo prepared to go “over there.” As part of the American Expeditionary Forces, Private Werne was a “Doughboy.” According to a front-page article in The Ferdinand News on May 23, 1919, Leo had quite an adventure: Returns…
On the sad anniversary of Sandy Hook and the day after the Brown University shooting, I’ll just leave this here: “AMERICAN GOTHIC – Nineteen-Sixties” ©1971 Joan Vayo. All rights reserved. Binoculars photo courtesy Alan Levine. Please subscribe here and we’ll send an email notice with each new story:
We all were prone to red cheeks in the wintertime. Even inside the house: One teacher in junior high loudly proclaimed I looked like one of the Campbell Kids when I arrived at school, winded, after bicycling to school. That last hill was long and steep. Had I not been still out of breath, I’d have sassed the bum. Mom loved the reds of winter, and wrote this poem a quarter century ago. Winter Red Clap for colorholly winterberrycome caps…
Farmer Gary‘s great-grandfather Anton Mehling was born on October 2, 1862. To be completely honest, my interest in Anton started with his wife. His second wife. And that incredible hat: They married on April 8, 1913. Anton had been a widower for three years; Minnie had lost her husband in 1912. Minnie’s maiden name was Philomena Pfaff (according to Gary, the first “f” is silent). She married Fred Tillman, who was born in Prussia but grew up in southern Indiana,…
Leftovers are the best part of Thanksgiving Dinner, right? Hope yours was grand! Book 1: The Loved One by Evelyn Waugh This book is downright nutty. Apparently the British author was not impressed with America as a whole and Hollywood in particular. It seems his novel Brideshead Revisited was to be made into a film and his presense was requested for negotiations. The best part of the trip, though, was Waugh’s visit to Forest Lawn cemetery. That passive-aggressive (and dare-I-say…
As promised in this earlier story about Grandpa Cassidy’s sister Ethel, here is the story of Anna. Not their mother, Anna Reilly Cassidy, but a generation later. Anna, a helper and friend who would become a treasured family member. Ethel’s younger daughter, Jean Hungerford Sutherland, wrote down a series of memories a few years before her own passing in 2016. And here is the story of her third parent: She was always there, a member of the family before either…
When I came across this story in Mom’s archives, I thought of Dad, and wondered if there were any photos of him that might be appropriate to use for illustrations. Then I saw the dedication, and knew it was meant to be. To Hapaffectionately and accuratelyknown in the family as“The Midnight Mouse” And here’s that mouse’s tale: The Pie Sitter There was a man once hired to be a pie sitter. This man was a poor choice because he had…
It’s been sitting on a shelf in our house’s only walk-in closet. Ah, priorities. Family archives are far more important than clothes and shoes. When Gary and I packed up Mom and Dad’s kitchen in 2021, most of the cookbooks went to Becky, Dave’s culinary daughter supreme. But one cookbook I remembered well from childhood. It was in a large ziploc bag, as the cover was no longer attached. That one, I took home. Dad had filled me in that…
Have you been following the rediscovery of our Kelly family roots in County Antrim, Northern Ireland? It started with a visit Mom‘s cousin Betsy made to their grandmother’s Irish homestead in 1958. She kept good notes, some of which I used in this story about the Kelly clan. The twist to the tale was Dad’s father painted a portrait of the cottage in 1972. He used a photo from that trip. I always loved that painting, knowing it married Dad’s…
She started at midnight one night 50 years ago. A twig poem. Two days later, Mom finished her series of twigs: Is “twig” a type of poem, just three or four lines long? I’ve looked online (deliberately ignoring that pesky AI) but haven’t found a twig genre. Sonnets and limericks and haiku, but not a mention of twigs. If anyone knows, please post a comment to educate me. Oh, and include which of Mom’s twigs is your favorite and I’ll…