This is a tough one. Remember Galen Veayo? He was a Purple Heart recipient in World War II for injuries suffered in the Battle of the Bulge. Galen and Dad were second cousins. Galen had a twin sister, Oleavia. They were born in Ontario in 1920 and grew up in Bangor, Maine. Oleavia graduated from high school in 1939. Although she did not have a senior picture (nor did Galen), this yearbook blurb gives us some insight: Oleavia Veayo is…
Farmer Gary has always been crazy about his dad’s uncle Rob Wigger. Rob was a lovable character. He’d grown up on a farm near where we live today, so his visits were always full of questions for Gary. To me, it felt like a pop quiz. Gary passed with flying colors each time. We’ve been digging around all week looking for a photo or two of Rob, and what we have is a beautiful family portrait, probably taken in 1918….
It was always a treat to visit Grandma and Grandpa Cassidy when we were growing up in the 1960s. The drive to New Haven, Connecticut, took about 2.5 hours. Sometimes we’d stop at a breakfast diner and Dad would cough up a few nickels for the booth’s jukebox so we could play a song or two. Most often it would be On Top of Spaghetti, that old classic. It was always a thrill when Dad started pointing, “There it is…
Last night, Gary and I pulled out a box of photos. They came from his godmother’s house. Stella’s been gone three years, and her husband, Arch, even longer. Arch took family genealogy seriously. We’ve got a pile of his pre-computer research; he traced every line in both sides of their family carefully. This photo caught my attention: This is Mollie Johnston, Arch’s great-aunt. From everything I can find, Mollie was not a scandalous woman. She was born in 1878 in…
This one hurts. My first view of Dolly Parton was on a TV commercial in the 1960s. She and Porter Wagoner were pitching Breeze detergent. Free towels – collect ’em all – especially the one that was huckleberry blue. Living in New England, I’d never heard an accent like that before. It made me laugh. Huckleberry blue. And just to prove that everything is available online, here’s Miss Dolly: Much will be said in the coming days about Dolly Parton….
My brother Dave continues to delve into his storage box of childhood memories. Some are delightful, others bring a tear. This one makes me cringe. It’s a poem from the literary annual our high school produced each spring. Either I didn’t give it a title or there wasn’t room for one … so let’s call it “The Terrible Teens.” This is from 1975, my junior year. P.S. I really couldn’t care less about “our team” winning or losing. But it…
It’s weird to think that the town where I got my first driver’s license is now the nation’s top implementer of roundabouts. There’s one of those roundabouts under construction about a dozen miles north of us, causing all sorts of delays. Traffic jams all summer long (one driver fell asleep at the wheel waiting to be flagged through). Back when I was ready for my license, we lived in Carmel, Indiana. No roundabouts then; plenty now. Back in 1974, it…
Farmer Gary and I recently attended what is now, I believe, an annual reunion of cousins on his mom’s side. The two of us gave presentations to the group of 40 or so (mostly) retirees. And no, for some reason I didn’t take photos. But there will be a video. Here’s last year’s: The cousins are the offspring of Mike and Rose Mehling’s progeny. The photo below is from 1924, so Gary’s mom isn’t in it. Rita was born in…
Farmer Gary has been buying and cooking sweet corn like mad these last few weeks of the season. He’s also been complaining about the prices – ranging from four ears for a dollar to a dollar a piece! His shucking and cooking of corn on the cob reminded me of childhood summers. And rhubarb. Mom used to stew it and then top a scoop of vanilla ice cream with it. There was something else she’d make with it, but I…
Grandma Cassidy was one heck of a letter-writer. We may have lived 1,000 miles away from her New Haven kitchen, but she kept us up to date. (Long-distance phone calls were ridiculously expensive back then.) Grandma wrote pages upon pages to my brother Dave in April of 1977. He was a sophomore at Indiana University and, thankfully, saved her correspondence. This letter in particular tells the story of the break-in at her siblings’ house in Orange, Connecticut. Moment by dramatic…