Vee I couldn't keep the tears from my voice when I talked with her but I did try. And one of her last parting bit of advise to me (she's always given me sage advice) was to suggest I make up with a particular local person that I've been having great difficulty getting along with recently. That's Cora. I promised her I'd try. How kind and nice of you both. As we go on in life it becomes more apparent to me to make arrangements for passing. For ourselves, our older friends and the younger also. At this point in my life I want only to leave my family and friends in good health and being. The older and the younger. Bob AZ

Dear Folks, Today I've been in the process of trying to get Cora's future address in Tennessee; also her future phone number and at least somebody's email address down there so that Youngstown and the Town of Porter, et al, can continue to keep in touch with her and let her know that we're still thinking about her and miss her. AND especially to keep her informed as to the latest happenings around here! :-) Anna, thanks for your caring message. vee ----- Original Message ----- From: "Anna/Del Bristol" <[email protected]> To: "Vee L. Housman" <[email protected]>; <[email protected]> Sent: Sunday, November 23, 2003 9:29 AM Subject: Re: [FOLKS] A phone call from Cora > Thanks for letting us know,Vee, that Cora is moving on with her family. I > am most grateful to them for taking care of her. Might we send her cards in > Tennessee to boost her spirits -- and ours? > Anna

Thanks for letting us know,Vee, that Cora is moving on with her family. I am most grateful to them for taking care of her. Might we send her cards in Tennessee to boost her spirits -- and ours? Anna ----- Original Message ----- From: "Vee L. Housman" <[email protected]> To: <[email protected]> Sent: Saturday, November 22, 2003 11:24 PM Subject: [FOLKS] A phone call from Cora > Dear Folks, > > This afternoon I received a phone call from Cora Gushee our over-100-year-old previous Town of Porter Historian. I was pleased to hear from her as I always am--she calls me frequently. However, this time she called to say "Goodbye" to me. > > I've known that her health has been going downhill most recently and that her eyesight has deteriorated to a great degree. Chances are she has recently suffered mini-strokes and well, to tell you the truth, her health is failing. > > She told me that her nephew Richie and his wife would be arriving tomorrow to pack her things into their car and drive her down to Tennessee to move in with their family. I let her know that I was sincerely pleased that she had made such a wise decision to be with her family at this time in her life but at the same time I also knew what her move down there means to all of us up here. Considering the state of her health, it means that we will never see her again. > > I couldn't keep the tears from my voice when I talked with her but I did try. And one of her last parting bit of advise to me (she's always given me sage advice) was to suggest I make up with a particular local person that I've been having great difficulty getting along with recently. That's Cora. I promised her I'd try. > > And then we said our final "Goodbye." > > vee > > > > > >

Dear Folks, This afternoon I received a phone call from Cora Gushee our over-100-year-old previous Town of Porter Historian. I was pleased to hear from her as I always am--she calls me frequently. However, this time she called to say "Goodbye" to me. I've known that her health has been going downhill most recently and that her eyesight has deteriorated to a great degree. Chances are she has recently suffered mini-strokes and well, to tell you the truth, her health is failing. She told me that her nephew Richie and his wife would be arriving tomorrow to pack her things into their car and drive her down to Tennessee to move in with their family. I let her know that I was sincerely pleased that she had made such a wise decision to be with her family at this time in her life but at the same time I also knew what her move down there means to all of us up here. Considering the state of her health, it means that we will never see her again. I couldn't keep the tears from my voice when I talked with her but I did try. And one of her last parting bit of advise to me (she's always given me sage advice) was to suggest I make up with a particular local person that I've been having great difficulty getting along with recently. That's Cora. I promised her I'd try. And then we said our final "Goodbye." vee

I recall that a couple of years ago a Toledo barber visited the Soldiers and Sailors home in Sandusky, Ohio (it is quite beautiful architecture, by the way). But, he began collecting money to buy underwear for these men. He was so disgusted that they lacked this basic garment. That was one fund-raiser I wholeheartedly endorsed. What a guy, Anna ----- Original Message ----- From: "E. B. Keith" <[email protected]> To: <[email protected]> Sent: Thursday, November 20, 2003 10:18 AM Subject: [FOLKS] Re: Vee's Special Back Rubs!! > Dear Vee, > > Thank you for your look back at the harshness of war, and the suffering > that continued for years for many of the men and women who served > because of their injuries and war time memories. Thank you also for > using your special brand of humor, (Of note, at the Veteran's Hospital, > the men anxiously waited for a back rub from me!) to break the harsh > reality of it all. The image of those men just waiting for your back > rubs broke me up!! > > Ethel > Ontario, Canada > > > ______________________________X-Message: #3 > > Date: Wed, 19 Nov 2003 02:32:18 -0500 > > From: "Vee L. Housman" <[email protected]> > > To: [email protected] > > Message-ID: <[email protected]> > > Subject: [FOLKS] Making up my bed > > Content-Type: text/plain; > > charset="iso-8859-1" > > > > Dear Folks, > > > > I don't know what gets into me in the late hours of the evening but > > tonight I made up the bed and I have a story to tell you about it. > > > > I had stripped the bed in the afternoon, finally got the bed clothes > > washed and dried and then this evening I made up the bed again. But > > it wasn't long before it triggered a memory. It was when I was > > flapping the bottom of the sheet up over the bed to get a start on it. > > That's when the memories clicked in. > > > > I was back in early 1955 as a volunteer Red Cross Nurse's Aide who had > > just gone through the rigorous intense training that was required > > before any of us were ceremoniously "capped" in a moving ceremony. > > And as I was making up the bed this evening all of the memories of my > > training came back to me. > > > > In the first place, we were trained that when any of us had to change > > the linens on a patient's bed, for the most part the patient was still > > lying sick on the bed. Therefore, we were trained how to first roll > > the patient over on one side so that we could remove half of the > > present sheet and slip half of the fresh sheet under the patient. We > > would then roll the patient over to the other side and do the same > > thing. It wasn't the easiest job in the world, trust me. > > > > Not only that, as I was slipping the pillow cases into my bed pillows > > this evening, I recalled how we were instructed regarding pillows and > > pillow cases. In the first place, one does not tuck the pillow under > > one's chin and then slip the pillow case on to it. No indeedy! Not > > only was there the possibility that it might be the chance of germs on > > the pillow, but by touching the pillow with your personal body breath > > it might transmit germs to the patient but transmit germs to the > > nurse's aide! Therefore, you grasped the bottom of the pillow with > > your hand and carefully enclosed it with the pillow case. > > > > Regarding making up my bed this evening, I was also reminded about > > making hospital corners. I've done it for years. Not only because of > > my Nurse's Aide training but from my Navy days. Who knows but what my > > mother originally taught me. > > > > But with all of these memories flooding me at this time, I feel that I > > have to go on with my memories of being a Red Cross Volunteer Nurse's > > Aide. > > > > During my training in the old Memorial Hospital in Niagara Falls I > > performed all of the duties that the head nurse assigned to me without > > question. Note: the only duty that I could refuse to comply with was > > that of attending a patient who was expected to die at any minute. An > > attendant was required to be there at the moment of expiration in > > order to record the time of death. I had been trained for that job > > but at least I could refuse to be there. > > > > For a time I worked as a Red Cross Nurse's Aide volunteer at Memorial > > Hospital and then worked as a volunteer at the Veterans Hospital in > > Buffalo. During that time I willingly gave enemas, emptied nasty bed > > pans and gave expert back rubs to prevent bed sores. Of note, at the > > Veteran's Hospital, the men anxiously waited for a back rub from me! > > > > However, during that time in early 1955 I knew I was dealing with > > soldiers who had been recently shipped back to the States because of > > their war injuries. It was during the Korean War and there was a > > particular case that was difficult for me to handle. He was a patient > > on a gurney (obviously almost paralyzed) all by himself trying to make > > his way down the hallway. I noticed that it was difficult for him and > > I cheerfully asked him it he needed help. He snarled back at me and > > let me know that he didn't need ANYBODY'S help! At that point I > > realized the anguish of the soldiers in trying to deal with their > > injuries and trying to cope all by themselves with the thought of what > > the rest of their lives might be. > > > > Although I was a well trained and a dedicated Red Cross Nurse's Aide > > and even though I continued to serve at the Veterans Hospital in > > Memphis, I couldn't quite deal with the limit of their injuries. Not > > only that but I was trying my best to manage to get through the VERY > > difficult Navy electronics school that I was attending in Memphis. > > > > Such are the memories that can start up with just the simple act of > > making up my bed! > >

Dear Vee, Thank you for your look back at the harshness of war, and the suffering that continued for years for many of the men and women who served because of their injuries and war time memories. Thank you also for using your special brand of humor, (Of note, at the Veteran's Hospital, the men anxiously waited for a back rub from me!) to break the harsh reality of it all. The image of those men just waiting for your back rubs broke me up!! Ethel Ontario, Canada > ______________________________X-Message: #3 > Date: Wed, 19 Nov 2003 02:32:18 -0500 > From: "Vee L. Housman" <[email protected]> > To: [email protected] > Message-ID: <[email protected]> > Subject: [FOLKS] Making up my bed > Content-Type: text/plain; > charset="iso-8859-1" > > Dear Folks, > > I don't know what gets into me in the late hours of the evening but > tonight I made up the bed and I have a story to tell you about it. > > I had stripped the bed in the afternoon, finally got the bed clothes > washed and dried and then this evening I made up the bed again. But > it wasn't long before it triggered a memory. It was when I was > flapping the bottom of the sheet up over the bed to get a start on it. > That's when the memories clicked in. > > I was back in early 1955 as a volunteer Red Cross Nurse's Aide who had > just gone through the rigorous intense training that was required > before any of us were ceremoniously "capped" in a moving ceremony. > And as I was making up the bed this evening all of the memories of my > training came back to me. > > In the first place, we were trained that when any of us had to change > the linens on a patient's bed, for the most part the patient was still > lying sick on the bed. Therefore, we were trained how to first roll > the patient over on one side so that we could remove half of the > present sheet and slip half of the fresh sheet under the patient. We > would then roll the patient over to the other side and do the same > thing. It wasn't the easiest job in the world, trust me. > > Not only that, as I was slipping the pillow cases into my bed pillows > this evening, I recalled how we were instructed regarding pillows and > pillow cases. In the first place, one does not tuck the pillow under > one's chin and then slip the pillow case on to it. No indeedy! Not > only was there the possibility that it might be the chance of germs on > the pillow, but by touching the pillow with your personal body breath > it might transmit germs to the patient but transmit germs to the > nurse's aide! Therefore, you grasped the bottom of the pillow with > your hand and carefully enclosed it with the pillow case. > > Regarding making up my bed this evening, I was also reminded about > making hospital corners. I've done it for years. Not only because of > my Nurse's Aide training but from my Navy days. Who knows but what my > mother originally taught me. > > But with all of these memories flooding me at this time, I feel that I > have to go on with my memories of being a Red Cross Volunteer Nurse's > Aide. > > During my training in the old Memorial Hospital in Niagara Falls I > performed all of the duties that the head nurse assigned to me without > question. Note: the only duty that I could refuse to comply with was > that of attending a patient who was expected to die at any minute. An > attendant was required to be there at the moment of expiration in > order to record the time of death. I had been trained for that job > but at least I could refuse to be there. > > For a time I worked as a Red Cross Nurse's Aide volunteer at Memorial > Hospital and then worked as a volunteer at the Veterans Hospital in > Buffalo. During that time I willingly gave enemas, emptied nasty bed > pans and gave expert back rubs to prevent bed sores. Of note, at the > Veteran's Hospital, the men anxiously waited for a back rub from me! > > However, during that time in early 1955 I knew I was dealing with > soldiers who had been recently shipped back to the States because of > their war injuries. It was during the Korean War and there was a > particular case that was difficult for me to handle. He was a patient > on a gurney (obviously almost paralyzed) all by himself trying to make > his way down the hallway. I noticed that it was difficult for him and > I cheerfully asked him it he needed help. He snarled back at me and > let me know that he didn't need ANYBODY'S help! At that point I > realized the anguish of the soldiers in trying to deal with their > injuries and trying to cope all by themselves with the thought of what > the rest of their lives might be. > > Although I was a well trained and a dedicated Red Cross Nurse's Aide > and even though I continued to serve at the Veterans Hospital in > Memphis, I couldn't quite deal with the limit of their injuries. Not > only that but I was trying my best to manage to get through the VERY > difficult Navy electronics school that I was attending in Memphis. > > Such are the memories that can start up with just the simple act of > making up my bed!

Dear Folks, I don't know what gets into me in the late hours of the evening but tonight I made up the bed and I have a story to tell you about it. I had stripped the bed in the afternoon, finally got the bed clothes washed and dried and then this evening I made up the bed again. But it wasn't long before it triggered a memory. It was when I was flapping the bottom of the sheet up over the bed to get a start on it. That's when the memories clicked in. I was back in early 1955 as a volunteer Red Cross Nurse's Aide who had just gone through the rigorous intense training that was required before any of us were ceremoniously "capped" in a moving ceremony. And as I was making up the bed this evening all of the memories of my training came back to me. In the first place, we were trained that when any of us had to change the linens on a patient's bed, for the most part the patient was still lying sick on the bed. Therefore, we were trained how to first roll the patient over on one side so that we could remove half of the present sheet and slip half of the fresh sheet under the patient. We would then roll the patient over to the other side and do the same thing. It wasn't the easiest job in the world, trust me. Not only that, as I was slipping the pillow cases into my bed pillows this evening, I recalled how we were instructed regarding pillows and pillow cases. In the first place, one does not tuck the pillow under one's chin and then slip the pillow case on to it. No indeedy! Not only was there the possibility that it might be the chance of germs on the pillow, but by touching the pillow with your personal body breath it might transmit germs to the patient but transmit germs to the nurse's aide! Therefore, you grasped the bottom of the pillow with your hand and carefully enclosed it with the pillow case. Regarding making up my bed this evening, I was also reminded about making hospital corners. I've done it for years. Not only because of my Nurse's Aide training but from my Navy days. Who knows but what my mother originally taught me. But with all of these memories flooding me at this time, I feel that I have to go on with my memories of being a Red Cross Volunteer Nurse's Aide. During my training in the old Memorial Hospital in Niagara Falls I performed all of the duties that the head nurse assigned to me without question. Note: the only duty that I could refuse to comply with was that of attending a patient who was expected to die at any minute. An attendant was required to be there at the moment of expiration in order to record the time of death. I had been trained for that job but at least I could refuse to be there. For a time I worked as a Red Cross Nurse's Aide volunteer at Memorial Hospital and then worked as a volunteer at the Veterans Hospital in Buffalo. During that time I willingly gave enemas, emptied nasty bed pans and gave expert back rubs to prevent bed sores. Of note, at the Veteran's Hospital, the men anxiously waited for a back rub from me! However, during that time in early 1955 I knew I was dealing with soldiers who had been recently shipped back to the States because of their war injuries. It was during the Korean War and there was a particular case that was difficult for me to handle. He was a patient on a gurney (obviously almost paralyzed) all by himself trying to make his way down the hallway. I noticed that it was difficult for him and I cheerfully asked him it he needed help. He snarled back at me and let me know that he didn't need ANYBODY'S help! At that point I realized the anguish of the soldiers in trying to deal with their injuries and trying to cope all by themselves with the thought of what the rest of their lives might be. Although I was a well trained and a dedicated Red Cross Nurse's Aide and even though I continued to serve at the Veterans Hospital in Memphis, I couldn't quite deal with the limit of their injuries. Not only that but I was trying my best to manage to get through the VERY difficult Navy electronics school that I was attending in Memphis. Such are the memories that can start up with just the simple act of making up my bed!

Dear Folks, After glowing with my success in actually being able to record/burn my book "To Paradise and Back Again" on to a CD, I looked around me and wanted to continue to record my other books/stories to CDs. Not for any sort of profit, but just to get them recorded on to a more up-to-date media to preserve them. When I set my mind to record the little book I wrote, "Pilgrimage to Our Roots," the exciting genealogy story of the trip my sister Norma and I made to Germany in 1983 when we traced our Housman/Haussmann family history back to the mid 1400s, I couldn't find it anywhere on my hard drive nor on any floppy disk that I have. I was in a state of panic until I managed to dig out the original printout of it on paper. It was what I had typed in my computer in 1987 and printed out at the time. Now I had two choices. Either try my OCR program in hopes of scanning the pages into words or retyping the whole nine yards. Thank goodness the original printout was scannable for my OCR program to read it. BTW, my program is OmniPage Pro version 9.0 by CAERE. It looks like it has been updated to version 12.0 by now. Nonetheless my version is still awesome. Obviously, I chose the OCR route first and it actually worked with the hard copies I had. Thank goodness for printing out stories in good quality print (I was using my dot-matrix printer at the time!). Granted, I've spent hours changing the font, paragraphing, margins and all of that sort of jazz but I'm down to the last page or two of scanning the story. I know that eventually it will be properly stored off my computer and on to a CD. But the more I work with the story the more I realize that I can now also insert scanned photographs into the story to give a better picture of our adventure. And that's what I'm working on right now. It will be the first time that the story will have pictures to go along with it. The bottom line to all of you is this. If you have written ANYTHING that's worth saving, first print it out with good quality print. Go ahead and store it on your hard drive or on floppies for the time being. But look ahead to the time when your computer might crash (gasp!) or when your floppies will become outdated. But in any event, you'll still have your hard copy that with a good OCR program will be able to read and your story will still be preserved in electronic form to share with your family. vee

Dear Anna, Regarding women wearing minks with huge rhinestone pins on them, you were close but no cigar, at least not in the night clubs that I frequented in San Francisco. However, fur stoles were the fashion there in the 1950s and on into the ???s. In fact the next year (1958) I splurged and bought one of my very own (NOT mink) just to wear to The City (San Francisco). You see, back in those days it was almost mandatory that any women shopping or dining in San Francisco be properly attired. That meant wearing a dress, especially a hat and most importantly, gloves. To be seen otherwise would be an afront to the citizens, the sales clerks and the waiters! Regarding fur stoles, frankly they were almost a necessity in The City in the evening. By then the fog had rolled in over the Golden Gate Bridge and you needed something fashionable to keep out the chill. So you see, even enlisted women in the Navy during those times knew how to dress properly for the occasion. Whether it be proper dress for a shopping or dining trip to San Francisco or whether it be in starched and pressed denim dungarees, shirt and uniform hat at early morning muster. DAMN, they were the good old days!! vee ----- Original Message ----- From: "Anna/Del Bristol" <[email protected]> To: "Vee L. Housman" <[email protected]>; <[email protected]> Sent: Tuesday, November 18, 2003 4:06 PM Subject: Re: [FOLKS] Navy, Me and Peggy and San Francisco > What an evening! Were women wearing minks with huge rhinestone pins on > them? I think they are just smashing to see. > > What an elegant, sophisticated evening Peggy shared with you, Vee. I am so > impressed. > Anna >

What an evening! Were women wearing minks with huge rhinestone pins on them? I think they are just smashing to see. What an elegant, sophisticated evening Peggy shared with you, Vee. I am so impressed. Anna ----- Original Message ----- From: "Vee L. Housman" <[email protected]> To: <[email protected]> Sent: Tuesday, November 18, 2003 12:34 AM Subject: [FOLKS] Navy, Me and Peggy and San Francisco > Dear Folks, > > It's at this time of night after washing the dishes that more of my memories come flooding back to me. This evening I clearly remembered an exciting evening in San Francisco in the 1950s. > > This was the situation back at that time. I was on active duty in the Navy as a Station Keeper at Naval Air Station Oakland, CA, and I worked in my rate as TD (TRADEVMAN--Training Devices Man), up in the Link Shack located in the hangar, maintaining our Link Trainers (flight simulators) and training pilots in honing their skills in the art of Instrument Flight. > > Every summer our Naval Reserve base was inundated with inactive Naval Reservists on their two weeks' "Cruise" (Active Duty for Training). Although the Link Shack wasn't inundated with Reserve TDs to train we did have one or two. Well around 1956 or 57, Chief Petty Officer TD Peggy Davis showed up. She was a bit older than I (I was around 25 or so at the time) and she lived in Oren, Utah. I doubt that she was a practicing Mormon but it was obvious that she lived in a town that was predominately Mormon. > > Peggy and I got to talking during her active duty at NAS Oakland and when the weekend came around she asked me if I wanted to go on liberty with her in San Francisco. She said that she had two tickets for the live on-stage production of "My Fair Lady." Oh WOW!! I was familiar with the music of "My Fair Lady" but to actually see the whole play was sooo exciting! > > Well, come that evening, Peggy drove the two of us into San Francisco and because it was apparent that she was very familiar with the city, she drove right up to the auditorium, circled around the vicinity and miraculously found a parking spot not all that far away. > > Oh how thrilling it was to watch "My Fair Lady" in real time! I swear the most delightful moment was when the father sang "With a Little Bit of Luck" and danced to it with his bandy legs. > > We were both in good spirits afterwards as we walked toward where Peggy had parked her car. But all of a sudden Peggy started running and screaming and flailing her arms in that direction when she saw a tow truck hooking up her car to tow it away!! The tow truck driver stopped what he was doing and believe it or not, Peggy talked him out of it. Neither of us had noticed that she had parked in a tow-away zone and who knows but it was because of her Utah license plates that she got away with it. > > It was still early in the evening and it was time for dinner. Peggy knew THE restaurant. It was the Auberge, a French restaurant that was almost hidden from view even though it was right along the sidewalk. We walked in and I noticed that the dining room was very narrow with simple tables along the walls. (Peggy later told me that the layout was typically French). When the Maitre De (sp?) approached us, Peggy spoke to him in French and he seemed delighted to seat us at a table. > > We were handed menus which were in French but Peggy translated the selection and let me know what our choices were. I made my choice, I told Peggy and when a waiter came back to take our order, Peggy told him what we wanted. In French, of course! > > We were first(?) served a very small salad the likes of which I never had. It was tasty and beautifully displayed . Peggy told me it was the French way--just a petite salad. We were then served our entree which were presented and served to perfection. They too were magnificent. In fact the entire dinner was exquisite! > > All the while we were never bothered by a waiter coming to our table to ask us if everything was to our satisfaction. However, all that it took was just a simple wave of the hand and the waiter appeared immediately. No doubt he continued to be in the vicinity but never hovered. Obviously it was the French way. > > During our conversation, I pressed Peggy to explain to me how a girl from Orem, Utah, managed to be so fluent in French. And oh, what a story she told me! She had served in the Navy during World War II and when she was discharged she took advantage of the GI education bill, applied and was accepted by the Sorbonne (sp?) in Paris. While she studied there she and another girl spent some time off by riding their bicycles all over the French countryside. They would stop at farm houses along the way or anywhere at all where they could spend the night and be fed. She told me that they had no fear being on their own that way and It was obvious that she delighted in sharing her memories with me. > > But the evening continued. Peggy knew just where we should go next which was within walking distance of the restaurant. It was the Bocce Ball night club on Broadway in San Francisco. No it wasn't a sleazy club with topless dancers or anything of the sort. When we walked into the club and were seated at a very small table, I shortly realized that it was the night club of my dreams. In spite of it's name, it was devoted to operatic arias sung by the best professionals in San Francisco. At one point one of the customers requested a particular aria. The M.C. told the audience the background of the scene in the opera. A man's sweetheart was in prison and was to be executed the next morning. He was outside the prison and he sang his heart out to her. > > However, the night club had really set the scene. We were all prepared to enjoy the aria but I was surprised when I heard the faint aria starting from way back in the club. It was so faint but as he came closer and closer through the audience it got louder and louder and when he finally ended it up on the stage I was so emotional I cried. Now is that a special night club or what? > > But that wasn't the end of the evening, oh no! Peggy and I strolled down Broadway until we found another night club that interested us. We went in, ordered our drinks, and sat there being transformed by the music of Cal Tjader on the vibraphone and the wonderful jazz he and his band were playing. In the 1960s you might have said that it was "Far out!". > > It was the perfect evening in San Francisco back in the 1950s. Now years later not only is Peggy gone but so is Cal Tjader (1925-1982). But it was an evening I won't forget. > > I'm so glad I was inspired to eventually write the story down this evening. > vee > > > > > > > > > > > > Nay > >

Oh Vee, it sounded so wonderful as you went from one "perfect" happening to the next. I found myself reacting to your joy at experiencing it all. After I read it, I realized I let out a big breath of air and knew I was vicariously going thru the excitment with you! Thanks for sharing such a happy night! Jo in Michigan ----- Original Message ----- From: "Vee L. Housman" <[email protected]> To: <[email protected]> Sent: Tuesday, November 18, 2003 1:34 AM Subject: [FOLKS] Navy, Me and Peggy and San Francisco > Dear Folks, > > It's at this time of night after washing the dishes that more of my memories come flooding back to me. This evening I clearly remembered an exciting evening in San Francisco in the 1950s. > > This was the situation back at that time. I was on active duty in the Navy as a Station Keeper at Naval Air Station Oakland, CA, and I worked in my rate as TD (TRADEVMAN--Training Devices Man), up in the Link Shack located in the hangar, maintaining our Link Trainers (flight simulators) and training pilots in honing their skills in the art of Instrument Flight. > > Every summer our Naval Reserve base was inundated with inactive Naval Reservists on their two weeks' "Cruise" (Active Duty for Training). Although the Link Shack wasn't inundated with Reserve TDs to train we did have one or two. Well around 1956 or 57, Chief Petty Officer TD Peggy Davis showed up. She was a bit older than I (I was around 25 or so at the time) and she lived in Oren, Utah. I doubt that she was a practicing Mormon but it was obvious that she lived in a town that was predominately Mormon. > > Peggy and I got to talking during her active duty at NAS Oakland and when the weekend came around she asked me if I wanted to go on liberty with her in San Francisco. She said that she had two tickets for the live on-stage production of "My Fair Lady." Oh WOW!! I was familiar with the music of "My Fair Lady" but to actually see the whole play was sooo exciting! > > Well, come that evening, Peggy drove the two of us into San Francisco and because it was apparent that she was very familiar with the city, she drove right up to the auditorium, circled around the vicinity and miraculously found a parking spot not all that far away. > > Oh how thrilling it was to watch "My Fair Lady" in real time! I swear the most delightful moment was when the father sang "With a Little Bit of Luck" and danced to it with his bandy legs. > > We were both in good spirits afterwards as we walked toward where Peggy had parked her car. But all of a sudden Peggy started running and screaming and flailing her arms in that direction when she saw a tow truck hooking up her car to tow it away!! The tow truck driver stopped what he was doing and believe it or not, Peggy talked him out of it. Neither of us had noticed that she had parked in a tow-away zone and who knows but it was because of her Utah license plates that she got away with it. > > It was still early in the evening and it was time for dinner. Peggy knew THE restaurant. It was the Auberge, a French restaurant that was almost hidden from view even though it was right along the sidewalk. We walked in and I noticed that the dining room was very narrow with simple tables along the walls. (Peggy later told me that the layout was typically French). When the Maitre De (sp?) approached us, Peggy spoke to him in French and he seemed delighted to seat us at a table. > > We were handed menus which were in French but Peggy translated the selection and let me know what our choices were. I made my choice, I told Peggy and when a waiter came back to take our order, Peggy told him what we wanted. In French, of course! > > We were first(?) served a very small salad the likes of which I never had. It was tasty and beautifully displayed . Peggy told me it was the French way--just a petite salad. We were then served our entree which were presented and served to perfection. They too were magnificent. In fact the entire dinner was exquisite! > > All the while we were never bothered by a waiter coming to our table to ask us if everything was to our satisfaction. However, all that it took was just a simple wave of the hand and the waiter appeared immediately. No doubt he continued to be in the vicinity but never hovered. Obviously it was the French way. > > During our conversation, I pressed Peggy to explain to me how a girl from Orem, Utah, managed to be so fluent in French. And oh, what a story she told me! She had served in the Navy during World War II and when she was discharged she took advantage of the GI education bill, applied and was accepted by the Sorbonne (sp?) in Paris. While she studied there she and another girl spent some time off by riding their bicycles all over the French countryside. They would stop at farm houses along the way or anywhere at all where they could spend the night and be fed. She told me that they had no fear being on their own that way and It was obvious that she delighted in sharing her memories with me. > > But the evening continued. Peggy knew just where we should go next which was within walking distance of the restaurant. It was the Bocce Ball night club on Broadway in San Francisco. No it wasn't a sleazy club with topless dancers or anything of the sort. When we walked into the club and were seated at a very small table, I shortly realized that it was the night club of my dreams. In spite of it's name, it was devoted to operatic arias sung by the best professionals in San Francisco. At one point one of the customers requested a particular aria. The M.C. told the audience the background of the scene in the opera. A man's sweetheart was in prison and was to be executed the next morning. He was outside the prison and he sang his heart out to her. > > However, the night club had really set the scene. We were all prepared to enjoy the aria but I was surprised when I heard the faint aria starting from way back in the club. It was so faint but as he came closer and closer through the audience it got louder and louder and when he finally ended it up on the stage I was so emotional I cried. Now is that a special night club or what? > > But that wasn't the end of the evening, oh no! Peggy and I strolled down Broadway until we found another night club that interested us. We went in, ordered our drinks, and sat there being transformed by the music of Cal Tjader on the vibraphone and the wonderful jazz he and his band were playing. In the 1960s you might have said that it was "Far out!". > > It was the perfect evening in San Francisco back in the 1950s. Now years later not only is Peggy gone but so is Cal Tjader (1925-1982). But it was an evening I won't forget. > > I'm so glad I was inspired to eventually write the story down this evening. > vee > > > > > > > > > > > > Nay >

Dear Folks, It's at this time of night after washing the dishes that more of my memories come flooding back to me. This evening I clearly remembered an exciting evening in San Francisco in the 1950s. This was the situation back at that time. I was on active duty in the Navy as a Station Keeper at Naval Air Station Oakland, CA, and I worked in my rate as TD (TRADEVMAN--Training Devices Man), up in the Link Shack located in the hangar, maintaining our Link Trainers (flight simulators) and training pilots in honing their skills in the art of Instrument Flight. Every summer our Naval Reserve base was inundated with inactive Naval Reservists on their two weeks' "Cruise" (Active Duty for Training). Although the Link Shack wasn't inundated with Reserve TDs to train we did have one or two. Well around 1956 or 57, Chief Petty Officer TD Peggy Davis showed up. She was a bit older than I (I was around 25 or so at the time) and she lived in Oren, Utah. I doubt that she was a practicing Mormon but it was obvious that she lived in a town that was predominately Mormon. Peggy and I got to talking during her active duty at NAS Oakland and when the weekend came around she asked me if I wanted to go on liberty with her in San Francisco. She said that she had two tickets for the live on-stage production of "My Fair Lady." Oh WOW!! I was familiar with the music of "My Fair Lady" but to actually see the whole play was sooo exciting! Well, come that evening, Peggy drove the two of us into San Francisco and because it was apparent that she was very familiar with the city, she drove right up to the auditorium, circled around the vicinity and miraculously found a parking spot not all that far away. Oh how thrilling it was to watch "My Fair Lady" in real time! I swear the most delightful moment was when the father sang "With a Little Bit of Luck" and danced to it with his bandy legs. We were both in good spirits afterwards as we walked toward where Peggy had parked her car. But all of a sudden Peggy started running and screaming and flailing her arms in that direction when she saw a tow truck hooking up her car to tow it away!! The tow truck driver stopped what he was doing and believe it or not, Peggy talked him out of it. Neither of us had noticed that she had parked in a tow-away zone and who knows but it was because of her Utah license plates that she got away with it. It was still early in the evening and it was time for dinner. Peggy knew THE restaurant. It was the Auberge, a French restaurant that was almost hidden from view even though it was right along the sidewalk. We walked in and I noticed that the dining room was very narrow with simple tables along the walls. (Peggy later told me that the layout was typically French). When the Maitre De (sp?) approached us, Peggy spoke to him in French and he seemed delighted to seat us at a table. We were handed menus which were in French but Peggy translated the selection and let me know what our choices were. I made my choice, I told Peggy and when a waiter came back to take our order, Peggy told him what we wanted. In French, of course! We were first(?) served a very small salad the likes of which I never had. It was tasty and beautifully displayed . Peggy told me it was the French way--just a petite salad. We were then served our entree which were presented and served to perfection. They too were magnificent. In fact the entire dinner was exquisite! All the while we were never bothered by a waiter coming to our table to ask us if everything was to our satisfaction. However, all that it took was just a simple wave of the hand and the waiter appeared immediately. No doubt he continued to be in the vicinity but never hovered. Obviously it was the French way. During our conversation, I pressed Peggy to explain to me how a girl from Orem, Utah, managed to be so fluent in French. And oh, what a story she told me! She had served in the Navy during World War II and when she was discharged she took advantage of the GI education bill, applied and was accepted by the Sorbonne (sp?) in Paris. While she studied there she and another girl spent some time off by riding their bicycles all over the French countryside. They would stop at farm houses along the way or anywhere at all where they could spend the night and be fed. She told me that they had no fear being on their own that way and It was obvious that she delighted in sharing her memories with me. But the evening continued. Peggy knew just where we should go next which was within walking distance of the restaurant. It was the Bocce Ball night club on Broadway in San Francisco. No it wasn't a sleazy club with topless dancers or anything of the sort. When we walked into the club and were seated at a very small table, I shortly realized that it was the night club of my dreams. In spite of it's name, it was devoted to operatic arias sung by the best professionals in San Francisco. At one point one of the customers requested a particular aria. The M.C. told the audience the background of the scene in the opera. A man's sweetheart was in prison and was to be executed the next morning. He was outside the prison and he sang his heart out to her. However, the night club had really set the scene. We were all prepared to enjoy the aria but I was surprised when I heard the faint aria starting from way back in the club. It was so faint but as he came closer and closer through the audience it got louder and louder and when he finally ended it up on the stage I was so emotional I cried. Now is that a special night club or what? But that wasn't the end of the evening, oh no! Peggy and I strolled down Broadway until we found another night club that interested us. We went in, ordered our drinks, and sat there being transformed by the music of Cal Tjader on the vibraphone and the wonderful jazz he and his band were playing. In the 1960s you might have said that it was "Far out!". It was the perfect evening in San Francisco back in the 1950s. Now years later not only is Peggy gone but so is Cal Tjader (1925-1982). But it was an evening I won't forget. I'm so glad I was inspired to eventually write the story down this evening. vee Nay

Ethel wrote the following: ----- Original Message ----- From: "E. B. Keith" <[email protected]> To: <[email protected]> Sent: Wednesday, December 31, 1969 10:19 PM Subject: [FOLKS] Re: NYNIAGAR-FOLKS-D Digest V03 #207 > Dear Vee, > > I think many of us folks believed that when the power went off it might > be out for some time. I'll tell you that the thought of the 24 hour > blackout here in Ontario this past summer still makes me shudder and > think twice when the lights start to flicker!! > > You are such a resourceful gal, a little power outage didn't set you > back much at all! > > Another great story!! > > Ethel > (no wood stove, no gas stove, just plain old electricity) For those of you who don't know Ethel, when she mentioned living in Ontario, she didn't mean Ontario County, NY, she meant Oshawa, Ontario, Canada. She gives our list a nice international flavor, don't you agree? :-) vee

----- Original Message ----- From: <[email protected]> To: <[email protected]> Sent: Friday, November 14, 2003 9:52 PM Subject: [FOLKS] Re: NYNIAGAR-FOLKS-D Digest V03 #207 > Vee >> What was your girlfriends name? I still remember some family names and have > forgotten more of them than I remember. We were the last block before the tracks Bob, there MAY have been three of my girlfriends living on Maple Ave. in the 1940s. One may have been Jean Durphy, one may have been Diane Dowe and the other may have been Charmaine Tevens. Oh my goodness the stories I could tell you about me and the three of them. But first I would have to check what I wrote about us in my diary back then! However, to my knowledge only Jean is still alive. vee

Vee If nothing else undoubtably I walked past your house on Maple Avenue on my way to more than one girlfriend's house on Maple Ave. Those were the days, my friend! What was your girlfriends name? I still remember some family names and have forgotten more of them than I remember. We were the last block before the tracks Bob AZ

Dear Folks, I just sent the following message to one of my oldest girlfriends from the 1940s. This is what I said to her: "Marg, I don't know if you read in the newspaper that our Ann Everhart died on November 10. I read her obituary in the Niagara Gazette yesterday. Apparently she was buried today. She was so much a part of our teenage years together. You, me, Marilyn and Ann were inseparable when it came to horseback riding on Grand Island or up at the Rec in LaSalle. Now not only is Marilyn gone but so is Ann. That just leaves the two of us. Both of them were too young to die and leave us. vee" Now regarding the four of us, we were the same age (I'm now 72) and when we were 16 and 17 years old we LIVED to go horseback riding at the Wa-Bak-Ranch on Long Road, Grand Island, on Saturdays come rain or snow! And on Saturday evenings the four of us would go up to the Rec (teanage recreational center) in LaSalle. There we would hope to dance with our heart throb of the month (whether he knew that any of us were even alive!) but occasionally one of us would get lucky and dance with HIM to "In the Mood" or "The Old Lamplighter." Oh how exciting and giggly it was up at the Rec and oh how daring the four of us were riding horseback. Trust me, Mother would have been shocked at the chances we took on horseback. TRUST ME! So now Ann is gone as well as Marilyn. However, Marg and I still have the memories of the very close friendship that the four of us had and nothing can take them away. Not even time or death. vee

----- Original Message ----- From: <[email protected]> To: <[email protected]> Sent: Monday, November 10, 2003 2:29 PM Subject: [FOLKS] Re: NYNIAGAR-FOLKS-D Digest V03 #205 > > I remember Father Ryan well. Funny the names we do remember. I meet new > people daily but remember few names. > > I was 11 in 1944 so the social life was non existant at that stage. Actually > took another 10 or more years to start. Another story in itself. > > You might have known my sister, Anne Watson, who was born in 30 and was 3 > grades ahead of me. So in 1944 would have been in 8th grade. Last year in Maple > Avenue would have been 1941. You and I probably had some of the same > teachers. My Dad taught machine shop in South Junior High School from 1918 until 1944. > We lived at 1310 Maple Avenue. My older brother said it was still there in > 1990 I think it was. > Bob AZ Dear Bob, Thanks for giving me the opportunity of tip-toeing back into my memories of the past. It seems like you and your sister Anne and I were like ships passing in the night. Certainly we were in the same place at the same time but just didn't bump into each other. If nothing else undoubtably I walked past your house on Maple Avenue on my way to more than one girlfriend's house on Maple Ave. Those were the days, my friend! vee

Dear Folks, My evening's dining by candlelight gave a whole new meaning to the expression. But let me start from the beginning. This morning I woke up to the sound of the high winds roaring through the tree tops. In fact it was difficult to go back to sleep with all of the noise. I finally gave up trying and got up. When I went outside to pick up my newspaper and mail I also picked up my empty recycle box at the curb. I started carrying the box back to the house when a gust of wind caught the box and I felt that I had my hands on a sail and that both me and the box and the newspaper and the mail would go flying off with the wind. At that moment I knew how Dorothy and Toto felt in the Wizard of Oz and I knew that eventually I certainly wouldn't land in Kansas! Turning the box around I managed to fight my way to the side door and back into my house. All day the sound of the extremely high winds kept me a bit on edge but I managed to go through my regular daily routine until a few minutes after 5:00 p.m. when the lights started to flicker and then went out. They came on again and then off again and then on again and finally they went off again and stayed that way. After I realized that it was quite likely the electricity might be off for some period of time, I went through the familiar routine of lighing my kerosene lamp and digging up what few remaining candles I still have. Thank goodness there was still enough light in the sky so that I could make my way around the house. Note to Vee: PLEASE go out and buy some batteries for your flashlight! It was then that I realized that I was faced with fixing my dinner with no electicity. That meant not only no microwave but no coffee grinder for my afterdinner cup of coffee. My only hope was my old trusty gas stove. However, all of my dinner fixin's were still frozen solid and I wasn't experienced in thawing out my dinner in a conventional oven and then heating it up to the proper eating temperature. I knew what I had in my freezer and decided that my best bet would be my pork and sauerkraut and mashed potatoes. By lamp light and by candle light I managed to find the ingredients in my freezer but had to pause and figure out what to heat them up in. My dinnerware was certainly out of the question. But voila! I was able to find a proper Pyrex dish, turned the oven on to 350 degrees and winged it from there. In the meantime I put the tea kettle on for my cup of coffee. That's when I realized my electric coffee grinder just wasn't available to grind up my coffee beans. But no problem, I still had some ground coffee in my freezer and it was just a matter of figuring out how much coffee to put into the filter. (Note: when it was eventually time for me to pour milk into my freshly made cup of coffee and sit down to enjoy it, I didn't notice that the usual amount of milk didn't change the color of it in the least. When I took a sip of it, YEOWW, was it strong!! Even when I poured more and more milk into it and eventually drank it to the last drop, I may never sleep again!!) While all of this was going on it started to get chilly in the house (the furnace was off) and by that time it was dark outside. That meant that if the temperature outside kept dipping further into the 30s AND with snow forecasted, my only source of heat would be the wood burning side of my old trusty gas stove. However, that would mean that I would have to take candle in hand and make my way down the dangerous concrete steps into my cellar where I keep a supply of wood available in the event of such an emergency. Well, getting down the stairs with candle in hand seemed OK but to get the wood and get back up the stairs with candle in one hand and a bundle of wood in the other sounded suicidal. About 30 minutes after I had started to heat up my dinner, the pork and sauerkraut and mashed potatoes were hot enough to eat, I put the candle on my kitchen table, brought the Pyrex dish to the table and dined by candlelight. But somehow, it just wasn't the same as how I pictured dinner by candlelight should be! As I was scraping the last remnants out of the dish, I heard the glorious sound of the furnace kicking in and then all the lights in the house came on. My first thought was to give thanks to the Lord! Our blackout lasted less than 1-1/2 hours. I hope all of you were as fortunate as we were in this area in getting electricity restored again. Note: the wind is still howling!l vee

Vee We paid our rent to Father Ryan of the church. So tell me, tell me, where did you live, how old were you at the time and did you ever go to any of the dances at St. Teresa's for the young teenagers??? Wouldn't it be something if we actually knew each other back then??? (tee hee!) I remember Father Ryan well. Funny the names we do remember. I meet new people daily but remember few names. I was 11 in 1944 so the social life was non existant at that stage. Actually took another 10 or more years to start. Another story in itself. You might have known my sister, Anne Watson, who was born in 30 and was 3 grades ahead of me. So in 1944 would have been in 8th grade. Last year in Maple Avenue would have been 1941. You and I probably had some of the same teachers. My Dad taught machine shop in South Junior High School from 1918 until 1944. We lived at 1310 Maple Avenue. My older brother said it was still there in 1990 I think it was. Bob AZ

Well Vee you've done it again - given us a history lesson. Thanks so much! Evelyn in Colorado ________________________________________________________________ The best thing to hit the internet in years - Juno SpeedBand! Surf the web up to FIVE TIMES FASTER! Only $14.95/ month - visit www.juno.com to sign up today!