I was born a truck driver.

Woke up this morning thinking of the first time I was ever behind the wheel of a vehicle and flashed back to when I was 14 years old and had been farmed out to a family where the mom and dad both worked and lived on a working farm.  They had 2 sons.  One was named Billy and the other may or may not have been named Donnie.  Little bit fuzzy on how old they were even.  I do know I was picked up on Sunday night and returned home on Saturday morning.  It was kind of nice though because the house had running water and I had my own little bed in a tiny room right under the attic eave.  May have been small, but it was a lot more than I had at home.  It did not have a door.  It had one at one time, but for some reason it did not have one anymore, but I did not care.  I was safe.  Hotter than hell, but safe.

The mother sold Stanley products so she was gone most of the day.  The father worked at a farm equipment store in Hutch as a salesman so he was also gone.  My job was to tend the boys, and the chickens, and watch the old sow which was due to drop her piggies soon.  And as luck would have it she decided to do that one day just before the mom and dad came home.  She also began to eat them!  Remember that I was 14 and probably weighed in at 50 pounds soaking wet.  I stood no chance against a 300-400 pound sow in the throes of birth, but I tried.  I grabbed a couple of the babies and put them in a box.  She was very mad and I could not get to any more.  The boys were terrified when dad came home.  He immediately got his gun and dispensed the sow to the promised land and by then a friend was there and the boys and I were sent inside.  There were a few piggies saved and I have blocked the rest of what happened from my mind and that is how I survived a lot of my life.  Sometimes not remembering is a good thing.

But that has nothing to do with my first driving experience, does it?

The time came that a harvest was upon the land.  This family owned land here and there so there was a need to move from field to field which worked well most of the time since the hired hands were there to do it.  I stayed at home with the boys and it was not until harvest was over and all the equipment needed to be brought home that I was pressed into service.  Everything was moved except the last piece which was a big grain hauling truck.  Not an 18 wheeler, (Thank God!) but way bigger than a pickup.  The wife explained to me how simple this would be to drive.  Needless to say, this was a stick shift.  I knew what a stick shift was and I knew what a clutch was and I knew what a brake was.

"You just push the clutch in, start the truck, let the clutch out slowly and it is in low gear so you just give it a little gas and coast the mile to the farm."  OK.  That sounded simple enough and after a couple times of killing it and restarting it, I was off.  And then I remembered the bridge and the left hand turn I had to take.  I sweated blood until I was across the bridge and headed down the straightaway.  The fact that I had made it across the bridge AND negotiated the left hand turn exhilarated me!  I just had to putt on down the road to the driveway and turn right, go a few yards and stop.  I prayed I would not miss the driveway because there was no way in hell I would ever get it in reverse.  I envisioned having to drive around a section (what land in the country is divided into) to get another chance, so I was ready when the drive came up and I whipped around the corner, steered to the center of the yard and turned the key to the off position.  Then and only then, did I let myself breathe a sigh of relief and pride welled up in my throat.  I had done it!  I had driven that big truck across a bridge and around 2 corners!  I began to dream of the day I could drive and have my own car.  And here I am.

Not to be boasting, as pride goeth before a fall and a haughty spirit before destruction,  but, here I am 60+ years later and I have a perfectly clean driving record.  No dings in my car from me.  The ones that are there were there when I got the car.  No tickets for anything.  I do have a lead foot at times, but don't we all?  I was pulled over one night long ago in Fowler, but I think the cop was thinking to put the moves on me since I was a woman presumably alone at 1:00 in the morning.  Sadly for him when he walked up to the door Bret and Shelly awoke and wanted to know what was going on now?  Did I mention, God is my co-pilot?

I did not own a car or a drivers license until I was 24 years old.  When I married Duane he just assumed I could drive, so I did.  I was stopped one night in Liberal, Kansas with a broken tail light and the officer told me I needed a license or next time I would get a ticket for not having one.  Getting a license back then was easy.  All I had to do was present myself and a vehicle at the drivers license place and show them I could drive.  That and $5.00 was all it took.  Luckily the car I was driving at the time had brakes and such.  I was not always so lucky.  We usually bought a vehicle at the sale for less than $50.00 and drove it till it gave up the ghost and was abandoned in someones yard.  I recall one time I had the 4 youngest and was going to see mother and the tail lights went out.  I knew it was a fuse and I knew we did not keep such things around, but luckily I smoked and cigarettes were in packs with tin foil!  I carefully fold up a piece of that and voila!  The tail lights came on.

(I learned lots of little tricks that would do me no good whatsoever later in life.  The way to seal a leak in your gas tank is with a bar of soap!  When the car vapor locks, just wait till it cools off and you can get another 10 or 20 miles down the road.  If you lock the keys in the trunk it is easier to use a pick axe to make a hole over the latch then it is to remove the back seat and put it back in.  And for God's sake do not forget your birth control pills when you are going with your husband to visit your mother in law!)  And that is my Words of Wisdom for today!

December 23, 1983

Thirty years ago Kenneth was putting a drive line in a tandem dump truck.  Gene Baugh was helping him.  The temperature was -15 degrees.  They went to Pueblo Brake and Clutch to pick up the repaired drive line and the place was closed.  What to do now?  We had discussed marriage for the past year, so he sent Gene home and turned to me and said, "Well, let's get this shittin' mess over with!"
Now what girl could resist a proposal like that?  While he jumped in the shower, I donned my wedding apparel.  I dug out my new jeans, a gingham shirt with flowers on the yoke, my white cowboy(girl) boots and we were off to Canon City.  Buying the license took about 3 minutes and then we were given a list of ministers who would do the deed.  We chose one in the assisted living facility just up the street.  We could not meet with him until 4  o'clock so we went to the doughnut shop  and had our wedding supper.  He had a plain raised doughnut and I chose a chocolate covered one.  Coffee was our beverage of choice!
We arrived promptly at the 3rd floor suite at 4 P.M.  The minister signed the license and pronounced us man and wife, then went in search of witnesses.  His wife was bedridden so we stuck our heads around the corner and she smiled at us.  That was one.  He stepped into the hall, waved someone down and we never laid eyes on number 2.  Kenneth paid the man and we came home.  At home we found a cheap bottle of wine in the center of the table.  Seems Gene knew our plans.  We did not open the wine for over six months and then only to get rid of it.  That took three or 4 tries!  But thanks any way, Gene!
Now thirty years later, I can still remember the temperature on that day!  It is going to get up to 51 today.  That is alright.  Kenny has been gone almost ten years, but I do not think his memory has faded at all.  I still hear him.  I still see him.  His ashes are still beside my bed.  While everything has changed, it has still stayed the same.

Happy 30th Anniversary

Kenneth and Louella Mercer!

 

Wrong day yesterday, today is October 29.

Yesterday I started to do this blog and my little mind wandered and I think I wound up chasing the cow down the ditch bank.  This is my older brother.  He is about in about the eighth grade in this picture.  I think that because back in those days, it had to be a special occasion to have our picture taken.  Those were few and far between and usually marked a very big event in our life.  See that scar on his cheek?  Today I will tell you how he got that.
Like I told you yesterday, we were living on the Stroh place right outside of town.  One day Dad went to the sale and came home with a Shetland Pony.  Oh, we were in seventh heaven.  We had our own horse.  Now why we needed a horse is more than Mother could fathom.  Years later as I put the pieces together I came to the conclusion that Dad was probably drunk and meant to buy a milk cow since ours had died.  In his befuddled mind he decided that we would get more use out of a pony then a cow any way.  The mere facts were that my father did not know he had children most of the time and while he did provide for us, the pipe and slippers and kiddies on his knee were not pictures I recall of my childhood. Back in those days, men were not "soft" like they are today and I was not the first nor the last kid in those days to only feel my fathers hand in anger, never love.  More about my father in a different blog, when I can deal with it fully.
But all that aside, a horse it was.  I remember seeing it unloaded in the moonlight.  It was the most beautiful horse I had ever seen and coming down the ramp from the trailer it looked very tall.  Daylight would bring many surprises.  I could barely sleep that night as Jake and I talked into the night about the wonderful horse our wonderful father had brought us.  From sounds drifting into our sleeping area we gathered that Mother was not near as happy as we were.
Morning found us gazing into pen where the horse was.  He was spotted and not very tall.  He had a long mane and it was spotted too.  There was a sort of star looking spot on his forehead so we named him "Star."  He came with his own saddle and blanket, but we were not allowed to saddle him or ride him until Dad was there to show us how.  We had never been this close to a horseso the chances we could saddle it up and ride away were very slim.  Unfortuneately Dad was not feeling well that day, so we only got to stare at the horse through the fence.  I think that we thought if we looked at Star long enough he would grow taller.  Ever see a Shetland pony?  They are by nature much smaller than the big ones we watched Dad work with.  See, my Dad was one of the last men in the area to give up the "team of horses" and go to a tractor, but more about that later.  This is about Jake and his scar.
Mom and Dad played cards once a week with friends and that evening the friends came and brought there kids and we were left to our own devices.  Of course we wanted to show off our new horse, so we gathered at the corral.  I do not remember the exact chain of events, but I do recall the chaos that followed.  Jake was always curious and tonight and the showing off for the kids was no exception.  I remember the kids all screaming and Jake holding his face as blood squirted every where from his right cheek.  Very quickly Mother and Jake were loaded in the back seat of the car and the couple visiting whisk them off the 11 miles to Hutchinson and the nearest medical attention. 
I do remember being so afraid that Jake would die.  We were sent to our beds and the visiting children were made pallets in the front room.  I surely drifted off, because some time in the night Jake woke me up to show me his bandaged face.  I cried.  He had been such a handsome boy and now he had this horrible injury and he would carry the scar the rest of his life.
Over the next few weeks the story of what really occured that night in the moonlight came out in bits and pieces.  Dad was going to shoot the horse and Jake confessed that maybe it was not all the horse's fault.  Seems one of the boys visiting "dared" Jake to creep up with a stick and "goose" the horse.  The horse reacted just like one would expect a horse to react and kicked backwards at the offending stick.  Jake just happened to be on his hands and knees right behind the horse.  And no one could see that coming?
Over the days and weeks ahead Jake slowly healed.  Star remained in the corral because we were all afraid of him.  Sometimes I would try to pet him and he would let me.  Dad did finally saddle him and ride, but the horse was way to short for Dad.  Josephine finally ended up riding him most.  She would put us on his back and give us a ride around the yard, but we were always terrified that Star would kick us so that was really not much fun.  I do not know if you know about Shetland Ponies, but they are mean by nature and I think they were looking right at Star when they wrote that definition.
So, my dear brother carried a very ugly scar on his right cheek until the day he died, but no one seemed to notice.  He was such a charamatic kid that the scar never mattered.  Nothing could have detracted from the personality that was my brother.  And why am I telling you about him today?
Today is October 29, 2012.  On October 29, 1965 I lived in Garden City, Kansas.  I had two daughter's ages 2 & 3 years old. I had a daughter who would turn 1 year old tomorrow.  I had a son who was 25 days old.  Tomorrow  would be my 5th wedding anniversary.  And today, October 29, 1965,  my brother, Jake, was returning home from a day at work and the driver of the pick up he was riding in went through a stop sign near McPherson, Kansas and ran into the side of a loaded gravel truck. 
Tomorrow I would not have parties; tomorrow I would travel to McPherson, Kansas to visit my brother as he lay comatose in a hospital bed with his right leg kicking as if to apply the brake.  He would not know I was there.  He would not know my mother sat by his bed from the moment he was brought there.  Or would he?  I like to think that on some level he knew.
He died early the next morning....Halloween. 

My dear brother, Jake 

 

Delbert Leroy Bartholomew

10/ 4/ 1937-10/31/1965



Happy Anniversary to me.

 First let me say, I do not share this anniversary with Kay and Frank. Thiers is in August.  That is why it catches me off guard when i see it in the church bulletin.  That is a mistake every year.

Well, it is Friday, December 23, 2011. I know where I was on this date in 1983 and I know what temperature it was.  I was here, in this house preparing to become a new bride.  Kenny and I had been living together for just over a year.  My theory on that was that I did not have a very good track record in the marriage department, so I decided if we could live together for one year that it should be good to go.  So now the year was up.

Kenny had dropped a drive line in one of the dump trucks and had left it to be repaired at Pueblo Brake and Clutch.  Gene Baugh was helping him on the repair work.  It was -15 degrees so working outside was not a fun thing anyway.  Well, about 11 AM they had gone to pick up the drive line and found the shop closed for the Christmas Party.  No way to get it and so what to do with the rest of the day?  We had decided a while back that marriage was definitely an option, so him being the romantic that he was, he stomped the snow off his boots, slammed the door behind himself and announced, "Well, let's go get this shittin' mess over with!"

Now, ladies, who could resist anything that romantic?  I happened to have a new pair of jeans, a very nice checkered western shirt, and a new pair of white cowgirl boots.  He had some nice Levi's and a clean shirt, and wellington boots.  So off we toodled to Canon City.  Went there because Pueblo published marriage licenses in the paper every day and we did not want the fuss and bother of explaining why we never invited anyone.  We got to the Canon City courthouse about 30 minutes before closing, grabbed out license and the name of a retired minister and away we went.  4th floor of the retirement home.  Nice little man, but I forgot his name.  Two witnesses to sign.  One was his wife who was bedridden and another was walking down the hall and knew how to spell her name.  Whole thing took about 7 minutes and that included introductions, staging, and paying for his
services.  Then it was off to our wedding supper.  That was a chocolate covered doughnut and a cup of coffee at the doughnut shop.

When we got home we found a note from Gene.  "Congratulations!"  And a bottle of very cheap wine.  We never did get that gagged down.  We asked Gene to share a few months later and his response was "If I knew I had to drink it I would have got the good stuff."  Finally found a son in law who could be talked into drinking about anything.  He shook it up good and when he took his thumb off the cork, it flew out of the bottle, hit the ceiling, and ricocheted into the side of my head and almost cold cocked me.  Made him take it with him when he left since he was the last one to touch the bottle.

So now here I set 28 years later.  It is -7 below zero.  Got a foot and a half of snow out there on the level.  Got no Kenny, but I got a lot of memories.  It may have started out  a little non traditional, but it was quite the ride and I would not undo one minute of those years.  And when life gets a bit more than I can handle, I remember Kenny and the song he always said was "ours" and when you have that once in your life, once is probably enough.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EigVvZMw3Ds&feature=fvsr