Family Secrets - Oregon or Bust

Family Secrets – Oregon or Bust

My grandmother on my father’s side was born to a tenant farmer in the back woods of Tennessee.  She was the seventh child out of what would become nine children in all.  For reasons not known to me her father decided to uproot the family and head for Oregon where I guess he assumed that life would be better.  They must have looked like the Beverly Hillbillies when they all loaded into a pickup truck and headed west.

They got as far as Platt County Missouri when the truck broke down and his wife decided to have their ninth child in the back of the pickup.  Out of money and vehicle and with another mouth to feed, plus a sickly wife he got a job on a farm for less than the going wage but a house was thrown in to the mix.  He thought according to what my grandmother could remember that he would only be there just long enough to scratch some money together to fix his truck and continue their westward migration.  However his wife was bitten by a brown spider and given the medical treatment available at the time and an already sickly condition due to her last child being born under less than desired circumstance she died.  He was left with nine children ranging from ages 10 years old to three months.  His dream of Oregon had busted.

It soon became obvious that he was not going to be able to take care of them all and with the help and guidance from the local child welfare agency of Platt County the children were placed in foster homes, no two children being placed with any one family.

Except for the youngest three, my grandmother included, all the brothers and sisters lost track of each other for several years there after.  My grandmother and her two youngest sisters some how managed to keep in contact and given their very young ages it is remarkable to me that they were able to do so.  I guess they had the same case worker and he or she stayed on top of things.

While the two youngest children seemed to have been placed in stable homes, my grandmother bounced from one foster home to the next for the next several years.  By the time she was entering the sixth grade at Mt Washington Elementary School,( the same school I went to years later,) she had moved in with one of her older sisters who had left the foster care system and married.

Times were tough and when grandmother was in the seventh grade her brother-in-law told her that she was going to have to drop out of school, get a job and help pay her own way if she wanted to continue to live with them.

The next day the school principal, Mr. Ritter, noticed that Tennessee, my grandmother’s name then and the cause of much teasing by classmates, was up set.  She told him about her having to drop out of school.  With the help of the principal at Sugar Creek, Mr. Stone, and the county welfare agency they placed her in another foster home.  Her new foster parents were pretty well-to-do and it just so happened that the foster family was also named Stone, the lady of which was always referred to as Mother Stone when I would be told a story or two growing up.  Others in the family called her Nono, a name apparently given her by my dad.

Her new home came with a new foster sister, a foster cousin, her own bedroom, and a new name, Marie.

Given the fact that she was now in an upper middle class well-to-do family that thought education important, her future looked bright.  She continued her schooling for a few more years but then my grandfather showed up.  He had just returned to Independence from his time in the army and he was a dashing blade.  He jauntily wore a round straw hat, a blue blazer, and white trousers and had a job.  He was considered to be quite the catch among the local females looking for husbands at the time.  He zeroed in on Marie against the wishes of Mother Stone but like in most cases the wisdom of adults was no match for the passions of youth.  They were married two years later.

http://www.amazon.com/Tales-Homer-Conley-Stone-McAnally/dp/0615779808/ref

Van Horn and Other Friends - Tom

Van Horn and other Friends

Tom was undoubtedly the best football player on our team my senior year.  In fact he was one of the best players ever to play at Van Horn and started on the varsity his sophomore year.  He was fast, strong, quick, had a head for the game and never feared any opponent.

He could have gone to any college or university and excelled there also. 

School was not kind to Tom however and it let him down.  The scouts that came to the games our senior year were very interested in him, but things did not work out for him in that regard and he was drafted soon after graduating from high school.

He was an excellent soldier but hated it none the less.  He became a sergeant during his tour in Viet Nam and like many of his generation was unappreciated when he returned.  Although he and I were about as close a friend as one could be he never commented or if he did he talked very little about his experiences in the war zone.  I never asked anything about his tenure there; I felt I did not have the right to probe, I had spent my fighting years in the National Guard.

He married a girl he had gone to high school with and went on to have a successful marriage and productive life, produced a family, and over all lived the American dream. 

I know very little about Tom’s experiences while being a foot soldier, pounding the ground in the jungles for 30 days at a time on search and destroy missions.  But even though Tom and I are close and there is nothing we would not do for the other there is a wall of separation.  He belongs to a club that I will never gain entry.

If he ever feels bitter about going to Viet Nam he keeps it pretty well hidden but did tell me recently that he thought everyone should have had to serve back then in some capacity.  If they were not physically fit they could have pounded a typewriter, driven a truck in the states, or done something.  He knows that it is not the fault of those who did not serve due to being 4F and holds no grudges against them, but I suspect he gives no quarter to those who went to Canada.

There are just a few people in my life that I am proud to call a friend.  Tom is among them.

Paper Boy - Craig Walters

If any of you have anything you want to share about Truman or anything else, you are more than welcome to use my blog site.  Thanks Craig.

 

Snapper, I enjoy reading of your adventure's! Especally the one about the Van Horn teachers.
I also have a fond memory of President Truman, this goes back to the late fifties when I was a substitute (Examiner) paperboy at the
Truman home for a period of one week. On more than one occasion
President Truman walked out on the porch and remarked " Nice Shot"
as he went to get the paper from the bushes!
Keep coming with your adventures.
Craig Walters VH 65

Mr. Truman and Me

Family Secrets – Mr. Truman and me

When I tell people I come from Independence, depending on their age, they always say something like, “Ah, yes the home of President Truman.  I always say yes.  I tell them that Independence is famous for Harry Truman, Jessie James, and Joseph Smith and “there was not much difference between two of them, take your pick.”  That always got a laugh.

I go on to tell them about how often I saw Mr. Truman, (as those of us in the know refer to him) and they are always thrilled by my accounts.  When they return to wherever they are from I suspect they tell everyone they met this guy who seemed like he and President Truman were best friends. 

The truth of the matter is that I only saw Mr. Truman one time and that was in a limousine he was riding in with President Johnson the day he (Johnson) signed the Medicaid or Medicare Bill at the Truman Library and then just briefly.

I did know a lot of people who knew him very intimately and their stories about him were the foundations of mine.  My grandfather did get Mr. Truman to sign my Masonic membership card via the bodyguard and I did drive by his house many times.  I was also once the Executive Officer of his old Battery D artillery unit, but that was about the size of his involvement with the “Old Man (the name used by the local politicians when referring to him.)  My mother on the other hand had a much more interesting contact with him.

 Mom and Mr. Truman lived on the same street.  She would walk south along

Delaware street

to catch the bus down town and most every morning he would go on his famous walks north along Delaware.  They would pass and he would always tip his hat and say, “Good morning mam.”  She would nod and say, “Good morning Mr. President.”

One day he stopped her and said that he had been passing by her almost every morning for the last several months and wanted to know where she was always going and what she did.  She told him she was a telephone operator in Kansas City and she caught the bus each day down my

Truman Road

next to his house.  There was an awkward silence and mom said “And what is you do now?”  He responded, “Not much really.”

Every morning there after when they passed one another Mr. Truman would tip his hat and say, “Good morning telephone lady,” and then she would respond, “Good morning Mr. Truman."

Family Secrets: The Melting Pot of Diversity

Family Secrets: The Melting Pot of Diversity

America: The great melting pot.  The McAnally family: the melting pot of diversity.

Recently I found out two things that had long gone unknown to our family.  One, I cannot trace very far, and could be just a family type of an urban legend and the other, with a little speculation of historical migratory facts, could be true.

My oldest cousin let the cat out of the bag by saying that his mother had told him that her father had ancestors that were of Asian decent.  None of the family look Japanese or Chinese but there is a slight family resemblance with the Mongols of the western steppes by some of the older pictures I have seen of my relatives on my grandmother’s side.  So I could be related to one of the Kahn boys.  But who knows and will ever know.  My grandmother’s side of the family are 100% Americans whatever that means.

My grandfather’s side of the family was also 100% Americans.  Of course his great great grandfather came from Scotland, via of Northern Ireland, then back to Northern Ireland, where his father was probably fathered by a Spaniard whose ship was wrecked along the coast of Eire after the Spanish Armada failure.  The Spaniard was probably descended from either Moors or maybe even a frisky Roman legionnaire, who gained his freedom fighting in the Coliseum as a gladiator.  But the McAnally family is 100% American whatever that means. 

The McAnally family of this day and age are Americans by choice.  I have an array of cousins, grandchildren, in-laws, nieces, nephews, and a brother and sister, that when we get together looks like a meeting of the United Nations.  For example I have African American grandchildren, Hispanic and Greek nieces and nephews, a Korean daughter-in-law and granddaughter , a son-in-law from the Balkans, the Gay community is represented, a female impersonator vaudevillian (two different people,) several republicans, a couple of democrats, one bomb throwing anarchist, and one in prison.  Some are still fighting the civil war on both sides.  We have a couple of rich ones, more than enough poor ones, doctors, lawyers, and candlestick makers.  The only group not represented is Native Americans but I do have a half brother and sister that by the tone of their skin is suspect, and I dated an Eskimo girl while I lived in Alaska but I don’t think that counts.  But all in all we are all 100% Americans what ever that means.

Van Horn and Other Friends - Teachers

Van Horn and Other Friends - Teachers

I taught school off and on for almost 40 years, more off than on.  I began as a very young man by teaching in Sedalia, took a break for several years, went to Alaska to teach Eskimo children, and ended my career as an English as a Second Language teacher at Northeast High School.

I have often asked myself if I had ever made any difference in the lives of the students I touched.  I have recently heard from several students of years ago via Face Book and of course they have nice things to say, but we don’t remain in touch on a personal basis, just read what the other has posted now and then. 

There is a Face Book page now called Van Horn Friends.  I read it almost daily and now and then contribute.  Most of the VH Friend contributors I do not recall immediately because they seem to range from 1960 into the 70’s.  I enjoy reading what they have to say.

Recently the question was asked who was your favorite teacher at Van Horn.  I contributed that mine was Carl Simonie.  The teacher that seemed to get the most responses was a math teacher named Otto Kaifes.  It seems as though I am the only student that didn’t cross his path.

I decided to pull out my senior year book and go down the picture alphabet of the teachers that taught there my senior year and give a one or two word or sentence response as to my feelings about each represented after 46 years.

Mr. Curtis, principal – strict, would love to have had him as a principal if I was teaching, but not as a student.

Mr. Heine, vice principal – loved his job and his students.  They loved him.  He gave me more than one break.

Miss Johnson, counselor -  Could read me like a book and is mostly responsible for me becoming a teacher.  She asked me one day what I wanted to study in college and I told her I had thought about teaching.  She said she thought I would make a good one, because I had done everything a student was not supposed to do and my students would get by with very little.

Mr. Brower, science – He opened up a love of biological science.  I never did much with it, but he was organized and presented the material well.  I enjoyed his class and him personally.

Mr. Closson, history – A nice man but had no classroom control.  I never caused him any problems, mostly because I felt sorry for his classroom management inefficiencies.

Mr. Cofer, Chior – Nice man, but I suspect he only put up with me because I was dating his most prominent student.

Mr. Cross, Geometry – I never understood a word he said and was completely lost that year.  The only reason I passed the course was that a mistake was made by a student grading my test and she awarded me more points than I deserved.

Mr. Dehardt, gym – Over worked, tired most of the time due to working on the rail road after school.  A nice guy.

Mr. Fessler, Human Science – He was also the head foot ball coach.  He was very influential my entire four years and not a bad classroom teacher.  He kept you entertained.

Mr. Fields, Social Studies – Funny man but should have retired much earlier.  He would go to the school phone when the class was acting up and call for reinforcements.  He would always say also when a student for got his pencil, “would a soldier go into battle with out his gun.”

Mr. Klamm, Speech and Drama – He was legally blind but an excellent teacher.  He developed in me a love for the theater.  When I was in Alaska I looked him up on the internet and we passed several emails back and forh.  Heard he died recently.

Mr. McArthur, General Math – Excellent teacher, had good class room management and organization.

Mr. McCoy, Driver’s Ed – He was also one of my football coaches.  He was a great teacher a wonderful coach, and just an all around nice guy.  But would kick my ass in a minute when it needed it which was more than just once.

Mr. Medina, Latin – Knew Latin and Greek, taught us how to conjugate verbs in Latin.  He was a small man but a very good teacher and I don’t remember anyone ever giving him a hard time.  I still remember the first phrase he taught us in Latin and can still conjugate a few verbs.

Mrs. Mullen, Second year Latin,- I don’t remember a thing about her class other than she was pretty well versed in Latin history and would tell us stories about the Romans now and then.

Miss Palisowski, Art – She had a tendency to send me to the office now and then.  We did not get along very well.

Mr. Simonie, English – He gave me an appreciation for literature.  I remember very well the way he went about teaching us Julius Caesar, and can still recite some of the lines by heart.  The two other books he brought to my attention were Huckleberry Finn and The Tale of Two Cities, each I consider one of my favorites to this day. I wish I had his address so I could send him the books Ihave written.  I guess I ought to dedicate one to him.

Miss White, Civics – She provided an interesting introduction to impressionable youth as to what it meant to be an American.  She would often say she would rather be  “dead than red.”

Mrs. Esler, Nurse – She was also the nurse when I was in gradeschool.  She always seemed to like me and was interested in my well being because I was a Christian Scientist and did not take any of the polio vaccinations.  The interesting thing about her was that she was with her husband in Hawaii when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor.  She said he got into a plane and headed out to chase the planes back to their carriers and he never returned.  The story had a real impact on me.

There were other teachers of course that were not pictured in my senior year book, only six of which I remember.

Mr. Fridell, Eighth Grade Common Learning’s – He brought history alive to me and one of the main reasons I became a history teacher. 

Mr. Reagan, Gym – He could get my attention pretty easily.

Mr. Fields, Gym – Not to be confused with the social studies teacher.  The difference was night and day.  He used his paddle on me several times, but I knew he liked me in spite of my shenanigans.  He and my great uncle had been high school friends and nothing I did at school went unnoticed at home.

Mrs. Anderson, English – Don’t remember much about her but I don’t think I caused her any problems.

Mr. Levesy, General Shop – A real good teacher.  He introduced me to different aspects of wood working and drafting.  When you messed up in his class he would make you do push ups.  The drafting section of his class enabled me to get a job many years later.

?, typing – Oddly enough the teacher who taught me the only skill that has been more beneficial than any other in my life I do not remember the name of.  We did not have any sort of relationship or interaction but some how I learned how to type and it was the only real skill I took away from high school.

I never knew what happened to most of my teachers.  I did run into Mr. Fridell at UMKC, he had received his Doctorate and was teaching history.  I was able to tell him what an inspiration he had been.  I saw Mr. Simonie at Block Buster’s once and he was most gracious in talking to me longer than one would normally expect.  Mr. Cofer I ran into at an art showing in Independence once and we did little more than say high etc.  For some reason while I was in Alaska I emailed Mr. Klamm and got a nice response.  I bumped into Mr. Levesy at a convenience store several years after high school and he remember me.  He said he was teaching vocational skills to handicapped people.  When we shook hands I noticed he had one less finger than I remembered.  I sort of thought it was funny, the handicapped teaching the handicap but kept my remarks to myself because I did not want for him to make me do push-ups.

I have heard a few of them have died, but most I have never seen or heard about since.

Crisp Lake Chronicles - The Dead Man

Crisp Lake Chronicles – July 1956

Last month there was a tragedy that almost shut down Crisp Lake for the rest of the summer.  Logic and cooler heads prevailed and the lake remains open to the swimming, diving, and boating that has gone on there for the last 40 years. 

The Crisp Lake Chronicle decided to hold a writing contest among the children in the area at the suggestion of a child psychologist from the University of Kansas City.  He convinced us here at the Chronicle and members of the Crisp Lake Association that it would be therapeutic for the children to chronicle what they observed that one particular afternoon. 

We had several entries and printed below is the one the judges thought the winner.  The winner will not receive anything because it was decided that a prize should not be given because of the misfortune of another.

(the entry was not titled)

Mom was bringing me back to my house where I live with my grandmother and grandfather.  I noticed a crowd had gathered down at the swimming area so naturally being the nine year old that I am I went down to see what was up.

At the end of the dock I saw a man laying on his stomach with his arms extended forward and his chin resting on top of his hands.  Two firemen were bending over him pressing on his back, sliding their hands along his arms towards his elbows and lift the two elbows  up slightly keeping the man’s hands under his chin.  The process was repeated for several minutes.  I don’t know how long they had been doing it.

Pretty soon one of the firemen stopped and signaled to another to bring the stretcher.  They placed the man on the stretcher and carried him to the ambulance standing by.

At the time I did not realize the man was dead.  My grand parents told me later that evening.

Of course the lake was shut down and when the kids went out to play that night after dinner we talked about what had happened and by me not being there to witness the events I had to listen more than talk.  This is what I found out.

A man and several friends arrived at the lake opposite of where they were supposed to check in with the care taker.  Barbara was on duty that day.  His friends jumped into the water and swam over to Barbara and presented her with all the needed swim passes.  The man stayed on the other side of the lake but his friends had taken his swim pass also so he was legal to swim.  Barbara went about her business.  She was not considered a life guard and there are signs all over the place saying swim at your own risk.  All the caretaker is supposed to do is check the outsiders in, raise and lower the flag everyday, and if any of us start acting up, tell us to stop.  She can be pretty firm.

After awhile some one noticed that there was a lot of splashing and hollering in the middle of the lake.  Barbara looked up and saw what looked like a guy trying not to sink under the water.  She went to the end of the dock, took the life buoy that hung there for just such emergencies, and through it in his direction.  But the man was not to bee seen.

Some of the older boys started diving down in the general area of where the man had last been seen and after five minutes, Dave, Barbara’s brother by chance, latched on to the man's foot and pulled him up and over to the dock.  Gary, who was an Eagle Scout, started artificial respiration and continued to do so until the firemen arrived.

 Well I said earlier that the man died.  Supposedly he was on leave from the army, could not swim but thought for some reason he could make it across the lake to the shallow end and join his friends. 

I have been swimming since I was 5 years old or younger so my folks tell me.  It is very hard for me to believe a man as old as the person was did not know how.  After all he must have been at least 19 years old so the kids in the neighborhood told me.

Tucson Road Trip, Day 5 +

Road Trip, Part 6

by Seann McAnally

 

The last day of our multi-generational vacation was a whirlwind. Connor and I are homebodies and the thought of spending a night on the road didn't appeal to us. We convinced Dad to hit Lowell Observatory in Flagstaff, the Grand Canyon, and Meteor Crater in one day - and then head back to Kansas City.

About 3 a.m., I regretted that. But first things first.

Connor and I both wanted to see Lowell Observatory. We're into Mars and telescopes. We got there way too early, but a very nice girl who worked there (Heather? Emily? Hannah?) let us into the Clark Dome, where Percival Lowell's telescope is. We got to move it around and pretend to look through it (nothing to see in the daytime anyway) and watch the dome move around, which satisfied us. They also had a Solar System walk there where every million miles was an inch or something like that; it really hammers home the scale of the Solar System ("what, Saturn's all the way over there?"). They also have a very decent hands-on museum in their visitors center, and Lowell's mausoleum is on the site as well (an interior shot of an awesome dome that overlooks his final resting place is shown below).

The observatory campus itself, high on a hill overlooking the town, is a peaceful, contemplative wooded environment and it was nice to just walk around there, and wonder why they had a bocce ball court in the middle of the woods. Flagstaff is a beautiful town, even though we got a little bit lost in it once or twice (I don't think there is a single straight line on that street map). If I ever moved to Arizona, I'd probably aim for Flagstaff. Here are some photos:

Then we drove north to the Grand Canyon. This wasn't originally part of our vacation plan, but when you're so close, why not? Folks who'd been there told me words couldn't really describe it, and they were right. These pictures don't really even describe it. You just kinda have to be there to "get it." One amusing moment is when Connor fed an animal cracker to a bold raven who walked up to our car. Later we saw a sign saying this is very illegal. We stayed about 45 minutes or so, gaping. I was very afraid near the edge. I don't do well with heights and it was really overwhelming. I fought the urge to grab Connor every time the wind blew. Here are some pictures:From there we drove to Meteor Crater, which isn't that far from Flagstaff. I've seen pictures of this many times in my life and, while it is not as overwhelming as the Grand Canyon, it has a power all its own, especially when you consider how it was made. There is also a decent museum here, but what we were interested in was the giant hole in the ground:

...this next photo is of me at the very bottom of the crater:

...actually, I'm lying. That's me in front of a mural in the museum that makes it look like you walked down to the bottom of the crater. After a long day of driving, that walk was not on anyone's agenda.

Then came the first leg of a very, very long drive. We left Arizona about 6:30 or 7 p.m. and got back to Kansas City at about 6 p.m. the next day. Maybe later. I don't remember. My brain turned to mush at about 3 a.m. In Albuquerque I got some 5-Hour Energy Drink which worked very well for about three hours. We listened to Coast to Coast A.M. for a while, until we lost reception. Then it was a brutal, pitch-dark drive through New Mexico. I'm not even sure when we hit Texas, but I do remember stopping somewhere in Texas, where my dad also imbibed the energy drink (a cop in Albuquerque recommended it, otherwise I don't think Dad would have taken it). These long, dark hours of monotonous driving were brutal. In the wee dawn hours, I stopped at a nameless trading post of some sort in Texas and got an off-brand of it called "Cowboy Up!" After that, I managed to get a few hours of sleep, and woke up in Oklahoma City. The rest of the ride wasn't too bad, and Dad managed to get a few winks in.

Then, of course, we hit I-470 in Kansas City just at rush hour. When we finally got home, I hit my bed and didn't get up again until 9 a.m.

Here's what I took away from our vacation:

I hadn't spent a lot of uninterrupted time with my dad in a long time. It was nice. I also got my first glimpse at a post-Connor world. By that I mean I have always dreaded Connor growing up and moving out because I couldn't see past it. What purpose could I possibly serve, if it's not to be his Dad and take care of him? But now I can see that there are lots of places to go and many other lifestyles than those I have known. Life can be pretty sweet when you get older, I guess, as long as you have your health and a little bit of money. My dad, who is retired, pretty much does whatever the hell he wants, when he wants, more or less, and that's something to look forward to. I was also glad Connor got to see so much of the country this summer (he went to Washington DC with his mom in June). We'll both remember the trip for the rest of our lives, and I do know that it's not my last trip to the southwest. I really like the stark nature of it. I loved Mount Lemon and want to go back and camp there.

Someday.

Tucson Road Trip, Three Generations, day 4

Road Trip, Part 5

First of all, here's a photo of Connor on Mars.

That's actually from the space exhibit at Pima Air & Space Museum that I forgot to include with my last post.

Day 4 of our vacation, we visited Tombstone, AZ. It's very picturesque and the downtown supposedly appears much as it did back during the tumultuous "Gunfight at the OK Corral" days. We skipped the gunfight re-enactment because we'd have to wait too long for it. Dad says he's seen it and we didn't miss much.

The real highlight of the visit was eating at Big Nose Kate's saloon, where Doc Holliday, Wyatt Earp, etc. used to drink. Or so they tell us. I had perhaps the best bowl of chili in my entire life at this place. It was loaded with jalepenos - I got one in almost every bite.

I also ordered a "large" beer. I very rarely drink, and when they delivered the "Big Ass Beer" to the table, I couldn't even finish it all. It, plus the chili, put me into a stupor, and I stumbled through the rest of the visit. The other place we examined in detail was the office of the Tombstone Epitaph (being a newspaperman myself I was interested).

After that I pretty much fell into the car and slept. My dad decided to drive to Nogales and we stopped there to look at Mexico (we didn't go in). I had fallen asleep in the car - if my dad had woken me up and said I was in Mexico, and not just on this side of the U.S. border, I'd have believed him.

Later that night Dad took us out to eat at a great Mexican restaurant. I don't remember the name. I figured the food would be different than the Mexican food in K.C., being so close to the border. It was good, but I think there's good Mexican food wherever there are Mexicans, so it tasted like the fare in the better Mexican restaurants here.

Then Connor and I walked around the mall for a while. There's a good game store there called Game Daze. Prices were, on average, about $2-$10 more per item than what I see in my local game store at home. There was an awesome chess set based on the Crusades, but it was $219 so I gave it a skip.

Exhausted, we went to bed early and got up at 3:30 a.m. for the last day in Arizona - a whirlwind day of telescopes and giant holes in the ground.

Family Secrets-Calvary Trooper

Family Secrets – Calvary Trooper

When my grandfather turned 17 he thought it was about time he left home to see the world.  So in 1922 he and a childhood friend of the same age took off from the only home they had ever known in Independence.  They had little money but thought they could work their way across the country by doing odd jobs along the way, besides they had been in Boy Scouts together and knew how to camp and live off the land so they figured.

In February they began to hitchhike after a flip of the coin determined they would head east towards New York.  I am not sure what they were thinking to leave then in the middle of the blistery cold Missouri winter especially hitchhiking in 1922.  There could have not been that many motorized vehicles traveling the roads back then.  However those cars or truck that were making such trips back then were probably more inclined to pick up riders than they would today.

The first day they had made it as far as Warrensburg, Missouri and stayed in a place that shall we say had less than a reputable reputation.  They spent more money there than they had planned.

I don’t know how long it took them or how they managed, but a week later they found themselves wondering around the back streets of St. Louis, cold, broke, and hungry.  They saw a recruiting poster with Uncle Sam pointing a finger at them telling them that he wanted them.  The recruiting Sergeant befriended them, fed them, and let them sleep in his office that night.  The next morning several your men arrived with their suitcases in tow to be sworn in to the U.S. Army.  The recruiting Sergeant told them that if they swore they were 21 they could join too.  Later that afternoon Granddad was on a train west to Cheyenne, Wyoming to be part of the 4^th Calvary.  He had never ridden a horse in his life.

He never related much about how he learned to be a Calvary troop nor much of anything about basic training or the army in general.  The only story he did relate to me was that one day while standing in formation the First Sergeant asked if anyone knew how to drive a tuck.  My grandfather thought that would be a good job, at least he could get out of riding a horse and the other silly minutiae that was probably in store for him that day.  He volunteered.  The rest of the afternoon he pushed a wheelbarrow around the company area hauling gravel from one end of the compound to another.

He started keeping a journal while in Wyoming but only for a short time and even then it was no more than a one or two word entry.  “went to town,” “saw Missy last night,” “twenty mile troop ride today,” “Inspection this afternoon.”  There were only entries like that for about 20 days.  I wonder who Missy was, or what a 20 mile troop ride must have been like, what did he do when he went to town, who were his buddies he did things with, what happened to his buddy he had joined with, I guess I will never know. 

He apparently did not like the army much so after 18 months of doing whatever he was doing he sent his father a letter asking him to see if he could help Granddad buy his way out of his four year military obligation.  That was standard procedure back in those days.

Some how the family managed to raise $1,500 and Granddad was a free man and returned to Independence.  As far as I know he never rode a horse again.

Tucson Road Trip, Three Generations, Day 3 part 2

by Seann McAnally

Day Three (part 2). After enjoying the vistas of Mount Lemon, we dropped off Grandma Jan and made our way to Whataburger. I seem to remember there being one in K.C. somewhere, but lost track of it. They have a guy who comes around to your table with little ketchup cups. Otherwise it's basically like a Burger King.

After that it was Pima Air and Space Museum. It was the most expensive thing we visited during our vacation ($14) but there's certainly a lot to see, and, in the opinion of well-traveled folks I asked about it, it is "Smithsonian quality." There were five hangars full of planes from all eras of aviation history (and brutally hot walks across arid gravel in between them). Again, I'll let the pictures do the talking. Here are some of my favorites:










After this, we were all hot and tired, and we enjoyed some time at the pool before going over to Grandma Jan's. Her boyfriend Kurt cooked some steaks for dinner. Then we drove out to the edge of town where it was really dark, got out Connor's telescope and found Saturn by dead reckoning (I spotted it, he homed in on it w/out the laser guide...which isn't easy). Then it was home for bed...

How can you beat a day like that?

Tomorrow: Tombstone.

Tucson Road Trip, Three Generations, Day 3, part 1

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

by Seann McAnally

Road Trip, Part 3

Day Three (Part 1). We woke up early and drove up to Mount Lemon with Grandma Jan. This was Connor and I's first mountain. About 7,000 feet up we got out of the car and walked around for a while - it was an awe-inspiring view. I could have spent days up there, and in some ways it was the best time I had during the whole vacation. Words can't really describe it so I'll let the pictures do the talking.

I had a very special time up on this mountain and had a chance to do some thinking about life and stuff...which is what you're supposed to do on a mountain, I suppose. But I won't get into all of that here. It's enough to say it was a quasi-religious experience.

Well...that's a lot of pictures to upload at once so I'll save Day Three (Part 2) for tomorrow - stay tuned for lots and lots of pictures of cool airplanes.

Tucson Road Trip. Three Generations day 2

By Seann McAnally

Road Trip, Part 2

Day two of our journey began with a visit to San Xavier del Bac, an old Spanish mission from the 1600s-1700s. This is where I first discovered the whole "dry heat" thing, as I drank about six cups of coffee before we left and was parched the whole time. I almost passed out climbing a big hill to get a good view. There was a cross at the top of the hill where Connor and I rested and looked around. The mission itself was in the full throws of a Catholic mass - we'd arrived on Sunday morning. On the way out of mass, Native Americans were rubbing some kind of reliquary and putting pictures of loved ones on it; it was almost pagan, but you could tell the people there had very strong spiritual feelings about what they were doing. Here's some shots of the place, which is truly beautiful. I wish I had more pictures of the interior - it was excruciatingly designed in Baroque detail. All I got that wasn't blurry was one picture of an angel, who I decided would stand in for Darius (Gonen's World folks know what I'm talkin' 'bout). Here are some pics:

Leaving the mission, my dad drove us to a scenic park so we could get our first good glimpse of panoramic scenery. We just hung out for a while and enjoyed the view. This was always my favorite thing to do on this vacation - just sit and look at the landscape.

That afternoon, we had a traditional Italian meal at my dad's girlfriend's mom's house. The meatballs were excellent but I had already filled up on pasta (they eat the pasta first, then the meatballs) and could only eat one. Then it was two rounds of desert...whew! I was slightly embarrassed that I couldn't eat everything that was set before me. We visited with Grandma Jan for a while (my dad's mom) and then rounded out the day by going to see Captain America. I even got a few hours in at the pool. All in all, a good day two. We slept like logs that night.