Wild Things

Wild Things

The greatest part of my childhood was spent living next to a four acre lake in an unincorporated area near Independence, Missouri. There I was first exposed to wild things that became just as natural to me as the other twenty or so kids that shared my idyllic up bringing. Nothing was unusual about how or where we lived according to us.

Even when I was much older and the army allowed me to go on camping trips to Germany, Italy, and Panama, living and communing with the great out doors, nothing seemed that special, I had done it all before.

When I moved to the Alaskan tundra and lived in Eskimo villages next to the Bering Sea, along the banks of the Yukon, and seventy mile north of the Arctic Circle, all seemed normal enough.

I have seen almost all the wild animals in their natural habitat Alaska has to offer, minus a Polar Bear, encountered enough wild things in the jungles of Panama to realize that is where they need to stay, and knew almost on a first name basis all the animals that called my four acre lake theirs.

The odd, some might say sad, thing is that I never really was impressed by any of it. Hiking and camping was just a hazarded of the military trade and uncaged animals were just things to be avoided.

However now on the front side of retirement I am beginning to develop an appreciation of our four legged and legless friends, albeit it some what grudgingly perhaps.

Part of the year now I live in a gated community that butts up to the desert. I am not sure if the fence and gate are to keep the wild things from wondering in or keep the old people from wondering out. I don’t know if I have just never noticed before or if there is something going on in the far horizon, but animals seem to be popping up all over the place and they don’t seem to want to leave me alone with my nightly Rey Del Mundo and Grand Marnier.

There is a rattle snake that insists on sharing my cactus garden, a desert frog that leaps across my patio each night followed by another sort of long black looking snake that I have yet been able to identify. Seldom seen, except by me it appears, is a desert lynx that sits very close to the fence with a frequency that makes me some what uneasy. He just sort of glares at me. When he isn’t around a road runner comes scampering down my side of the fence followed by a coyote on the other. Of course there is the extended family of creeping looking lizards that have taken up domicile under my shed and meander all over the place day or night. I have begun to find them all amusing, entertaining, and interesting.

As the early evening fades I know longer see my little wild things but I know they are there. The fence vibrates now and then, I hear the pounding paws along the trail on the desert side of the wash, something going through the brush, and all sorts of bumps in the night. I enjoy them immensely and it becomes a soothing event each night.

However every few nights I hear a faint rattle, a thump - like flesh hitting flesh, and a quickly muted squeal coming from the direction of my cactus garden. I then down my Grand Marnier extinguish my Rey Del Mundo and retreat to the inner sanctum of my permently attached mobile home. The wild things are lurking about.

Sedalia Spiels - Jim the Wonder Dog

In 1925 Louisiana a champion bird hunting Llewellyn English Setter had a litter of puppies.  One was reportedly so ugly that it had to be given away.  The recipient was Mr. Sam VanArsdale a hotel owner and operator in Marshal, Missouri a few miles north of Sedalia.  He named the puppy Jim.

Like many ugly ducklings, Jim grew into a fine looking animal but with two qualifiers.  One was that Jim's eyes were unusual for a dog.  Most who saw him said they looked almost human.  The second oddity was that Jim was psychic.

When Jim was old enough Sam enrolled him in a training school for bird dogs but Jim refused to cooperate and flunked out.  Sam, having already grown found of Jim would take him on walks in the near by woods.  Once Sam took his gun to hunt quail and took Jim along for company.  Jim realized what Sam was after and took him immediately to a bevy of quail, and then another, and another until Sam was worn out.  Sam thought Jim had a natural ability and was very proud of him.  He told Jim that they ought to go rest awhile under "that hickory tree yonder."  Jim lead the way.  Sam thought that was sort of amusing and no real feat to accidentally find a hickory tree in mid Missouri.  Just for fun Sam told Jim to find an elm tree, he did.  Then he suggested to Jim to go to an oak tree, he did, walnut tree, he did, an ash and so on and so on.  Jim never once made a mistake.




Sam rushed home and made his wife come out to the woods and had Jim repeat the performance.  Sam felt something was up.

Sam started asking Jim to do other things around the Ruff Hotel and Jim's legend grew and people would come from miles around just to watch Jim do things like locate cars in the parking lot by color, make, model and even license plate.  The "tricks" began to get more complicated and eventually a way was figured out how Jim could select the sex of unborn babies, identify certain people in a crowd, and pick horse race winners at the Stare Fair.

Ripley's Believe It Or Not picked up on Jim's unique ability which lead to the University of Missouri School of Veterinary Medicine to run tests on Jim.  They found nothing particularly physically different with Jim but did discover that Jim could follow detailed commands not only when spoken to but when put in writing.  Even instructions written in foreign languages. 

Jim was written about in various dog and hunting magazines.  He even appeared once on the cover of Life.

It wasn't very long until Sam was offered a contract of $100,000 from a Hollywood movie studio to feature Jim as a wonder dog as to compete with the studios turning out pictures about Lassie and Rin Tin Tin.  Sam turned down all offers of money that he felt would exploit Jim's abilities because he said he did not "think it right to financially benefit from Jim's God given talent." 

Jim died in 1937 and was buried at the corner of the Ridge Park Cemetery in Marshall.

My grandfather had lived in Sedalia as a young man and use to tell me stories about Jim.  I did not give the stories much credence because grandpa had been known to fabricate a little. However when I moved to Sedalia years later I was chatting with some of the older school teachers and the subject of Jim came up.  They immediately said that my grandpa's stories about Jim were true and they even added a few of their own.

I never really met anyone who actually saw Jim or witnessed any of his "tricks" but they all new someone who had.

In 1999 a memorial park was established for Jim the Wonder Dog at his grave in Marshall.  It is the most visited tourist site in all of town.           

Family Secrets - With a happy ending

Family Secrets – With a happy ending

One day while in Arizona I went to the mail box and found a letter addressed to me but with my mother’s address. I opened it and it was from this lady who said she was trying to solve a puzzle. She asked me several questions about events that had happened many years ago and if any of those events sounded familiar. At first I was not real certain what she was asking. She did say she was not a stalker or wanted a kidney, in fact the letter was quite entertaining and funny in most respects, but the tenor of the letter was serious. She asked if I would write or call her and help her figure out the answers to some questions she had.

I let my mother read the letter and she picked up on it right away. She said for me to throw the letter away. I said I needed to think about this for awhile. My mind ran the gambit of what the letter was really asking and if the person writing this letter was legitimately wanting to know a certain fact or two or trying to set me up for something far more sinister . I asked a close friend of mine to do some internet stalking to see what he could find. His results found that indeed she was a real person, lived where she said she lived, and her bio seemed to be non threatening. She had suggested that perhaps I was her biological father but without coming right out and saying it.

Some well meaning friends told me not to contact her and others said for me to contact a lawyer before I did anything. I ignored both sets of advice. I figured that if I was or was not her bio father she had a right to know, and so did I. I called her.

We chatted on the phone for awhile, really for more than a while and we both sort of figured out that I was probably who she thought I was. I will never forget what she said, “I have wondered what this day would be like for over 20 years” I asked her if it was what she thought it would be. She told me it exceeded her wildest expectations. I was elated for reasons that might seem odd.

However, there were still some mysteries remaining. I was not sure of the circumstance of her birth. I was not sure who her biological mother was or even could have been. I am ashamed to say that I could not remember anything happening or that I thought might have happened to cause this with anyone particular girl, but on contemplating the situation I narrowed in down to three possibilities.

She sent me a copy of some information that she had been able to collect over the years, with some pictures of her biological mother, half sister, and herself. After reading the contents I figured out who the bio mother was from my past and the interlude that ended up causing the recent enlightenment. Those circumstance are not really important. Let’s just say that it was 1968, One Block West was the place to go and meet girls, and one could go and have a great time for a week or two without regards to consequences, or so we thought back then.

I had no idea that the girl I met and hung around with for a week or two got pregnant. No one informed me, no one even suggested that such a thing had taken place. I even new her sisters in college, but they never uttered a word.

Her folks would have none of it. They sent her to a home that unwed mothers went to in those days and she was forced, so to speak, to give up the baby girl. It had to be heart wrenching for her. I have known several young ladies, some very close friends that had similar situations happen to them and some who took more drastic actions, and they all say you never quite get over it and never forget it and wonder how the child’s life turned out or might have.

Well in my bio daughters case it turned out well. She was raised by a mother and father who loved her and she loved them, was a cheer leader in high school in a small town, she went to college on a scholarship, and now has a successful career helping others. She has three children of her own, a nice husband and 4 step children and a recent grand baby.  Believe me if I had been involved in her early life when I was young and more stupid then I am now, her life would not have turned out so well.

She has met my other children and we even took a “family” type of picture. When I am asked how many children I have I always say 5 and seldom have to go into the entire story of where the 5^th one is. In fact I am just as proud of her as my other children and sort of relish relating the story about her doggedness of searching for me for over 20 years.

I realize that I am not her father, he is the one who set up with her and nights and guided her into adulthood. She calls me Conley and that is how it should be. She met my mother, who seemed just as thrilled as me to have her presence known and mom gave her a family heirloom. I have informed her of what her McAnally roots were and I told her I would be as little or as much a part of her life as she wished me to be. I told her I had no right to expect anything from her. We keep in contact via  phone, facebook, and email.  She lives in western Kansas but I manage to go by and see her a couple of times a year.  
 

Family Secrets - The Wreck

Family Secrets - The Wreck

Mom and Dad had been dating for less than a year. It was drizzling rain when he picked her up from her home in Kansas City, Kansas and they went to a dance at William Chrisman High School. After the dance they decided to stop by a local drive-in and take the long way back to her house. While at the drive-in Dad and another guy got into an argument as to who had the fastest car. There was no drag strip in those days for the argument to be settled but there was always Kentucky Road just outside of Sugar Creek where such matters were easily delt with.

The two cars met at the appropriate place. A crowd had gathered and one of the two antagonist’s mutual friends gave the signal for the race to begin.

Dad did not win the race due to the fact that he hit a slick spot on the road, turned the car in a one eighty and went over an embankment. He was thrown against the steering wheel, bruised his chest and suffered some minor lacerations. Mom’s head went through the windshield.

By the time the on lookers got to the site, blood was every where, mostly Mom’s. One of the guys said they needed to take mom to the hospital immediately and there was a momentary hesitation as to whose car she should go in. “She’ll get blood all over my car,” one guy reportedly said. One of the larger of the group took charge and put mom in the closest car and sort of dared anyone to complain.

They arrived at the hospital where dad’s parents were called and he was immediately treated for his injuries. Mom’s mother was called but mom’s stepfather was hard of hearing and did not understand that they were supposed to come to the hospital and give permission for the doctors to treat mom since she was under age.

Dad’s mom and dad waited and waited, mom was kept from bleeding to death by basic first aid but no procedures were given to help her further. My grandmother decided she would sign the papers to commence doing whatever was needed to be done when finally Mom’s mom showed up, having realized what had happened via a second phone call that she answered.

Mom had a minor concussion and a slashed cheek. It took several hours to sew her up. She asked the doctor later how many stitches she received and the doctor told her, “Honey I stopped counting at 350.”

Mom had a terrible scar for the rest of her life. I never noticed anything out of the ordinary though because it was just part of the only her I had ever known. The scar is still visible if you know where to look, but wrinkles and sagging facial muscles has made it all but disappear.

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