1973---The Move to Colorado
203 Sewell Circle, Warner Robins, GA
The first major trip that I actually remember occurred in August of 1973, when I was just past my 10th birthday. We, which included Mom (Mary Katherine Schenfeld) and Dad (Earl Benton Kretzer), plus my siblings, Darrin, Sally, and Jayme, were living in Warner Robins, GA. Dad was in the Air Force and stationed there. We lived near the base at 203 Sewell Circle.
The occasion of this trip was Dad’s retirement. He was forty years old and had put in twenty years of service with the Navy and Air Force, and was now moving to civilian life. Mom had lived the nomad’s life of a career military wife for long enough and wanted to settle near her family in Colorado. As this would involve a cross-country trip, and Dad’s family was here in the South, it was decided to make pit stops along the way; at Dothan, AL (to visit Dad’s brother, Johnny) and Ashland, KY to visit the rest of his extended family. For us kids it promised to be a big adventure.
But, before I get into the travel portion of this adventure, I might as well use this opportunity to put down some thoughts of what I remember about this time.
We lived in Warner Robins, GA from the summer of 1967, when Dad returned from Thailand, where had had spent a year helping to barracks for Utapao Air Base there. Sally had been born, in Colorado, while he was overseas. His orders took him and us to Georgia, once he returned. We stayed in Georgia, Warner Robins to be precise, until he retired in June or July of 1973.
We lived at two different places when Dad was stationed in Georgia. First was the “Pink House” which was on Leota Circle. It was called the Pink House because it was painted pink. As I recall it was unfenced and had a crawl space under the house. I can tell you that our time at Leota Circle left some indelible memories with me. The three strongest were the birth of my brother, two dogs, and the near death of my other brother, Darrin.
The occasion of this trip was Dad’s retirement. He was forty years old and had put in twenty years of service with the Navy and Air Force, and was now moving to civilian life. Mom had lived the nomad’s life of a career military wife for long enough and wanted to settle near her family in Colorado. As this would involve a cross-country trip, and Dad’s family was here in the South, it was decided to make pit stops along the way; at Dothan, AL (to visit Dad’s brother, Johnny) and Ashland, KY to visit the rest of his extended family. For us kids it promised to be a big adventure.
But, before I get into the travel portion of this adventure, I might as well use this opportunity to put down some thoughts of what I remember about this time.
We lived in Warner Robins, GA from the summer of 1967, when Dad returned from Thailand, where had had spent a year helping to barracks for Utapao Air Base there. Sally had been born, in Colorado, while he was overseas. His orders took him and us to Georgia, once he returned. We stayed in Georgia, Warner Robins to be precise, until he retired in June or July of 1973.
We lived at two different places when Dad was stationed in Georgia. First was the “Pink House” which was on Leota Circle. It was called the Pink House because it was painted pink. As I recall it was unfenced and had a crawl space under the house. I can tell you that our time at Leota Circle left some indelible memories with me. The three strongest were the birth of my brother, two dogs, and the near death of my other brother, Darrin.
Dad and Darrin at Brooke Army Medical Center, 1968
Memory number two. Dad was a smoker and as such there were always matches around. Darrin had a natural inclination towards anything mechanical, and the drawing of a stick across a surface to make fire had a special appeal. It happened in 1968, in early November, that Darrin was playing with some of those matches and dropped a lit one on his sock. It caught, spread to his pants leg and shirt. I was outside, but not playing with him at the time. I heard him yelling and saw that he was on fire. I went inside to tell the folks. My manner was overly calm, and to the life of me I don’t know why I wasn’t in a panic. Maybe at age 5 I just didn’t understand the magnitude of what was happening. I went inside and with just a fraction of a degree over nonchalant I announced that “Darrin is on fire.” Both Mom and Dad took a half second to register what I said and the both jumped to action. Dad went outside and started to roll Darrin in the ground. Mom brought out a pot filled with water and doused him with it. The flames were put out and a burned, and now naked and screaming, Darrin was rushed to the hospital. Dad blew by the guard at the front gate of the base on his way to the nearest hospital. This drew plenty of attention from the base police, but that was quickly taken care of. Darrin ended up in the Texas Burn Center, at Brooke Army Medical Center in San Antonio for a month.
My final indelible memory of the Pink House. The first of the two dogs I mentioned was Fido, a little black and white dog that seemed to have a propensity to bite. I think there was something mentally wrong with it, as Dad took it away in the trunk of his car. The dog was snarling and snapping the whole time. Dad had to have it put down. I don’t think it was sick, as the dog was like that as long as we owned it. He wasn’t aggressive all the time, but seemed to get worse as time passed. I don’t have a good grasp of how long we had Fido. One part of me says a year; another part says it couldn’t have been more than a few months. Maybe the dog had been abused. But, Dad got rid of it because he was afraid it would hurt one of us.
The next dog we got, was a good dog. But, the only thing I remember clearly was losing it. This time it died. Dad said that it ate something out of a trash can and got sick. Who knows? I, and probably Darrin, as we seemed to be together all the time, found it under the crawl space of the Pink House, where it had passed away.
I don’t want to leave you with the impression that this was a miserable time. However, I do have to confess that the things that made the deepest gouges on my memory at this age were very emotional. They had to be or they wouldn’t have stood the erosion of time
My final indelible memory of the Pink House. The first of the two dogs I mentioned was Fido, a little black and white dog that seemed to have a propensity to bite. I think there was something mentally wrong with it, as Dad took it away in the trunk of his car. The dog was snarling and snapping the whole time. Dad had to have it put down. I don’t think it was sick, as the dog was like that as long as we owned it. He wasn’t aggressive all the time, but seemed to get worse as time passed. I don’t have a good grasp of how long we had Fido. One part of me says a year; another part says it couldn’t have been more than a few months. Maybe the dog had been abused. But, Dad got rid of it because he was afraid it would hurt one of us.
The next dog we got, was a good dog. But, the only thing I remember clearly was losing it. This time it died. Dad said that it ate something out of a trash can and got sick. Who knows? I, and probably Darrin, as we seemed to be together all the time, found it under the crawl space of the Pink House, where it had passed away.
I don’t want to leave you with the impression that this was a miserable time. However, I do have to confess that the things that made the deepest gouges on my memory at this age were very emotional. They had to be or they wouldn’t have stood the erosion of time
Carrols
One fond memory comes to mind; Carrols hamburgers. You likely have never heard of Carrols. They became extinct in the United States in the mid-1970s. They were never a major player in the fast food industry, but there one near by in Warner Robins. It was my first experience with fast food. I loved their hamburgers and chocolate shakes. Back in the late 60’s and early 70’s going to a fast food place was not the common place dinner choice as it is now 40 years later. If we ate at Carrols more than three or four times a year I would be surprised. The hamburgers cost 15 cents, I think. The most memorable experience concerning Carrols was when Mom was pregnant with Mary Ann. (I will get to her shortly)
The guys at the base had taken a collection up for Dad to help defray the expenses of having a baby. I clearly remember that a large part of the collection was in coins, as Dad was carrying it in a paper cup. I don’t remember thinking that getting donations in coins was unusual. Money went farther back then. I do recall thinking the paper cup was an odd way for Dad to carry money. He usually just kept change in his pocket. But, with so much of it, the reason why was obvious. Anyway, as a treat we went out and got Carrols hamburgers. Dad paid for it out of that cup. The whole meal for all five of us was likely under three dollars. Carrols ended up being absorbed by Burger King not long after we moved to Colorado
We lived on Leota Circle until sometime in the first half of 1969.
The second place we lived at, 203 Sewell Circle was a small white house. It had an attached car port and a fenced backyard. There was a large Chinaberry tree in the backyard that Darrin and I would climb constantly. I never recall falling out of it, but we must have at some point. There was a wire fence along the back and separating us from the east neighbor. The west side neighbor had a chain link fence. One strange feature in that back yard was a sewer/storm drain. It was near the chain link fence, in the yard. I found it by accident one day when I was trying to make a mud hole. Why, I don’t recall. But, the water would not pool. I ran the hose in that area for several minutes waiting for a puddle to form in the depression in the grass. I finally got down and felt around, and discovered the iron grate. I never did figure out what it was doing there.
The guys at the base had taken a collection up for Dad to help defray the expenses of having a baby. I clearly remember that a large part of the collection was in coins, as Dad was carrying it in a paper cup. I don’t remember thinking that getting donations in coins was unusual. Money went farther back then. I do recall thinking the paper cup was an odd way for Dad to carry money. He usually just kept change in his pocket. But, with so much of it, the reason why was obvious. Anyway, as a treat we went out and got Carrols hamburgers. Dad paid for it out of that cup. The whole meal for all five of us was likely under three dollars. Carrols ended up being absorbed by Burger King not long after we moved to Colorado
We lived on Leota Circle until sometime in the first half of 1969.
The second place we lived at, 203 Sewell Circle was a small white house. It had an attached car port and a fenced backyard. There was a large Chinaberry tree in the backyard that Darrin and I would climb constantly. I never recall falling out of it, but we must have at some point. There was a wire fence along the back and separating us from the east neighbor. The west side neighbor had a chain link fence. One strange feature in that back yard was a sewer/storm drain. It was near the chain link fence, in the yard. I found it by accident one day when I was trying to make a mud hole. Why, I don’t recall. But, the water would not pool. I ran the hose in that area for several minutes waiting for a puddle to form in the depression in the grass. I finally got down and felt around, and discovered the iron grate. I never did figure out what it was doing there.
Jayme in his Beep-Beep, backyard of Sewell Circle House
One of my first memories of this house is Mom walking me on the route to school. I would be starting my first year when the summer was over. She wanted to make sure I could find my way to and from Lindsey Elementary. She did that probably in May and asked if I thought I would be OK to walk home by myself. I thought so, and even though she picked me up and dropped my off on many occasions, I did end up walking to and from school most days for the next four years.
The neighbor to the west of us was the Greens. Harry was the man’s name, and I don’t recall his wife. They were our neighbors from the time we moved in, to the time we left. Harry was about 60, gray-haired and very nice to us kids. I don’t recall seeing any family visit him, so maybe he/they were happy to have some “grandchild” age kids around. I do seem to recall his wife giving us cookies.
The next house over was the Millers. That family consisted of a mother, Ruth, no father, and three (or four) kids. They had a daughter close to Sally’s age. Her name might have been Kathleen, and a son a year older than me, Barry. Barry had an older brother that was not around as much. He was at least in Jr High, and maybe high school. Greg, I think, was his name. He was too cool to hang out with us. But he and a friend did throw a little batting practice to us one day. It was my introduction to a curve ball. His pitch started on the inside and broke towards the plate. Having never scene anything except a fastball, I tried to get out of the way by moving over the plate, where the ball hit me. That happened twice, before it I got it figured out. I faintly remember maybe one other kid, the youngest. No name comes to me and I’m not even sure of the sex.
Barry was a bit of a trouble-maker and my folks weren’t crazy about me hanging around with him. But, we never got into any real mischief. Barry did have a negative influence on Jayme, as Barry cussed like no one I had ever heard. Jayme picked up on the colorful language and has had a bit of spice to his conversation ever since. Ruth, the mom, was a nice lady. She baby sat us kids when Mom went to the hospital when Mary Ann was stillborn. She refused to accept any money for watching us, which made an impression on me.
The neighbor to the west of us was the Greens. Harry was the man’s name, and I don’t recall his wife. They were our neighbors from the time we moved in, to the time we left. Harry was about 60, gray-haired and very nice to us kids. I don’t recall seeing any family visit him, so maybe he/they were happy to have some “grandchild” age kids around. I do seem to recall his wife giving us cookies.
The next house over was the Millers. That family consisted of a mother, Ruth, no father, and three (or four) kids. They had a daughter close to Sally’s age. Her name might have been Kathleen, and a son a year older than me, Barry. Barry had an older brother that was not around as much. He was at least in Jr High, and maybe high school. Greg, I think, was his name. He was too cool to hang out with us. But he and a friend did throw a little batting practice to us one day. It was my introduction to a curve ball. His pitch started on the inside and broke towards the plate. Having never scene anything except a fastball, I tried to get out of the way by moving over the plate, where the ball hit me. That happened twice, before it I got it figured out. I faintly remember maybe one other kid, the youngest. No name comes to me and I’m not even sure of the sex.
Barry was a bit of a trouble-maker and my folks weren’t crazy about me hanging around with him. But, we never got into any real mischief. Barry did have a negative influence on Jayme, as Barry cussed like no one I had ever heard. Jayme picked up on the colorful language and has had a bit of spice to his conversation ever since. Ruth, the mom, was a nice lady. She baby sat us kids when Mom went to the hospital when Mary Ann was stillborn. She refused to accept any money for watching us, which made an impression on me.
Sally, Jayme, and Jo-Jo
On the east side of us, we had two or three neighbors during our stay on Sewell Circle. I don’t remember the first, other than I think they existed. The next was Peggy and her two daughters. The daughters were older as well, probably high school. They were both pretty. One daughter was a brunette or brown haired and the other a blond. Barry was much more fascinated with them then I was. Mom was friends with Peggy and in my mind Peggy always resembled my Aunt Ann. I don’t know if that was accurate or not. The only other think I recall about them was that Barry and I found some sort of chicken one time. We kept it in a cage in the alley behind Peggy’s house. It laid an egg. But it died when it got it’s head part way out of the wooden cage and wrung it’s own neck.
After Peggy moved away, a black family moved in. I don’t recall the parents, but they had at least three kids. A high school boy named Leroy, a boy my age, Neil, and a daughter Sally’s age. They were trouble. Leroy entered into our house one night and stole Dad’s wallet, while everyone slept. It could have just been the money inside that was taken. I don’t recall for sure. They also stole the toys, including my ball glove, out of our backyard. We eventually got most of those back.
In class one day, Neil shot a rubber band powered projectile at a fat girl named Diane. I walked in front of it and took the pain. I told on him, and he got a spanking. He punched me in the nose after class. I don’t recall it drawing blood, nor hurting very much. Actually my recollection was that Neil was the least objectionable of the bunch, and I never had any other trouble with him. I think I heard that Leroy was arrested for something or other on another occasion.
After Peggy moved away, a black family moved in. I don’t recall the parents, but they had at least three kids. A high school boy named Leroy, a boy my age, Neil, and a daughter Sally’s age. They were trouble. Leroy entered into our house one night and stole Dad’s wallet, while everyone slept. It could have just been the money inside that was taken. I don’t recall for sure. They also stole the toys, including my ball glove, out of our backyard. We eventually got most of those back.
In class one day, Neil shot a rubber band powered projectile at a fat girl named Diane. I walked in front of it and took the pain. I told on him, and he got a spanking. He punched me in the nose after class. I don’t recall it drawing blood, nor hurting very much. Actually my recollection was that Neil was the least objectionable of the bunch, and I never had any other trouble with him. I think I heard that Leroy was arrested for something or other on another occasion.
Darrin and JoJo
Across the street for a period of time lived a Puerto Rican family. The mother was Juanita. They had kids, but I don’t think they had any our age. They may have had a son a few years older than Barry and I. They did speak Spanish and that was my first exposure to that language. The son, or at least another boy who spoke Spanish, was with Barry and me on one occasion. Barry had him teaching us dirty words in Spanish. Barry was putting some effort into learning them. I was trying not to use that kind of language in English, so it wasn’t high on my list of things to remember. That was my only recollection of ever interacting with this boy. I do remember him as being fluent in English, well dressed, and a very polite kid. I don’t remember much else about that family, except that they were nice and that Mom and Juanita were friends.
Mom used to buy all of our groceries at the Big Apple supermarket. Big Apple was a regional grocery story chain and is long gone as well. I don’t recall anything special about it, other than it was very big and pretty close to our Sewell Circle home. Much closer, actually walking distance, was a convenience store that sold the best chocolate shakes I can remember. I have fond memories of those and the baseball cards I used to buy there.
Speaking of baseball my first two years of Little League Baseball were in Warner Robins. My first year we wore purple or burgundy and we were called the Falcons. Dad worked with me every night after work, hitting fly balls in the back yard. I am sure that they couldn’t have been much with respect to a fly, but he made me into a fair outfielder with all of the practice. We would go straight to the backyard after work before dinner and work on baseball basics. Pick up games in the area behind our house were common as well. Sewell Circle Park was directly behind us, and they had a baseball diamond with lights. But, we didn’t play there. We played in the alley between our house and the outfield fence. That seemed to be plenty of room. My first coach was a realtor, whose last name escapes me. It started with a G and was Polish or Eastern European. His assistant coach was Mr. Phillips, an older man, whose two boys who were my teammates.
I have only the dimmest recollections of any of those games. I can remember only one game with any degree of clarity. I was having trouble at the plate. I was afraid of the ball. Not an uncommon ailment for an 8 year old, just getting started. When the pitch was thrown I would immediately take a step back to get out of the way. You don’t get many hits with that approach. Dad gave me the odd advice of treating the ball like a bug that needed to be swatted. It was sort of helpful, and I did give him credit later. But, what actually broke me of it was something much simpler. After my umpteenth time doing this, and both coaches trying to figure out some simple teaching technique to break me, all it took was Mr. Phillips to yell in disgust “Oh, No!’ when I did it during a real game. I stepped back into the batters box, while the ball was in mid-flight and knocked the ball into the outfield, for a double. I think I got two other hits that day before being pulled to allow someone else to play. I asked to be the bat boy and Mr. G was all too happy to let me continue in that capacity.
My second year of ball had a beginning and an end, with not much middle. That was due to an accident that took me out for most of the summer. Just down the street from our Sewell Circle there was a large ditch. It was a favorite place to hang out. We would often walk up and down the banks looking for discarded soda bottles. Back then soda bottles were reusable. When you paid for your soda you also paid an extra fee called a deposit, to insure you brought the empty bottle back. The deposit was something like 5 cents. That amount was small enough that a fair percentage of the bottles were thrown out anyway, and more than a few would end up around this ditch. We never found a lot, but a nickel could buy a candy bar. Another activity was to take other containers, which were all glass back then, float them in the ditch, and attack them with rocks. It was fun to seen how long it took you to hit the container and then how many hits it took to sink the vessel. A consequence of this was the bottom of the ditch was no place for wading. We all knew that and respected it.
A couple of friends (Darrin may have been one) and I were playing at the ditch with a couple of other boys from out of our neighborhood. I knew them somewhat, but not well. For some forgotten reason, which I have the faint recollection contained both a portion of anger and “just messin’ around.’, one of the other boys pushed me into the ditch. We were barefoot all the time back then, so you can imagine what happened. My left foot hit broken glass and it was badly cut. I cried and limped home with the help of my companions. I was rushed to the emergency room and stitched up. That was my first experience with both stitches and local anesthetic. The local started to run out towards the end of the stitching and it started to hurt. I was on crutches for several weeks, and obviously not playing ball.
I ended up playing in three of four games that year, 1972-3, for the Braves. I batted second and was one of the youngest players. I don’t remember our coach’s name, but I always wondered about how good he was. We had two really good players. Both had power and could hit well. He would often bat one of them eighth, with the justification that the number eight spot was the second clean up hitter as far as he was concerned. Even at 9-10 years old I knew you wanted your best hitters to get as many at bats as possible. But, he did use me pretty well. Dad had taught me to bunt, and I was usually over matched at the plate going against the older pitchers. But, I was often asked to put down a bunt to advance the lead off man from first, and as often as not, I beat out the throw, gaining us two base runners. I seemed to own that third base line. But, playing only two or three games at the beginning of the season, and one at the end, did not get me a ton of opportunities to shine.
Mom used to buy all of our groceries at the Big Apple supermarket. Big Apple was a regional grocery story chain and is long gone as well. I don’t recall anything special about it, other than it was very big and pretty close to our Sewell Circle home. Much closer, actually walking distance, was a convenience store that sold the best chocolate shakes I can remember. I have fond memories of those and the baseball cards I used to buy there.
Speaking of baseball my first two years of Little League Baseball were in Warner Robins. My first year we wore purple or burgundy and we were called the Falcons. Dad worked with me every night after work, hitting fly balls in the back yard. I am sure that they couldn’t have been much with respect to a fly, but he made me into a fair outfielder with all of the practice. We would go straight to the backyard after work before dinner and work on baseball basics. Pick up games in the area behind our house were common as well. Sewell Circle Park was directly behind us, and they had a baseball diamond with lights. But, we didn’t play there. We played in the alley between our house and the outfield fence. That seemed to be plenty of room. My first coach was a realtor, whose last name escapes me. It started with a G and was Polish or Eastern European. His assistant coach was Mr. Phillips, an older man, whose two boys who were my teammates.
I have only the dimmest recollections of any of those games. I can remember only one game with any degree of clarity. I was having trouble at the plate. I was afraid of the ball. Not an uncommon ailment for an 8 year old, just getting started. When the pitch was thrown I would immediately take a step back to get out of the way. You don’t get many hits with that approach. Dad gave me the odd advice of treating the ball like a bug that needed to be swatted. It was sort of helpful, and I did give him credit later. But, what actually broke me of it was something much simpler. After my umpteenth time doing this, and both coaches trying to figure out some simple teaching technique to break me, all it took was Mr. Phillips to yell in disgust “Oh, No!’ when I did it during a real game. I stepped back into the batters box, while the ball was in mid-flight and knocked the ball into the outfield, for a double. I think I got two other hits that day before being pulled to allow someone else to play. I asked to be the bat boy and Mr. G was all too happy to let me continue in that capacity.
My second year of ball had a beginning and an end, with not much middle. That was due to an accident that took me out for most of the summer. Just down the street from our Sewell Circle there was a large ditch. It was a favorite place to hang out. We would often walk up and down the banks looking for discarded soda bottles. Back then soda bottles were reusable. When you paid for your soda you also paid an extra fee called a deposit, to insure you brought the empty bottle back. The deposit was something like 5 cents. That amount was small enough that a fair percentage of the bottles were thrown out anyway, and more than a few would end up around this ditch. We never found a lot, but a nickel could buy a candy bar. Another activity was to take other containers, which were all glass back then, float them in the ditch, and attack them with rocks. It was fun to seen how long it took you to hit the container and then how many hits it took to sink the vessel. A consequence of this was the bottom of the ditch was no place for wading. We all knew that and respected it.
A couple of friends (Darrin may have been one) and I were playing at the ditch with a couple of other boys from out of our neighborhood. I knew them somewhat, but not well. For some forgotten reason, which I have the faint recollection contained both a portion of anger and “just messin’ around.’, one of the other boys pushed me into the ditch. We were barefoot all the time back then, so you can imagine what happened. My left foot hit broken glass and it was badly cut. I cried and limped home with the help of my companions. I was rushed to the emergency room and stitched up. That was my first experience with both stitches and local anesthetic. The local started to run out towards the end of the stitching and it started to hurt. I was on crutches for several weeks, and obviously not playing ball.
I ended up playing in three of four games that year, 1972-3, for the Braves. I batted second and was one of the youngest players. I don’t remember our coach’s name, but I always wondered about how good he was. We had two really good players. Both had power and could hit well. He would often bat one of them eighth, with the justification that the number eight spot was the second clean up hitter as far as he was concerned. Even at 9-10 years old I knew you wanted your best hitters to get as many at bats as possible. But, he did use me pretty well. Dad had taught me to bunt, and I was usually over matched at the plate going against the older pitchers. But, I was often asked to put down a bunt to advance the lead off man from first, and as often as not, I beat out the throw, gaining us two base runners. I seemed to own that third base line. But, playing only two or three games at the beginning of the season, and one at the end, did not get me a ton of opportunities to shine.
Sally, Me, Darrin and Jayme
I went to school at Lindsey Elementary. I started in 1st grade, with Mrs. Hutchinson. She was in her sixties. I do recall that Mom took me and picked me up at least the very first day of school. It was probably more often than that, but I recall walking home from school a lot. I don’t recall how I got to school normally. Upon picking my up on Day One, I did inform Mom that I had not learned to read yet. That was my big reason for wanting to go to school.
I had a handful of friends that I remember; Billy Godfrey (my best friend), Kevin, who would always split his Popsicle with me at lunch. On the seldom occasion I had a nickel to buy one, he wouldn’t take half of mine, he would just eat his full one. There was James Milan and Blake Greene. I recall Randy MacLamore, who played catcher on his Little League team, and whose nickname was Johnny Bench. I can remember a very gregarious kid with the last name of Weaver. He died for a reason that I can’t recall, traffic accident maybe. That was my first experience of losing someone. It did not require grief counseling. I recall it rolling off my back pretty easily, and I was not alone.
Some of the girls that I recall included Alexis Smith. She was very pretty and my first crush. She moved after second grade to Alabama. She was very smart and wrote the class a letter after she moved. There was Jane Hardin. Also smart, but very quiet. I remember her has pretty, as well. I can recall a tiny little girl named Mitzi. There was a boy named Ronald Cardin who was a bit annoying, and that I also beat in the sack race to win a blue ribbon on Field Day. I remember a brother and sister, Clarence and ???? Watts. They were the two best athletes in our grade. I think Clarence had a clean sweep of blue ribbons in his events and his sister ended up with all blue ribbons, save one red. Clarence gave her a bit of grief over her less than perfect score.
The Sewell Circle house was near the Air Force base. The one really nice thing about that was seeing the aircraft that would come and go. I have three distinct memories of that. The first was the annual Air Force Thunderbirds Air Show. I can remember watching the aerobatics from the Chinaberry tree in our backyard. They were very impressive. The second, and you must remember that the Vietnam War was at it’s height, was one day when I counted something like a dozen helicopters coming and going in the span of an hour. I went and gave Mom a running count of them after the first 8 or so. I kind of noticed she was getting worried. I think she was wondering if Dad would be coming home with orders to go overseas to the war. The final memory was of the loud bangs we would occasionally hear. Mom would tell us that this was some aircraft breaking the sound barrier. I always pictured that as a big black wall that was built to suppress the jet noise from getting out of the base. Then some airplane would fly so fast over top of it that it would explode.
I mentioned two prior dogs when we lived on Leota Circle. We had one other dog, Jo-Jo. We may have gotten him prior to the move over to Sewell Circle, but he was with us until we moved to Colorado. He was great dog. I can recall that Mom actually gave him a meatball for killing a rather large cockroach. Jo-Jo was a small black and while terrier mix. Just a mutt that I think Dad got from someone at the base. It was very sad when we finally moved, as we couldn’t take him with us. The folks took him to a Humane Society where we were told he would be found a good home.
I’ve mentioned without explaining, my sister Mary Ann. The move to Brighton, Colorado was obviously not spur of the moment. Dad knew when he was retiring and the decision to put down roots in Colorado was made many months in advance. Also happening months in advance was Mom becoming pregnant. The baby was due in the summer of 1972; about a year before the move was planned. So the whole time this trip was being planned, thought was given to having a baby travel with us. I don’t recall hearing in specific details, but most conversations around this time, seemed to include some detail about “the baby”.
Tragically, it was not to be. My sister, Mary Ann Kretzer was stillborn on June 29, 1972, after it was discovered the umbilical cord had wrapped around her neck. My folks had her body shipped to Brighton where she was laid to rest in Elmwood Cemetery there. Years later I found in my Mom’s papers the papers dealing with this terrible occasion. My grandfather, Stephen Schenfeld, had paid for the funeral. I imagine this was a loan, that my folks paid back. But, I never heard any discussion about anything except the baby would be buried in Brighton. At ten years old, the concept of dying was still pretty abstract. Losing someone who you never met, did not greatly affect me, but it was very hard on Mom. She put up a very brave front, but she was very sad at that time. I think I can recall her crying, but that was a private matter for her, so I was either ushered away or left on my own
I had a handful of friends that I remember; Billy Godfrey (my best friend), Kevin, who would always split his Popsicle with me at lunch. On the seldom occasion I had a nickel to buy one, he wouldn’t take half of mine, he would just eat his full one. There was James Milan and Blake Greene. I recall Randy MacLamore, who played catcher on his Little League team, and whose nickname was Johnny Bench. I can remember a very gregarious kid with the last name of Weaver. He died for a reason that I can’t recall, traffic accident maybe. That was my first experience of losing someone. It did not require grief counseling. I recall it rolling off my back pretty easily, and I was not alone.
Some of the girls that I recall included Alexis Smith. She was very pretty and my first crush. She moved after second grade to Alabama. She was very smart and wrote the class a letter after she moved. There was Jane Hardin. Also smart, but very quiet. I remember her has pretty, as well. I can recall a tiny little girl named Mitzi. There was a boy named Ronald Cardin who was a bit annoying, and that I also beat in the sack race to win a blue ribbon on Field Day. I remember a brother and sister, Clarence and ???? Watts. They were the two best athletes in our grade. I think Clarence had a clean sweep of blue ribbons in his events and his sister ended up with all blue ribbons, save one red. Clarence gave her a bit of grief over her less than perfect score.
The Sewell Circle house was near the Air Force base. The one really nice thing about that was seeing the aircraft that would come and go. I have three distinct memories of that. The first was the annual Air Force Thunderbirds Air Show. I can remember watching the aerobatics from the Chinaberry tree in our backyard. They were very impressive. The second, and you must remember that the Vietnam War was at it’s height, was one day when I counted something like a dozen helicopters coming and going in the span of an hour. I went and gave Mom a running count of them after the first 8 or so. I kind of noticed she was getting worried. I think she was wondering if Dad would be coming home with orders to go overseas to the war. The final memory was of the loud bangs we would occasionally hear. Mom would tell us that this was some aircraft breaking the sound barrier. I always pictured that as a big black wall that was built to suppress the jet noise from getting out of the base. Then some airplane would fly so fast over top of it that it would explode.
I mentioned two prior dogs when we lived on Leota Circle. We had one other dog, Jo-Jo. We may have gotten him prior to the move over to Sewell Circle, but he was with us until we moved to Colorado. He was great dog. I can recall that Mom actually gave him a meatball for killing a rather large cockroach. Jo-Jo was a small black and while terrier mix. Just a mutt that I think Dad got from someone at the base. It was very sad when we finally moved, as we couldn’t take him with us. The folks took him to a Humane Society where we were told he would be found a good home.
I’ve mentioned without explaining, my sister Mary Ann. The move to Brighton, Colorado was obviously not spur of the moment. Dad knew when he was retiring and the decision to put down roots in Colorado was made many months in advance. Also happening months in advance was Mom becoming pregnant. The baby was due in the summer of 1972; about a year before the move was planned. So the whole time this trip was being planned, thought was given to having a baby travel with us. I don’t recall hearing in specific details, but most conversations around this time, seemed to include some detail about “the baby”.
Tragically, it was not to be. My sister, Mary Ann Kretzer was stillborn on June 29, 1972, after it was discovered the umbilical cord had wrapped around her neck. My folks had her body shipped to Brighton where she was laid to rest in Elmwood Cemetery there. Years later I found in my Mom’s papers the papers dealing with this terrible occasion. My grandfather, Stephen Schenfeld, had paid for the funeral. I imagine this was a loan, that my folks paid back. But, I never heard any discussion about anything except the baby would be buried in Brighton. At ten years old, the concept of dying was still pretty abstract. Losing someone who you never met, did not greatly affect me, but it was very hard on Mom. She put up a very brave front, but she was very sad at that time. I think I can recall her crying, but that was a private matter for her, so I was either ushered away or left on my own
Aunt Mary and Uncle Johnny
July 29, 1973
The summer of 1973 was spent getting everything ready to move. Mom and Dad (mostly Mom) boxed up a ton of things. Every box, piece of furniture, or anything that was going needed to have a little sticker on it. These stickers were provided by the moving company and were used to insure that everything that was supposed to go, would. It didn’t work. The mover arrived and they filled up their truck with all of our belongings save a few air mattresses and blankets. When the truck left, Dad’s extension ladder was not on it. No one had noticed until they were gone. The truck was on it’s way to Colorado. Both Dad and Mom were very mad, but there was nothing that could be done. Dad gave the ladder to Mr. Green, telling him he would prefer he have it.
Tomorrow would be the big day. We were moving to Colorado. With all of our belongings on the way to Colorado, the plan was to sleep in the living room, on the air mattresses, like a camp out. We were all pretty excited. I think we ate Carrols for dinner. There was no TV. We did have cards so I think we played a little of that but mostly we just went to bed early, and tried to get some sleep.
July 30, 1973
I remember waking up and Mom telling me that she and Dad did not get much sleep because I tossed and turned all night making the air mattress squeak. Sorry. We got the rest of our belongings into the car. Dad had rented (I guess) a luggage rack for the car and we had a couple of gray hard side suitcases tied up there. The rest went into the trunk.
Dad would be driving and Mom would be navigating. Jayme would ride up front most of the time, leaving the back seat for Sally, Darrin and I.
One of the big concerns on the folks’ minds was keeping us entertained for the long hours on the road. We kids knew from the occasional road trip we had taken to Dothan, AL to Uncle Johnny’s, that Dad did not have a lot of patients. To be fair, we were not exactly angels to travel with. Much later in life, I was to be blessed with two daughters who were a joy to take on a road trip. That particular gene must have skipped a generation. We were the classic “Are we there yet?”, “How much longer?” “I’m gonna turn this car around” family.
To combat this Mom had made a slip cover that went over the bench seat of our 1964 Plymouth Valiant. On the backside, that was the side that faced us kids, were four large pockets sown into it. Inside these Mom had placed a variety of coloring books and other diversions. This was the era before iPods, Smartphones, even DVDs or the Walkman. The car had an AM radio. That was our entertainment. I can recall that Mom’s handiwork had a degree of success. I can remember being bored on the trip, but not terribly so.
We all climbed in and pulled away. No one, to date, has been back to Georgia since. But at the time, the excitement was palpable. We were off on our grand adventure. That’s the way I saw it. The build up had been going on for about a year. It seemed that every conversation in our house had a slant towards this trip. Now we were on it. But, first we had to get gas. Dad stopped at Shell station. That made an impression on me because he commented on the high price of the gas that was pumped. A gas attendant actually did it. That’s another thing that has changed. You didn’t pump your gas back then. They had someone to do it for you. After the transaction was completed, Dad said that “It should be lined with gold” at that price. I think it was around 36 cents a gallon. The Arab Oil embargo was just getting started. Living history and I didn’t even know it.
It did not dawn on me until much later, but this should have been the explanationf or a part of a conversation I remember between Mom and Dad. They were discussing that it cost money to travel from state to state. I didn’t quite understand that. I thought that they meant there was an admission charge to enter each state. That Alabama and the others would be collecting money as we attempted to enter their state. I don’t honestly know if I thought this because the correct alternative of paying for food, gas, and lodging was just too obvious, or if I was just too dense. I’m kind of betting on the latter.
After filling the Valiant with go-go juice we were on our way southwest. Our destination for the day was Dothan, AL. Dothan is where my Uncle Johnny lived. At home with him was my Aunt Mary and cousin, Cheryl Ann. The trip to Dothan was short compared with the rest of the driving days. It took us about four hours to get there. I can remember almost nothing about this leg of the trip. I vaguely remember seeing some signs and the water tower at nearby Perry, GA. It stuck me that I had heard of that town, but had never seen anything that made it real until then.
I remember that we arrived during the day, likely around noon, and that Uncle Johnny lived in a trailer park. The folks and my Aunt and Uncle visited quite a bit the rest of that day, and we spent the night. I played with my cousin Cheryl, who was a big Joe Namath fan. We played a board game “Go to the Head of the Class” some, and an early electronic football game. The player on offence would select a disk and put it, on it’s side, like a piece of toast, into the player. Each disk was a type of offensive play; a trap, the bomb, screen pass, or such. There were probably about ten of them, and the all looked exactly alike. On the backside of each disk was a list of defensive schemes; blitz, zone coverage, and such. Your opponent who faced the other side of the player could see the defensive side and would spin the disk until the defensive alignment he liked would come up. The disk was then pushed into the player, and it machine would announce the results of the play. The most indelible sent something like “and it’s a leaping interception and he looks like he will go all the way! Touchdown!” Cheryl also had a small electric blower powered organ. I tried to play “Mary had a Little Lamb”. I thought it sounded terrible, but both Mom and Aunt Mary picked out the tune and commented on it when I came out of Cheryl’s room.
I think we only spent the one day there, but to be honest I am not sure. I know we never left the trailer park area, so our recreation was limited to whatever was there. I do recall we had at least one home cooked meal, and that we spent the night there at Uncle Johnny’s before we headed out towards Kentucky the next morning.
The summer of 1973 was spent getting everything ready to move. Mom and Dad (mostly Mom) boxed up a ton of things. Every box, piece of furniture, or anything that was going needed to have a little sticker on it. These stickers were provided by the moving company and were used to insure that everything that was supposed to go, would. It didn’t work. The mover arrived and they filled up their truck with all of our belongings save a few air mattresses and blankets. When the truck left, Dad’s extension ladder was not on it. No one had noticed until they were gone. The truck was on it’s way to Colorado. Both Dad and Mom were very mad, but there was nothing that could be done. Dad gave the ladder to Mr. Green, telling him he would prefer he have it.
Tomorrow would be the big day. We were moving to Colorado. With all of our belongings on the way to Colorado, the plan was to sleep in the living room, on the air mattresses, like a camp out. We were all pretty excited. I think we ate Carrols for dinner. There was no TV. We did have cards so I think we played a little of that but mostly we just went to bed early, and tried to get some sleep.
July 30, 1973
I remember waking up and Mom telling me that she and Dad did not get much sleep because I tossed and turned all night making the air mattress squeak. Sorry. We got the rest of our belongings into the car. Dad had rented (I guess) a luggage rack for the car and we had a couple of gray hard side suitcases tied up there. The rest went into the trunk.
Dad would be driving and Mom would be navigating. Jayme would ride up front most of the time, leaving the back seat for Sally, Darrin and I.
One of the big concerns on the folks’ minds was keeping us entertained for the long hours on the road. We kids knew from the occasional road trip we had taken to Dothan, AL to Uncle Johnny’s, that Dad did not have a lot of patients. To be fair, we were not exactly angels to travel with. Much later in life, I was to be blessed with two daughters who were a joy to take on a road trip. That particular gene must have skipped a generation. We were the classic “Are we there yet?”, “How much longer?” “I’m gonna turn this car around” family.
To combat this Mom had made a slip cover that went over the bench seat of our 1964 Plymouth Valiant. On the backside, that was the side that faced us kids, were four large pockets sown into it. Inside these Mom had placed a variety of coloring books and other diversions. This was the era before iPods, Smartphones, even DVDs or the Walkman. The car had an AM radio. That was our entertainment. I can recall that Mom’s handiwork had a degree of success. I can remember being bored on the trip, but not terribly so.
We all climbed in and pulled away. No one, to date, has been back to Georgia since. But at the time, the excitement was palpable. We were off on our grand adventure. That’s the way I saw it. The build up had been going on for about a year. It seemed that every conversation in our house had a slant towards this trip. Now we were on it. But, first we had to get gas. Dad stopped at Shell station. That made an impression on me because he commented on the high price of the gas that was pumped. A gas attendant actually did it. That’s another thing that has changed. You didn’t pump your gas back then. They had someone to do it for you. After the transaction was completed, Dad said that “It should be lined with gold” at that price. I think it was around 36 cents a gallon. The Arab Oil embargo was just getting started. Living history and I didn’t even know it.
It did not dawn on me until much later, but this should have been the explanationf or a part of a conversation I remember between Mom and Dad. They were discussing that it cost money to travel from state to state. I didn’t quite understand that. I thought that they meant there was an admission charge to enter each state. That Alabama and the others would be collecting money as we attempted to enter their state. I don’t honestly know if I thought this because the correct alternative of paying for food, gas, and lodging was just too obvious, or if I was just too dense. I’m kind of betting on the latter.
After filling the Valiant with go-go juice we were on our way southwest. Our destination for the day was Dothan, AL. Dothan is where my Uncle Johnny lived. At home with him was my Aunt Mary and cousin, Cheryl Ann. The trip to Dothan was short compared with the rest of the driving days. It took us about four hours to get there. I can remember almost nothing about this leg of the trip. I vaguely remember seeing some signs and the water tower at nearby Perry, GA. It stuck me that I had heard of that town, but had never seen anything that made it real until then.
I remember that we arrived during the day, likely around noon, and that Uncle Johnny lived in a trailer park. The folks and my Aunt and Uncle visited quite a bit the rest of that day, and we spent the night. I played with my cousin Cheryl, who was a big Joe Namath fan. We played a board game “Go to the Head of the Class” some, and an early electronic football game. The player on offence would select a disk and put it, on it’s side, like a piece of toast, into the player. Each disk was a type of offensive play; a trap, the bomb, screen pass, or such. There were probably about ten of them, and the all looked exactly alike. On the backside of each disk was a list of defensive schemes; blitz, zone coverage, and such. Your opponent who faced the other side of the player could see the defensive side and would spin the disk until the defensive alignment he liked would come up. The disk was then pushed into the player, and it machine would announce the results of the play. The most indelible sent something like “and it’s a leaping interception and he looks like he will go all the way! Touchdown!” Cheryl also had a small electric blower powered organ. I tried to play “Mary had a Little Lamb”. I thought it sounded terrible, but both Mom and Aunt Mary picked out the tune and commented on it when I came out of Cheryl’s room.
I think we only spent the one day there, but to be honest I am not sure. I know we never left the trailer park area, so our recreation was limited to whatever was there. I do recall we had at least one home cooked meal, and that we spent the night there at Uncle Johnny’s before we headed out towards Kentucky the next morning.
Norris Dam
July 31, 1973
I don’t remember this clearly, but I believe we got a very early start. It may have been before dawn. I do know that we had a long way to go today. We were driving from southern Alabama to northeast Kentucky; a distance of about 650 miles. Averaging 50 miles per hour that is 13 hours in the car.
My first real memory of the trip was a confusing series of signs in Columbus, GA. We were on Highway 1 and the signs in Columbus seemed to keep taking us around block in a circle. Dad was plenty irritated after going around the block once. I think we went around three times before Mom figured out where to turn off.
My second memory was of coming up on a sign that pointed us off in another direction had we wanted to visit Warm Springs, GA. I did. I had learned in school that Warm Springs was the home of President Franklin Roosevelt’s retreat, The Little White House. He would go there, like present day presidents go to Camp David. I thought that would be a great place to visit. I came close to suggesting it, but I knew better. I knew we didn’t have the time to spare. Dad was very focused on getting us to Ashland as quick as possible.
I have one other memory of this cross county trip in general and I may has well relate it here. I do not remember for sure when it happened, but it was likely sometime around now. Jayme had moved to the backseat and he was sitting beside me. For some reason that confounds me I sang him a lullaby that I made up as I went along. I don’t have a good singing voice, so he must have been very tired, because he was soon asleep. I think they lyrics included the works “….when Poochie goes to sleep”. Poochie was Dad’s pet name for my youngest brother.
I had been helping to navigate. My real help was limited to getting maps for Mom. Back in the day most service stations gave away state maps. You just picked them up from the little stand beside the door. When we would cross a state border and fill up, Mom would send me to get her a new map. I would get a second one, so I could follow along and help. I found the maps fascinating. With all of the various symbols and keys; the different lines for the different sizes of highways, the numbers to indicate how far from one place to another, and even the color coding for geological features kept my attention for hours. Through comparison between what I would see on the map and what would appear before me, I taught myself to read the map and get a lot out of it. And it kept me quiet. No small thing on a trip that was going to take all day today.
But, my observation of highway signs and maps did prove to be annoying about 15 minutes south of Chattanooga. It was at this point that a mile maker and a sign indicating this distance to this famous Tennessee city appeared together. I had figured out what a mile marker was, not very much earlier on the trip. I of course noticed the numbers on them and how they would go up one or down one. I wondered if they might mark distance somehow and I glanced at Dad’s odometer when we passed one and confirmed that they were one mile apart. I had a Eureka moment. I could keep track of distance by watching these markers. When south of Chattanooga a sign said 12 miles to go and a mile marker was right near it, I couldn’t help myself. For the next 12 miles I proudly announced about every minute until we got there, how far it was to this fair city. The cry of “Eleven miles to go!”, “Ten miles to go! kept coming from me. Now I wasn’t dumb I figured this was going to get annoying, but to their credit neither Mom nor Dad told me to shut up. I just counted down to “We’re here” and then I was done. I wasn’t going to press my luck counting down to another city.
After Chattanooga, I think we got on I-75 and headed north, towards Knoxville. What happened just above Knoxville was one of the most memorable parts of the trip for me. We drove over the top of a dam! How cool was that for a ten year old? There are a bunch of dams in east central Tennessee that were built in the 1930s by the Roosevelt administration under the TVA. I remember very clearly that the sign I saw about this dam was that it was apart of the Tennessee Valley Authority (TVA). I had no idea what that was, but it stuck anyway.
My recollection was that this was Norris Dam When I started doing research for this I looked at a map and the route we would have had to take is a bit out of your way. It is just off of I-75, and you have to detour to go into Norris State Park. But when I look at both a picture of the dam and of the other TVA dams in the area, I think my memory is correct and we must have had to leave I-75 for one reason or another. It’s not hard to make a wrong turn and they could have been working on the interchange. Who knows? But, what is clear is the sight and thrill I can remember. I had no idea that it was even possible to drive across something that was designed to hold back water. As a boy I had made small dirt dams and with my simplistic engineering skills and the lack of a method to account for any release of water, my dams always failed. Of course, that was most of the fun. But, at ten years old you are thinking “Here I am up on top of something that in my experience always breaks” I don’t remember being scared, more in awe. But, as it is a fairly small dam, all of this happened in like 60 seconds, and it was done.
I don’t remember this clearly, but I believe we got a very early start. It may have been before dawn. I do know that we had a long way to go today. We were driving from southern Alabama to northeast Kentucky; a distance of about 650 miles. Averaging 50 miles per hour that is 13 hours in the car.
My first real memory of the trip was a confusing series of signs in Columbus, GA. We were on Highway 1 and the signs in Columbus seemed to keep taking us around block in a circle. Dad was plenty irritated after going around the block once. I think we went around three times before Mom figured out where to turn off.
My second memory was of coming up on a sign that pointed us off in another direction had we wanted to visit Warm Springs, GA. I did. I had learned in school that Warm Springs was the home of President Franklin Roosevelt’s retreat, The Little White House. He would go there, like present day presidents go to Camp David. I thought that would be a great place to visit. I came close to suggesting it, but I knew better. I knew we didn’t have the time to spare. Dad was very focused on getting us to Ashland as quick as possible.
I have one other memory of this cross county trip in general and I may has well relate it here. I do not remember for sure when it happened, but it was likely sometime around now. Jayme had moved to the backseat and he was sitting beside me. For some reason that confounds me I sang him a lullaby that I made up as I went along. I don’t have a good singing voice, so he must have been very tired, because he was soon asleep. I think they lyrics included the works “….when Poochie goes to sleep”. Poochie was Dad’s pet name for my youngest brother.
I had been helping to navigate. My real help was limited to getting maps for Mom. Back in the day most service stations gave away state maps. You just picked them up from the little stand beside the door. When we would cross a state border and fill up, Mom would send me to get her a new map. I would get a second one, so I could follow along and help. I found the maps fascinating. With all of the various symbols and keys; the different lines for the different sizes of highways, the numbers to indicate how far from one place to another, and even the color coding for geological features kept my attention for hours. Through comparison between what I would see on the map and what would appear before me, I taught myself to read the map and get a lot out of it. And it kept me quiet. No small thing on a trip that was going to take all day today.
But, my observation of highway signs and maps did prove to be annoying about 15 minutes south of Chattanooga. It was at this point that a mile maker and a sign indicating this distance to this famous Tennessee city appeared together. I had figured out what a mile marker was, not very much earlier on the trip. I of course noticed the numbers on them and how they would go up one or down one. I wondered if they might mark distance somehow and I glanced at Dad’s odometer when we passed one and confirmed that they were one mile apart. I had a Eureka moment. I could keep track of distance by watching these markers. When south of Chattanooga a sign said 12 miles to go and a mile marker was right near it, I couldn’t help myself. For the next 12 miles I proudly announced about every minute until we got there, how far it was to this fair city. The cry of “Eleven miles to go!”, “Ten miles to go! kept coming from me. Now I wasn’t dumb I figured this was going to get annoying, but to their credit neither Mom nor Dad told me to shut up. I just counted down to “We’re here” and then I was done. I wasn’t going to press my luck counting down to another city.
After Chattanooga, I think we got on I-75 and headed north, towards Knoxville. What happened just above Knoxville was one of the most memorable parts of the trip for me. We drove over the top of a dam! How cool was that for a ten year old? There are a bunch of dams in east central Tennessee that were built in the 1930s by the Roosevelt administration under the TVA. I remember very clearly that the sign I saw about this dam was that it was apart of the Tennessee Valley Authority (TVA). I had no idea what that was, but it stuck anyway.
My recollection was that this was Norris Dam When I started doing research for this I looked at a map and the route we would have had to take is a bit out of your way. It is just off of I-75, and you have to detour to go into Norris State Park. But when I look at both a picture of the dam and of the other TVA dams in the area, I think my memory is correct and we must have had to leave I-75 for one reason or another. It’s not hard to make a wrong turn and they could have been working on the interchange. Who knows? But, what is clear is the sight and thrill I can remember. I had no idea that it was even possible to drive across something that was designed to hold back water. As a boy I had made small dirt dams and with my simplistic engineering skills and the lack of a method to account for any release of water, my dams always failed. Of course, that was most of the fun. But, at ten years old you are thinking “Here I am up on top of something that in my experience always breaks” I don’t remember being scared, more in awe. But, as it is a fairly small dam, all of this happened in like 60 seconds, and it was done.
The only picture with all six of us; Mom, Sally, Dad, Jayme, Darrin, and Me
We continued north on I-75 and drove the remaining four hours or so to Ashland, KY. Ashland is where my Dad grew up and where he always thought of as home. I don’t recall who’s house we went to first, but I know we spent time at both Aunt Ellen’s and Grandma’s house. I can remember a couple of things about Grandma’s house. The first was fireflies. I can recall seeing them. I don’t know why I associate fireflies with Kentucky and not Georgia. We must have had them in Georgia, but I really don’t remember them. I do remember them in Kentucky. Strange. The second thing I recall is that either at Grandma’s, or maybe at Aunt Ann’s place, there was a hole in the side of a hill; a cave. Anyway, what I remember is being told not to go near it, because a bear lived in it. I am sure we were told that because they didn’t want us exploring and getting lost or hurt. Telling us a bear lived there was designed to keep us out. It worked. We didn’t go off exploring. That was it for this long day. We had been on the road for likely 13 hours had visited some, and everyone was tired. So it was time for bed.
August 1, 1973
I can recall that we spent at least one full day here in Ashland. I don’t recall for sure where we had spent the previous night. It was likely Aunt Ellen’s. There exists, as far as I can remember, just one photograph with all six of us; Dad, Mom, and all four kids. That picture was taken on Aunt Ellen’s (I think), yesterday. I mention that because in that picture everyone looks very tired, so I assume that was were we spent the night. Also, they had two grown children, so they likely had a couple of extra beds to spare.
I can recall us visiting with Aunt Ann and Uncle Bill. The grown ups visited. Darrin and I ended up playing with our cousins, Mark and Tim, Uncle Bill and Aunt Ann’s sons. They are both older than we are, but they were gracious hosts, letting us play with their toys. Darrin and I were particularly fond of a couple of slot car racing sets. Mark ended up giving us one of them when we left.
I can barely remember Grandma. She was to die just three years after our visit. She was in her mid seventies and wore her hair in a bun, just like Aunt Ann. I only ever saw her in a dress. Back in Georgia, Mom had worked to teach me how to embroider. It’s not a very manly skill, but I was later to find out that her older brother, Steve, was quite skilled with a needle. Anyway, Mom had helped me make grandma a couple of embroidered dish towel, which we gave to her as a gift. She held on to them, as Dad brought them back from Ashland when he returned there for her funeral in 1976.
Today was also Darrin’s birthday. He turned 8 years old today. Mom told me about this as I don’t recall this happening. But, because we were on the road, Darrin’s birthday cake was actually cupcakes. Nowadays people have cupcake birthday cakes all the time. Between this and Mom’s Road Trip pouch thing, it is obvious she was a visionary. We just didn’t know it. Also, in the interest of full disclosure I am winging it on these dates. I am basing the timing of when we started on an event that happened later on that I was able to check on the internet. But, I will have to ask Darrin what he remembers about this day for some corroboration.
Sometime during this day I also wrote a letter to my best friend back in Georgia, Billy Godfrey. I asked Mom for a stamp and she must have gotten one for me and I mailed it. She asked if I was mailing to myself, because she noted that we would beat the letter to Brighton. I told her I wasn’t, but a day or two after we got to Brighton it arrived anyway. I had the addresses in the wrong spots, with Billy’s as the return address. I never knew if Mom noticed that little error or if she was just curious; thinking that mailing myself a letter to race the post office would be something I would do. Either way she was right.
August 1, 1973
I can recall that we spent at least one full day here in Ashland. I don’t recall for sure where we had spent the previous night. It was likely Aunt Ellen’s. There exists, as far as I can remember, just one photograph with all six of us; Dad, Mom, and all four kids. That picture was taken on Aunt Ellen’s (I think), yesterday. I mention that because in that picture everyone looks very tired, so I assume that was were we spent the night. Also, they had two grown children, so they likely had a couple of extra beds to spare.
I can recall us visiting with Aunt Ann and Uncle Bill. The grown ups visited. Darrin and I ended up playing with our cousins, Mark and Tim, Uncle Bill and Aunt Ann’s sons. They are both older than we are, but they were gracious hosts, letting us play with their toys. Darrin and I were particularly fond of a couple of slot car racing sets. Mark ended up giving us one of them when we left.
I can barely remember Grandma. She was to die just three years after our visit. She was in her mid seventies and wore her hair in a bun, just like Aunt Ann. I only ever saw her in a dress. Back in Georgia, Mom had worked to teach me how to embroider. It’s not a very manly skill, but I was later to find out that her older brother, Steve, was quite skilled with a needle. Anyway, Mom had helped me make grandma a couple of embroidered dish towel, which we gave to her as a gift. She held on to them, as Dad brought them back from Ashland when he returned there for her funeral in 1976.
Today was also Darrin’s birthday. He turned 8 years old today. Mom told me about this as I don’t recall this happening. But, because we were on the road, Darrin’s birthday cake was actually cupcakes. Nowadays people have cupcake birthday cakes all the time. Between this and Mom’s Road Trip pouch thing, it is obvious she was a visionary. We just didn’t know it. Also, in the interest of full disclosure I am winging it on these dates. I am basing the timing of when we started on an event that happened later on that I was able to check on the internet. But, I will have to ask Darrin what he remembers about this day for some corroboration.
Sometime during this day I also wrote a letter to my best friend back in Georgia, Billy Godfrey. I asked Mom for a stamp and she must have gotten one for me and I mailed it. She asked if I was mailing to myself, because she noted that we would beat the letter to Brighton. I told her I wasn’t, but a day or two after we got to Brighton it arrived anyway. I had the addresses in the wrong spots, with Billy’s as the return address. I never knew if Mom noticed that little error or if she was just curious; thinking that mailing myself a letter to race the post office would be something I would do. Either way she was right.
Jayme and Darrin
I can remember the evening of this night. Tommy McKnight, Aunt Ellen and Uncle Tom’s son and I had a good time talking baseball. He was a Johnny Bench fan and I rooted for the Braves, and Hank Aaron. I showed him my baseball card collection, which he liked. It was my most prized possession back then. It included about 6-8 Hand Aaron baseball cards. When I eventually traded those cards away, the Hank Aaron’s were all I kept. But, they were eventually lost. Likely and stereotypically, thrown out by Mom. Talking baseball with my older cousin that night was my last Ashland memory of the trip. Mom added one other point when I talked to her about it a few years before she died. She mentioned that before we left there was some sort of incident with a paper airplane and a wading pool. If I recall the incident correctly, and by all rights this should be included under tomorrow as that is when it happened, we were getting ready to leave. One of us, probably me, was playing with a paper airplane and it ended up flying into a small swimming pool. Against parental admonitions to stay out of the water, one or more of us ended up in that pool. We got in a bit of trouble as cloths had to be changed.
That was it for our stay in Ashland. We got to visit with everyone. It was the last time any of us would ever see Grandma. Aunt Ann and Aunt Ellen, plus the uncles would come to Colorado to visit us twice in the next ten years. Dad would return to KY just three times before he died. The first in 1976, for his mother’s funeral, then in 1983 for his sister Vivian’s funeral, and finally in 2003 for a visit. Dad had a stroke in 2002, and that was enough to convince him to go home one last time. He died a year and half later.
That was it for our stay in Ashland. We got to visit with everyone. It was the last time any of us would ever see Grandma. Aunt Ann and Aunt Ellen, plus the uncles would come to Colorado to visit us twice in the next ten years. Dad would return to KY just three times before he died. The first in 1976, for his mother’s funeral, then in 1983 for his sister Vivian’s funeral, and finally in 2003 for a visit. Dad had a stroke in 2002, and that was enough to convince him to go home one last time. He died a year and half later.
Photo coutesy of US36.org
August 2, 2011
After the aforementioned pool incident we were off. I remember that the route to Colorado was discussed and Dad most definitely wanted to avoid driving through Cincinnati. He was not crazy about any big city and all the traffic, so we had already avoided Atlanta, instead going through Rome, GA. I think that we followed the Ohio River east, to the southern part of the Ohio city. We took the I-275 loop around the bottom half of the city and linked up with I-74, and then took that northeast to Indianapolis. I might be a little fuzzy on the exact route, but I am sure we went around Cincinnati and that we went up to Indianapolis. It was there that we linked up with US 36. That would carry us for the next 3 ½ states.
I never asked the folks why we took this particular route. But, I think it must have been a combination of two factors. The first being Dad’s aversion to driving through the big cities. An I-70 route would have taken us through St. Louis, Kansas City, and Topeka. We would likely have had to go through Louisville to link up. Second, US 36 is billed as the shortest route of Indianapolis to Denver. I found a sign that says so. It is certainly a straight shot and involves no creative navigation. I’m thinking that with two twelve hour driving days ahead of them and four kids under 11 removing stress was right at the top of the list.
I am fairly certain that the plan of the day was to drive as far as possible and then find a hotel. That is not conducive to an exciting trip. I can remember little about this drive. I can remember getting maps for Mom and me when we stopped in Indiana somewhere. I can remember that I thought it was pretty cool that we crossed two entire states (Indiana and Illinios) in one day. And I can remember crossing the Mississippi River.
Of all of things that occurred on this trip, crossing the Mississippi River made the biggest impression. US 36 crosses the Mississippi River at Hannibal, MO. Of course, I knew it was coming as I followed our route on the map. I enjoyed seeing what geographical feature was coming up on the map and then seeing it in person. I can also sort of remember Mom telling us kids to look out the window because the Mississippi was coming.
But, I was awe-struck and a little scared when we actually got to it. We had crossed a plethora of streams, creeks and rivers on this trip. But, nothing compared to the size of the Mississippi. I was too dumb struck to try to check the odometer to measure the size, but it had to be close to a mile. I was not even sure I wanted to be too close to the window. I was concerned that either Dad would drive off the side or that the bridge would collapse. I mean how could anyone build a bridge to span such a length? I remember being impressed that Dad had the courage to actually drive across, and do it without comment or concern. In the nearly 40 years since, we have been across that river several more times and it always makes me think of this first crossing. And it’s still a little scary.
After crossing into Missouri, I would imagine that thoughts turned to planning for where to stop for the night. I can sort of remember that it was either getting dark or that night had already fallen when we pulled into a city looking for a hotel. I remember that our first choice was full and we had to move on. I’m not clear as to exactly what we did next. We may have gotten back on the highway and went to the next city, or maybe we staying in the city and looked for a different hotel. I sort of remember that the second hotel was more than just next door. I think we had to drive several miles. Also, I’m not positive which city we ended up at, but my best guess is Chillicothe, MO. I am sure that we stayed at a Holiday Inn. I clearly remember this, as we were on a budget and this was definitely a splurge. But, as it was getting late, the options were reduced.
I was very impressed to be staying at a Holiday Inn. This was the hotel chain in the 1970s. If you stayed at a Holiday Inn when you went on a trip, you must have had money. Now after all of that, I have exactly one clear memory of our stay there; the ice maker. I don’t recall which floor we were on, but it was not the ground floor. We got to ride in the elevator. Once we got settled into our room, Mom gave me the responsibility of going down the hall to get ice from the ice maker. I considered this a huge vote of confidence. This was a strange building, in a strange town, filled with strange people, and I was being sent on a quest. So armed with the little bucket from the room, I went down the hall to the ice maker, opened it up, and scooped until it was full. I returned back to our room, with out going to a wrong room. Mission accomplished. I’m sure we got right to bed, as we had a short night and another long drive ahead of us.
After the aforementioned pool incident we were off. I remember that the route to Colorado was discussed and Dad most definitely wanted to avoid driving through Cincinnati. He was not crazy about any big city and all the traffic, so we had already avoided Atlanta, instead going through Rome, GA. I think that we followed the Ohio River east, to the southern part of the Ohio city. We took the I-275 loop around the bottom half of the city and linked up with I-74, and then took that northeast to Indianapolis. I might be a little fuzzy on the exact route, but I am sure we went around Cincinnati and that we went up to Indianapolis. It was there that we linked up with US 36. That would carry us for the next 3 ½ states.
I never asked the folks why we took this particular route. But, I think it must have been a combination of two factors. The first being Dad’s aversion to driving through the big cities. An I-70 route would have taken us through St. Louis, Kansas City, and Topeka. We would likely have had to go through Louisville to link up. Second, US 36 is billed as the shortest route of Indianapolis to Denver. I found a sign that says so. It is certainly a straight shot and involves no creative navigation. I’m thinking that with two twelve hour driving days ahead of them and four kids under 11 removing stress was right at the top of the list.
I am fairly certain that the plan of the day was to drive as far as possible and then find a hotel. That is not conducive to an exciting trip. I can remember little about this drive. I can remember getting maps for Mom and me when we stopped in Indiana somewhere. I can remember that I thought it was pretty cool that we crossed two entire states (Indiana and Illinios) in one day. And I can remember crossing the Mississippi River.
Of all of things that occurred on this trip, crossing the Mississippi River made the biggest impression. US 36 crosses the Mississippi River at Hannibal, MO. Of course, I knew it was coming as I followed our route on the map. I enjoyed seeing what geographical feature was coming up on the map and then seeing it in person. I can also sort of remember Mom telling us kids to look out the window because the Mississippi was coming.
But, I was awe-struck and a little scared when we actually got to it. We had crossed a plethora of streams, creeks and rivers on this trip. But, nothing compared to the size of the Mississippi. I was too dumb struck to try to check the odometer to measure the size, but it had to be close to a mile. I was not even sure I wanted to be too close to the window. I was concerned that either Dad would drive off the side or that the bridge would collapse. I mean how could anyone build a bridge to span such a length? I remember being impressed that Dad had the courage to actually drive across, and do it without comment or concern. In the nearly 40 years since, we have been across that river several more times and it always makes me think of this first crossing. And it’s still a little scary.
After crossing into Missouri, I would imagine that thoughts turned to planning for where to stop for the night. I can sort of remember that it was either getting dark or that night had already fallen when we pulled into a city looking for a hotel. I remember that our first choice was full and we had to move on. I’m not clear as to exactly what we did next. We may have gotten back on the highway and went to the next city, or maybe we staying in the city and looked for a different hotel. I sort of remember that the second hotel was more than just next door. I think we had to drive several miles. Also, I’m not positive which city we ended up at, but my best guess is Chillicothe, MO. I am sure that we stayed at a Holiday Inn. I clearly remember this, as we were on a budget and this was definitely a splurge. But, as it was getting late, the options were reduced.
I was very impressed to be staying at a Holiday Inn. This was the hotel chain in the 1970s. If you stayed at a Holiday Inn when you went on a trip, you must have had money. Now after all of that, I have exactly one clear memory of our stay there; the ice maker. I don’t recall which floor we were on, but it was not the ground floor. We got to ride in the elevator. Once we got settled into our room, Mom gave me the responsibility of going down the hall to get ice from the ice maker. I considered this a huge vote of confidence. This was a strange building, in a strange town, filled with strange people, and I was being sent on a quest. So armed with the little bucket from the room, I went down the hall to the ice maker, opened it up, and scooped until it was full. I returned back to our room, with out going to a wrong room. Mission accomplished. I’m sure we got right to bed, as we had a short night and another long drive ahead of us.
Sally, Jayme, Me, and Darrin, abt 1975
August 3, 1973
Up early and on the road. Our goal today was Grandma’s house in Brighton, CO. This would be a drive of around 650 miles. It would be another twelve hour day. I have driven across Kansas several times since this trip, and I can recall few details, except for when we stopped to view a sight or spend the night. This trip is no different. There is nothing about the drive that has etched itself into my memory. That is until we traveled almost all the way through Kansas and a hailstorm hit. I don’t recall being scared at all. I thought it was interesting and certainly a change of pace from the open prairie of Kansas. I don’t think the folks were nearly as lackadaisical about it. When we next stopped and Dad inspected the damage, he found that one suitcase on top of the car was beat to hell. It ended up in the trash. (Note: This hailstorm is the event I mentioned earlier that I was able to (maybe) pinpoint and then work the other events around. The National Climate Data Center records a hailstorm that produced 1.75” diameter hail happening in Sherman County at 8:30 PM local time. We were just north of that. On this same day to the south hail of the same size was also reported. This indicated a lot of severe weather on that day. No other hailstorms on the few days before or after were noted in Kansas)
We had traveled on US 36 for the whole day until around this time. Maybe the storm had precipitated the route change, or maybe it was planned. Or maybe, Mom knew something about the area and knew a good place for a pit stop. My bet is on the second one, but we stopped in Wray, CO, after first cutting across the corner of Nebraska to link up with US 6. In Wray we stopped long enough to not only top off the tank and go to the bathroom, but we also got ice cream. I don’t actually remember this. Mom told me about once when we were talking about this trip. I have no idea where in the tiny town of Wray we got ice cream. It could have been at a 7-11 or such. Gas stations and convenience stores were not married like they are today. But, there could have been a frozen display case. Or maybe there was a Diary Queen or Tastee-Freez in town. I suppose that is another one of those things I will never know.
What I am fairly confident of is that was our last stop. We took US 6 to I-76, and took that into Brighton. I remember it was still light when we were getting close to Brighton, but I think the light was fading. That would have put us into Brighton around 9 PMish. We headed straight to 335 Strong St, home to my grandparents. I had not seen them since I was about 4 years old, so I really did not remember them very well. Jayme had never met them, Sally was a baby when we left Brighton, and Darrin would not have been quite 3 years old. So this was like being introduced to them.
From this point on we would be starting our new life. We spent just a couple of nights at my grandparents place. Mom and Dad found a place to rent on Mather St. We got a dog, Tipper, who would be our companion until all four of us kids were out of high school. Grandpa Schenfeld died just months after we moved back to Brighton, on Nov 27th. All four kids eventually married and started to produce families of their own. All of us still live within a 40 mile radius of Brighton.
I think this trip planted the seed for my desire to travel. I can remember having one constant regret as we went from place to place and I saw sign after sign telling of some wonder just off the highway.
“Boy, I wish we could go there”
Now I do.
Up early and on the road. Our goal today was Grandma’s house in Brighton, CO. This would be a drive of around 650 miles. It would be another twelve hour day. I have driven across Kansas several times since this trip, and I can recall few details, except for when we stopped to view a sight or spend the night. This trip is no different. There is nothing about the drive that has etched itself into my memory. That is until we traveled almost all the way through Kansas and a hailstorm hit. I don’t recall being scared at all. I thought it was interesting and certainly a change of pace from the open prairie of Kansas. I don’t think the folks were nearly as lackadaisical about it. When we next stopped and Dad inspected the damage, he found that one suitcase on top of the car was beat to hell. It ended up in the trash. (Note: This hailstorm is the event I mentioned earlier that I was able to (maybe) pinpoint and then work the other events around. The National Climate Data Center records a hailstorm that produced 1.75” diameter hail happening in Sherman County at 8:30 PM local time. We were just north of that. On this same day to the south hail of the same size was also reported. This indicated a lot of severe weather on that day. No other hailstorms on the few days before or after were noted in Kansas)
We had traveled on US 36 for the whole day until around this time. Maybe the storm had precipitated the route change, or maybe it was planned. Or maybe, Mom knew something about the area and knew a good place for a pit stop. My bet is on the second one, but we stopped in Wray, CO, after first cutting across the corner of Nebraska to link up with US 6. In Wray we stopped long enough to not only top off the tank and go to the bathroom, but we also got ice cream. I don’t actually remember this. Mom told me about once when we were talking about this trip. I have no idea where in the tiny town of Wray we got ice cream. It could have been at a 7-11 or such. Gas stations and convenience stores were not married like they are today. But, there could have been a frozen display case. Or maybe there was a Diary Queen or Tastee-Freez in town. I suppose that is another one of those things I will never know.
What I am fairly confident of is that was our last stop. We took US 6 to I-76, and took that into Brighton. I remember it was still light when we were getting close to Brighton, but I think the light was fading. That would have put us into Brighton around 9 PMish. We headed straight to 335 Strong St, home to my grandparents. I had not seen them since I was about 4 years old, so I really did not remember them very well. Jayme had never met them, Sally was a baby when we left Brighton, and Darrin would not have been quite 3 years old. So this was like being introduced to them.
From this point on we would be starting our new life. We spent just a couple of nights at my grandparents place. Mom and Dad found a place to rent on Mather St. We got a dog, Tipper, who would be our companion until all four of us kids were out of high school. Grandpa Schenfeld died just months after we moved back to Brighton, on Nov 27th. All four kids eventually married and started to produce families of their own. All of us still live within a 40 mile radius of Brighton.
I think this trip planted the seed for my desire to travel. I can remember having one constant regret as we went from place to place and I saw sign after sign telling of some wonder just off the highway.
“Boy, I wish we could go there”
Now I do.
Comments
Nov 13, 2011
damn you have a great memory. Maybe I was too little. I do remember Mr. Green giving us gum, the baseball lights, Jo Jo and when you cut your foot. I think I only remember that because one of the boys that brought you asked if he could go to the hospital with you and for some reason that stuck with me. I am looking forward to reading more.......I wonder how it's gonna end...lol
Sally
Nov 12, 2011
That's funny. I definitely don't remember anything about the guys that brought me back from that ditch. I wonder why he wanted to go. Must have liked blood.
Bill Kretzer
Nov 20, 2011
brings back alot of memories. Which of our cousins use to call me giggle box. I remember that but don't remember who. AND damn even back then I was sooooooooooo cute!
Sally
Nov 20, 2011
Is there an emoticon for Eye Roll? and I'm not sure about the giggle box handle. I only sorta remember that. One of those things we should have asked. Maybe one of our Kentucky cousins knows. I'll mention it in my weekly letter.
Bill Kretzer
Nov 22, 2011
Enjoyed the story. Yes that picture is taken on mom's couch. She had that couch recovered and it is still in her living room today. The cave was more than likely at mam maws.He came home for Aunt Vivian's funeral which was a few days after Aunt Faye's.
Diana
Nov 22, 2011
Thanks for the information and clarification. You are right Aunt Faye went first and Dad was so stunned when Aunt Vivian died a few days later, he had to go back home. I remember him being very upset at that time.
Bill Kretzer
Nov 13, 2011
damn you have a great memory. Maybe I was too little. I do remember Mr. Green giving us gum, the baseball lights, Jo Jo and when you cut your foot. I think I only remember that because one of the boys that brought you asked if he could go to the hospital with you and for some reason that stuck with me. I am looking forward to reading more.......I wonder how it's gonna end...lol
Sally
Nov 12, 2011
That's funny. I definitely don't remember anything about the guys that brought me back from that ditch. I wonder why he wanted to go. Must have liked blood.
Bill Kretzer
Nov 20, 2011
brings back alot of memories. Which of our cousins use to call me giggle box. I remember that but don't remember who. AND damn even back then I was sooooooooooo cute!
Sally
Nov 20, 2011
Is there an emoticon for Eye Roll? and I'm not sure about the giggle box handle. I only sorta remember that. One of those things we should have asked. Maybe one of our Kentucky cousins knows. I'll mention it in my weekly letter.
Bill Kretzer
Nov 22, 2011
Enjoyed the story. Yes that picture is taken on mom's couch. She had that couch recovered and it is still in her living room today. The cave was more than likely at mam maws.He came home for Aunt Vivian's funeral which was a few days after Aunt Faye's.
Diana
Nov 22, 2011
Thanks for the information and clarification. You are right Aunt Faye went first and Dad was so stunned when Aunt Vivian died a few days later, he had to go back home. I remember him being very upset at that time.
Bill Kretzer