V1923-02PS

Pre-Kindergarten

Outside Our Home, 1925-1930

The world took on increased interest when I was permitted to play outside.

Imitation: There was a bluegrass lawn on the front and north side of the house. I kept asking why it was called blue grass when it was green? In the summer Dad would water the lawn by hand using an adjustable bronze nozzle on the end of the hose. I'd imitate his action. I'd stand or squat and await my turn to get to hold the hose and adjust the spray from the nozzle. These were instinctive & instructive, at that age you imitate, Mother saw and took a picture. I have clear happy memories of the occasion.

The new water meter Phyllis by Front yard faucet Yeah Mom I gotta help Dad water

Municipal Water: Fig 2 is of Dad lifting the square wooden cover in front of our home and looking downward at the Water Meter. Dad showed me the water meter, I knew the name & what was under the box but not what it did. Few homes had a basement, and water was simply run to an outdoor & indoor faucets. Dad like others were quick to learn the advantages to putting a basement under a house and put the faucets inside so they would not freeze in the winter time. City Water was new and all learned the hard way that pipes would freeze in the winter. Most homes in town still had their own water wells. The city had installed water mains sometime before WW I but most homes were not connected until after WWI. While Dad was watering our lawn both of my Grandmothers were still pumping their water from wells in their yard. It took time and money to get hooked up to water and the sewar. My generation was born in the home, vs hospital, but were the first to enjoy indoor water and indoor toilets. While growing up I was oblivious to the fact that many people didn't have good lawns for the very simple reason they didn't have running water.

Soft Water: The rain barrel, Figure 1, was one of my earliest interests. It was an oak barrel placed at one corner of the house under the drain pipe. When I first discovered it contained water I stirred it, splashed it and floated sticks in it till my mother found me. She firmly but pleasantly told me that I was not to play in it. We were to be careful to keep the rain water clean as this was our "soft" water.

I could under stand its being rain water but how was it any softer than any other water? Looking down into the barrel the water looked dark but when I dipped it up in my hand it was clear. The inside wall of the barrel was black, it was probably charred, causing the water to look as black as mothers letter writing ink. The surface was glassy smooth and I could see the reflection of my face and the world above me in it. That really made it mystery water because I could never see my face in the white porcelain pan of faucet water in mothers kitchen sink. Was that because it was hard water? After a rain Mom washed my hair with the new soft water and got soap in my eyes. Thereafter I had an aversion to her zeal for clean hair after a rain.

Outside our Home

Anger: I had been given a small celluloid duck that I used to float in my bath water. I had taken it outside and was floating it in the barrel, at the NE corner of the house, when one of the older neighbor boys came by. He had a hand full of matches and had been going about lighting things finding much fun with them as an exciting toy. He saw my duck, lit it, laughed as it rapidly flashed into flame and burned, and ran off. I was completely taken by surprise and grabbed for the remnants of my duck, I watched it twirl downward sinking out of reach. I became angry and chased after the boy who was already ran beyond the limits of my range, he'd disappeared. It was my first confrontation with unwarranted meanness and the necessity of absorbing the frustration of being too small to do anything about it. Little did my early Sunday school teachers know that when they taught "do unto others as you'd have others do unto you". I thought they had it wrong and should be,"do unto others as they did to you". My instincts were the eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, those were gut instincts, I had to grow more to understand the more global meaning.

Weather Forecasting: One warm day the weather turned windy and cool, Dad kept looking pensively at the clouds saying it was going to hail. I asked how he could tell and he pointed at some dark gray clouds and said those were hail clouds. It hailed all right. We had lots of small hail followed by a burst of heavy large ones. I could tell this was not ordinary because of Dads comments and genuine concern that it might make holes in the roof. The last to come down were bigger than a large egg. I've never seen them that big since. They broke off tree branches and knocked down birds nests. After the storm passed we picked up the hail stones and put them in a pan. I couldn't understand how raindrops could freeze into such large balls before falling to the ground.

Bug Tree: There was a Box Elder tree on the north property line. It was the home of hundreds of "Box Elder" bugs. I called it the Bug tree. This was the kind of tree Max and I cut branches from to make whistles.

Sand Pile by Fire Hydrant Max Darrell & Bobby Sawdon on Dad’s brick sidewalk

Momentary Worth: Between the street and brick sidewalk was a fire hydrant and near it a pile of sand. There had been a rain and the sand was just right, I spent many hours building things in the sand. One day I built a masterpiece, a kind of fortress castle, I'd gone to great pains to keep other kids from stepping on it, it took on consuming importance. Mother kept calling to come to supper, I'd say in a minute. I was admiring it's completion when mother insistently called me to supper. Wanting to tell her about it I hastily jumped up and ran across the sand pile to the house; abruptly I stopped and looked back, I'd stepped on and demolishing my handiwork! I paused & went back to look, the damage was total. As I walked slowly to the house it occurred to me that the value of something was relative, what I had prized and protected a few moments before now had no value to me. To this day it's a frame of reference. When appropriate I tell myself, It's only a sand castle, it was not built to last.

Silicon Chips: Years later I found myself designing electronic circuits making use of electronic logic devices on chips made of silicone (sand), silicone oxide (rusted sand) and aluminum (an abundant element in dirt). In my learning process silicon and sand had become synonymous. The marvel of the integrated circuit brought me back to the image and times of that sand pile. Never in our wildest of dreams could we have imagined what could be done by rearranging the order of the elements in the vicinity of that fire plug/sand pile!

Bird in Bush To the south of the house was a plum thicket. When I later heard stories of Brier Rabbit this plum thicket became the Brier Patch. In time it became so thick cats would hide in it to get away from dogs. I saw a blue jay in the thicket one day and tried to catch it, it seemed so close yet always out of reach. I tried to get mother to help. She told me A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, we would not be able to catch it with our hands.

Hanging: In front of the house was a medium sized Elm tree. My cousin Max and I decided to make an airplane by hanging one of Moms wash tub from a limb with ropes through the handles. We'd climb in the tree and then down into the tub and played like we were flying a airplane. It was fun till mother made us take it down before we fell and hurt ourselves. We were fascinated with climbing in trees and were always experimenting with how high or far out on a limb we could go. Once I got out on a limb by hanging from it and going hand over hand further and further out. After a time my arms & hands became tired, I couldn't retain my grip. From my perspective I was up high, it seemed too far to drop down. I couldn't get back and was afraid to drop. Finally I realized the only solution was to drop and hope I'd not be hurt, I dropped solving my dilemma. This event and reasoning would flash through my mind years later and save my life, otherwise my hands would have lost their grip on the aircraft structure and I would have fallen from the airplane to Japan below.

Cherry Tree: There was a cherry tree next to the house by the front porch. It was lousy for climbing. Mother asked Max and I pick cherries for a pie, she had to admonish us for eating more than we collected. I was always curious about the differences in the bark on trees. The bark of the cherry tree was smooth but as the limb grew it would split and curled back on itself. Our cherry tree was small because it was young, cherry trees always seemed small to me thus difficult to make into boards for high quality furniture.

Wood Walk, Cloths line, Garden & Trellis, Rain Barrel under drain spout Front view of Trellis

Stilts: Max and some other older boys had some stilts, at my urging Dad made me a pair. We'd mount on the stilts from our front porch and walked about the lawn and out into the street. We became quite proficient and wanted to try something special. A heavy rain left water in the street. It was a dirt street with little gravel and no curb and gutter. It was simply graded to clear out the ruts and maintain a slope to the edges. Since the street ended at out house the ditch stopped resulting in a puddle after a rain. Once we felt up to it we waded about through mud puddles on our stilts. The mud in the puddle near the edge was not packed as in the middle of the street. It was a challenge to keep ones balance while lifting each leg out. While working one leg out the other stilt would sink deeper. After a valiant try we'd fall splat into the mud. Once we'd become muddy it was even more fun. We'd crawl out of the mud onto the grass and laugh till our sides ached then remount on our stilts and try again. It was fun till Mom found what a mess we were and what a mess we'd made, she didn't share our hilarity.

The Garden: To the north of the house, at the back of the lawn was a Trellis. It had a 2x4 frame covered with diagonal crisscrossed lath slats all painted green. It supported a large Honeysuckle vine and blocked the view to the garden in back. The garden was a fairly large one. I watched how Dad spaded dirt, raked it out, cut a furrow with a hoe, planted seeds, watered .

Dad’s Company car a 1924 Model-T Rell, Max and Darrell

Family car Green 1928 Model A Rell, Marjorie, Ila, Margaret & Phyllis

and later weeded. I was eager to emulate everything Dad did and watched every detail of how he did something. Today whenever I spade I still emulate Dad's technique. I liked the smell of fresh dirt and ripe tomato plants. Today’s store bought tomatoes are tasteless by comparison. Those tomatoes were not large but rich with flavor.

Coal Bin/Garage: Behind the garden was a coal shed/garage my father built. Attached to the end toward the house was a shed/bin for storing wood/coal. Large doors on the east side of the garage swung open into the alley. The garage had a gravel floor and was empty during the day when my father was gone to work. The garage was built after I was born. Coal was a luxury fuel shipped in by rail and used primarily for heating in the winter.

Max Darrell & Marba Jean Earl’s 26' Model-T Darrell & Aunt Ruth, Ruth died two days later.

Model-T #1: The first car I recall was Dad's Model-T Ford Touring Car with fold down top, it was actually owned by the Company with Dad the only user. I'd yell to Mom "Daddy's home" when I'd hear him turn off the front street and drive down a narrow path south of the plum thicket to the back yard by the porch. Deep ruts would form along this dirt driveway after a rain and tend to remain until the next rain. This car, probably a 1923 model, had skinny 3.5x21" tires/wheels & was replaced by a 1927 Model-T with big 4.5x21" tires/wheels. The larger tire size caused it to look more like a car than a wagon with an engine. The latter had a closed in all metal body and was painted dark green. Ford had finally deviated from his policy of, "you can have any color you want so long as it's black". Later a brand new 1928 Model-A Ford four door sedan became the family car but that was the year we moved.

Wood Walk: There was a wood covered walk, planks over 2x4's, from the back porch to the side door to the garage. I seldom used it except on Sundays. The family, dressed in Sunday best, would use the walk to protect shined shoes from dust, mud or snow. In the emergency of WW II such walks were used at the Air Base at Linclon Nebraska. The soil of the plains states had once been the bottom of an inland sea, it became very muddy mud when wet.

Back Yard Gang – called off digging to China Darrell in Christmas cowboy outfit with hatchet

Uncle Lee & Aunt Hazel first home on far side.

Knickers: There came a time when my parents decided it was time to dress me up in a pair of store bought pants. The problem was they bought me a pair of knickers in lieu of pants. Knickers were like trousers down to just below the knees where

they terminated with a strap and buckle. I disliked them with a passion. Although other kids wore them I thought it made them look like children, I felt more grown up & wanted to look like it. We had a battle, Mother and Dad insisting and me refusing. After a considerable hassle they got me dressed and I went out back on the walk waiting for them. I was still angry and determined, there was a broken board in the walk with a nail sticking out, I used it to snag the knee strap on the knickers, then yanked tearing the material. When my Mother came out I showed her and told her what I'd done, fully expecting to be punished. Dad was furious and was going to wallop me but good, till he was put on hold by Mom. Mom realized this was a price I was ready to pay so as not to wear the knickers. We'd soon be late to Sunday school so Mother ordered a compromise. She quickly sewed the material and ordered me to wear the knickers to Sunday school with the understanding I'd not have to wear them anymore. I readily agreed while Dad was still upset that discipline in his own house was not up to the standards of his parents.

Deadman: A tall power pole in the alley supported a large light bulb and reflector. It had been installed at my fathers request, Dad was a member of the City Council and on the Street and Light Committee. I was there when the men came to dig the hole for the pole. They did so by hand, they didn't have powere augers then. They put the pole on place, carefully tamped dirt about it then put on climbing spikes and climbed the pole to install the light and wire hook up. I thought how neat to strap metal climbing spikes on your legs, I wished we kids could do that to climb trees. The men told me that would be harmful to a tree. Next they dug another hole. When asked what this was for they said, "for a Dead Man". I figured they were spoofing but no way was I going to leave till I found out. It turned out the Dead Man was a circular disk on the end of a galvanized rod. With this as an anchor they tied onto the pole on the side opposite where the electrical power wire was attached and pulled the line taunt to the Dead Man anchor. This was to balance the pulling forces at the top of the pole. It seemed like a very neat stunt. Bugs and millers were always attracted in large numbers by that light.

Thief in the Night One summer night Beryl Wickham, a neighbor boy from what had been Vernon’s house, came up to our back porch door. I was there with Dad while he was trying to pick up stations on the Radio. Beryl’s eyes were large as he spoke in a whisper to my father. "Mr. Landau, I think some one is trying to steal gas from your car in the garage." Dad quietly went into the house and came back with his 410 shot gun. I was told to stay put while Beryl blocked the side door Dad went to the alley door, Dad ordered them out under the alley lamp. They were two high school kids but when I asked Dad wouldn't tell me who they were. Beryl heard them when he went out to milk their cow in the barn next to the garage. (After high school Beryl went to California to work for North American Aviation, I've never seen him since.) When Dad returned I asked if he'd called the sheriff. Dad said no he turned them loose, he knew who they were and would take care of it. Later I asked what was done. Dad said he had a talk with Calob Smick, the superintendent at the high school. Calob will see that they don't do it again, they know Calob will use a rubber hose on them if need be. I found the town had it's way of raising kids. They later named the football field after Calob who had become a respected father to all of them. Never once did I hear of a student or parent complain of Calob's use of his rubber hose when he believed that was the right medicine.

Chickens: To the south of the garage was our chicken house and chicken pen. Scraps from the kitchen were fed to the chickens, it always seemed ironic that these were often the innards of the chicken which had been "dressed" for dinner. It always seemed a curious inverse of terms to undress a chicken by plucking out all it's feathers then saying you'd "dressed" the chicken. One of my chores was to feed the scraps to the chickens. Near the chicken pen was a trash box filled mostly with old bottles and tin cans. Most foods were purchased in the bulk, there were fewer food cartons and boxes than today. Besides, combustibles were burned in the stove. I used to study the markings on tin cans. Salmon cans would have pictures of fish and coffee cans pictures of sailing ships, I studied the pictures of ships and wondered what an ocean was like. I was to become better acquainted with chickens at my grandmothers house, mostly because our chicken house was removed by the train.

Swing Times: Between the back porch and chicken pen was a large cottonwood tree. Dad put up a swing and built a sand box there. I'd engage in every way there was to use a swinging then when tired would lay sideways in the swing and gaze up at the tree and sky. I'd watch clouds drift by, the leaves flutter erratically in the breeze, the cotton seeds drift in the wind and flies hover in the shade of the tree. At first I was unaware that the flies were there, then I could see them, wings moving in fast blurred motion sustaining a position till they'd dart at or away from another fly. They never seemed to get tired. I thought if people could fly they'd get tired.

Simple Hazards: I'd seen neighbor boys pole-vault and high jump. Max helped me put up a crude pair of posts and cross bar for a high jump, for me it was mostly a low jump. After Max left I used the cross bar to run and jump, lifting myself with the stick as if pole vaulting. I didn't know how to pole vault but it was great fun trying, till the top end of the short pole caught me under the chin and cut through almost to the bone. The scar is still detectable. Simple things can be dangerous. My aunt Margaret studied the cut telling mother I was very lucky, it would leave a scare but it would not mar my looks.

Blood-n-Faint: I decided to try whittling wood, got mothers paring knife from the kitchen & sat on the back steps of the back porch and started. All went well till the knife slipped and cut my finger. I stood looking at it and watched the blood drip on the wooden steps, it didn't hurt much & I felt no particular concern. After a few moments the drips had made quite a mess on the step, I was concerned at having made a mess. I called to my mother that I'd cut myself with the paring knife. She rushed out & saw me dripping blood. An expression of horror came over her face, exclaiming we've go to stop the bleeding or you'll bleed to death! She'd just lost one little boy and was not going to loose another, I couldn't comprehend how she felt. She hurried in a frantic manner. My casual almost curious feeling evaporated & was replaced by fear, her demeanor was scaring the dickens out of me, I knew what it meant to die! The next thing I knew I'd fainted. Primitive reflexes, a built in part of us, shut down my system to help stop the bleeding. My vascular nervous system has ever since responded to the slightest perceived emergency by shutting off my arterial supply causing me to faint. I even fainted in Grade School when they were telling us what to do for someone who fainted! Others were not so effected. I don't know how much of this tendency is instinctive and how much programed by this early event. Whenever our kids were injured my wife and I tried to not instill any panic in them. They developed a curiosity of what's wrong with father, why does he faint when I'm hurt?

Soul: I'd been taught to say my prayers each night. I had a picture book of a little boy kneeling at bedside saying his prayers. I did likewise saying, Now I lay me down to sleep, pray the Lord my soul to keep, if I should die before I wake, pray the Lord my soul to take. I couldn't comprehend the concept of a soul and imagined it as something that evaporated out of the body like a puddle of water was evaporated to Heaven by the sun. Because the words of the prayer were in my thoughts I often pondered death before going to sleep. The prayer and thoughts were disconcerting. I didn't want to die and didn't believe it was a good idea for my soul, whatever it was, to be separated from me. I had reservations about teaching my children that prayer. However we did, it's a part of our heritage.

The Hatchet Affair: One Christmas I received a cowboy suit and a George Washington Hatchet. When I asked why it was called a George Washington hatchet my folks told me the story of Honest George & the cherry tree. There was also a toy six-gun to go with the cowboy suit, with it I could aim and go Bang Bang. It seemed just as exciting to carry the hatchet. With a shift in imagination I let the cowboy suit become an Indian suit, it looked more like an Indian suit anyway. I'd been told Indians used tomahawks which were like hatchets and had been shown how they danced a war dance and chant. I'd been practicing my War Whoop and throwing my hatchet outside. Suddenly I had an urge to surprise Mom with my new War whoop. I burst through the back porch door with a blood curdling scream. In my excitement I flung the hatchet overhead and let it go, end over end all the way across the kitchen into the front dining room! The yell froze in my throat as I saw the hatchet blade embed itself in the top of the big round oak dining room table! Fortunately mother had not been in its path, she was still in the front bedroom.

I quietly approached the table and free'd the axe. Rubbing the mark didn't make it go away, I couldn't wish it away, it was too near the edge to cover with the lace centerpiece. All manner of thoughts went through my head including running. The George Washington story saved the day. George's father didn't spank him because he told the truth. Armed with this I went to Mom. After obtaining her assurance that she believed in how George's father had treated him, then I led Mom to the table. Mom's facial expressions and actions of anguish as she felt the ax mark made me feel much worse, she was very hurt by what had happened. The cut was too deep and long to be repaired. Several years later she replaced the table top with one that had be longed to her mother.

Dim Bulbs: Before dusk one day as I played in the backyard I noticed smoke rings being belched into the clear sky. The sound Poom-Poom-Poom had been a familiar one this time of day. My father had said they were starting up a new diesel engine at the power plant. Us kids would always look up to watch the smoke rings. I coaxed Dad into blowing smoke rings when he'd smoke his cigar. One of those evenings I noticed the lights go dim-bright-dim and also heard the Poom-Poom-Poom sound of the diesel, I ran out to see the smoke rings. The smoke rings and sound matched the pulsations of the light bulbs, I wondered why.

Years later in an electrical engineering lab course we had to bring on a new alternator while the other was carrying a full load. Light bulbs were connected between the two sources to show when their outputs were in synchronization. When the lights went dark there was no difference in electrical potential & the switch was thrown to electrically couple the generators together. My countenance must have expressed a grin as I watched those bulbs and threw the switch, the phenomenon was an old friend. Much later I was asked to decipher a Westinghouse electrical schematic of a System Integration Panel for a B-1 Aircraft Electrical Power control system. There were no instructions & it didn't make any sense until I realized it's task was to automatically detect when the "light bulbs" dimmed making it possible to couple two engine driven generators. Others didn't understand when I said it was an automatic light bulb reader.

A motor uses electricity to turn a shaft. A Generator makes Direct Current(DC), to charge a battery for example, when its shaft is turned. A Generator is called an Alternator if it's output is three phase Alternating Current(AC). Bulbs were connected as a set of three, one for each phases, between the two Alternator sources. When their alternating current was in unison and there was no current flow the bulb would go dim, the switch could then be coupled w/o causing sparks to fly. In aircraft systems what is technically an Alternator is often still called a Generator because aircraft originally used DC only.

The Clustered Clan: At least once a month the family would get together for a big Sunday dinner, frequently chicken. This was particularly true of my mothers side of the family. Mothers family consisted of her mother Julia Bobbitt, two sisters and their husbands Hazel & Lee, Margaret & Francis and two brothers and their wives Ray & Edith, Earl & Ruth. Earl had a clothing store in Atwood the first county seat to the west. All the others lived within two blocks of each other. Margaret and Francis were newlyweds, Francis was a Civil Engineer with the Highway Commission. Lee left a job as a teller in a bank to become the parts man in the new Ford garage and would became the Ford Dealer. Ray had a clothing store on main street. Max, my frequent playmate was Ray and Edith's son & three years older than I.

Terrible Swedes: In the heat of summer dinner was usually a picnic, like on our lawn in the shade of the house. My aunts and uncles had a significant influence on the behavior of us kids. I listened, learned and sought to please. When little I'd found that by crying I could attract attention to what I wanted, to shut me up theyed give it to me. One picnic afternoon wanting something I had howled longer than my "hurt" deserved. Uncle Ray took a long look at me as if unconvinced, so I cried harder improving the act. Uncle Ray looked at me again and with an air of distain said, "I didn't know you were a Terrible Swede!" My other uncles joined in saying "goodness no, you wouldn't want to be one of them." From their tone and demeanor that seemed to be a terrible thing to be. I said, "But I'm not a Swede!". Uncle Ray said, "but you must be, only terrible Blue Eyed Swedes cry"! I had no idea of what a terrible Blue Eyed Swede was. Uncle Ray shrugged saying, "your crying, that must mean your a Terrible Swede." My crying had already stopped and one of my uncles said "see, he's already stopped crying, perhaps he's not a Swede after all." They smiled and went back to visiting. As I walked away I kept wondering what a Swede was but that could wait, they were on to my crying act. I realized I'd been taught crying was an unacceptable thing. At first I felt embarrassed then appreciative of how they taught me a lesson, I made a concerted effort to never crying again.

Sisterly Debates: My uncles would play pinochle and my aunts gathered around the kitchen table to visit. My uncles would talk cards which didn't stimulate my interest so I'd go listen to my aunts. My mother and her sisters would start to visit, when they found their view didn't coincide they would start to debate. A topic was viewed from every vantage point. When they could not reach an agreement they would turn to their Moma, to settle the issue. I doubt if they ever realized the degree of my comprehension of what they said or my weighing the arguments of their discussions. The method of debate and looking at all sides of an issue became a natural way of life for me. I thoroughly enjoyed listening to their reasoning. It wasn't till years later that I came to realize they were a quite intelligent women. Sub consciously I always waged my arguments to be able to stand up to their scrutiny, which meant the logic had to be water tight.

Aunt Ruth Died: Shortly after a most enjoyable family get together we received word from Atwood that Aunt Ruth had died! We were told she had suffered a blood clot in her lung! She was a wonderful, most attractive woman, truly a picture of health. I couldn't understand how she could possible have died. She had joked and visited with me only the few days before. I felt a very personal loss, I was certain she'd gone to heaven. But I couldn't understand why she should die, I kept asking but why?

Rolling Pennies: From the time I was old enough I'd watched them move railroad box cars onto the spur track to the south of our home during harvest season. The tracks were empty the remainder of the year. Before harvest they would run a car, equipped with blow torch burners, down the track and burn all the weeds while they were still green. This way there wasn't a collection of dry vegetation which could catch fire. Us neighborhood kids would place pennies on the track and marvel at how a car load of wheat would roll them out flat the way a mothers roll out pie dough with a rolling pin. By observing we also gained an appreciation for how much energy it took to start a car rolling or to stop it once started. We'd closely study the way the wheels would bend the rails and press on the ties, especially cars full of wheat, they were very heavy. We had respect for them w/o being warned.

RR Ties: One could walk along a pathway one either side of the tracks, or on the railroad ties (wood beams in the road bed that supported the tracks), or on top of the rails. It was a challenge to balance ones self and walk on top of the rails. My stride was too short to step from one rail to the other unless I ran and then I was liable to trip and fall. (Years later while working as a Civil Engineer I had occasion to walk on railroad tracks and ties, then the ties were too closely spaced to make for comfortable walking, my stride had changed length.)

My Little Red Friends: The pathway along the railroad was sprinkled with red ant colonies. The area around older colonies was cleared for over three feet in diameter and had mounds 9 inches high. I noticed the ants stayed in their holes in cold or wet weather and that the pace of their activity increased in hot weather. I'd squat down to watch the ants labor with rocks, leaves, twigs, etc. marveling at their strength and industry. I noticed that if I dropped a foreign object on their mound they would hurriedly go to work and carry it away. I folded a piece of cardboard in a V and sat it like an archway on their mound. They climbed up and over. It struck me this was a marvelous plaything for them, I could fix them playgrounds, something they couldn't possibly build themselves. I rigged playthings up and down the pathways colonies with enthusiastic zeal. I'd let them crawl up on my finger and off my finger to the top of a plaything. I talked to them as if they understood me. Then ouch! It felt like a thorn had been stuck in my leg! I felt and rubbed but no thorn, lots of ants, but not even a sticker. Then ouch again, and again in another place, this time on my arm where I could see. It was an ant! Why should they bite me? I was trying to help them, didn't they understand? I was crushed, turned away and ran home as I felt more bites. Mother removed my clothes so she could get rid of the ants. The many itching welts indelibly recorded the incident in my memory. Thereafter I was not surprised if good intentions were not appreciated.

The Cellar: There was a cellar door on the south side of the house. It sloped upward toward the house at a 20 degrees angle. When lifted it revealed a stair-way of wooden steps leading under the house. The narrow cellar had dirt walls and floor. The floor of the house served as a cellar roof and was sealed off to keep rodents out. The cellar passageway was lined with wood racks and a cupboard which was filled with glass Mason jars of preserved fruits, vegetables, special relishes and pickles. Each housewife took pride in her prized recipes for preserves. Special jars of these canned goods were exchanged as tokens of goodwill or a return for favors rendered. Such jars of food represented considerable effort and time as well as prideful expressions of culinary skill. The dank musty interior maintained a relatively stable temperature, never freezing in winter and always cool in summer. Cellars also served as havens in the event of tornados and were often called storm cellars. My father rebuilt one of the old cupboards that had belonged to my grandmother, I was surprised to find it contained square nails. It was the first time I'd seen them as all nails used in construction I'd watched were round nails. To my father there was nothing unique about them as those had been the only kind available when he was a little boy.

Twinkle Twinkle: One pleasant summer evening, probably in 1927 when I was four, my parents had friends over and were playing bridge. There were no kids for me to play with so I went out on the front porch. The weather was ideal and our Model-T touring car,fig 9e, with folded down top was parked out in front. I climbed in the car and played like I was the driver. Roodin... Roodin... I'd rev up the engine and wiggle the wheel, a terrific ride so long as my imagination held up. I leaned back and looked up. The sky was clear and the heavens filled with stars. I reclined in the car seat and gazed into the heavens. I noticed that some stars twinkled bright and some would just shine with a red hue. Some were tiny and faint and some large and clear. Some were clustered, one could imagine shapes of things. My mind seemed to be drawn to them trying to probe into the unknown depths of this expansive canopy. I wondered why each was a little different, why there were so many, how far away were they, how high would one have to go to reach them; I puzzled and puzzled at how far away they were. I found myself saying the little poem out loud, Twinkle twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are, up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky. I let my minds eye float out among the stars. I tried to focus on certain ones, as I stared for long periods it seemed they had moved. I alined my sight on a star from under the steering wheel and waited, they did move! Like the sun and the moon the stars moved from east to west! I was mentally very stimulated and full of questions, I went inside to ask my parents but they were all busy, their answers were the kind they gave me when they didn't know the answer, Because. I knew this occasion was not a good time to ask more, I didn't like to end with a Because. Sometimes they would say because that's the way God made things. That never seemed good enough, after all God had let aunt Ruth die and that wasn't a nice thing for God to do....... That evening looking up at the stars had a lasting impression, I knew I just had to learn more, I had to see what was on the other side of because. It was the first time my mind tried to comprehend what things were all about.

Playing Center: The kids in our neighborhood were fortunate, we had our own football field. It was actually the street in front of our house. our street had little traffic and its surface was not packed to hard because it was a dead ended. About 10 years after we moved from this home the street became US Highway 183 and a concrete bridge spanned the drainage ditch. Buffalo Avenue was also a Section Line and aligned with the highway to McCook Nebraska. The older boys liked to play touch football and they needed a center. In our touch football games I centered for both teams and developed a knack for throwing it far enough and into the hands of the person doing the passing. This chance circumstance and the developed skill set the pattern for my football career.

Regular football at the time required the center to pass the ball while bent over with his head between his legs. The ball was thrown to one of four backfield players who were from 5 to 15 yards behind the line of scrimmage. Few persons mastered the skill of throwing passes while upside down, or even wanted to, thus my services were always in demand.

Darrell on Norton Kessler's Goldie Max Darrell & Banta Roller Mill Darrell Marjorie Phyllis

Goldie Stomped: It was in this street that I first learned to ride a horse and acquired respect for horses hoofs. Norton Kessler who lived across the ditch had a riding horse, a beautiful brown mare named Goldie. One evening he'd been riding and had left Goldie standing in the street in front of the house to rest while he visited with some other kids. I'd gone over to pat Goldie and talk to her. I rubbed and patted her on the neck being carefull not to place my bare feet in her fresh dung. She'd been sweating and the flies were bad. She'd switch her tail at the flies and turn her head to bite back at a biting fly. Flies on her legs were shaken loose by stomping or periodic vertical oscillations of the skin, it was a reflex and intriguing to watch. I cupped my hand and reached to feel the softness of her muzzle which had a velvet like texture. Then she stomped. Her hoof came down on top of my bare foot! Oh but it hurt - it peeled hide off the top of my foot and toes. It hurt so bad that my mouth came open and tears rolled down my cheek, but I didn't yell or scream I just groaned and moaned as I limped to the house. As I recovered from my physical hurt I felt crushed that Goldie disliked me so much that she'd stomp on me. It took considerable persuasion on the part of my parents and Norton that Goldie hadn't stomped me on purpose. Such assurances never alleviated my wariness of a horses hoofs, front or back. Years later this incident came to mind when I read of problems they had strapping a bear in the ejection seat of an experimental airplane, after he'd experienced being ejected. Given adequate emphasis we mammals are readily programmed.

Ruts: The streets texture changed after a rain. Narrow Model-T tires made deep ruts, cars that followed conveniently used the same track. As the ruts became deeper it became impossible to drive anywhere except in the rut. The term being in a rut had vivid meaning including the frustration and futility of not being able to get out of a rut.

Grader: The street department hired men with teams and graders to level the streets. Claude Petis, who lived on a small farm on the south edge of town, graded the streets in our neighborhood. The grader was all iron. It had a broad grader blade mounted under a frame supported by medium size wheels in front and larger wheels in back. The blade could be rotated from perpendicular to an angle with respect to the direction of travel. Claude stopped the grader, moved the blade by hand then locked it in place. The blade could be lowered and raised by turning two large hand operated wheels, one for the right and one for the left side. The operator stood on a platform in back reaching forward to the rim of these wheels. He'd spin them downward to lift the blade and upward to lower the blade. There was no steering wheel, the tongue to the team was the handle which turned the front wheels.

Mules: Claude used four mules to pull the grader. He called the males Jack and the females Jenny. At first I kept trying to find out which was Jack and which Jenny as most animals were given names. He hitched the mules four abreast. The reins consisted of a single long leather strap. It connected to the right bit ring on the right mule, extended back over Claude’s right shoulder, behind his back, under his left arm and forward to the left bit ring on the left mule. To turn right Claude pulled down on the right rein, to turn left he'd pull down on the left rein and to stop he'd lean back pulling both sides. The reins to the inside mules were coupled to the adjacent mule, when the outside mule turned he "commanded" the others. This left Claude’s arms free most of the time to adjust the grader. I've often chuckled at Hollywood movies of stage coach drivers with a pair of reins for each horse, I suppose some did it that way but I found most farmers to be more pragmatic, they'd figure simple way to do a difficult job. Like the saying "necessity is the mother of invention". If it saved money or time a farmer would use it, he became efficient to keep up with those who's productivity set the market price. Daily work was not showmanship.

Gidap/Whoh: On a straight run Claude had it easy but when coming to the end of the street he'd need to lift the blade and turn the mules then readjust the blade, while still moving, to slope the crown of the road the other way on the return trip. This maneuver kept him busy and it helped if the mules knew what he wanted. He'd call out Gidap to start and Whoh to stop. When breaking in a new mule he'd sometimes flail the critter with profane words unfit for small ears. When using his trained mules it was amazing how well he could control them with words only.

Jack Ass: When Claude stop to eat I'd be full of questions like, why do you use mules rather than horses? "Cause their smarter." But horses are bigger, can't they pull more? "Yeah, fur a short time, but not fur as long". Claude was typical of most workmen I'd talk with. He'd answer an honest direct question with few but informative words. They seldom elaborated to be instructive. Ask a dumb question and you'd get no answer. When I found he called the male mules Jacks and the females Jennys I asked, "what do you call a mule colt"? Claude said, "mules don't have colts". Hm, I knew dogs had puppies and cats had kittens, puzzled I asked, "then where do little mules come from"? Claude said, "mules are a cross between a Jack Ass and a Mare Horse." This left me confused, I wasn't sure what a cross was & ass sure seemed to have a lot of meanings. I'd heard workmen say some one was Bare Ass, a Horses Ass or a Jack Ass. I decided not to ask Claude about it. So I ask Dad, "what’s a Jack Ass"? Dad looked at me, "Why do you ask?". I told him about talking with Claude. Dad explained, "a Jack is a male Ass. Ass is the biblical name for a Donkey or Burrow. Their smaller than a horse but are sturdy and sure footed. Gold miners used them to carry their packs. A mule has a Horse for a mother and a Donkey for a father." I could understand that because there were pictures at Sundays school of these pack animals carrying water jugs. I guessed that explained why mules were bigger than donkeys but smaller than horses. Dad said he didn't know why mules couldn't have colts, they just couldn't.

Some mules were quite large and commanded a premium price. I found that a good team of mules usually cost more than an equivalent team of horses. Large draft horses were preferred for heavy field work with mules preferred for stamina and difficult terrain, they were more sure footed. Each farmer seemed to developed their own preference for mules vs horses.

Hemi-Onus: Anyone interested in Mules should read "The Mule" in the December 1970 issue of Scientific American. Among other things it told of the Hinny, the inverse of a mule. The Hinny has a horse father and donkey mother rather than the other way around. I was interested in finding that the practice of breeding mules is at least 3000 years old. The Greeks called them Hemionus meaning "half-ass". The word Hemi means half & the word Onus is the name for a bearer of burdens, such as the expression "put the onus on him". As I read I wondered if I could have confused Hinny with Jenny but I think not. When in the 6, 7 and 8th grades I worked at a livestock sale barn and had heard the term Hinny. They were seldom used and I have no recollection of having seen one.

The Mill: There was a grain elevator/flour mill in to the east of our home. From the edge of our back yard I could watch farmers drive out of the elevator after unloading wheat and make a sweeping turn around the elevator back to the front to weigh the empty wagon or truck. At that most of the grain was still hauled by team and wagon. This and other work in the neighborhood gave me an opportunity to compare and observe mules and horses.

Harness-n-Stuff: I was always more interested in watching Work Horses or Mules than in watching Buggy or Riding horses. Work harness was heavy duty and would show signs of use and strain. Heavy leather pull straps, one on each side, connected wood pieces in front of a leather horse collar to an oak single tree beam behind the horse. A pad under the Horse Collar prevented chafing as the horse leaned/strained into the collar to pull a load. Harnesses soon took on the odor of horse sweat. The odor of sweat was always associated with the odor of fresh horse turds. A small kid with nothing else to do had plenty of opportunity to watch animals defecate. Horses would snooze standing up when at a hitching post with nothing to do then find it necessary to eliminate when put into motion. These smells were not offensive, if one enjoyed being around these animals the smells aroused a pleasant associative response. Horse turds and cow pies are finely chewed grass and do not give off an offensive odor as does that from a hog or man. There was a word for environmentalist in those days, they were called street sweepers. The names of these eliminations were often expressions of disgust of frustration. One young fellow I later worked with would say, "Aw Horse Pucky" when doubting the validity of a statement.

Grandad Kump’s Plow horse John’s Model-T in barn – present location unknown.

Before Jack Kump died 1997 he gave Model-T in barn to Don Kump who gave it to son John who died 2003.

Muscle Power: Each animal had a personality and mode of behavior when called upon to perform to its utmost. An experienced animal was dynamic to watch as it strained to move a heavy load. A wagon loaded with wheat that had rested in place for a while was always difficult. This was a frequent task when incrementing forward in a line during the peak of harvest to get your turn. The last stop was at the base of the incline into the elevator. There was a feeling of empathy, as if helping, a tired sweating team make it up the hill. There'd be a preparing to start like a runner at the blocks, the team knew what they were going to be asked to do. The driver would look to see they were alert & ready, then he'd yell "Giddap" while slapping down with the reins. The animals would lunge into their harness to start the load then sustain steady strong muscle bulging steps as the load began to move. On the level this was followed by a powerful stride at a steady pace that could be maintained for hours. This pace evolved a rhythm of neck and head movement synchronized to the stride. During short bursts of peak pulling power the animals neck would arch back and its head pull down to one side with mouth partly open and tongue thrashing about the bit making a foamy froth. The back leg muscles would bulge, the entire weight of their bodies cantilevered forward of their hind quarters by pulling their front legs up. Huge horses would handle the incline quite well, smaller, younger draft animals struggled giving their all to the shouts of the driver. Once in a while a team had to back down, be rested and start over. They were permitted to be moving before they reached the base of the ramp. I was fascinated by the way each animal became an individual with their special way of pulling up that ramp. Almost all the teams pulling wheat into that elevator were horses, the largest the farmer had.

Shave Tails: Mules, although obviously powerful animals, never developed muscle bulging legs. Mules had long ears and were readily distinguished from the rear by narrow hips and a shaved appearance at the upper end of their tail. Later when first hearing the term "shave tail" applied to a 2nd Lt I smiled at the image. No doubt this "affectionate" term was coined by those who'd spend hours staring at the south end of a north bound mule.

Road Gravel: The dirt street in front of our house absorbed gravel like the blotter absorbed mothers ink. I became aware gravel was being dumped along the side of the street at the north end. Only one man with one wagon was hauling the gravel so you had to be there at the right time to see him. One afternoon I saw him driving a team of horses pulling a wagon loaded with sand. The way the horses pulled I could tell it was heavy. As I watched the man pull to the side in line with the other piles of sand. I felt sorry for him, it would take him a long time of hard work to shovel off all that sand. I had watched them unload wagons of wheat at the grain elevator behind us. I'd watch them hoist the front end of the wagon with a lift and let the wheat drain out by itself. The man didn't have a lift for his load of sand. I'd tried to unload my wagon full of sand and found it was too heavy to lift, it took me a long time to fill then empty my little wagon with my little shovel. I sat down on the edge of the road and with elbows on my knees, chin in hands prepared to watch. It was a memorable lesson in simplicity of design and effort, a credit to our grandparents ingenuity and practicality, a now forgotten method.

Don Clausen, Virgil M, Dale M Cook, Darrell L, Warren Clausen Me-n-Dad

Neighbor Kids: Victor, Don & Warren Clauson and Dale & Virgil (Kump) Miller were playmates. Bozo was the Clauson's dog. Victor was killed in Europe in WW II.

Innovation: The driver stopped the team and wrapped the reins about the brake handle. He stepped down from the wagon and lit his pipe. I expected him to remove the shovel from the side of the wagon. Instead he walked to the back of the wagon. With a flip a latch and pull on a board, in one motion the tail gate fell away letting sand fall to the ground! The tail gate was a large flat member held in place by vertical slots in the inside face at the back end of the sideboards. The tailgate board had a vertical hinge in the middle. A board fixed to one side overlapped and latched to the other side keeping the tailgate hinge straight. When unlatched the hinge line would bent and shorten the tail gate width which pulled the ends out of their grooves. The gate could be installed and removed with remarkable ease, a kind of snap action. So far I hadn't seen anything new, they did this with wheat too, I expected him to get the shovel. He didn't.

He walked to one side and lifted the top of two side boards, in fact the ends of the side boards had been cut & whittled to provide hand holds which he grasped when he lifted. Sand trickled from the gap. He then walked to the front end and lifted the front end of the same upper board. After the sand fell away he removed this board and rested it on the wagon axles where they protrude past the bed frame with it's side posts. He then proceeded to remove the lower side board in the same manner. I was becoming impressed with how easy this had been and thought about putting removable sides on my wagon. But he'd need the shovel for the rest of it.

Next he took the 2x4 floor board piece next to the side he'd just removed and pulled it outward. Much of the sand above it had fallen outward when the side board was removed, now sand fell through the gap between the floor boards. With much of the weight removed it was possible for him to turn it over on its narrow side, dumping the remaining column of sand from above it. He moved this board to the outside still on it's edge which made room to move the next floor board. In this way he worked his way across the floor boards one board at a time, flipping them like slats in a Venetian blind, letting the sand fall through. In a remarkably short time the sand had been dumped and the wagon bed reassembled. As I sat marveling at the simplicity of it all, he'd refilled his pipe, climbed on the seat. He picked up the reins & with a slap of the reins on the horses rump called "giddap". The rear wheels rode up over the sand as he turned the team and headed away. He'd never even removed the shovel. As I grew a bit older I was permitted to explore beyond the range of mother's beckoning call.