When I was still a pre-schooler, I would of necessity go everywhere my mother went. It's hard to believe it, but she drove a Model T Ford without a license. Two things bothered me about this, (1) I was afrad the cops would catch her, and (2) I thought she was a dangerous driver. Especially driving down White's hill, which I thought rather steep. She would go weekly to the women's "Neighborhood Club" meeting, ususally a different home every week; sometimes it was our turn. She was not one to take risks by nature, but I believe her driving was just "inept". Once we got a car with standard controls, she quit driving. (Model T controls were totally different from what became the standard).
Once she and the other ladies went to the Vernon Center Methodist church and everyone built a prefab "service wagon", which was used by the family for years later, as we always ate in the dining room.
Every Forth of July there was a picnic made up of mother's classmates and their families. The Kingsburys, the Clapps, the Barlows (he was the weatherman on WTIC), Worcesters, probably a number of others, and us. Once or twice the picnic was at "Diamond Ledge" where there was an old quarry, exceedingly deep, filled with water. Sometimes it was at our place. Here is one picture of our yearly gathering, about 1927. In back row is Ethel and Ed Worcester and in front of them their oldest daughter Della. My dad is the highest white head in the back. In front, little kids row, from right is me and next is Irene Worcester. Front row, not counting little kids, second from right is Mother, and next is my sister Barbara.
All while I was growing up, we had a hired man to help with the farm work. The first one I remember was Ony Kajolla, who was of Finnish extraction. For first grade, my teacher was his sister, Lena Kajolla. After him, I believe, was Bill Hulse, who left after maybe a year or two to "go to Hollywood and make motion pictures". (Later he returned on a brief visit, and claimed he HAD made some movies). After him, for a while, was Armand Caron, a French - Canadian, who had a terrible temper, and was a chain smoker with athsma. Then finally we got John Booth from the County Home, for $15 per month plus room and board. Within about a month he bought an old Model A Ford on time, paying $15 per month! But he was a good worker, and stayed for many years. When my dad retired, John Booth ran a reduced version of the farm on shares for a while, then later went to work for Vernon Township, and bought a section of land from my parents (the old rooster house), and put up a very nice house there.
My dad's mother was a very strong believer, and as I have said, always had us over for Thanksgiving. She would offer a very strong prayer at every Thanksgiving meal. I remember once she asked my mother if I knew the Lord, and I think my mother responded that I was too young, or something. But in my pre-school days I went to Sunday School Kindergarten, taught by Constance Brooks, the minister's daughter. Although Dr. George Brooks would preach a modernist type of sermon, Constance Brooks taught us the gospel straight from the Bible, and I believed what she taught. Now you may remember that I mentioned my Grandma Neill was almost totally blind. Well, one day I asked my mother and father, "why don't we take Grandma over to the brook, make mud, put it on her eyes, and pray for her so that she can see?" I remember my mother looking at my dad, then saying "what is it they say, Tom, that the days of miracles are over?" Thus they pulled the rug out from under me.
My Dad was actually saved, having come forward at a Billy Sunday crusade. My mother was raised as a Lutheran, and her maternal grandfather was Sunday School Superintendant at the Rockville German Lutheran church. My dad thought my mother was saved, but only the Lord knows.
I had a pretty normal childhood up until about 5th or 6th grade, when I developed Chorea, also called "St. Vitas Dance". I had the flu, and the virus apparently settled in my brains, making me unbearably nervous. It was like torture. The worst part about it was that it lasted several years, from age 12 to 14, and left a behavioral" residue" lasting well into adulthood. Due to nerves, I had to take so many days off from school that I had to repeat 6th grade. My buddy, Charlie Thrall wanted to stay in the same grade with me, so he flunked 6th grade on purpose!
I remember one summer laying across the bed, and everything sounded ten times louder than the normal volume. It was scarey. I'm sure that (1) being dropped on my head at age 2, and (2) the infection of Chorea, had a detrimental effect on my mind. But I've always been thankful that for all you kids "aquired characteristics are not inheritable".
Times were good for a couple of years when we moved to the old Blankenburg farm. We had a battery powered radio. But after a couple of years, times went bad. To make matters worse, the State of Connecticut initiated a questionable tuburculosis test for all the cows, and about half the milking herd failed and had to be disposed of! As the "B" battery for the radio ran down, we had to switch from loudspeaker to headphones. Then finally that didn't work either, and there was no more money to be spent on such things, so the radio was removed to the attic, where it stayed many yearsl
But this reminds me of an utterly fantastic place: the store room. It was upstairs, just opposite the stairs, and had only one little dormer window, and was used for storage. Everything too good to store in the barn. There was a buffalo robe, a zither, a scimitar, and many odd and wonderful things. You could go up there and spend hours. There was an old trunk that had come over from Germany. There was a framed picture illustrating the city of Greiz, Saxonia, Germany, labeled in fancy letters "Greiz mit umbigung". There were of course lots of old clothes. There was a peach basket full of homemade soap that my mother had made, but she had used too much lye in making it, so it was too powerful to use, but too valuable to throw away.
Maybe another time I'll tell you about our neighbors and our "party-line" telephone. Time to go now.
Once she and the other ladies went to the Vernon Center Methodist church and everyone built a prefab "service wagon", which was used by the family for years later, as we always ate in the dining room.
Every Forth of July there was a picnic made up of mother's classmates and their families. The Kingsburys, the Clapps, the Barlows (he was the weatherman on WTIC), Worcesters, probably a number of others, and us. Once or twice the picnic was at "Diamond Ledge" where there was an old quarry, exceedingly deep, filled with water. Sometimes it was at our place. Here is one picture of our yearly gathering, about 1927. In back row is Ethel and Ed Worcester and in front of them their oldest daughter Della. My dad is the highest white head in the back. In front, little kids row, from right is me and next is Irene Worcester. Front row, not counting little kids, second from right is Mother, and next is my sister Barbara.
All while I was growing up, we had a hired man to help with the farm work. The first one I remember was Ony Kajolla, who was of Finnish extraction. For first grade, my teacher was his sister, Lena Kajolla. After him, I believe, was Bill Hulse, who left after maybe a year or two to "go to Hollywood and make motion pictures". (Later he returned on a brief visit, and claimed he HAD made some movies). After him, for a while, was Armand Caron, a French - Canadian, who had a terrible temper, and was a chain smoker with athsma. Then finally we got John Booth from the County Home, for $15 per month plus room and board. Within about a month he bought an old Model A Ford on time, paying $15 per month! But he was a good worker, and stayed for many years. When my dad retired, John Booth ran a reduced version of the farm on shares for a while, then later went to work for Vernon Township, and bought a section of land from my parents (the old rooster house), and put up a very nice house there.
My dad's mother was a very strong believer, and as I have said, always had us over for Thanksgiving. She would offer a very strong prayer at every Thanksgiving meal. I remember once she asked my mother if I knew the Lord, and I think my mother responded that I was too young, or something. But in my pre-school days I went to Sunday School Kindergarten, taught by Constance Brooks, the minister's daughter. Although Dr. George Brooks would preach a modernist type of sermon, Constance Brooks taught us the gospel straight from the Bible, and I believed what she taught. Now you may remember that I mentioned my Grandma Neill was almost totally blind. Well, one day I asked my mother and father, "why don't we take Grandma over to the brook, make mud, put it on her eyes, and pray for her so that she can see?" I remember my mother looking at my dad, then saying "what is it they say, Tom, that the days of miracles are over?" Thus they pulled the rug out from under me.
My Dad was actually saved, having come forward at a Billy Sunday crusade. My mother was raised as a Lutheran, and her maternal grandfather was Sunday School Superintendant at the Rockville German Lutheran church. My dad thought my mother was saved, but only the Lord knows.
I had a pretty normal childhood up until about 5th or 6th grade, when I developed Chorea, also called "St. Vitas Dance". I had the flu, and the virus apparently settled in my brains, making me unbearably nervous. It was like torture. The worst part about it was that it lasted several years, from age 12 to 14, and left a behavioral" residue" lasting well into adulthood. Due to nerves, I had to take so many days off from school that I had to repeat 6th grade. My buddy, Charlie Thrall wanted to stay in the same grade with me, so he flunked 6th grade on purpose!
I remember one summer laying across the bed, and everything sounded ten times louder than the normal volume. It was scarey. I'm sure that (1) being dropped on my head at age 2, and (2) the infection of Chorea, had a detrimental effect on my mind. But I've always been thankful that for all you kids "aquired characteristics are not inheritable".
Times were good for a couple of years when we moved to the old Blankenburg farm. We had a battery powered radio. But after a couple of years, times went bad. To make matters worse, the State of Connecticut initiated a questionable tuburculosis test for all the cows, and about half the milking herd failed and had to be disposed of! As the "B" battery for the radio ran down, we had to switch from loudspeaker to headphones. Then finally that didn't work either, and there was no more money to be spent on such things, so the radio was removed to the attic, where it stayed many yearsl
But this reminds me of an utterly fantastic place: the store room. It was upstairs, just opposite the stairs, and had only one little dormer window, and was used for storage. Everything too good to store in the barn. There was a buffalo robe, a zither, a scimitar, and many odd and wonderful things. You could go up there and spend hours. There was an old trunk that had come over from Germany. There was a framed picture illustrating the city of Greiz, Saxonia, Germany, labeled in fancy letters "Greiz mit umbigung". There were of course lots of old clothes. There was a peach basket full of homemade soap that my mother had made, but she had used too much lye in making it, so it was too powerful to use, but too valuable to throw away.
Maybe another time I'll tell you about our neighbors and our "party-line" telephone. Time to go now.
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